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"The Weapons of a Woman"
Date: August 11, 2000 (Aether: December 3, 3906)  The evening has settled in cold over the expanse of the Kaimakam's private chamber, the darkness held at bay only by the feeble light of a scattered assortment of oil lamps. One such vessel flickers on the low central table, revealing a yellowed parchment page upon which Amipal himself, clad in a flowing grey jubbah and sporting a delicate golden pair of reading spectacles, writes with the aid of a crisp quill pen. A thoughtful silence reigns, punctuated only by the soft scratching of the instrument over the paper's surface. Admitted by the Agni-Haidar guards, Roxana enters the room, heralded by a light tap on the door from said Guards. She is followed by a Naraki in the colors of Clan Khalida, who is carrying writing materials and parchment. The Kshatri maid curtseys deeply as the Naraki performs the appropriate obeisance, both staying in those positions until told to rise. Amipal lifts his midnight eyes from the page, his penetrating gaze focused briefly on the grace of the Ushasti woman's descent; the soldier's expression, however, maintains its customary cool reserve. "Rise, Roxana bint Fajult Al'Gul," he intones softly, returning his attention to the parchment as the pen resumes its bobbing motion. "I have asked you here, Imphada, to discuss the letter of intelligence that you will send to your family." To his credit, he manages to keep any note of distaste out of his voice at the mention of these traitors. Roxana rises, and takes the naraki's burden from the old woman, dismissing her with a hand gesture. The old woman curtseys and shambles off, tapping at the door, which opens to let her out. As the door closes, Roxana nods. "Honored Kaimakam, I am glad you will aid me with this. I have not the military acumen to know where I must send those traitors. I no longer regard them as my family; I have denied them, as they denied me for so long. The naraki is both deaf and mute, and cannot betray me." Roxana does not bother to keep the distaste out of her voice at the mention of the traitors. Amipal dips his chin a fraction, perhaps in appreciation of the young woman's sentiment; one scarred hand sweeps outward in invitation, palm up, over the seating cushions nearby. He does not look up. "Nonetheless, the position into which you have chosen to place yourself entails some danger for you. You should know that your sacrifice is... appreciated, both by the Queen-Maharani and by me. It will be remembered." Roxana inclines her head in acknowledgment as she seats herself on the proffered cushions. "I am aware of the danger, honored Kaimakam; how could I not be? I fear my family far less than I fear the wrath of Khalid Atar, and since the Eternal Flame did not obliterate me for the news I brought Him, I feel I have faced the greater danger. I am, as I have commented a few times, a most dutiful daughter of my father; it is the shame of Clan Al'Gul that they cannot see where their duty should lie." The subtlety of this rather fine point of duty is not lost on the man; although he continues to write, a faint, ghostly smile flickers over his dusky features. "You do your family honor, as they malign yours," he murmurs, tapping the page to point a sentence. "You need fear no reprisal while Atar's Lions continue in his divine service." Then, after a pause, "I have considered the present state of affairs, and have a suggestion to offer you regarding your correspondence." Roxana says "I am glad to receive any suggestion, Honored Kaimakam. How may I assist you?" Amipal sets his quill aside and lifts the parchment, shaking it once, sharply, to dry it; the candle flame flutters wildly in the momentary breeze, starting a chaotic play of light and shadow that settles swiftly. "You should, I think, make it known to Al'Gul that the Queen-Maharani, in her desperation, is in the final stages of concluding a treaty with the greatest kshatri clan presently in rebellion. Tell them that the Queen has agreed to settle a joint Regency upon them, in cooperation with Clan Khalida, if they themselves will turn on and destroy the lesser clans presently assaulting Masada. Intimate that the clan in question has agreed to this in principle." There is a whole new respect for the Kaimakam and the Maharani dawning in Roxana's eyes. "I will be delighted to do so, Kaimakam. May I compliment you upon the strategy?" Amipal hands the parchment page in question across to the young woman, looking briefly her way; if her flattery has any substantial effect, it is not apparent in set of his dark features. "I serve the interest of the Most High, as you do," he intones. "My time on the battlefield has not been without its fruits." He pauses for the space of a breath, then continues, "If we are fortunate, your brethren will leave Masada in the interests of self-preservation; better, they may seek an alliance with the other lesser clans, fracturing the rebellion along the line most calculated to do us good. I've repeated the essential points of my suggestion here in writing." Roxana smiles, beneath her veil. "I shall phrase my letter in a way guaranteed to sting the pride of my father's cousin, Honored Kaimakam. And suggest that he do that very thing, so that his Clan may take precedence in the uprising and therefore lead the other Clans once this is done. I will not be mentioning precisely where his Clan will be leading the other rebellious Clans to." There is a certain grim irony to that last comment, and it is difficult to miss that tone in the maiden's voice. "Then we understand one another, Roxana Al'Gul," the soldier says faintly, a touch of her own rather macabre amusement lacing his own otherwise placid tone. His starless eyes meet her own for a significant moment, alight with hints of anticipation. "I trust that you will provide your family with the necessary encouragement in this matter." A certain mild surprise, not entirely displeased, has become faintly audible in his voice in response to the mettle this Ushasti woman has displayed. Roxana takes that to be a dismissal and rises gracefully from her cushion before curtseying deeply and commenting "I am but a woman, Kaimakam. I am weak and untrained in the arts of war, but I would support the Amir-Al, so I must use other weapons at my disposal. I must assume that the Amir-Al had reason for creating me as a woman; I would erase my sins of a former life." Amipal snorts very softly, reaching for and taking up a sheaf of nearby papers; he adjusts his spectacles with two deft fingers, the shifting firelight rendering their frames a molten gold. "In my time with the Queen-Maharani," he returns, "I have come to understand that the Varati woman is often underestimated. This is a grave oversight, and a tool in the hands of the initiate." Then, again with that faint, fleeting smile, "Namaste, Imphada." Roxana curtseys again, and smiles softly beneath her veil, causing it to shift over the flesh beneath. "Namaste, Kaimakam." With that, she turns and makes for the door, tapping once to have it opened. It opens softly, and she turns on the threshold, to say a quiet "My thanks, Imphadi." With that, she vanishes as the door closes behind her.
FIN
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