"Little problem?" She frowned at him. "I've been usurped!"
"And we'll fix it. We'll find a way. First we need to find out more about what's happened while you've been away. And before that, we need to get some sleep. Tomorrow we'll see Dena, and she can tell us everything we need to know, then we'll decide what to do."
She nodded, draining her mead. "I want to wring that little shit's scrawny neck, so help me I do."
"Aye, I reckon ye do, an' all." Sabre mimicked Aerik's brogue perfectly.
She smiled and shook her head. "This is no time to be flip."
"It'll be okay, you'll see."
Tarl put down his empty jug and rose, using the cushions from the couch to make a bed, which he offered to Tassin. They settled down on the floor, and, despite the worries that churned in her mind, weariness soon dragged Tassin into the sleep's soft folds.
Chapter Eight
Sabre pushed aside a leafy branch to reveal a grand, two-storey mansion at the end of a long, tree-lined driveway. The building’s dressed stone walls supported a steep tiled roof, and many diamond-paned windows were set into broad white lintels. Two fluted columns upheld a modest stone porch and framed a broad, brass-bound front door. The gravelled driveway circled a patch of clipped lawn with a clump of flowering shrubs in the middle of it, and more blooms edged the mansion's walls. Gardens bordered the sides of the house, with clipped hedges and stone seats visible through a screen of ornamental yellow fir trees. A wrought-iron gate on the far side afforded a view of a cobbled stable yard.
"There are three people in the gardens and four near the stables," Sabre informed Tassin, who stood beside him, studying the mansion.
She frowned, uncertain. "I don't know if it's wise to just go up and knock on her door. What if she's in league with Torrian?"
"If she is, why did she give Dena a home?"
"If she's not, why does she entertain him?"
"Perhaps she's... ambitious? He's a king, after all."
Tassin snorted. "Countess De'vorice is eighty if she's a day. I don't think she stands much of a chance."
"Does she have a granddaughter?"
"No."
Sabre let the branch swing back. "Okay, we need to reconnoitre the place then. I'll sneak in there tonight and have a look around, listen in on some conversations, see what I can find out."
"Or we could just go in there and find Dena."
"Some of the servants might recognise you, and the countess definitely will, since she's met you. The last thing we want is for Torrian to know you're back. We don't want to be on the run from him again. Last time he was persistent, and a nuisance."
"Why don't we send a message to Dena, and ask her to meet us somewhere?" Tarl suggested.
Sabre nodded. "Not a bad idea. One of us will have to find a servant and get him to deliver it."
"No one knows me. I could pretend to be a messenger."
"You could," Sabre agreed, "if we had a pen and paper."
"So you'll have to sneak in there and find some."
"I guess so."
She turned to him. "We'll wrap a cloth around your head, and if anyone sees you, just run. They'll think you're a thief."
"No one will see me. But while I'm in there, why don't I just find Dena and bring her out?"
"That would also work."
"Great. I'll do it after dark, when everyone's asleep."
Tassin sighed, glancing at the mid-afternoon sun. "That means we've got a long wait."
"Then we can get some more sleep. That damned rooster woke me up at dawn."
She smiled, remembering. "And you almost jumped out of your skin."
"Hey, strange noise, strange place."
"Trained reflexes," Tarl added.
Sabre gave him a shove that sent him staggering. "Cut that out."
Tassin giggled and turned away. "Well, we'd better find comfortable spot then."
Sabre paused in a doorway and consulted the scanners again, puzzled. After checking every room in the mansion, he had found only seven snoring servants, four dogs, six cats, numberless rats and one very fat countess. A distinct smell of rot pervaded the manor, whose décor was depressingly drab and furniture old. Rising damp stained the base of the walls, some of which were crumbling from age and neglect. Fusty carpets added to the general air of decay, and he wondered why a countess would choose to live in such squalor. He was also starting to wonder if Merry and Aerik had been wrong about Dena. He had not yet checked the mansion's cellar, however, and a nasty suspicion had taken hold. If Dena was here, that was the only place she could be.
Leaving the doorway, he made his way down the stairs that led to the ground floor. Moonlight shone in through the windows in slanted beams that appeared as white areas in his night vision, being too bright for the brow band’s sensitive pickups. The structural scanners provided a detailed blueprint of the manor's rather haphazard construction in the areas he had explored. The region ahead was added to the blueprint as the scanners mapped it. A rusty padlock secured the basement door, and it took several minutes of twisting to break it with metal fatigue.
A flight of narrow stone steps led down into pitch darkness, and, as he descended, a human life sign appeared on the scanners. A stack of barrels stood against the wall across from him and a wine-rack filled with dusty bottles covered the one on his right. The life sign was in the far corner, and he approached a ragged form lying on a thin straw mattress. The scanners told him it was a woman, and his concern grew. A chain hung from a ring on the wall beside it, vanishing under a tatty blanket.
Arriving silently beside the prisoner, he squatted and reached out to brush aside the matted brown hair that covered her face, his touch feather light.
The girl jerked back with a gasp, her eyes opening wide, and gave a piercing scream. Sabre's hands flashed out to grip the back of her head and cover her mouth. She fought like a wildcat, slapped and clawed him, raked sharp nails down his cheek and neck and kicked him hard enough to make him grunt. Her ferocity amazed him, and she growled like a crazed animal. Sliding his hand down to her neck, he positioned his fingers in the correct places and squeezed.
The girl went limp, and he released her with a muttered curse, wiping blood off his neck. Leaning over her, he pushed aside her filthy hair and studied her elven features, large eyes and pointed chin, his heart growing heavy.
"Dena," he whispered.
Lines of grime streaked her cheeks, made by tears wept months ago, judging by the stench of her rags. The ragged dress might once have been a court gown, and her ribs were visible through the tears in it. A manacle encircled her ankle, attached to the ring in the wall by the heavy chain he had noticed earlier. He stroked her cheek, remembering the happy, laughing girl he had known, now a pretty young woman despite her patchy hair and hunched back.
Moving around her, he examined the shackle, then the chain, then the ring in the wall, all of them strong and relatively new. He had nothing to pick the lock with, and he could not break the shackle without hurting her, or the chain without making a noise, which left only the ring. It was cemented into the wall, but fairly easy for him to pull out. Unfortunately, it meant he would have to take the chain with him.
Gripping it, he set his foot on the wall beside it and leant back, hauling on it. The cement cracked, and the ring ripped out with a soft grating and clink of steel. He set it down and considered whether he should carry Dena out while she was unconscious, or wait for her to wake up. If she woke up while he was carrying her through the mansion, or even in the garden, she might raise the alarm with her screams, so he settled down to wait.
Almost ten minutes passed before she sighed and shifted, starting to come around. He wondered if he should prevent her from crying out by force, but was unwilling to get into another scratching fight with her. Dena gasped and sat up, her eyes wide. She looked around in alarm, but for her the darkness was complete, and she could not see him sitting nearby.
"Dena," he murmured. "Don't scream. I'm here to help you."
She swung around, drawing in a sharp breath. "Who are you?"
"It's Sabre."
Her face twisted, and she shook her head. "It can't be."
"It is."
"I can't see you."
"I don't have a light, but..." Sabre removed the cloth that hid the cyber band. "Do you remember this?"
Dena stared at the tiny lights that he knew flashed in familiar patterns. Her breath caught in a sob. "I'm dreaming."
"No, you're not. I've come to take you away. Tassin has returned. She's waiting in the woods."
She gulped, and her voice grew husky. "If you're not a dream, come closer."
Sabre rose and squatted beside her, and she stared at the brow band. She reached for it with a thin hand, and he bowed his head so she could touch it. Her fingers slid along the smooth, warm metal, tracing its shape, then crossed the narrow gap to touch his brow. Her breath quickened, and she rose to her knees to run her hands over his hair and down his neck, then onto his face to finger his features.
"If this is a dream, it's a cruel one indeed."
"It's not a dream."
Her hands slid down his chest, explored his arms and fell to his thighs, where they encountered his lasers. She gave a sob. "Sabre?"
"Yes, little one."
Dena flung herself against him, wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged his head with surprising strength, clinging to him as if he was a lifeline in a storm. Great gasping sobs tore through her, and he held her, stroked her matted hair and patted her back.
"I wish I could see you," she wept.
"You will. I'm going to take you out of here."
"Don't let this be a dream. Oh god, please don't leave me here."
"Hush. It's okay. You're safe now. I'm not going to let anything happen to you, I promise."
Dena shook with a combination of cold, starvation, shock, and the force of her weeping. Sabre held her as tightly as he dared, trying his best to comfort her. She seemed more fragile than a china doll, but her chill skin made him long to warm her. Picking up the filthy blanket, he draped it over her back, wrapping it around the chain to muffle it. Sliding his arms under her, he rose to his feet and carried her up the steps, hardly noticing her slight weight. In the corridor her soft sobs seemed loud, and he looked down at her.
"Hush. There are dogs."
Dena buried her face in his chest, stifled her sobs and shivered. Her cold hands crept under his vest and pressed against his skin. Sabre moved swiftly through the manor to the window where he had entered, which he climbed through without putting her down. Outside, moonlight silvered the manicured gardens, and he trotted between the hedgerows, heading for the woods. Dena raised her head to gaze up at him.
"You're real. You came back."
"Yeah, I am, and I did."
"Tassin freed you. Is she all right?"
"She's fine. You'll see her soon."
Fresh sobs racked her. "Why did it take her so long?"
"There was nothing she could do about that. We came back as soon as we could."
"Four years!"
"Hush now."
Dena buried her face in his chest again and snuggled close to him. Sabre entered the woods and headed for the clearing where Tassin and Tarl waited. Tassin jumped up when he stepped out of the darkness, frowning at the ragged bundle he carried. He knelt beside the fire and tried to put Dena down, but she clung to him.
"Dena, it's okay. We're safe."
She raised her head, and Tassin gasped. "Dena?"
"Tassin!"
Dena released Sabre and turned to Tassin, who embraced her adopted sister, her expression horrified and grief stricken. Sabre moved away, quite glad to be free of her smelly embrace. Dena clung to Tassin and wept hysterically while the Queen held her and murmured soothing words. Sabre sat beside Tarl, who glanced at him, looking grim.
"I take it Countess De'vorice was not a Good Samaritan after all."
"Try jailer."
"Why did it take you so long?" Dena wailed. "I waited and waited! I thought you were dead!"
"I'm sorry. Time passed more slowly for me," Tassin said. "It's only been a few months. I came back as soon as I could."
"Thank you, oh, god, thank you."
Tassin shook her head. "This is all my fault."
"No, you didn't know what would happen. You found Sabre." Dena glanced at him. "I thought he was a dream. It's really him, isn't it?"
"Yes."
"Then it was all worth it. I'd do it again."
"No, don't say that." Tassin held her tight. "You didn't deserve to suffer like this."
"I'm so sorry. I couldn't stop Niam and Dellon. I did my best, but they had the support of all the nobles."
"I know, hush now, don't upset yourself. The main thing is you're all right, and we've got to get you fed and cleaned up. Now that I'm back, we're going to put things right."
Sabre dug in Tarl's pack and took out the loaf of bread and flask of mead Merry had given them. He tore off a hunk of bread and offered it to Dena, who snatched from him with a choked cry and tried to stuff it all into her mouth at once. Tassin intervened, pulled most of it out and fed it to her in pieces, between sips of mead. Dena wept, wiped her runny nose on the filthy blanket and rocked, while Tassin stroked her hair and gave her food.
Tarl leant closer to Sabre. "I've seen a few cases of trauma, but that girl's extreme."
"She was kept locked in a dungeon for three years in complete darkness and starved. What would you expect?"
"I think she's had worse done to her than that."
"Like what?"
Tarl shook his head. "I don't want to speculate, but I'll bet I'm right."
"You always are. It's a thing with you."
"If you weren't such a damned innocent, you'd see it too."
Sabre frowned at him. "I'm not even going to try to figure out what you mean by that."
"Probably just as well."
While Dena ate, Tassin pulled off the filthy blanket and replaced it with a clean one, reducing the smell. Her meaningful glance made Sabre rise and take the dirty blanket away to dispose of downwind. When he returned, Dena had finished the food and huddled close to the fire. Tassin sat beside her, stroking her back while she continued to rock. Sabre found a hairpin in Tassin’s pack and approached Dena, who looked up at him with wide, wary eyes. Her distrustful look made him hesitate, torn between his desire to remove the shackle and a strong aversion to upsetting her.
Tassin looked puzzled. "What's that for?"
"The shackle. I thought she'd like it taken off."
"She would."
He knelt beside Dena, meeting her eyes, which filled with remorse.
"Sorry," she whispered.
Sabre nodded and pushed aside the blanket to reveal the shackle on her thin ankle, inserting the hairpin into the lock. The scanners revealed its inner workings, and a few minutes of fiddling produced a click. After he removed it, Dena rubbed her ankle, fresh tears coursing through the dirt on her cheeks. Tassin tried to comb aside her matted her, and Dena pushed her away.
"Don't. You're getting all dirty."
"It's all right."
"No, it's not."
Tassin looked up at Sabre, her expression anguished.
He said, "The farmhouse is only two hours walk from here. We could take her there. They'd give her a hot bath."
Tassin nodded. "She's not strong enough to walk that far."
"I know."
Sabre scooped Dena up, and she wound her arms around his neck. Tarl stamped out the fire and picked up the packs.
The dog started barking before they reached the dark farmhouse, since they were upwind. Tassin banged on the door, and a few minutes later the wavering yellow light and shuffling steps approached from within. Merry opened the door a crack, and her eyes widened.
"You again! Are ye determined to let us get no sleep?"
"Sorry," Tassin said. "We need your help."
"What be it this time? Bed and brea
kfast?"
Tassin glanced back at Sabre and his burden. "We found a young waif in the woods. She needs a bath."
"A bath is it? Whatever next?"
"Perhaps some food? We can pay."
"Aye, ye did last time, right 'andsomely too. Come in then."
Merry shuffled aside, and Tassin led the little group within. Aerik stood at the bottom of the stairs, holding his rusty sword. He put it down when he saw them and plugged in his ear trumpet to listen to Merry's explanation.
"I'll put some water on the fire," she said, heading for the kitchen, her nose wrinkled at the stink that followed them in.
The bath tub was behind a curtain in the corner, and Sabre and Tarl filled it with warm water. Merry handed Tassin a bar of soap as she guided Dena behind it. When she re-emerged, Merry and Aerik sat at the table with Sabre and Tarl, jugs of mead set out for all. Tassin sat down and smiled at them.
"She'll feel much better soon."
"You found 'er in the woods?" Merry asked.
"Yes, the poor girl looks like she's been badly treated by someone."
"That's fer sure. You'll be wanting more of me stew then?"
"That would be wonderful."
An hour later, Dena hunched over the table and picked at the dirt under her fingernails, chewing her lip. Tassin and Sabre sat opposite, sipping jugs of mead. Merry and Aerik had retired to bed, and Dena wore one of Merry's old dresses, which was tatty and too big, but clean. Her wet hair was brushed sleek against her skull, and her skin had an unnatural pallor. A bowl of Merry's tasteless stew filled her stomach, and she looked better, Sabre thought. Tarl leant back in his chair and yawned, balancing it on its back legs, his eyes drooping.
"You can't go to your castle, Tass," Dena said.
"I know."
"What are you going to do?"
"Get my crown back."
"How?"
Tassin sighed and leant on the table. "That depends. Who would help me?"
"Apart from me? No one that I can think of."
"What about Grisson's son?"
Dena looked up. "Sharmian? I don't know if he would."
"What sort of man is he?"
"Wonderful." Dena grimaced. "But powerless."
The Cyber Chronicles 07: Sabre Page 9