This book or the parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form stored in retrieval system or transmitted in any form by any means – electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise – without prior written permission of the author except as provided by United States of America copyright law.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any similarities to actual people, organizations, and/or events are purely coincidental.
A surge of optimism filled the home. Three days of nonstop raining finally gave way to sunshine. Muddy streets returned to dirt. The smell of fresh bread filled the air. Two chickens roasted in the oven. Meat; a rare meal.
A new haul of fresh water had been retrieved. This was good news as well for it meant that not only would everyone be able to drink, but that everyone would also get a bath. All of these things, of course, required someone to attend to them. A house cannot run itself. There were seven attendants in all, but there should have been more for all of the planning going on. There was work to do and the matriarch lay bedridden.
Tuck watched the women run to and fro throughout the house. Dinner was cooking, but it required more wood to heat the stove and constant attention to keep it going properly. The sunlight was nice, but cats, birds and the occasional squirrel saw the open shutters as a neighborly invitation to say hi. No guests were expected; none had been invited. However, this did not mean that those who lived there ought to eat on the floor. A table must be prepared.
And then there was Avers; the master of the house. At any given time no less than two women were at her bed. Both caring for her healing wounds. Both standing sentry with spear in hand. One on each side.
Artis, whose back was turned to Tuck, moved towards the end of the bed revealing Aver’s face. He had given her quite a beating. Her face was still covered in blue and black welts. Superficial lacerations covered her shoulders, neck and even a few on her face. Her arms too. They were badly injured. Some cuts, however, required stitching. Others packing which was something the attendants already knew how to do, but luckily for Avers he had shown them how to sterilize the rags in boiling water. Everything was swollen. The exoskeleton, torn in many places, lay folded neatly on an end table next to the bed. A single blanket covered her. Tuck put his feet up and leaned back on his little stool.
“I looked you up you know,” he said to her. “Major…Major Therah I. Avers.”
Suddenly, she shot forward in bed turning to face him.
“That is Major Avers to you!”
“My lady,” Artis said ready to restrain her, “please, you must rest.”
She fell back into the bed.
“If you like you may call me Ivory,” she said with her eyes unopened. She did not move save the subtle up and down gesture of her breast beneath the blanket.
Tuck watched as the attendants dappled sweat from her skin. Once the infection set in they exercised diligence in their care. They had been nurses once, but were no more. He knew no more about them than that. Why they were here was a mystery. Avers had told them of Christ whom they eagerly accepted. He knew that much. Maybe that was the reason.
He decided that he would call her Avers instead of Ivory. Definitely not Major. She could deal with it. Ivory? What kind of name was that anyway? An old lady’s name that’s what. As he pondered their situation a heavy knock sounded on the front door.
“Lady Avers,” Poltes said, “there is a…a delegation here to see you. A delegation from the queen.”
Avers nodded and soon the party filled the room.
“Is this the lady of the house?” the woman in the front said. She was dressed in silver and gold and feathers. On her hip a sheathed sword. Bronze greaves on her shins and a cuirass of bronze covered her chest. A mantle of purple hung over her back.
“Lady Avers, I am Hippos. I am here on behalf of your queen, the merciful Tormenene.”
“You needn’t remind me of her mercy,” Avers choked out.
“Good. I am here to request a…favor from you. From you and the man.”
Avers was silent.
“You are well aware of the recent fatalities endured by the glorious Amazon women. I will not lecture you on this. The queen desires an alliance with the ruler of Nething and she has asked you to request this alliance.”
“The Nethings!” one of her attendants, Pepla, said. “It’s not safe. They practice arcana!”
“I understand your concern miss,” Hippos said, “but it is the wish of the queen. None can defy her.”
Pepla bowed returning to Aver’s side.
Tuck looked at Avers. Her eyes were open fixed on Hippos. She gave a nod, but said no more.
“Good. You will leave in three days. That should give you enough time to recuperate. I give to you the Royal Messengers Hermenes and Postulis. They shall accompany you and deliver the message to the ruler of Nething. Your purpose is to impress the ruler with your…” her eyes glanced at her neatly folded exo, “well…that which you have in common.”
As the delegation moved towards the door Hippos stopped suddenly looking up at the ceiling. “What is that smell?”
“We’ve a boar on the spit and porridge in the pot,” Pepla bowed waiting for Hippos to invite herself to stay.
“Thank you for the offer,” she glared at Pepla, “but we have business of our own that requires our urgent attention.”