The Empire of the Zon

by R. M. Burgess

  Vivia’s face froze, and she paled.

  “This is unacceptable,” she said, less certain of her ground now. “I must speak with Lady Selene. There must be some mistake—all my previous immersions have included meetings with our trading partners and government ministers.”

  “I am afraid Lady Selene is unavailable,” said Megara, with a satisfied note in her voice. “Everything has been arranged—we have our passes from the Brigon authorities and reserved seats in the Privy Council Box in the fighting pit. Please collect your fellow market women and come to the Residency outer ward at 0830. And I suggest you dress in something less delicate—the crowds in the fighting pits tend to be a bit rough. You wouldn’t want to ruin that fine Kanjiam.”

  THERE WAS A much less formal receiving company of Brigon Royal Blacks at the drawbridge today. They were attired in leathers, chainmail, and plate armor and wordlessly wheeled to lead as Caitlin brought her twenty huntresses clattering across. The huntresses were in two groups of ten with the speeder driven by Megara in the middle. They followed an ascending roadway partway toward the Great Stony Keep before swinging off on a traverse street toward the east of the city. They came upon thick crowds long before they reached their destination and were glad of the Royal Blacks who cleared the way, sometimes brutally. Megara cast sidelong glances at Vivia, who rode in the front of the speeder with her and was pleased to see her wide-eyed look of horror at everything—the poverty, the stench, the pushing and shoving crowds and the brutality of the Royal Blacks. Some in the crowd beat their fists on the viewports of the speeder, causing her to recoil into her seat.

  The fighting pit was actually an arena composed of a round sunken ditch about fifty meters across, surrounded by a stone stadium that seated about ten thousand. The small square that fronted the arena entrance was packed with people, all jostling and pushing as they attempted to enter. It quickly became obvious that there were no tickets left and that disappointed Dresliners were gathered in tight clumps around scalpers who were doing a brisk business reselling the metal entry tokens for fifty times their face value.

  The Royal Blacks used long staffs to beat their way through the crowd and rode down those who did not move quickly enough with their warhorses. Caitlin kept her huntresses in tight formation right behind them as they led the way to the King’s Vestibule. There was a troop of giant Life Guards at this entrance, and they whistled up some grooms to hobble and watch the huntresses’ horses. Megara brought her speeder to a halt, emerged, and walked over to Caitlin, who was presenting her credentials to an officer of the Life Guards. Another of the huntresses ushered Vivia and the other three market women up behind them.

  “We have eight seats for you in the Privy Council Box,” grunted the officer. “The rest of you will have to remain outside. Who will be in the seats?”

  Caitlin pointed out Megara, Vivia and her three market women, and two other huntresses.

  “Megara, watch over Vivia,” whispered Caitlin in her ear. “Have Felicia and Jena watch over the other three market women. If anything happens, make sure you get your charges out of the arena and back to the Residency.”

  Before Megara could respond, the Life Guards marched into the King’s Vestibule, and they had to follow them in. As they climbed out of the Vestibule into the stands, the roar of the crowd, which had been a dull rumble from the outside, swelled to tidal wave of sound. Every seat was taken, and clearly many had managed to get in without assigned seats. In the arena, two men with nets and spears were facing off against a huge brown bear. The bear roared and snarled every time one of the men pricked him with his spear. He charged one and then the other, but each time the one he had ignored pricked his back with his spear, and he turned in a rage. The crowd loved the bear baiting and thundered its appreciation.

  The Life Guards led them to the Privy Council Box, which was luxuriously laid out with a side table covered with fruits and drinks. There were several comfortable chairs as well as two wide sofas that faced the railing and then a two-meter drop to the floor of the fighting pit.

  “Where is the rest of the Privy Council today?” asked Caitlin.

  “The king chose not to attend,” said the Life Guards officer stiffly. “The Privy Council is seated in the Royal Box.” He gestured with his head to the next box over. Baron va Haxos was seated on the small aerie in the Royal Box, with Red Khalif Alumus on his right and Cornel Baron da Coel on his left. The other members of the Privy Council were all there: the treasurer, the Master of Commerce, and the commanders of the army and the navy. There were also a couple of Life Guards on duty.

  The Life Guard officer turned and left the Privy Council Box, followed by his men. When they shut the door, Caitlin heaved a sigh of relief.

  “Well, here we are,” she said, looking into the arena, where the bear was weakening and the two baiters were closing in for the kill. “What a shame to destroy a magnificent creature like that for entertainment.”

  Vivia followed her gaze and looked as if she might be sick. She made her way over the side table and poured herself a glass of Brigon apple wine. She swallowed it and immediately refilled her glass. The other market women followed suit. Caitlin looked at Megara, who rolled her eyes. They poured themselves glasses of ice water, dropped in cleansing tablets, and took their seats by the railing overlooking the pit.

  The bear was dead, and a troop of arena staff hurried out with a cart to carry away the carcass. The two baiters walked around the edge of the pit, bowing and picking up the few coins that were flung down at them. They finally stood before the Royal Box and kneeled.

  “Rise!” commanded Baron va Haxos. He reached into the small barrel by the aerie, pulled out a handful of silver coins, and threw them into the pit. The two men scrambled to collect them. Then they were gone, down the passageway leading into the ready rooms beneath the stands.

  The crowd noise died away as if over ten thousand individuals were collectively holding their breaths. Caitlin felt the tension too and flexed the fingers of her right hand, reflexively tightening her grip on her sword hilt. The iron grate to the ready room passage was slowly raised, and the crowd noise began to swell again. When the grate was fully raised, an armed gladiator emerged and blinked in the bright sunshine. His second followed and stood two paces behind him. The gladiator was dressed in light armor—black mail with a steel chest plate, back plate, greaves, and a steel helmet that left his face clear. He carried an unsheathed longsword and a heavy shield. He was over two meters tall and built like a bull. He tramped across the dirt of the pit floor to kneel before the Royal Box. His second retired back into the ready room, and the iron grate was lowered again.

  “Jakman Yewtree, you defend King Harald V and the justice of Briga,” Baron va Haxos intoned. “Serve the king with success today, and you earn your freedom and a place in the Life Guards regiment, should you want it.”

  The warrior’s face broke into a smile. “It is my fervent desire to protect the life of the king,” he said with sincerity. “I will not fail to deliver the king’s justice.”

  “Bring forth the prisoner.” Baron va Haxos had to clear his throat before he could speak.

  Nitya was brought out between two burly prison guards. She was dressed in a brown prison shift and was barefoot and bareheaded. She had asked for soap and water as her last request and was clean and well-scrubbed for her tryst with death. She carried a full-size longsword on her shoulder, since it was too heavy for her heft. She was marched before the Royal Box, and one of the guards roughly forced her to her knees.

  Baron va Haxos cleared his throat again and tried to speak, but no words came. Caitlin looked over in surprise and saw his discomfort and the pain on his face. Finally he managed to force words out.

  “Nitya of Chenak,” the old baron said gruffly. “You are here to face the king’s justice. It is your desire to defend your case by combat. You are your own champion. Is this so?”

  Nitya stood and looked around the huge crowd with her big, wonderin
g eyes. Then she looked up at the old baron in the Royal Box and said calmly and clearly, “Yes, this is so.”

  “May the One God have mercy on you,” he said hoarsely. “Cornel Baron da Coel, pray instruct the combatants.”

  “First, a blessing from Lord Thermad and the One God,” broke in Alumus, jumping to his feet and coming to the rail. Reaching into a pocket of his voluminous robe, he drew out a handful of rose petals and flung them out over Jakman.

  “With these holy flowers, I strengthen your arm and steel your heart. Do not be fooled by the childish guise of your adversary. She is a witch and a servant of the Evil One. If you hesitate, she will bewitch you as she has many others. Your reason will desert you, and you will lose sight of the divine Thermad. You will yourself become a servant of the Evil One, condemned by all good men on Tarsus and destined for the fire pits of doom.”

  Jakman bowed his head before Alumus. “I am a servant of the One God and Lord Thermad. I will not waver.”

  “Do not grant her the favor of a quick and easy death,” Alumus went on, his fanatical voice carrying in the silent arena that hung on his every word. His piggish eyes grew bright, and he all but licked his lips as he went on. “Disarm her, then take your pleasure of her in every way. Do so here, so that all the assembled citizens may see the wages of serving the Evil One. Then kill her slowly…cut off her limbs one by one, and let her know the pain of repudiating the One God and our Lord Thermad. For the pain felt by his instrument will be felt by the Evil One himself!”

  This brought out the worst in the crowd. Some men shouted vile oaths at Nitya; others jeered and offered crude advice to Jakman. Soon there was a cacophony of filth directed her way. She had been calm and self-possessed, but her eyes grew wide with fear as Alumus spoke—it was clear that she had not expected this.

  Alumus raised his hands for silence, and slowly the crowd was quieted.

  “Witch,” he called down to Nitya. “Do you have any last words? Do you repent your sins? You have cast the die for this life, but perhaps you may touch the soft heart of the divine Thermad for the afterlife.”

  Nitya looked at Alumus like a rabbit at a snake. She fought to hold back tears, but failed. To hide them, she kneeled, touched her forehead to the mud of the pit floor, and closed her eyes.

  “Lord Moksha, my God,” she said, sobbing. “I know not why you cause me to suffer so. Why have you abandoned me, your faithful servant, in my time of trial?”

  At this, Alumus spread his hands eloquently.

  “She calls upon the Evil One,” he said, and the huge crowd jeered anew. Caitlin was horrified by the realization that they had turned out in such numbers and had been willing to pay huge amounts of money to watch a little girl being raped and tortured before she was killed. They were in a fever of voyeuristic anticipation. The subconscious thought that had been growing in her mind since the day before broke surface. She was on her feet and drew her sword, Karya.

  “Baron va Haxos!” she called out in a loud, clear voice that cut through the noise of the crowd. “She has a champion!”

  Before Megara could restrain her, Caitlin vaulted over the railing and landed cat-like on her feet on the floor of the fighting pit.

  The crowd noise died away. Every eye was on Caitlin as she strode up to Nitya. As she came near, the girl looked up at her. “You are the sword of Lord Moksha,” she whispered.

  Caitlin looked down at her and then up into the Royal Box.

  “We are the Zon Sisterhood, we protect our sisters!” she cried, her singsong Zon accent carrying around the arena.

  Alumus was the first one in the Royal Box to react.

  “This is a vile trick!” he screamed. “The Zon sorceress cannot be a champion in a Brigon trial by combat! Her sorcery will make a mockery of our justice!”

  The crowd roared its approval for Alumus. Caitlin opened a comm channel to Megara and whispered, “If things get ugly, we may have to fight our way out of here. Prepare for combat and alert the squad outside.”

  Megara’s response was strained.

  “Don’t do this, Caitlin,” she said desperately. “Let the barbarians have the girl. The Sisterhood needs you.”

  “Megara, if we stand by in the face of such savagery, we are party to it.”

  She cut the comm channel and was gratified to see Megara, Felicia, and Jena draw their laser pistols.

  The crowd was growing restive. However, Baron va Haxos seemed to gain stature and authority.

  “Red Khalif,” he said in stentorian tones. “This is a civil trial by combat. The religious trial was yesterday, and you have had your say as prosecutor. This is the king’s trial, and I am his voice today. Pray take a seat.”

  Alumus bridled and looked as if he would speak, but va Haxos raised a hand, and one of the huge Life Guards in the Royal Box stepped forward. Alumus swallowed and resumed his seat.

  “Seignora Lady Caitlin,” said the old baron, addressing Caitlin. “If I am to accept you as the girl’s champion, this must be a fair combat. You cannot use your gadgets and magic weaponry. You must disarm yourself of everything but weapons of our understanding.”

  “I fully understand, Baron va Haxos,” said Catlin courteously. She unbuckled her belt, and walking a few steps, she threw it up to Megara, calling out, “My shield, please.”

  Megara threw her the round, shiny stainless steel shield with the d’Orr coat of arms emblazoned on its boss. Caitlin secured the shield on her left forearm, hefted the ancient sword, Karya, and walked back to Nitya.

  “Baron va Haxos,” she said. “I pray that the girl watch the proceedings guarded by my huntresses in the Privy Council Box.”

  The old baron nodded, and Caitlin picked Nitya up as easily as if she were a baby and swung her up into Megara’s arms. Unlike most barbarians, she was clean, and her dark hair smelled like honey.

  Baron da Coel was now at the railing of the Royal Box.

  “The two combatants will station themselves at opposite ends of the fighting pit,” he said evenly. “You will begin combat when I strike the gong. The combat is to the death. In case one party is incapacitated, but not dead, look to the aerie, and Baron va Haxos will give the signal as to whether the vanquished party lives or dies. Any questions?”

  Jakman was the veteran of many such combats and shook his head. Caitlin could think of no questions.

  Alumus lunged to his feet again as the two combatants trudged toward opposite ends of the fighting pit.

  “Jakman Yewtree!” he cried. “Take your pleasure of this Zon sorceress before you kill her! The One God and Lord Thermad smile on the violation and subjugation of this profane and blasphemous race.”

  Jakman cast a glance over his shoulder and smiled at the Red Khalif. Megara’s grip on the butt of her laser pistol tightened. She was tempted to shoot the gladiator, but her iron discipline kept her in check.

  Catlin felt the cool stones of the fighting pit wall at her back. She ignored the rotten fruit and vegetables that were flung at her, confident that Megara, Felicia, and Jena would handle any real danger from the crowd. She focused her attention on Jakman and made a few exploratory passes with her sword. As though in a dream, she heard the gong and started forward at a measured pace. Jakman lumbered forward, clearly in no hurry. He held his sword out in front of him. The crowd was on its feet now and the din was intensifying, but in her intense focus, Caitlin heard none of it.

  They approached each other and circled warily. Jakman was bigger, taller, and had the reach on her, but Caitlin knew herself to be very well trained and fast. She made a few slow feints, hoping to get him into a slow tempo. Then, quick as a striking snake, she launched a thrust at his right side around his shield, with all her weight behind it. He parried it with almost contemptuous ease and responded much more quickly than she would have believed possible, with a huge swipe at her head. She took it on her shield, and there was a loud clang as metal met metal.

  Caitlin began to attack in earnest now, and though he parried her b
lows expertly, he gave ground, a step at a time. Every time their swords met, Karya’s fine Zon blade took a small notch out of Jakman’s barbarian steel. Soon his blade looked like it had a serrated edge. Once under the Royal Box, Jakman stopped retreating and launched a furious counterattack. Caitlin could not believe that such a ponderous man could move so fast. She gave ground, but as he pounded at her, she was aware that her parries were inadequate, that he was brushing her blade aside and creating openings for a kill. Then all at once, she caught an even heavier blow on her shield. The weight of the blow was too great; she staggered, and he was above her. She felt a huge concussion, and she knew that her helmet had been struck. Dizzy and fighting the black clouds that began to limit her vision, she reeled back. Though stunned, realization came quickly to her trained mind: he had struck her with the flat of his blade. He had taken Alumus’s words to heart—he did not want to kill her in combat! Diana’s coarse words from the training ring came to her in a rush: when his big head tells him one thing and his little head tells him another, the man always follows the little one.

  She could not win a sword fight with Jakman. As her head cleared, she knew that with certainty. He was too strong and too fast for her. She dropped her shield and pulled the zip of her lyntronex uniform down to her waist to reveal the swells of her breasts under the cups of her frilly bra. There was gray wolf ’s head body-painted on her belly, its jaws open in a snarl. She allowed her sword to droop in her hand, as though exhausted. She stroked the wolf ’s head with her left hand, in a motion at once lascivious and challenging.

  “Fear the wrath of the Zon wolf, Jakman.” She smiled.

  Alumus bounded to his feet and yelled, “Jakman, do not fall for Zon wiles!” but he was drowned out by the crowd that was as enthralled with Caitlin’s performance as Jakman was. He came toward her warily, but Caitlin could see that he was confused. His eyes grew bright with carnal desire, drawn to her breasts and to the wolf on her belly. Still, he was a gladiator and a veteran of many combats, so as he closed in on her, he swung a mighty blow to knock her sword out of her hand and disarm her.