The Hetairoi

Until this point in my existence, I did not consider myself a killer. I had taken lives in distressing variety--hobgoblins, orcs, ghouls, even human, but I had taken comfort in the idea that there was a gulf between the idea of taking a life and the identity of a killer. Perhaps this was youthful foolishness, yet a change did take place in me over the time I spent mired in this damnable war.

The war made me a killer.

What will follow in the next chapters is not intended as a comprehensive history of what came to be known as the Turquoise Conquest, the Stand of the Amazons, or perhaps more accurately, the Fall of Axichis. Many such chronicles exist that provide the historical perspective. The fifteenth volume of the

Historiae Heachariae

is accurate in the sense of troop movements and battle outcomes, but it grants the Heacharids a nobility that does not exist in their blighted culture.

The Lament of Axichis

is far better, delving into what was lost when this culture was ground beneath the boot of the conqueror. Even the final volume of

The Fourfold Chronicle

will be superior, as it will detail what every member of the Mythseekers did in this needlessly destructive and doomed endeavor.

As befits the purpose of this chronicle, I will confine myself to the events surrounding my paramours. Perhaps it was the nearness of death, but I did not want for company during the fighting. Even as the war took its toll on my very soul, my bed was seldom cold.

First, necessary background, for Axichis has passed into the realm of history and the Heacharid Empire is but a shadow of what it was then. Axichis was the name for both an archipelago in the Turquoise Sea and its largest island. A tribe of amazons had carved out a civilization of exceeding beauty upon this land, and their legends claim it was thanks to direct treating with the gods themselves. The Axichans were few in number, and fewer still left their lands by the time the war started. They produced great warriors and artists, and I am still a great admirer of their philosophical texts, but they were perhaps a culture in decline. Their passivity and insular values were no match for the imperialistic powers of this age.

Chief among those were their enemies in this war. The Heacharids remain a tumor upon the southern continent of Aucor, and in this era, they were expanding. They had reached the shores of the Turquoise Sea in their cancerous spread, and the next step would be reaching their tendrils the waters to gobble up the various free cities and island nations that existed there.

Church and state were one entity to the Heacharids. Their civilization was dedicated to the exaltation of Xomera, their goddess of purity. Axichis offended them. A population of women breeding without the assistance of men could not be allowed to exist in the Heacharid mind. And their hatred made this awful goal a fact.

Forgive my anger. I loathe the Heacharids like I hate no other civilization upon this world. Even the elves with their cruelty do not offend me thus. Much of the evil the elves place upon the world is because of their long lives. The Heacharids have no such excuse. They commit evil because they have chosen destruction and viciousness. I became a killer simply because I learned to take joy in their slaughter. And in this war, I would be little more than a butcher of men.

The Heacharids marched all over Aucor, clad in their shining mail. They took what lands would surrender and burned the ones that would not. They visited terrible torments on all who would not submit. They believed in purity, and thus any who were not human would be fed to the pyre. A drop of elven or orcish blood would be reason enough to flay the flesh from your bones. That continent still bears the scars of their savagery, not the least for the twenty-odd cities named for their great conqueror Sabbatius. There are times I think of leading my own crusade to wipe the last vestiges of their culture from the world, but I have grown soft in my dotage. Time will do to them what none of their enemies could.

I knew very little of the Heacharids when I boarded the ship that bore us from Castellandria. Velena loathed them, and I trusted her. By the standards of the Heacharids, she was not human and would be slain on sight. In fact, by their reckoning, of us, only Alia was human. I understood them as terrible foes, but I did not yet understand their evil. I would need to witness their atrocities, which I soon would.

As I stood on the deck of the ship, sails full, making hard to the west, I was beginning a grand adventure. I would return having been blooded in war. I believed it would take only a few scant months, for what can stand against the Mythseekers? I would soon be back in the arms of my loves in Castellandria as the hero of Axichis.

The journey was a short one, partially thanks to my using my magic to keep the wind in our favor. We spotted the Heacharid blockade far on the horizon after only a few weeks upon the water. Xeiliope had paid the captain of our ship well to run it. The captain slipped the small and agile ship through a gap in the blockade. I remember laughing at the lumbering Heacharid ships, thinking there was no way they could keep traffic from Axichis, not realizing they were suited for hunting heavy cargo ships rather than slippery caravels piloted by experienced smugglers.

We landed upon Melisis, at the Kleogara, the capital city. Melisis was one of the larger islands positioned off the south coast of Axichis. The pursuing ships peeled off before coming into range of the ballistae lined up on the white cliffs, returning to their restless watch.

As our ship sailed into the expansive harbor, I had my first view of a Axichan city. My imagination had not been the equal to the task. Built around a bay, it climbed the cliffs in elegant terraces. Gardens were plentiful, serving the dual purpose of beauty and food production. The structures were of white stone, with lines of columns and few walls. The bulk of the islands of the archipelago were to the west and south, and on the farthest, a line of black smoke threaded into the crystal sky. Heacharid ships could be seen, patrolling the horizon like wolves.

Xeiliope's hard-edged face was unreadable. Her golden eyes were fixed upon the great building on the top of the cliffs and she clutched the haft of her spear Daybreaker with white knuckles. Velena touched her arm with concern, but the amazon scarcely reacted. As soon as the gangway was down, Xeiliope was striding down it with purpose. The rest of us had to jog to keep up with her long-legged strides.

For the first time I saw the amazons of Axichis. I held in my mind the idea that they would be like Xeiliope, all tall and muscled, beautiful in a very stern and angular way. There were many of these, armed and armored in their breastplates and kilts, greaves over forearms and calves, sandals on their feet, spear and shield in hand.

This was far from the universal image of the amazons. Artisans as soft and curvy as Velena labored in workshops. Children--girls all--played in the streets. Older women in loose linen gowns gathered in courtyards. As we made our way up the rising streets, we drew attention, most of which was reserved for me. The looks were curious, suspicious, some hostile, and all of them told me that I was an outsider.

"When we reach the top, I will speak," Xeiliope said. "All of you, especially you, wizard, please stay silent."

"We trust you," Velena said, reaching out but not quite touching the amazon. I would come to know this posture of Xeiliope's well. She was never the most demonstrative unless it was within the boundaries of loveplay, but she had closed herself off the instant she learned of the invasion. The war already tensed her to the breaking point. She could not know the misery that lay ahead for all of us.

Our destination was a collection of buildings in the midst of a beautiful garden. The central structure was the biggest, crowned with a statue of the amazon goddess of the moon, the deity they credited with the birth of their civilization. She could have been Xeiliope's sister, though instead of armor, she wore a gown that clung to her form, one of her breasts free. She reached to the sky, and here in the day, this felt perverse.

The area was alive with amazons. The elders were speaking, and divided between those in armor and those in the loose gowns of the civilian populace. The younger amazons stood sentry, many of them in face-concealing helmets, decorated with great crests of horsehair.

As we neared the central structure, a trio of amazons in full armor marched out to meet us.

"Remember," Xeiliope said, "holding up a hand. I will speak." We all stopped behind her.

The leader called out as she too came to a stop, "Hold, outsi...Xeiliope?"

"Xeiliope, daughter of Xelyphe," said my companion cautiously, peering at the newcomer, whose face was hidden behind one of these helms. Only her eyes and a thin strip running from the base of her nose to her chin. "Who is that? Your voice is familiar to me."

The leader pulled her helmet off, revealing a face that should have been a statue save for the scar running along her cheek. She too looked much like the moon goddess. "You do not recognize your old friend?"

"Meda!" Xeiliope exclaimed. Both Xeiliope and Meda, with a precision that must have been drilled into them, transferred her spear to her shield hand and grasped the other woman's forearm. "I have missed you."

"And I you. I can guess what brings you home."

"My companions and I came as soon as we heard. We are here to lend our strength."

Meda looked us over, her gaze snagging on me. "A motley band to be sure."

"They are the bravest of companions. Experienced adventurers."

"I shall take you to the War Council. They will decide what to do with you."

Meda stayed in front with Xeiliope while her two companions walked on either side and behind us. Oddrin gave a hiss at one of them and I hushed him. The last thing I needed was my familiar commencing hostilities with the amazons.

"Not quite what I pictured," murmured Alia.

"Nor I," I said.

The War Council was a group of women, some in gowns, others in armor, surrounding a great table. Upon it was a map of the archipelago, reaching to the northern and southern shores. Models like Alishum pieces were placed across the board, showing the positions of friendly and enemy troops. Even at a glance I could see our side was hopelessly outnumbered. For the first time a queasy feeling in my belly yawned to awakening. I would come to know this sensation well, for it was my most constant companion.

We were noticed before we drew close, with several women interposing themselves in front of the table.

"Meda, what is this?" demanded a handsome woman in full armor with iron gray hair. She wore a shortsword on her hip. This was Grand General Thaodora, commander of the entirety of the amazonian military.

"General, we have volunteers."

She looked us over. "And what sort of volunteers are these?"

Xeiliope gave the General a brief of our abilities. To my relief, we were accepted quickly. Xeiliope was given a field commission and dispatched to Thessandreia, an island at the southern end of Axichis and a front in the war at this time. She embraced each of us before marching down the hill for her boat. Watching fed the queasy serpent in my belly.

Velena was sent to the field hospital in Elepetra. Alia was sent to Paiari, though the General did not say why. I was left.

General Thaodora looked me over. "Storm magics, eh? What know you of ships?"

"They burn when struck by lightning?"

A grin spread over her face. Then, loudly to her adjutants. "Find a dyad of hetairoi for the wizard. We will figure out how to use him."

I would come to learn that the Axichans had only a scant number of wizards, fewer even than their small population would imply. It meant I was more valuable that I might otherwise be. As such, I warranted hetairoi.

These were sacred bodyguards attached to important figures during times of war. Wizards had them, officers had them, ambassadors had them; any the high command thought would be a target for assassination. They fought in pairs, the two women bonded to one another with magical and mundane rituals that rendered them the perfect partners in combat. My hetairoi, Einoë and Kallea were some of the most shockingly effective warriors I had ever seen. I would come to treasure them, which made their ultimate fate all the more gut-wrenching.

Our start was not auspicious. In fact, I believe they hated me.

Einoë and Kallea marched up the hill in the late afternoon. I had been removed to a smaller outbuilding and had spent my time looking out over the Turquoise Sea to the threads of smoke on the horizon. Guards were never far away. I was trusted perhaps, but not perfectly so. I had been without the Mythseekers many times, but I had never felt so distant from them as I did then, waiting on that bench, suspicious eyes on me from all angles.

I watched the two women coming up the path. They were an impressive sight, clad in traditional Axichan armor of breastplate, bracers, kilt, greaves, and helms. Where they showed bare flesh, notably their upper arms and thighs, tattoos the shade of the Turquoise Sea's waters wrapped around them. These were ornate geometries, looking almost like columns stretched from floor to ceiling, the shapes implying the shapes of women in postures of war. At a distance the rippling of their muscles animated the tattoos into suggestions of fighting amazons, but close up, these shapes became abstract. I would learn later that these tattoos stretched between every joint of their body, around their necks, forearms, abdomens, calves, and even the individual bones of their fingers. It was a piece of the rite that marked these two as hetairoi, sacred protectors of their people.

Each carried a spear and shield, and I noted that one carried a shortsword while the other a folded net on her belt. They took their helmets off as one, tucking them beneath a muscled arm. Their hair was cut close to the scalp around their skulls, with only a short ruff growing on the crown of their heads, one in copper, the other in chestnut.

"You are to be our tent brother," said the copper-haired one with the sword. She fumbled the word

brother

, as though it were an intrusion on her tongue. "I am Einoë. This is my tent sister Kallea."

"I am Belromanazar of Thunderhead. A friend of--"

"Stop speaking," Kallea said. "We have been sworn to guard you, not to hear you yammer on. Come, we've been dispatched to Axichis."

"The war has not come to Axichis."

"This is why my sister bade you not speak," Einoë said. "You will keep stating the painfully obvious."

Axichis held the bulk of the farmland of the archipelago. The only major city on the island was Naeri, and after the sight of Kleogara, Naeri was positively provincial. They quartered me in a small home on the edge of an extensive olive grove at the top of the city. It would have been paradise if not for the war. The olive trees were picked clean, and the herds of sheep in the pastures beyond noticeably small. Already, the war was taking a toll on the provisions of the islands. The Heacharid blockade was doing its hungry work.

Never believe that strength of arms wins wars. No, it is food, it is disease, it is population. This was the war, my first, that taught me this hard lesson.

For the first month, we were ignored. I correctly surmised that command, no matter what they might have said, did not quite trust me. I would be tucked away while my companions fought. As the reality sunk in, I was at turns frustrated, hurt, and angry. I watched the blockade on the horizon, knowing I could do something about it. The ships stayed defiantly out of my reach and every day as hunger gnawed at my will, I grew more wrathful.

Einoë and Kallea spent their time sparring, and though they were nude in accordance to the Axichan custom, their dislike of me soured what would otherwise have been an alluring sight. Their bodies were sculpted, the war melting any remnant of fat from them. Their tattoos danced over their hard forms, and were they any other women, I would be lingering in fantasy. We were not getting along any better either. Our tempers were frayed, the frustration and humiliation of being kept from the war weighing heavily upon us.

One afternoon, the three of us were out in front of the house, me in the shade with a book upon my lap, the two of them engaged in their elaborate spear dance. The sun played off their nude bodies as they struck and parried, moving with incredible grace and power.

They paused, both breathing heavily, small breasts heaving, sweat beading on their sculpted forms. Every breath outlined the muscles of their belly. Kallea looked me up and down. "Do you fancy yourself skilled?"

"In what?"

"The art of combat."

I closed the book. Kallea was baiting me, but I had not the willpower to resist. "Xeiliope gave me some instruction in the staff. I've used it."

"You're an adventurer," Einoë said. A droplet of sweat ran down the contours of her muscles, over a turquoise tattoo, into the coppery folds of her sex. Both women kept the fleece between their legs short.

"Do you think adventuring gives you knowledge of war?" Kallea teased.

"I know that I can do more than I am doing up here," I said. "I know the two of you would be happy to see me risk my life."

"There is no risk," Einoë said.

"We are hetairoi," Kallea said. "We will die before any harm comes to you, no matter the dishonor of protecting an outsider."

"Come, adventurer. Take up your weapon. Show us what you know."

"Spire has slain more than one monster," I warned. This was true, but only barely. Spire kept me alive while my magic slew monsters.

"

Spire

," teased Kallea. "He's named it."

Einoë picked up my staff from where it leaned against the side of the house and tossed it to me. I caught it. Oddrin gave a hiss and I sent him to perch on the house, where he regarded both amazons balefully.

I stood, giving Spire a spin. I was about to take my stance when Einoë attacked. I parried her two thrusts, and I was about to muster an attack but she was blindingly fast. I gave ground, continuing to parry desperately. She landed a hit on my knuckles then another on my ribs. The first numbed my hand and freed Spire. The second sucked the air from me in a blindingly white point of agony.

"Pathethic," she said.

"I thought an adventurer would be better than that," Kallea said.

"Make me better," I challenged, cradling my hurt but refusing to show how badly I had been hit.

The two of them exchanged a look. "He wants it," Kallea said.

"So he does." Einoë looked to me. "Very well. Strip out of that silly robe."

I stripped down to my loincloth, throwing the robe next to my book.

Kallea giggled. "Is he ashamed?"

"They have a most ugly member," Einoë said, gesturing to her groin. "So I am told."

"Go on," I said, annoyed with this talk of my manhood. "Show me."

Einoë gave a feral grin. "Very well."

They began my rough tutelage. I regretted it instantly. They took turns, one resting and critiquing while the other brutally sparred with me. Neither one softened their blows, and by the end of the day I was covered in bruises. I inspected them that night, these stripes of red and purple. Every movement found a new way to hurt. I slept fitfully, wishing Velena would come and tend my injuries.

For the following week, we trained with a staff and a wooden sword. Both were convinced of the efficacy of pain as a teacher and perhaps they were right. I certainly learned to move faster. Still, each hit slowed me, and I could not sleep with the way they had hurt me. I longed to land a decisive hit on either one of them, but they were slippery as eels, cunning as the wind. I

hated

them.