Caitlin suddenly tightened her grip on her haft and deflected his blow. She moved quickly, but he nonetheless would have caught it, had he not been distracted by lust. She drew her long dagger from her thigh boot and sank it through the thin chainmail under his armpit all the way to the hilt. In a single motion, she wrenched it out and returned the bloody blade to its sheath.
She backed away from him a few steps and waited, holding Karya in a two-handed grip. His shock masked his pain, but as he drew quick breaths, first a few and then more pink bubbles issued from his mouth. I’ve punctured a lung, thought Caitlin clinically. She hoped the internal bleeding would increase as he began to move. He took a step toward her, but it was slow. The crowd groaned, but Caitlin did not hear it. He took another step and raised his sword. Caitlin attacked him cautiously, and he parried, but he was much slower now; his shield arm sagged, and his strength was waning. She increased the pressure of her attack, always cautious for a trick, but there was none. Jakman was hemorrhaging internally and was literally dying on his feet. With a final blow, Caitlin twisted her blade on his parry and swept across with a classic disarming maneuver. Jakman’s sword flew out of his hand. He stood rooted to the spot, unable to move, unable even to raise his shield to protect himself. A trickle of bright red arterial blood appeared at the corner of his mouth.
He was still standing, so Caitlin did not look up at the Royal Box. She launched herself at him, leading with her blade. The tip struck him just below the sternum. With all her weight behind it, Karya went right through him, and its tip emerged from his back. Their faces were very close now, and Caitlin saw the fear in his eyes—he knew he was dying. Then he fell and landed heavily on his back with Caitlin following, still holding her sword haft with both hands.
His eyes were still alive. Caitlin could not resist leaning down and picking up his enfeebled right hand and putting it on her left bra cup.
“This is what you wanted, didn’t you, big boy?” she whispered. Then she straightened, put the heel of her boot on his chest plate, and twisted her sword till she saw the life die out of his eyes. She drew the bloody sword out of his body, raised it high, and walked over to the Royal Box.
“Baron va Haxos!” she called. “The trial by combat has been decided. The girl is innocent!”
Alumus stood up and opened his mouth, but the old baron silenced him with a look.
“Seignora Lady Caitlin, you have fought and won a fair fight,” he declared. “In the name of King Harald, I find Nitya of Chenak innocent as determined by combat. She is free to go.”
Caitlin walked slowly to the Privy Council Box and tossed her shield and bloody sword up to Megara. Then she took Megara’s hand and swung up into the box.
“Let’s get the hell out of here before they change their minds,” she said, buckling on her belt and returning Karya to its scabbard, bloody blade and all. There would be time to clean it later. “Felicia, Jena, lead the way. Use your shields to create a path if you have to. Vivia, you and your market women must follow them closely. Megara and I will bring up the rear. Come, Nitya.” She gathered the girl into her arms.
Their little procession moved swiftly toward the King’s Vestibule, the terrified market women shepherded by the huntresses. The crowd was hostile but parted for them. They were almost there when one of Alumus’s acolytes, standing at a safe distance, cried out, “Do not let these unnatural creatures pass! They are an abomination before the One God!”
There was grumbling, and some men arrayed themselves across the entrance to the vestibule.
“Let us pass!” Caitlin called from the rear. “Baron va Haxos has commanded it!”
As the men hesitated, Felicia and Jena shouldered them aside with their shields. More men piled in to take their places, and the huntresses drew their laser pistols. Caitlin was thankful that civilians were not allowed to bring weapons into the arena.
“We wish no harm to any of you,” said Caitlin in a strident voice. “But we will not hesitate to use force if we have to. Clear the way!”
This was not a planned action, and as they hesitated yet again, the huntresses pushed their way into the royal vestibule. Royal Blacks were waiting for them at the other end of the vestibule, along with the remaining huntresses. They bundled the frightened market women into the speeder, and the huntresses mounted and rapidly formed up.
“Can you ride a horse?” Caitlin asked Nitya. When the girl nodded vigorously, Caitlin mounted her horse and reached down. Nitya took her hand, and Caitlin easily swung her up behind her. Nitya’s arms went around her waist as though it were the most natural thing in the world. Caitlin trotted to the lead of her small cavalry column, opened a comm channel to them all, and said, “Forward, to the Residency Gate. Stay alert.”
They trotted out of the square, followed by hundreds of baleful glares.
EVEN AS BARON va Haxos pronounced Nitya’s freedom, Alumus hurried from the Royal Box. His trusted aide, Senior Cleric Holodus, fell in beside him, calling up Alumus’s personal troop of Red Sentinels. They pushed their way out of the arena through the main entrance.
“Where are their Royal Highnesses?” Alumus asked Holodus. “I thought I asked you to make sure the queen at least would attend.”
“His Majesty would not hear of it,” replied Holodus without expression. “He went hawking this morning and insisted the queen accompany him. They should be back in the city by now, entering by the Forest Gate.”
“Let us go to them immediately,” said Alumus grimly. “To the Forest Gate!”
Alumus entered his palanquin, and they double-timed it downhill, the Red Sentinels clearing the way with their spears. Holodus ran in front of the palanquin, holding his staff crested by the Thermadan holy triangle. They arrived at the Forest Gate just in time to find the captain of the gate kneeling before the royal party. The king and queen were mounted on splendidly turned-out horses surrounded by the court and their body servants and accompanied by the Master of Falconry. Alumus emerged from his palanquin and hurried up to the royal couple. He bowed, but not too low, maintaining the dignity of his ecclesiastical office.
“Your Majesty, I cannot stand on ceremony, for I have a grave and urgent matter to bring to your attention,” said Alumus quickly. “Normally I would wish to meet with you in private, but there is no time. The Zon have intervened to thwart your royal justice. They have slain your champion and, even as we speak, are spiriting away the witch that you judged guilty yesterday. They are making a mockery of Brigon law and defying you in your own capital.”
The king opened his mouth, but before he could speak, Queen Esme threw back her veil and replied in a ringing tone, “Red Khalif, this cannot be borne! How much disgrace and dishonor must we suffer at the hands of this Sisterhood of freakish abominations? Are we to be slaves in our own capital? Who will rally to defend the king’s honor and the king’s justice?”
Cheval Ragnus Matalus, the queen’s young equerry, leaped from his horse and kneeled before the royal couple.
“Majesties, give me a troop of Royal Blacks, and I will stop these Zon,” he said fervently. “Too long have we allowed them to ride roughshod over us and dictate to us. I am yours to command.”
“Cheval, I bless you,” said Alumus, raising his eyes to the heavens.
“Well, I think we should gather the facts first—” began Harald.
“Sire, you have the facts,” snapped Esme. “Red Khalif Alumus could not have made it plainer. We are slapped in the face by the Zon, by…What is the name of the leader of these disgusting creatures?”
“Lady Caitlin d’Orr, Your Highness,” said Alumus in a satisfied tone.
“No doubt she thinks she is above our laws,” continued Esme. “Sire, you must give Cheval Ragnus Matalus leave to act in your name!”
Harald looked around helplessly. Most of his gentlemen’s faces were warlike, his young, doll-like queen looked hard and brittle, the Red Khalif was his usual implacable self, and the young equerry was still on his knees in the
dust, looking up at him eagerly. He felt certain no good could come of this, but he realized he was trapped. He could not deny the young cheval without looking weak at best and at worst, a coward.
“Oh, very well. Ragnus, you may go. Take two of my Life Guards and send a messenger to roust a troop of Royal Blacks. Rendezvous at….Where were the Zon headed, Red Khalif?”
“The Residency Gate, sire,” said Alumus without hesitation.
“The Residency Gate, then. And Ragnus,” said Harald, as the young man stood up and remounted, “don’t do anything stupid. Swords against lasers do not make for good odds.”
Cheval Matalus merely smiled and bowed low in his saddle, first to the king and then to the young queen.
“I ride to defend your honor, sire,” he said as he wheeled his horse. “Briga groans beneath the Zon heel. She must rise!”
He spurred his horse away, two Life Guards following him.
AS THE ZON column approached the Residency Gate, their light escort of Royal Blacks peeled off to allow them to ride forward. The captain of the gate came forward to meet them with his hand raised. Caitlin leaned down and gave him the safe conduct passes for her squad and the market women.
“What about the girl?” asked the captain brusquely. “Isn’t she the one accused of being a witch in the Royal Audience yesterday?”
“Baron va Haxos has judged her innocent by combat,” said Caitlin, gesturing with her eyes toward the officer of their escort of Royal Blacks. The officer nodded his assent.
“Then proceed,” said the captain of the gate, standing aside. Caitlin and Megara each cast a glance behind them as they crossed the drawbridge over the dark waters of the wide moat. The huntresses spurred their horses into a rapid canter as they left the city walls behind them, and Megara opened the throttle of the speeder to keep pace. They were approaching the wide Pontoon Bridge over the Amu-Shan when they saw a large troop of Royal Blacks cross the drawbridge behind them and immediately break into a gallop.
Caitlin opened a comm channel to her huntresses and to the Seignora of the Watch on the Residency walls. “We have to get over the river and under covering fire from the Residency walls. Let’s move!” Her voice was calm, but her tone was sharp.
They spurred their horses across the bridge and flew over the grassy rise toward the comforting white Residency walls. Their pursuers crossed the bridge a few hundred meters behind them. Half continued to chase, while the other half dismounted, knelt, and drew longbows. Both Caitlin and Megara saw the long arrows begin their ballistic arc.
“Dismount! Shields up!” Caitlin cried into her open comm channel. “Megara, keep going and get the market women into the Residency.”
The huntresses dismounted as one and put their shields up to protect their upper bodies. Caitlin put Nitya underneath her, her shield protecting them both. Arrows landed all around them. A horse was hit and went down, plunging in its final agonies. As the Royal Black vanguard pulled up fifty meters away from Caitlin’s dismounted huntresses, Cheval Ragnus Matalus, resplendent in shining undress armor, raised his arm, signaling his archers to cease.
The drawbridge to the Residency came down to admit Megara’s speeder. No sooner had it disappeared from view than another squad of huntresses trotted out to reinforce Caitlin’s pinned-down force.
Cheval Matalus urged his horse a few paces forward.
“Sisters of Zon!” he called out. “You have interfered in Brigon justice. Return the witch to us, and we will leave in peace.”
As the new squad came up to her, Caitlin heard a ping as a new comm channel was opened to her.
“Seignora Caitlin.” Lady Selene’s tone was sharp, formal, and not friendly. The omission of her title was jarring. “Return the girl to the Brigons. Immediately.”
“Lady Selene,” said Caitlin, not believing her ears. “Do you know what they will do to her?”
“Yes, Seignora Caitlin. This is not the first witch they have tried, and it will not be the last. This is an internal Brigon affair.”
Caitlin twisted around to scan the Residency walls. Lady Selene stood on the battlements, her formal robes flowing in the breeze. Two huntresses, one of whom was the centuria of the Residency huntresses, flanked her. Caitlin could see the sunlight glinting off the Allerand tiara. Even in the distance, she seemed to project her wrath.
The young cheval called again.
“We Brigons ask only that you respect your treaties with us. We will fight to the death to defend our rights! Another minute, and I will ask my archers to draw again.”
Caitlin calculated the distance to Ragnus. She could kill him with her laser pistol, but at this range, it would not create a spectacle. She needed something more dramatic.
“Seignora,” she said to the officer of the squad that had just emerged. “Give me your ’grator.”
“Lady Caitlin, I have no orders—” she began uncertainly.
“I am a Palace Guardian, Seignora,” Caitlin gritted out. “Do as I command.”
Reluctantly, the huntress unslung the microwave disintegrator from her back and handed it down to Caitlin.
“Seignora Caitlin, what are you—” As Lady Selene’s voice stung her ears, Caitlin cut the comm channel.
She disengaged the ’grator’s safety, set the beam to narrow focus and low power, and cradled the weapon on her shoulder. She lined up Ragnus in the telescopic sights. His handsome, helmeted face appeared to be just a meter away, every light freckle on his nose clearly visible. She did not hesitate. She squeezed the trigger, and there was a crackle as the energy beam was released. Ragnus’s entire body from waist upward was vaporized. His lower body remained grotesquely in the saddle, held in place by his boots in his stirrups.
There was collective gasp from the mounted Royal Blacks, who quickly fell back several paces. Caitlin lowered the weapon and set her helmet comm to megaphone mode.
“Men of the Royal Black Regiment,” she said, her voice made deeper by the amplification. “Return to Dreslin. You have been duped. The girl has been judged innocent by Baron va Haxos. We have broken no Brigon laws. Briga and the Zon Sisterhood are at peace. However…” She pointed with the ’grator to emphasize her point. “One more arrow, and I will vaporize you all.”
FIVE
IT WAS DUSK, and Hildegard sat in her balcony in the residential north wing of Chateau Regina. The view before her was magnificent, but she could not enjoy it. It had been a long and tense day, and it was not over yet. The cabinet meeting had been fraught with political undertones, the Hydromeda had sailed with her batteries only partially charged, and she still had one more meeting before she could get to her bed and a soothing massage. Her second handmaiden came in to announce her visitor.
“High Priestess Princess Andromache begs leave for a private audience, Your Majesty,” she said formally.
“Show her in, show her in,” said Hildegard, her voice tired but betraying a note of eagerness. As Andromache came in, she rose, put her hands on her shoulders, and greeted her warmly.
Andromache looked over Hildegard’s shoulder to admire the setting sun. It was a beautiful sunset, with some low clouds lighting up with a bright russet color. The lower wards were in purple shadow, and lights were rapidly coming on, shining like jewels. However, the ridges and peaks of Atlantic City shone in golden halos, and the impregnable snow-capped mountains that surrounded the Great Vale were still bathed in bright sunshine.
“What a beautiful spot Queen Simran chose for our capital!” exclaimed Andromache, overcome by the almost magical quality of the dying light of dusk.
“Ah, Queen Simran the Merciless, formalizer of the Excellence boards,” said Hildegard without humor. Andromache knew the queen well and could not fail to see her disquiet. But she held her counsel, and Hildegard continued, “But do sit with me, Andromache. And let us take some clove wine.”
Her handmaiden appeared moments later bearing a silver tray with two crystal goblets engraved with the royal coat of arms and a silver ice bucket w
ith a bottle of the finest Malukian clove wine. She set the tray down on the low table between them, poured the wine into the goblets, and served the queen and her noble visitor.
“Health and beauty!” they said together in the traditional Zon toast as they clinked goblets. They both sipped their wine in silence for a few moments.
“Leave us,” Hildegard finally said to her handmaiden. “Close the balcony doors and post a couple of Palace Guardians outside. We are not to be disturbed.”
“I hear and obey, ma’am,” said her handmaiden, retiring from the balcony and closing the heavy doors behind her.
Hildegard waited a few moments before speaking.
“Deirdre came by to brief me on the Hydromeda’s departure this afternoon,” she said abruptly. “She asked me when I plan to retire.”
Andromache looked at Hildegard for a long time. The setting sun made her skin look smooth and taut. Her body was firm under the thin robes. Andromache had to look very carefully to see the faint crow’s feet around her eyes and the faint lines on her forehead. Her ash blonde hair fell thickly about her face in a mass of natural ringlets and had a fine sheen that concealed her gray and white strands. Her gray-blue eyes were clear and bright. The informal gold royal circlet sat well on her head. To Andromache’s adoring eyes, she looked every inch a queen.
“I look at Your Highness, and I see nothing but Zon beauty,” said Andromache. “You still in your prime! Everyone loves you, electra and commoner alike. You could rule for fifteen, twenty more years! Deirdre and I and even Heliodora are still very young! Why would you think now of retiring and leaving us?”
“I thought, like you, that I had a few more years of service left in me,” said Hildegard, nodding her assent. “But Deirdre brought it up. She has never said it, but I see in her eyes that she chafes at serving one such as me, born a commoner. We both know that she is ambitious and wants to be queen.”
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