The Empire of the Zon

by R. M. Burgess

  “Where is the combat air patrol?” Alex asked the seignora irritably. “I asked Captain Rhea to take care of it before we left the administration building. I don’t like the First Principal exposed like this without air cover.”

  Without further ado, she opened a comm channel to Captain Rhea.

  “We need air cover down here in the Docks district,” she snapped, ignoring the fact that she was addressing a superior officer. “You should have had one on station already.”

  “I already told Princess Deirdre,” Rhea retorted, clearly nettled but cognizant of Alex’s position as First Handmaiden to the Queen. “The barbarians have ’grators, so it is too risky to use airboats in close ground support. We have two airboats monitoring Aurora at fifteen thousand meters, out of range of medium ’grators.”

  Meanwhile, Deirdre continued speaking to Yukia and Franna, with the local LOS staff putting together everything holographically. Then her experienced eye caught a glint of something that looked like a weapon over Yukia’s shoulder. She stopped abruptly in midsentence and peered into the yawning darkness of a window in a firegutted building, barely ten meters away on the outside of the inner wall. She saw a shadowy movement in there and was sure. She took a quick step toward the two commoners and, with a powerful hand on each of their shoulders, forced them to their knees under the protective cover of the battlements.

  “Get down, everyone!” she cried. Just as she cried out, there was a sound like the buzzing of a swarm of angry bees. The air was filled with flying crossbow bolts. Deirdre’s command was decisive, and with the discipline of long training, every huntress obeyed it instantly. In that fraction of a second, the act of forcing Yukia and Franna down meant that Deirdre was left standing, along with two of Yukia’s civilian crew.

  All three of them were hit, but Deirdre was the farthest forward and was the most exposed target. Two bolts hit her, one in her still-healing shoulder and the other in her chest. The force of the bolts from close range was tremendous, and she staggered back. She fell heavily, first on her side and then rolled onto her back.

  “No!” screamed Alex, her voice shrill with shock and grief. But even as she crawled over to her fallen commander, she opened a simultaneous comm channel to the patrolling airboats and the surrounding Guardian squads. “Dive down to the Docks district immediately; look for barbarians, probably Hilson slayers. Vector in intelligence on the local military comm. Guardian Squads Nine and Ten, over the battlements, hot pursuit. Get every one of the vermin, but bring back any live ones for roasting if you can!”

  By the time Alex got to her, a scant second later, Deirdre’s sight was already going hazy.

  “Is that you, Alex?” she asked as Alex leaned over her. She coughed and spit up blood. “Is everyone okay?”

  “Everyone but you,” said Alex, tears streaming down her face. “The air ambulance will be here momentarily—we will get you to Medical…”

  “Too late…second time unlucky,” said Deirdre, grimacing and coughing up more blood. She tried to give Alex a rueful smile. “Look on the bright side…I’ll never grow old.”

  She felt her tongue becoming heavy and desperately forced out the words one at a time. “You…must…tell…Caitlin…I…love…her. Always…too…hard…on…her. She’s a good…a good girl…always righteous…so much better than me…ever was my…dearest…”

  Then she was gone.

  CAITLIN WAS CHEWING on a bite of the delicate pie Aliuta had brought her from the kitchen, when suddenly she had a feeling of profound foreboding and a pain that started in the middle of her chest and spread outward. She had great difficulty swallowing the mouthful and bit her tongue hard enough to draw a drop of blood. The tang of blood in her mouth deepened the premonition that something was terribly wrong. Ma, my mother, mother of us all, she thought. Watch over all those I love and care about.

  Nestar wiped thick mutton gravy from his fingers, took a swallow of wine, and burped. He touched her forearm.

  “Is anything the matter, huntress? You look like you have seen a ghost.”

  She shook her head to clear it, but the feeling of foreboding persisted.

  “No, it’s nothing,” she said. He was the last person she would confide in. I wish Greghar were here. The spontaneous thought rose before she caught herself and frowned. I should be missing my dearest Megara, not the barbarian, she thought guiltily.

  The meal went on, but Caitlin had completely lost her appetite. She could barely choke down a few mouthfuls and a few sips of water. Finally, it was over, and the servitors cleared the plates and cutlery away.

  Nestar ordered up some of Laksa’s finest glacial brandy for the High Table. It was served, and Nestar rose with his glass, took Caitlin’s arm, and led her around to the front of the dais. A man dressed in flowing white robes approached the dais and mounted it to stand before them. He turned around, and Nestar turned with Caitlin so that their backs were to the mass of men.

  The man in the robes held a Thermadan triangle and faced them. He was clearly nervous, and there were traces of sweat on his forehead. However, he persevered and recited an incantation from the Book of Thermad, stressing the importance of the bond between man and woman.

  “The One God and the Divine Thermad smile on this match,” he continued, warming up and getting into his stride. “And we have hundreds of witnesses to the blessed vows that our baron and his lady will take today. By taking this hallowed path, restraining his lust, and waiting for the holy rites of matimony, our baron shows us how to conduct ourselves as men of faith.”

  Here he sprinkled rose water from a silver chalice on both Nestar and Caitlin. She found the smell cloying and distasteful but managed to limit herself to only the smallest wrinkling of her nose.

  “I will now read the wedding vows of our Lord Thermad,” he went on. Caitlin could not believe how many vows there were—he droned on for almost ten minutes. She found her mind wandering and gradually completely tuned him out. She was rudely brought back to the present when she felt Nestar take her arm and say, “In front of the One God, our Lord Thermad, and the witnesses gathered here, I take all these vows and with them, accept you, Caitlin, as my lawfully wedded wife.”

  She felt every eye in the Great Hall upon her now. The man in the white robes began, “Repeat after me…”

  She realized that her time was up. Her hopes of escape or rescue were at an end. She looked down at the glass of brandy in her hand and knew that she had no alternative. She jerked her arm free of Nestar and stepped back toward the High Table. She smashed the glass against the table edge and, holding it like a dagger with the stem as its hilt, reached up to slash her carotid artery.

  “I will never marry you,” she cried, her voice rising to a hysterical pitch. “I will die first!”

  He moved faster than she would have believed possible. He was shorter than her, but much stronger. She was the product of a thousand years of selection and eugenics, but that could not overcome the brutish reality of testosterone. Before she could make the slash, he was on her, holding her wrist in an iron grip.

  “Guttanar, a hammer!” he called. His captain threw him a war hammer, which he caught expertly. Caitlin thought wildly that he would finish what she had started and kill her, but again she underestimated him. He swung the blunt end of the hammer viciously in a short arc and struck her right forearm, shattering the bone. The broken wine glass slipped out of her nerveless fingers, and the shock of the pain made her cry out. He took a short step back to survey his handiwork. Her right forearm hung at an unnatural angle, and she supported it with her left, breathing raggedly, her eyes watering with the pain.

  “That’s not quite enough, is it, huntress?” he asked in his bantering tone. “Let’s see how tough you really are.”

  He held the hammer in both hands now and swung very hard. Caitlin saw it coming, but the pain of her arm slowed her reactions. She felt like she was frozen in place. He struck her left thigh about halfway between hip and knee. The blunt steel of t
he hammer buried itself into her flesh, and there was a sickening, cracking sound. She knew immediately that he had broken her femur, but the pain reached her brain a microsecond later. She had never known pain like this. Her scream was so loud and long that it echoed and re-echoed around the Great Hall. Even the hardened men of the Skull Watch cringed. She fell onto the dais and just lay there, sobbing.

  He came up and looked down on her broken body, swinging the hammer from side to side.

  “You will marry me,” he said grimly. “You will take the vows. Or else this pain is just the beginning.”

  So saying, he kicked her broken thigh. She screamed again, louder than she thought possible. Everything was driven from her mind as she writhed on the ground. She could not will herself to think of anything else but the searing reality of the pain. It filled her very being, throbbing and pulsing. She passed out.

  Nestar signaled to one of his personal guards.

  “Smelling salts,” he said briefly. The men knew their master, and the salts arrived very quickly. Wafted under Caitlin’s nose, the strong fumes did their work, and she was dragged out of the blissful blackness, coughing. She did not know how long she had been out. When her eyes focused, she saw Nestar step toward her again, and she quailed. She had no will left to fight him.

  “Please,” she quavered. “Please kill me.”

  “No, huntress,” he said, in great good humor now that he had broken her. “I have maimed your right arm and lamed you, but I will not kill you. Without a strong right arm, you cannot fight me. Lame, you cannot run from me. But you can still bear me strong sons.”

  He looked down at the mass of his men in the Great Hall. They were used to his brutal ways, but somehow the disfigurement of the beautiful huntress had made them all uncomfortable. Her moans of agony penetrated to their unsentimental souls. Nestar sensed their discomfort and was irritated not to get their normal hearty approval.

  “What does the huntress need to say to complete the wedding ritual?” he asked his white-robed man irritably.

  “Just the word ‘yes’ will suffice, my lord,” he said quickly.

  Nestar raised his boot to kick Caitlin’s thigh again and said, “Say the word, huntress, or I swear I shall kick you till you do.”

  Mother Ma, why can’t I die now? Caitlin thought miserably. Ashamed of her weakness, she sobbed but said in a low, pain-wracked voice, “Yes.”

  Nestar picked up a glass and poured himself another shot of glacial brandy. He took a sip and beckoned the detail that had been watching over Caitlin.

  “Carry her to the master suite,” he said to them when they mustered. “Tie her wrists and ankles to the bedposts. I shall be there momentarily to consummate my wedding.” Then, as an afterthought, he added, “Behead the maid Aliuta and put her head on a raised spike on the battlements. I admire her treachery, but we must deter others from following in her path.”

  Turning to his men, he raised his brandy glass.

  “All hail the Baroness of Steefen!” he called again.

  The men all cheered dutifully but without enthusiasm.

  THE GENERAL COMM was abuzz with news of the events in Aurora. Hildegard first heard about the events from her Second Handmaiden. She immediately opened a comm channel to Alex, her First Handmaiden.

  “Is it true?” she asked without preamble.

  “Yes, Your Majesty.” Alex’s voice was choked with grief. “Princess Deirdre died in my arms not ten minutes ago. We are pursuing her killers and will hunt them down, each and every one.”

  “Tell me how it happened,” Hildegard said gently.

  In a few short, clipped sentences, Alex told her.

  “Arrest Yukia and get a Guardian squad to bring her to Chateau Regina in Atlantic City immediately.” Hildegard’s tone was urgent now. “Let no one see her, especially not Darbeni.”

  “I hear and obey, ma’am,” said Alex, too overcome with sorrow to even think about why.

  As soon as she cut the comm channel, Hildegard opened one to Praefecta Kyra Merlina, commander of the Queen’s Household Legion.

  “Princess Deirdre has been killed in Aurora,” she said sadly. “It is a terrible blow to the Sisterhood. But we must be strong and go on—I would like to promote you to the position of Acting First Principal to take her place.”

  “I heard the rumors on the general comm and hoped that it was untrue, Your Majesty,” said Kyra, sighing heavily. “I accept the position, but I take no joy in this promotion.”

  “I knew the Sisterhood could rely on you, Kyra,” said Hildegard.

  She cut the channel and opened a third one, this time to Andromache. The High Priestess spoke as soon as the channel was open and even before Hildegard could get a word in.

  “What a catastrophe!” Andromache said brokenly. “Your Majesty, I am desolate, devastated! Deirdre and I grew up together; we were closer than womb sisters. To think that I will never see her again, hug her to my breast, I cannot bear it!”

  “Be strong, Andromache,” said Hildegard comfortingly. “Please come to me; I must speak with you. I fear there are few I can trust at this point.”

  Andromache was in Hildegard’s office in less than half an hour. She seated herself silently. Hildegard saw that her eyes were redrimmed from crying. However, she knew there was nothing to be gained now from mourning; there was far too much to do.

  “Andromache,” Hildegard began. “I think Vivia is behind this. She was afraid Deirdre was going to expose her treasonous dealings with the barbarians and sought their help in assassinating her. I have had Alex arrest Yukia, and a squad of Guardians is bringing her here as we speak. I think we can squeeze the truth out of her.”

  “Assassinated?” said Andromache, shocked. “Surely even Vivia would not go that far.”

  “There is nothing Vivia would not do to protect her interests,” said Hildegard. She leaned forward and took Andromache’s hand. “I fear for our chances in this war without Deirdre. She was Simran come to life, I would have gambled on her in the face of impossible odds. But, neither Kyra nor Tignona has her leadership, her charisma, her ability to inspire. We cannot risk fighting on now without powerful allies. With Harald ousted from the throne of Briga, we have lost control of the richest barbarian kingdom. Worse, its armies may be arrayed against us. There is no help for it. I must fly to Lothar and beg him to rally his army and his barons to our cause.”

  “When will you go, ma’am?” asked Andromache.

  “As soon as I am done with Yukia,” said Hildegard, her eyes growing cold as she mentioned the LOS hostess. “The Imperial air barge is crewed and ready to go. I would like you to accompany me.”

  Andromache bowed her head in the old-fashioned way.

  “I hear and obey, ma’am,” she said.

  TWENTY-TWO

  IT WAS TURNING colder as the Utrean winter really began to set in. It was snowing heavily, and Diana gazed out of the viewport in the Nordberg Residency, moodily looking at the driving flurries. She was in Resident Rita Cristina’s study, sipping Utrean ice wine and nibbling on some choice hors d’oeuvres that the Resident’s handmaiden had laid out. The pale, ice-blonde Guardian cornelle and the dusky resident with her jet-black curls made a striking contrast. The handmaiden on duty took a surreptitious video and posted a comm edge that rapidly gained wide viewing in the Sisterhood.

  Diana delicately extracted a long shoot of orange grass, shipped all the way from the Shoba Isles off the coast of Daksin. She crunched on it mechanically, her brain barely registering the fine taste. Her mind was filled with images of Deirdre. Ever since she had entered the Academy, Deirdre had been a large presence in her life. She smiled now as she thought of how the princess used to thrash her in the practice ring. And the day when, as a senior, she had finally gotten the better of her teacher and mentor.

  Even as a child, Diana had had a tough shell. Her mother, a commoner working as a mechanic in an outlying settlement, had never been particularly loving and seemed to regret straying into mother
hood. In any event, she had died in a machine shop mishap when her daughter was still in her pink leotard at junior school in Atlantic City. With Diana’s predilection for risk and adrenalin, it was inevitable that she lost many friends and colleagues in accidents and battle.

  Diana did not cry—that was not how she expressed her grief. But somehow, losing Deirdre was different from all her other losses over the years. She was surprised by how miserable she was and how close she felt to tears. The two best warriors in the Legions, she thought. Now there is only me. To distract herself, she ran over her personal mantra in her head: My relief will come in battle. Action is the cure for all melancholy. The memory of my fallen sisters will spur me to fight with greater vigor and energy than ever before. The final victory of the Sisterhood will be my tribute to them. Unconsciously, her right hand grasped the hilt of Light as she thought of action.

  “We don’t have the strength to pursue Shobar’s army into the Great Ice Range,” Rita was saying, seeing Diana’s faraway expression. “However, I think your suggestion of maintaining high-level surveillance with an airboat is a good idea.”

  “I’ll speak with Captain Hebe and see that it is implemented,” said Diana, snapping out of her reverie and searching Rita’s face as she continued. “I have given Arch Baron Tenus leave to bring another thousand of his men from Grigholm to Nordberg. This is a military decision, not a political one. It is important for us that he is able to maintain control of the capital and its environs. There are still some who support Shobar, and I have assured Tenus that we will support him in everything he does to maintain peace and stability.”

  “Excellent,” said Rita, smiling. Diana was pleased—she had not had much to do with Rita in the past and was happy to find that they had good chemistry. “I wonder if we should send an airboat sortie to Shobar’s homeland of Swarborg to replace his local leadership with others that are more to our liking. I am sure there are still many in Estrans and Louth who fondly remember the days of Jondolar’s rule.”