The Jade Star of Athering

Bellica Agate

Bellica Agate

Jourd'Selene, 7th Novena

4020 of the Third Age

It was quiet along the perimeter, for all the city was officially at war. Scuttlebutt had it that the Southland invasion loomed, with subsequent occupation by a bandit army from the desert. Though orders from the Queen had not followed on the rumor, Bellica Agate had no doubt of its veracity.

Melena, the messenger from Southland, was an old friend of hers. After reporting to the Queen, she had privately confirmed the rumor to Agate. A breach in protocol, perhaps, but then, Southlanders had a fierce loyalty to one another.

Agate fretted again about the strength of the rebuilt South Gate – deathtree had been used, instead of the wrought iron of the other three gates to the city. Deathtree would hardly withstand an attack like the one that shook the city six months earlier.

Not that the original wrought-iron gate did, so my worrying is pointless. Still, it rankled. She was the one tasked with protecting the city. She didn't feel secure in that job with a gate made of wood, even the famously fireproof deathtree.

A small comfort: the bandit army was unlikely to have weaponry equal to the Vocan arsenal. But the bandits were a shrewd people. Agate had little doubt they could infiltrate the city.

And get what's coming to them, she thought viciously. Still, a bloody mess to deal with.

The watchwoman called out the hour. Agate frowned, her gaze never leaving the river that stretched southwesterly, still turbulent and muddied by the debris of the ruined gate. Her relief should have been here by now. The lieutenant is late again. I'll box that girl's ears if she doesn't curb her tardy habits.

Normally her regiment wouldn't be on watch duty at the perimeter, but since Melena's arrival and report the Queen had ordered more sentries and more city patrols, from the thirteenth, fourteenth, and fifteenth regiments. Agate hadn't seen the Queen herself in the past sevenday; the woman was still a-bed after the birth of her first child. Orders had come through Bellica Coalette and ex-Admiral Anala.

Anala's return to the city had been marked with much celebration on the part of the commonfolk. Agate didn't share their joy. She was wary of the newly-made Lady Exsil Vis – why trust the new leader of a nation that had been their enemy as recently as six months ago? Not to mention the decisive victory fought right here, in Atherton's streets, a battle that had won Voco and brought the island nation back into Athering's fold. Not to mention that Agate herself had led the charge of reinforcements and was, like Anala, a hero of the Glorious Revolution – as Yarrow's ascension to the Sceptre would go down in history. She bloody well didn't trust Anala and thought the Queen a fool to do so.

They're a sentimental bunch. I'd never stand for it.

With a small sigh, she turned and walked down the wall, pacing in impatience for the arrival of her relief. Her sharp eyes never left the south of the city, alert to any movement, any sign of an encroaching army. Of course, there was none – she had sentries posted several klicks down the road, beacons at the ready. She'd know any army was coming long before it arrived. The bellica had done her duty expertly, though she felt little better for it. Worry ate at her, clawing up her insides like some hungry beast that shook her with cold fear. Acid burned the back of her throat; she swallowed convulsively to banish it back to her stomach, to no avail.

They are coming repeated a phrase quietly, somewhere deep within, hidden under her heartbeat. Agate's military career had put her into far worse situations but she could not shake her feelings of unease this time. Something felt wrong.

The bellica shook her head, clearing the fog, forcing herself to stand still and stare off into space for a good minute. Now was not the time to succumb to lesser emotions.

She resumed pacing, trying to focus on something other than her worry. Anger floated past and Agate held tight to it to stoke the flames, to burn away her anxiety.

Where in Tyvian was the lieutenant?

~

It was a priva who notified her, a full half hour later, that Lieutenant Bethany was in hack for getting into a bar fight. Agate barely kept her face from contorting in rage as the man told her the news.

"Priva William, take Lt. Bethany's watch. You'll be paid overtime."

William stood at attention and saluted. "Ma'am."

With a curt nod, Agate left, her body tight with anger.

A bar fight. I swear she does these things on purpose.

Hack -- otherwise known as the "nice dungeons" at the castle -- was where drunk or rowdy citizens and soldiers were flung to cool their heels. Not as bad as the dungeons for actual traitors or criminals, but not exactly comfortable, either.

Bethany was no longer drunk, if she'd ever been. A hot-tempered girl like her didn't need to be intoxicated to beat the living Tyvian out of someone. She sat on the cot, elbows on her knees, and looked at her bellica miserably. A black eye was forming and blood still streamed from her nose and a cut on her eyebrow. Bruised and bloody knuckles matched her face and her torn shirt.

Agate’s anger dissipated at the pathetic sight of her lieutenant and she let out a frustrated sigh. "Dear Goddesses, Bethany. Are you testing me?"

Bethany shook her head before standing and coming to the bars of the cell. "You can keep me here all night, Ma'am. Better than what I deserve."

"Damn right it is," Agate said, her anger rising. "I should have you scrubbing latrines for a month after this. Late for watch because of a brawl – really! You know better."

Bethany's head dropped. She looked at the floor. Agate needed to say no more; the point had been made. She signalled the jail keeper to bring the keys forward and let the lieutenant out.

"You'll follow me, Lieutenant."

Bethany saluted, looking as smart as she could with a bruised visage and ripped clothing. She fell into step with her superior as they headed up through the castle, towards the hospitalis. When they arrived, Agate had the healers on duty patch up her lieutenant while she stood silently by. The entire hospitalis had been on alert for the past sevenday and the strain was starting to show in all but the Head Healer, who was still beaming over recently becoming a grandmother. Her daughter, Ghia, had gone into labor at the same time as the Queen, delivering an apparently healthy baby boy. Helene was positively glowing.

"Happiest day of my life," the healer remarked to Agate as the bellica stood waiting.

"Came rather soon, didn't it?" She spoke with a smile, but her feeling was serious. Ghia's pregnancy had been far too quick -- not that Agate made it her business to keep track of such things, but Ghia was nothing short of a celebrity in Atherton. Everyone noticed so much as a differently colored peplos on Ghia, let alone how short her pregnancy had been -- yet no one seemed to worry overmuch about her prematurely born child, not even the Head Healer. Helene’s report on Ghia and the child's health had satisfied most of the townsfolk in Atherton.

Helene smiled and patted Agate's arm. "Not everyone is so adamantly against children as you, dear." Agate refrained from telling the woman she'd missed the point and that the bellica's concern had nothing to do with her own desires regarding offspring, thank you very much. "Besides," Helene continued blithely, "Ghia must have children. Atton needs heirs."

Another tack to take; Agate leapt upon it. "That was a rather strange affair, you must admit. How did your daughter end up the next Lady Lihin?" The whole Revolution was strange, if Agate were to allow an honest thought. Best not to; might interfere with following orders.

"Strange affairs happen when one adopts a child left on her doorstop." Helene's smile was tight. Agate felt she'd overstepped her bounds but did not apologize. In the next moment, Bethany's wounds had been patched up and Helene was called away to tend to another patient. Agate signalled the younger woman to follow her.

"Are you ready to tell me what happened?" She and Bethany walked side by side. Agate was pleased to see the other woman's hang-dog attitude had disappeared.

"I was grabbing a drink with Shelley, Ma'am, and some drunk started to bother her. Shelley told the woman to leave her alone, but she didn't listen. I tried to deal with it civilly. She threw a punch. I kicked her arse."

Agate suppressed a smile at the quiet pride in Bethany's voice. There was no doubt the woman was a good fighter, with or without a weapon.

"Well. Ten demerits for disorderly conduct and being late for watch. For now, retire to your rack and get some sleep. William took over for you."

"Ma'am." Bethany saluted and left without complaint. Agate liked that about the woman. She was tardy, drunk and disorderly but never complained about her punishment -- and she was a damn good fighter. Agate appreciated that.

A clock in the hallway told her it neared twenty-four hundred hours. Late. She still had paperwork to do. Without falter in her stride, she changed direction to her quarters, intent on finishing her paperwork as fast as possible before sinking into bed.

~

Jourd'Bellona, 8th Novena

Early the next morning, while she broke her fast with her major, the summons came from the Queen.

Agate broke the wax seal and scanned the missive before setting it to the side and continuing her meal. She counted to ten. On cue, her major spoke.

"Regarding Southland?"

"But of course," she replied equably. They continued eating in silence. They continued until the food was done. Then it could be put off no longer. She brushed the lint off her jacket and smoothed her hair, held tightly back in its customary bun, and then she and Damien made their way to the Queen's study.

~

The vast room that had served as a banquet hall before the Glorious Revolution was nearly empty of people. Guards stood at the doorways. The klinae surrounding the table where the Queen and her advisors took their meals sat devoid of human occupancy and the table itself was swept bare and shined with a fresh coat of oil. Queen Yarrow sat at her desk, absorbed in paperwork, and her aunt Thadea stood behind her, hands always resting on the hilts of her wicked-looking blades. To the right of the Queen's desk, a crib stood, rocking slightly back and forth. Though Agate had never known Yarrow well while the woman served in the military, she could see the changes wrought upon the newly-made Queen: short, curly red hair that came down just past Yarrow's earlobes held streaks of gray in it and Yarrow's face was newly-lined, aging her prematurely. A scar stood out stark against the Queen's flesh, tracing her skin from forehead to jaw, narrowly missing an eye -- no doubt that was not the only scar to grace the still lithe body. Agate herself sported several such scars.

Queen Yarrow looked exhausted.

Athering's sovereign was working despite clearly needing more recovery time: Agate did not fail to notice the sickly pallor of the woman's skin, nor how she kept her right arm wrapped around her stomach as she leaned over her work. Stitches always hurt, no matter how much numbing salve was used.

"You're late," Yarrow said quietly as Agate and Damien approached.

Agate bowed. "Apologies, Your Majesty. Your missive came while we broke fast."

"Hmph." There was a long pause as Yarrow scratched her quill across the parchment before her, then salted the ink and dried it. She folded the letter, sealed it; then rang a bell. A servant came up noiselessly and took the letter from the Queen's outstretched hand.

Agate did not fidget during this time and finally Yarrow looked up to regard the bellica of the thirteenth regiment. The Queen's right arm cradled her stomach again as she leaned back in her chair. Agate stood still under her sovereign's steady gaze; there was a rustle of fabric as Damien beside her adjusted position, and Yarrow's eyes flicked to him momentarily; then back to Agate. The bellica resisted reprimanding her major, filing it away to do it later.

Here the two women's eyes met, and Agate saw mirth in Yarrow's – as if the Queen knew exactly what had gone through the bellica's mind in that moment. No doubt she does – she was a bellica herself, after all. A faint smile curved Yarrow's lips and she let out a breath of laughter before she spoke.

"I have a mission for you, Agate, that I cannot ask of any other bellica."

Agate raised her eyebrows but said nothing. She knew what was coming next.

The Queen gestured to the pile of papers at her desk. "I've gone through your file. You're from Southland originally, and it says you speak another language."

"I have not for many years, Your Majesty. I'm sure I've forgotten most of it." That was a blatant lie; Agate had practiced the gypsy language every day, in private, since moving away from her home town.

Yarrow's face said she saw the lie for what it was, but she did not call the bellica on it. "Hm. Well, be that as it may, I am needful of a diplomatic mission to Southland to negotiate matters with this 'Gypsy Queen,' as she's been called. I have no wish to use force, but I do not want some soft-skinned courtier to go. This is a delicate situation, Bellica Agate." The Queen rose, then, and paced to the crib beside the desk. She must have heard her daughter stir, for the child was awake and fussing now. Agate had missed the cue completely; somehow she had even put the infant from her mind.

As she nursed her daughter, Yarrow picked up where she had left off. "I need a bellica as level-headed as she is good in battle. I've heard nothing but good reports from Eorl Gray of your ten-year assignment to Harbourtown. Your knowledge of the language of the invading army makes you the obvious choice."

The Queen's eyes rose from her daughter's blissful little face to focus on Agate. Their gazes locked, green against blue. Agate's voice found itself and spoke before she was aware of its intentions. "I'm happy to help, Your Majesty." Damien beside her cleared his throat and made a noise in the affirmative; as always in accord with his bellica's wishes.

Yarrow's eyes flicked to him once more and then she nodded, decisively. "Take your officers. Cavalry only; if it comes to a fight I don't want a bloodbath. Retreat is the highest priority."

"Your Majesty, I strongly suggest –" Agate began to protest but the Queen cut her off.

"They no longer have the element of surprise, Bellica. If you fail in your mission, I want you back safely -- with your women."

Queen Yarrow's tone brooked no argument but Agate spoke up anyway. "If I fail, will Your Majesty leave Southland to its fate?"

"Of course not." Yarrow did not raise her voice but her intensity silenced Agate. "I was a bellica for years before being Queen, Agate. I have a contingency plan."

Agate saluted, knowing there was nothing more she could say. "As you wish, Your Majesty." She turned to leave the room.

She had almost reached the door when the Queen called after her. She turned and waited politely. "Your knowledge of the language is an asset for Athering. Make sure it stays that way." Bellica Agate inclined her head ever so slowly, until Yarrow looked satisfied. "Dismissed," the tall woman said, as an afterthought.

Agate left, fuming that her skills and loyalty would be called into question.