The Cyber Chronicles 07: Sabre

by T C Southwell

  Tarl looked up. "Oh, thanks."

  "Wouldn't you like to be an Overlord?"

  "Not particularly."

  Tassin smiled. "He's joking."

  "I know."

  "No I wasn't," Sabre said.

  She sighed. "In a few years’ time, girls are going to swoon over him."

  "What girls? He lives in a damned city ship with servants who won't even talk to him. Did you know that there are between one hundred and fifty-four and one hundred and fifty-six thousand people on that ship?"

  "So many? How do you know?"

  "I told the cyber to count them, but I had to walk around a bit. That ship is one hundred and forty kilometres long, fifty-three point eight kilometres high and ninety-eight kilometres wide."

  Tarl frowned. "And it came up with such an inexact figure?"

  "No, it came up with one hundred and fifty-five thousand, four hundred and fifty-two, but since many of them were moving around, and there are a few areas that are impervious to my scanners, it couldn't be exactly right. There are also seven thousand, two hundred and eighty-one children and four hundred and forty-seven pregnant women."

  "An entire space-faring race dedicated to serving the Overlords," Tarl mused.

  "With complete, unshakeable loyalty."

  "Pretty amazing."

  "The translocation generators are two kilometres in diameter and three point five kilometres long, and there are six of them. The four standard drive engines are five kilometres long and three kilometres wide, and the engines are not included in the overall size of the ship."

  "You mapped the entire ship?"

  Sabre shrugged. "I was curious."

  "What about weaponry?"

  "Seven four-kiloton laser cannons, two mounted in the front, two on each side and one at the stern. The main gun is a heated plasma particle disintegrator, and there are four more particle disintegrators mounted in the arms, as well as twenty-four two-kiloton laser cannons. It also has four solar wing generators, five shield generators, a worm drive engine and eight capture beams."

  Tarl nodded, looking shaken. "They do say Overlord Fairen's ship is one of the oldest and most powerful."

  "It's over twelve hundred years old."

  Tassin gazed at the screen, which showed a dark forest approaching. "We're nearly there."

  Sabre glanced up. "They're dropping us in a remote area, not too far from your castle. We can walk from there."

  She squeezed his hand. "Dena will be so overjoyed to see you. She missed you almost as much as I did. She had horrible nightmares of you drowning in darkness."

  He cast her a shuttered look that made her wonder what she had said wrong, then glanced away, frowning. “I can’t actually think of a better way to describe cyber control than that.”

  “Drowning in darkness?”

  He nodded.

  “She started having them about a week after you left, and they continued for almost six months.”

  He nodded again, curtly, and she looked down. “I guess that’s when you were at Myon Two.”

  “Around about then, yup, I would imagine.”

  The shuttle touched down with feather-light precision, and after a minute the door whined open. Two soldiers went to stand outside it, and Sabre rose and gestured for Tassin to precede them. She walked down the ramp into the cool, brisk air of a spring night, glad that Fairen had given her a new black leather jacket to replace the one she had lost on Nemesis. She drew in a deep breath and savoured the sweet scents of night flowers and leaf mould.

  "We're home," she whispered, tears of joy stinging her eyes. "We made it."

  Sabre took the packs from one of the soldiers and slung them over his shoulder, then took her hand. "Yeah."

  Tarl cleared his throat. "Maybe we should move away so they can take off?"

  Sabre led them into the forest, where they turned to watch the shuttle rise and shoot away into the sky.

  Tassin smiled up at him. "Well, which way?"

  He pointed, and they set off through the trees.

  Chapter Seven

  Tarl tripped over a root and cursed, grabbing a tree to steady himself. "You said we weren't too far from Tassin's castle, Sabre. Define 'not too far', because we've been walking for hours."

  Sabre looked back at him and snorted. "City boy."

  "Yeah, I am a city boy, and proud of it. So where's the city?"

  "By your standards, there are none. Only large villages."

  "Okay, so where the hell is the large village? I need to sleep. We've been walking all night."

  "A long way still. I think we should find a place to stop for the night. There's a farmhouse over this way."

  Sabre headed off at an angle, and half an hour later they came to a dark, ramshackle building beside a sagging barn whence the grunting of pigs came.

  "They're asleep," Tassin said.

  "Of course, it's two in the morning, Omega time," Sabre replied.

  "Should we wake them up?"

  "Unless you want to sleep with the pigs."

  Tassin went up to the door and banged on it. A dog barked behind the house, and chickens clucked in a henhouse beside it. Several minutes passed before a wavering yellow light spilt from the window and shuffling steps approached the door. It opened to reveal an ageing woman in a frilly nightcap and long grey flannel nightgown, who held up a lantern to inspect them with an irritated scowl.

  "What be the trouble that brings ye all a-banging on my door at this ungodly hour?"

  "We're sorry to trouble you. We're weary travellers seeking a place to sleep for tonight," Tassin explained.

  "Do this look like an inn to you?"

  "If there's an inn close by, we'll gladly go there."

  "Well there ain't," the crone stated.

  "May we sleep on your floor?"

  "Who says ye ain't gonna murder me and the hubby in our sleep and steal our stuff?"

  "I do," Tassin said.

  "An' who be you?"

  "An honest woman. These are my loyal companions, neither of whom will offer you or your good man harm."

  "Says you."

  Sabre said, "We're just tired and hungry. We'll pay for food and shelter. And if we wanted to murder you and your husband, would we have knocked on your door first?"

  The woman huffed and peered at them, her eyes lingering on Tassin’s black jeans, which must have looked mighty peculiar to a denizen of Omega Five, she mused, where women always wore gowns. "Reckon not. All right, but me husband keeps a sword, so mind yerselves."

  "We will."

  Tassin smiled. "Thank you, kind lady."

  The crone shuffled back to allow them entry into the dingy confines of a cramped kitchen. Tarl, last to enter, closed the door, and the woman moved around the room, lighting candles and lamps that filled the shabby room with soft radiance. Polished brass pots hung on a yellow wall above a rusty woodstove on the far side of the room, and bunches of dried herbs dangled from the soot-stained rafters. A few dusty animal hides softened the adobe floor, and coarse grey homespun curtains covered two glass-paned windows. An elderly man in a nightcap and gown similar to his wife's stood at the bottom of a flight of stairs, the aforementioned sword dangling in his frail fist.

  "They be seeking food an' shelter, Aerik," the old woman explained.

  "Eh?"

  "Use yer trumpet ye deaf old goat."

  The man raised the brass trumpet he held in his other hand, plugging it into his ear. "Eh?"

  The woman repeated her explanation, and he nodded with a gap-toothed smile, put the rusty sword down and shuffled over to the scrubbed kitchen table to sit on one of the rickety chairs that stood around it.

  "Welcome, welcome. Sit, the old bag will make something 'ot for yer bellies."

  Tassin lowered herself gingerly onto another of the wobbly homemade chairs, and Sabre and Tarl joined her. The woman poked the coals in the woodstove to life and set a pot on it.

  "'Tis only last night's stew, times be hard," she said.


  "Did you have a bad winter?" Tassin asked.

  Aerik snorted. "Aye, and a bad summer before it."

  "The last three years 'ave been horrible, young miss. Where 'ave ye been?" the woman asked.

  "Away. What's happened in the last three years that was so terrible?"

  "Ah well, that's a story and a half, ain't it?" Aerik grumbled as he picked up a pipe and loaded it from a tobacco pouch.

  "We'd like to hear it."

  "Would yer now? Well, I guess it all started when our young queen disappeared four years ago."

  Tassin gaped at him. "Four years? But... I've only been away for a few months."

  Sabre leant closer and whispered, "Space travel causes time dilation. It's quite likely that more time has passed here."

  "Then you know the story," Aerik said, tamping his pipe.

  "No, I don't," Tassin said. "Please tell me."

  "Aye, well, things were all right for the first year. Young Princess Dena looked after us right proper, indeed she did."

  "Aye, she did," his wife echoed from where she stood by the stove.

  "Then Duke Niam declared that the Queen were dead, and 'is son were the rightful heir. 'E were crowned King, young snot that he is. Straight away he raised the taxes, bled us dry so he could 'ave his fancy clothes and his rich parties, bringing in all the spoilt lordlings from far and wide, indeed he did."

  "So he did, an' all," his wife agreed.

  "Raised the taxes again when his coffers ran dry, didn't he Merry?"

  "Aye, that he did."

  "An' then he sent his soldiers to collect it when we couldn't pay. They took our 'orses an' cattle, so now we can't plough our land no more."

  "And we have to walk to town," Merry added, stirring the stew.

  "What happened to Princess Dena?" Tassin asked.

  The old man nodded. "Oh aye, she were in a right pickle, weren't she Merry?"

  "Aye, that she were, Aerik."

  "She were 'omeless, poor pet, kicked out on the street. But then she were taken in by Countess De'vorice, bless her. They say she's governess to her grandchildren now. A real pity."

  "Aye," Merry muttered. "A princess a governess. 'Tis a crying shame."

  Aerik leant closer. "There were talk of rebellion, so there was. There was even a few riots. People stoned the castle, they were that angry."

  "An' they got killed for it," Merry adjoined.

  "Aye, they did too."

  Tassin sat back, stunned. "That's terrible."

  Aerik nodded. "Aye, young lass; Arlin's not a good place to live no more. King Dellon has even had King Torrian over at the castle, shootin' game and makin' sport with the serving wenches. They're great friends, tis said."

  "What about the other kings?"

  "Aye, well, Grisson died, drank himself to death, I 'eard tell. His son inherited, and by all accounts he's a good king. Bardock wed a fat duchess from his northern province, daughter of his father's brother, would you believe?"

  Tassin frowned. "Grisson didn't have a son."

  "Nay, lass, he's illegitimate, but his mother's a noblewoman, Lady Someoneorother, so he were given the crown."

  "Has Torrian married?"

  Merry chuckled. "Who would 'ave him?"

  Aerik said, "They do say he were smitten with our queen, and pines for 'er still."

  Merry came over with four jugs of mead and banged them down on the table in front of her guests. "Drink some o' that, young uns. I brew it meself, and it ain't half bad, I do declare."

  Aerik nodded and picked up his jug. "It ain't at that, Merry."

  Tassin sipped her mead. "What do they say happened to your queen?"

  "Ah, there's a sad tale."

  "Oh aye, it'll make ye weep, I reckon," Merry chimed in.

  Aerik lighted his pipe and puffed a cloud of smoke. "They say she were mad in love with a fella who left her at the altar, ran off to faraway lands, so he did. Our poor lass were broken-hearted, and went off after him, indeed she did."

  "Aye, she did," Merry agreed, fetching a jug of mead for herself and joining them at the table. "Went off into the dangerous wild lands, foolish girl, all for the love of a feckless 'andsome danderer."

  "Danderer?" Sabre enquired.

  "Aye, a danderer, 'e was. You from foreign parts?" Merry eyed him. "Funny lights you got on yer head, laddie."

  "Yeah, they are. What's a danderer?"

  "That be a lad with too much lead in his pencil."

  Sabre looked confused. "Lead?"

  "Aye. Where be you from?"

  "A faraway land."

  "Must be right faraway an' all," Merry declared. "A danderer be a lad who struts his stuff, 'ops the 'edgerows, throws his leg over anything that don't run away fast enough."

  Sabre shook his head, and Tassin turned to him, her cheeks warm. "She means a man who sleeps with lots of women."

  "Oh."

  Tassin faced Merry again. "So what happened to your queen?"

  "Well they reckon she got eaten by monsters, true enough."

  "Or killed by bandits," Aerik added.

  Tassin stared at the table top's grey wood. "Maybe she's not dead. Maybe she's just lost, and will find her way home one day."

  "That 'ud be a fine day, young miss," Merry declared. "But I reckon she'd have a world o' trouble if she did."

  "Aye," Aerik agreed. "I reckon yer right, our Merry."

  Tassin looked up. "Why?"

  "I don't reckon King Dellon's just gonna bow out graceful, lass, no indeed."

  "If she came back, he'd have to."

  "Nay, nay, not our King Dellon. He'll wine an' dine 'er, then slice her throat while she sleeps, indeed 'e would."

  Merry nodded. "Aye, 'e would too."

  "Unless she found her handsome young man, and he came with her to protect her," Tassin said.

  "The feckless danderer?" Merry chuckled. "Unless he's an army all on his own, he'll get his throat slit an' all, so 'e will."

  Tassin took a gulp of mead and coughed. "Maybe he is."

  “I think he’d rather be a feckless danderer,” Sabre muttered.

  Merry went back to the stove and dished up the stew. "Well, lass, if that be the case, good luck to 'em, I say. But it'll never happen, you mark my words. That be the stuff o' fairy tales. Like the other story."

  "What other story?"

  "We 'eard tell of a tall tale indeed. A magic sword, no less, brought from the wastelands by a 'ero o' steel. It carried our queen off into the stars to find the 'ero after he were bound with a spell and taken away by an evil mage. Aye, an' if you believe that, ye'll believe anything."

  Tassin stared into her jug of mead. "Perhaps it's good to believe in fairy tales. Sometimes they're true."

  Sabre placed a hand on her arm. "Whoa there."

  Merry banged steaming bowls of stew down in front of them. "Eat up while it's 'ot, young uns, it ain't gonna stay that way. 'Tis only turnips and a scrawny chicken, but it fills the empty belly."

  "Thank you." Tassin picked up her spoon.

  "Where be you going then?"

  "We were going to the castle to see Princess Dena, but now I suppose we're going to Countess De'vorice."

  "Friend of 'ers, are ye?" Merry asked.

  "Yes."

  "You watch yerself young miss. They say King Torrian visits there often, and 'e has an eye for a pretty girl."

  Tassin glanced up. "Countess De'vorice is his friend?"

  "Well now, I wouldn't know 'bout that, would I? But I reckon 'e ain't 'er enemy."

  "Yes, I suppose so."

  Merry eyed Sabre. "Would this 'andsome lad be yer 'usband then, lassie?"

  "Um... yes."

  "And t'other would be his da then, I reckon. Not much of a family resemblance, though."

  "No," Tassin shot Tarl an amused look. "They don't look much alike, do they?"

  Merry regaled them with a tale of her husband's sister's son's girlfriend's illegitimate child while they ate the runny, rather tasteless st
ew. Aerik drained his mead and bade them good night, making his way up the creaking stairs, and Merry followed soon after. Tassin pushed aside her half-eaten stew and stared into space, her mind reeling.

  "Four years!" She shook her head. "I've been gone for four years?"

  "So it would seem." Sabre scraped his plate clean.

  "Everything's fallen apart. I've lost my crown to a twerp with the brains of a flea. What am I going to do?"

  "Get it back?"

  "That won't be so easy. Merry's right, he won't give it back without a fight. He'll denounce me as a pretender, or try to kill me, or both." Tassin rubbed her face. "How could it have gone so wrong?"

  "Hey, we'll fix it."

  "How? If Dellon wants to keep the crown, and I know he does, he'll never acknowledge me, and I have no proof of who I am."

  "Surely other people will acknowledge you? Your uncle, for one."

  "Not if he wants his son on the throne, and no one else will risk it, for fear of their lives. A monarch's rule is absolute. Challengers will be murdered, and anyone who helps them. He controls the army; he holds all the power."

  "What about the other kings?"

  She snorted. "Torrian? You must be joking. He'll revel in my downfall, and take full advantage. He'll sell me out to Dellon, who'll help him silence me, one way or another."

  "Not Torrian. What about this new king? Merry says he's a good man."

  "Grisson's illegitimate son. His kingdom is the smallest, aside from Olgara. Why would he help me?"

  Sabre shrugged and pushed aside his empty plate. "You could offer him an alliance, perhaps."

  "He may not need, or want, an alliance. He's probably friends with Torrian and Dellon. Even if he isn't, even if he hates their guts, what can he do? Invade Arlin? He'd be crushed. Torrian has a long standing alliance with Bardock, and now with Dellon."

  "We should at least find out before you reject the idea out of hand. You don't know what's happened since you've been gone, apart from the dubious stories of a pair of old farmers."

  Tassin nodded. "Although those two are salt of the earth. Their stories are probably true."

  "There must be a lot they don't know."

  She glanced at his silver bracelet. "Fairen could help."

  "No. Absolutely not. I'm not using Fairen to solve every little problem."