The Cyber Chronicles 07: Sabre

by T C Southwell

  "How so? He's a king."

  "Of Mandor."

  Tassin inclined her head. "Still, he has an army."

  "You don't understand. Torrian helped his ascension."

  "So he's an ally?"

  "No, he hates Torrian and Dellon. He's a pawn. Torrian can dethrone him any time. All he has to do is revoke his support."

  "Then who will inherit?"

  Dena pulled a face. "Grisson's cousin's son, Rademan. He's a nasty piece of work."

  "If Sharmian helped me to get my throne back, he'd have a powerful ally in Arlin, and my support would replace Torrian's."

  "You'd have to talk to him. I can't speak for him."

  "Would he betray me?"

  "No. But he'd be afraid."

  Tassin nodded. "We'll risk it. We need a place to stay while we make plans. We can't stay in Arlin. Once you're discovered missing, there will be search parties, and if we're found things will go badly. We must go to Mandor."

  Chapter Nine

  King Sharmian’s tall grey castle stood on the brow of a stony hill, stark against a pale grey sky. Tassin squinted at it in the chill wind that stung her eyes and cheeks. Mandor was, she mused, the most unpleasant of the five kingdoms. It bordered Arlin to the west, a harsh landscape of rocky hills and poor soil clothed in sparse, hardy grass and belts of stunted forest. Water was scarce, and a bitter wind blew for six months of the year, shaping the trees into leaning plumes and scouring the hillsides bare. The journey here had been a gruelling two weeks of constant travel.

  Sabre had made it possible by stealing four horses from a noble's stables, then sneaking into towns to take what they needed, sometimes leaving a little gold as payment. He had procured sturdy fur-lined coats for everyone, and Tassin now wore a smart black riding habit from a noble lady's wardrobe. The same noblewoman had provided Dena with a royal blue riding habit. The empty summer mansion had proven to be a rich source of supplies, including daggers, swords, a crossbow, bedrolls, tents and four rather badly trained, mettlesome warhorses.

  They had avoided people, sleeping in forests or farmers' sheds. Sabre's forays had gone unnoticed, and the ease with which he had taken what they needed made Tassin proud. She did not consider it thievery, but rather contributions to the fight to free Arlin, something she was sure all the contributors would have wanted to donate to, in any case. Dena had gained weight on the nutritious diet of smoked meat Sabre had procured. With a cyber to provide for them, they had lacked for nothing, and, while the constant travelling had been tiring, the good food had kept up their strength.

  Tassin leant on her pommel and considered the castle at the end of their journey while they rode along the road that led to it. Sabre reined in his horse when it tossed its head, steadying its fretting.

  Tassin turned to Dena. "Will Sharmian see you?"

  Dena nodded. "Yes, of course. He was one of the few friends I had. Grisson died six months after you left, and Sharmian was crowned a month later. I came to his coronation."

  "Good. Then you're our ticket in, because I've never met him."

  "We'll be putting him in terrible danger."

  "Great things come from taking big risks," Tassin said. "If he helps me, he'll be free of Torrian. I just hope he's a brave man."

  Tassin urged her horse into a canter towards the tall castle, built in ancient times to defend against savage hordes after the holocaust. Red and gold banners fluttered from its battlements.

  "I see Sharmian has different colours from Grisson," she commented.

  "He took his mother's colours. He disliked Grisson."

  "I like him already."

  When they arrived at the portcullis, a sentry in a smart red and gold uniform emerged from a guardhouse beside it, buckling on his sword. Tassin glimpsed a fire inside the hut; two more soldiers huddled over it.

  Dena rode over to the guard. "Please tell King Sharmian that Princess Dena is here to visit him."

  The man glanced at the rest of them with raised brows. "Of course, Highness."

  The sentry vanished through the door in the gate and returned several minutes later to open it with the aid of the other two soldiers. The portcullis rumbled up, and Dena led the party into a sheltered courtyard, where grooms came to take their horses and servants appeared to carry their baggage. A flunky in a smart crimson uniform led them through a tall door into an echoing corridor with bare grey stone walls. The wind moaned in the battlements, giving the place an eerie, dismal air. The servant showed them into a warm room lighted by lamps and a roaring fire. Rugs softened the floor and rich tapestries adorned the walls. Carved tables and chairs were arranged rather haphazardly around it, and three spacious sofas faced the fire. Two gangly wolfhounds looked up at their entry, and one gave a half-hearted bark.

  "Quiet, Grimsby," a cultured voice said, and a man rose from one of the sofas, turning to face them.

  King Sharmian bore no resemblance to Grisson, Tassin thought. His black hair and fine brows matched his eyes, which were framed by ridiculously thick lashes. He was a little shorter than Tarl, surprising in a world dominated by tall, beefy men. A black-lined crimson smoking jacket and satin trousers clad his slender form, and he held a glass of red wine. His smile revealed white, slightly crooked teeth as he put down his glass and stepped forward to greet Dena, took her hand and raised it to his lips.

  "Princess Dena, this is a pleasant surprise. A little... um... surprising, too."

  Dena curtsied. "Your Majesty. It's good to see you again."

  "And you." Sharmian glanced at Tassin. "You've brought friends?"

  "Yes. I..." Dena hesitated. "You must prepare yourself for a shock."

  "Oh, god, don't tell me Torrian's chosen a bride for me already?"

  "What? Oh, no, nothing like that, Your Majesty."

  "Oh, good. Please, enough with the honorifics. I thought we agreed.

  "Sharmian." Dena smiled, blushing.

  "That's better. Please, sit, have some wine."

  "First... Well perhaps we should sit down." Dena went over to a sofa and settled upon it. Tassin took another, Sabre and Tarl beside her, while Sharmian sat beside Dena.

  "This sounds... err... bad."

  "Well, it is, and it isn't, depending on how it turns out, I suppose."

  "Are you going to introduce your companions?"

  "Yes." Dena glanced at Tassin and drew a deep breath. "Allow me to introduce my adopted sister, Queen Tassin Alrade of Arlin."

  Sharmian's mouth dropped open, and he stared at Tassin, who smiled and inclined her head.

  "King Sharmian."

  He closed his mouth, shaking his head. "You are supposed to be dead."

  "The tales of my demise have been greatly exaggerated."

  Sharmian stood up, and Tassin rose to face him, extending her hand. He took it and kissed the back of it, and she bowed her head.

  "I am honoured," Sharmian murmured. "Your name is steeped in legend and mystery."

  Tassin introduced Sabre and Tarl as knights, and Sharmian nodded at them, then turned back to Tassin. "This is amazing, but why do you travel with just two knights? Where is Dellon?"

  "Dellon doesn't know I've returned, and I'd like to keep it that way for now."

  "You are in exile?"

  "In a manner of speaking. I intend to reclaim my throne, but I will need your help."

  Sharmian swung away, shaking his head. "Do not involve me, please."

  Dena jumped up. "Just hear her out, Sharmian."

  "It was bad enough what happened to you. Do you want the same thing to happen to me?"

  "It won't. Listen to Tassin, please."

  Sharmian said, "I cannot help anyone. I am just a puppet."

  "How would you like to be free of Torrian's yoke; to rule in your own right?" Tassin asked.

  "That is not possible."

  "It is. Support me, acknowledge me, provide me with a safe place to stay, and you'll become my closest ally when I reclaim my throne. No strings. I will give you my full su
pport, and no one will take your throne."

  "If you reclaim your throne, and that is a very big 'if'." Sharmian shook his head again. "I cannot provide you with a safe haven if Torrian finds out you are here, and my support will mean nothing in that event. If I acknowledge you, I will lose my throne."

  "Sharmian, please," Dena said. "Tassin will get her throne back. She doesn't fail when she sets out to do something, and, even if you lose yours in the struggle, she'll see to it that you get it back."

  "Unless Torrian chops off my head. Where is her army? How can she do anything when all she has are two nobles, and you? I could not even help you, and I wanted to."

  "I know. Just listen to her plans before you decide. What harm can that do?"

  He sighed. "None, I suppose. But you should know, Queen Tassin, that my army numbers five hundred men. Torrian took the rest. His demands for tithes have emptied my coffers, and my people are beggars, at his mercy. He has reduced Mandor to a servile kingdom. What can I possibly do to help you?"

  "Become my ally. Acknowledge me as the Queen of Arlin, and proclaim your support."

  "And get my head chopped off for my troubles. Between the two of us we do not have enough power to raise the taxes in a hamlet. I only have Dena's word that you are Queen Tassin. Do you have any proof?"

  "Only him." Tassin nodded at Sabre, who picked at a frayed cuff, and glanced up in surprise.

  Sharmian looked confused. "How is he proof that you are the Queen of Arlin?"

  "Everyone knows that the Queen of Arlin returned from the Death Zone with a great warrior with lights on his head. Everyone knows he drove Torrian away with magical weapons and restored me to my throne. Everyone knows he was my beloved, and my champion."

  "The warrior mage?"

  "Yes."

  "I have heard the tales too, but... May I see the lights?" Sharmian asked Sabre, who sighed and removed the bandana that hid the control unit. The young king stared at it. "Amazing. Can he really do magic?"

  Tassin nodded. "Yes."

  Sharmian sank down on the sofa, picked up his glass and took a gulp of wine. "So if I acknowledge you and proclaim my support, what happens then?"

  Tassin reclaimed her seat beside Sabre. "You attack Pradish."

  "I beg your pardon?"

  "You find as many conscripts as you can, raise an army of two or three thousand, and invade Pradish. Torrian will send his army to defend his kingdom, calling upon his ally, Dellon, for support. Then you retreat, drawing them after you. We will slip back into Arlin and go to my castle, where Dellon will give me back my crown or die. Then I shall come to your aid."

  Sharmian smiled. "You make it sound so easy. Torrian will only need to send a single company to crush my pathetic army."

  "But he won't. I know Torrian. There's no other threat to him, and he loves to make war. He'll send everything he's got, and demand support from his allies to prove his power over them. The news of my return will spark unrest in Arlin. The people hate Dellon, and some of my soldiers will rebel."

  Sharmian gazed into his wineglass, lost in thought, and Tassin studied him, sympathising with his dilemma. He was in his early twenties, and she sensed that he was a gentle, kindly man, unused to the pressures of monarchy, unsure of himself, and faced with a proposition that could either get him killed, or give him his kingdom.

  "Consider it," she urged. "You do not have to decide now."

  "It is a bold plan, the sort I would expect from a woman of your character, if the tales about you are true. But my manners are lacking, you must have some wine." He sat up and poured wine for all of them. "You must be tired from your journey. We will dine together. I will give you hospitality this night, at least."

  Sharmian clapped his hands and ordered a feast from the servant who emerged from behind the velvet curtains. Tassin settled back and sipped her wine, longing to say more, but knowing that if she pushed it, he might well refuse.

  Sharmian gazed at Sabre. "What role will your warrior mage play in all this?"

  "He will get me into my castle and to Dellon."

  "That will be no mean feat. Ultimately, the success of your entire plan hinges on him. If he fails, we are both dead. Dena too, I imagine."

  "Yes. But he will do it."

  "With his magic."

  She inclined her head. "You could call it that."

  "I would like to see this magic of his before I decide."

  "Of course." She turned to Sabre. "Would you, please?"

  Sabre drew a laser and glanced around for a target, spotting an ugly vase of flowers on a table by the window. The flash of blue light was accompanied by the peculiar buzz that lasers made in a confined space. The vase exploded in a burst of steam and powdered pottery, leaving behind a cloud of settling petals. A spot on the wall beyond it glowed red for several seconds.

  Sharmian frowned at it. "Impressive. I wish he had not chosen my mother's favourite vase, however."

  "Sorry," Sabre said.

  Sharmian sighed and turned his attention to Tassin again. "Where have you been these last four years?"

  "No one knows that Sabre was taken away shortly after he drove Torrian from Arlin. That was kept a secret, or Torrian would have returned. For three years I sought a way to get him back, and then I found it. I travelled very far to find him and free him from slavery."

  "The story about the magical sword?"

  "True."

  "Then you travelled beyond the stars?"

  "Yes."

  Sharmian's brows rose. "What is it like?"

  "There are many wonders, and many pitfalls. I have no wish to go back."

  "Amazing." He glanced up as a servant appeared in the doorway. "Ah, dinner is ready. Let us eat."

  ****

  Tassin gazed across the walled garden, where roses bloomed out of the wind and a few hardy trees threw a little shade on the grass. Mandor was a poor kingdom partly because of the paucity of its land, which yielded few crops other than wine and provided poor grazing for its animals. It produced hardy beasts, a particularly swift breed of horse, and tough people. Sharmian did not even seem like a Mandorian. He was far too cultured and refined; a true gentleman without a hint of toughness, even a little weak, if she allowed herself to be uncharitable. Yet the choice he faced was a hard one, and she did not envy him his decision.

  Dena came over with a bunch of roses and settled on the stone bench beside her, sniffing them, then thrust them at Tassin.

  "Smell good, don't they?"

  "Wonderful." Tassin smiled and glanced at Sabre, who was engrossed in the fish pond, staring into its depths.

  "He hasn't proposed yet, has he?" Dena asked.

  "No."

  "He will, don't worry."

  Tassin inclined her head. "You like Sharmian, don't you?"

  "He's gorgeous."

  "He likes you too."

  Dena looked away. "As a friend."

  "If you encouraged him a little -"

  "No."

  "Why not?"

  She shook her head. "How could anyone love me?"

  "I do."

  "That's different. I'm too ugly."

  "What rubbish. You're lovely."

  Dena frowned. "How can you say that? I'm deformed, a mutant."

  "You're a beautiful girl. Besides, it's not all about looks. You have a wonderful personality, and that counts for more."

  "He's too handsome. He could have any beautiful girl he wanted." She sighed. "Those dark eyes of his are like... pools of shadow. I get lost in them if I don't look away."

  "And he gazes at you often, I've noticed. Last night at supper he spent most of his time watching you, especially when you weren't looking."

  "Did he?" Dena bowed her head. "I didn’t notice. But it's probably pity."

  "No, he doesn't want you to notice, and it's not pity."

  "When did you become an authority on the subject? Have you and Sabre...?"

  "No." Tassin looked away. "We're going to be married first."

&
nbsp; "He's a patient man then."

  "More than you can imagine. But we were talking about you and Sharmian."

  "There is no me and Sharmian. He’s a handsome young king; I'm a mutant girl from the Badlands."

  “You’re a princess.” Tassin smiled. "And besides, stranger things have happened. What about a queen and a warrior from beyond the stars?"

  "That's not so strange. You're both gorgeous."

  "Don't be so pessimistic. Give him a chance. A little encouragement is all he needs. He's way too shy and proper to do anything while you keep him at arm's length."

  "No. It would never work. I'm not good enough for him. I never was, but now...."

  "But now what? What's changed?"

  Dena looked away. "I don't want to talk about it."

  "What has happened? Is it to do with your imprisonment?"

  The girl jumped up and swung away.

  Tassin followed and grabbed her arm. "Tell me. What happened to you?"

  "Let me go!"

  "No." Tassin hugged her, despite her struggles. "Oh, god, it was Torrian, wasn't it?"

  Dena's legs buckled, and Tassin knelt with her, holding her as she wept with wild abandon. Sabre watched them with a frown, and Tassin knew he was listening with his uncannily acute hearing. Tassin stroked Dena's hair, holding her tight, her eyes stinging with tears of grief and rage.

  "Hush, it's all right. I'll kill him, I swear it."

  "It was his revenge," Dena wailed.

  "Then he will know the wrath of mine."

  "No one will want me now. Even if Sharmian likes me, he'll spurn me when he finds out."

  "I don't think he's like that," Tassin said.

  "I do. He's a traditionalist; an honourable man."

  "You were dishonoured."

  Dena sobbed. "Swear to me that you won't tell anyone."

  "I will not."

  Dena jumped up and ran into the castle, and Tassin stared after her with a leaden heart. Sabre took her wrist and drew her to her feet, and she turned to gaze into his silver eyes.

  "But I will," he said.

  "You heard."

  "Of course."

  "It's private. Leave it alone."

  He took her hands, caressing them. "I didn't think I'd ever want to kill a man again, after Previd. But I do now."