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

by R. M. Burgess

  Caitlin leaned over and patted his shoulder.

  “They are bravest who conquer their fears,” she said. “You need never apologize. You have courage to spare.”

  Dhanraj sat straighter in his saddle and tried to look modest, but his pride showed on his face.

  “It is your courage that I admire, Cat.” Yandharan’s voice suddenly cut in, startling her.

  “I do not need your praise,” said Caitlin, realizing too late how rude she sounded.

  She hoped her shortness would cause him to return to Zaibene’s side, but he continued riding beside them. He did not say anything further, and the silence that settled on them grew oppressive. Binne saw the awkwardness and beckoned Dhanraj to her side. Yandharan waited till he was quite sure there was no one within earshot before speaking.

  “Cat, you were safe on the remote Avedus ranch, where the only place you ventured was the tiny village of Hareskot. The Serat Oasis is only a country town, but even here you have been recognized. Tirut is a big city, the seat of a barony, with a permanent Zon Trading Guild fort on its outskirts. We often socialize with wealthy merchants and members of Zaibene’s noble family. These are people who have significant interactions with the Zon.”

  Caitlin said nothing but rode on staring straight ahead.

  “I cannot protect you if I don’t know who you are. If you are Zon, if you have enemies, you must tell me.”

  She still did not reply and they rode on in silence, but she was thinking furiously. How much, if anything, should she tell him? By now he must be certain of her Zon identity. There was no point in attempting to conceal that any longer. But while she trusted him, she saw no reason to give him any information about the Sisterhood.

  “I am Zon,” she said at length. “But you already know that.”

  “A huntress?”

  “I was one, yes.”

  “That man Rator has seen you in your past life. Who else may have seen you? Did you travel much to native courts? Did you visit Tirut?”

  “No, I never visited Tirut. But I was stationed in Dreslin Center. And Alumus the Red Khalif and his followers count me as an enemy.”

  Yandharan whistled.

  “You pick powerful enemies. He is the leader of the Themadan Mission and one of the most influential men in the One Land.”

  When she did not respond, he continued. “I thank you for telling me this. I will do all I can to protect you in Tirut.”

  With that, he spurred his mount and cantered over to rejoin his wife.

  They rode steadily, traveling for much of night and erecting shady tents to rest during the hottest parts of the day. Yandharan and his men maintained order, ensuring that their stocks of food and water were distributed according to need and making sure that no one was left behind. They constantly scouted the rear, looking out for signs of Chekaliga pursuit.

  The dunes of the Great Daksin Desert gradually gave way to dry scrubland and then to the foothills of the Mussadec Range. Now they came upon spring-fed streams and hillside meadows of sweet grass, raising everyone’s spirits. The road climbed and then wound into Shard Pass, a deep cleft in the range. Passing through it, they beheld the waters of the Peril Sea. Down around Half Moon Bay stood the city of Tirut.

  KITARA HAD JUST finished dining with some of her friends in the suite she shared with her husband, Cheval Jagus va Alsor, in Tirut Castle. She had been feeling very nauseous lately and even the thought of her favorite dishes was not appetizing. She had stomach cramps, and when she passed her hand over her belly, it felt warm. She mentioned this to her friends, and they giggled and brought up the issue of pregnancy. She giggled with them, but inwardly she panicked.

  As soon as her friends left, Kitara summoned her personal maid, Rubya. She asked her about various womanly issues before bringing up the matter that weighed heavily on her mind.

  “I suspect I may have conceived the Cheval’s heir,” she said looking down and affecting a shy look. “But I do not wish to raise the hopes of my husband or his noble father unless I am certain. Do you know of someone I can approach in confidence? Someone who is not connected to the castle?”

  Rubya was a middle-aged woman with a kindly disposition, and she was touched by Kitara’s bashfulness.

  “The midwife who birthed my own three children is a discreet woman, my lady,” she said. “I can take you to her. What time would be convenient for you?”

  “Right now, if possible,” said Kitara, keeping her eyes down, maintaining the appearance of innocence.

  Fifteen minutes later, she was ready. She had a footman call for her coach and left the castle with Rubya. She was heavily veiled and covered from wrist to ankle in a black, shapeless shift.

  The coach rattled through the winding streets and alleys till it came to a stop in a small square. Rubya led her into a shabby building and up a flight of creaking stairs. In a backroom cluttered with metal pans and a range of nasty-looking copper, bronze, and iron implements, sat a blowsy woman with white hair that was badly dyed black. Rubya went in first and spoke to her in a low tone. The woman then beckoned Kitara and motioned for Rubya to leave the room and wait outside.

  “Well, my dear,” said the midwife. “You may keep your veil on. But you must open your shift, unbutton your blouse, and unfasten your skirt if you wish for me to examine you.”

  She indicated that Kitara should sit in a chair in front of her. Wishing to retain her anonymity, Kitara did not speak but sat down and did as she was bid. As soon as she sat down, the midwife took hold of each of her ankles and set them on stools that were widely separated. Moving her own stool forward between Kitara’s legs, she pulled down the unfastened waist of Kitara’s skirt and pushed up her blouse.

  Fifteen minutes later, she pushed her stool back, stood up, and looked down at her client with a smile.

  “Do you have any children?” she asked.

  Kitara shook her head.

  “I hope your husband has the means to support a family,” the midwife continued. “For your suspicions were well founded. You are indeed pregnant, though it is still quite early. There is a bit of warmth emanating from your belly. Perhaps your veins are close to the surface? In any event, I am sure it is nothing to worry about. It will be some time before you begin to show, if that is of any concern.”

  Kitara remained silent, but motioned for her maid, Rubya, to be recalled before standing and refastening her clothing. She departed abruptly, leaving Rubya to pay the midwife and follow her back to the coach. Based on the midwife’s prognosis, she counted and recounted the days. As she sat in the bumping coach, she thought hard about how to take advantage of her situation. For there could be no doubt—the child she was carrying was Greghar’s.

  ANDROMACHE WAS IN the queen’s private study in Chateau Regina. They sat on comfortable, high-backed chairs with a silver urn of katsch on the low table between them. The High Priestess’s worry about Asgara’s disappearance was plainly writ on her face. She was debating whether to tell Hildegard about it when the queen spoke.

  “So Harald Shelsor is dead. Lady Selene’s report indicates the circumstances were extremely suspicious.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” said Andromache. “Every cell and system in his body was functioning normally, yet he developed a high fever and encephalitis. In the opinion of the attending medica, even these should not have killed him, yet he died. We have all the data in our processors in Repro. I have a team going over it, but they are baffled. It is a mystery.”

  “A pity,” said Hildegard. “I liked the lad. He was well meaning and so amenable to our suggestions. Briga did well under his rule. But we can’t change the past.”

  She took a sip of her katsch and her brows knit thoughtfully.

  “As recommended by Lady Selene, I have installed Queen Esme as Regent, to rule in the name of her son, Crown Prince Axel.”

  “I thought the boy was dead as well—” began Andromache.

  “He is in a bad way, and like his father, we don’t know why. We have
him on life-support systems in a secure location. Hopefully we can eventually find out what ails him. If he dies, we must take steps to install Esme as queen in her own right.”

  “You think she is the right choice?” Andromache looked doubtful.

  “Five years ago, I would not have thought so,” said Hildegard. “But that girl has matured since the Great Insurrection. Even as we speak, she is implementing Lady Selene’s suggestion and marching to Tirut at the head of the Royal Blacks.”

  THE DARLING THOMA hove to in the Tirut roads. Greghar and Martius stood on the quarterdeck and watched the approaching pilot boat. Supported by Tar, Nitya made her way up from the great cabin below and joined them just as the pilot hailed them.

  “Ahoy, the Darling Thoma! The harbormaster of Tirut sends his greetings. Do you have Lord Greghar and Lady Nitya aboard?”

  “I am Captain Martius, master of the Darling Thoma,” replied Martius, speaking through a voice trumpet. “Who asks for these gentlefolk?”

  “The Chevalina of Tirut,” responded the pilot. “She has ordered a special suite of rooms to be prepared for them at the Three Feathers Inn. I am to escort them there as soon as you drop anchor.”

  NINE

  UNCOMFORTABLE MEETINGS

  BODIL AXESSINA, THE Zon Resident in Daksin, slowly magnified the image of her face in the three-dimensional mirror. She smiled and frowned, carefully examining the faint lines on her forehead, looking for crow’s feet around her eyes and for gray strands in her auburn hair. She tapped her wrist bracer, and an image of her face from the year before superimposed itself on the mirror, the differences between the two images highlighted with a reddish hue. She would turn 115 this year and though she still looked magnificent to barbarian eyes, the reddish hue on the mirror did not lie. Her most recent Excellence Board had given her just a marginal pass. She knew that she did not have long before retirement to Ostracis. Goddess Ma! she thought. My mind is as sharp and agile as when I was a youthful seventy-year-old, and now I have the depth of experience that gives me perspective. If only I could slow the aging of my body! The thought of spending the last five or six decades of her life in retirement now haunted her every day.

  She tapped her wrist bracer to summon her handmaiden to dress her. King Vokran of Daksin had called for an unscheduled meeting. While Vokran’s message indicated that the meeting was to be “informal,” she knew the Daksinis too well to go looking anything less than her best. She opened the analysis by Jordis Invarina, her Under Resident and read it while she was being dressed. Then she walked out of her apartments and took the antigravity shaft down to the courtyard. A squad of Palace Guardians, newly arrived from Atlantic City, was mustered alongside a brand-new Mark VIII airboat. Jordis stepped forward, looking composed and professional. Like most Zon, she was tall with an excellent figure and attractive facial features, but her skin was dark enough to pass for a native of Daksin. The sight of her second-in-command’s dusky skin always irritated Bodil, but she forced a sweet smile.

  “This is Seignora Megara Paurina,” Jordis said, indicating the Guardian seignora. “You asked for her to attend you at this meeting.”

  Megara saluted, hand on heart, and her Guardians followed her lead.

  “Indeed I did,” said Bodil. “Both the queen and Cornelle Diana speak very highly of you, Seignora Megara. We have all heard of your exemplary service at the Brigon Residency during the Great Insurrection. I am pleased to welcome you to the Daksin Residency.”

  “Thank you, Resident Bodil,” said Megara. “It is a privilege to serve under you.”

  She led Bodil and Jordis into the airboat and took a window jump seat beside them. The Guardian squad boarded after them. Megara had selected a pilot and copilot from among the squad, and they boarded through the fore doors, went through their checks, and powered up the engines. Megara looked out of the window as they rose above the Residency.

  Sampore, the capital city of Daksin, was already old when the Zon first arrived on New Eartha. It was built on both sides of one of the major mouths of the Chamb River. The silted mud flats of the Chamb delta had been built up and reclaimed over the centuries to such an extent that the nearest swamps were now several kilometers from the city. Navdurg, a significant delta island, guarded the seaward entrance to the city, at the point where the brownish waters of the Chamb met the gray-green waters of the Warm Sea. Successive generations of Daksin kings had built it up with silt dredged from the river and crowned it with a guard castle. At its highest point, Navdurg now rose almost a hundred meters above the swirling waters.

  The Zon appropriated the island after they conquered Daksin. They razed the superstructure of the barbarian castle, reinforced the old foundations, and built the modern, white Residency on them. Its shining battlements were festooned with wide solar panels and wind turbines rather than weaponry, testament to the long peace between Daksin and the Sisterhood. It was a short flight across the bustling Sampore harbor to Tapkotten Palace, the seat of the Bhoj kings of Daksin.

  “The honor guard is mustered,” said the pilot to Megara on the airboat comm. “I can see the commandant of the Daksin Lancers. They are ready to receive us.”

  Megara looked out of her window. All the requirements of protocol were met.

  “Proceed with the landing,” she said. “Deploy the baffles around the engine exhausts, let’s not muss their fine uniforms.”

  “I hear and obey,” said the pilot.

  They landed and were received with due ceremony. Both the lancers and the Guardians presented arms. Then the commandant of the lancers led Bodil, Jordis, and Megara into the Reception Hall. Vokran II, King of Daksin and Chitgar and occupant of the Lion Throne, sat on an ornate, high-backed chair whose arms were carved lion’s heads. He had a dusky-brown complexion and black, animated eyes. He was quite chubby and so bald that the skin of his round head shone. He wore fine silk breeches, but only a thin silk shawl around his shoulders, revealing rolls of fat around his middle and a substantial paunch. He had on an abundance of very heavy gold jewelry—necklaces, armbands, wristbands, and a crown circlet. Vokran’s royal council and about a dozen of the most powerful Daksin barons were present and similarly dressed in their finery. Most of them had chocolate-brown skin and were much darker even than Vokran.

  They all rose as the Zon party entered. Bodil gave Vokran the half bow he was due and made her prepared speech in Daksish. He gave his prepared response and signaled the stewards to bring out the refreshments. They approached the king and the Zon party first with trays of phang, a fermented rice wine. Only after each of them had taken a glass did they pass around the Hall serving everyone else.

  Bodil was an old professional and she circulated, exchanging greetings and small talk in strict order of seniority. After the king, she moved on to speak with the chief minister, then the Baron of Kaylan, and so on. Jordis and Megara followed her, one at each elbow. From time to time, Jordis joined the conversation, but Megara just listened, getting a feel for the politics of Daksin.

  After the appropriate amount of time, Vokran motioned to his herald, who clapped his hands and announced, “King Vokran welcomes the Zon Resident and her staff to the conference suite. Please follow me.”

  He turned and led the king out of the Reception Hall. The king was followed by two lancers in their colorful, beribboned uniforms, their spurs jingling as they walked. Bodil, Jordis, and Megara followed. They went down a corridor and entered a room furnished with a long conference table. The king seated himself at one end of it, and Bodil took the seat at the other end, with Jordis at her right hand and Megara at her left. Then the king’s council entered and took the remaining seats. The herald closed the doors and took his place outside along with the two lancers.

  “I thank you for accepting my invitation, Resident Bodil,” said Vokran as soon as the door closed. “I imagine you have an idea as to why I have called this meeting.”

  “I understand that Your Highness is concerned about this season’s Chekaliga raids.”


  “These are more than raids,” he said, speaking slowly and controlling his temper with an obvious effort. “All the Chekaliga tribes are involved. There has never been anything like it! We have consulted all manner of scholars, monks, and deacons. They have pored over records going back hundreds of years. There is no precedent for such massed attacks.”

  “We have heard of the fall of the Serat Oasis, Sire,” said Bodil. “But surely that is not our problem. The Southern Marches are the concern of King Harald of Briga and Resident Lady Selene.”

  “Resident Bodil, I have had dozens of messengers over the last week from all over our Borderlands, and every one brings the same story—villages burned to the ground, men butchered, women and livestock carried off. We have never faced depredations on this scale. Even the city of Siggar may be threatened. Surely you know of what is happening on our side of the border? Our treaty requires your Legions to keep these wild men in their lairs in the ravines of Chitgar.”

  “We have aerial intelligence,” said Bodil, playing for time. “And we have received reinforcements from Atlantic City, under the command of Seignora Megara Paurina.” She inclined her head toward Megara, who nodded at the king and his council. “The intelligence reports are being compiled as we speak. If they show incursions on the scale you describe, we will commit forces to battle.”

  “We are seriously disappointed, Resident Bodil,” said Vokran. “Our tribute payments have been munificent and punctual. Is it too much to expect that you are at least as well informed about what is happening on the ground as we are?”

  The meeting did not last much longer. The chief minister provided some further details of the attacks, and the Baron of Kaylan spoke forcefully, reinforcing the points made by the king. After the proper leave-taking ceremonies, Bodil and her entourage reembarked on her airboat and took off to return to the Residency. It was obvious that she was angry, and Jordis kept her eyes on the tips of her shoes. She knew that Bodil had very conservative Zon tastes, and that her dark skin was at least part of the reason that she was so often the butt of Bodil’s wrath.