“Lady Selene, what do you advise?”
“I recommend that you proceed with the Royal Black Regiment to Tirut. Ask Baron Nehemus va Alsor of Tirut to muster some of his regiments. Turn these combined forces on the Chekaligas.”
“All this for some looting scum from the ravines?” asked va Haxos.
“Our reconnaissance indicates that the tribes have united for the first time since the days of Good Queen Sonia. There are tens of thousands of them and they are acting like they are implementing a unified military strategy in Briga and Daksin. You will need a powerful military force under strong leadership to defeat them.”
“In years past you have chased them back to their lairs using your airboats,” persisted va Haxos. “This is your responsibility and is stipulated in our treaty.”
“We have had some technical difficulties,” said Lady Selene, uncharacteristically vague. “The weather has affected our flight operations. We are working to get things under control. But in the meantime, it would be wise to take no chances. Marching to Tirut with the Royal Blacks will also remind Baron Nehemus of the power of his liege lord.”
“Indeed,” said Harald. “The Tirut barons’ taxes are the biggest source of crown revenue.”
And their tribute payments to the Sisterhood are not to be scoffed at either, thought Lady Selene.
Harald looked at Esme, her form outlined to his limited vision. He put his hand on hers and squeezed it affectionately. Their partnership and mutual understanding had deepened over the years, and she immediately knew what he wanted.
“The king and I value your counsel, Lady Selene,” said Esme. “We will do as you suggest. We will march with the Royal Blacks to Tirut, expecting that you will support us with your airboats as soon as the weather permits. And Baron, we assume you have no objection to mustering one of your regiments in Haxos and bringing it to Dreslin? I am second to none in my appreciation of the Life Guards and the Moles, but they are too few to secure Dreslin. We leave you in command of the capital and I am sure you will rest easier with a loyal garrison.”
Va Haxos bowed his head to the royal couple.
“It will be my pleasure,” he said. “I will send a rider to Haxos today.”
LATER THAT NIGHT, just as Esme’s personal maid Lupa finished preparing her for bed, there was a knock on the outer door of her chambers. Lupa went out into the anteroom and returned in a hurry, saying, “Your Highness, it is his Majesty! He begs leave to enter.”
Esme rushed out into the anteroom to receive him. Since his blindness, Harald rarely came to her chambers, preferring to request her presence in his chambers as often as he could.
Esme stood by the door and curtsied deeply as Harald entered, led by his valet and holding the arm of one of his Life Guards. Lupa followed her mistress’s show of respect.
“Your Highness,” Esme said formally, cognizant of the presence of their servitors. “You should have sent for me. I am yours to command, and I would have flown to you.”
“Yes, my dear,” said Harald. “You are my most constant support, my lodestar. I fear I take you for granted. It is only right that I wait on you from time to time.”
Esme came forward to take his arm and with an eloquent signal with her eyes, dismissed the Life Guard. Leading him into her bedchamber, she kissed him warmly on the lips. They were easy in each other’s company as their body servants helped them change into their sleepwear. Lupa and the king’s valet laid out trays of water and hot milk with luscious herbs on the side tables before withdrawing and leaving them alone.
Esme led Harald to her bed, and they made love unhurriedly, tenderly. Afterward he relaxed in her arms and petted her curls as she helped him sip some warm herbed milk.
“My darling, I thank the One God every day for his kindness in allowing me the joy of your company,” he said. “I don’t know what I have done to deserve the happiness that you give me.”
She smiled in the darkness and held him tighter, knowing that no other response was necessary. They slept.
Esme did not know what awakened her, but she sat up in bed with a nameless dread. The night seemed so dark that she could not even see her hands. She looked at her nightstand and thought her eyes were playing tricks on her, for there seemed to be a strange blue aura around the unlit lamp. Then all of a sudden, Harald coughed. A pall of darkness seemed to rush out of her window and when she looked at her nightstand again, the lamp was black, sooty, and normal. Harald coughed again, long and hacking.
She looked down at Harald. The night was cold, and the fire had died down in her grate, but his face was covered with sweat. She felt his forehead and found it to be ragingly hot. Worried now, she rang her bedside bell for Lupa and swung her legs out of bed, putting her feet into her fleece-lined slippers. Lupa came in silently, bearing a lamp. She quickly lit a few lamps in the bedchamber before putting a warm robe on Esme. As she did this, Harald began coughing again, and this time it continued for several minutes.
“Get the healer,” said Esme to Lupa. “And ask the duty Life Guard officer to come here. Hurry!”
Lupa left and Esme went back to the bed with some dry towels. She gently dried Harald’s face and said, “Rest my love, the herbalist is on his way.”
“No use,” gasped Harald, his eyelids still shut tightly over his sightless eyes. “I have seen the Evil One, he has marked me for death. Hold me my darling, your touch is the only thing that can comfort me.”
“It was just a bad dream,” she said. “Don’t dwell on it. You are strong; you are in good health. We will soon have you well again.”
“My dearest,” Harald said, his voice reduced to a whisper. “It was not a nightmare, for I was not sleeping. He woke me before speaking to me. And he told me his name—Malitha.”
Esme held his head to her breast and prayed to the One God as hard as she could. A short while later Lupa led in a huge Life Guard captain followed by the healer with his bag of potions and implements. Esme reluctantly relinquished her place by Harald’s head to healer, torn by his plaintive cry asking her not to leave him.
“He is very ill, Your Highness,” said the healer to Esme after a quick examination. “We must bleed him to drain the ill humors, there is no other option.”
Esme nodded her head and he began assembling his instruments. As he was doing so, she turned to the Life Guard officer.
“Take a troop of Life Guards to the Residency,” she said. “Hail the Seignora of the Watch and ask to speak with Lady Selene. Tell her that His Highness is deathly ill. Convey my request that they send one of their Zon healers.”
The officer bowed and left. Time passed in a blur for Esme. It seemed far too soon when Lady Selene strode into her bedchamber, her thin gown flowing around her graceful figure. The Residency’s senior Medica followed her. The healer was still bleeding Harald, and there were several brass bowls with his blood. He was deathly white and still sweating heavily.
“Get out!” snapped Lady Selene at the healer. “Leave immediately. You are killing him, you fool.”
The healer looked to Esme for support but found none there. He gathered his implements and potions sulkily. He bowed to Esme, pointedly ignored the Zon, and left with bad grace.
The medica set to work immediately and within minutes had placed a range of sensors on Harald’s body, all cued into a data pack. Esme, Lupa, and the Life Guard officer looked on in fascination as the data pack flickered to life. It projected a wide range of holograms, numbers, and colorful images that changed constantly as they monitored Harald’s biological systems. The medica worked the data pack, generating a range of different configurations. The data pack was synced into her wrist bracer and patched through to the main processors at Repro in Atlantic City. All the data from Harald’s body was analyzed and cross-tabulated against the billions of records in the Zon medical data store.
The medica read the results of the analysis and shook her head.
“Well?” asked Lady Selene.
“I have neve
r seen a case like this, Your Ladyship. I have all his vitals, and I know exactly what is wrong with him. He has a high fever, his heart rate is elevated, his blood pressure is far too high, and the inner lining of his throat is inflamed. I detect a swelling of his brain tissue. But I can find no cause, no pathogen. He should not be ill at all, but yet he is.”
“Can it be some unknown allergy to something he ingested?”
“The sensors have analyzed every cell and every system in his body. Every single cell is healthy, with no defects other than routine wear and tear, and his bodily systems are dealing with this as normal. His digestive system is processing everything he ingested, and there is nothing out of the ordinary. There is no evidence of an adverse reaction to anything he consumed. I am sorry, ma’am, but my analysis says that he should not be ill.”
Lady Selene tapped the toe of her chic slipper. Worry clouded her attractive features.
“Is there anyone you could discuss the case with in Atlantic City? I can open a comm channel to anyone you name, even the queen’s personal medica.”
“I would be happy to discuss the case with the chief of pathogenic diseases in Repro, ma’am,” said the medica. “I know her, we studied together.”
“Do so,” said Lady Selene briefly.
As the medica began talking in a low voice, Lady Selene went up and sat at the head of Harald’s bed on the left, across from Esme who sat on the right. She laid a hand on his forehead, her cool, long fingers tracing the pattern of his eyebrows. His eyes opened, and he turned his head to look at her, his infrared sensors recognizing her shape. He raised a hand and put it on hers.
“Lady Selene,” he said, his voice hoarse. “I…I…”
“Shhh,” said Lady Selene in a soft tone that Esme had never heard her use before. “I have come. I am with you. Rest easy.”
He relaxed and smiled. For a moment, she could have sworn his fever seemed to abate. But then his brow grew hot again, and his jaw clenched as the throbbing pain in his head returned.
“I love my Esme, Lady Selene,” he said. “She is dearer to me than anything in the world. But long before I met her, you were my ideal woman, perfection, unattainable. If you had feelings for me, why, I would…”
Lady Selene glanced over at the medica, a mute question in her look. The medica stopped speaking into the comm channel and shook her head slowly. The Resident looked down at Harald and passed her free hand over his cheek before putting a finger on his lips.
“You are everything a woman could desire,” she said in the same soft tone. “You are gentle, kind, and generous. You have worked tirelessly for the good of your people. If I were free to love, my heart would lead me to you.”
Harald lay back, his eyes closed, and his features relaxed again.
“I am the luckiest man in the world,” he said in a rasping whisper.
He coughed again, and this time he brought up dark blood. Esme immediately reached for him and buried his face in her bosom. After his fit of coughing finally subsided, his fever seemed to suddenly abate. As he grew cooler, he went limp, and Esme held him tighter, as though her grip could keep the life in him. Then a red light flashed on the data pack and it emitted a low whine. Esme did not need the equipment to tell her that he was gone.
The medica smoothly disengaged Esme from Harald’s unmoving form. Lady Selene took her in her arms. Held by the tall Resident, Esme’s shoulders began to shake, and her harsh, wracking sobs filled the chamber.
It was still dark outside, but the early morning routine of the castle had begun. One of the princes’ nursemaids entered the bedchamber hesitantly. She was obviously frightened by Esme’s noisy grief and the presence of the intimidating Zon. She stood in silence for a while and then finally got the courage to touch Lupa’s sleeve.
“What is it?” whispered Lupa, clearly irritated.
“It is His Highness, Prince Axel,” the nursemaid said, her voice low but quivering. “I went to wake him just now. But he just lies there in his bed with his mouth and eyes open, staring at the ceiling. I think he is dead.”
IT WAS MANY hours later that Lady Selene, the senior medica, and a couple of escorting huntresses stood on a terrace of the Great Stony Keep to take their leave. The gray morning was made even more cheerless by the driving snow flurries. Esme had insisted on coming to see them off, and she held herself rigidly, dressed in a formal gown and bedecked with furs. Lupa had dressed her lovingly and worked hard on her makeup, but nothing could cover the grief writ so plainly on her face. Her formal demeanor was fragile, and Lady Selene knew that it would take very little to bring her anguish pouring out again.
“Thank you for coming so quickly and trying to help,” said Esme, her voice tight as she tried to hold herself together. “I will call a meeting of the Privy Council as soon as possible. You will receive an invitation.”
“Thank you, Your Highness,” said Lady Selene, giving Esme slightly more than the half bow she was due. As she began to walk up the ramp into the airboat, Esme went on.
“Did you mean it when you said that you loved him?”
Lady Selene stopped, turned her head, and inspected Esme’s face carefully as though she was striving to read her thoughts. Her look was neutral, but sympathetic.
“He was dying. It was the least I could do.”
Esme said nothing further. But her normally expressive eyes were dead as she watched the Zon board the airboat and take off. On the flight back to the Residency, Lady Selene stared ahead in silence, and her expression discouraged all conversation. The pilots went over the flight details in hushed voices. As soon as they landed in the Residency, Lady Selene went straight to her chambers and dismissed her handmaiden with a curt, “I am not to be disturbed.”
Still fully dressed, she lay down on her wide bed and ran her fingers through her hair, caressing the vivid white streak. Then she hugged her bosom and allowed the deep well of feeling to course its way to the surface.
“Oh, Harald,” she whispered. For the first time since she was a little girl, she burst into tears.
SEVEN
DARK CLOUDS
CAITLIN SAT IN the kitchen with Binne and Dhanraj, drinking a cup of the Kaylan tea that Yandharan had gifted them. She looked outside, her brow knitted with worry. Twilight was fading and the pale light was diminishing rapidly. Binne had already lit the lamps in the kitchen. Caitlin stood up with her cup and walked outside, listening hopefully for the sound of hoofbeats. A few moments later, Binne and Dhanraj came out to join her.
“It is not usual for Seamus to stay out past dark,” said Caitlin. “Did he say where he would be working today?”
“Down by the southern drylands,” said Binne. “I am sure there is nothing to worry about.”
Caitlin did not reply, but her fears were not assuaged. It was true that Seamus sometimes did stay out late, working on the range. But for some reason she could not explain, she felt worried. The feeling would not go away, no matter how much she reasoned with herself.
“Come, eat some supper,” said Binne. “You have had a long day yourself. You must be hungry.”
“You go ahead and eat with Dhanraj,” responded Caitlin with a smile. “I will wait for Seamus; that way no one will eat alone.”
Binne patted Caitlin’s shoulder affectionately and returned to the kitchen with Dhanraj. Caitlin went around the ranch house through Binne’s lovingly tended little kitchen garden. She walked a few hundred meters southward and scanned the outlook. The landscape of dry scrub was mostly flat, and she could see all the way to the horizon, turning purple now in the gathering gloom. Then she thought she saw a movement. Her eyesight was very keen, but it was so far away that she wished she had her long vision with her. She peered intensely, squinting with the effort and became certain that there was something moving. But it seemed more like the aimless movement of an animal than the purposeful movement of a person.
She made up her mind and went back into the barn. She led Rufus out of his stall and saddled him qui
ckly. She drew her laser pistol from one of the saddlebags and stuck it in her belt. Then she mounted and headed southward out of the yard at a fast trot. As she closed the distance, it became clear that what she had seen was a horse and that it carried a rider. But the rider was slumped forward on the horse’s neck, and it plodded on with little zest, pausing every now and then to munch on some scrub.
Caitlin touched her heels to Rufus’s flanks and they flew over the terrain to their goal. As she approached, her heart grew cold, for she recognized Seamus’s vest and his horse, Tagan. She leaped off Rufus and took Tagan’s bridle to steady him. The slack reins slipped out of Seamus’s hand. With an effort, he raised his head and looked at her. His vision seemed to be impaired, but he did know her, for he said in a harsh whisper, “My dearest Caitlin; the One God is kind, he has allowed me to see you before I go.”
There were two shafts projecting from his back, with the distinctive black-and-white wild-coot feathers favored by the Chekaligas. Caitlin gently lowered him from Tagan’s back and laid him on his side. She drew her dagger from her thigh boot and cut away his vest and then his shirt to examine his wounds.
“Leave me,” he rasped, the effort of speaking clearly taxing him. “Go immediately. Take Binne and Dhanraj, leave everything, and ride for Serat. All the Chekaliga tribes are massed together. I have never seen the like. Hareskot will be overwhelmed. You must warn Collector Yandharan. He can protect you.”
“Hush,” she said, examining his wounds and probing gently with her fingers. She had a sinking feeling as her examination revealed the full extent of his injuries. She doubted whether even Zon medicine could save him, for the arrows had penetrated vital organs. It was a miracle he was still alive. But she could not leave him.
“Go, daughter,” he insisted. He savored the word, but his voice grew fainter. “Live for me.”
She sat down on the hard ground and cradled his head in her lap. She leaned over him and kissed his grizzled cheek. He felt her lips, her warm hands, and her silken locks, for he smiled.
The Eclipse of the Zon - First Tremors (The New Eartha Chronicles Book 2) Page 17