The Empire of the Zon

by R. M. Burgess

  Horus nodded assent. He sipped his wine and took a small sausage from the tray laid out between them.

  “But there is much more information here that we may use to our profit,” said Baron Matalus meditatively. “King Jondolar’s bastard son is alive. We sheltered him for three long years! Shobar would have paid us handsomely for his head. Perhaps he will pay for this information. And why are the Zon so interested in this young Yengar witch? They have never interfered with Thermadan blasphemy trials before.”

  Horus had no reply. He ate a few more sausages and burped. The warm fire made him sleepy. After a moment of meditation, Baron Matalus continued, and his sharp tone jerked Horus back awake.

  “Horus, Talia’s father sent me emissaries last week. Talia has complained to her father about your wenching. She plans to take your son and heir and spend the winter in Dreslin Center with her sister, Queen Esme. Don’t you see that running around with barmaids is an insult to Duke Artor and the House of Hilson? I made you a fine match, but your stupidity will turn the alliance into a feud.”

  Horus made a face and pounded his fist on his armrest.

  “I cannot help it, Father,” he grumbled. “Talia keeps me from her bed. I have no option but to exercise my rights of the manor with the local wenches.”

  “Don’t behave like a spoiled child!” his father said. “If your blood runs so hot, take another woman to wife. Seek Talia’s blessing and advice in the matter of a co-wife. Because if your behavior continues to needle Duke Artor, I will have no choice but to disinherit you and name one of your cousins as my heir.”

  Horus sat bolt upright.

  “Father, you cannot do that! Not with Ragnus so recently murdered!”

  “I can and will,” said Baron Matalus. “I hope that I am finally getting through to you.”

  Horus stared at his hands, tongue-tied with shock.

  “You will lead an embassy to King Shobar,” continued his father. “I will send one of my ministers with you, and you will do exactly as he says. If we play our cards right, we may yet gain something out of this conflict. Your absence on the embassy will provide a plausible reason for Talia’s departure for Dreslin and prevent idle tongues from talking of a breach between the House of Matalus and the Hilsons. I will assure Duke Artor that your wenching is at an end on pain of disinheritance. Is that clear?”

  Horus nodded dumbly.

  HARALD SAT ON his aerie in his small audience chamber with Red Khalif Alumus and Baron va Haxos. He was keen to go for his afternoon ride and stifled a yawn as the baron described the royal budget for the coming year.

  “This sounds wonderful, Baron va Haxos,” he said, interrupting a long-winded description of export revenues from the bumper Brigon corn harvest. “With a harsh and long winter predicted, we should be able to levy heavier export taxes. Utrea and Daksin will have no option but to pay. Shabor’s increased aggression against the Zon has shrunk Utrean production even further, and the failure of the rains in Daksin has ruined much of their crop.”

  “You are quite right, sire,” said Baron va Haxos ponderously. “I was just getting to that point, but as usual, you have grasped the situation instantly. The only concern we have at the moment is the continuing fear of war with the Sisterhood, which is being stoked by Khalif Alumus’s clerics and Red Sentinels. We have widespread reports of the hoarding that always accompanies expectations of conflict and instability. And every bushel of grain hoarded is one that is not traded and therefore not taxed.”

  Harald turned to Alumus.

  “What say you, Red Khalif? When can we expect success in the search for Lady Caitlin and the young Yengar witch?”

  There was the sound of the pounding of halberds and almost on cue, one of the Life Guards on duty opened the chamber door, announcing in a stentorian tone: “Her Majesty, Queen Esme, Countess Hilson!”

  Esme swept past the Life Guard, extravagantly and ostentatiously dressed as usual. She wore tiny gold bells on anklets under her long gown, which tinkled as she walked, and her informal Shelsor crown glittered in the light of the chandeliers.

  “You can expect no success in the search for Lady Caitlin and the witch, sire,” said Esme, taking a seat at the table as Baron va Haxos stood respectfully, and even Alumus half rose.

  “My dear!” exclaimed Harald warmly. “How nice of you to join us. I know that you find these meetings deadly dull. But what do you know about our search for Lady Caitlin?”

  “Men arrived today with letters from my sister, Talia,” said Esme animatedly. It was one of her characteristics that Harald loved—she was always passionate about everything she did. “She writes from Upper Thal in the Northern Marches. You will recall that she is married to Cheval Horus, the heir of Baron Marnus Matalus.”

  “Yes, yes,” said Harald vaguely. He had dim memories of meeting Baron Matalus a few years previously, but the man must have been rather mediocre, since he had left no impression. Still, he was a baron with significant lands in the strategic Northern Marches and an important vassal of his own father-in-law, Duke Artor.

  “Lady Caitlin and the Yengar witch were in Upper Thal in the power of Talia’s husband, Horus,” continued Esme excitedly. “But just as he was about to capture them, he was attacked by Engine Maidens led by Lady Death. The Zon have taken them from us, just as I feared. Lady Selene never meant to give us Lady Caitlin—she said as much in her parting words at our last meeting.”

  Baron va Haxos scratched his beard.

  “The Engine Maidens are a law unto themselves,” he said sagely. “They may be attempting to use Lady Caitlin as a bargaining chip to gain leverage with the Zon administration.”

  Alumus’s face went red enough to match his robes.

  “Rubbish!” he spat. “The Engine Maidens and the Zon government are one and the same. We can never trust the Zon! With them it is always lies, wiles, and stratagem.”

  “But you will be interested to know who Lady Caitlin and the witch were with when they were found at the Bugle Inn at Upper Thal.” Esme’s voice dropped an octave, and her eyes were suddenly teasing.

  Harald smiled, leaned over, and covered her hand on the table with his.

  “I am sure we will never guess, my dear,” he said amiably.

  “They were with Greghar, the bastard son of King Jondolar the Just of Utrea,” said Esme dramatically.

  “King Shobar has been hunting Jondolar’s bastard for years without success,” declared Alumus. “My subordinate, Animus, the White Khalif of Nordberg, is of the opinion that the only reason he has not been found is that he is dead.”

  “Well, Talia is absolutely definitive,” retorted Esme. “It was Greghar in Upper Thal, and the Zon have taken him as well.”

  “That is very interesting, my dear,” said Harald, attempting to sound enthusiastic. “This Greghar—King Shobar wants him dead, and the Zon have him.”

  Baron va Haxos and Alumus looked at one another and said nothing.

  “Well, gentlemen, I think we have covered a great deal of ground today,” said Harald with finality. “I thank you for your time and dedication to the kingdom.”

  Both Baron va Haxos and Alumus rose and bowed. The baron’s was deeper and more genuine, and he left saying, “Long life and happiness, Your Majesty.” As usual, Alumus was more perfunctory in paying his respects to the royal couple. He lingered, and both Harald and Esme looked at him expectantly.

  “Your Highness, Queen Esme, I wonder if I might have a private word,” he said with unusual humility. “It concerns the religious instruction of Crown Prince Axel.”

  Esme disengaged her hand from Harald’s and rose, saying, “Of course, Red Khalif. There is nothing more important to the king and me than our son’s immortal soul.”

  Harald nodded rather unhappily, saying, “Of course, of course.”

  Alumus held the chamber door open for her and led her past the life guards to the privacy of the small chapel the Thermadan Mission maintained within the Great Stony Keep. At the door to the
reception room, he stood aside and placed a hand on her firm, round buttock as he ushered her in.

  “You are as beautiful as you are pure, Highness,” he said, simpering and drinking in the deep cleavage revealed by the plunging neckline of her gown. “I think with pride of the day I convinced the king to entertain the proposal I brought him from your father.”

  As much as Esme loved his flattery, she detested his constant attempts to touch and grope her. She sat on a solitary chair and motioned him to one facing her to prevent further intimacy.

  “Let us speak of my son,” she said without warmth.

  Alumus seated himself in the chair she indicated, disappointed at being unable to sit by her and pat her hand.

  “Highness, I am afraid that was a mere subterfuge to be able to speak to you privately. I have vitally important news that I must discuss with you.”

  “Go on,” she said flatly.

  “Numius, the merchant of Chenak, has just been to see me,” said Alumus with barely concealed excitement. “He brought a message from Vivia Pragarina, the High Mistress of the Zon Trading Guild. She is willing to discuss selling explosive material to Briga. He thinks her price will be high, but any price is acceptable to acquire the ability to truly attack the Zon.”

  “What is explosive material?” asked Esme, curious. “Why is it so valuable?”

  “I am not a military man, Your Highness,” said Alumus carefully. “But I understand that it is compact material that may be used to create a powerful killing force and even bring down thick walls when it is lit with a match.”

  “How are we to learn how to use this?”

  “That is why I am coming to you, Highness,” continued Alumus earnestly. “All of the military personnel in Dreslin are hand-picked bootlickers of the Zon. I am afraid that includes your dear husband.”

  “Harald is besotted with the Zon, not a bootlicker,” said Esme sharply.

  Alumus bowed to mollify her. Then he continued.

  “Your father, on the other hand, is a Brigon patriot, trying to rally forces for a rebellion. He is having scant success, because all the barons think the Zon are invincible. However, if he had a weapon to breach their walls in a surprise attack, he could take a major Zon citadel before it could be reinforced from the air. Once one Zon citadel fell, barons would flock to his banner, and all Briga would rise. In a general war, our overwhelming numerical superiority would eventually prevail.”

  Esme’s heart beat faster. She stood and paced to calm herself, unmindful of Alumus, who fell into step with her, placing his palm on the small of her back. After two turns about the small room, she brushed his hand away with practiced ease and resumed her seat.

  “Red Khalif, between us we hold the keys to the realm,” said Esme seriously. “What I am about to tell you is known only to my father, my sister, and me. After my grandfather was slain in the Brigon Residency, some of their men escaped to Karsk instead of retreating back to Dreslin Center. They brought with them about a score of Zon ’grators and laser pistols taken from huntresses killed in the battle for the Residency. My father hid these weapons in the deepest vaults beneath Karsk Castle.”

  “Why has he never used these weapons?” asked Alumus, his eyes widening in amazement.

  “They do not work,” answered Esme. “My grandfather’s men told my father that during the battle, the Zon could use their ’grators only a few times before connecting them to wires of some sort, after which they could be used again. But Father has men who have broken down and reconstructed these weapons. They know how to use them. Once we are in a Zon citadel, these men can find or capture and use Zon weapons. We cannot fail to win the day. And when a citadel falls to us, we will capture many more weapons and the means to make them active. With these weapons, no Zon citadel can withstand us. Not even the Great Vale and Atlantic City!”

  Alumus grew dizzy at the thought of victory after victory.

  “And after we have wiped out the Zon, we can proceed to conquer Utrea and Daksin,” he said excitedly.

  “And then all of Tarsus,” said Esme, clapping her hands. “I shall make Harald emperor of Tarsus.”

  “Would the king be equal to that level of responsibility?” asked Alumus slyly. “Would you not want a man of burning ambition and vision by your side?”

  Esme looked Alumus up and down, her gaze suddenly venomous.

  “Harald is mine, and I am a Shelsor now and forever,” she said icily. “If anyone harms so much as a hair on his head, I will kill them by inches.” She drew a thin dagger from her underwire bodice and held up the razor-sharp blade to the lamplight. “I will do so with my own hand.”

  SHOBAR SAT WITH his barons in the Log Hall of Nordberg Castle, so named for the rough logs that served as insulation on its stone walls. He was receiving reports of the effects of the glizzard on the units in the field and the continuing troop movements toward his underground workings in the Great Ice Range. Several stewards flitted about, serving the nobles with beer and small dishes of pickled fish. Katog’s secretary, a thin, cadaverous man with a pinched face, entered unobtrusively and made his way to the First Minister and whispered in his ear. Katog, who was seated on the king’s right, immediately leaned over and murmured his excuses before following his secretary out of the hall.

  He returned after a very short time and said to the king, “Majesty, I think you should come outside and hear this.”

  Shobar was loath to leave, but he trusted Katog. They had been through much together.

  “My lords,” he said, standing up. “You must excuse me for a few moments. I shall return forthwith.”

  He followed the limping Katog from the hall. Katog’s secretary stood there with a captain of the Castle Guard. Both bowed deeply.

  “What is it?” asked Shobar brusquely.

  “Your Highness, we have some Zon who beg to see you,” said the captain.

  Shabor turned to Katog irritably.

  “You brought me out of an important meeting with my barons to answer to some bitches from the Residency?” he said, his voice low and dangerous.

  “Sire…” began Katog, looking to the captain with a meaningful look.

  “Highness,” continued the captain. “They are not from the Residency. They are from the Ostracis Citadel. And they are here to offer you their services.”

  There was a silence as Shobar looked from the captain to Katog to Katog’s secretary and back. All three of them waited with bated breath. Finally Shobar’s face broke into a smile.

  “If this is true, these may be the best tidings I have had for many a year,” said Shobar, cheerfully rubbing his hands together. “Who else knows this?”

  “Just the duty guard,” said the captain. “And you, Your Highness, and Lord Katog and his secretary.”

  “Good, good,” said Shobar. “Bring them to the East Hall immediately. Cloak them and let no one see them. Swear the duty guard to secrecy and place ten more as sentries around the East Hall.” He turned to Katog. “Come with me.”

  He turned on his heel and walked rapidly toward the East Hall, with Katog limping after him. They were in the East Hall in minutes, and Shobar seated himself in the large armchair with a mast rising out of its back. Katog had somehow contrived to get orders to the stewards on the short walk over, and two of them were already there laying and starting a fire in the cold grate. As soon as the blaze was going nicely, Katog signaled them to leave. A few minutes later, the captain and ten guards marched in, escorting a fat, mousy-haired brunette and a tall, elderly woman with washed-out, straw-colored hair and watery blue eyes, both dressed in northern furs.

  Shobar turned to the captain.

  “Who are these women?” he demanded in a rough voice. “A fat one and an old one, dressed in Utrean garb. They cannot be Zon.”

  The captain bowed low and spoke nervously.

  “Highness, I interviewed them at length. Their accents are Zon, and their knowledge of the inaccessible approach to Ostracis is too detailed for them to be Ut
rean.”

  Shobar grunted. “I see.” He turned to the women. “Who are you? Tell me about yourselves.”

  The fat one bowed very low.

  “Sire, I am Dushka Karandarina, exiled to the Ostracis Citadel six years ago by the filthy Sisterhood for the crime of raising my head and refusing to be a slave. The Zon Sisterhood is a tyranny, ruthlessly weeding out all nonconformists and imprisoning them in Ostracis. This is my colleague, Sueteri Makhrina.”

  The older one spoke up.

  “I am Officia Sueteri Makhrina, forcibly retired from the Pentheselia Legion five years ago. We come to you in Utrean guise for fear of being waylaid on our way here by your troops.”

  “And how did two women make it safely from Ostracis through a raging glizzard?” asked Shobar doubtfully.

  “There were eight of us originally, sire,” continued Dushka. “Two perished in the storm. The rest of us found refuge in a wayside inn. Four remain there, with our presents for you, should you meet our terms.”

  “And what are your presents, and what are your terms?” asked Shobar noncommittally.

  “Sire, we have Zon weapons for you, ’grators and laser pistols,” said Sueteri. “Two of us are huntresses who can train your troops to use them.”

  “Our terms are simple, Your Majesty,” said Dushka confidently. “We will lead you to Ostracis and help you to take the citadel. In return we want you to place us in command of the citadel, as your vassals.”

  “And where is this inn where the weapons and the rest of your party are?” asked Shobar.

  “We cannot tell you till we have an agreement,” said Dushka boldly.

  “I see,” said Shobar, glancing over at Katog. “And how do I know that you are not Zon agents, sent to draw me into a trap?”