The Empire of the Zon

by R. M. Burgess

  “She sees it as her birthright,” agreed Andromache. “As the direct descendent of Thetis the Great and Simran the Merciless, she wears the tiara of the royal house of d’Orr.”

  “If that is the measure, the Saxes are no less worthy,” retorted Hildegard. “You yourself wear the tiara of a royal house and count numerous queens in your lineage.”

  “Queens that didn’t fight any wars like Vivia the Pious and Good Queen Sonia,” smiled Andromache. “I cannot deny that I have thought about becoming queen. And I always thought that Deirdre would be my rival. But I never thought she would challenge you. Surely she has no grounds to call for an extraordinary election? And even if she did, you would crush her.”

  Zon queens were elected for life, and while there was a provision for a leadership challenge through a mid-term election in “extraordinary circumstances,” such challenges were exceedingly rare.

  “No, she has no grounds,” said Hildegard tiredly. “And I do not think that is her intention. I fear that she has another tack. Right before she asked about my retirement, she mentioned that she had just passed her Excellence boards with flying colors.”

  “Implying that you might not pass yours,” finished Andromache. She took a sip of her clove wine and savored it on her tongue. “That is impossible. Your beauty is obvious to all, and you are fit and strong. You can have no worries on that score.”

  Hildegard was silent for a moment. The sun had set, and her eyes were drawn to the bright lights of the Confederation Tower. She wondered idly if anyone was watching them through a long-vision from the top viewdeck. She scanned the horizon, absently counting the “condition normal” beacon flashes from the half a dozen distant Guard Castles in their range of vision. Each was identified by a unique code sequence, taught to all Zon from earliest childhood as a survival skill for the harsh winters in the high vale. She read them off from left to right—Wolf ’s Head, High Crag, Ice Bear Castle, Castle Magna, Duchess Castle, Blue Gorge.

  “You and I are priestesses of Cognis, Andromache,” said Hildegard. “We know not how the huntresses think.”

  The Zon constitution required any contender for the throne to have achieved membership of one of the temples. This automatically made all priestesses eligible while excluding most huntresses. And priestesses made up over three-quarters of the electrae. Queen Simran had formalized the Excellence & Aesthetics boards and stipulated that they be run by huntresses, in part to offset the concentration of power in the hands of the priestesses.

  “I shall summon Kyra and Tignona and demand that they take personal responsibility for your Excellence board,” said Andromache hotly. “Perhaps they wish to mount a backstage coup. So let us bring this out into the open. The military knows how popular you are; they will not dare to publicly manipulate your Excellence board.”

  Hildegard smiled at Andromache’s vehemence. The two royals—one by birth and one by election—had a common vision for the future of the Sisterhood.

  “You know as well as I, Andromache, that there are subjective parts of the Excellence boards. I am not as young and fit as I once was, and a performance that is not dramatically superior may well be questioned. We must have a backup plan. You must prepare yourself to run against Deirdre.”

  “She is no fool,” said Andromache, worriedly. “She knows trouble with the barbarians always swings public opinion toward the huntresses. She must have been emboldened by this trouble in Utrea. Shobar is exactly the kind of barbarian leader she needs to whip up fear.”

  “And Lothar is the opposite.” Hildegard took Andromache’s hand. “My dear, I fear that Deirdre may have her own plans for the Hydromeda operation. Diana Tragina is her right hand. With two centuries of Guardians aboard, she has effective command of the airship and with it, the mission. Rhea Carina is no match for her.”

  “Do you fear Deirdre plans to sabotage the Hydromeda operation?” Andromache was incredulous. “She is strong willed, but to defy your express commands in such a manner is treason.”

  “One woman’s treason is another woman’s patriotism,” said Hildegard without irony. “We need a counterweight to Diana. Do you have anyone you trust on the Hydromeda? Someone you are very close to?”

  “Did you not detach your first handmaiden, Centuria Lady Alexandra Sheel, to return to her post at the head of her century of Palace Guardians?” Andromache asked after a moment. “She must be aboard the Hydromeda. Surely she is loyal to you?”

  “Generally, yes,” returned Hildegard. “But I could not predict the outcome of pitting her loyalty to me against her loyalty to her commander. In any event, it would not be fair to her, nor would it serve the interests of the Sisterhood. Can you think of anyone else?”

  Andromache thought a few moments.

  “I think so,” she said slowly. “Let us think about what we want her to do.”

  THE HYDROMEDA WAS flying at her normal cruising altitude of thirty thousand meters on course for Utrea. After securing the vessel for cruise, Captain Rhea was in her cabin when the entry chimes sounded. She hit the control on her wrist bracer, and the portal slid open noiselessly. It was Diana; Rhea stood and greeted her as an equal.

  “Do sit with me, Cornelle,” Rhea said courteously. “Can I offer you a drink?”

  Diana accepted a seat and nodded her assent. Rhea did not bother summoning her handmaiden but poured two glasses of Utrean ice brandy herself.

  “To our Utrean mission!” said Rhea.

  “Health and beauty!” responded Diana. They tossed back their drinks.

  “How may I serve you, Cornelle?” asked Rhea. Technically, their ranks were equal, but as the cornelle of the elite Cohort of Palace Guardians, Diana had precedence. And the special place of horses in Zon culture meant that even in the Legions, the cavalry had always had more prestige than the airships.

  “I have an idea for approaching Lothar,” said Diana, her cold eyes searching Rhea’s face. “However, it will call for a detour.”

  “Where would you have us go, Cornelle?”

  “I’d rather not say just yet,” said Diana. “But set course for the Border Ranges—zero two five will do nicely.”

  “When do you plan on revealing your idea to me, Cornelle?” Rhea asked, clearly irritated.

  “In good time, Captain,” said Diana smoothly. “Oh, and my Guardians have taken over all the monitoring and communications tasks on the airship. Our mission is so sensitive, it is best that I control the Hydromeda’s eyes and ears.”

  “This is unprecedented, Cornelle!” Rhea exploded. “My crew-women are experts at their jobs. You cannot replace them with a bunch of jackbooted horsewomen.”

  “All of my Guardians have been appropriately selected, with experience on the equipment they are using,” said Diana coldly. “I am afraid that security takes precedence over protocol in this matter. You will be kept informed of everything we hear, send, and receive.”

  She placed her glass on a side table and stood to take her leave. Rhea stood as well to see her to the door.

  “I will see you on the bridge, Captain,” said Diana, turning on her heel and departing without ceremony. Even as the door slid shut behind her, Rhea heard the dull footfalls of her thigh boots on the corridor carpet.

  DANNAE HAD COMPLETED her pre-mission check in the infirmary of the Hydromeda. She had examined all the equipment and confirmed that the stocks of drugs and medical devices matched the bill of lading. She had just tapped the work screen to file her medical log when her comm pinged. She tapped her wrist bracer, but nothing showed up but a blank hologram. It was an encrypted channel. Dannae shone the blank hologram on her eye. As soon as her retina was read, the channel opened. There was no video.

  “Medica Dannae.” She instantly recognized the voice of Princess Andromache.

  “I salute you, Princess,” said Dannae formally.

  “Medica, as you must know by now, the Hydromeda is on her way ostensibly to reinforce the Thetis in Utrea, but her secret mission is to encourage and abet Arc
h Baron Lothar in overthrowing King Shobar.”

  “Captain Rhea briefed the senior officers and department chiefs,” replied Dannae, wondering why she had been singled out by the High Priestess.

  “Dannae, as you can see from the channel, I am calling you on a matter of considerable delicacy.” Andromache’s warm voice put Dannae at ease. “I have known you since you were a little girl in a school leotard. You have served as my handmaiden and later as my physician. I have always felt that we share a special bond. I feel as close to you as I do to my own womb daughter.”

  “You do me honor, Princess,” said Dannae, cognizant of the compliment. “I look upon you as my true mother. I am yours to command.”

  “The queen and I fear that the huntresses, and especially Cornelle Diana, may take actions to jeopardize the mission,” continued Andromache. “We fear that their commitment to placing Lothar on the Masthead Throne may not be as fervent as we would like.”

  “What would you have me do, High Priestess?” asked Dannae.

  “We require a true report of what is going on aboard the Hydromeda,” said Andromache. “From someone we can trust. Can you serve the queen and me in this way?”

  “It is my pleasure to serve you, High Priestess,” said Dannae earnestly. “Indeed, there are already some unprecedented activities aboard. Cornelle Diana’s Guardians have taken over all communications and monitoring equipment. They are doubtless aware of this comm channel, but I trust that your encryption will prevent them from deciphering it or locating its source or destination.”

  “It is my personal cipher,” said Andromache. “The encryption is our latest generation, and the huntresses do not yet have it. We should be safe for now.”

  “I expected no less, High Priestess,” said Dannae, relieved.

  “In the circumstances, do not attempt to contact me, except in an emergency, since you will be monitored,” said Andromache. “I will contact you every day at this time. Try and contrive to be alone. If you know you will not be alone, contact me on an unrelated health matter, and I will cancel the call for the day.”

  “I hear and obey, Princess Andromache,” said Dannae.

  “And Dannae, I am delighted to hear of your pregnancy. Allow me to give you my warmest wishes. I hope your nausea spells have decreased? I look forward to pinning the Order of Motherhood on you myself.”

  “I am well, Princess. I cannot wait to see you again.”

  KING SHOBAR STAMPED his way back to his chambers from his royal meeting with the delegation from the Zon Residency. It was a typical gray, overcast day in Nordberg, the temperature in late summer just above freezing. There was a light drizzle in a mixture of rain and sleet.

  Shobar was only of medium height, but broad of chest and powerfully built. His head and beard were now more gray than black, and his eyes were hooded, dark, and perpetually suspicious. His First Minister, Katog of Louth, was lame and struggled to keep up with his king. They took the spiral staircase up to the king’s high terrace. A pair of stewards awaited them there. A side table of refreshments had been laid out.

  “Beer,” said Shobar, and immediately one of the stewards was at his side with a tall pewter tankard. Shobar drank deeply and wiped the foam off his beard with the back of his hand. The terrace was halfway up the High Tower of Nordberg Castle. It commanded a splendid view of the island fastness and the surrounding city on both sides of the Lofgren estuary, linked to the fortress by viaducts whose final spans were drawbridges. It was high enough that there were scudding clouds racing by beneath their feet, blown in by the constant winds from the sea.

  But now the king had eyes only for the white walls of the Zon Residency. It was built over five hundred years ago on the crest of Mount Nibell on the south bank of the Lofgren. It stood on the site of Nibellus Castle, the fabled seat of the Utrea Royal House. The original castle had been destroyed during the War of Northern Conquest that had reduced Utrea to a vassal state under Zon hegemony. The sight of the Residency, whose long-range weapons could strike and destroy any part of Nordberg, was a constant source of irritation to Shobar. And at present, there was the additional threat of the Thetis, the huge gray airship that had arrived several weeks before. She was riding on sky-anchors directly over the Residency.

  The royal meeting had put him into an even uglier mood than usual. The Zon delegation had informed him that they were being reinforced by a second airship carrying elite huntress units. They had dared to order him to send his barons home and to open his underground workings in Great Ice Range to their inspection. And they wanted their tribute: four million gold talents. Of course, he had refused. In their irritating singsong accents, they had said Utrea would face consequences. He had wanted to rip their throats out there and then, and raged at his impotence.

  Katog cleared his throat, and Shobar turned to him.

  “Your Majesty, you have made the right decision,” said Katog, draining his tankard. He beat it on the terrace railing, and a steward hurried to refill it with beer. “You must depend on the stauncher barons and replace those who ask us to yield to the Zon.”

  “I know it, Katog,” growled Shobar. “I have fought actions against the hated Sisterhood in every one of my fifteen years on the Masthead Throne. Utrea stands proud under my rule, not on its knees as when that old fool, Jondolar, was king. The Zon did us a favor by slaying him. It is a shame that we let Greghar escape when we took power. Jondolar’s bastard whelp still troubles me in my dreams.”

  “The bastard whelp is a man grown now, Majesty,” muttered Katog. “I have spies everywhere. If he is in Utrea, we will know.”

  “Curious how we could never track down the mother,” mused Shobar. “With all the money we spread around, you would have thought someone would have led us to Jondolar’s whore.”

  A steward approached and bowed.

  “You Highness, the war council begs leave for an audience,” he said. “Will you receive them in your chambers?”

  “No,” Shobar grunted. “Ask them to join us out here. A little sleet never harmed anyone.”

  The stewards ushered in the war council. It was made up of the barons whose troops were encamped on the outskirts of Nordberg as well as the commander of the king’s own forces and the royal treasurer. They had all been witnesses at the royal meeting with the Zon delegation. Shobar eyed them critically before finally saying, “Take seats, gentlemen. My stewards are at your service; please take some refreshment.”

  More stewards appeared, and they served large tankards of beer and circulated with trays of pickled fish. They all drank lustily and belched loudly. A buzz of conversation arose. As most of them drained their first tankard, Katog clapped his hands to get their attention. They fell silent, and Shobar spoke.

  “My lords, I would hear your reactions to the royal meeting.”

  There was a long pause. No one wanted to be the first to respond—each wanted to hear where the majority opinion lay.

  “Come, come,” said Shobar, attempting to mask his irritation. “You all heard my defiance of the Zon. There are those who say that I am foolish to risk war. All of you have committed gold and men; I would hear what you have to say.”

  Finally, Baron Karstein Tenus of Grigholm, a tall, thin cadaverous man with a balding blond pate, spoke up.

  “Your Majesty, we are loyal to Utrea and to you, our king. Every year under your rule we have fought losing actions against the Zon. Three times you have refused to pay the tribute. Each time we have been defeated, and they have destroyed one of your royal castles. Each time you have paid in the end. You will forgive me for asking what is different this time.”

  Shobar looked at Karstein with a barely concealed malevolence. However, when he spoke, his voice was measured.

  “My lords, Baron Karstein Tenus speaks true! Utrea stands tall and proud under my rule, but my defiance has been costly. The Zon magic weapons have defeated us, time and again. But I say to you, no more! I have been working on a way to neutralize their magic weapons—for arm
against arm, sword against sword, no one on Tarsus can match the warriors of Utrea!”

  His voice rose as he spoke, and he was gratified to see how his words lifted their spirits. Several responded by pounding their tankards on their chair arms, and there were cries of “Hail Nibellus!” and “Utrea above all!”

  “My underground fastness in the Great Ice Range is nearly complete,” continued Shobar, sweeping his eyes over the council. “I am stocking it with more than a year’s worth of supplies. In there, we will be safe from the Zon airships. We will withdraw from Nordberg, unit by unit, all the while piquing their curiosity as to what we are up to. We will hint at new, magic weapons. We will lure them to battle on the ground by the Great Ice Range and retreat into my new mountain fastness. As they attempt to flush us out, they will have to fight without the protection of their airships. They are few; they cannot afford to take heavy losses. We only need to maul a few of their elite units before they will have to withdraw. This defeat will destroy the myth of Zon invincibility once and for all. We will finally throw off the yoke of this unnatural tyranny!”

  Shobar had chosen to speak to them on the terrace on purpose. They could not avoid looking over his shoulders at the shining white Residency and at the huge airship overhead. All of them had seen thick castle walls reduced to smoking ruins by microwave disintegrator blasts. They knew that even as they sat there, they were in the sights of keen-eyed huntresses on the Residency walls.

  Shobar’s words were well received. A palpable feeling of excitement ran through the council. It was just possible his plan could work, and the thousand years of Zon victories could be ended. One by one they stood, drew their swords, and raised them high to acclaim him.

  RESIDENT RITA CRISTINA cut a striking figure, tall and commanding, as she stood at the head of the long conference table. Her jet-black curly hair was piled atop her head in an intricate coiffure, held in place by just two large gold pins. She was unusual among high-ranking Zon in that her skin was a deep bronze, verging on chocolate. She had narrow, slanted, and very dark eyes, and her nose was relatively flat and broad compared to most of her sisters.