The Eclipse of the Zon - First Tremors (The New Eartha Chronicles Book 2)

by R. M. Burgess

  “Oh, Greghar!” she cried. “I have missed you so! It was so difficult to keep my distance on the ship, with you in the very next cabin. And then you went off to fight those horrible pirates and left me with my heart in my mouth! The men said you are a great warrior, a true leader of men. I have literally been pacing the battlements of Tirut Castle for days, waiting for my warrior love. You cannot believe how many excuses I have had to make to my husband to explain my behavior.”

  “It is very kind of you, chevalina,” said Greghar, as she led him to the wide bed. “But I must tell you that—”

  She put a finger on his lips.

  “I must return to Tirut Castle within the hour or my husband will grow suspicious,” she said. “So let us make the most of our short time together. And after we make love, I have the most precious secret to share with you!”

  With that, she led him to the bed. As she snuggled in his arms, her intense femininity began to melt his reluctance.

  “Chevalina,” he began again. “My ward, Nitya—”

  “Oh, don’t speak to me of that pious faux virgin!” Kitara exclaimed, silencing him with a kiss so aggressive that he would have had to use violence to avoid returning it. “There! Tell me if she can kiss like that.”

  Before he could answer they heard a commotion from outside, beneath the window. Greghar used it as an excuse to get up from the bed. He went over to the window and looked out. With a muttered curse, Kitara got up and came to his elbow.

  “It is nothing, love,” she said putting an arm around him. “Just another thieving beggar girl. They are as thick as flies in Tirut, especially on market days. Come back to bed.”

  She tried to pull Greghar back inside, but he resisted.

  “Just a minute,” he said. “I want to see how this turns out.”

  As minutes passed, his eyes grew narrower. Finally, he said, “I’m going downstairs for a short while. I will be right back.”

  “But Greghar—” Kitara began. She stopped as the door shut behind him.

  Greghar took the stairs three at a time and was out in the small square in a moment. He strode up to the outer wall of the Three Feathers and caught the man beside Asgara by the scruff of the neck. He pulled him off her and hit him hard in the face, knocking him to the ground. He picked up the bottle the man had been trying to put to Asgara’s lips and sniffed it before smashing it against the wall. Then he drew Karya and put the point of the sword at the man’s crotch.

  “I should castrate you,” he said through his teeth.

  “You misunderstand me sir,” the man gibbered, blood running from his broken nose. “I run a charity for young beggar girls—”

  “So that is how you prey on children, is it?”

  He crawled away from Greghar, and as soon as he got out of range of the sword, he rose and scuttled away as fast as his legs could carry him. Only when he had disappeared from view did Greghar look down at Asgara. He picked her up in his arms and seated her in the outdoor patio of the inn. He called for a server and when the man came, he ordered a meal for Asgara. She kept her eyes down but stole looks at him. He sat in silence, a decorous distance away from her.

  “Will you not eat?” she asked him when a single plate of food arrived.

  “I have eaten already,” he said. “So I must excuse myself. But please do not tarry on my account.”

  In spite of her hunger, she ate slowly and carefully, engaging him in conversation in her stilted Brigish. Her precocity was quickly apparent, as she drew him to speak and politely pursued the topics that he raised. However, when she asked him about himself, he responded briefly, providing little specific information. He was surprised by how close and protective he felt toward this child, recalling his first meeting with Caitlin and Nitya.

  When she was done eating, she felt much better. Even her injuries seemed to throb less intensely. She looked at him gratefully.

  “I do not have a father, sir,” she said. “But if I had one, I would wish for him to be like you.”

  “So she’s a bastard as well as a thief, sir,” the fruit vendor called over from his stall. “Have a care for your wallet!”

  Greghar slowly got up and walked over to the fruit vendor. He saw the expression in Greghar’s eyes and quailed. He wanted to run, but he could not abandon his stall.

  “Now, now, sir, it was all in jest—”

  “Men like you make me ashamed,” said Greghar, speaking in a low tone. The fruit vendor cowered before Greghar’s massive form, expecting a blow or worse. But Greghar’s look indicated his contempt more clearly than any cuff. He returned to Asgara, took her hand and entered the inn.

  As they stepped into the parlor, Kitara came down the stairs, her scarf again modestly covering her bosom and her head. She saw Greghar holding Asgara’s hand and clicked her tongue in annoyance.

  “Please, Greghar,” she said. “This is the best inn in Tirut. As my guest, the landlord will accept anything you do, but it is not fair to bring beggars and thieves into his establishment.”

  “If it is a problem, I am happy to find other accommodation,” returned Greghar. “This girl has been abused and needs care. I will not have her thrown into the street again.”

  Kitara came across the parlor and slipped her arm around Greghar again. She stood on tiptoe, but even so Greghar had to bend his head so she could kiss his cheek.

  “Oh, Greghar, your kindness does you credit. It makes my heart grow even fonder. But—”

  Just then, there was the sound of boots in the vestibule. Kitara disengaged herself from Greghar and ascended two steps on the staircase, rearranging her scarf. The landlord entered, wiping his hands on his apron, followed by Yandharan and Rator. All three of them stopped short when they saw Kitara, swept off their hats, and bowed deeply.

  “Greetings, Chevalina Kitara,” said the landlord. “I hope that you are happy with the way we are looking after your guests?”

  Kitara smiled at him in response. He looked pleased but nervous, twisting his apron in his hands.

  “What brings you here, Collector Yandharan?” she asked, glancing in the staircase mirror to make sure that her scarf was perfectly adjusted and her gown fell just right.

  “I have been talking to landlord Biarus here, my lady,” he replied. “For I have some guests of my own that I hoped to put up at the Three Feathers. He tells me that there are some rooms on the lower level that are still available.”

  “Of course,” said Kitara, taking the two steps down the staircase to allow the slit in her gown to widen and give them a glimpse of one eye-catching leg. She batted her eyelashes and spoke breathily. “You are my husband’s most senior liegeman and your wife is connected to him by blood. Your guests are our guests.”

  She paused for effect.

  “Indeed, I hear whispers that you are the majority owner of the Three Feathers. So I have you to thank for my guests’ comfort.”

  “I would take it as a big favor if your ladyship would not circulate this information,” said Yandharan.

  Kitara nodded her head in assent.

  “And I will ask a favor in return,” she said, and then inclined her head toward Greghar. “But first allow me to introduce one of my noble guests, Lord Greghar, nephew of King Lothar of Utrea.”

  Again all three men bowed deeply. Asgara looked up at Greghar and tightened her grip on his hand.

  “I bid you welcome to the Southern Marches, Lord Greghar,” said Yandharan gravely.

  “Lord Greghar has a soft heart,” Kitara said, her expressive eyes moving from Greghar to Yandharan. “He has taken pity on this beggar girl from the market. I would be most grateful if you could find a suitable place for her. As you know, in the streets such girls get to thieving and worse. I will be happy to cover any expenses involved.”

  Yandharan polished his bronze badge with his sleeve and scrutinized Asgara carefully. Holding Greghar’s hand, she felt safe. With revived self-assurance, she met his gaze with her habitual confidence and poise. She smoothed
her shift, attempting to minimize the appearance of the rips. She fluttered her hands as she did so, a mannerism that was so like Caitlin’s that Yandharan started. She is dirty and bloody, he thought, but this is no beggar girl. Zaibene will not take kindly to her.

  Rator now spoke up.

  “I stay with a widow when I am in Tirut,” he said. “She keeps a respectable house and has children of her own. She will be glad to take the girl in if her expenses are covered.”

  “Who is this widow?” asked Yandharan.

  “Lidill Ikren is her name, Collector. Her husband was an honorable soldier, but he was slain in the Zon Wars. So she is forced to take lodgers.”

  “Ikren,” said Yandharan thoughtfully. “I had a deputy by that name, a very honest and brave fellow. He left to take service as a Hilson slayer in the Northern Marches.”

  He turned to Greghar.

  “Lord Greghar,” he said, with a slight bow. “I can personally vouch for this family. The Ikrens are not rich, but they are respectable. The girl will be safe there and well cared for.”

  I can stay with these people for a few days and recover my strength, thought Asgara. Then I can stowaway in another airboat bound for the Daksin Residency.

  “Very well,” said Greghar, reluctantly releasing Asgara’s hand. Rator came up and took her. The two men looked at each other steadily for a moment, each expecting the other to speak.

  “Lord Greghar, it is a pleasure to meet a fellow northerner,” said Rator eventually. “As you doubtless gathered from my accent, I am from the colder climes. We are both far from home.”

  “Indeed we are,” replied Greghar, but his attention was centered on Asgara.

  Rator and Asgara walked out of the parlor. At the door, she turned around and waved to Greghar with a mature and sophisticated poise that was at odds with her childlike looks and unkempt state. Greghar waved back and felt a stab of sadness as she disappeared through the doorway.

  “Why, Greghar, you charm all the ladies, no matter what their ages!” exclaimed Kitara.

  Now Biarus the landlord bowed and said, “Chevalina, I pray you will excuse me. I must go and make sure that the rooms on the lower level are prepared for Collector Yandharan’s guests.” She nodded without looking at him and he left, bowing obsequiously.

  “My lady, I should go with Biarus,” said Yandharan. “I know the tastes and dispositions of my guests. I thank you for allowing them to share the inn with your distinguished visitors.”

  “I laud your concern for your guests, Collector,” Kitara said. “I hope that we will soon see you and the lovely Zaibene at Tirut Castle.”

  He bowed and withdrew.

  As soon as they were alone in the parlor, Kitara put her arms around Greghar and kissed him. His mind was elsewhere, but he took the path of least resistance, held her and kissed her back.

  “My love, in just a little while, I must fly back to the castle,” she breathed. “Come, let us spend these few precious moments in the privacy of your room.”

  THE BATWING DOORS to the parlor swung open, and Caitlin walked in, led by one of Yandharan’s maids. Seeing Greghar and Kitara entwined, she stopped short. The maid bobbed a curtsey and scuttled out.

  Greghar quickly disengaged himself from Kitara. He stood apart from her, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, unable to directly meet the shocked look in Caitlin’s eyes. Kitara glanced from Greghar to Caitlin and immediately discerned a rival. Caitlin was unschooled in the complex intricacies of male-female relationships, but she nonetheless had feminine instincts and sensed the poison in the sweet look that Kitara gave her.

  After a few moments of awkward silence, Caitlin gained control of herself and said, “Greghar, will you not introduce me to your beautiful friend?”

  Greghar had eyes only for Caitlin, but he replied, “This is Chevalina Kitara va Alsor of Tirut.”

  Looking at the reality of Caitlin standing there, their years apart seemed to melt away. In that instant he realized consciously what he had thus far refused to admit even to himself—that refusing her when she had offered herself to him was the biggest mistake of his life. He now knew that he would do anything, give up anything, be anything, if only she would have him. He felt the old tightness in his chest, for he was afraid that what she had seen would cause him to lose her again, this time forever.

  “Why, Greghar, now I am truly speechless,” said Kitara. “It seems you know this warriorlike creature! Who is she?”

  “I am Cat Avedus,” said Caitlin before Greghar could respond. “My parents’ ranch is in the far west of the Southern Marches.”

  “You are no rancher,” said Kitara, wagging a finger. “I have seen you before. It was some years ago, when I was a lady-in-waiting to Her Highness, Queen Esme of Briga. You are the Zon officer who made a scene in one of the Royal Audiences. They say that you fought a gladiator in the fighting pits as the champion of a Yengar witch.”

  “You are mistaken, chevalina,” came a voice from the top of the stairs. All of their heads snapped up to see Nitya. She began walking slowly down the stairs, leaning heavily on the bannister. Greghar ran up and met her halfway. She leaned on him gratefully as she made her way down.

  “Why, it is the virtuous little lady-in-waiting from Utrea,” said Kitara. “Who looks nothing like any Utrean I have ever seen—”

  Nitya made a movement with her right hand, so small and unobtrusive that neither Greghar nor Caitlin noticed it. Kitara stopped speaking in midsentence and smiled blandly, first at Greghar and then at Caitlin.

  “It has been a very agreeable afternoon, Greghar,” she said. “I am pleased to see you and your ward so well settled in the inn.” She turned to Caitlin. “Cat Avedus, I am happy to make your acquaintance. I hope that you enjoy your stay in Tirut. Now I must return to my husband in Tirut Castle. Good day.”

  She made her way out of the parlor, rearranging her scarf as she went.

  “Caitlin—” began Greghar.

  “That was quite a transformation,” said Caitlin, cutting him off. “One moment she was draped around you like a python, the next she wished you good-day like she was your maiden aunt.”

  Before he could respond, Yandharan returned.

  “Ah, it is good that you are here, Cat,” he said, rubbing his hands. “I see you have met the Chevalina’s high-born guests. I have set up your rooms on the lower level and they are quite fair, if I say so myself. I think you will be very comfortable here.”

  “Mantan, I actually know Greghar,” said Caitlin. “We spent some time together in my past life.” She emphasized the word past. “Collector Mantan Yandharan is a good friend,” she continued, addressing Greghar. She put a hand on Yandharan’s forearm and held it in a familiar grip. “A very good friend.”

  Greghar’s fists involuntarily clenched.

  “We live in dangerous times,” he said. “Good friends are precious.”

  Yandharan was surprised by Caitlin’s sudden show of flirtatiousness and looked from her to Greghar suspiciously.

  “Cat and I are indeed good friends,” he said, allowing her to retain her hold on his forearm. “I consider myself fortunate that she feels close to me. I have known her these past several years and have recently introduced her to my wife and family.”

  “You are married, then?” A note of relief crept into Greghar’s voice.

  “Yes, but he has proposed marriage to me, asking me to be his second wife,” said Caitlin impulsively. “I am very flattered by this offer, since Mantan is well known as one of the most honorable men in the Southern Marches.”

  “Well, Collector, you could not have chosen better,” said Greghar. His distress made his northern accent stronger. “They broke the mold when they made Cat. If she will have you, you are the most fortunate man in the world.”

  “Thank you for the endorsement, Lord Greghar, but you are telling me nothing that I do not already know.”

  He paused and turned to Caitlin.

  “Now that I have settled your
accommodation, I must return and see to my wife and children. I will send Binne and Dhanraj over with one of our maids.”

  Yandharan doffed his hat and bowed before turning to leave.

  “Wait!” said Caitlin. “I will come with you. I can bring Binne and Dhanraj back in due course; there is no hurry. You need not tax one of your maids.”

  Yandharan smiled at her as she linked her arm in his and walked out with him.

  NESTAR STOOD ON the quarterdeck of the Black Sprite as his helmsman guided the black-sailed carrack toward Hadoy’s Inlet, just north of the port of Battara in Daksin. It had taken them almost two weeks of hard sailing from Tirut to get to this peaceful inlet.

  Just south of Tirut were the Giants’ Teeth, a line of rocks, reefs, and stony islands that extended hundreds of kilometers out into the Peril Sea. The narrow Strait of Gold was the only safe passage through the Giants’ Teeth. This was dominated by the Baron of Tirut’s forbidding fortress at Gold Port. Both the strait and the port were named for the tolls extracted from all passing merchant vessels, levies that made the Barony of Tirut the richest fief in the One Land.

  Nestar had submitted to inspection at sea by one of the baron’s toll ships. Without any trade goods aboard to value the inspection was quick, but even so the assessed toll was substantial. Nestar had paid it without complaint and they lost very little time in the process.

  They glided into Hadoy’s Inlet and hove to. As soon as the ship was at anchor, they launched a jollyboat. Nestar sat in the stern sheets as a squad of Skull Watchmen rowed them to the beach.

  “I am sure we are in the right place,” grumbled Nestar. “But I wish King Shobar’s guidance was a bit more detailed. He asked me to look for a tower, yet directed me to this remote inlet.”

  The men ran the jollyboat on to the sand of the cove and handed their leader over the prow so he did not get his boots wet. The beach sloped upward and the top of the rise was covered with swaying palm trees. Leaving one man by the jollyboat, Nestar led the rest of them to the palms. Beyond the palms, the vegetation consisted of low brush, bushes and scattered clumps of trees. The coastal plain was quite narrow here, and the foothills of the Mussadec Range rose just over a kilometer from the shore. All of their eyes were drawn to the same thing. On the peak of the nearest hill was a soaring stone formation that looked so like a tower that it was hard to believe it was natural.