Some of the barmaid’s makeup was on his collar, and her cheap perfume was on his breath.
Asgar’s soothing words calmed him down. His eyes snaked around and fell first on Nitya’s slight form.
“So, who do you have here, Asgar? Who are you hiding from your liege?”
“My woman from Utrea, Horus,” said Asgar, his tone casual. “And her young sister. We will wait out the glizzard here in Upper Thal before I escort them down to spend some time in the milder winter of Dreslin.”
Horus pushed his way around Asgar and leaned down to examine Nitya, who remained sitting, staring at the table in front of her, petrified with fright. He slowly pulled her cowl down around her shoulders. Every eye in the parlor was on her. Caitlin’s fingers tightened around her sword hilt. She wished she had her pistol.
“Your woman has a very pretty sister,” said Horus slyly. “Perhaps she would prefer to spend the night with me in my fort.” He put his hand on Nitya’s cheek. “Her skin is like silk.”
“She is a child,” said Asgar softly. “And you have already had your fun for the night. Go home to Talia.”
“Who’s to say I have had enough fun?” Horus’s voice was low and dangerous. “Talia will lock me out of our bedchamber again tonight, and I need a cute young thing like this to keep me warm.”
Asgar pushed Horus back and interposed himself again.
“You dare put a hand on me!” erupted Horus. “I will teach you your place, ranger!” He drew his longsword, bringing forth a chorus of cries and shrieks. People scurried out of the way, creating an open space around them. Asgar’s hands remained empty, however.
“Calm down, Horus,” he said. “I’ve been ranging for you these three years past; I have eaten your salt and fought your battles. This girl means nothing to you. Let us not fight over trifles.”
“Draw your sword or stand aside,” persisted Horus, his voice rising. He called his fort’s captain, who had been drinking at the bar. “Kletus, get some of your men to back me up here.”
Kletus shuffled to his feet and rapped out commands in a deep voice. Within minutes there were five armed men behind Horus. Asgar continued to stare at them coolly. When Horus’s men-atarms drew their swords, Caitlin stood up and came around the table to back Asgar, her face still shrouded by her cowl, her figure shapeless under the long, heavy cloak. Horus gave a harsh, barking laugh.
“Your woman seems as ugly as her sister is comely,” he said, through brays of laughter. Several in the parlor echoed his laughter. “She is almost as tall as you and shaped like a tent! Will she fight as well?”
Asgar reached into his pack and drew out the oilcloth package. He handed it to Caitlin behind his back, out of sight of those in front of him. Then his sword was in his hand.
“Horus, we have ridden many a mile together,” said Asgar with finality. “I have no wish to fight you and your men. But you will have to go through me to get to these women.”
“So be it, old friend,” said Horus through clenched teeth. “I always thought that your Utrean blood would out.”
He launched an attack that Asgar parried expertly. He followed through with a second with no greater success. One of his men-atarms closed on Asgar’s right, while the others began circling around to his left. Asgar moved to his right toward the door, leaving his weaker left side dangerously exposed.
“I will create a path to the door,” he hissed over his shoulder in Pranto. “Get outside and make your way to the Guild fort. Use your pistol to burn out the bolts and gain access.”
“What about you?” asked Nitya, her voice betraying her panic.
Asgar swung his sword lightly and adeptly, forcing the man on the extreme right to give ground, while parrying attacks from Horus and two others on his left. He was achieving his aim. Caitlin saw a path to the door open up momentarily, at the same time as he was having increasing difficulty on his vulnerable left side. She grabbed Nitya by the arm and took a step toward the door, then looked down and saw Nitya’s pleading eyes.
“He will die,” Nitya whispered.
“He is no one to us,” Caitlin responded without conviction.
She hesitated. Why do I always do this? she asked herself as she swept off her cloak, leveled her pistol, jacked up the power, and fired at one of the men on Asgar’s weaker left side. There was a loud hiss, and the laser blast punched a hole the size of a fist through the man’s chest, armor and all. It killed him instantly, and his body swayed before toppling over backward to land with a crash.
There was a collective intake of breath in the parlor at the sight of Caitlin. She presented a dazzling sight in her close-fitting leathers and thigh boots. The lamplight brought out the golden highlights in her fiery mane and reflected yellow glints in her green eyes. Horus and his men backed away.
“Ugly, my eye,” muttered Horus’s captain. “She’s gorgeous.”
There were over two dozen Matalus men-at-arms in the inn, and they all now got to their feet and drew swords. Asgar looked at Caitlin with a wry smile.
“See what have you done?” he said, his light tone belying their serious predicament. “If you won’t stay with my plan, I hope that you have one of your own.”
Just then, the front door of the inn blew inward with a loud bang. The heavy drapes were singed and began to smolder, but no one attempted to douse them. Diana stepped in out of the storm, brushing snow off her shoulders. She carried a light ’grator in her hands. A moment later, Durga, Alex, Megara, and the other Maidens entered and took up positions, ’grators at the ready. Megara nodded imperceptibly to Caitlin, who acknowledged it with her eyes.
The natives in the inn were suffering from sensory overload. First the flame-haired huntress, and now an entire squad of heavily armed Zon!
Diana pointed to one of the barmaids.
“Get some water and douse the drapes before we burn down the inn,” she said curtly. The woman jumped to obey.
Diana slung her ’grator back into her shoulder harness and hooked her thumbs in her weapons belt. She walked into the middle of the parlor floor, and her pale eyes swept the room. She smiled, apparently in a great good humor.
“Well, well, well,” she said dryly in Brigish, her singsong Zon accent clear but not strong. “With so many old friends here, I wonder I wasn’t invited to this party.” She paused. “No matter, I came anyway. Horus, I haven’t seen you since we installed your father in the Matalus barony to replace his troublesome brother. When was that…ten years ago? I see the cut I gave you that day has healed nicely.”
“Lady Death,” said Horus, his mouth dry. “You are very brave behind your magic weapons.”
She ignored him and turned to face Asgar.
“And I see that in fifteen years the little boy has grown to become quite a man,” she continued. “Greghar, the bastard son of Jondolar the Just. I hear that your treacherous cousin, Shobar, butchered all your trueborn half-brothers and half-sisters before crowning himself king. How did he miss you? I am sure it was not for want of trying.”
Horus’s mouth dropped open, and he gaped. “You are Greghar Nibellus of Nordberg?”
Asgar acknowledged his true name, saying merely, “Greghar Asgar Nibellus of Utrea.”
“I fondly remember the duel your father and I fought in the Throne Room of Nordberg Castle,” Diana went on relentlessly. “All his court and family were there to watch. He was a strong man and a good swordsman, but he was slow, far too slow. I could have run him through in the first five minutes, but what would have been the fun in that?”
“He was an old man,” said Greghar tonelessly.
“No older than I am now,” said Diana. “Do you remember how you ran up to his body, picked up his sword, and screamed at me to fight you? I see you have your sword in your hand. Now’s your chance to avenge your father.”
So saying, she drew Light, the official sword of the cornelle of the Cohort of Palace Guardians, a beautiful weapon with a blade of hundred-fold Zon steel.
�
�I will not fight you, Lady Death,” said Greghar.
Diana laughed heartily, the melodious sound incongruous.
“Isn’t that the way of the world,” she chuckled. “Horus wants to fight me, but I am not interested. I want to fight Greghar, but he is not interested. And Lady Caitlin, who has not asked for a fight, has killed the first man tonight.”
So saying, she turned to Caitlin and gave her a slight ironic bow.
“Speaking of which, Seignora Lady Caitlin, I welcome you back into the bosom of the Sisterhood. I see you appear to be none the worse for wear.”
Caitlin nodded dumbly, intimidated as always by Diana and sure that she would stutter uncontrollably if she tried to speak.
Durga came up to Diana’s side and spoke in Pranto.
“We need to find a defensible position to shelter in for the duration of the storm,” she said. “There must be at least a hundred Matalus men-at-arms in this town.”
“There are about thirty in this room,” returned Diana, in the same language. “Spare Horus, Greghar, and all the women. Kill everyone else.”
Confident that no unintended ears had understood them, Durga set her ’grator beam and power. Caitlin gathered Nitya to her and pulled Greghar down to shelter behind the heavy table, surprising him with her strength.
“You all heard Cornelle Diana,” Durga said, continuing in Pranto. “Pick your targets and fire at will.”
It was all over in about ten seconds. There was a series of loud crackles as the room was filled with microwave disintegrator energy blasts. Once the men realized what was happening, they attempted to storm the Zon line, but no one got any closer than a couple of meters. The room was like a charnel house, with grotesque half-vaporized bodies lying everywhere, the smell of cooked meat overpowering. One man-at-arms had gotten close to Diana, and she had swung Light in an unexpected backhand arc, decapitating him with one smooth cut. The barmaids and the other native women were screaming, until Diana abruptly rapped out, “Silence!” They subsided to whimpering.
Diana sheathed the bloodstained Light and drew her laser pistol.
“Let me give you a memento of our second meeting, Horus,” she said, pointing the pistol at him. “A little hot kiss. It will leave a mark.” He went white with fear and dropped the longsword that was still in his hand.
“No, please don’t…” he began. Diana shot his shoulder with low power. The beam scorched through his leather jerkin and gave him a first-degree burn. He screamed.
“Go home, Horus,” said Diana contemptuously. “Take a barmaid with you, if you must.”
Horus quickly made his way out of the parlor through the smashed door, followed by the pretty barmaid, her braids swinging. Once he was gone, Diana turned to Durga.
“You are right about our needing a defensible position,” she said. “We will use the Guild fort. Put force restraints on Greghar and the barbarian girl and bring them along.”
“I hear and obey, Cornelle,” said Durga, the words sounding strange in her mouth.
TEN
A WEEK IN Simrania and Dannae already was beginning to feel at home in the rather rustic environment. It reminded her a bit of the rough, plain, and simple conditions of survival training that all huntresses went through. She did not look up from the view scope on the lab bench and called out “Enter!” in response to the musical door chimes on the sick bay door. She heard the clatter of boots and looked up to see Diana. She leapt to her feet, hand on her heart in salute.
“Oh, sit, sit, dear,” said Diana, genuine concern in her voice. “You must take every care, especially in the first months of your pregnancy.”
The storm had passed, but it was still snowing lightly. Diana could see the flurries outside through the sick bay viewport. Winter had truly arrived in the Northern Marches; the storm had dumped over two meters of snow in the environs of Simrania, and the ice and snow had transformed the landscape into a monochromatic world of white.
“How may I serve you, Cornelle?” asked Dannae solicitously, following Diana’s directive and retaking her seat at the lab bench.
“I am afraid I have rather neglected you since we arrived in Simrania,” said Diana, hooking her thumbs in her weapons belt in her customary stance. “I am keen to know how your work is going. I hope you are quite recovered from the rough ride from the Hydromeda?”
Dannae reddened with embarrassment and laughed to cover it.
“Oh, I was a bit sick for a few hours, Cornelle, that was all,” she said quickly. “I think it was more morning sickness than airsickness. I have served on airships for almost ten years and have never been airsick in my life.”
Diana waved her explanation away.
“You are well, that is the main thing,” she said, obviously keen to move the conversation along. “And I have come to inquire about the health of your charges.”
“Four complicated pregnancies, Cornelle,” said Dannae soberly. “These Maidens could have been spared a lot of pain and suffering if they had had proper attention. In Repro, we could have set everything to rights months ago.”
“But how are they now?”
“I have operated on one and managed to get the others back on track with a combination of medication and massage,” Dannae said clinically. “The equipment they have here is primitive. It is a good thing we brought medical gear and supplies from the Hydromeda.”
“I salute you, Medica Dannae,” said Diana formally. “Your skills are invaluable to the Sisterhood.” She paused, before asking with studied casualness, “Did you examine the barbarian, Greghar, as I requested?”
Dannae looked down at the tips of her boots, clearly flustered.
“Yes, Cornelle, I did the extraction,” she said, nervously. “He took the sedative very well. Without proper instruments, I had to do it with manual stimulation. He is very well endowed, a magnificent specimen.”
“Yes, yes,” said Diana impatiently. “Have you analyzed it?”
“Yes, Cornelle,” said Dannae, still examining the high gloss on her airship boots. “I froze the bulk of it for the Repro sperm bank and analyzed a small sample this morning.”
“And?” Diana left the word hanging, though her voice was still friendly.
Dannae looked up at Diana. The Guardian cornelle’s pale gaze belied her solicitous tone and froze Dannae with irrational fear. Confused thoughts ran through her head. She had promised to deliver all reports first to Princess Andromache, but she had not yet been able to communicate with her. She was torn between her loyalty to the High Priestess and her fear of the ruthless Guardian cornelle. We are on the same side; the legions are the shield of the Sisterhood. Cornelle Diana is my superior officer, and it is my duty to give her any information that I have. How can this be wrong?
“I patched into the Repro data bank on the comm,” said Dannae faintly. “I got a perfect match on his DNA. His father is definitely King Jondolar Nibellus of Utrea.”
“His mother?” Diana’s tone remained easygoing, but now she tapped her boot toe on the floor.
“His mother is Zon,” said Dannae, trying to maintain her composure. “It seemed so unlikely that I ran the analysis two more times. All three results are identical. I ran a deep harmonizing analysis on his holographic image. His fine facial and bodily bone structure is distinctly Zon.”
“Who is she?” asked Diana softly.
Dannae felt the irrational fear rise again and clutch her insides. Bile rose in her throat.
“Excuse me,” she said, holding her side and walking quickly over to a washbasin. She bent over and had a few dry retches. Diana was instantly beside her, supporting her and rubbing her back. Her stomach began to settle, and she felt calmer.
“Who is she?” asked Diana again, still affable, but relentless.
“Cornelle Diana, I could not believe it myself, so I matched the pattern almost down to the molecular level. There can be no doubt. His mother is the queen.”
“YOU ARE CERTAIN you did nothing to provoke them?” Baron Ma
rnus Matalus’s tone was doubtful.
Horus sat in his father’s den, warmed by a blazing fire and sipping apple wine. It had been a hard three-day ride from Upper Thal to Firsk, the Matalus capital and main stronghold. Firsk was further downstream on the Thal river and it was wider, deeper and slower here.
“Father, I was just standing in the Bugle Inn, chatting with the treacherous ranger Asgar, when Lady Death blew down the door and appeared with a host of Engine Maidens. She shot me immediately with a magic weapon, rendering me incapable of resisting her. Then they slaughtered my men, almost thirty of them!”
So saying, he pulled down his tunic to reveal the burn on his shoulder. It was already beginning to heal, but the red-brown mark was clearly etched.
“There were dozens of them, you say?”
“Yes, Father,” Horus lied fluently. “Dozens of wild Engine Maidens. Too many for us to possibly attack. They sheltered in the Guild fort for the storm, but they were retrieved by an airboat before the storm completely blew out. I know how you prize our revenues from the Trading Guild, so I did not damage or even venture into their fort. I came here at once to seek your orders.”
“And to think we had Lady Caitlin and the witch within our grasp!” Baron Matalus sighed deeply. He was a calculating man, careful and politic, but avaricious. “We could have used fifteen thousand gold talents! As it is, I cannot see how I can afford to march to Duke Artor’s call. Your father-in-law offers no subsidy, only the promise of booty from the sacking of Atlantic City.”
He gave a harsh laugh.
“Fat chance of that happening! Just one airship was all it took to defeat the combined forces of the Shelsors and the Hilsons in the War of Brigon Succession. And a couple of airboats with a century of huntresses were enough to defeat the entire might of the House of Matalus. You and I witnessed the fate of my headstrong brother, and we both bear the scars of the sword of Lady Death.”
He touched his face, where he had an identical scar to the one on his son’s face.
“No, we have prospered by cooperating with the Zon Trading Guild,” he continued. “No doubt the Zon came to rescue Lady Caitlin. The Red Khalif was foolish to think they would ever give her up to us. By all accounts, your young brother rode out asking for trouble, and he got what he was looking for. We must use this incident to press Lady Selene for recompense in gold.”
The Empire of the Zon Page 19
