Maybe being a Mistress Holder actually meant something around here and she had some connections. She was mum on the subject and so upset with me right now that I didn’t feel like pressing the matter. I figured all would be revealed in good time and there was no need to cause another blow up.
I saw a lot of sheep and cows in the fields around the fortress, which was kind of surprising. I had been under the impression that a place was either cattle or sheep land, not both. Although, if this was some kind of local economic hub I suppose that might explain away my current confusion.
A bunch of men clad in metal armor from the waist up came running out of the fortress. The armor flared out at the waist until it looked like some kind of manly metallic version of the mini-skirts young girls were so crazy about back on historical Earth. They also had trousers of a similar, although slightly different and rougher cut than Lady Akantha had worn to the Banquet, and metal shin and thigh guards strapped on over the top.
A number of poorly dressed men with spears came pouring out behind them.
It looked like we’d kicked over the hornet’s nest this time, despite the fancy new color of our space shuttle.
The Ice Maiden took a few steps in front of our group and, other than a single startled look at the noisy second shuttle landing beside us, ignored it in favor of facing the oncoming warriors. She was brave to face a band of at least fifty armed warriors charging in her direction.
I was in my power armor (as were most of my men and everyone had power weapons) so I wasn’t really all that concerned for our immediate safety.
Akantha, on the other hand, was decked out in a different version of the same outfit she wore to the banquet. Slightly thicker clothing, perhaps for colder conditions than those on the ship, but in the very same colors and with the same simple elegant cut as her previous set. She looked both striking and beautiful staring down those warriors way she did. Not to mention standing in front of us like that, practically daring them to run right over her.
The locals might think that because they outnumbered us, they could win any confrontation. If that was their thinking they were sorely mistaken. A handful of men in power armor equipped with blaster rifles and plasma grenades could level this whole citadel in short order.
I was the only one carrying a plasma rifle, having previously restricted the armory crew to blaster weapons. This was deliberate because the last time I had needed a plasma weapon back on the Bug ship, I hadn’t had one. My Armory team, on the other hand, had been outfitted with plasma weapons (or at least plasma grenades) and had used one of them on me by mistake. As there had been no time to fix my current helmet-less situation before coming down to the planet, I was being very careful with the ordinance situation this go round.
The last thing I needed was another plasma grenade to the head. For now, sonic grenades and blaster weapons would do just have to do for my little band of happy hooligans. The Prometheans seemed much more sensible when it came to handling heavy weaponry, both from my own observations and the reports after I had checked out of sick bay. So they were our designated plasma grenadiers. We weren’t here to start a war, so this distribution of firepower should work out fine. Or so I had hoped.
The rushing citadel guards played a good game, like they were just going to run right over us. Still, when Akantha whirled her cape and held it up over her face like some sort of clichéd vampire in a cheap holo-film, they slowed to a halt. Recognition, alarm and confusion crawled over the faces of the men in front.
Then, for no obvious reason (other than the fact that they had stopped) the heavily armored warriors sorted themselves out into formation and pointed swords and shields in our direction.
“Land-Bride Zosime, we didn’t realize it was you, returned to us from the dead,” declared a particularly huge man, his voice translated through the ear bud linked to the hand-held translator in my pack. A giant among these large, six and a half foot tall men, he stood several inches taller than the rest. His armor wasn’t made of metal, but some kind of rough pebbled substance. It was also thicker than the standard metal armor worn by the others. “We heard you were taken captive by sky-demons. As you know, no one taken has ever returned. How is this possible,” he asked, looking suspiciously at our power-armored forms.
Akantha raised Bandersnatch by the middle of its sheathed blade, until it was chest level. The eyes of the man in the strange armor widened and he started to flush. He took a deep breath.
“Are these…,” he paused and looked at my men, hidden behind their faceplates. He then searched my face and took in the Prometheans before continuing, “Gods or Sky Demons? They look not how the Sky Demons are described by those that survive the raids and destruction,” he said questioningly.
At the talk of Gods and Sky Demons, I took a couple steps until I was able to cover the ice maiden, in case she had bitten off more than she could chew. I dare say no one respected the violent superstitious nature of these natives more than I.
Akantha took a deep breath and glanced at me out of the corner of her eye before once again setting her gaze firmly forward and ignoring me. I was grateful to find her attentions focused elsewhere, even if only for a few moments.
“They are neither Gods nor Demons, but men as other men," said Akantha, who was apparently speaking the same language as the new warrior. "Although, they are generally shorter and browner of skin than our own peoples,” she said in a clear carrying voice. This caused a stir among the crowd of armed warriors.
I was thankful for the ear bud I had placed before leaving the ship. It made understanding the natives much easier than listening to the hand held mechanical. It also had less chance of spooking the superstitious natives who were busy wondering if we were sky demons. The mechanical was still present; it just wasn’t set on speaker function. Right now it was wirelessly transmitting to my ear. The rest of my men were also listening to wireless translation, but I was carrying my own separate device in case we had to split up.
The large bull of a man looked surprised at first, and then his expression changed to a pleased one for the first time.
“So you’ve taken a sword and are now a Sword Bearer,” the large man said with a smile. “Many within the Halls of Argos will be both angered and well pleased with your decision,” he said, a brief look of calculation in his eye. “I take it your chosen Protector is here?”
“He is,” she said, looking straight ahead and ignoring me.
The man must have noticed something along the way that tipped him off. Perhaps it was the fact I was the only one in armor without a helmet and was standing next to her. Anyway, he seemed to clue into the fact that I was the person he was looking for.
“Well done, foreigner,” he said, looking at me. “Many will be offended that your Sword Bearer chose you over them,” he added with relish, “how will you answer when they demand to know why you and your Sword was chosen over they and theirs?”
Before I could answer this, Akantha half unsheathed the vibro-blade. She displayed the side with the mono-Locsium crystals writing its name and then flipped it over in her palms.
When the assembled men observed the dark metal with small crystalline deposits flashing in its depths, there was collective draw in of breath, followed by a long sigh.
“How is this possible,” their large leader asked in disbelief. “All of the dark swords of power are accounted for. Besides, this one matches the description of none of them.”
“There is the sword of King Lykurgos, lost these past three hundred years and more,” Akantha said imperiously. “And new swords of power have been discovered in the past. Who is to say this is not one of them?”
“Nay,” the large man said, a light entering his eyes. “The hoplite Nikomedes, who has taken the name Minos, has returned from a quest into the great chasm and recovered the lost sword of Lykurgos and renamed it after himself, calling it the Minos Sword. The Sword of Kings.”
Akantha sucked in a breath, and if I didn’t know my ice m
aiden better, I’d say she looked faintly dismayed.
“His sword perfectly matches the ancient descriptions. This new sword does not. There is no way the sword you bear is the lost sword of King Lykurgos, for that is now born by Nikomedes Minos,” he said with hard finality.
“This sword was forged by King Larry One, a Great King of Capria, a vast Kingdom standing astride the River of Stars. It is called Bandersnatch,” Akantha said unyieldingly.
“Despite its look, I doubt its blade can stand against the might of the Minos Sword,” he said dismissively and then looked at her with compassion. "The days when the swords of power were found and forged are long past. I doubt this new sword, no matter how well forged, can stand for long against a true sword of power,” he said, not trying to pronounce the sword’s name.
I couldn’t help myself and laughed. “Bandersnatch is a vibro-blade. I’d be surprised if anything you’ve forged locally can survive more than a few passes without breaking.”
He looked at me hard, then cracked a smile. “A large boast for a man from the stars who seems to know nothing of our land. Let's see if you are still bragging about your mighty sword after you’ve been here a while.”
He turned back to Akantha. “Your mother has been beside herself with grief ever since you were taken. The whole citadel has worn the black of mourning since word reached us of the destruction. Let me escort you to the Main Hall.”
“Of course, Kephus,” she replied without so much as a look at me by way of consultation. It’s not like I was surprised by this treatment, this was her place and she knew the local customs and on top of that she’d treated me the same way back on the ship. “Let's see Mother. I’m sure Uncle Nykator will want to see me as well, now that I’m a Sword Bearer,” she said sharply.
“As you say,” said the large man, keeping his tone level. Obviously I had correctly identified the relationship between my new wife and her uncle as problematic. This was getting more complicated with every passing minute.
The walk through the native’s fortress was interesting. I suppose to a primitive rustic from the hinterlands of this world, it was an impressive and awe inspiring sight.
To a young man who had seen the great monuments of Capria, lived in its great metropolis and commanded a 600 meter star ship, it looked like a quaint re-creation of something off ancient Earth.
A closer view of the gate and walls soon disabused the quaint recreationist outlook. The stone was solidly built and scarred where weapons had chipped and left marks as deep as your finger.
This was a working citadel where people lived their lives and died fighting to defend it, and once inside surrounded by all the ramparts and crenellations, I had to admit that it was a bit imposing having all that stone work looming over the top of you.
The men in their armor and metallic miniskirts, holding ancient style wood and metal weapons, added that certain medieval touch that let you know this wasn’t some fantasy theme park recreation.
The gates themselves were made of some kind of native wood-like substance and iron bound for strength. I thought it might take a concerted barrage of blaster fire to knock them down. So while a quick escape was possible, an instant one, where you didn’t need to stop and knock down the gates, wasn’t.
Seeing the people of this citadel, it was obvious they had never seen foreigners like us before. Also, no matter how ragged or careworn their clothing, they were all exceptionally big and tall. I decided their stature must be the result of superior genetics after seeing enough samples of the local stock.
What they might have done if we were blithely strolling down the street unescorted was unknowable, for they backed away from the gate guards who were escorting us up the hill to the inner keep of the citadel. This was clearly the final fallback position if this place was ever attacked.
If anything, its wall and gate were taller and thicker than the main gate leading into the citadel, and the guards at the keep didn’t want to let us in.
I noted that the guards at the keep sported the same dark blue capes as Akantha while the guards escorting us from the main gate, mostly didn’t sport capes at all.
The man she called Kephus had one, but his only had a dark blue ring of fabric around the edges the inside was a solid grey color, except where water marks from cleaning it could be seen.
Their objections to our approach were soon muted by a few words from Kephus, and the sight of Lady Akantha holding a sheathed Bandersnatch.
Instead of continuing to block the way, a runner was sent ahead and they drew back muttering at the foreign presence of me and my men. I noticed a few envious looks cast at our power armor, but other than that, they didn’t seem to care for us at all.
Entering an isolated section filled with murder holes and another iron bound gate at the end made me feel a little tense. I firmly reminded myself that we were equipped with modern weapons, and could blow our way out if need be. It didn’t help as much as it should have. After my recent burn experience, the thought of a bunch of natives pouring boiling oil on my currently unprotected head had me sweating.
At least these natives wouldn’t be seeing a hopelessly young man by native standards, thanks to the royal access to early prolong treatments. Instead, they’d be seeing a warrior in battle scarred armor with a now ugly face, one still covered in healing skin and burn scars.
The thought of my now frightening face caused me to smile a shark like grin. At least I wouldn’t have to deal with them thinking I was too young and whelpish for their culture to take seriously as a warrior and a man.
Chapter 32: First Impressions
Stepping into the main hall of the keep was like entering a different world. Banners of every color and description dotted the walls, from ancient coarse-woven cloth that was rotten and falling apart all the way to the bright and tightly woven with what appeared to be fresh blood stains on them.
A simple, yet elegant music was being played that filled the room with a sense of refinement and peace. The people in the hall were somewhat at odds with the aura produced by the music. The men were dressed either in the same metal armor with a miniskirt, arm and leg braces as the warriors outside, or the natural looking thick pebbled armor as Kephus, the leader of the citadel gate guards, was wearing.
There was a stir when we came through the doors that started immediately around us and spread until even people in the back of the room were looking and pointing us out to their friends. The women were kind of a surprise as well. Some wore half armor and appeared almost as serious as the armored men, while the rest wore shirts and trousers with the same refined look and cut as the clothes Akantha was wearing.
There was not a dress among the bunch, which kind of messed with my whole medieval high-society picture. Trousers were the norm in Caprian society even at court. But there were always a few ladies going for that certain look that only a dress could provide, at least they did when they wanted to look their best for the cameras.
Here, it seemed the natives might have forgotten about the concept of the dress as a form of clothing entirely.
Not that many of them, outside the ones wearing the half armor, didn’t make up for this lack with facial paints, tight or loose fitting clothing and, where it looked like they could afford it, jewelry.
Also, I couldn’t see an overweight one among them, male or female. Even in Caprian high society, with all its high end medical services, there were always one or two of the more stoutly framed who didn’t care how much they over-filled their clothes.
Unnaturally tall and broad, and not a single pleasantly plump member among what I had to presume were the best fed section of the population. That sealed it. They must have been genetically engineered at some point in the past, as natural selection just doesn’t cut it as an explanation. Not when you’ve got even the poor and underfed looking like figures straight out of Nordic legends.
The Viking Historical Society would love to have some of these people as members. Just standing a few of these p
eople outside of their lodges as door guards would raise the Society’s estimation in many eyes.
Although, they’d have to change the style of their armor and clothing. What they were wearing just didn’t fit the coarse and boisterous look the Viking historical types were trying to recreate. No, what these people had was something different. They made a virtue out of simplicity. Which is not to say I didn’t notice the occasional divergent style of clothing or complicated stitches.
Most of the people in here, men and women, had that high neckline that reached almost to their chins. However, they weren’t all dressed uniformly. Some of the women had necklines that plunged well below their throats, while any of the men, in what I would call everyday armor, had the fabric around their necks unbuttoned to let out the excess heat caused by being indoors.
There were two chairs on a raised dais at the end of the hall. Large and imposing as they were, I still wouldn’t call the hand carved and extremely well varnished furniture a pair of thrones. They just lacked that certain something that screamed monolithic power the way a throne did. For all of that, they were still works of art, and imposing in their own fashion.
Admiral Who? (A Spineward Sectors Novel:) Page 33
