“Would you like a tour of the ship before being shown to the command stateroom, ma’am?” asked Hebe solicitously.
Hildegard laughed, but in a manner that gave no offense. She touched Hebe’s arm in a familiar manner.
“Long ago, probably before you were born, I sailed in this ship for a few years,” she said in a mock-conspiratorial manner. “The Thetis is an old friend. Of course, back then, I bunked in a tiny cabin with one of the weapons officers, not in the command stateroom.”
“Let us proceed there forthwith, ma’am,” suggested Andromache. “I am sure that both Cornelle Diana and Captain Hebe are eager to hear what is in store for them.”
As the party began down the corridor to the antigravity shaft, flanked by the two tall Guardians and preceded and followed by the honor guard, Diana beckoned Ling Mae.
“Take two of your huntresses and go ahead to the command stateroom,” she whispered urgently. “Secure Horus in force restraints and wait there for the Imperial party.”
Ling Mae nodded and took off at the double down an interior shortcut. The Imperial party made its way sedately down the main corridor to the antigravity shaft and then down the broad walkway on the main deck that led to the command stateroom. The walkway was festooned with pink and white streamers and banners bearing the queen’s crest.
“I am touched by all this attention,” said Hildegard. “Especially with the hard work all of you have been doing to secure our hold on Utrea.”
“It is not every day we get to welcome our Queen Empress,” said Hebe with equal candor. “It is our privilege.”
They reached the command stateroom, and Diana tensed as one of the crewwomen from the honor guard hit the panel and the portal hissed opened. The open portal revealed Horus in the middle of the command stateroom floor, blindfolded and his arms behind him in force restraints. Ling Mae and two of her huntresses in combat uniforms stood around him. As soon as the portal opened, the three of them saluted the Imperial party.
Hildegard and Andromache looked at Diana quizzically, while Hebe looked aghast. Diana stepped through the portal first, and as they all entered, she turned to face them.
“This is Cheval Horus Matalus,” she said, indicating the hapless Brigon. “The son and heir of Baron Marnus Matalus. He has repledged the fealty of his house to the Sisterhood.”
Both Hildegard and Andromache instantly grasped the import of what Diana said. But like Diana, they kept it to themselves for the moment.
“Captain Hebe,” said Hildegard easily. “Thank you once again for such a splendid reception. Please give the honor guard my best compliments and dismiss them. Let us seat ourselves at the stateroom conference table and go over our plans for the next few days.”
Hebe bowed deeply and issued the necessary commands. As she was doing so, Hildegard turned to Ling Mae.
“Centuria, please take the cheval to a secure location. We will contact you when we wish him brought here again.”
Like Hebe, Ling Mae bowed and withdrew with her huntresses, hustling Horus before them.
“Lady Death?” called Horus as he was being hurried out. “I heard your voice! Are you here? You said that you would come by to see me—”
The portal hissed shut and cut off his expostulations. Diana shook her head and frowned, then walked over and stood by the conference table. Hildegard and Andromache both came over and seated themselves. The queen waved Diana and Hebe to seats facing them.
A crystal carafe of ice water had been set on the conference table along with a set of crystal stems. Hildegard poured herself a stem and took a few delicate sips before proceeding.
“We are sailing for Vesterans,” she said. “You know that. You also know of the reverses we have faced in Aurora. My plan is to seek an alliance with Arch Baron Lothar and offer to transport him and his army to Karsk. We know that the Hilsons have marched almost all their forces down south, and their capital is virtually undefended. Once his capital and his women are in the hands of the Utreans, it will force him to send forces to retake it or risk a powerful enemy at his rear.”
Diana nodded, but Hebe looked worried.
“Ma’am, are you asking us to carry Arch Baron Lothar and hundreds of his men all the way to Karsk in the Thetis?”
“Yes,” said Andromache. “Princess Deirdre’s death…” She sniffed and tried to control a sob but failed. Fresh tears made their way down her cheeks. With difficulty, she pulled herself together and wiped her tears with an elegant white kerchief. Her eyes were even redder now. “I meant to say, we have taken heavy losses, both at Ostracis and in Aurora. We cannot afford to wait for Arch Baron Lothar to march down to Karsk—that would take too long. In any event, the Hilsons would know of their approach, and the Utreans would likely have to fight their way across the border.”
“Desperate times call for desperate measures,” said Diana dryly.
Andromache rounded on her.
“How can you be so flippant? We have lost Princess Deirdre, one of the greatest sisters of our age. Oh! Why could it not have been a violent brute like you in the ambush instead of her!”
“I would give anything to take her place with Ma,” said Diana quietly.
“Enough,” said Hildegard sharply. “There is nothing to be gained by attacking each other. That is the last thing she would have wanted. We must stand united in our time of trouble.”
“Forgive me, Cornelle,” said Andromache. “My grief causes me to lash out, saying things that I do not mean.”
Just then, there was a ping from Hebe’s wrist bracer. She looked at it and saw that it glowed an urgent red. She opened it, saying, “Excuse me, ma’am,” to Hildegard. It was the bridge.
“Captain, we have just picked up a flash distress message. It is from Durga Bodina. She’s in an overloaded airboat damaged by barbarian ’grator fire and has wounded on board. She is requesting assistance.”
“I’m on my way to the bridge,” said Hebe brusquely. She stood and bowed to both Hildegard and Andromache. “I take my leave, ma’am, High Priestess.”
As Hebe turned to go, Hildegard looked over at Diana.
“Go with her to the bridge,” she smiled. “Durga Bodina is your particular friend. Let us change course to pick them up.”
TWENTY-FOUR
THE THERMADAN CATHEDRAL in Dreslin Center was packed with a huge throng several thousand strong. Every seat was taken, and many were standing. Deacons bearing golden salvers circulated, handing out tiny packets of dried flowers. A few hundred Red Sentinels were on hand to keep order, their spears points polished to high gloss and festooned with streamers adorned with the Thermadan Holy Triangle. The crowd was not loud, but the agglomeration of hundreds of hushed conversations created a heavy din.
Alumus’s aide, the senior cleric Holodus, entered from the wings and walked purposely up to the Triangle Altar, kept clear by a dozen Red Sentinels. As soon as he reached the pulpit, he signaled the captain of the Red Sentinels, who signaled the organist seated high overhead in a stone alcove. He struck the opening chords of “The Last Prophet,” the foundational hymn attributed to Thermad himself and known to every observant Thermadan. As the organ music swelled, the huge congregation chanted the hymn, the sounds echoing in the cavernous cathedral.
As the notes of the hymn died away, the congregation subsided into an expectant silence. They did not have long to wait. Alumus entered from the wings and made his way to the center of the Triangle Altar. As he arranged his red robes, Holodus called out, “His Virtue, the Red Khalif!” There were concerted cries of “Hail, Thermad!” Alumus waved and smiled as he settled himself at the pulpit.
He called an invocation and then led the crowd in a short prayer. Then he began his sermon.
“For centuries we Brigons have groaned beneath the iron heel of the Zon. This is the trial and the struggle that the divine Thermad warned us of. In Thermad Qura IX, he tells us, ‘The Evil One is powerful, and he may triumph for many a long year, but the true and the good will resist
and gain their reward with me.’ But he also gives us hope, for in Thermad Qura XXI, he says, ‘The Evil One and his instruments may appear beauteous and invincible, but the true believers know that this is an illusion.’ And in the Desert Prophecies, he predicts, ‘When Tarsus succumbs to the rule of the Evil One and when all seems lost, a leader will arise to rally the true believers to wage a holy war against the infidels. Against long odds, they will triumph and establish the kingdom of the One God.’ Is this not as plain as day, my children? Our Lord Thermad gave us forewarning of our suffering, solace to see us through it, and a prediction of the final triumph of good over evil.
“He foresaw the coming of the Zon. He cautioned us that they would be beautiful to look upon and tempt right-thinking men from the true path. He foretold that they would appear invincible and that they would conquer all of Tarsus. The Zon serve the Evil One; they do his bidding and have lured many to aid and abet them in furthering his ends. These whores of the Evil One have seduced many of the highest in the land, including your erstwhile king, Harald V, and many of his court.” Alumus rolled the word seduced off his tongue to make it sound as lascivious as possible.
“But just as the omniscient Thermad prophesized, a leader has arisen! I am delighted to present to you Artor Hilson, Duke of the Northern Marches, and now the true king of Briga. He has fought against the spells and the blandishments of the servants of the Evil One his whole life. And now, good people of Dreslin Center, I commend him to you as the leader who will lead Briga to freedom and righteousness under Thermad!”
On cue, Artor Hilson entered and came up the Triangle Altar, dressed for war. He had on light armor and was escorted by a dozen of his Hilson slayers. He looked confident, and his stride was purposeful. Over his armor, he wore the purple robes of Brigon Shelsor royalty and the Eagle crown with its wings of gold, ironically crafted by the Zon. It had been placed on the head of Willum Shelsor, installed as Willum I by Queen Caitlin the Unforgiving after she conquered Briga. This irony was not lost of the new king of Briga.
Unseen by the vast assembly, Talia entered the stone alcove high above the cathedral floor and seated herself beside the startled organist, gazing down on her father with rapt admiration. The organist’s appreciation of her sinuous form was completely swamped by his fear—he was painfully aware that one cross word from this lady could cost him his head. He shrank back against the corner of the small nest. After a moment, she turned and gave him a dazzling smile, which he returned with a weak simper.
“My people!” cried Artor. “My lord Khalif has told you true! For centuries my ancestors and I have struggled against the Zon, who are given such otherworldly beauty and power by the Evil One. As a young man I fought in the War of Brigon Succession and was here in Dreslin Center when it was sacked by Princess Deirdre d’Orr. I was almost captured that day and roasted in Castle Square along with all the other true leaders of Briga. But the One God spared me through the sacrifice of my dear brother, Mygor. So I am here to fulfill the prophesy of our divine prophet.
“You see my army camped outside Dreslin Center. But what you cannot see are my regiments besieging the Zon citadel of Aurora. We have breached the walls and are on the verge of taking it. I say this with confidence because today I have received news that my Hilson slayers have killed Princess Ice, commander of the Zon military. This harlot of the Evil One, who has personally heaped so much misery on Dreslin Center and Briga, is dead! We have struck terror into the hearts of this sinful sisterhood of vice.”
He paused for effect. As he expected, his words electrified the assembly. A loud buzz arose and grew until someone shouted, “Hail Thermad! Hail King Artor!” The cry was taken up by many more, and soon there was a thunderous din. Artor let them express their enthusiasm for a few minutes before raising his hands for silence. As they subsided, he continued.
“The dam is near breaking—just a few more efforts will bring the Sisterhood crashing down. I ask you now to support our noble cause. The Zon have spirited away their cowardly puppet, Harald V, and have him ensconced in the hated Residency. And they have kidnapped my daughter, Esme, who tried so hard to make him see the light. Her love of Thermad and hatred for the Sisterhood are well known, and she is doubtless being tortured as I speak.
“My people! The traitors must be punished! Harald must be returned to us and tried in a Brigon court! So march on the Residency! Send women and children in the van, for the Zon have this strange aversion to harming them. Let us swarm forward in the thousands, in the tens of thousands! Go with fire, go with pitch, go with clubs and sticks, go with any weapons you can find. They have undoubtedly heard of the princess’s death—they are quaking with fear. Let me hear you—are you with me?”
Artor’s voice had been rising through his oration, and the last question was called out in a roar. The congregation’s response was loud and unequivocal:
“Yes!”
“Are you with me?” he roared again.
“Yes!”
“Are you with me?”
“Yes!!!”
The third response from the congregation was deafening. The Hilson slayers began thudding the ground with their pikes, and the throng began a full-throated chant.
“Death to the Zon! Death to the Zon! Death to the Zon!”
LADY SELENE WAS in her large office with her Under Resident, the centuria of the Residency huntresses, and Megara, who had been promoted into Caitlin’s old position of Third Officer. The Zon bugs in the cathedral were functioning perfectly and projecting several different angles of the scene onto a series of viewscreens.
“I’ve seen Alumus’s sermons for years,” said Lady Selene. “Ever since we made him Red Khalif all those years ago. Much the same vitriol. But Artor Hilson is a different kettle of fish.”
“I beg you, Lady Selene, allow us to mount heavy ’grators on the battlements,” said the centuria.
“You heard Hilson,” returned Lady Selene sharply. “I think this is just a civilian diversion. And we don’t even know how many will heed his call. It may only be a few hundred; it may be many more.”
“I agree, ma’am,” said Megara. “The civilians with their pitchforks and tar are just a diversion; they can do us no harm. It is the armies that we must worry about. We must have airboat observation of the Hilson encampment to detect any movement.”
“Make it so, Seignora Megara,” said Lady Selene.
ELENA AND DURGA had the Thetis on their flickering instruments, but they both heaved sighs of relief when the bulk of the airship hove into view. The huge airship soon filled their windshields and blotted out the sky in front of them. She was about a thousand meters above them and slowing so she soon had hardly any way at all.
Elena spoke into the open comm channel. “Thetis, this is the Mark II airboat XT-46 out of Simrania. We have only one functioning engine, and I don’t know if we can climb to your altitude.”
“Maintain altitude,” came Hebe’s voice over the comm. “We will descend beneath you. Then you can sideslip down to our flight deck.”
Both Durga and Elena watched the adept handling of the huge airship with admiration. She rapidly lost altitude and came about as smoothly as a small airboat. Within minutes they found the airship’s flat, inviting flight deck directly below them. Elena worked the fins of the airboat, and they landed on the Thetis with a gentle bump. She taxied to the elevator and hit the brakes. No sooner had the airboat stopped than the elevator began to descend, and they found themselves on the hangar deck. Elena hit the throttle one more time, and the airboat rolled off the elevator platform, which quickly retracted back into its locked position overhead. She hit the hatch release.
They had a large receiving party, and at the forefront was an emergency medical team. As soon as the airboat’s ramp hit the hangar deck, the medical team came up, led by the Thetis’ medica, a seignora in a crisp uniform, her metal choker with the twined-serpents insignia indicating her profession. Dannae saluted her, hand on heart, and said, “We must get th
e patient to the operating theatre at once.”
The medica looked at Dannae sharply, taking in her uniform choker and wrist bracers and her advanced pregnancy and also the prominent Maidens’ tattoo on her face. However, the medical team did not delay but transferred Caitlin from the litter to a wheeled medical emergency unit. They immediately began diagnostic, stabilizing, and preventive procedures, overseen by the Thetis’s medica and Dannae.
As they were doing this, Dannae said, “I am Medica Cognis Dannae Margelina of the Hydromeda. I have been working on the patient for over an hour. I have all her vitals in my data pack. I’ve been monitoring the injury and would like to do the reconstruction at once in your operating theatre. Of course, with your permission.”
“Seignora Medica Magis Ekateri Tulsina,” the Thetis’s medica responded as they began wheeling Caitlin down the ramp. “I will assist you.” They both scanned the monitors and screens of the medical emergency unit. “A serious injury. Another hour, and she would have been dead.”
Dannae nodded. They began walking toward the antigravity shaft, Dannae huffing a bit with her huge belly. Greghar and Nitya followed the medical party uncertainly, looking around them at the environment within the giant airship. Greghar was not easily awed, but even his eyes were round. While several looked at them curiously, no one stopped them, and as they reached the antigravity shaft, Dannae turned to them and said kindly, “You can stay in the waiting area in the sick bay while we work on Lady Caitlin. It may be a while.”
As they descended the antigravity, Ekateri gave Dannae a significant look but only got a blank look in response.
“You don’t know, do you?” she said as they exited the antigravity shaft and entered the sick bay.
“I don’t know what you mean,” said Dannae deferentially, cognizant that although her medical qualifications were better, Ekateri outranked her militarily.
The Empire of the Zon Page 53
