The Broken Reign

by Jeremy Michelson

  Lou fished something out of the ash near the skeleton. As he lifted it she recognized the twisted, half melted object as one of the ship’s far speakers. Our informant, Lou had said.

  “Who was this person?” Vazsa asked, “Was he one of your crew?”

  Lou was staring at the blackened bones now. “No. He helped us when we crashed here. Helped us hide the ship. He negotiated with your queen or whatever she is, Aunt Vin to keep her people out of that part of the forest.”

  “Anta Vin? This man knew Anta Vin?” Vazsa asked, “I’m Anta Vin’s granddaughter and I never knew of this man. What was his name?”

  Lou looked up. “Seriously, you’re her granddaughter?” He rubbed his face. “Crap, why aren’t your people tearing the place apart looking for you?”

  It was her turn to look away. She had made up a story about being attacked by bandits. She cursed her slip now. Was it time for her to run? She looked back at Lou. He must have been reading her mind.

  “Run if you want to,” he said, “But I’d rather you didn’t. You owe us one for saving you and your brother.”

  She might have argued with him over how he had saved them, but ultimately he was right. Cray wouldn’t have survived with help. She probably would have. Probably.

  An arrow whistled through the air and struck Lou in the chest. He tumbled back, swearing. Vazsa dropped flat to the warm ashes just as another arrow whizzed overhead.

  Suddenly the air was filled with crackling blue bolts of energy. Lou. He was sitting up. The bolts came from the weapon in his hands. His face twisted with rage.

  The bolts struck trees, blasting bark and chunks of the trunks away. Vazsa couldn’t see the bowsman who shot at them.

  Lou got to his feet. “Come on! Get to Betsy!”

  He ran, the arrow still sticking out of his chest. Vazsa didn’t hesitate. She ran behind him as she continued to blast bolts of energy toward the trees.

  “Climb up and switch on the weapons console!” he said.

  He hadn’t specifically taught her to activate the weapons, but obviously he knew how closely she watched him. She clambered up the ladder and into the cockpit. She started flipping switches, bringing the Armor out of idle.

  She heard Lou’s energy weapon blasting away. Then it stopped and his swearing echoed up through the hatch. A moment later the weapon flew through the opening, followed by him. He had another arrow in him, this time sticking all the way through his forearm.

  “God damned mother fucking crazy people,” he said, slamming the hatch shut, “Playing fucking cowboys and fucking indians.” He fell into the other seat and began tapping controls. Blood was pouring from the wound in his forearm, though, strangely not from the arrow in his chest.

  He started to take the control gloves but winced. He looked at her. “Okay, kid, now’s your chance to go do a full robojock.” He tossed the gloves at her.

  Vazsa didn’t hesitate. She slipped the gloves over her hands. There was a tingle in her fingertips. Something settled over her eyes. She realized Lou was putting the strange headset on her. Her vision darkened for a moment, then everything came to life. She gasped as she felt herself become a giant metal figure.

  She flexed her huge iron hands and felt the power within them. She turned her head and the Armor’s head turned with her, showing her what its eyes saw. Grids and crosshairs superimposed themselves on her vision.

  “Okay, I’m sending you target information,” Lou said, “You just point and shoot. You got that, sister?”

  Vazsa nodded and felt the Armor nod with her.

  “Give me verbal when you’re full robo, okay?” Lou said, “Your movements are translated real time, so don’t pick your nose.”

  “Okay,” she said.

  The crosshairs in her vision flashed red, moving back and forth. She could see trees and brush, rocks and boulders. Then something moved. Several somethings. The crosshairs flew across her vision.

  Things plinked off the Armor’s skin. She seemed to feel them like it was her own skin. It didn’t hurt, just taps. Arrows, she realized. Whoever was out there were trying to shoot the armor down with arrows. She almost laughed.

  Two of the moving crosshairs stopped and turned green.

  “Targets locked,” Lou said, “Fire!”

  Vazsa swung the Armor’s arm up and energy crackled out of the fingers. Something much more powerful than Lou’s handheld weapon. The target was hiding next to a tree trunk. The weapon vaporized a huge section of the trunk. And presumably the man shooting arrows at them.

  “Second target!” Lou shouted.

  Vazsa swung the weapon at the second green crosshair. A boulder exploded, showering them with rock. She turned her head, looking for more targets. After a minute, Lou sighed.

  “I think there were just two of them,” he said.

  He started flipping switches. Vazsa felt the weapons systems powering down. It disappointed her. She wanted to shoot something else.

  “That was incredible!” she said, “I felt as tall as a tree! I felt so powerful!”

  Lou pulled the headset off her. She blinked, feeling a sudden disassociation with reality. Instead of a giant metal man, now she was just a small woman in a smelly cockpit.

  “Don’t let it go to your head, sister,” Lou said, “Come on, we have to get back to the ship. And let’s hope none of those chuckleheads follow us back.”

  She looked over at him, remembering that he was injured. Blood was still oozing around the arrow in his arm, but he was spraying it with something that seemed to be slowing the blood flow down.

  He noticed her staring at the arrow in his chest. He grinned, then yanked it out with his good arm. There was no blood. He tossed the arrow aside and slapped his chest.

  “Besty’s not the only one who has armor,” he said.

  She understood then that he had some kind actual armor under his clothing. She made a mental note of it, just in case she ever needed to stab him.

  “Come on, let’s go, we have some news for the boys,” Lou said. He shook his head, “I sure wish the Captain was here.”

  Vazsa took the controls and set the Armor on a course back to the ship. Beside her, Lou leaned back against the seat and closed his eyes. Vazsa considered the situation. She had told him her relation to Anta Vin. That would give the ship people power over her. More than they had already.

  “So you’re some kind of royalty?” Lou said.

  Vazsa straightened up. She kept her eyes on the screen, her hands on the controls. Was he reading her mind somehow?

  “If I give you some information, will you promise not to get crazy on me?” he asked.

  Her heart skipped a beat. No.

  “The guy in the cabin, Tojedda was his name. I don’t know how he got his information, but it was always good. He told us a while back about something.”

  She wanted to scream at him to shut up, to not say what she already knew in her heart.

  "He told us that your grandmother, this Aunty Vin was dead," Lou said, "I'm sorry, kid. We probably should have said something sooner, but we didn't know you were a direct relation."

  Too numb to think, Vazsa piloted the Armor through the forest. The world had shifted again.

  Thirty

  Lord Fortune

  Lord Fortune looked at the young man sprawled on the dirt floor, considering him for a moment. Water dripped somewhere. The earthy scent of horse manure rose from a nearby pile. The man wasn’t the soft village bred person Lord Fortune had originally sought.

  Other than the man’s long red hair and beard, there was nothing the same. The red hair was dirty and matted now. The man’s naked torso covered in black and purple bruises. He had put up a fierce fight at the remote cabin. The king’s soldier’s had finally beaten him senseless. Lord Fortune had only barely been able to keep them from killing him.

  The man groaned. Fortune took a bite from the coarse bread the serving lass had brought out to him. He chewed it slowly, trying not to jar his ancient teet
h. He thought of the soft breads his cook used to make and sighed. Would such luxuries ever return?

  The man's eyes opened. With a surprising suddenness, he was alert, rolling over and trying to stand. The chain around his neck stopped him. It yanked against his throat, sending him to his knees, gagging.

  He held his head, then his fingers went to the metal collar, exploring it. Lord Fortune watched with interest. The man was intelligent. Instead of fighting the collar, he was immediately analyzing it, looking for ways to defeat it.

  Perhaps this man was more dangerous than he appeared at first glance.

  Lord Fortune cleared his throat. The man’s head jerked up. His eyes blazed at Fortune with pure hatred. He stood. He was of impressive height and broad of shoulder. His arms and chest rippled with muscle. The man’s time in the wilderness seemed not to have been spent cowering in fear.

  “Who are you?” the man asked.

  Fortune smiled, attempting a friendly, nonthreatening demeanor. He was leaning against a wooden door, well beyond the reach of the chain holding the man to the wall.

  With the King off to battle on Baddon Plain, Fortune was doing his best to turn the castle staff back to his side. Without much success. Which left him still lodging in the stables with the two or three remaining horses. He decided it would be best to keep the red-haired man close to him, and directed the man be chained in an empty stall.

  “I am Lord Fortune, of Bramblevine.”

  The man’s eyes narrowed. “You mean you were a Lord,” he said, “From what I heard, you got evicted from your castle.”

  The heat rose in Fortune’s face. His hand almost went to the dagger at his side. How dare the man! A cooler part of his brain told him that pitting his aged body against a young man in his prime was beyond foolish.

  The man stalked toward him, chain rattling in his wake. Lord Fortune made himself hold his place. He refused to flinch or show fear.

  “You’ve led us a merry chase,” Fortune said.

  "No I haven't," the red-haired man said, "I've been in one spot for most of a year. You and your people must be incompetent."

  The man was goading him. He wanted Fortune to try something rash. The man flexed his fingers, the cords on his arms bulging. What had happened to the man during his time in the forest?

  “Who was the old man in the cabin?” Fortune asked, “He recognized me. He spoke my name.”

  The red-haired man smiled. "You don't know who he was?"

  Fortune had only glimpsed the old man. The aged face was unfamiliar to him. Hurdoth’s men had torched the place before Fortune had a chance to search it. Something he had cursed them for. Even Dovd had been angry. Fortune suspected the old man was known to Dovd. Fortune would have to ask him.

  "It doesn't matter who he was," Fortune said, waving his hand in dismissal. "What matters is that at long last you are here."

  The man shook his head. “It’s not going to do you any good,” the man said, “I don’t have any magic. And I don’t know where the damned portal is. If I did I would have gotten out of here a long time ago.”

  Fortune’s eyes flick to the man’s hair. A look the man noticed. He gave Fortune a grim smile.

  “Red hair doesn’t mean I have her power,” he said, “I didn’t even know she had any power. To me, she was just my Grams. An old lady that I took care of sometimes."

  “That’s a pity,” Fortune said, “Because I don’t think the King is going to believe you. He’s quite creative with torture.”

  The man just smiled. He turned away and moved into the stall. Fortune relaxed slightly. The man spun around and lunged at him. Fortune gasped, flattening himself against the wall, hand going to his dagger.

  The man stopped short of where the chain would have stopped him. He laughed.

  “You guys have made a huge mistake,” he said, “I used to not care about any of this. But now I’m mad. That’s one way I am like old Grams. When something pisses me off, I stay that way. Some way, some how, I am going to make you pay for this. I’m going to make all of you pay.”

  Fortune’s mind flashed back to that terrible day, decades before. Queen Amaya stood at the head of the long, dark stone table. Lords and Kings and Queens sat along either side. Amaya’s black armor shone like liquid night. The stink of fear in the room was palpable.

  The anger on her face was a mirror of the red-haired man in front of him right now. Her blood red hair flowed down her back, over the hilt of her feared blade, Sonomorte, nestled in its sheath on her back.

  In one hand she held the ornate silver teapot. She lowered it to the stone table. It touched with a bell-like sound that rang in the silence.

  Okay, assholes, put your hands on the table, Amaya said, And don’t move.

  Everyone did so. Without hesitation. The hinged lid of the teapot lifted up. Something furry and white was inside. Up popped a head. Lord Fortune couldn’t believe his eyes. A cat?

  A long-haired, white cat, with brilliant blue eyes, jumped out of the teapot. It took a moment to sit and lick its fur, the tip of its tail flicking slightly. No one dared move. Dared even to breathe. After an agonizingly long minute, the cat finished its ablutions. It sauntered down the table, tail sticking straight up. It stopped at the first person to the left of Queen Amaya, Lord Pontul. It sniffed his hand, then drew its paw across the back of his hand. Blood welled up in the claws wake.

  Lord Pontul cried out and yanked his hand away. He grabbed for the dagger at his side. The white cat hissed at him. Before Pontul could touch the hilt of his weapon, Queen Amaya was in motion. In her hand, Sonomorte flashed and whistled through the air.

  Lord Pontul’s head rolled from his neck and his body collapsed to the stone floor.

  Queen Amaya resumed her place standing at the head of the table. Stay the fuck still, and don’t even think of hurting the cat, she said.

  No one dared so much as quiver as the cat went around the table. At each person, the cat would sniff, scratch the hand, then apply its rough tongue to the wound. Fortune vividly remembered the brief pain, the sandpaper tongue licking his blood. Then his relief as the cat moved on to the next person.

  The sweaty stench of fear in the room grew thicker and thicker. After what felt like an eternity, the cat, at last, came back to the head of the table. It jumped back into the silver teapot, and turned its bright blue eyes back on them. Fortune felt like something ancient and all-powerful was looking directly into his soul. He wanted to look away, but couldn't.

  Queen Amaya gently closed the hinged teapot lid. It clicked shut and Fortune allowed himself to breathe again. Amaya held up the teapot.

  Okay, morons. This is the treaty. It is bound with your blood, and binds the blood of your heirs as well, she said, If you wish to piss me off, go ahead and break it. I dare you. See what happens. If you think there is any mercy in me, just go take a look at the fucking hole where Aytahan used to be. Then ask yourself if it’s worth the price you’ll pay.

  No one dared to speak. And for all the decades afterward no one had dared to break the treaty. It was perhaps bent a bit here and there, but never broken. Not until King Hurdroth. His claim of the forest people breaking the treaty first was of little merit. There was nothing in the treaty that forbade espionage.

  There were only a small number of old men like him who had actually been there that day. Few who had personally witnessed Amaya’s wrath. Would Hurdroth or Hemsdell be playing conqueror if they had been at that table?

  Fortune drew himself up, refusing to let the red-haired man intimidate him. He may have had Amaya's wrath, but he didn't have any of her power.

  “You can make all the threats you want,” Fortune said, “But the reality is when the King returns from battle, he is going to tear you to pieces unless you give him what he wants.”

  The man stared hard at him, his green eyes boring into his. "I'm not afraid anymore."

  Fortune smiled. Perhaps it was time to take the man down a bit. “Do you wonder what happened to your wom
an?” he asked.

  The man went absolutely still. His eyes narrowed. “Is she still alive?”

  Fortune nodded. “For now. Though I cannot guarantee anything once Hurdroth returns. As I said, he is quite talented at torture. And if you are reluctant to cooperate with him. Well...”

  The lines on the mans face eased as expression left him. “I told you. I don’t know where the portal is. I don’t know anything useful to you people.”

  “You may know more than you think,” Fortune said, “But that is for Hurdroth to decide.” He turned to walk away, then paused. “Unless...”

  “Unless what?” the man said, his voice rising.

  Fortune suppressed his smile now. The hook was baited. Now to pull him in.

  “Unless you might be willing to give your allegiance elsewhere?”

  The man crossed his arms over his muscled chest. “You looking to make a deal Lord Fortune?” he asked.

  “Let’s just say that King Hurdroth inspires more fear than loyalty,” Fortune said. “There are many of us who wish to honor the treaty. But we are weak, where Hurdroth and his army are strong.”

  "What about Hemsdell?" the red-haired man asked.

  Fortune made a sour face. “Unfortunately, he is also a problem that needs to be solved.”

  “So let me get this straight,” the man said, “In exchange for you not turning me and Kojanza over to your nutbag king, you want me to somehow kick this guy’s ass and the other guy who’s making trouble?”

  Fortune felt his face go warm. “That is the essential argument,” he said.

  The red-haired man rolled his eyes. "Okay, let's put something else out there," he said, "If I'm so fucking all powerful enough for you to offer me this fantastic deal, why haven't I already broken out of here and snapped your neck?"

  Lord Fortune didn't speak. The man nodded and continued. "Yeah, that's what I thought. You just don't understand. None of you understand. Not even Kojanza. I'm not this Queen Amaya. I'm not even sure she's the same person as my grandmother. I don't have any superpowers. In my world, I'm a fucking software developer, not that means anything to you. Basically it means I sit on my sit on my ass all day. I'm no hero. I'm not anyone's hero."