The sitting room near the front door of the house was full of old, but beautiful furniture that was exceptionally uncomfortable, an amusing design choice that subtly hinted to guests that they shouldn’t linger, unless they were invited into another room. The cushions of the couches were a pale blue, while the wood of their frames was stained dark and the carpet was a darker shade that complimented the couches. The walls held portraits of other witches that had lived in the house, though there was a new one of the Blackwell sisters, which Amelia had never seen before and definitely hadn’t sat for.
Seated on one of the couches was a woman with black hair, brown eyes and the slightly darker skin tone that all marked her as a local. Atop her head was a short, pointed hat, which showcased the fact she was a witch. It was in a dark green shade, to match the day-to-day army uniform she wore, which included trousers. That was unusual, because most witches wore skirts, even if they were in the army, unless combat was likely. Her collar bore a pin in the shape of a lieutenant colonel’s insignia, though it also bore an additional, pointed hat symbol, a nod to her additional authority as a witch. Behind her were two men in the same uniform, though each of them had their hat under their arm, to show respect. One bore the insignia of lieutenant on his collar, while the other had a sergeant’s stripes on his shoulder. All three had swords on their belts. Beyond them, Amelia saw even more soldiers outside, roughly an entire platoon. Ominously, all of the men wore either chain or plate armor, though there were some unarmored women mixed in, who wore the pointed hats of witches.
Seated opposite the Colonel were Iris and Marta, who’d been woken for the meeting. Despite the fact they were hiding it rather well, Amelia could tell they were nervous. She sat between them.
“To what do we owe the pleasure of your company, as well as what looks like a platoon of the army’s finest?” She asked.
Their guest bowed her head to them, “I’m Lieutenant Colonel Scarth Denholm and it’s my duty to inform you that war has been declared between Dugaria and Skobia. According to law established by amendment 78-B of the constitution of Dugaria and upheld by the might of his majesty’s army, I hereby inform you that all witches in the land are now conscripted for compulsory military service, until the conclusion of the war.”
Amelia’s jaw dropped and she struggled for a moment with shock, but Iris was quicker, “We’ve lived with a vow of non-violence all our lives, a vow we intend to keep.”
Marta supported that statement, “She’s got that right.”
“We never agreed to be subject to that kind of law!” Amelia protested.
Colonel Denholm reached into her uniform jacket and produced a folded sheet of paper, smiling in an icy way as she spoke, “I thought you would say something of the like, so I took the liberty of obtaining a copy of the constitution for you to read.”
Amelia accepted and unfolded the paper. The text was rather small, but readable. Great pains had been taken to fit the original document and all of the current amendments on a single sheet. Amelia paid particular attention to amendment 78, which was in two parts. 78-A was a simple statement declaring all land owners citizens of the country, regardless of national origin, and therefore subject to all laws of Dugaria. 78-B spelled out the fact that the King had the authority to conscript any and all citizen witches into the army, whenever it was deemed necessary for the protection of Dugaria, with the duration of service at his discretion.
“So you see,” the Colonel spoke when Amelia looked up from the page with an expression of horror on her face, “You have no say in the matter. As land owners,” she put particular emphasis on the S, and Amelia regretted having put all of their names on the deed, “you are citizens of this country. As such, you will immediately report for assessment of your magical talents, that you may receive assignments and training for your duty stations.”
“And if we refuse?” Marta glared at the Colonel with barely-suppressed rage.
The military woman leaned forward and her hat produced a looming shadow over her face as her eyes glowed like those of a demon, a deep, red shade, like glowing blood, “Do not test me, ladies.” Her icy tone was heavy with the promise of dangerous icebergs that could sink a ship, “I am the very best war witch this country has ever produced. I would find it particularly easy to blow this entire house to splinters, followed by telekinetically dragging the three of you away.” Her eyes stopped glowing and she leaned back in the couch, “However, that would be tedious,” she glanced around herself, eyeing the fine furniture and the many paintings on the walls, “and an insult to the many witches that lived in this house before the three of you.
“Oh, and even if you think you might be able to overpower me with your combined magic, keep this little tidbit in mind: outside, the other six witches of my coven stand ready to support me and each of them is at least two-thirds as powerful as I am, all of them military trained for battle. No little hedge witch could possibly win such a fight, and three would fare no better.”
Amelia’s eyes narrowed with anger, “So we’re to be dogs of the military, whether we like it or not?”
The Colonel sighed, “Ladies, this isn’t much different from the men of this country, many of whom are having a similar conversation, right now, though that’s determined by random chance. To make up for the fact that all witches are being conscripted, the King is offering commensurate rewards. The pay is excellent and you’ll have whatever materials you desire for personal magical research. Just about anything can be within reach for a military witch. We have but to ask, especially since we’re going to war.”
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“But we have to be the King’s magical assassins, right?” Iris glared, her voice filling with contempt.
“If that’s where your talents lie.” Colonel Denholm stood and went on, “So, ladies, what will it be? Do you come quietly, or do we brawl?” Again, her eyes glowed and she smiled, revealing a wild expression that hinted the woman was secretly hoping for a fight.
Waves of murderous intent carried by magic charged the air and the men behind her took a couple steps back.
Marta stood and hung her head, “It would seem we have no choice.”
“What about our vow of non-violence?” Iris also stood, but remained slightly defiant.
Denholm shrugged, “Another casualty of war, I suppose, but you’ll serve, either way. Go quietly and you won’t have to wear chains.”
Not physical ones, anyway. Amelia complained within her own mind.
“I want it on record that this is under duress.” She demanded.
Colonel Denholm nodded and turned to the men behind her, “Remember that in your reports, please.”
Both of them nodded and saluted.
“Now, if you’ll follow me, ladies.” Denholm stepped from the room and the Blackwell sisters followed.
Fort Stand was a hub of heavy activity, with men and witches flowing to it from all over the city. The fort was a short distance from the city, with a high, stone wall and a lookout tower, a feature that was fairly common in Dugaria.
Amelia had always found the towers of the land odd, but she could see the utility of them. After all, the horizon was further away from a high vantage point, due to the curvature of the world.
First came measurement and fitting for uniforms, which were like that worn by regular soldiers, except they were brown for trainees. From there, witches were separated from the men and sent to another wing of the main building, which was cleaner and less cramped, because there were far fewer witches than male trainees.
Amelia was separated from her sisters, for the sake of magical testing, with each of them assigned a different room, so they could be tested on different types of spells.
Lieutenant Colonel Denholm had returned from Fort Stand with exceptional speed and Hobard was forced to conclude she’d flown herself via broomstick. The two of them stood in the mansion’s foyer.
“Status.” Denholm ordered.
Lieutenant Hobard Twoheart saluted and reported, “The Blackwell sisters have no idea they’re surrounded by military personnel.”
“Good. Where’s the airship? The King has ordered us to confiscate it, for study. He wishes to know how something so large can be made to fly.”
“Follow me and I’ll show you.”
Within minutes, they were in Amelia’s workshop. Each of the finished corners was cordoned off with curtains. Hobard pulled some of them aside and gestured within.
Denholm stepped through and gazed on Amelia’s airship, commenting, “It’s like a miniature fortress! Look how sturdy those support beams are.”
“Indeed.” Hobard nodded.
“This actually flew?” The Colonel asked.
“I saw it myself, ma'am.”
“Well, get the doors open and we’ll hitch the horses to it. It’s a good thing we brought two whole teams.”
Colonel Denholm didn’t know it, but Amelia had removed all of the steam engines to power the machines of her workshop, and discharged the hydrogen canisters, for the sake of safety, facts that were going to cause a great deal of wasted effort, for years to come.
The sisters were together again, but each of them had soaked their uniforms with sweat, from magical exertion. They stood together at one end of a line of nine witches that were in the same state of exhaustion, though the others looked less bewildered, probably because they all had the look of locals and had grown up with knowledge of Amendment 78-B.
Lieutenant Colonel Denholm stepped into the room with a clipboard in hand and made her way down the line, reading test results to them, followed by assignments for training.
She finally reached Marta and spoke, “Trainee Marta Blackwell, according to this, your talents lay in the areas of fire and earth magic. You’ll be trained to serve on the front lines, as an Artillery Witch.” Denholm looked on Marta’s resulting tears with disgust and commented, “In the future, I suggest you save your tears for private, because crying won’t be tolerated by your drill sergeants during basic training.” The Colonel stepped down the line, facing Iris, saying, “Trainee Iris Blackwell, the test indicate you’re most talented with long-range magic, with a particular emphasis on sensory and communication spells. I can’t be specific about the nature of your assignment in public, but rest assured, your talents will be of great value to the crown.”
Amelia noted with surprise the way the local witches reacted to that statement: their faces were full of envy. They either knew, or they suspected they knew, the implications of what Denholm hadn’t said, but regardless, they were jealous.
The Colonel stepped over to Amelia and looked her up and down, after reading, “Trainee Amelia Blackwell, those that tested you claim you have no particular talent for magic, in any field, having displayed a sad and pathetic lack of magical power with every sort of spell you were ordered to cast. I initially believed it wasn’t possible for a witch to be so weak and assumed you’d done poorly on purpose, but considering how badly you stink of sweat, I’m left with a most irregular situation.
“I’m forced to ask you: what talents besides magic do you possess?”
“I’m an engineer. I build machines.” Amelia met the taller witch’s icy glare with one of her own.
“What kind of machines?” Denholm’s eyes narrowed.
“All sorts, but I prefer to build vehicles. I built the airship my sisters and I arrived in.”
“You’re the one that made that thing fly?” Denholm spoke with surprise, having lost her composure for a moment, “We thought that was done with magic!”
Amelia shook her head, “No, it was science.”
Denholm was silent for a time, while everyone in the room stared at her with interest, curious to hear what she might say next.
She eventually decided aloud, “Trainee Amelia Blackwell, for the time being, you will receive the same physical training as any other War Witch, while I discuss your final assignment with my superiors.”
“Yes, ma'am.” Amelia nodded.
She hated the current situation, but a new plan was forming in her mind. Wars could last for years and with the way they were in the very heart of Dugaria, escape would be virtually impossible, but she saw one distant option. It would take years, but if what Denholm had said about witches being given rewards of their choice was true, then she knew exactly what she wanted: resources.
She knew she’d be watched, but that would be easy enough to overcome. After all, very few in Dugaria had much knowledge of science and so long as she dazzled everyone with technobabble, she hoped they would never figure out her true goal. In retrospect, she was extremely grateful to have kept her greatest secrets to herself. The first part of her plan would involve scrapping Blackbird II, but that was necessary to prevent it from potentially falling into government hands.
