The Empire of the Zon

by R. M. Burgess

  Esme looked up at her gallery and then at Megara doubtfully.

  “This is all very well, but we have to traverse half a dozen halls with more sentries to get up to my chambers,” she said.

  Jena did not respond, but formed a knot in her zircon lasso and lobbed it upward. It draped itself perfectly around one of the merlons of Esme’s gallery and hung limply. With the lasso in both hands, Jena put her boots on the slightly sloping wall. Pulling herself up hand over hand, she walked up the wall and quickly gained the gallery, sliding into it. She disappeared into Esme’s chambers and returned to the gallery within a minute.

  “Clear up here,” she said in a low tone.

  “I can’t possibly do that,” said Esme, unnerved. “I am not an acrobat.”

  Megara did not listen to her. Like Jena, she took the lasso in both hands and placed her boots on the wall.

  “Just put your arms around my shoulders,” she said to Esme. “Grab the straps of my ’grator harness, and don’t put your weight on my throat. Can you hold your own weight up with your arms?”

  “I…I don’t know,” said Esme, edgily.

  “Don’t worry; I won’t let you fall. Come on!”

  Esme did as she was bid, and Megara rapidly followed Jena up to the gallery. Esme could see Megara’s slim muscles bunching with the effort, but the huntress made no sound as she climbed. When they got to the top, Jena reached over, grabbed Esme’s shoulders, and swung her over the merlons into the gallery. Megara followed, and now Esme saw that she was breathing hard, her femininity accentuated as her breasts rose and fell. She looked at Esme and smiled a tired smile, saying, “You did well, girl.” Suddenly Esme saw her in a different light—a beautiful woman with frailties, rather than an invincible warrior. Did I hate them because I truly believed that they enslaved us? Esme wondered. Or was it because they make me feel so inadequate?

  Jena had already pulled the lasso up and returned it to one of her belt pouches. Megara looked at the chronometer on her wrist bracer. It was just before six. Fortunately for them, with the short winter days, it would not be light for hours. Back in her chambers, Esme was much more at ease and professional. She quickly stripped off the traveling shift, threw it into a closet, and eased herself into her beautifully made bed with its smooth sateen sheets. She looked up at Megara and Jena.

  “You will not see us, but we will be there,” said Megara briefly. “Just get yourself into the Dripping Dungeon.”

  Esme nodded, and the two huntresses disappeared out the door of her bedchamber. Esme muttered a childhood psalm to Thermad, asking for his protection, and she pulled the rope to ring her call bell. Though it was hardly unusual, the bell sounded unnaturally loud to Esme. Lupa came in immediately, bowing deeply.

  “Your bath is ready, Your Majesty,” she said. “And here is a warm washcloth for your face.”

  Esme took the warm washcloth and wiped her face. She had not realized how tired she was, and it felt wonderful. She allowed Lupa to help her from the bed and to tut over her lack of a nightgown.

  “Ma’am, you should have rung for me to tuck you in,” she said with a hint of reproach. “I would have clothed you in one of your mihr-silk nightgowns—it is so much better for your soft skin.”

  “Thank you, Lupa,” said Esme affectionately. “You spoil me.”

  Lupa led her to the bath and as she washed her, she gave her a light massage. Under Lupa’s expert ministrations, Esme relaxed with small sighs of delight. She was so relaxed that she lost track of time. When Lupa finally helped her from the bath and into clean, soft undergarments, she was shocked to realize that over half an hour had passed. Soon the entire Great Stony Keep would be awaking, making their mission much more difficult.

  She told Lupa to clothe her in an informal gown. While she was being dressed, she made some unflattering remarks about Harald and how she was looking forward to her father’s upcoming march on Atlantic City. Then she dismissed her. She waited about five minutes to be sure she would be well away down the servants’ stairs and then walked out of her chambers to the corridor. Megara and Jena were there, but they were hidden in the shadows, and she did not see them till they made their presence known.

  Esme nodded to them and led the way down to the dungeons. She descended flight after flight of stone stairs, looking behind her from time to time. Jena was following her soundlessly, flitting from shadow to shadow. Once, when Esme thought she lost them and stopped, Jena came up behind her and whispered in her ear, making her jump. Thereafter, she did not look behind her anymore but just concentrated on getting to the dungeons as soon as possible.

  They were several levels below ground level now. Esme led the way unerringly to the entrance to the dungeons. She had never been beyond this point. There was a heavy barred door, beyond which was a guardroom occupied by the turnkey and his immediate staff. It was a large room, but now it was occupied by over a dozen men of the Moles and seemed crowded. Esme went to the bars and called out, “Captain Welbenius, how are you?”

  The captain rose and smiled, pleased that Esme remembered his name.

  “Your Majesty,” he said heartily, coming to the bars. “What brings you down to the dungeons? Surely you have no truck with the murderers and thugs we have incarcerated here.”

  “No, Captain,” she said coquettishly. “I would like to see my husband in the Dripping Dungeon. As you know, I have ever disapproved of his associations with the Zon, but he is not an ill-meaning man. I would like to see that his internment is no more uncomfortable than it has to be. You have him down here, do you not?”

  Captain Welbenius looked much less happy now.

  “It is a long way through the prison to the Dripping Dungeon,” he said uncomfortably. “It has its own special guardroom, and it is held by Duke Hilson’s men from Karsk. No one from the Moles is allowed there. They say that we are not to be trusted, that many of us are loyal to the king…I mean, Harald.”

  “I am more than willing to talk to the men from Karsk,” said Esme confidently. “But this way through the prison…” She wrinkled her nose. “What is it like?”

  “Ma’am, it is not suitable for a highborn lady such as yourself,” he said considerately. “There are a lot of sights and smells that require a strong stomach.”

  “Well, if there is no other way—” began Esme.

  “There is the Priests’ Passage, ma’am,” said Captain Welbenius, glancing over his shoulder apprehensively. “The way used by the Thermadan clerics on their way to administering last rites. That passageway down to the right leads directly to it. I will detach some troopers to escort you.”

  “There is no need, Captain,” said Esme, looking back expectantly. “My maid is with me—we will be fine together. We are both Karsk women.”

  A slight form in a dark-hooded cloak materialized by Esme like a wraith. Captain Welbenius took a step back in surprise.

  “Thermad’s breath! Has she been there the whole time? Your maid is a like a ghost, ma’am…scared me half to death! Well, if you are sure you will be all right.”

  Before Esme turned to go, he coughed slightly, and she paused. Captain Welbenius leaned forward so only Esme could hear him.

  “When you see the king, please give him the good wishes of the Moles. We remember well his many kindnesses to us. Of course, it goes without saying that we deeply respect Duke Hilson and know nothing of the complexities of politics.”

  Esme nodded understanding and disappeared down the passageway, with the cloaked person following. The passage turned, and when they were out of sight of the guardroom, the hood was thrown back, and Jena’s finely sculpted features appeared.

  “Where is Megara?” whispered Esme. “How will she come to us?”

  “Don’t worry; she will come,” responded Jena. “In a few moments, the excitement will pass, and the men will return to their cards. Then Megara will be able to slip by in the shadows, unnoticed.”

  Jena’s prediction was borne out. They waited about ten minutes—th
ough it seemed an age—and Megara appeared. They walked on, much of the time in darkness, since the torches in the walls were very widely spaced. The huntresses did not use their lights for fear of being seen. The passage seemed to slope down, and the walls and eventually even the floor grew wet and mossy. Finally they approached another heavy iron door, beyond which was the inner guardroom to the Dripping Dungeon.

  The upper half of the door was made up of iron bars, so Esme could see that the room was alight with torches and a fire blazed in the grate. There were another dozen men there, heavily armed, wearing light armor and helmets. They all wore the Hilson livery of Esme’s father.

  “Wait here, out of sight,” she whispered to the huntresses and went forward alone.

  She stood in front of the iron bars and waited. Eventually one of the men noticed her and pointed, and soon the captain of the guard came forward to the gate. He was a rough-hewn man, with a hatchet-like face and a nose that had been broken more than once.

  “Who are you and what do you want?” he asked rudely. “No one is allowed here. Duke Hilson’s orders.”

  “I am Queen Esme, Lady Hilson,” said Esme haughtily. “I am here to see my husband.”

  “The traitor! No one gets to see him but His Grace, the duke,” said the captain. “We are Karsk men; we have no other allegiance.”

  “I am the daughter of your liege, how dare you speak to me thus!” exclaimed Esme, enraged. “Open this door and let me have my say to Harald the traitor, or I will ask my father for your head on a spike.”

  In the darkness, Megara poked Jena, murmuring, “By Ma, she’s good.” They both edged forward, ’grators on a medium-beam setting, trying to get in position to vaporize as many of the Karsk men as they could on the first blast. They assumed that as soon as the action began, one of the men would have orders to rush into the Dripping Dungeon to kill Harald.

  “Well, as you are Duke Hilson’s daughter,” said the captain finally, in an unenthusiastic tone. “Just a few minutes, then you must be on your way.”

  Esme did not condescend to answer. He opened the iron door, and as it swung in and Esme walked past him, he heard the onrushing charge of the huntresses. Before he could slam the door, he was vaporized from midsection up. Megara and Jena charged in over his charred remnants, firing methodically, taking out two and three men with each blast. The Hilson men were caught in the guardroom like rats in a trap and had nowhere to go. Even as they desperately drew swords, they had no chance of using them.

  In the chaos, Esme saw one trooper opening the inner door at the back of the guardroom. She weaved through the bodies, ducking under the swords of the charging men to reach him just as he got the door open and was in the act of slipping through. Without thinking, she drew the dagger from her bodice and stabbed him in the side with all her might. The sharp blade sank in surprisingly easily and drew a mad scream of pain and rage from her victim.

  “I’ll do for you, bitch!” he shouted wildly, drawing his sword.

  Esme backed away from him, holding her bloodstained dagger in front of her. Compared to his longsword, it looked like a toy. He had taken a step toward her when all of the sudden, his head was vaporized and his body toppled over. Esme looked over her shoulder and saw Jena standing with her laser pistol in her right hand and her ’grator in her left. She looked oddly excited, her lips drawn back in a snarl of excitement that showed her even, white teeth.

  The huntresses were thorough. As Megara came up to Esme and led her into the Dripping Dungeon, Jena went around the guardroom making sure all the Karsk men were dead. When there was the slightest doubt, she used her laser pistol to finish the job.

  The Dripping Dungeon was in utter darkness. As Megara and Esme stepped in over the raised threshold, they found themselves ankle-deep in slime. Esme gave a small scream as her delicate shoes were ruined and her silk stockings besmirched. Megara’s boots were waterproof, but she was nonetheless assaulted by the dank and rancid smell. As they both stood there for a moment to get their bearings, they heard the irregular dripping of water from the ceiling. It was the irregularity of it that drove a person insane. Just waiting for the next drop, not knowing when it would come, was unbearable.

  Then they heard Harald’s voice.

  “I must be dreaming,” he said in a hoarse quaver. “I thought I heard my Esme call out. I am truly losing my mind.”

  “It is I, Esme,” she cried. “I am here, I am here.”

  She waded forward through the slime, unmindful of her gown. Now Megara tapped her wrist bracer and activated a powerful light, illuminating the dungeon. It was a small, cavern-like room with moss growing everywhere. The floor was a morass of repulsive brownish-green muck. The ceiling was that of a rough cave, rather than a room, and at dozens of points, droplets formed and distended before falling through drooping fronds of moss.

  Harald’s wrists were chained to a ring set in the ceiling so that his arms were drawn above his head. His face and chest were covered with cuts, some so recent that they still bled. As they approached, he gazed in their general direction, but he did not focus on them. When they came up to him, they saw why—both his eyes had been burned out.

  Esme’s hand went to her mouth, and she tried to stifle the scream that rose in her throat. She took the last step and put her arms around him, crying, “What have they done to you, my darling?”

  “It is all fine now, my dear,” he said, his voice quite calm now. “The hardest part was when they told me you had turned against me. But you are here with me. I can bear anything now.”

  Megara shook her head. She thought it rather sweet even if he was a barbarian and a man to boot.

  “Oh, Harald,” Esme wept. “I arranged for Vivia Pragarina to deliver explosive material to my father, but I never dreamed that it would lead him to come down and make a bid for the throne. I wish I had never listened to a word from that snake, Alumus!”

  Megara’s ears opened wide as she digested this. Lady Selene will want to question Esme much more closely, she thought. But now she spoke urgently.

  “There will be time for recriminations later, ma’am,” she said. “Let me free your husband so we can get him to safety.”

  She gently pried Esme off Harald and drew her laser pistol. As Esme watched fearfully, she cut the ceiling chains with a single well-aimed blast. Esme took one arm and Megara took the other as they guided him out of the Dripping Dungeon and into the guardroom.

  Jena was waiting for them impatiently. One look at Harald and she said, “We must fashion a stretcher; he will never be able to negotiate all the steps blind.”

  Within minutes, she had used her laser pistol to cut a section of board from the seat of one of the benches in the guardroom. Working quickly and ruthlessly, she went around the bodies and returned with several leather belts that she linked together. As Megara lay Harald down on the board, Jena used the belts to secure him to it. The two huntresses then picked up the board with Harald on it.

  “Lead us back to your chambers, ma’am,” said Megara, a note of urgency in her voice. “If we are questioned, you must be commanding. You are moving your husband to your chambers. You are Queen, this is your Keep, and you will do in it as you please.”

  Esme nodded and led the way, taking the steps rapidly. It was a long and uncomfortable journey to the surface for Harald, and though his pain was writ clearly on his face, he maintained his silence. The huntresses were impressed by his fortitude.

  On the surface now, they passed several servitors, especially as they skirted the kitchens, but Esme’s forbidding demeanor and the huntresses’ long, dark cloaks deterred any questioners. A sentry approached them as they began climbing the stairs to Esme’s apartments, but before he could speak, Esme snapped, “Will you not salute, soldier? Who is your captain?”

  He stood to attention at once with his back to the wall and saluted, staring straight ahead. Megara glanced at her chronometer display and noted it was now just after seven. The sounds of the castle awakening we
re plain now. Soon the fresh daytime guard details would be out. They made it back to Esme’s chambers in the nick of time.

  They entered Esme’s chambers and were about to heave sighs of relief when they stopped dead. Esme’s maid, Lupa, stood in the middle of her antechamber, a feather duster in her hand, diligently dusting under the chairs. She straightened as they entered and immediately opened her mouth to scream.

  Continuing to hold the board with one hand, Jena drew her laser pistol with the other, hissing, “One sound, and you are a dead woman.”

  Lupa looked like she was going to have hysterics anyway. Esme rushed forward and uncharacteristically took her in her arms.

  “Hush, hush, Lupa, it is all right. We are just caring for my husband, your king.”

  Lupa looked at Esme, confused.

  “Your Majesty, your shoes are ruined! And your gown, it will never get clean; we must give it away to the poor. What have you been doing to get into such a state?”

  “Just sit down, dear Lupa. Don’t worry—”

  “No, no, I must get you clean clothes; you cannot be seen like this. What will people think?”

  Megara intervened.

  “Yes, you do that, Lupa. Get fresh clothes and shoes for Her Majesty from her closet.”

  Lupa bustled into Esme’s boudoir, muttering to herself.

  “I better kill her, just to be sure,” said Jena casually.

  “No!” said Esme emphatically. “She is a dear thing and has served me faithfully. I will not see her harmed.” So saying, she went to her boudoir door and spoke to Lupa again. “Lupa, please lay out my change of clothes and shoes. Then go down to the kitchen and stay there till I call you to change me.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty,” said Lupa subserviently.

  While this exchange was going on, Jena had gone out onto the gallery and reattached her zircon lasso to a merlon. Megara went over the gallery rail, and while she stood there, Jena helped Harald over to grasp her ’grator straps as Esme had done on their way up. Megara descended rapidly. By the time she reached the balcony below, Felicia was there to help her, and the two of them rapidly assisted Harald to the airboat.