The Cyber Chronicles - Book I: Queen of Arlin

by T C Southwell

Tassin reached the palace tired and angry at the crowds’ rudeness. People jostled and pushed, and several times she had narrowly avoided being shoved into the gutter by hurrying locals, whose lack of manners rivalled Sabre’s. Her new clothes were dusty and sweat stained, although they still retained most of their glory. The walk would have been arduous even without the crowds, for the palace was located a fair distance from the inn, atop a low hill. The sandy roads had almost ruined her new slippers, and her feet ached. She had been unable to hire any form of carriage, and was forced to arrive at the palace on foot, hot and dishevelled.

  A high wall surrounded the King’s abode, and the tops of spreading trees hung over it, laden with exotic fruit. Beggars and urchins camped outside to collect fallen fruit, and numberless caracans kept up an incessant chirring in the sweltering sun. Bright fire birds and keeters added their raucous cries to the din. Tassin had to walk around the wall for some distance before she found the main entrance, fending off the grasping hands of beggars who accosted her. Tall gilded gates kept commoners out of the paved courtyard that swept away to the palace’s pillared entrance and the acres of manicured gardens around it.

  One of the bored guards who stood outside the gates, clad in Olgara’s rich green livery and silver chainmail, enquired as to her business in a laconic drawl.

  Tassin tossed her head. “You may tell King Xavier that the Queen of Arlin wishes to see him.”

  He cast a scathing eye over her and smiled. “Sure, and I’m the Duke of Tarlon. Be off with you!”

  “I am travelling incognito, hence I have no retinue, but I assure you, I am Queen Tassin. Tell the King at once!”

  The guard looked uncertain, apparently unsettled by her confidence and strange accent. He glanced at the other sentry, who shrugged, and the first man left. Tassin mopped her face while she waited, trying to brush the dust from her wilting finery. An older soldier in a silver-trimmed tabard arrived, and called for the gates to be opened, ushering her inside with a low bow. Tassin smiled, pleased to be treated with the respect to which she was accustomed. The guard sergeant led her into the vast, echoing marble entrance hall, where he handed her over to a white-liveried flunky.

  The manservant showed her into a richly furnished room, its walls adorned with murals and its floor patterned with intricate mosaics. Arched windows hung with silk allowed sunlight to brighten it, dappling exotic tasselled carpets. Within minutes, the servant returned and announced that she had an audience with the King. Once again, she followed the man along a cool, tiled passage, past an indoor garden that was home to twittering pinbirds and lush foliage. Trellises that supported flowering creepers covered the archways that separated it from the passage, and the sweet scent of blossoms and damp soil rode the cool air.

  The manservant escorted her to a pair of polished copper-inlaid doors at the end of the passage and pushed them open, stepped aside and bowed, gesturing for her to enter. She strolled into a vast chamber ornamented with more murals, the floor tiled with alabaster and the arched windows hung with swathes of embroidered silk. Two massive tusks framed an empty fireplace, relics of a long-extinct beast whose name she could not recall. The fireplace did not look like it had ever been used, and, since Olgara was a hot country, she wondered why it had been built in the first place. A pair of glass-paned doors opened onto a cool terrace shaded by a pagoda, over which a flowering marru-plant had been trained. The seeds of the marru-plant, whose huge white blooms opened only at night, were reputed to be a powerful aphrodisiac.

  Painted urns of all shapes, sizes and colours stood in corners or on mantels and tables, according to their size. In a small one, several incense sticks smouldered, lending a spicy aroma to the atmosphere. A stiff panel of embroidered velvet swung from the ceiling, powered by a string that vanished through the filigree ventilation holes along the edge of the ceiling. Outside, some patient servant tugged the string to stir the air for his king’s comfort.

  King Xavier VIII sat behind a cluttered coalwood desk at the far end of the room, and rose to greet her. A short, dark-skinned man with slanted eyes and a pointed beard, he wore a long, gold-embroidered coat of heavy green satin edged with white fur over a white silk shirt and dark green trousers. He smiled when Tassin bowed her head, and returned the regal inclination. With a languid gesture, he invited her to sit on one of the many velvet-covered chairs that dotted his audience room. Gilded pillars upheld a high domed roof decorated with exotic murals and gold inlay. The effect was a trifle overdone, she thought, but suited Xavier’s exotic looks and obviously lavish taste. He sat down again and regarded her over folded hands.

  “I am delighted to make your acquaintance, Queen Tassin.”

  “As I am to make yours, King Xavier.”

  “I was about to send men to the inn to escort you here in comfort. You need not have walked. The streets are not fit for a queen.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “How did you know I was there?”

  “My brother last night encountered your man-at-arms, and lost, I might add. He now nurses his arm and his pride.”

  “That was your brother?”

  Xavier’s expression became pained. “I am afraid so. Victor enjoys the entertainment available at inns, although they are not a fitting place for a prince.”

  Tassin helped herself to a buttered pastry a maidservant brought, along with an elegant silver tea service. “Your brother put up a good fight. My man is an excellent warrior.”

  The King shrugged, his eyes sliding away. “He must be, for Victor has a passion for combat. He has been trained by the best fighters available, and has never been beaten before.”

  Tassin quelled a spurt of pride at Sabre’s prowess, trying to look suitably chagrined. “I am vexed that he was injured. Had I known who he was, I would never have allowed my man to fight him.”

  Xavier smiled. “That is exactly why he goes to town incognito. If people knew who he was, no one would challenge him, and he lives to fight.”

  A maid poured the tea, and Tassin noticed that she filled three cups with steaming golden brew. As she wondered who the third cup was for, the carved doors at the far end of the room opened and a tall man entered with a brisk tread and lofty bearing. Tassin did not recognise him until Xavier introduced him, for his beard had been removed, revealing lean swarthy cheeks and a cleft chin.

  Tassin’s heart fluttered as Victor bowed over her hand. The Prince’s oriental looks could only be described as handsome, his dark eyes owning a subtle fire. His black tunic and trousers, edged with silver and severe in their simplicity, indicated a similar taste to hers. Plaster encased his right arm to the shoulder, and Tassin found herself apologising for his injury.

  “I do hope you are not angry with me for starting that fight last night.” She turned the full effect of her limpid eyes upon him.

  Victor laughed. “Not at all. A fight was exactly what I was looking for. I recognised you right away, and your man looked a capable sort, so I was keen to see how good he was. Naturally, I was surprised when I lost. He is a formidable fighter, and I hope I can procure a rematch, perhaps even learn a few tips from him.”

  She demurred, “I am afraid he was very angry with me for starting the fight. Sabre is a conservative man. He does not fight for fun.”

  “Angry with you, Majesty? Surely he is yours to command?”

  “Yes, of course he is.” Tassin cursed Sabre for making her forget her queenly status. His reprimand had made her feel like a naughty child, a novel sensation for her, and the memory irked her still. “I meant he made it clear he was unhappy about it. He was afraid he might kill you, and he does not enjoy fighting.”

  “Strange, for a man who excels at it. I assure you, I am not that easy to kill.”

  Tassin cursed her flapping tongue for getting her into all sorts of trouble. “Of course not, perhaps Sabre is overconfident.”

  “I drew more blood.”

  “Indeed you did. You are an excellent fighter.” Tassin took refuge in sipping her tea t
o prevent herself from pointing out that Victor had been the only one armed with a knife. The brothers swapped a meaningful glance, and then Xavier rose and smiled.

  “I am sure you will excuse me, Queen Tassin. I have business to attend to, but Victor will be glad to entertain you.”

  Tassin nodded, and Xavier left. He was nice too, she mused, but married. Victor was a real possibility, though. She was not about to let him slip away. She had much to offer him, while he could save her from the hateful Torrian. He invited her to walk in the gardens, and she accepted, wanting to get to know him better. With any luck, she would return to Arlin with a consort, and Torrian could take a running jump into his moat.