The Cyber Chronicles 07: Sabre

by T C Southwell

  King Sharmian gazed across the field at the distant dark mass of Torrian's army, his eyes narrowed in the early morning sunlight. For a month he had retreated across his lands, leading Torrian on a meandering course that kept him away from towns and villages, always staying out of his reach. Mounted raiding parties had caused minor skirmishes and cost a few lives, but Torrian's foot soldiers could not catch up, and the armies had yet to meet in battle. Sharmian was weary of running now. He longed to confront Torrian in an all-out battle, but heeded Tassin's advice and kept away. When he spoke of making a stand, Dena reminded him of it.

  Sharmian raised his spyglass, and his mouth dropped open in surprise. An entire legion of soldiers had broken away from the main host and marched towards Sharmian's camp. As he watched, a second company detached and headed towards him. A squirm of fear went through his gut, and he studied their banners. A rearing golden stallion on a royal blue field waved in the wind, and his heart leapt. Lowering his glass, he turned to the general who stood beside him.

  "Ready the troops. Queen Tassin's men are leaving Torrian's camp. If his men attack them, we will join them in battle and crush that bastard."

  The general saluted and marched off to shout orders at the men, rousing them to arms. Sharmian glanced down as a hand slipped into his, smiling at Dena.

  "Queen Tassin has triumphed," he said. "Her troops are leaving Torrian."

  She smiled at him. "I knew Sabre wouldn't fail."

  He raised her hand to kiss the back of it. "That man is amazing."

  "Will you fight Torrian now?"

  "Yes. With Tassin’s seasoned troops on my side, we will crush him and take him to her in chains."

  "I think she'll like that. And so will I."

  Sharmian arrived at the castle two weeks later, with a battered Torrian in chains. He confided to Sabre that Dena had taken her revenge in many little ways, chuckling at the variety of ideas she had come up with to make Torrian's life a misery. Sharmian had contented himself with a good punch that had blackened Torrian's eye. Dellon had been convicted of treason and sent to the dungeons a few days after his defeat.

  The day after Sharmian’s arrival, Tassin convened her court for Torrian’s audience, and settled upon her throne, surrounded by her court and adorned with the trappings of her rank. She had to put on a show of censure for the benefit of her court, to ensure suspicion did not fall on her or Sabre when Torrian met his end. The King was brought before her in chains, smeared with mud and blood, his rich clothes in rags. She had asked Sabre to attend, and he stood on her right, clad in a simple grey suit. He clasped his hands behind his back in a cyber's resting stance, which he adopted without thought.

  Dena stood on the Queen’s left, with Sharmian beside her. Torrian glared at them all with equal venom when the soldiers stopped him in front of the dais, forcing him to look up at Tassin. She scowled at him, her dark eyes filled with hate.

  "King Torrian. You colluded with my cousin to usurp my appointed regent, then sought to stop me from reclaiming my throne. In addition, you imprisoned Princess Dena, and treated her brutally. What have you to say?"

  His lips curled in a sneer. "I do not answer to you. Or to anyone! You can do nothing to me."

  "This is true, unfortunately. However, I have signed alliances with Mandor and Olgara, and any future attempts by you to interfere with the Kingdom of Arlin will be met with deadly force. You are banished from all three kingdoms. I also hereby claim recompense for the suffering of my people due to your plotting, and lay a tithe on Pradish. For the next fifty years, you will pay it or the three kingdoms of this alliance will invade and take it by force. The tithe will be paid annually, in gold."

  "I will pay you nothing!"

  Tassin's knuckles whitened as she gripped the scarred arms of her throne. "Then it will be taken from you."

  "You will pay in blood if you try, and you will not succeed. I have the weapons that spit light that you used against me, so you will not prevail."

  "Then you will start a war that will doom all of us and destroy this world, just as the ancients almost did."

  "I will crush you!"

  Tassin lifted her head in regal disdain. "He is mad. Take him away."

  The guards marched the King out, and Tassin shot Sabre a quick glance before she rose and left the throne room through the door at the back. A hubbub started as her nobles conferred. Sabre hesitated, glancing at Dena, who chewed her lip, then followed the Queen to her chambers. She stood before the big glass-paned doors that opened into the gardens. The soft cream curtains billowed in the breeze, and a faint frown furrowed her brow as she glanced around at his entry.

  Tassin walked into the garden, and Sabre caught up and fell into step beside her. After a few paces she stopped and turned to him. "You know what will make me really happy, don’t you?"

  "Yeah." He sighed and sat on a bench. "But I still have to sort out all the shit in my head. Most of it was force-fed to me, some is the result of the trauma I experienced, and the stuff that should be there, isn't. That's what Tarl says, and I think he's right. I have to try to adjust to being a human being. Can you understand that?"

  She sank down beside him. "Yes, I think so, but we must be betrothed. Otherwise there will be suitors vying for my hand and that will be tiresome."

  "Okay." He smiled, and Tassin slipped her hand into his.

  "Next week, at the celebration of my return and Dena's marriage, I'll make you a lord, then all that will remain will be for you to propose. Once we're married, you'll be the Prince Consort." She hesitated. "For a while, at least. I have thought about your suggestion, and it appeals to me. I shall start the process for democratisation, but I’ll have to rule until a president is elected, then I’ll step down. We will have that little cottage in the woods, where we can live and raise our children in peace."

  He glanced at her, raising his brows. "I can't have children. I explained that to you."

  "I know, but I want them. Will you ask Tarl if what was done to you can be reversed?"

  "What if it can’t?" He gazed across the garden. "I don't know if that's such a good idea, anyway. I have alien DNA, remember?"

  "Yes, but I don't see what harm that can do. You have... a heritage from a higher being. How can that be a bad thing?"

  Sabre shook his head. "This isn't something we have to deal with now."

  "No. For now, I'm just happy we can live peacefully, and you won't ever have to fight again."

  Sabre turned to face her, and she met his gaze as he raised a hand to stroke her hair where it curled around her ear, marvelling at how soft her skin was. His fingers traced the curve of her cheek and came to rest beneath her jaw. His heart ached with the strange, sometimes painful emotion she evoked in him, which he had come to treasure. It made him feel alive, and human, and the look in her eyes made him feel important. To her, he knew he was, just as she was to him. To her, he was human. He leant forward and kissed her, and her hands crept around his neck and pulled him closer. When he drew back, her azure eyes sparkled. She smiled and hugged him, and he held her close.

  Sabre gazed across the garden, where birds carolled in the trees and insects buzzed about their business. A breeze stirred the yellowing autumnal leaves, sending some fluttering to the grass, where stoic gardeners raked them up. The prospect of a peaceful life appealed to him on many levels, but the bitter voice that shouted its vitriol from the dark recess of his mind still mocked him whenever he thought about how much he wanted to be human, and he could not silence it, no matter how hard he tried. Cyborg!

  ****

  Sabre crouched atop a shallow knoll and studied the fortress on the far side of the valley, using the tiny camera in the brow band, which gave him a magnified view of Torrian’s stronghold. A village surrounded the collection of tall, brown stone buildings, poorly defended, in his opinion, by a rather low crenulated rampart. A river had been diverted to pass around the castle in walled canals, forming a moat. Sabre had left Tassin’s castle the day
after Torrian had departed, guarded by a battalion of her men, to be escorted to the border and released. The worry in her eyes had warmed his heart when she had said goodbye, and he wished there was some way to convince her that the only person who had cause for concern was Torrian.

  Sabre had opted to disable the laser cannons first, and the easiest way to do that was to destroy the power crystals. Once Torrian was dead, whoever took over, whether it was one of his cousins or a democratic government, was unlikely to attack Arlin. Still, he wanted to make sure Pradish could never threaten Arlin again.

  Sabre watched the castle until after midnight, then mounted his horse and set off across the valley. A steady trot brought him to the village within half an hour, and he tethered his mount to a tree on the outskirts and loped through the deserted streets. A couple of dogs barked as he ghosted past, and once he had to avoid a couple of wandering soldiers, most likely members of the Watch, but, for the most part, even they were asleep at this time of night. When he arrived at the castle, the drawbridge was lowered and the portcullis raised. Evidently Torrian did not think he was at risk, which was mighty foolish of him, in Sabre’s opinion.

  Two guards marched up and down just inside the portcullis, and Sabre loped over the drawbridge when they turned away and took cover in the darkness of the arched, two-metre deep gateway. The men passed each other in the middle of the road on their patrol, and he waited in the shadows until they were together, then strode towards them. They stopped and gaped at him in surprise, the usual reaction of a normal man to an unexpected event, and he used the second of shock recovery time to reach them. He punched them in unison, one with each fist, using just enough strength to knock them unconscious, and they collapsed with a rattle of armour and clatter of spears. Sabre dragged them into the guardhouse and dumped them on the floor, closed the door and headed for the closest stairs that led to the battlements.

  The scanners detected four more sentries patrolling the ramparts, and he ascended the steps and paused at the top. He tracked the men until they moved away from him, and then trotted to the closest laser cannon. He used the cyber’s night vision, and there was no moon, so the guards would be almost blind in the gloom. The few guttering torches on the walls only made it worse for them, too. Pausing beside the weapon, he crouched and groped under the tarpaulin for the power pack eject button, popped the crystal out and tucked it into the pouch he had brought to carry them in.

  The sentries still wandered away, and he trotted to the next weapon and repeated the procedure. He waited for a pair of guards to pass beyond a wall before going to the next laser cannon. It was really unfair, he mused, to use all his hi-tech capabilities against a bunch of primitives. Not a challenge at all. His only impairment was the presence of so much stone, something not found in a modern environment. Half an hour of power pack collection disarmed all the weapons on the battlements without raising the alarm. Torrian had mounted all but one, which, Sabre guessed, was probably in the armoury with the ammo. Finding the arsenal presented a little more of a challenge, due to the stone walls, and the longer it took, the more chance there was of the gatehouse sentries being discovered, or waking up. He needed a guide.

  The guards patrolled in pairs, so he would have to knock one man out and take the other hostage. The battlements were too exposed for that, with nowhere to hide the unconscious man, so he descended to the cobbled courtyard and checked the scanners for the closest pair of sentries. Not finding any, he cursed, then remembered the already unconscious gate guards. They were still out cold, and he used one man’s belt to tie him up, then slapped the other one until he came around with a gasp, opening his mouth to bellow in alarm. Sabre clamped a hand over the sentry’s mouth and raised a finger to his lips.

  “Make a sound, and you die.” He drew a laser and held it up. “Do you know what this is?”

  The man, a scruffy individual with red hair and a pockmarked face, nodded.

  Sabre removed his hand. “Good. Now, you’re going to tell me where the laser cannons’ ammunition is stored, got it?”

  The sentry looked confused, shaking his head.

  “The magical weapons,” Sabre explained. “Tell me to where the crystals that power them are stored, and don’t lie, because I’ll know.”

  The guard nodded, and Sabre gripped his arm and hauled him to his feet, shoving him against the wall. “Talk.”

  The redhead gulped. “Go across the courtyard, around the side of the main building, and all the way to the back of the alley. On the left is the stable yard, and on the right are storerooms. The third door along is the armoury.”

  The cyber informed Sabre that the man told the truth, and he nodded, then slammed the guard’s head against the wall, knocking him out again. The poor sod would have one hell of a headache when he woke up, he reflected. As a precaution, he tore up one of the men’s cloaks and bound the second man too, gagging both of them. It did not hurt to be cautious. Closing the door behind him, he left the guardhouse and followed the sentry’s directions. It was now almost two in the morning, and the fortress was deserted except for sleepy guards, most of whom had found somewhere to sit and doze. His night vision made the courtyard and alley almost as bright as day, but a glance with normal vision assured him that it was, in fact, pitch dark.

  The armoury had a stout oak door bound with iron, and the lock was primitive. That posed more of a problem than a modern access panel, which the cyber could have hacked in a few seconds. Kicking the door in would make too much noise, and he did not have a lock pick. The structural scanners revealed a sturdy bolt, too strong to easily break with pressure, and he cursed, glancing around. He probably should have asked the gate guard where the keys were. For a moment he was flummoxed, then he drew a laser and considered it. The laser cannon power crystals would not fit his pistols, but he had brought a good supply of extra crystals with him. Burning through wood with a laser was not ideal, especially with the risk of fire it posed, but it seemed to be the only option.

  Setting the beam to fine, he aimed it at the door just above the lock, switched to normal vision and pressed the trigger. The brilliant blue light seared his eyes even so, but it would have blinded him had he been using night vision. The laser made a soft hum as it crisped through the wood, yellow flames sprouting from the edges of the incision. The seasoned oak did not catch fire easily, but he had to pause twice to snuff out flames before they took hold. When the laser had burnt all the way around the lock, Sabre holstered the hot weapon and gave the door a shove that broke it free of the lock and made it swing inwards. Switching back to night vision, he entered a room stacked with swords, spears, shields, lances, bows and bushels of arrows. The box of power packs was at the back, and it looked like it contained most of the spares he had brought across the desert. The missing cannon, however, was not there.

  Sabre paused to consider this. Chances were, Torrian had it mounted on his bedroom wall, or in his throne room, as a trophy, alongside the stuffed bear heads and antlers, and, if it was loaded, one power pack would not be enough to do much damage. There were several power crystals missing, but they might have been used for training or pot shots; he was sure Torrian would have amused himself with his new toys. If not for the stone walls, he could have located the missing weapon with the scanners, but searching for it would take far too long and be risky. He still had to get rid of the power crystals he had, which he had no intention of lugging around. They were useless without the weapons that used them, and detaching one of the mounted cannons would be risky, too. He had intended to take the loose one, but now his plans had changed.

  Selecting a crystal from the box, he switched to normal vision and hurled it at the far wall. It shattered with a fairly loud bang and a hot flash. Oddly, the ten-centimetre-long crystals were cool, yet the amplified light they emitted was super-hot. Sabre threw the rest of the power crystals against the wall in quick succession, since the light and noise might attract attention. When three crystals remained, a warning light alerted him
to the scanners information, which showed a life sign in the doorway behind him. Sabre spun and reached the sleepy sentry in a bound, sending him sprawling with a punch. Returning to the box, he smashed the last three crystals, switched back to night vision and headed for the door. The sentry struggled to sit up, pawing at his bloody nose. Sabre kicked him in the head as he passed, knocking him senseless, and sprinted towards the gate. If one guard was roused, chances were others would be too.

  Several life signs moved towards the armoury on the scanners, two of them in the alley Sabre would have to pass through to reach the gate. He might be able to slip past them in the dark, but the brow band’s lights would probably give him away. Usually, on a stealth mission like an assassination, a special cover was fitted to the brow band that hid the lights whilst leaving the sensors exposed. The control unit’s lights served two purposes, first to identify a cyber so he was never mistaken for a normal man, and secondly to provide information about the host’s functionality and physical status. A technician could tell at a glance whether a cyber was experiencing a variety of impairments, and most owners knew enough to glean an idea of a cyber’s problems by studying the lights. Of course, a simpler method was to ask the cyber about it, but occasionally that was not an option. Everyone knew that a lot of red lights meant the cyber was damaged. He wished bio-status was one of the indicators available on a brow band, so Tarl did not have to ask him about it all the time.

  Sabre chose speed instead of stealth. The alarm would soon be raised when the senseless guard outside the armoury was discovered, anyway, at which time someone would probably close the portcullis and severely hamper his escape. He did not fancy having to leap off the battlements into the moat. It would be cold and wet. He raced towards the two guards in the alley, who gaped at him, able only to see a collection of little lights approaching them at high speed, accompanied by the soft thud of footfalls. Being superstitious primitives, they leapt aside with alarmed shouts as he passed them. As he sprinted towards the gate, he regretted not having flattened them when they continued to bellow in alarm, and two men raced for the portcullis. A cyber was capable of a flat out run of over forty-five kilometres per hour, but it would not be enough. A soldier hit the lever that released the portcullis, and it rumbled down.