Lovelyn of Loftrans – wife of Lothar Nibellus; Queen of Utrea
Baron Nestar Crogus – commander of the Skull Watch
Nitya – a Yengar girl; ward of Greghar Asgar Nibellus
Baron Pinnar Nibellus – elder son and heir of Lothar Nibellus
Dagmar the Exquisite – the most famous courtesan in Nordberg
Shabor Nibellus – usurper of the throne of Utrea; ousted by Lothar Nibellus
Tadar Loksus – castellan of Nordberg Castle in the service of Lothar Nibellus
DAKSIN
Vokran II – King of Daksin and of the Royal House of Bhoj
Grand Sab Ghaz Ib Makhtoom – late father of Kimr and Ghor Ib Makhtoom
Sab Ghor Ib Makhtoom – a Chekaliga chieftain; younger brother of Kimr Ib Makhtoom
Jaan Bardhan – owner and master of the Dream Weaver, a Daksin merchant caravel
Sab Kimr Ib Makhtoom – Grand Sab of the Chekaliga alliance
Thamaran – an innkeeper at a trading post on the main Tirut–Siggar caravan route
Tah, Mujor and Dai – body-aides to Ghor Ib Makhtoom
PROLOGUE
A UNION FORGED, AUTUMN, 1678 Z
LADY VIVIA PRAGARINA, High Mistress of the Zon Trading Guild, normally had a thousand matters in her head that made it difficult to fall asleep. But this night she fell into a deep slumber almost immediately. An hour passed and the bedchamber seemed to grow darker and there was a low hum. Without quite knowing why, Vivia snapped awake and sat up in her huge bed, the shoulder strap of her nightgown slipping down her arm.
There was a white-haired man in brown robes sitting erect on one of her comfortable bedside chairs. He wore a sword and held a stout staff. As she watched, his hand released the staff, but it remained standing. He gave off a faint blue aura. I am dreaming, she thought, trying to lie back down and turn her face away from the apparition. But she found that she could not move.
“Vivia Pragarina,” he said, his voice gravelly and harsh. “You do not know me, but I know you well. Unknowingly you have thought of me often.”
Vivia was not easily cowed. But the strange and unfamiliar nature of the situation had her on edge.
“Whoever or whatever you are,” she responded with spirit, “I have never thought of you.”
“Ah, but there you are mistaken. For your deepest, most fervent desires lead you to me. I am here because you have opened yourself to me. Indeed, you have been calling to me for years. It is just that you did not know it.”
Vivia tried to move again and failed. She willed herself to be calm, thinking, It is just a nightmare. It will pass, and when I will wake up I will laugh about it.
“Your talents and capabilities are unmatched in the Sisterhood,” he went on. “And yet you have been unjustly kept down. But I can help you get what you truly deserve. I can raise you to the heights you crave.”
“If you know so much about me, then tell me—what do I crave? I have everything I ever wanted. I am rich, I have made myself and my daughters electrae, I have become an aristocrat, and my daughter Darbeni will inherit my title after I am gone.”
“But it is not enough, is it? For if you were content, I would not have heard your call.”
“I crave nothing,” she said, her voice rising. “Nothing, I tell you!”
“Such vehemence! I thought you had higher aspirations, but obviously I was in error. Please forgive me.”
She knew he was mocking her, but her ambition overcame her irritation.
“What you speak of is impossible.”
“Why? You have immense popularity and the Queen Empress cannot rule forever.”
“I am popular among the commoners. But they do not vote.”
“Ah, but the voting electrae are just as easily swayed as the commoners. I can sway them for you.”
Vivia was intrigued, but her hardheadedness did not desert her.
“Why would you do this? What do you have to gain?”
He remained silent for a while, contemplating her. She was in her prime, and her unblemished, unlined skin shone in the light of the yellow moon that spilled in through the viewport. Her gray-green eyes glittered.
“I have watched you, Vivia Pragarina, since you were born. You and I, we are of like mind, a match made for the ages. Worship me, be mine, and I will take corporeal form in your world. In time I will raise you up to immortality, eternal youth!”
“I am Zon. We do not worship men.”
“I am not a man! I am one of the Chosen, an immortal.”
“How many women have you despoiled in this manner?”
Her tone was unfriendly and insolent. However, it brought a smile to his face.
“It pleases me that I do not intimidate you. It is true, I have had sensual encounters with other women, but they were mere instruments. You are the only one who can complement me, the consort I have been seeking through the centuries.”
She did not respond and they sat facing each other. Hours passed, but it no longer seemed to matter. The bedchamber remained in darkness, the only light stemming from his blue aura. Finally she spoke.
“Guide me.”
Slowly, his visible image grew less distinct and his blue aura concentrated and grew brighter. Soon the human image disappeared altogether, replaced by a shining point of blue light. She closed her eyes, shutting out the view of her room, but the blue light remained, becoming even sharper.
“Come.”
She heard the word clearly. She felt something tugging at her consciousness and fought a brief moment of panic. Then she allowed herself to be led and perceived a feeling of release. Now she was floating and saw her chamber from above. She saw her bed and the sheets in which she had just been sleeping.
She felt a lightness that she had never known before. The point of blue light moved toward the window and she found she could follow it. She drifted out of her palace, rising, rising, till she could look down and see the twinkling lights of Atlantic City from high above, as though she were in an airboat. Then the point of light moved away rapidly and she willed herself to follow it.
It was like nothing she had ever experienced before—all the mental stimulation of flight, without any physical sensation of movement. She could see the contours of the land below her, moving south over the green of the Great Amu-Shan plain, onward over the brown of the Great Daksin Desert and then over the rugged, broken terrain of the Borderlands. She knew where they were going, but she did not know how he had communicated with her. They arrived over an enormous city of imposing edifices, broad boulevards and gigantic plazas. But as they began to descend, it became clear that it was in ruins.
“Bar-Dari,” said Vivia. “The ancient capital of the Dhalian Empire. I was brought here as a schoolgirl.”
“Yes,” he replied, his tone harsh. “A thousand years ago, your Queen Simran brought about the ruin of this great city.”
They drifted lower and lower. Then there was a discontinuous jump and Vivia found herself floating in an enormous chamber, high above the floor. It was a house of worship, for there were the remains of dozens of lines of pews and an imposing central nave. But the high altar was in good condition, with hundreds of recent candles and masses of dried flowers.
“The Abaidan Mission House,” he said. “The first great House of the One God.”
“Your House,” said Vivia.
“Indeed. Abaid was my mortal form. When the time came to relinquish it, I ascended to the highest peaks of the Great Ice Range. There amid the snows, I strove with every shred of my being to continue serving the One God. And I was Chosen. I became Malitha.”
“You followed the Yengars, a people that Thermad hated. And you contravened his explicit teachings. For did he not say—Immortality apart from the One God is impossible and such a quest is sinful.”
“Thermad was naïve. The infidels have always offered blandishments to tempt the faithful, and draw the Mission away from the True Path. I saw that to continue the fight against the false gods and
their servants, I had to adopt their methods. Without my centuries of guidance, the Mission would have been suborned by the unbelievers. It would have been overcome by the Yengars, the Gandharas, the Zon Sisterhood. Moksha and Ma would gradually have replaced the One God. By now, nothing would have been left.”
“But you preserved the Thermadan Mission.”
“Yes, I did. But our greatest test is before us. A new power has come forth into our world, born of d’Orr and Nibellus, Zon and One Lander. Allowed to grow to maturity, it will consume us. Join me in this battle, Vivia Pragarina. And rule with me.”
“Your enemies are my enemies,” said Vivia. “I will be united with you. Forever.”
“Then lie on the altar.”
She slowly floated down, till she sensed the candles and dried flowers about her. The altar was smooth, cold, and hard. She felt his caress, and it was lighter than any touch she had ever known. She lay back and luxuriated as he traced the lines of her body. Then he wove a cocoon of deeper darkness around the two of them and showed her how to worship him.
LATE AUTUMN, 1678 Z
The Zon Sisterhood and its institutions represent the pinnacle of human advancement. The preservation of Zon culture and values requires that the Sisterhood seal off its small population from the barbarian masses in impregnable citadels. It is our manifest destiny to eradicate the barbarian patriarchy and spread Zon civilization throughout New Eartha.
– From the Coronation Address of Simran the Merciless, 662 Z
ONE
HARESKOT IN THE SOUTHERN MARCHES
LOVE OF ANIMALS was a central feature of Zon culture, but horses occupied a special place in this pantheon. All Zon were brought up undertaking a range of equine activities, working in stables, grooming and caring for horses and of course, riding. Even the least athletic among them were good riders and Caitlin d’Orr was one of the best.
So when she saw a herd of horses in the distance, she touched Rufus’s flanks with her heels, urging him on toward them. A few mares pricked up their ears, but most of the herd ignored their approach. They were obviously not wild horses, but nonetheless, they shied away as she came near, no doubt intimidated by Rufus’s huge size. A few young males stood at a distance, eyeing her and Rufus defiantly. One bay in particular stood out. To anyone he was an attractive animal, but to Caitlin’s Zon eyes, he was gorgeous. He had a white blaze and socks, and his mane was thick and dark. His coat was bright, and the morning light gave it a liquid shine.
“He’s almost as handsome as you, Rufus,” Caitlin whispered in her mount’s ear. Rufus neighed as though he understood her. He sounded indignant to her indulgent ear, and she patted his neck.
As Caitlin watched, a slim boy rose from a rock outcropping behind the young horse. He was completely focused on his objective and had not seen Caitlin, screened as she was by the herd. He crept up on the young horse and Caitlin saw that he had a rope in his hand. He threw the loop around the horse’s neck and managed to leap aboard. The horse snorted loudly and reared, but the boy hung on, one hand on the rope and the other around the horse’s neck. The horse bucked wildly a few times, but when his unwelcome rider hung on, he took off across the dusty plain at a full gallop.
The boy hung on grimly—clearly he had ridden before. But Caitlin’s experience told her that it was only a matter of time before he was thrown. She touched her heels to Rufus’s flanks again, gave him just the hint of guidance with the reins and they were off in pursuit. Rufus was big, but he was also strong and very fast, a mature campaigner. The young horse began to tire and they began to overhaul the wild pair. The bay abruptly stopped, and as Caitlin expected, bucked again and again. The boy kept his seat for the first two leaps, but on the third he was thrown. He fell hard, fortunately missing a boulder, and lay groaning. The horse cantered back toward the herd, the rope still trailing from its neck.
Caitlin leaped off Rufus and knelt by the boy on the kneepads of her thigh boots. He had a light brown complexion and a shock of thick, dark hair. Up close, she saw that he was older than she had thought, for his slim build had made him appear younger.
“Lie still,” she said to him in Brigish, for they were in the Southern Marches of the Kingdom of Briga. His eyes widened in surprise as she leaned over him, her red hair looking fiery with the sun behind it.
She gently rolled him onto his back and went through a basic field medical examination. There was nothing broken. The range of motion in his arms seemed to indicate minimal ligament damage. However, he had some significant contusions and an egg-shaped swelling was rapidly forming on his skull.
“It could have been a lot worse,” she said to him.
“It is not my horse,” he said, sounding dazed. The non sequitur indicated to her that he was confused and almost certainly concussed.
“What is your name?” she asked him.
“I’m Dhanraj,” he said, faltering. As the shock wore off, the pain set in and he gritted his teeth.
“Where do you live?” she asked.
“Live?” he asked in response.
He was clearly not coherent enough to be any use, so she pulled out her communicator and tapped it to bring up a terrain map. The sensors indicated habitation a few kilometers to the east. He was not too heavy, so she was able to pick him up and put him on Rufus. She mounted behind him and they walked slowly eastward.
Caitlin’s communicator had indicated a small collection of buildings and they soon appeared as small indentations on the horizon of the flat landscape. As they came closer it was apparent that there was a ranch with a small hamlet a kilometer further away. The location of the dwellings was made clear by a small spring that burbled out of the ground by the ranch and formed a stream that flowed down toward the hamlet.
Caitlin rode into the small yard between the ranch and its barn. There were some assorted chickens and ducks that scurried out of Rufus’s way, clucking and quacking angrily. A square man with a craggy face emerged from the barn in response to the stir in the yard. He wore weathered clothing that had seen hard use and was patched and resewn in numerous places. His eyes were brown and kindly, and he surveyed Caitlin in silence, without hostility.
She swung down from the saddle and carefully lowered the boy on the ground. His concussion was worse than it seemed at first, and he swam in and out of semiconsciousness, sometimes babbling incoherently.
“I see you have Dhanraj, the Yengar boy,” said the man. His voice was warm, but his tone betrayed some irritation. “I’ve told him a thousand times to stay away from the horses. Did one of them kick him?”
“He tried to ride the young bay,” replied Caitlin in fluent Brigish. She tried to speak flat and slowly to disguise her singsong Zon accent. “He was thrown.”
“The young fool!” the man expostulated. He wiped his hands on the seat of his pants. “I guess you had better bring him inside.”
Caitlin picked up the boy and followed the man, carrying him inside the ranch. The living room was rough, but warm and welcoming, with comfortable furniture, a scoured wood floor, and stone walls. There was a very attractive fireplace, though there was no fire lit at the moment. Caitlin lay the boy down on the couch and straightened to see the man looking at her curiously.
“Who are you, stranger, and what brings you to Hareskot?” he asked.
“My name is Cat,” she said, keeping her voice low. “My mother died, so I decided to travel.”
“I am sorry to hear it,” said the man, sounding surprisingly genuine. “I am Seamus. Do you know anything about healing, or should I go to the village and fetch the herbalist?”
“I think I know enough,” said Caitlin. “I will need some ice if you have it, or some damp cloths.”
“We have no ice,” Seamus said. “But I will wet some cloths in the kitchen and bring them to you.”
He returned a few minutes later to find Caitlin covering Dhanraj’s legs with a blanket that had been draped over one of the chairs. She wordlessly took the damp cloths from Seamus and
gently wiped the boy’s forehead and before laying one on the contusion on his head. He breathed fitfully, but eventually fell into a restless sleep.
“Not much you can do with a concussion,” said Caitlin. “Rest is what he needs. Hopefully he has sustained no internal injuries and will be over the worst of it by tomorrow. He is young; he should be fine in a day or two.”
Seamus looked at Caitlin curiously, taking in her sword, dagger, thigh boots, and leathers.
“You are a woman, yet you are attired like a warrior,” he said cautiously.
“The roads are dangerous,” Caitlin replied. “A woman traveling alone must take precautions.”
“Yes, in spite of the restoration of good King Harald,” agreed Seamus. “The king’s patrols have returned and they do good work, but they are few and stretched too thin. I carry a sword and a crossbow myself when I travel.”
He paused.
“I was just going to have some lunch,” he said, changing the subject. “You are welcome to join me. My wife is shopping in the village, she will not be back before tea.”
“I will be glad to join you,” said Caitlin, realizing that she was quite hungry. “Indeed, I will be happy to wait on you,” she continued, recalling that barbarian women were expected to serve men.
“I wish you would teach my wife,” he smiled. “Thirty years we have been married, but she still hasn’t learned to wait on me.”
He led the way to the kitchen and they sat at a solid stone topped table, and ate a simple, but hearty lunch of homemade bread and cheese, with some assorted vegetables.
“My wife, Binne, keeps me well fed,” Seamus said, burping after he wolfed down a few hunks of bread with cheese. “Though I hope you will forgive our lack of meat—money has been tight for us this year.”
Caitlin had eaten more delicately, and spoke only after she had cleaned her plate.
“This is better than I have eaten in many weeks,” she said. “I thank you, sir—there was nothing lacking.”
The Eclipse of the Zon - First Tremors (The New Eartha Chronicles Book 2) Page 2