The Cyber Chronicles - Book I: Queen of Arlin

by T C Southwell

Tassin hacked at an enemy soldier, incensed when her sword clanged off his chainmail and Tyron skewered him instead. She was buffeted from all sides as the attackers pushed back the soldiers who fought to defend her. The knot of men around her dwindled fast, their blood slicking the stones. Tyron bled profusely from a wound in his side, and his helmet was dented.

  Tassin thrust her sword into an enemy’s face, gladdened and sickened when he fell back with a scream. Her resolve to die with a sword in her hand warred with the fear that coiled in her gut. She cried out as Tyron fell, a spear protruding from his side. He cut down his killer as he collapsed, and his eyes met hers for a heart stopping moment before they closed. The loss of her champion enraged and distressed her, and she flung herself into the fight with reckless abandon.

  A flash of brilliant blue light made her flinch as a hot beam shot past her. Several enemy soldiers fell screaming and writhing, smoke pouring from their tunics, their armour sizzling, and the rest recoiled. Her soldiers drew aside with shouts of confusion and fear, and she turned to face the source of the hot blue light.

  The blank-faced warrior from the casket strode towards her, thrusting aside her men, who gaped at him. She became aware that her mouth was open and closed it, but before she could enquire as to just exactly what he thought he was doing, he reached her. His left hand shot out and gripped the front of her jacket, yanking her towards him as he turned and dragged her away from her men. They closed in behind her to prevent the invaders from following, although they seemed too stunned to act for the moment. She gasped at his effrontery and dug in her heels, but this only made her slip on the bloody stones.

  “Unhand me!” she shrilled.

  “Orders are to remove you from this structure.”

  Tassin struggled, flailing at him. “Damn you, let me go!”

  “Orders are to protect you.”

  “Whose orders?” She tried to prise his fingers from her jacket.

  “The human male designated alpha two, able to command, Pervor.”

  “I order you to let me go!”

  “Unable to obey. Orders to rescue you override yours.” He hauled her towards a doorway that led to the upper battlements, three metres above them. The courtyard was overrun, the last of her soldiers holding the enemy at bay.

  Remembering that she still held a sword, Tassin swung it at him. His free hand flashed up, gripped the blade, wrenched it from her grip and tossed it aside. She growled as he pulled her alongside him, her jacket digging into the back of her neck. Her stumbling steps could barely keep pace with his long strides, and only his brutal grip on her jacket kept her from falling. He shifted his hold to her arm, ignoring her yelp as he trundled her up the steps. She grabbed the corner as he towed her past, and almost got her fingers ripped off for her pains.

  “Let me go, you idiot!” she shouted. “I shall have you flayed...”

  A group of Torrian’s men appeared on the stairs above them, swords drawn.

  “...Impaled on a hot spike...” Tassin gasped as, with a yank that almost dislocated her arm, Sabre thrust her behind him. He raised his other arm, fist clenched, and blue fire spat from his silver bracelet. Two men fell as the beam of searing light sliced into them. Others, whom the beam only clipped, staggered away, beating at their burning clothes. Sabre lowered his arm and continued up the steps. The remaining soldiers fled, trailing smoke from their smouldering attire. Tassin tried to loosen his fingers so blood could resume its flow down her arm, but his hand was like iron.

  “I will have you drawn and quartered, roasted slowly over...” She was yanked around a corner and hauled up another short flight of stairs. “...Hot coals!”

  They entered a corridor, and more men ran towards them with drawn swords. Sabre raised his arm and burnt them with the blue fire without breaking his stride. A group of crimson-clad soldiers emerged from a doorway ahead, blocking their path. An arrow buzzed past her ear as Sabre raised his arm, and blue fire lanced into the men.

  Heavy footsteps behind Tassin made her glance back and yell as a soldier ran up, a battle axe raised. Sabre spun, almost dragging her off her feet, and his arm chopped into the man’s throat with a sickening crunch. The blow flung the soldier back, and he hit the ground with a terrific crash of armour, writhing and clawing at his crushed throat. Sabre turned back towards the steps, Tassin still trying to get her feet under her and free her arm from his merciless grip. He swung, releasing her, and smashed a spear from the air with a lightning-fast punch. Tassin wondered how he had known it was there, since this time she had not warned him.

  Sabre yanked her to her feet, inflicting more bruises. Soldiers converged on them, her proximity to Sabre forcing them to attack him with swords while archers stood idle. Sabre seared them with his magical light, killed some and sent the rest stumbling away, beating at their burning tunics and red-hot armour. Their screams echoed through the castle, falling behind as Sabre strode on.

  They reached the upper parapet, and Tassin wondered what the madman intended to do now: fly? As he headed for the battlements, she drew breath to shout at him to stop, but he took a running jump, dragging her with him. He released her in mid-air, and she let out a wailing scream.

  The cold black moat water hit her hard, punching what little air she had left from her lungs. She sank, struggling, the foul water rushing into her nose and mouth. A hand gripped her arm and pulled her to the surface, where she coughed and spluttered. Sabre waded out of the moat, hauling her after him like an overgrown fish. Tassin spat dirty water and flailed at him, but he ignored her feeble attempts to hit him. Apparently finding it difficult to drag her, he picked her up and slung her over his shoulder. She spluttered at this further ignominy, pounding on his hard back.

  “Put me down! I order you! You moron! Imbecile!”

  With a smooth movement, he dumped her on her feet, and Tassin staggered drunkenly before collapsing in a heap. Sabre became immobile, staring into the middle distance as water trickled from his clothes. Tassin glared up at him, mopped her streaming face and spat out foul moat water.

  “How dare you?” she bellowed. “I do not want to be rescued, you idiot! I would rather die with my soldiers! Just how far do you think we are going to get?”

  “Enemies approach,” he said.

  “I will have you gutted for this, and roasted slowly over a fire! Your eyeballs will be impaled on hot pokers, your....”

  Tassin trailed off as Torrian’s soldiers boiled out of the castle, some mounted, the thunder of their steeds’ hooves mingling with their triumphant shouts. Her gut went cold, then she remembered the blue fire and glowered at the man who stood beside her. She tried to rise to her feet, but her legs were still rubbery.

  “Well, do not just stand there, idiot! Fight them!”

  Sabre hoisted her onto his shoulder again and marched away, ignoring her screamed insults and furious blows. If she ever got her hands on Pervor! How dare he send this muscle-bound moron to rescue her? Tassin raised her head to look back, her hand itching for a sword. When the enemy cavalry was about two hundred metres away, Sabre turned. He raised his arm, and there was a soft pop. The earth in front of the chargers exploded with a huge boom. The blast caught some and flung them high, others were sent sprawling. Horses squealed and bolted, throwing their riders, and the charge disintegrated. Sabre turned and loped away, the dripping Queen bouncing on his shoulder.

  Behind them, men milled, while Torrian’s furious bellows tried to rally them. More banners approached from the forest, and she recognised Grisson’s purple and black colours. A dozen heavily armoured knights broke away from the advancing army and thundered towards her on warhorses. Torrian must have seen them, for his shouts became frenzied even though the knights were still distant. His men regrouped, skirted the crater and sprinted after them.

  Again, Sabre waited until they were within two hundred metres, then swung and fired the magical weapon. The explosion went off in their midst, and most were sent sprawling, not to rise again. Tassin grudging
ly revised her estimation of the strange warrior. He was indeed magical. Torrian’s irate roars summoned another wave of mounted men, and the King leapt onto a spare charger to lead them.

  King Grisson’s men closed too, banners flying, racing Torrian to the prize. Grisson would not be amongst them, of course; he was far too old and frail. Most likely, he watched from a sedan chair. Torrian’s faster cavalry horses soon outstripped the knights, and, as they drew near once more, Sabre turned and raised his arm. Another soft pop heralded an explosion that decimated Torrian’s soldiers. Sabre swung away. Evidently Grisson’s knights were still too distant.

  Three riderless warhorses galloped from the castle, two bays and a grey. Her lame stallion followed the two mares, and she cursed as they vanished into the forest. Grisson’s knights were close now, and yet again Sabre turned, raising his arm. Another great explosion went off in the knights’ midst. The warhorses screamed and bucked, some falling, others bolted, riderless.

  Sabre continued at a lope for some distance, then entered a stand of trees, where he stopped and dumped her onto her feet, her legs almost buckling. He turned to survey the carnage he had left in his wake. The warhorses had scattered, leaving their riders wandering on foot, some appearing drunken in their meandering. Another group of Torrian’s foot soldiers headed towards them, however. Tassin wrung stinking moat water from her hair and coat, shivering.

  “Now I will freeze to death!” she said. “Use your magic to dry me.”

  Sabre faced her. “You need transportation.”

  “I want a sword in my hand and Torrian’s neck within reach! If you wish to leave, do so! Find a horse.”

  The crystals on his brow band flashed, and he blinked. “No such animals are within range.”

  Tassin snorted, reviewing her situation. Since she was now safely away from the battle, it seemed prudent to seek assistance. The uncouth idiot’s intervention had ruined her plans to die nobly with her men, so the only option was to continue to flee and find help.

  “I shall go to my uncle’s castle. He will protect me. There, I will fight again, and this time you will not stop me.”

  Tassin stomped into the forest, anger lending her strength. Sabre watched the soldiers out on the field for a few moments, then caught up with her, his gliding stride deceptive. She eyed him. Any other man would have been tired after carrying her for that distance at that speed, yet Sabre breathed normally. Only a slight film of sweat on his brow showed that he had exerted himself at all. He ignored her scrutiny, his eyes fixed ahead of him.

  Soldiers crashed through the woods behind them, and she increased her pace, puffing. As the soldiers drew nearer, she shot an angry look at Sabre.

  “Destroy the soldiers behind us.”

  The cyber loped back the way they had come, vanishing amongst the trees almost at once. Tassin gave a cry of anger and fear, unexpectedly left alone. Glaring after him, she stamped her foot. How dare he run off and leave her alone and unarmed? She had wanted him to simply blow them up, not run back to them first. She wondered if she should go after him, but he had moved swiftly. An eruption of screams made her jump and gasp, shivering in her wet clothes. A few minutes later, Sabre stepped from the undergrowth, startling her again.

  She scowled at him. “How dare you leave me unattended?”

  “Orders were to destroy the enemy.” He stared over her shoulder.

  “I did not tell you to leave me!”

  “Enemy was out of range.”

  Gritting her teeth, Tassin trudged through the woods once more, Sabre at her side. Her wet riding boots pinched, and soon she could bear it no longer. She sat on a rock and pulled off the offending footwear. Sabre stood beside her while she inspected the blisters on her feet.

  She looked up at him. “My feet hurt.”

  “You require medical attention?”

  “Yes.” Tassin frowned at his strange words. Sabre knelt beside her, angling his head towards her feet. He seemed blind. His eyes stared through her as if she did not exist. Yet how could he manage if he could not see? The crystals in his brow band flashed, and he straightened.

  “The injury is minor.”

  Tassin hissed. The man had absolutely no manners! She was a queen! “It hurts! I cannot walk like this.”

  Sabre drew a long knife from a sheath on his harness and reached for Tassin, who shrank back, startled. He grasped the damp material of her riding habit and cut a long strip out of the skirt. His high-handedness rendered her speechless, and he tore the cloth again, then took hold of her foot and wrapped the material around it. In moments, her feet were wrapped, and her habit had a gaping hole in it. Sabre sheathed the knife and stood up.

  With an effort, Tassin stifled her anger and pulled her boots on again, finding that her feet no longer hurt. She rose and continued through the forest, looked daggers at Sabre and held together the rent in her riding habit through which an icy draught now blew. The wild woodland made the going hard for Tassin. Roots tripped her, and briars snagged her clothes and scratched her. Unladylike grunts and exclamations of pain marked her progress as she stumbled into trees or banged her head on low branches. Sabre, by contrast, moved through the undergrowth with silent skill, avoiding obstacles with uncanny ease.

  Tassin hated him more and more. Not only was he rude, but unchivalrous too, making no effort to help her. Sir Tyron would have been at her side to hold aside branches and help her over obstacles, but not this dolt. She resolved to have him imprisoned when she reached her uncle’s estate. He would not interfere with the next battle.

  Uncle Niam was a good man, she reflected, much like her father in looks and manner. He was only a duke, of course, with a small estate, but he had an army and she was sure he would help her to fight the vile kings. She tripped over a root and sprawled, bruising her hands. Sabre waited while she scrambled to her feet, her muscles protesting this unheard-of abuse. Brushing leaves from her skirt, she glanced around. They had reached the edge of a clearing, and she gave a glad cry. Three warhorses grazed in the lush grass with eager jerks of their heads, oblivious to anything other than the delicious herbage.

  “Falcon!”

  The stallion raised his head and whinnied, limping towards her. Tassin ran to him and stroked his muzzle. The two bays were saddled, and trailed broken reins. They had belonged to the Sir Duxon and Sir Tyron. The head groom must have thought they would be needed, and had had them ready when the invaders had stormed the castle. She patted Falcon, then caught the mares and turned to Sabre, flushed with triumph.

  “I found them. They waited for me.”

  Sabre stared across the clearing, and Tassin raked her tangled hair out of her face and scowled at him. Now that she thought about it, she had been following him. Had he known the horses were here? She dismissed the thought as silly. How could he possibly have known?

  “Can you ride?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  Tassin passed him one of the mares’ reins and hunted for a tree stump or rock from which to mount. Finding none, she turned to Sabre. “Help me mount.”

  Sabre helped her into the saddle with casual disregard for the niceties of handling a queen’s anatomy. Her indignant yelp went unnoticed, as did her killing glare. Tassin urged her horse from the clearing, the thought of him hurrying after her a salve to her wounded pride. Moments later, he was at her side, riding with consummate skill. She shot him a venomous look, promising herself a sweeter revenge soon. Falcon followed, his head bobbing as he favoured his injured hind leg. Tassin set a fast pace along a well-worn path through the forest, eager to outstrip the distant pursuit.

  They reached her uncle’s estate at dusk, by which time Tassin was stiff, cold and miserable in the extreme, a frown wrinkling her brow. Her hair hung in damp rat’s tails, she itched from the drying moat water and her damp clothes chafed her tender parts. The stench of the moat’s slime clung to her nostrils and fouled her mouth, making her stomach churn. The castle gates stood open, but a sentry stepped out of the gua
rdhouse beside them and blocked the way, crying a challenge.

  Tassin made an imperious gesture. “Stand aside for Queen Tassin!”

  The man obeyed just in time to avoid being thrust aside by her warhorse, and they clattered into the courtyard. Tassin slid from her horse, bruised and weary. Grooms came out to take the animals, and she turned as her uncle approached, his expression concerned. Niam swept her into a bear hug, then held her at arm’s length and inspected her, clearly shocked by her bedraggled appearance.

  “You’re filthy, and cold! The ladies will run you a warm bath.” He swung away and bellowed, “Bethan!”

  A short, mousy woman with brown eyes and sharp features prodded him in the ribs. She had arrived at his side moments before, unnoticed by his lofty glance. Casting a withering look up at her huge husband, she said, “No need to deafen the whole castle, Niam.” She shook her head as she took in Tassin’s dishevelment. “You poor thing! You need a hot bath, right away, clean clothes and broth.” Her eyes focussed on something beyond Tassin. “Who is this?”

  Sabre stood at her side, and her uncle scowled at him.

  “Oh, him,” Tassin said. “He is a... soldier. He helped me to escape.”

  “Ah!” Niam’s black brows rose. “Good man. Go and find a meal in the barracks.”

  Sabre ignored him, and Niam asked, “Is he deaf?”

  Tassin frowned at Sabre. “Go to the billets. They will feed you there.”

  He strode away, and she watched him go, puzzled.

  Niam also gazed after him. “There is something odd about that fellow. Did you say he helped you to escape?”

  Tassin nodded, about to explain, then thought better of it. “Yes.”

  Bethan tugged her towards the castle, pointing out the dangers of standing about in the cold wind. The Duchess guided her to a bedroom on the third floor, warmed by a roaring fire. Serving maids were already hard at work filling a tub with steaming water.