Tassin glared at him. "I will do as I please, and now you cannot force me. I will choose a husband in good time, but I will not have him foisted upon me."
Torrian dug in his belt pouch and drew out a yellowed parchment scroll. "Let me refresh your memory." Ignoring the Queen's impatient snort, he unrolled the scroll. "So that there may be peace ever more in the kingdoms of Arlin, Prane, Mandor, Olgara and Pradish, this is the law:
"The eldest legitimate issue of each ruling king shall inherit his kingdom. If the eldest issue is female, she shall be required to marry a nobleman. Any unrelated and unwed king or prince may bid for her hand, either by courtship, capture, or single combat of champions.”
Tassin's nostrils flared. "I am aware of the law. As yet you have failed to capture me, and, as long as those weapons are upon my battlements, you cannot. There is nothing in the law that states that I may not use whatever means available to defend myself."
Torrian rolled up the parchment. "Then, since you cannot be captured, I challenge you to a testing of champions, to the death."
"No! I will have no more bloodshed! You are beaten. I refuse the challenge."
"You cannot refuse. It is the law. If you do not select a champion, the high court will declare you my prize, and your own men will bring you to me. No one flouts the law."
Sabre's heart twisted at the despair in her eyes as she scanned the ranks of nobles in search of him. Just when he thought he had solved all her problems by making her castle impregnable, Torrian came up with a new angle. He cursed and stepped out of the shadows. Tassin beckoned to a herald, murmuring to him. The boy hurried down the broad aisle to the door where Sabre stood and bowed to him.
"The Queen requests your presence."
Sabre approached the throne, aware that all eyes were upon him. Torrian stared at the brow band when Sabre stopped beside him. The King towered over him, and looked like he enjoyed that fact.
"I thought you were dead."
Sabre forced a tight, cold smile. "Had you known I was alive, you wouldn't be doing this, would you? Who do think armed the castle?"
Torrian nodded. "I should have guessed, but I would still be doing this. You see, I have found a fighter who can beat you, to be certain of my victory."
"Indeed? Not yourself, of course."
Torrian flushed an ugly red. "By law, I must appoint a champion."
"Good for you."
"Sabre." Tassin's soft call made him turn.
"Your Majesty."
The Queen looked uncertain and sorrowful. "I do not have the right to ask another favour after all you have done. Yet it seems I must. If you choose not to fight I will understand. But in all my kingdom, and I think all the world and even the heavens above, there is no better warrior than you. If you defeat his champion I shall be safe, for my castle is now too well defended for him to return and steal me from my bed. I ask you... to be my champion."
Torrian glowered at Tassin, and the uncertainty in her eyes made him wonder if she was really silly enough to imagine he would say no. After all he had already done for her, she surely could not think he would abandon her now. He approached the throne and sank to one knee, taking the hand she held out.
"I'll gladly lay down my life for you, Tassin, worthless as it is."
A collective indrawn breath rustled around the room at his use of her name. Her grip tightened, forbidding him to rise, and he met her gaze.
"Thank you," she whispered.
Two tears escaped down her cheeks, and he lowered his eyes. "I live only to serve you, My Queen."
The tinge of bitterness in his tone evidently did not escape her, even though he had tried to hide it, for she leant forward. "No. You are free to choose."
He nodded. "I have chosen."
Tassin released his hand, and he rose and swung away to stride out under the courtiers' stares and Torrian's murderous glare. He marched along the echoing corridors to his suite, where servants awaited him with another suit of foppish finery. Sabre eyed the silken tights and brocaded, pearl-studded jacket with a frown.
"You have got to be kidding. Bring me my old clothes."
The two men looked aghast until he repeated the order, then one hurried out while the other primly folded the vainglorious garments. The servant returned a few minutes later, holding Sabre's ragged trousers and harness as if they gave off an offensive smell. Although clean and pressed, the trousers were well worn, roughly darned in places, and generally disreputable. He did not care; he needed the stretch fabric for a fight. The velvet trousers he wore would split at the first kick, and the silken tights were even worse. The servants tried to help him disrobe, and he ordered them out when he found four hands too many fumbling at his jacket's tiny buttons.
As he donned his standard issue cyber clothes, painful memories rushed back. He recalled stepping out of the casket racked with agony, his unfocussed eyes brushing the countenance of the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. At the time, he had thought he would never be able to speak to her, or even see her clearly. Soon, he would be returned to that half-life. In all likelihood, he would not need the stretch properties of his old combat clothes, since he was pitted against just one man. It was only a precaution.
Sabre walked to the courtyard, more comfortable in his old clothes despite the memories that came with them. Nobles and courtiers crammed the edges of the yard and soldiers lined the battlements. Servants pushed and shoved for a better view in doorways and windows. Tassin sat in an upholstered chair next to the wall, well out of harm's way. Torrian waited nearby, looking disgruntled. Dena clutched the back of Tassin's chair, her eyes wide and fearful. Sabre winked at her, wishing she did not have to watch him kill a man. All eyes followed him to the centre of the courtyard, where a rough circle had been chalked on the stone.
Torrian gestured, and a man entered the arena from the direction of the gate. Sabre eyed the short, wiry newcomer, who walked with a confident swagger. His slanted eyes and straight black hair told Sabre that he was descended from Oriental stock. Torrian probably thought he could beat Sabre because he had impressed the King with a demonstration of martial arts. Sabre wanted to laugh. Had either of them known what a cyber was capable of, they would never have considered challenging him. It was a joke. The Oriental had no hope against a cyber but, unfortunately for him, he did not know it. From the confident way Torrian had spoken, anyone would have thought he had found another cyber. Then again, only Tassin knew the truth about what Sabre was.
He turned to the King. "I can kill this man in a few seconds with both hands and one leg tied behind my back. Withdraw your challenge and let him live."
Torrian sneered, "Trying to chicken out?"
"Trying to save his life. At least let it be until one wins, not to the death."
Torrian spat. "To the death. He is a match for you."
"No, he isn't. If I knock him unconscious, the fight's over."
"If you manage to do that, he will be revived, and you will fight until one of you is dead. But I assure you, it is you who will die today."
Sabre glared at him. "I wish it was you who challenged me. I think I'd enjoy killing you."
Torrian snorted and turned to Tassin. "Choose the weapons, Queen Tassin, as is your right."
She said, "I choose unarmed combat."
Torrian's champion looked a little disappointed, but shrugged and swaggered into the circle. He bowed to Sabre, who returned it. As he straightened, Sabre said, "Withdraw now and live."
The Oriental smiled. "You don't scare me."
Sabre sighed. If only he knew how scared he should be. It was no holds barred this time, against one opponent. He decided to end it as quickly and painlessly as possible.
Torrian boomed, "Let the fight begin!"
The Oriental dropped into a crouch, on the balls of his feet, arms out, hands tense. His fighting style was out-dated, effective in its time, but old. Sabre waited, arms at his sides, for his opponent to make the first move. The Oriental did so confiden
tly, leaping forward to aim a straight-armed jab at Sabre's throat. He swayed out of the way, not bothering to retaliate. The Oriental smiled, then spun and leapt high, lashing out with a foot. Sabre avoided it easily, his reflexes honed by years of painful training.
Torrian's champion grinned, brimming with confidence, and made the fatal mistake Sabre had been waiting for. He stepped closer, looking for the best target to land his killing blow, since Sabre had made no effort to defend himself. Sabre waited until he was about to strike, his arm drawn back, his head within range. The cyber's fist shot out and struck the man on the side of his head with a dull crunch. The Oriental's lifeless body flew two metres and sprawled on the stones, blood seeping from his shattered skull where Sabre's fist had torn the skin.
The spectators gaped at the corpse, and some turned away, clearly sickened. Sabre rubbed a little blood and hair off his knuckles and walked over to glare at the King with deep loathing.
"I hope you've exhausted all your options now, because if you bother Queen Tassin again, I'll kill you. Also, you can tell Grisson and Bardok not to bother challenging, because any who do will face me. I offered to save his life, but you don't care about that. Lives are cheap to you. If you're planning to challenge again, you can search the length and breadth of this world, but you won't find a man who can beat me."
Sabre wanted more than anything to rid the world of this monster. Torrian stood his ground, grim-faced. A touch on Sabre's arm made him look around to find Tassin at his side, her eyes on Torrian, filled with contempt.
"You have lost, Torrian. By law, you must withdraw your suit, and you have no more business in my castle, or on my land. From this day forth you are not welcome here and, should you set foot in Arlin again, you will be evicted with maximum force. Having been so warned you have no recourse for complaint should this come to pass. Now get out."
Torrian's eyes glittered. "Since you reject the suit of all the kings of this land, you will marry no one. Victor will never wed you; I shall see to it. You will die a lonely woman with no children to carry on your line, and your father's blood will die with you. You will rue this day for the rest of your life."
Torrian spun on his heel and headed for the gate, where his soldiers waited with horses. Sabre watched until they had clattered over the drawbridge before turning to Tassin.
"Can he do that?"
She nodded. "Oh yes, he can, and he will. But I do not care. I know what I will do. It will be a simple matter to make you a nobleman and give you lands, then -"
"No."
"But -"
"I'm leaving."
She grabbed his hand. "No! You must stay! I can stop Manutim."
He looked away, unable to meet her pleading eyes. "You can't. I wish you could. I don't want you to see me taken. Spare me that, please. I'm not..." He hesitated, frowning. "I'm a freak; a weapon; a cyborg. You saw what I just did. That's all I'm good for. It's all I know, and I hate it. I hate myself. Don't you understand? Forget me."
"No, you are not! I will not let you go." Her voice was low and fierce. "I will throw you in the dungeon if I must."
He smiled. "You have your kingdom back, and your castle's safe from attack. You don't need me anymore." He disengaged her hands, holding her wrists. "Let me go."
"No! Please, not yet, not now! Just stay a little longer."
He bowed his head. "All right. Just to celebrate your victory."
"Thank you."
Sabre swung away as Tassin heaved a great sigh, her face radiant with joy, even if it was only a temporary reprieve.
The feast that night was a grand affair. Tassin insisted that Sabre sit on her left, ousting Niam. The black suit Sabre wore had silver trim around the collar and cuffs, and was a little too tight for his liking. He found the ceremony boring, the toasts tedious, and the jesters dull. The food was good, however. Since he sat next to the Queen, he could not sneak out when he had eaten his fill. After the meal, a group of minstrels struck up a gay tune, and guests twirled and minced around the great hall. Sabre ignored pointed looks from Tassin until she sighed and rose to her feet.
"Since you will not ask me, I insist that you dance with me."
He shook his head. "I don't know how."
"Then I shall teach you."
"Tassin..."
The Queen tugged him to his feet and led him onto the dance floor, laughing at his feeble attempts to fight her off, her eyes bright. She had polished off a few glasses of wine, and her mood was merry. Sabre was stone cold sober as usual, something he regretted when they took to the floor. Tassin stepped close and guided one of his hands to the small of her back, raising his other arm so she could rest her hand on his. The other dancers gave way, and soon they were alone.
He bent and murmured in her ear, "Don't blame me if I step on your toes."
She grinned. "I will not."
Despite his assertions, he followed her steps easily. Even when he made a mistake, his excellent balance enabled him to correct it without anyone noticing.
Tassin's steps faltered several times, her knees rubbery in his proximity, but his steely strength supported her. As they glided around the dance floor, she contemplated her heartfelt wish to have him at her side always, as her husband. The impossibility of her dream did not penetrate the haze of wine and music, and for the moment she was happy. The dance ended far too soon, and when the music stopped he bowed and led her from the floor, foiling her wish to continue.
For the next two days, Tassin dogged his steps. She found him in the rose garden, the morning room and even the barracks. The pile of papers that required her signature grew, but she spent only an hour each day attending to affairs of state. When her people heard of her return, supplicants arrived in droves to put their cases before her, and messages and written requests flooded in. She let them wait, waving her advisors away when they approached her. She spent all her time with Sabre, ate every meal with him, strolled with him in the gardens, rode in the woods and played the lute for him in the sun room.
Sabre made several attempts to escape to the solitude of the forest, but by the time his horse was saddled Tassin appeared in her riding clothes to accompany him. He sank deeper into an emotional morass, unwilling to extricate himself, yet knowing he must. The more time he spent with her, the more he wanted to stay with her, and it made leaving that little bit more difficult each time. Every day, he promised himself that he would leave that night, but the longing to see her again made him stay, just for one more day...
On the third day, he gave her the slip and found solitude in the rose garden. The winter chill was setting in, but a high stone wall and barrier of tall trees protected the garden from cold winds. Pale sunlight warmed the sheltered garden, whose pruned plants and sculpted hedges encompassed an isolated world of lawn and brick pathways.
Sabre sat on a marble bench, watching the sparkling fall of the fountain, when Tassin found him. She bore down on him with a determined, if somewhat timid air. He groaned inwardly even as his heart warmed at the sight of her. Being in her company was sweet torture, and he was not sure how much more of it he could stand. She looked lovely in a silk dress of buttercup yellow, her shining hair arranged in coils and curls around her face. She settled beside him, arranging her skirts.
"So, I found you."
"Yeah, you did, didn't you?" He smiled wryly.
"I always do."
"Yup." He gazed across the garden, trying to ignore her intent stare.
"Sabre..."
"Hmmm?"
She turned to him, her face a study of determination. "I know you will never broach this subject, so I suppose I shall have to."
He closed his eyes. "No. Don't."
"I..." She hesitated, blinking. "I must. My happiness depends upon it."
He bowed his head, shaking it. "Don't. Please."
"I want us to be married." The words came out in a rush, and she gasped as if she could not believe she had spoken them.
Sabre jumped up and swung away, his
hands clenched. His heart seemed to have become far heavier than it had ever been before, and a strange ache filled it. While similar to the way it ached whenever he was in her company, this time it hurt in a far more profound manner. He did not think anything could ease it, except if he could stay with her in Arlin. That was impossible, however, not only because of his owner. The venomous voice in his mind bellowed its vitriol and mockery. Cyborg! Killing machine! His throat closed and his eyes stung. He turned away, unable to meet her hopeful gaze.
"No."
Tassin rose and walked around him to gaze at his averted face. "I do not believe Manutim is coming back. It has been almost a year."
He flinched at the hope and entreaty in her eyes. "He will."
"Then we will fight him. We have lasers now."
"No."
Her tears overflowed. "Please. I beg you. Do not leave me. I could not bear it..." Her voice grew strangled, and she stifled a sob, her breath catching.
Sabre shook his head. "Don't do this to me. You have got to accept this. I wish..." He stared across the garden. "I wish... I could. But it's impossible."
"No! We have already done so much. We can do this too!"
A wave of anger washed over him. "God, we've been through this a hundred times already! It's not going to happen!" He gripped her arms and pulled her closer. "Stop being a little idiot! Stop torturing me with these stupid, hopeless dreams! Get it through your head! I'm not going to tell you again. I'm not human! I'm a cyborg! A killing machine! I belong to the man who loaned me to you." He thrust her away and strode off, ignoring her despairing calls.
Tassin raised a hand to her mouth, her heart a lump of pain. She had hoped her proposal would bring him joy and tell him of her feelings, which she could not yet speak about, for she longed for him to admit his love for her first. She knew now that she loved him with all her heart, and the thought of losing him brought exquisite pain. His rejection cut her to the core, wounding the fragile, budding feelings she bore for him.
The Cyber Chronicles 03: The Core Page 23
