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

by R. M. Burgess

  ELEVEN

  ESCAPE FROM TIRUT

  STRONG HANDS DRAGGED Lidill off Asgara and flung her out of the storeroom. Rator did not speak but merely pointed at Lidill and made a violent gesture with his hand. She scuttled away, muttering under her breath.

  “Get dressed and collect your things,” he said to Asgara. “We leave immediately.”

  They left the city just a few hours after midnight. It was cold in the predawn darkness as they rode through the Shard Pass. From the pass, it was about a day’s ride to the Daksin border. The actual boundary was mostly unmarked except for an irregular line of Brigon and Daksin border forts. Troops from both sides had patrolled the border, but they rarely bothered with civilians. With the Chekaliga depradations, they ventured out of their forts even less than usual. Everyone knew that as far as individual travelers were concerned, the border had always been porous.

  Her mount was thin and bony, but Asgara did not complain. Rator saw from the first moment she took control of the horse that she had a fine seat. It was now over an hour after sunrise. The rising sun burned off the cold of the night within minutes and it rapidly raised the temperature. The heat and blinding glare reflecting off the landscape of sand and rocky outcroppings sapped the energy of even the most robust travellers. Rator could see that the long hours in the saddle had exhausted Asgara and now she was wilting in the heat. But he knew they were in the no man’s land between the Southern Marches of Briga and the Daksin Borderlands, so he decided to push on for another hour to make sure they were over the border.

  Asgara had asked him only one question when they started from Lidill’s house in Tirut, and that was where they were going. When he said they were going to Daksin, she grew very cooperative and assisted him in his preparations for leaving. Lidill was very teary and hung on Rator’s neck as he took his leave. She glared at Asgara when she asked Rator to hurry.

  Rator had not ranged this area himself, but he had kept his ears open over his years of service in Serat and Tirut. He had heard that there were old ruins all over the Borderlands, most of them along the banks of an ancient dry riverbed. He had also heard that the desert sands gave way to rocky badlands soon after crossing into Daksin. So when they came upon substantial rocky outcroppings, he grew more confident that they had crossed the border.

  Many of the outcroppings provided measures of shade from the punishing sun. He selected a particularly large one, almost a small hillock of stone, and found an overhang that created a shady retreat.

  “We will stop here,” he said to Asgara. “We will wait out the worst of the day’s heat. You should sleep. Henceforth, we will try to travel as much as possible in the dark.”

  He quickly put up a small canvas tent and made out a bedroll for her to lie on. She crawled in and lay down.

  “Thank you,” she said to him, when he poked his head into the tent to check on her. “This is very comfortable.”

  He smiled at her in spite of himself.

  He woke her around sunset. She sat up, rubbing her eyes at the unfamiliar schedule. They were soon mounted and on their way again before the white moon rose. They had been riding about an hour when she gathered her courage to begin a conversation.

  “We are in Daksin now, are we not?”

  He grunted, but after a few minutes he responded with more substance.

  “How do you know that? Just guessing?”

  “Just guessing,” she lied.

  They rode on in silence for a while. Then it was Rator’s turn to reinitiate the conversation.

  “We will be together for some time, you and I,” he said. “These are unsettled times, and there is a war raging in this region. We will stand a better chance if we work together.”

  “Yes, you are quite right,” she said tartly. “So you should begin by telling me why you are taking me away from Tirut. And why a northerner like you is going south.”

  Her precocity and acuity took Rator by surprise, and he stared at her, almost open-mouthed. Then he recovered.

  “You think you are a clever little thing, don’t you?” he replied. “Well, I can be clever too. I ask myself what a Zon child is doing, roaming around the streets of Tirut by herself.”

  Asgara laughed.

  “If you think I am Zon, then I am doomed. For a barbarian man-at-arms would have only two uses for a Zon child—to trade her back to the Sisterhood for ransom or to express his hatred by doing her harm. Since you have not attempted to contact the Sisterhood in Tirut Guild fort, I must assume that you mean me harm.”

  “Enough of this wordplay,” said Rator. “If I had meant you harm, I could have done what I wanted to you as you slept this afternoon. What is your name? Which Zon citadel are you from?”

  Asgara kept riding and looked at him with a sidelong glance.

  “My name is Asgara Paurina,” she said cautiously. She knew that the d’Orr name was well known, even among the barbarians, so she omitted it. “I am Zon—what does it matter what citadel I am from? But who are you? From the way you eat and drink and from your gentle manners, you are no simple man-at-arms. In our Brigish class we have studied and listened to all the accents. You have a northern accent, but it is upper class. So tell me about yourself and why I should trust you.”

  Rator looked at her again thinking, Are the Zon ever children? She looks like a child, but she speaks and carries herself like an intelligent adult. He decided to treat her as one.

  “I am well born,” he acknowledged. “But I have lost everything. I have nothing now but my sword.” He paused and smiled at her. “You seemed very keen to go to Daksin, so I am doing what you want. I have to meet some important people in the Borderlands. I will be frank with you—having a Zon child with me will give me a great deal of prestige with these people. After I have completed my business, I will take you wherever you want in Daksin.”

  Asgara looked at him steadily and he held her gaze calmly. She looked for signs of deceit, but there was nothing obvious. She suspected that he was not telling her the whole truth, but there was no way to find out. She sighed.

  “I am going to visit my mother in Sampore,” she said. “That is a long way on horseback. It will take weeks.”

  “All the more reason to get to know each other better.”

  “Where do you have your meeting?” she asked. “What is it called?”

  “It is called Bar-Dari. It is an ancient ruined city. Do you know it?”

  “We learned about it,” she said. “A thousand years ago it was the capital of the Dhalian Empire, the seat of Larax and his Yengar allies. After Queen Simran the Merciless broke their power, she blasted the walls of the Dari Gorge and diverted the Dari River away from the city. Without water, the people moved away, the city shrank and eventually fell into ruin. The Dhalian Empire disintegrated and eventually the kingdoms of Briga and Daksin arose in its place.”

  Rator listened carefully.

  “How big is this city?”

  “Why, at its height, Bar-Dari had a population of almost a million. Today the ruins cover an area of over twenty square kilometers.”

  “You have been taught all this?”

  She nodded. He scrutinized her carefully now. He caught sight of something around her neck that glittered in the moonlight. He kneed his horse toward hers, reached over casually and got his fingers on it with a quick snatch. It was a very thin necklace, the metal so fine that it was barely thicker than a hair. The necklace would have been virtually invisible to the naked eye; but for the brightness of the white moon, he would never have seen it.

  She shrieked and tried to disengage his hand, but he held it fast. He tried to find the catch, and when he couldn’t, he pulled at it. The metal cut into her neck, and she was afraid that it would sever an artery.

  “Let me go!” she cried. “I will give it to you!”

  He stopped pulling but did not release her. Eyeing him fearfully, she reached up and undid the catch. The metal chain pooled in his palm, the working so fine that the links were
too small to be seen with the naked eye.

  “A very fine piece of jewelry,” he said, smug now that he had gotten his way. “It will pay for the supplies we will need for our long ride.”

  She rubbed her neck where yet another welt was forming.

  GREGHAR AND CAITLIN talked and danced and then talked some more, unmindful of the lateness of the hour. She snuggled up to him in her nook in the bar and he held her, both of them oblivious to the frenetic crowd around them. They shared long and lingering kisses, as though to make up for their long years of denial and separation. Holding her in his arms, he was as nervous as a teenage boy and kept shaking his head, afraid that it was all a dream from which he would wake to bitter disappointment. The night was so blissful that neither wanted it to end.

  They finally went to the room Yandharan had prepared for her. Greghar had had many women before, but with Caitlin everything—even his own body—felt new and exciting. She was like nothing he had experienced before, a heady mixture of virginal apprehension and sexual aggression. Acutely aware that she had never been in the arms of a man, he was gentle and patient. At length when she gave voice to her pleasure and cried out his name, he felt such great joy that it made him giddy.

  As they lay entwined in each other’s arms in the warm afterglow of their lovemaking, it slowly dawned on them both that they would never be able to recapture the wonder and magic of this moment. It made the moment sweeter, but it also filled them with an intense desire to prolong it. They whispered sweet nothings to each other cognizant that their togetherness—postponed for so long—was uniquely precious.

  He rose in the early hours of the morning to return to his own room before anyone in the inn was up and about. He arranged her soft, flowing red mane on the pillow and kissed her lips lightly.

  “Goodnight, my love,” she murmured sleepily as he tiptoed out.

  YANDHARAN LED THE way unerringly through the maze of small alleyways, some of them barely wide enough to admit their horses. His leather vest was buttoned up against the morning chill. Diana rode behind him on her white stallion, Hikon, and two Guardians rode behind her, ’grators unslung with safeties off. The alley they were in was long and winding, and it ran into a dead end. Yandharan drew rein, beckoned to Diana, asking her to ride up beside him and pointed to one of the shabby houses at the end of the alley.

  “There is the house of Lidill Ikren. One of my men, Rator of Karsk, lodges with her. He brought the child into Mistress Lidill’s care.”

  Diana wrinkled her nose in distaste as much from the overpowering stench in the alley as from the dilapidation of the dwellings.

  “How can your people live like this?” she asked.

  Yandharan did not reply but swung down from his saddle and strode up to the house he had pointed out. Diana followed him, patting Hikon on the muzzle as she did so. Her Guardians dismounted and were at her back as Yandharan rapped on the door.

  They had a significant wait before the door creaked open. Lidill peered out from the dark interior, shading her eyes against the light outside. Noki crowded behind her, smiling and waving at the strangers at the door. A much smaller boy stood on Lidill’s right, holding her hand with a sullen expression that matched hers. Yandharan swept off his hat before he spoke.

  “Greetings, Mistress Lidill. I am pleased to see you.”

  “Collector Yandharan,” she said without emotion. “What brings you to my humble abode?”

  “I am sorry to trouble you. I am afraid there has been a mistake. It turns out that the little girl that Rator of Karsk brought here is not a beggar girl at all. She is wanted by the Zon. We are here to recover her.”

  Lidill eyed him evenly, but when her gaze traveled to Diana and the menacing Guardians, it grew hostile.

  “I have no reason to love the Zon,” she said, and spat on the ground. “I will do nothing to help them.”

  Before Yandharan could reply, Diana stepped around him and caught Lidill by the throat. Noki cowered back, put his hands on his ears, and began to scream. The small boy on Lidill’s right began to kick Diana’s boots ineffectively. Neither boy’s actions affected Diana in the slightest.

  Her long dagger appeared in her right hand, and she pricked Lidill’s throat with it.

  “You will tell me what I want to know,” she said in a low tone. “Or I will gut your idiot boy first and then smash the skull of the little one.”

  When Diana released her, Lidill shrank back and gathered both her sons to her protectively.

  “Rator took her with him last night,” she cried shrilly. “I don’t know where they went. I don’t know if they will return. I don’t know anything!”

  Diana looked down at her grimly.

  “Search the house,” she said over her shoulder to her Guardians. “Then search the adjoining houses and question the inhabitants. Shoot anyone who resists.”

  “Collector Yandharan, please protect us!” Lidill implored.

  Yandharan spoke up in response.

  “Lady Death, you must not harm this woman or her children. I can vouch for her good character. I am sure she has done the girl no harm.”

  The two Guardians shouldered past Lidill into her house. While they were searching, Diana looked down at Lidill with ill-disguised contempt.

  “Tell me about this Rator of Karsk,” she said.

  The threats to her sons made Lidill much more cooperative.

  “He serves as a man-at-arms,” she said, her words coming out in a rush. “He serves the Collector here.” She nodded her head toward Yandharan. “He lodges with me when he is in Tirut. He is a real gentleman with fine manners and speaks very genteel—not rough like the men around here.”

  “I see,” said Diana, interrupting. “I assume you sleep with him. Are these his sons?”

  Lidill held the boys tighter.

  “I am not a whore,” she said with some asperity. Then she squared her shoulders and continued. “I am a respectable war widow. I had two children—my dear Noki and a daughter, Daril—by my husband. Daril died some years ago of the black pox. Rator is good to me, and he supports us. Little Vitor is his son.”

  “Did he ever speak of other places?”

  “He only spoke of Serat, Lady Death. But he is not from the Southern Marches. His accent is from the north.”

  “Karsk, obviously.”

  “I don’t know, Lady Death.”

  “He is from the Northern Marches,” interjected Yandharan, seeing the panic on Lidill’s face as she hugged her boys. “When I recruited him, he said he had served in one of the Hilson regiments in the Zon wars. That’s why we called him ‘Rator of Karsk’. He is a dependable man and has served me well.”

  The Guardians were thorough in their search. It was over two hours before they returned.

  “We searched the house, Cornelle,” said the more senior one. “And questioned the neighbors. This Rator kept a low profile. No one seems to know anything about him, except that he serves as a man-at-arms with the Collector of Serat. However, we did find this.”

  She handed Diana a crumpled piece of parchment.

  “Clever girl,” said Diana. “She left a note in Pranto for us to find.” She unfolded the parchment and read it to herself carefully: I am Lady Asgara Paurina d’Orr. I am trying to make my way to the Daksin Residency to be with my mother, Seignora Megara Paurina. I am in the power of a barbarian warrior by the name of Rator of Karsk. He says he is taking me across the border into Daksin on horseback. I will take the first opportunity to escape him and continue on my journey. I beg my sisters who find this to tell my mother that I love her very much and not to worry about me.

  Diana looked at both her Guardians. They kept their faces blank, but Diana knew what they were thinking. The heiress to the oldest title in the Sisterhood was riding into the middle of the chaos and carnage of the Chekaliga uprising. Like mother, like daughter, Diana thought.

  “Rator stables his horse at the Three Feathers Inn,” put in Yandharan. “You may yet catch him ther
e.”

  “Good suggestion,” Diana said. “I’ll go there myself.”

  GREGHAR FELT AS though he had barely put his head down on the pillow in his own room, when he sat up with a start. Someone was knocking on his door, and it felt as though they were striking his temples with a hammer. He looked out of the window and realized that it was still very early.

  “Coming,” he growled, as he swung his feet out of his bed. He padded to the door, the hardwood floor cold under his bare feet.

  It was a servant in the livery of Baron of Tirut. He bowed obsequiously and would have bowed again except that Greghar asked him abruptly what he wanted.

  “Lord Greghar, my mistress, Chevalina Kitara va Alsor of Tirut, invites you to wait on her for breakfast.”

  Greghar remembered Kitara saying that they should meet to discuss “issues of mutual benefit” as Nitya and he had left the ball. Now he was eager to see Caitlin again and the timing of this invitation was most unwelcome, but he could think of no good reason to refuse it.

  “Please inform Chevalina Kitara that I will be along as soon as I can,” he said, his lack of enthusiasm plain in his tone.

  The servant hesitated, and tarried.

  “Chevalina Kitara has asked me to wait on you, my lord,” he said. “Her coach is drawn up outside, and I will wait with it. We will leave whenever you are ready.”

  “Oh, very well,” he said with bad grace. “Give me a few minutes.”

  He quickly performed his morning ablutions and dressed. As he buckled on his sword belt, he half drew Karya from its scabbard, his face breaking into a grin as this gift from Caitlin recalled her presence.

  “I will return as soon as I can, dearest Caitlin,” he said as though she were there to hear him.

  The coach conveyed him to the castle without delay, splashing through the puddles created by the overnight rain that now persisted in a depressing drizzle. He was impressed anew with the magnificence of the castle, the number of the men-at-arms and quality of their arms and armor. A rather pompous steward awaited him in the Inner Ward and received him with much ceremony. He led him through the long halls of the castle to Kitara’s suite, where he announced him and withdrew.