Sabre sat in his cell, his eyes closed as he recalled the route from Tassin’s chambers to the dungeon, waiting for the palace staff to retire for the night. He hoped she had understood him, and would be ready to leave when he came for her. The guard had delivered his food four hours ago. Soon it would be midnight.
Opening his eyes, he inspected the crude manacles, testing them. The metal bent slightly, the cuffs cutting into his skin. He relaxed and positioned the iron bands where they would do less damage, then gripped the chain, steeling himself for the inevitable pain. Putting his foot on the chain, he used his back to increase the power of the pull. A cyber had a deadlift pull-strength of over eight hundred kilograms. He doubted the shackles would be able to withstand it. The bands bent and the chain links stretched with a soft creaking. Sweat popped out on his brow as the pain increased with the power he used.
One of the links snapped with a dull plink, and his hands flew up past his ears. Releasing his pent breath, he rubbed his bruised wrists. About eight centimetres of chain dangled from each manacle, and he held this as he rose and approached the stout, metal-bound door. He studied it, weighing up the possibilities. He might be able to bend the bolt outside if he pushed hard enough, but the problem was gaining enough traction. It would certainly be quieter, but also more difficult.
Rejecting that idea, he walked to the back of the cell and leant against the wall, facing the door. The room was not large enough to build up much speed, but it would have to do. Pushing himself off the wall, he sprinted across the cell and leapt at the door, concentrating all his power into his right leg. His foot hit the door square in the middle with a terrific bang, and the wood shattered into thousands of splinters and several fair-sized planks that clattered into the passage. Sabre rubbed his foot, then pushed through the sagging remains. A guard further down the passageway gaped at him.
Sabre reached him before he could make an outcry and felled him, then checked that he was still alive before loping down the corridor. Like a flitting shadow, he crossed the deserted yard, staying close to walls and avoiding pools of light spluttering torches flung. Entering the palace, he traversed the halls on silent feet, passing dozing guards.
Two soldiers guarded the door to Tassin’s suite, their chins sunk onto their chests as they spent the night enwrapped in pleasant dreams. Sabre crept up to the nearest, gripped his face and thrust his head back against the wall. The guard slumped, and the second man looked up, roused by the soft crack of his comrade’s head on stone. He joined his partner a moment later.
Sabre entered Tassin’s apartment, where a few lamps still burnt in the sitting room. Crossing it, he slipped through the far door into a dark, sumptuous boudoir dominated by a mammoth four-poster bed with gauzy drapes. It was empty, and he paused in a deep shadow to scan the room. Spotting a dark shape at the window, he crept towards it.
Tassin was industriously employed tying sheets together and passing them out through the window, her back to him. The natty black pantaloons and embroidered jacket she wore were, at least, more practical than the gown she had been wearing earlier. Sabre smiled and walked up behind her, clamping a hand over her mouth. She gave a muffled scream, clawing at his hand.
He murmured, “Hush. It’s me, Sabre.”
She stopped struggling, and he released her. “How dare you sneak up on me like that?” she demanded.
“I’m glad to see you too,” he retorted, scowling. “Should I have knocked?”
“You scared me half to death!”
He smiled. “I had to stop you making a noise.”
“You could have done that without laying your filthy hands on me!” She rubbed her mouth.
He gritted his teeth. “I should have left you for Torrian. You deserve each other.”
Tassin hissed, and Sabre stepped back before she clouted him. “What were you planning?” he enquired. “No doubt it didn’t include me.”
“I am not here to rescue you. I was making my escape, since you were stupid enough to allow yourself to be flung into the dungeons.”
He gripped the window ledge, striving to remain calm. “I allowed myself to be flung into the dungeons so I could rescue you.”
She folded her arms. “So, what are you waiting for?”
“You to learn some damned manners.” Pushing himself away from the window, he took her arm and pulled her towards the bedroom door.
She yelped. “There is no need to drag me about! You are as bad as that stupid cyber!”
He stopped and turned to her. “And you’re an ungrateful little cow, so shut up.”
Tassin’s rigid back, raised chin and furrowed brow spoke volumes of outraged indignation as he led her through the sitting room. He checked the corridor before stepping into it, towing the furious Queen, then stopped when the tapping of her shoes on the marble floor echoed down the hall.
“Take your shoes off,” he whispered.
“Why?”
“Because they’re making a noise!”
Grumbling, she removed her shoes, and he retraced his steps to the side entrance that led to the dungeons, where he emerged into the yard. Two moons rose, one a silvery giant, the other an orange dwarf. The combined light was too bright for his liking, and he pulled her into the shadow of the three-metre wall that surrounded the palace. Tassin bent to replace her shoes.
Sabre said, “I’ll lift you up, and you grab the top of the wall and pull yourself onto it, okay?”
She looked up. “I am not climbing that!”
“Why not?”
“It is too high! I might slip and fall over the other side. What is wrong with using the gate?”
“There are guards there,” he said.
“So? Kill them, or give me a sword and I will.”
“I’m not killing anyone if I can help it, and nor are you. Just do it, okay?”
“No!” She wrenched free and marched towards the main gate.
Sabre reached her in two strides, caught her arm and almost yanked her off her feet. “Damn it! I’ll throw you over that bloody wall, if I must.”
“You are hurting me!”
Sabre eased his grip, and she jerked free again, then jumped out of his reach and ran towards the gate. Clearly she expected him to follow and smash his way through the guards. Sabre caught up in three strides and halted her once more. She scowled at him, then turned her head towards the gate.
“Guards!” she bellowed.
Once again, a potent wish to scale the wall and leave her to Torrian assailed Sabre. She hissed as his grip on her wrist tightened, and he eased it. The four gate sentries shouted and ran towards them, drawing their swords. Tassin looked up at him, her expression triumphant. He released her and strode to meet the soldiers, dodged the thrust of the first man’s weapon and floored him with a punch that dropped him in his tracks.
One sentry sprinted towards the billets, yelling, while the other two attacked. Sabre side-stepped the next man’s lunge and seized his arm, yanked him closer and punched him. As the sentry collapsed, Sabre ducked the second soldier’s sword stroke, which would have done serious damage to his neck, then sent the man crashing onto his back with a kick.
Cursing, Sabre sprinted after the fleeing sentry as Tassin trotted towards the gates. The man proved to be fleet, and Sabre gave up halfway to the billets. Tassin was almost at the gates when he caught up with her. Taking her arm again, he forced her into a wild sprint, ignoring her hisses. Judging by the ruckus emanating from the billets, soldiers were already jumping from their beds to give chase. Sabre swerved off the road, holding up the stumbling Queen, who panted curses.
Soon, the clatter of boots on cobblestones heralded soldiers pounding in pursuit, and he pulled Tassin into a narrow, smelly alley, where she made soft noises of disgust at the stench. He scanned the alley for a refuge, but all the houses were shuttered, their doors bolted against the night chill and all who might be abroad in it. Torches flared in the street, illuminating running figures, and he pushed the Queen into a dark doorway.
“Well done,” he said. “Now we’ve got the whole damned army looking for us.”
“It worked, though. We are out.”
“But for how long?”
Tassin muttered under her breath about stupidity and incompetence, and he clenched his teeth. When the soldiers disappeared around a corner, he continued down the alley, towing the puffing Queen. No sanctuary presented itself, and he toyed with the idea of breaking into a house. He was unwilling to risk rousing an irate family that might raise the alarm before he could silence its members, however.
The choice was revoked when torch-bearing soldiers entered the alley, and Sabre dived into the nearest doorway. He leant against the sturdy door, which gave slightly, creaking. Tassin tugged at his webbing, and he shook her off. With a final shove, the bolt gave and the door flew open. Sabre stopped it before it banged on the wall, shutting it behind the Queen. Going over to a window, he peered down the alley through a gap in the shutters. The soldiers advanced, searching every doorway and evicting sleeping beggars. Sabre crouched beside the window, waiting for them to pass, while Tassin panted in the darkness nearby.
He muttered, “If we’d gone over the wall, they wouldn’t have missed us until morning, by which time we’d have been long gone.”
“And I could have broken a leg, or my head!”
A faint creak made Sabre spin around. A burly man, dressed in a flannel nightshirt and armed with a club, descended the staircase at the back of the room, holding a lamp. With a whispered curse, Sabre moved into a deeper shadow, hoping the man would see nothing and return to his warm bed. The Olgaran spotted the torches outside the window and padded across the room to peer out. Sabre crept away, hoping Tassin was well concealed. A crash of breaking pottery made him wince, and the man swung around, shining his light on the source of the noise. Tassin crouched beside a table, a smashed vase beside her and a look of guilty horror on her face. The man raised the club.
Tassin yelled, “Sabre!”
Sabre sprang up and charged the Olgaran, who whirled, dropped the oil lamp and gripped the club in both hands. The lamp smashed in a blaze of fire. The man swung his club, missed the swift cyber and smashed a chair to matchwood as Sabre veered away. The Olgaran flailed about, demolishing furniture and pottery as he tried to hit the elusive intruder.
The door burst open and a flood of soldiers poured in. Two of them captured and disarmed the Olgaran, three stamped out the fire, and the rest spread out to surround Sabre and the Queen. Fifteen hard-eyed men crowded into the room, drawn swords glinting. Tassin raised a brow at Sabre. Smiling crookedly, he spread his empty hands. He could not defeat so many men without killing some of them, and that, he was not prepared to do, since this was not a life-threatening situation.
The Queen scowled. “Get us out of here, Sabre!”
He shook his head. “No way.”
“Damn you! I know you can beat them, so do it!”
“No. This is your doing. I’m not murdering them to save your worthless hide again. Torrian can have you.”
She brushed past a soldier to approach him, ignoring the swords pointed at him. “Kill them!”
His mouth curled in a bitter smile. “No. I make my own decisions now. You’re the damned warrior queen, you kill them.”
Her eyes narrowed, and he knew what was coming, but this time there was no way to forestall it.
“I order you!” she snarled.
Agony exploded in Sabre’s skull, and his hands flew up to grip the brow band. He fell to his knees, then keeled over backwards. The soldiers muttered and stepped back as he writhed, his brows knotted and teeth bared.
Sabre fought the sucking darkness of the cyber’s power, which rose like a tide of shadow, threatening to swamp him. Spinning lights flashed in his inner eye, a kaleidoscope of dizzying, mind-numbing confusion. The ring of soldiers blurred as his eyes lost focus. His vision came and went as the waves of a foul psychic sea washed over him. His legs went numb, cut off from his brain, then his hands released the control unit and fell to his sides.
Paralysis spread through him, and he fought to stay conscious, the last battle in this unequal war of wills, the loss of which spelt his defeat. If the cyber shocked his brain into unconsciousness, his fate was sealed. He stared at the ceiling, trying to keep his sight, an anchor in reality.
The struggle appeared to have reached a stalemate. The cyber had robbed him of all motor function, but was unable to re-establish its control. Perhaps that was why it had not attempted such a determined takeover before, knowing it would fail, and render him useless to the Queen. In the face of his defiance, however, it had been forced to make the attempt, since he was of no use to her anyway. The strange numbness was abnormal. It seemed that the cyber, unable to take over completely, had blocked his motor cortex, thereby robbing him of all movement and sensation.
Many hands lifted him, and the distorted mutter of the soldiers’ voices reached him through the numbness, a deep undertone to the Queen’s shrill fury. Tassin’s face swam into focus as she glared down at him, then blurred. He blinked, cybernetic fetters imprisoning his mind. As yet, he was not utterly beaten, only helpless. The men carried him up the street, their boots clumping on the cobbles.
Sabre pushed at the psychic clamp that held him, tested its strength and found it immovable. Without the use of his body, his mind could only wait for the end, a bitter prospect. How many days of hunger and thirst, trapped in the dark prison of his skull, would he be forced to endure before death claimed him? Cyber hosts were genetically modified to live far longer without water than normal humans, so his torment could last for up to a week.
Once more, he tested the chains of numbness with a lash of willpower, but it rebounded off an impenetrable metaphysical wall. He was trapped like a wild bird, and would beat his wings against the bars of his cage until he died of exhaustion, his wings broken, his spirit crushed. He knew his enemy of old, and compassion was not amongst its traits. If it could not win, neither would it lose. Blissful oblivion beckoned, and he allowed it to swallow him.
The Cyber Chronicles - Book I: Queen of Arlin Page 44