The Eclipse of the Zon - First Tremors (The New Eartha Chronicles Book 2)

by R. M. Burgess

  Asgara made her way to the front portico of the palace. She knew that Andromache’s handmaiden would be going home about now. She was pleased to see that the speeder the handmaiden used to ferry her to and from Temple Heights Nursery was parked in the portico. She planned out a path that would take her to the speeder without exposing her to the security cams. Then she cautiously crept forward and perched herself on speeder’s far side running board.

  A few minutes later, Andromache’s handmaiden came out of the front portal of the palace. Asgara heard her call “Good-night,” to someone and get into the driver’s seat. Asgara tightened her hold on the door handles as the speeder moved off. It stopped to allow the outer gates of the palace grounds to open and then moved off again. As soon as it emerged outside the gates, Asgara jumped off into the grass, careful to avoid the outer security cams.

  She waited for the taillights of the speeder to fade away in the distance. Then she began to walk purposefully for Atlantic City airfield. She had gathered a great deal of information from the caregivers about its location and protocols. She was sure she could get to the airfield before first light.

  It was still dark when she got to the airfield. It was in peacetime mode, but the perimeter fence was four meters high, topped with coils of electrified razor wire, and there were still huntresses on duty at the open gates. Asgara crawled up the dry drainage ditch by the approach road and waited very close to the gates.

  It had been a very long walk for her young legs, and she was exhausted. Lying in the soft grass, she fought to keep her heavy lids open. Finally, just as the eastern sky began to show signs of light, she heard a speeder approach from inside the airfield. It drove up to the gates and stopped. From the information she had gathered, Asgara knew this was the changing of the guard detail. She peeked over top of the ditch and saw that the speeder was only a few meters away from her. The two guard details were chatting on the far side of the speeder from her. She crept up and got on the running board of the speeder as she had done before.

  At length the speeder began to move. It made a U-turn and headed back into the airfield. Asgara saw they were passing the airfield hangars, heading for the duty barracks. Afraid that she would be carried all the way there and be seen, she tensed herself and let go, curling into a ball as she did so. She fell on the smooth grass, but the speeder was moving very fast, so she still severely scraped her elbows and knees before she came to a stop. The pain was very sharp. Safely out of earshot of the rapidly disappearing speeder, she allowed herself to lie in the grass and cry.

  Finally, wiping her eyes, she picked herself up and hurried toward the hangars, staying low. The cavernous chambers were open, but their interiors were dark and forbidding. The dozens of airboats parked in serried rows looked like dormant monsters. She found a large, open trash bin full of metal scrap and climbed into it. It was hard and uncomfortable, but she was so tired that she fell asleep almost instantly.

  When she awoke, she was confused for a moment before she remembered where she was. The scrapes on her knees and elbows were covered with dried and caked blood. The pain was dull and throbbing, and tears ran down her cheeks as she gritted her teeth to keep silent.

  Outside it was bright daylight, but she had no idea what time it was. The hangar was full of noise, with the clanging of machinery and the sound of loud voices. She peered cautiously over the rim of the bin. No one was looking her way. There was a meter or so of clearance between the bin and the hangar wall. She quickly climbed out and secreted herself in this space.

  She wiped the tears off her cheeks as she waited, not realizing that she was streaking dirt and oil from the metal scrap all over her face. Time seemed to pass very slowly and she was beginning to get hungry. She was on the verge of giving up hope of finding transport to the Daksin Residency. Then two mechanicae stopped on the far side of the trash bin. She pricked up her ears.

  “Just finished work on the K-1784,” said one. “She’s all set.”

  “About time,” said the other. “Cornelle Diana is coming by this afternoon to pick her up. She had better be battle ready.”

  “Where is she headed?”

  “She’s filed a flight plan for the Tirut Guild fort and then on to the Daksin Residency—”

  They strolled off. Asgara waited till their voices died away before stealing a look around the trash bin. The airboat parked twenty meters away had “K-1784” painted on her hull in big black letters. The rear hatch yawned open. Asgara did not hesitate. Standing very erect to appear taller, she sauntered over and clambered into the airboat. Inside, the metal deck was set with seating and the cargo hatch leading down into the hold was open. She climbed down the ladder into the hold and settled herself against the hard steel bulkhead, concealed behind some crates. Eventually, her tiredness overcame her discomfort, and she fell asleep again.

  SERAT OASIS WAS built in a slight depression and had very poor defensive features. The reason for its location was the large spring-fed oasis from which it took its name, the only significant source of water for hundreds of kilometers. Caitlin, Binne, and Dhanraj rode through the gates along with many others: riders, cart traffic, and travelers afoot. Once through the gate, they dismounted and led their horses. Binne touched the arm of one of the guards at the gate and asked for directions to Collector Yandharan’s house. The guard looked them up and down and found them acceptable before replying.

  “The gates of his residence will be closed,” he said. “They will not admit you unless you know the password.”

  Nothing in Caitlin’s experience had prepared her for Serat, a town of over a hundred thousand residents. This immense population was crowded into a space only slightly larger than the Atlantic City neighborhood of Temple Heights, whose residents numbered a few hundred. Inside the walls there were no avenues or boulevards and no open space of any kind, just dark, winding streets and narrow alleys. Mud-brick hovels, many with two stories, were crowded together, their upper levels leaning forward precariously, blocking out almost all light. The drains were open and filthy and everywhere there were large piles of festering refuse. Mangy curs sat in piles of trash, growling and snapping at ragged children who searched for scraps. The stench was incredibly strong—Caitlin had to fight hard to keep from retching, and even Binne and Dhanraj were repulsed.

  “Every time I come to Serat, I bless our life in the country,” said Binne.

  They proceeded down the broadest of streets, just wide enough for them to walk their horses. Beggars were everywhere, many horribly disfigured or mutilated. Ragged urchins followed them, pleading for alms. The few women they saw were heavily veiled. In deference to Thermadan norms, Binne had donned a long cloak with a scarf over her head and had gotten Caitlin to do the same. Even so, Caitlin knew she was the focus of hundreds of staring eyes. She wished she had a squad of huntresses at her back. Men sidled up as they passed and reached into her cloak, attempting to touch her intimately. No sooner had she brushed off one attempt than there was another one, each bolder than the last. Finally, she drew her long dagger and pricked a prying hand, drawing blood, a cry of pain, and a curse. After that, they kept their distance. Even the urchins hung back and ceased their entreaties. Stopping twice more to ask for directions, they reached the gates of Yandharan’s house without further incident.

  This was a slightly better area of the town and while there were just as many piles of rubbish scattered about in the street, the houses were of better quality. Yandharan’s residence stood out from its neighbors in that it was built of dark granite rather than mud-brick. It stood tall and straight, the ten-meter high façade supported by impressive columns. There were two five-meter-high doors of dark wood set in the stone, and one of them bore an immense brass knocker. It was difficult to get a full measure of the residence in the narrow alley, hemmed in on all sides by other structures. But it was clearly more of a palace than a house.

  Binne stood on tiptoe, raised the knocker, and struck it several times. There was a pause before a
voice called out from within, “Password?”

  “I don’t know the password, but we must see Collector Yandharan,” said Binne.

  “Go away, woman,” came the voice from within. “Unless you know the password, you must go to the Collectorate and seek an appointment there.”

  “But—” began Binne. Caitlin put a hand on her shoulder and spoke in her stead.

  “Tell Collector Yandharan that Cat Avedus is here to see him. If you don’t, you will pay dearly, I promise you.”

  “Wait,” came the voice from within, clearly irritated.

  They did not have to wait long. Barely a few minutes later one of the massive doors swung open. Yandharan stood there in his collector’s uniform, flanked by two armed men who also wore bronze badges on their leather vests. A couple of liveried servants stood behind them. He came forward, sweeping off his broad-brimmed hat, causing his deputies to follow his example.

  “Welcome, welcome,” he said, his voice betraying his enthusiasm. “I am pleased to see you. Come in, come in, you look like you have had a long, hard ride. You must be very tired. My servants will take your horses. Would you like to clean up before I offer you some refreshment?”

  “Before we do anything else, we must give you warning,” said Binne. “The Chekaligas are on the warpath again. They have killed my husband, Seamus.” She paused and caught her breath as a sob forced its way up. “He told us as he lay dying that there are more of them than ever before, all their tribes massed together. It is war this time, not just raiding. You must prepare yourselves and rouse the king’s soldiers from their border forts.”

  “I am sorry to hear about your husband,” Yandharan said. “He was a good man, tough and dependable. A true son of the Southern Marches.”

  He sighed and Binne sniffed. Caitlin felt a pain in her gut as the words conjured up the vision of Seamus dying in her arms, saying Go daughter, live for me.

  “Every year we beat them back,” Yandharan continued. “And they always return the following year. They have never attacked a town the size of Serat, but there is no point in taking chances.” He beckoned to one of his deputies. “Nambian, alert all the town gates and double the watches on each one of them. Make sure they are prepared to close them and secure the town as soon as they see any suspicious movements.”

  Nambian saluted and left.

  “Now follow me,” said Yandharan. “Let me offer you the hospitality of my house.”

  He turned and led them in, still beaming. The scene inside was in stark contrast to the filth and poverty outside. The doors opened into a spacious inner courtyard with a bubbling fountain and some date palms. There was an inner verandah that ran around the courtyard on all sides, and stately stone columns supported a second story. Yandharan led them across the courtyard and through a long corridor with flagstone floors. Eventually they emerged into an interior, smaller courtyard, and he led the way into a suite of spotlessly clean rooms with dark, heavy furniture.

  “You may use this suite for as long as you like,” he said. “There is water in the bathroom. Please let me know what else I can do to make you comfortable.”

  “We are quite overwhelmed, Collector Yandharan,” said Binne.

  “I will return in a little while,” he replied, smiling. “As soon as you have cleaned up, we will sit down to a meal.”

  They looked at each other for a few moments after he left.

  “We owe this warm welcome to you, Cat,” said Binne, putting her arm around her waist. “Whether you like it or not.”

  They washed off the grime of the road and stretched themselves out on the comfortable beds. They were all tired and an hour passed very quickly. They were on the point of nodding off when Yandharan returned.

  “Will you take some refreshment now?” he asked solicitously.

  The mention of food made them aware that they were quite hungry. In their hasty departure from the ranch, Binne had packed as much food as she could. But it was a long ride to Serat and they had eaten sparingly to make their supplies last. Yandharan led them along another corridor, and they found themselves in a high, vaulted dining room with grander furniture and fittings. It was well lit with a large window looking out onto yet another interior courtyard. The long dining table was laid for five with silver and crystal settings.

  An attractive woman stood by the table, dressed in a flowing, high-necked gown. Her hair was completely covered in a beautiful mihr-silk scarf. She was small, no taller than Binne, with large, liquid brown eyes, but at the moment there was no warmth in them. She looked at them from under lowered lashes. Two small children, a boy and a girl, peered at them from behind her skirts.

  “May I present my wife, Mistress Zaibene,” he said formally. “And my children.” Zaibene nodded curtly, but the children remained hiding behind their mother.

  Binne curtsied and Dhanraj bowed deeply, but Caitlin was nonplussed as to how to respond. Her instinct was to give Zaibene the incline of the head that Zon officials accorded barbarian gentry. However, she was in exile from the Sisterhood and had no official status, so this did not seem appropriate. In the end, she returned Zaibene’s nod with one of her own. Zaibene’s eyes grew hot with anger at this presumption.

  Yandharan observed all this and spoke quickly in an attempt to smooth things over.

  “Mistress Zaibene is a va Alsor of Tirut,” he said. “Her great-grandfather was Baron of Tirut and her grandfather was a Cheval. She did me great honor by accepting my suit.” He went to her side and put an arm around her shoulders. “We are both pleased to offer you the hospitality of our abode.”

  “My dear,” he continued, smiling down at his wife. “I have spoken to you of these folk. This is Binne Avedus of Hareskot, her adopted daughter, Cat, and Dhanraj, her ward.”

  “Collector Yandharan has told me of you,” said Zaibene, addressing Caitlin and ignoring the other two. “I understand that you have no property, family, or connections, but that you have a way with horses. And with men.”

  Yandharan looked embarrassed at his wife’s show of bad manners.

  “Let us sit down to eat,” he said quickly, to head off what he feared would be a sharp retort from Caitlin. “My dear, let us seat ourselves, so the others may know where to sit.”

  Zaibene looked toward a doorway and an unseen nurse hurried out to take the children. Yandharan seated himself at the head of the table and Zaibene sat at his right, looking none too pleased. He motioned to Caitlin to sit at his left, with Dhanraj beside her. Binne seated herself by Zaibene, looking at her nervously. Zaibene rang a silver bell, summoning the steward. He oversaw a crew of servants bearing heaping platters of food as well as wine in ice-filled buckets and numerous carafes of other drinks. They went around the table serving each of those seated and then placing everything on a massive sideboard. The steward remained by the sideboard, ready to replenish anything.

  Both Binne and Dhanraj were ill at ease, never having been served before, but Caitlin was very relaxed. She made eye contact with the staff and murmured thanks in a manner that gave them consequence. Zaibene only acknowledged their presence to snap at them if they did not meet her expectations. They approached her with obvious trepidation and flinched when they felt the lash of her sharp tongue.

  Conversation during the meal was stilted. Caitlin responded to Yandharan’s polite questions about the ride from Hareskot as briefly as possible. Binne spoke of the weather, and Dhanraj ate the sumptuous repast with single-minded determination. The meal culminated in a rich dessert made from dates served with a sweet Mussadec wine from the mountain range of that name, which abutted Tirut. The dessert was much too sweet for Caitlin’s taste, and the wine was too cloying, but Binne and Dhanraj were warm in their appreciation.

  No sooner had Binne put down her dessert spoon than Zaibene stood up, prompting the others to follow suit.

  “Let us adjourn to the audience chamber to discuss what has really brought you here,” she said.

  Yandharan rose after her and took he
r arm to lead the way down another corridor. The audience chamber had a high-backed chair, flanked by a normal chair, facing numerous chairs set at a lower level. Binne and Dhanraj looked around with awe. Yandharan seated himself in the high-backed chair, looking self-conscious. Zaibene took the chair by his side and waved them to the lower chairs. As soon as they were all seated, Zaibene addressed Caitlin.

  “Collector Yandharan has told me of his offer to you. As you know, among the nobility—and even among many propertied commoners—it is customary for the first wife to decide on the suitability of any subsequent wives.” She paused. “I see you have brought your foster mother here to formalize the engagement.”

  Caitlin opened her mouth, but before she could respond, Zaibene turned to Binne and continued.

  “I will not mince words. Your adopted daughter has used her wiles to bewitch Collector Yandharan.” She waved Binne to silence and went on. “She is a trollop trying to gain wealth and consequence by connecting herself to my husband and through him to my noble family. Doubtless, you are encouraging her. Well, I am mistress of this house, and I will never allow this to happen!”

  Binne grew angrier and angrier as Zaibene spoke. She flushed and lost all her diffidence. Caitlin saw her look and put a restraining hand on her arm. Secure in her sense of Zon superiority, she had to struggle to keep from laughing. She did not entirely succeed and a faint smile played on her face.

  “Collector Yandharan,” she said. “Your wife and I are of like mind, it seems. My company does not please her, and I am sure that I could not be happy in hers.”

  Yandharan looked at Zaibene reproachfully.

  “My dear, you promised you would approach this audience with an open mind.”

  “I have!” she snapped. She made a motion indicating Caitlin from head to toe. “Just look at her! Dressed in tight leathers, displaying her body to entice and ensnare. Take your pleasure of her in a bawdy house, sir, but do not ask to bring her into this respectable house.”