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

by R. M. Burgess

  “By the One God,” whispered Nestar.

  He called up the rest of the men, leaving only a small watch crew on the carrack. They set off toward the stone tower with a mixture of anticipation and trepidation, completely unaware of what they were going to find. As they approached the hill, the sun began to go down, and the tower threw a growing shadow that pointed directly toward them. When they were about halfway between the shore and the hill, they entered a ring of stones, rough enough to be a natural formation, yet arranged to suggest that it was the work of human hands. Just as they entered the circle, the shadow of the tower reached them.

  Nestar put up his hand, signaling them all to stop. He stood very still and looked around. The men looked at him so intently and expectantly that they did not notice the Chekaligas. More and more of the warriors appeared and moved silently, even their ponies making no sound as they completely surrounded the Utreans. Each Chekaliga warrior carried a light bow, and they all had nocked arrows.

  “Greetings!” Nestar called in a booming voice. “I am pleased to see so many of you. I would speak with Grand Sab Kimr Ib Makhtoom.”

  The words were spoken in Brigish with very creditable fluency. Brigish was the most widely spoken of the barbarian tongues, but few Utreans spoke it so well. There a moment of silence before a rider with dusky skin paced his pony forward. He wore a brocaded tunic over his leathers, and his scimitar had a jeweled hilt. He had a fine-linked gold chain braided into his coarse hair.

  “Who dares to ask for me?” he asked. His Brigish had a heavy Chekaliga accent.

  “I come from the far north,” said Nestar, in a deep, booming voice that was unnaturally loud. “To fulfill the prophesy of Chekaliga rule over all of Daksin.”

  “This is the well-known lore of my people,” said Kimr. His flat, black eyes did not blink, and he showed no emotion. “Anyone could spout this.”

  “Lately you have seen Northmen in your dreams,” said Nestar. “Have you not?”

  “You are from the north land they call Utrea?”

  “Indeed we are,” replied Nestar. “We have come from there to lead you to claim the Lion Throne.”

  Kimr signaled the rider beside him, and he wheeled his pony and galloped off. He returned very slowly, still on his pony, but leading four men. It took some time for Nestar and his party to recognize Guttanar and his three surviving men. They all bore the marks of horrible torture. Obviously in great pain, they staggered forward under the prodding of Chekaliga spears.

  “I have indeed seen you in my dreams,” said Kimr, now stating it as a matter of fact. “These are your men. They have been kept alive so that they could be returned to you.”

  He grinned.

  “My men have had some sport with them. I hope you will not mind.”

  Nestar stepped up to Guttanar.

  “The Yengar wench was in your hands,” he hissed in Utrish. “And our well-laid trap caught Greghar as well. Yet you let them escape us.”

  Guttanar looked down at the ground. Nestar put his hand under his chin and raised his head to look him in the eye.

  “I did my best, my lord,” Guttanar said, his voice fading to a harsh whisper. “But Greghar saw through our ploy. They were ready for us.”

  Nestar’s expression grew darker.

  “It was an easy task I gave you,” he said. “Yet you failed me.” He turned to Kimr. “If your men crave more sport, pray give them these men.”

  Guttanar clenched his jaw and looked to Nestar resignedly. However, the other men began to wail and beg Nestar to take them back, to save them from the Chekaligas. He was deaf to their cries, taking Kimr by the arm and leading him away, out of earshot.

  “What is our destination?” asked Kimr as soon as they were alone.

  “Bar-Dari,” said Nestar. “You know the way?”

  “Yes,” said Kimr. “But it is a long and difficult march over the Mussadec Mountains.”

  “It will be well worth it.”

  IT WAS LATE evening in Atlantic City. Darbeni and Jena stood on the highest viewdeck of the Confederation Tower. While they savored the breeze, they tapped their temperature shields to raise them against the chill in the air. The light panels were just beginning to power up in the Lower Wards. Jena wandered over to one of the long visions set on an edge of the viewdeck and swept it around, zooming in on various points of interest in the city.

  “Thanks for the wonderful dinner and the hospitality,” said Jena without taking her eyes out of the long vision. “But I am sure you did not ask me to take leave and return to Atlantic City for the pleasure of my company.”

  “You have not found Princess Caitlin for me,” said Darbeni, staying close to the center of the viewdeck and raising her voice slightly rather than approaching Jena at the edge. “But perhaps you were not the right person for that job. My mother has a much easier job for you to perform. One that is much better suited to your capabilities.”

  “What is it?” asked Jena without taking her eyes out of the long vision.

  “We have a rather inconvenient ex-employee. We would like her to have an accident.”

  Jena turned around and looked Darbeni in the eye to make sure she was serious.

  “You want me to kill someone here in Atlantic City? That’s murder! If they find out, I’ll be shot!”

  “Relax. No one will find out. My mother is bringing her here in half an hour. We just need her to ‘accidentally’ fall over the edge of the viewdeck. The railings are low and the winds are strong. A tragic mishap like that could happen to anyone.”

  Jena looked dubious.

  “Who is it?” she asked.

  “Yukia Rabbina. She lured Princess Deirdre into the ambush where she was killed. Of course, we fired her immediately, but she cut a deal with the administration and got off scot-free. She deserves to die.”

  “Princess Deirdre was always kind to me when I visited Caitlin at Palace d’Orr,” said Jena, running her fingers through her hair. She wandered around the edges of the viewdeck leaning over the low railing, oblivious to the strong breeze. “What is this worth to you?”

  “Remember I promised you five hundred gold talents if you found Princess Caitlin. Well, that money is still sitting in my accounts. If you do this successfully, the money is yours.”

  “Very well. But remember I am recording all of this. If I am caught, I will drag you and your mother down with me.”

  “Oh, don’t be so pessimistic. No one will ever know.”

  The minutes ticked by slowly. Jena was tempted to take a snort of katsang, but the drug made her a bit light-headed, so she resisted. Finally they heard the antigravity, and Vivia stepped out, followed by Yukia. Vivia was beautifully turned out as usual, but Yukia looked very different. Her confident demeanor was gone, replaced by an anxious look. Her clothes were well worn as well as several seasons out of date, and her makeup looked cheap.

  “I am open to bringing you back, Yukia,” Vivia was saying. “But you really need to convince my dear Darbeni. She controls the purse strings, you know. I am just a figurehead.”

  Yukia came up to Darbeni and bent her head respectfully.

  “Chief Counsel Darbeni, I will do whatever it takes to be employed by Pragarina Enterprises again. I will do any show, even if I have to work under someone else. I know I can produce great content if you only give me the chance.”

  “We were thinking of doing a show on the Palace Guardians,” said Darbeni slowly. “Seignora Jena here is our adviser. As you can see from her uniform, she is on active service with the Guardians. In fact, she is just visiting us from her posting at the Daksin Residency.”

  “I am pleased to meet you,” said Yukia, approaching Jena and putting her arms out greet her as an equal. Jena took both her hands in hers and pulled her forward suddenly and sharply, causing her to stumble. She put her boot in the way, so Yukia tripped, arms flailing.

  “I’m so sorry,” said Jena, putting her hand on Yukia’s back.

  Yukia thought Jena was go
ing to steady her, but instead the huntress propelled her forward with a strong push. As Yukia’s stomach hit the railing, Jena leaned down, caught her by the ankle and tipped her over. Yukia screamed as she fell headfirst over the edge of the viewdeck. Her scream continued, declining into a long thin streamer of sound as she fell farther away from them. The Confederation Tower was much too tall for them to hear the impact of Yukia’s body striking the street far below.

  Yukia’s obituary appeared on the comm the next day. It was written by Vivia’s staff and was full of praise, highlighting her achievements as hostess of Lives of Our Sisters. It made no mention of her presence at the ambush that led to Deirdre’s death. Nor did it make any reference to Yukia’s unemployed status at the time of her own death. The obituary included a statement from Vivia in which she said, “We all remember the high points of Yukia Rabbina’s life—a gifted hostess on the comm and a fine and generous colleague at Pragarina Enterprises. We will miss her terribly.”

  DIANA WAS FLYING on autopilot, listening to music from her personal store, when there was a ping in her earphones. She opened the comm channel and was mildly surprised to see the queen.

  “Cornelle Diana, I understand you are bound for Sampore,” she said.

  “Yes, Your Highness. I am going to inspect our new forces in the Daksin Residency. Resident Bodil has also asked me to join her to discuss our response to the demands of King Vokran.”

  “Just so,” Hildegard said, sounding uncharacteristically unsure of herself. There was a pause before she plunged ahead. “Cornelle Diana, are you aware that before her departure into exile, Princess Caitlin had a daughter that she left behind in Temple Heights Nursery? This daughter is now the d’Orr heiress.”

  “Yes, I did know that, ma’am. I also know that Seignora Megara Paurina is the child’s legal mother.”

  “What else do you know about the case?” asked Hildegard cautiously.

  “I was reviewing Seignora Megara’s files for promotion, ma’am,” said Diana. “I read everything in her record, including her performance as a mother. By all accounts, Seignora Megara has been an exemplary mother to the d’Orr girl.”

  “Yes, she has,” said Hildegard, relieved that she did not have to explain everything. “And in return, Lady Asgara d’Orr loves Seignora Megara as though she were her real mother. But with her posting to the Daksin Residency, the child has been given over to the guardianship of Princess Andromache.”

  Hildegard paused to marshal her thoughts, and Diana waited patiently.

  “Princess Andromache has just been to see me. Apparently, Lady Asgara ran away from Palace Saxe last night.”

  “Surely you have her on the security cams,” said Diana. “A child should be fairly easy to find in Atlantic City.”

  “Unfortunately not, Cornelle. She is one of our most gifted children. She managed to avoid being caught on any of the security cams. We have no idea where she is. However, I think she is trying to get to her mother, Seignora Megara, in the Daksin Residency and that she has managed to get out of Atlantic City. She is clever enough to have stowed away on an airboat. There were only two airboats that were bound for Sampore today—one of them is yours.”

  “Let me call you back, ma’am,” said Diana.

  She turned to her copilot and said, “Search the ’boat. All compartments, the hold, the undercarriage bay, everything.”

  It was almost half an hour before Hildegard heard the ping of her private comm channel.

  “Ma’am, we searched every centimeter of the airboat. She is not aboard now. However, we stopped at the Tirut Guild fort on our way. We unloaded cargo there, so if she was aboard, she could have gotten off to avoid being found.”

  “You have practical experience in these matters, Cornelle,” said Hildegard. “What do you recommend?”

  “We will return to Tirut, ma’am. I will speak with Baron va Alsor and get his people to begin looking for her.”

  “Be discreet, Cornelle,” said Hildegard. “Any barbarian adventurer would know that a Zon child is worth a hefty ransom, and that a Zon heiress is worth even more.”

  “I hear and obey, ma’am,” said Diana.

  She cut the comm channel and put the airboat into a tight banking turn, heading back to Tirut.

  TEN

  THE VA ALSOR BALL

  NEHEMUS VA ALSOR, the Baron of Tirut, paced the luxurious Limpore carpet in his private reception room, frowning. In his midfifties, he was recently widowed. However, he was still powerfully built and looked twenty years younger. He kept himself in prime physical condition through a combination of fanatical devotion to physical exercise and personal habits that verged on the ascetic. He had a full head of salt-and-pepper hair and a neatly trimmed beard.

  The reception room was richly furnished as befitted the apartments of the richest baron in the One Land. His younger son, Cheval Jagus va Alsor, sat forward on a gold inlaid chair, watching his father’s movements. Kitara walked beside her father-in-law, giving him her rapt attention.

  “You are ever attentive to the interests of our house, my dear,” Nehemus said. “Perhaps more so than some who were born into it.”

  “Father, you never see merit in anything that I suggest or do,” Jagus said, his expression turning sullen.

  Nehemus disregarded his son and continued speaking to Kitara, patting her on the cheek as he did so.

  “Like you, I am suspicious of Queen Esme’s motives. There are too many unanswered questions for my liking. Why has she brought the Royal Blacks to Tirut, instead of sending them to retake the Serat Oasis? With King Harald’s death, she has declared herself Regent for Crown Prince Axel, but where is the boy? I fear she is thinking of usurping the throne for herself and is casting covetous eyes on our river of gold here in Tirut.”

  “You are so wise, my lord, and you put everything so well,” said Kitara. “I see everything much more clearly after listening to you. It has made me think of a different spin entirely. Perhaps it will give Queen Esme pause to see the nephew of King Lothar of Utrea in your court.”

  Nehemus stroked his beard and put an arm around her waist affectionately.

  “Ah, my dear, what a sharp mind you have,” he said. “But you are too young to know minutiae of the Utrean House of Nibellus. The usurper Shobar murdered all the trueborn children of King Jondolar the Just years ago. King Lothar, the current occupant of the Masthead Throne is Jondolar’s only sibling. I understand that Jondolar had a bastard son, who escaped—this Greghar must be that son. So while your idea of forging stronger ties with the Utrean monarch is laudable, I wonder how much love Lothar can have for his baseborn nephew?”

  “Indeed father, what would your liegemen think if you brought the son of some brothel whore into our halls?”

  Kitara let her scarf slip down to reveal her low-cut bodice, artfully making it seem accidental. She wore a necklace with a diamond pendant that nestled in her cleavage. She knew it would draw Nehemus’s eyes to her bosom but pretended not to notice. She put her hand on his forearm and looked into his eyes earnestly.

  “Greghar comes with a fine ship and a loyal crew. He has a lady-in-waiting to the queen of Utrea by his side—she has the unmistakable accent, carriage, and manner of a courtier. Surely this suggests that he has the favor of his uncle? And if your lordship points to the royal blood in his veins, how can your liegemen fault you?”

  Nehemus looked at Kitara fondly.

  “You reason like a diplomat, my dear,” he said, smiling. “I agree—we have little to lose and potentially much to gain by hosting him.”

  He paused before going on.

  “I have received an arrogant message from Lady Death, asking for an audience. Perhaps we can invite Greghar and her at the same time. Who knows, perhaps his presence will make her more civil.”

  “If it is civility you want,” said Kitara. “Then don’t hold an audience at all! Why not throw a ball and invite them both to it? In just a few days we will celebrate the twenty-fifth anniversary of your s
ucceeding to the Barony of Tirut. It is fitting that your sons mark the occasion by hosting a ball in your honor. We can put up black bunting and some subtle marks of mourning so that you can host Queen Esme without any disrespect for her recent bereavement. The merriment may soften even Lady Death.”

  “A ball?” said Jagus. “That is the most foolish thing I have ever heard.”

  “On the contrary, my son, it is great idea. At a ball, it will be awkward for Lady Death to visit violence upon us as she often does. And since it will be in my honor, inviting Greghar gives him no special consequence. Yet we can still have the herald announce his royal connection, so that Queen Esme can see the respect being paid us by King Lothar. Your wife is a clever woman, you should take lessons from her.”

  Jagus scowled. He stood up and gave his father a curt bow.

  “I have an appointment with some friends, my lord. I must leave you now.”

  “I am tired of your so-called friends. All they seem to do is use you as an endless source of funds. Don’t expect me to bail you out if you lose any more money at the gaming table.”

  Jagus stomped out of the reception room and shut the door behind him sharply. At the last minute, he caught it and closed it softly.

  “I don’t know what to do with Jagus,” Nehemus sighed. “I give the boy everything, and yet he feels mistreated.”

  “Don’t be hard on him, my lord,” said Kitara. “He tries so hard to emulate his father. But you set such a high standard that when he cannot match it, he grows frustrated.”

  “Kitara, you are too good for him,” said Nehemus, his voice growing thick. He put an arm around her waist again and drew her to him. “When your brother proposed you to us, I should have married you myself.”

  Kitara dexterously slipped away from him and rearranged her scarf to cover her bosom again.