“We will be fine, Mother,” said Brendel in what she hoped was a comforting tone. “There will be two centuries of us—we will keep each other company. We will have no need to mix with the locals.”
“Brendel, there are traitors in Ostracis,” said Hebe nervously. “They have already murdered three retired huntresses. You must watch each other’s backs at all times.”
“Yes, Mother.”
“You are the junior most pilot,” Hebe continued. “Your squadron seignora and the senior pilots should take the most dangerous assignments. I will tell Ling Mae.”
“Mother, there are only four airboats in the squadron,” said Brendel, bridling. “I am sure we will all share in the assignments. Please don’t talk to Ling Mae—you will make it very difficult for me.”
“I suppose you are right,” said Hebe, finally throwing herself down on the sofa by her daughter.
“You were a junior pilot once, Mother,” said Brendel, trying to put her at ease.
“When I was a junior pilot, your grandmother was killed in the Residency during the War of Brigon Succession.”
“Of course,” said Brendel, remembering. She hugged her mother tight and kissed her. “I’ll be careful, mother, really I will. Don’t worry about me. Just focus on defending the Nordberg Residency.”
CAITLIN CARRIED HER laden dinner tray into Simrania’s common dining area. Her eyes sought out two particular Maidens, and after circling part way around the chamber, she spotted them, seated together. They were the two who would be on duty at the Brimstone Gate just before midnight. She walked toward their table, seemingly aimless.
“May I join you?” she asked, pointing to one of the empty chairs at their table.
“Of course, Seignora Lady Caitlin,” said one of the Maidens, uncharacteristically friendly. “It will be an honor.”
Caitlin sat down. Their dialogue was rather stilted. She tried valiantly to think of topics to talk about, but their rather abrupt answers meant that the conversation soon dried up. Caitlin racked her brains, trying to bring up an excuse to get them away from the table, so she could mix in the powdered sleeping draught she had in one of her belt pouches. She was beginning to despair when one of them spoke up.
“Lady Caitlin, we wonder if we could ask you for a favor,” she said, rather embarrassed.
“I would be delighted to help in any way,” said Caitlin, eagerly.
“We were hoping to take part in the New Moons Rite to the Mother Goddess at midnight, but we have guard duty at the Brimstone Gate.”
“How can I help?”
“Would it be too much to ask you to stand guard there for about an hour and a half from eleven thirty? We will return between twelve thirty and one a.m., just as soon as the rite is complete.”
“That would be my pleasure!” said Caitlin, delighted.
“We are ever so grateful.” The Maidens were effusive in their thanks.
Caitlin went to Megara’s room immediately after dinner and told her of her great good luck.
“It’s the strangest thing,” said Megara. “The guard at Nitya and Greghar’s cell approached me with the same request. She wants to attend this midnight rite and asked me if I would take her guard duty from eleven thirty till about one.”
She paused, looking worried. “I hope it is not a trap.”
“I sometimes went myself to the New Moons Rite in the Great Temple in Atlantic City,” said Caitlin, smiling. “It is not surprising that the Maidens, who are so much more devout than us, are trying to attend by any means possible.
“If it is a trap, I am no worse off than I am already,” she continued philosophically. “We must stage something to cover your role in this. I will put you in force restraints in the cell—you will say that I used our friendship to get the drop on you and threatened you with a laser pistol.”
“Okay.” Megara was resigned.
ANDROMACHE’S OFFICIAL SPEEDER emerged from the Great Temple of the Mother Goddess Ma at the crest of Temple Heights and drove straight to military headquarters, which sat just below Chateau Regina and the Long Trek Memorial on Simran’s Peak. It came to a stop at the HQ entrance, which was a newer building. It was surrounded by walls, but these were mostly for show. Most of its defenses were invisible to the casual observer. Andromache’s speeder door hissed open, and she emerged, followed by her handmaiden.
She had come unannounced and found the huntresses on guard duty less than friendly. As High Priestess of the Upper Temple Cognis, she was a senior member of the Cabinet Council and the de facto second in command to the Queen Empress. By the ancient Zon tradition of civilian control of the military, she was senior even to the First Principal. So the huntresses could not deny her access, but they delayed her by calling their superiors for clearance. While Andromache was irritated by this show of petty bureaucratic malice, she was not surprised by it. Deirdre had doubtless been painting her as a dove in contrast to her own hawkish position, and the huntresses were very willing to follow her lead.
“I would like to meet with the First Principal immediately,” Andromache said to the seignora of the watch.
“First Principal Princess Deirdre is in conference,” she said stiffly. “I will lead you to a reception room, where you may wait till she is free.”
“I will not wait on Princess Deirdre,” snapped Andromache. “I will see her immediately. Please lead me to her conference chamber and announce me.”
The seignora looked like she was going to refuse, but Andromache’s obvious fury made her reconsider. After a pregnant pause, she said, “Please follow me, Princess Andromache.”
She led Andromache and her handmaiden into the bowels of HQ. They descended two sets of stairs below ground level and then took an antigravity shaft another thirty meters into the depths of Simran’s Peak. They entered a long subterranean passage, brightly lit with light panels. Its walls were bare, and at its end was a heavy door with metal studs. There was a voice panel by the door, and the watch seignora pressed it hesitantly.
“Who is it?” Deirdre’s tone was sharp.
Andromache motioned the seignora aside.
“It is I, High Priestess Princess Andromache,” she said formally.
As she expected, the door opened immediately. Deirdre sat at a conference table with the two Legion commanders, Praefecta Kyra and Praefecta Tignona. A whole series of holographic images shimmered just above the table, one of which was a three-dimensional map of Utrea. Three video comm feeds were open. All three of them rose. Deirdre came around the conference table and greeted Andromache, armored lyntronex on silk.
“It is unusual to see you here, High Priestess,” she said ceremoniously. “But you are, of course, always welcome at our military conferences.” Deirdre made a dismissive motion with her hand, and the seignora of the watch and Andromache’s handmaiden backed out of the chamber. They pulled the door shut behind them.
Deirdre indicated the conference table.
“As you can see, our Utrean Residency is under full-scale attack. Resident Rita is fighting valiantly and has today repelled an attacking force she estimates at about a thousand. The Utreans fought with fanatical bravery, advancing in spite of murderous fire from our ’grators. We have killed almost nine hundred, with no losses so far on our side. Resident Rita has recalled the Thetis from Ostracis and expects another attack tomorrow.”
“This is not my area of expertise, but I see you have the military situation very much in hand,” said Andromache carefully. “I would like to discuss longer-term strategy with you, Princess Deirdre. However, at the first instance, I would like to do so privately. Perhaps we could excuse ourselves to your office?”
“There is no need for that,” said Praefecta Kyra, gathering her things. “We were pretty much done for the day. We have analyzed all the data and sent out all the commands and communications. Praefecta Tignona and I were just leaving. You may caucus with Princess Deirdre right here; this is a secure chamber.”
“Just so,” echoed Prae
fecta Tignona. They both made their bows and left in short order.
Andromache seated herself in one of the luxurious conference chairs and tilted herself back. Deirdre resumed her seat and proceeded to shut down the video comm feeds and holograms.
“I was planning to have this chat with you when we began our election campaigns against each other,” said Andromache in a neutral tone. “Queen Hildegard is in the prime of life, so I expected that it would be many years from now. However, matters have come to a head, and it appears we will face each other sooner rather than later.”
“You have been speaking to Hildegard,” said Deirdre.
“Unhappily, yes,” Andromache nodded.
“She has sinned.” Deirdre’s voice was harsh and inflexible. “She is a disgrace to the Sisterhood. Her weakness of character is doubtless due to her low birth.”
“Come, Deirdre, that was uncalled for,” remonstrated Andromache. “She has done the Sisterhood no harm and has many huge achievements to her credit. Both of our mothers were highborn electrae, yet their contributions to the Sisterhood were not particularly impressive. And though I love my own daughter, Althea, dearly, she was barely admitted to the Lower Temple and is unlikely to rise far.”
“And you are kind enough to leave unsaid the fact that my own Caitlin has betrayed the Sisterhood,” said Deirdre, softening slightly. “But two wrongs don’t make a right, Andromache. Hildegard is Queen Empress. Her actions undermine the very core beliefs of the Sisterhood. Breaking the Male Abortion Law is tantamount to repudiating the Manifest Destiny.”
“Deirdre, you are a mistress of military and political strategy,” said Andromache. “And I am ever guided by you in those areas. My own expertise is in the area of science and technology, so hear me out. We Zon have lived on New Eartha for over a thousand years. In that time we have recreated less than a fifth of the technology that our foremothers had when they began the Great Voyage.”
“Our numbers are pitifully small,” retorted Deirdre. “As our population grows so will our rate of technological advance.”
“Deirdre, I oversee our research and technology, and I think I know more about it than anyone in the Sisterhood. Let me focus on military technology, an area where we share expertise. Our foremothers had microwave disintegrators and laser pistols when they arrived. Queen Simran used them to good effect during the Long Trek. True, today’s ’grators are about twice as powerful, but it is the same weapon, the same technology. The same is true with our airships, airboats, and speeders. Our foremothers brought the designs with them from Eartha. The first Zon airship, the Eartha, built during Queen Simran’s reign, was just as fast and almost half as big as the Thetis or the Hydromeda.”
“So we are making slow progress, Andromache. How is that bad?”
“I am trying to tell you that I have analyzed all of our technologies, military and civil. Every major technology and scientific advance, without exception, can be dated to our time on Eartha. The social upheavals associated with the Male Abortion Law slowed technical progress, as would be expected.”
“What are you saying, Andromache? Get to the point.”
“What I am saying, Deirdre, is that we have achieved no scientific breakthroughs and developed no new technologies since we have arrived on New Eartha. We have spent all our time trying to suppress innovation among the barbarians instead of working with their best and brightest in developing new technologies. Educated natives would be quick to recognize the superiority of our civilization, just as educated males recognized the advantages of female emancipation on Eartha.”
Deirdre looked at Andromache blankly. For once she had no answer.
“You are a priestess, Deirdre, you were admitted to Magis. Surely you see the magnitude of what I am saying. Our Manifest Destiny is to recreate the Golden Age on Eartha. But that Golden Age is not the Modern Age that followed the passage of the Male Abortion Law. It is the Age of Transformation, when women and men worked together as equal partners.”
IT WAS A quarter to midnight when Caitlin appeared at the bars to Greghar and Nitya’s cell. She was trailed by Megara who drew out the cell key.
“We were beginning to give up on you,” said Greghar lightly. “We thought you were tempted away by the New Moons Rite.”
“What do you know of the New Moons Rite, Utrean?” asked Megara, surprised.
“Just that it is something you Zon are keen on,” he said vaguely.
“Open the cell, Megara,” said Caitlin edgily. “We need to be well away from Simrania before the rite is done.”
Megara did as she was bidden and entered the cell after Greghar and Nitya came out. Caitlin drew a short force restraint from her belt and placed it on Megara’s wrist bracers, binding them together. Then she shut the cell door and locked it. They looked at each other through the bars.
“When we parted last time, I thought I would never see you again,” said Megara quietly. “But we were thrown together in very short order. I hope that this parting is equally short.”
“As do I,” said Caitlin, reaching through the bars to grip Megara’s forearm. “You will be in my thoughts and prayers. Don’t forget to speak ill of me and curse my name when they find you.”
“I will try, but it will be difficult,” said Megara uncomfortably. “I am sure they will see through me.”
“People believe what they want to believe,” said Caitlin. “They expect you to be upset and angry—if you say the words, they will look no further.”
Caitlin squeezed Megara’s arm for the last time and turned and walked down the corridor. Greghar and Nitya followed her. Caitlin dropped the cell key on the floor a few meters up the corridor, hoping that they would find it easily and release Megara quickly. Then she quickly led the way to the stables. Now Greghar worked with her, saddling the horses and loading the packs that she had laid out in preparation for their flight.
They followed Caitlin again as she led the way as quietly as possible to the Brimstone Gate. It was one of Simrania’s minor gates and just wide and high enough to admit a horse. Caitlin punched the key she had been given into the gate panel, and there was a whine as the winches drew up both the inner and outer gates. She quickly led her horse out and beckoned Greghar and Nitya. As they came out, she went back in, punched in the code, and hurried out as the winches lowered the gates.
She patted Nitya on the rump, whispering, “Let’s ride, girl!” She vaulted into her saddle. Nitya swung up on Caitlin’s inside. They were on a flat lip of rock outside the gate, beyond which was a precipice that dropped away over a thousand meters. The sides of the volcanic cone of Mount Ignis were nearly sheer. The way down was a narrow path that had been cut into the volcanic rock.
The skies were heavily overcast as forecasted. The wind was freshening, blowing the steady snow into whirling eddies. There was already a foot of snow on the path, and in places the winds had blown up drifts many times that height.
Nitya steadied her horse. Caitlin’s horse, a sprightly dun, pranced with its hooves just a meter from the edge of the lip. She patted it and gentled it till it stood still. Then she looked down at Greghar. He was holding his horse’s reins in a white-knuckled grip, and his back was glued to the rock wall beside the gate.
“Well, mount up,” she said tensely. “We don’t have much time. The Maidens on guard will be back in about half an hour, and there are eyes on the Pinnacle Lookout right now.”
“I…I…I can’t,” said Greghar, his eyes wide.
“What do you mean, you can’t?” said Caitlin impatiently. “Just mount up, there’s no time to waste.”
Greghar did not respond but remained rooted to the spot, his jaw set, his whole body tensed. He took a step away from the rock, but his horse took a step as well, and he shrank back. He looked up at her with wide eyes. He was clearly terrified.
Nitya understood instinctively. She slipped down from her mount and took his hand.
“It is very high here, and it is sensible to be afraid,” she whispe
red.
The penny finally dropped for Caitlin.
“Our brave Utrean is afraid of heights?” Caitlin’s voice was incredulous. “Come on, Greghar, you faced thirty men and certain death in the inn. This is child’s play in comparison.”
“Go on without me,” said Greghar through gritted teeth. “I have a better chance in the cells.”
“You don’t know what awaits you in the cells,” said Caitlin roughly. “Just mount up and follow me. Close your eyes if you have to.”
“Don’t be mean to him,” said Nitya fiercely. “It is not helping.” She squeezed Greghar’s arm.
“Trust me, Greghar,” she said kindly. “You will be okay with us. Don’t look down. Just look at the wall behind you and mount up. You’ve ridden horses since you were little, I am sure. Your horse is sure-footed, and we will go slowly and steadily, one step at a time.”
Greghar looked at her friendly face. She held his stirrup for him, and he slowly mounted his horse. He looked resolutely at the rock wall. His whole body was stiff with fright, and he held his reins in a death grip. Caitlin shook her head.
Catching Caitlin’s eye, Nitya put her fingers to her lips and said, “Lead on, Caitlin. Greghar will come second, and I will bring up the rear.”
They began riding down the path at a pace slower than walking. All of them were swathed in heavy barbarian cloaks against the weather. As their horses settled into a steady walking pace, Greghar grew slightly less tense, but he still could not bring himself to look away from the rock wall on his right, for fear of seeing the abyss on his left.
An hour later found them about a kilometer down the mountain. A passing spot had been hollowed out of the mountainside, creating a round, flat space about four meters in diameter. They stopped for a couple of minutes to catch their breaths.
“Better, Greghar?” asked Caitlin.
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