The Empire of the Zon

by R. M. Burgess

  “Andromache, I am distraught!” said Deirdre, her voice rising. “How could Caitlin do this to me? After everything I have done for her! My Order of Motherhood has become a badge of shame.”

  Andromache sat on a comfortable chaise lounge, unmindful of Deirdre’s pacing.

  “What are you so upset about, Deirdre?” asked Andromache, simply.

  “Haven’t you heard? Caitlin interfered in a Brigon trial by combat, creating a huge diplomatic incident and risking war. She disobeyed direct orders from Lady Selene and brought a barbarian of high intellectual capability into the Residency. I don’t know what could have caused her to take leave of her senses like this.”

  “From what I have heard, she protected an innocent young girl from rape, torture, and death,” said Andromache quietly. “You should be proud of her.”

  “Oh, don’t be naïve, Andromache,” Deirdre snapped. “This is real life, not the sagas. You priestesses sit safely in the citadels believing fairy stories, while the huntresses face the barbarian hordes. We are not playing parlor games with the savages out there. They will destroy us, and our civilization, if they find the smallest chink in our armor.”

  “What will you do?” asked Andromache.

  “She will be brought back to Atlantic City and face court martial,” said Deirdre gloomily. “There are already rumors that she has been favored because of her high birth.” Here she looked significantly at Andromache, who returned her gaze serenely. “The chatter on the comm is ugly. The commoners want her head. I hope I can protect her from the death penalty, so that she can retire to Ostracis.”

  “I expected that a mother’s love would give her hopes of more than Ostracis,” Andromache said gently.

  “I am First Principal,” said Deirdre sharply. “I cannot treat my daughter differently than any other officer facing court martial.”

  “You could step down and be the mother Caitlin needs,” suggested Andromache. “Ma knows that the wearer of the d’Orr tiara does not need a salary.”

  Deirdre’s eyes blazed.

  “You’d like that, wouldn’t you,” she said hotly.

  She thinks this is all a ploy to derail her quest to be queen, Andromache thought unhappily. She said no more. She finished her wine and took her leave. She was lost in thought as she reentered Palace Saxe. Her handmaiden trailed her to her bedroom and assisted her as she went through her routine of strength and flexibility poses. When she was done, she stood, arms akimbo, allowing herself to be undressed and clothed in her sleeping gown. She lay down on her massive bed, sighing as her handmaiden used her strong fingers to give her a full body massage. Then she refused sex and dismissed her, still thinking.

  Finally, she opened a comm channel to Megara. She found the huntress in her chambers in the Residency and accepted her salutations brusquely.

  “Seignora Megara,” she said. “I will get straight to the point. Seignora Lady Caitlin is in grave danger. Her own mother is supporting the move to bring her to court martial in Atlantic City. She will get no justice here.”

  “I know it,” said Megara bitterly. “I have heard the rants on the comm.”

  “And I have seen Lady Selene’s report,” Andromache went on. “She has accused Caitlin of bringing a ‘barbarian of high intellectual capability’ into the Residency.”

  “The barbarian is a sweet young girl,” said Megara fiercely. “Oh, Princess Andromache, if you could have seen the little thing in the fighting pit, with a sword too heavy for her to heft, facing the gigantic armored gladiator. And then, as she cried in fear, Caitlin drew the d’Orr blade Karya and leaped to her defense like Queen Simran come to life again. She is a good swordswoman, but there were several of us present, myself included, who are better. And this barbarian was huge and so fast that he would have troubled even Diana Tragina. But Caitlin kept her head, got him distracted, and killed him. That should have been enough, but Caitlin can be so innocent, she thought she could bring the girl into the Residency to save her.”

  “How is she?” asked Andromache worriedly.

  “Lady Selene has been intolerably harsh on her,” said Megara, anger giving an edge to her voice. “Her stutter has come back.”

  They looked at each other on the video for a few moments in silence.

  “Megara, you must do something,” said Andromache, aware that they were on an open comm.

  “I will, Princess Andromache,” returned the huntress. “I will.”

  DARKNESS HAD FALLEN, and the lights were on in the Residency. Most of the staff was at dinner. Megara, Felicia, and Jena approached Caitlin’s chambers, chatting with each other, seemingly at ease. The Residency huntresses at the door noted the ax and hammer of Megara’s rank on her metal choker and the uniforms of the elite Palace Guardians. They came to attention and pounded their halberds on the floor in salute.

  Megara pointed to the door, not deigning to speak. The huntresses opened it, and the three of them entered. Caitlin was at her desk. She looked up and forced a smile.

  “Do you know what they are say…saying about me on the comm?” she asked wearily, her stutter barely noticeable. “I’m a trai…traitor, in the pa…pay of the barbarians, and…” She looked into the hologram projected from her wrist bracer, “A wanton whore lust…lusting for male flesh. There will be a big crowd when they shoot me in Flight Memorial Square.”

  “Hush,” said Megara. “No one is going to shoot you. Come, we are going to take you for a walk on the battlements.”

  “There are huntresses posted outside,” Caitlin pointed out, her speech growing more fluent in the supportive company.

  “And we are Palace Guardians,” said Felicia in her country drawl. “We will think of something.”

  They opened the doors, and when the Guards saw Caitlin with them, they crossed their halberds, blocking their way. Megara made a dismissive motion with her hand.

  “We are leaving Seignora Lady Caitlin in your charge,” she said curtly. Then she relaxed her expression and smiled. “Please allow her to take a walk for her evening exercise after we have left. You may even allow her some privacy—I do not think she is in a hurry to return to Dreslin to have a drink with the Red Khalif.”

  The two huntresses smiled uncertainly and lowered their halberds. Megara quickly walked down the corridor followed by Felicia and Jena. They took that less frequented route through the rear ward of the Residency. As Megara headed for the antigravity shaft that would take them to the battlements, Caitlin caught up with her, touched her arm, and stopped her.

  “That was quick,” said Megara, astonished.

  “They became much friendlier after your visit,” said Caitlin, grinning. “They were very impressed by the fact that I appear to be in good standing with the Palace Guardians who were present at the fighting pit.”

  The rear ward was deserted, unlit and quiet. The yellow moon was a slim crescent, so it was quite dark. Caitlin gestured for them to come closer and whispered.

  “I cannot go back to Atlantic City,” she said quietly. “I have disobeyed direct orders and betrayed the Sisterhood by bringing a barbarian into the Residency. The court martial will certainly sentence me to death.”

  Megara sought to speak, but Caitlin put a finger on her friend’s lips.

  “Dearest Megara, you are like a womb sister to me. Your affection blinds you to the truth. I have chosen my fate. I must take Nitya and leave.”

  “We will come with you,” said Felicia fervently. “Three swords are better than one.”

  “I must go alone,” said Caitlin. “You have all been loyal. I could not bear the guilt of tearing you from the bosom of the Sisterhood.”

  “Where will you go?” asked Megara.

  “I will return Nitya to her Yengar family,” said Caitlin. “Then I will offer myself to the Engine Maidens.”

  “They will kill you!” said Megara, horrified.

  “I have a better chance with them than with the court martial,” said Caitlin dourly. “Who knows, their leader, Durga
Bodina, may like what I have done. Come, Megara, take me to the Dark Cells. Jena, could you get two horses ready? Felicia, I have thrown together what I will need for a couple of weeks in a bundle in my chambers—could you bring that down to the stables?”

  MOMENTS LATER, CAITLIN and Megara were at the entrance to the Dark Cells.

  “Wait here,” Caitlin said to Megara. “I’ll talk my way into Nitya’s cell. Your role in this escapade must not be known.”

  “Caitlin, I really would like to come with you,” said Megara.

  “Dearest Megara, what purpose would it serve? You have done nothing wrong. You can help me far more by staying in good standing. I still have some highly placed supporters.” She smiled. “Even if I cannot count my mother among them.”

  Megara entered the portal but stayed on the landing while Caitlin descended the winding stairs into the bowels of the Residency. The Dark Cells were part of the underground workings of a Brigon castle that had been destroyed to make way for the Residency hundreds of years ago. The cells were almost a hundred meters below the surface, and the lighting on the uneven stone stairs was poor. Caitlin’s boots rang on the stone, and when she got to the bottom, she found herself in a small chamber with two Residency huntresses on duty, both surprised by her appearance.

  However, the combination of the ax and hammer of her rank, her Palace Guardian uniform, and her noble birth caused them to pound their halberds on the stone floor in salute.

  “Lady Selene has asked me to wait on her with the prisoner,” said Caitlin smoothly. “You are to remain here till I bring her back.”

  The two looked dubious, and the senior of the two opened her mouth to speak, but Caitlin cut her off.

  “You may open a comm channel to Lady Selene,” she said, keeping her voice calm and level. “But be aware that she is at dinner.”

  Lady Selene’s temper was well known. The two huntresses looked at each other, nodded, and stood aside. The senior of the two gave her a ring with two heavy old barbarian keys.

  Caitlin quickly walked down the dark corridor leading from the chamber. The Dark Cells were aptly named. The corridor turned, cutting off the light from the guard’s chamber. As she kept walking, even the meager hints of reflected light died away. Her eyes adjusted, but Caitlin could still see nothing in the pitch darkness. She tapped her wrist bracer, activating a powerful beam of light, and quietly called Nitya’s name.

  “I am here,” came a voice she recognized. Caitlin caught the quiver in it. Clearly the girl had been crying.

  Caitlin walked by several empty cells. In Ma’s name, they could have put her in the first one, she thought angrily. She shone her light into Nitya’s cell. The girl sat on the stone floor, arms hugging her knees, blinking in the light. There were manacles on her thin wrists and leg irons around her ankles. The heavy iron had cut into her flesh, raising welts with traces of blood. There was a battered tin cup with some water and a dented metal plate with some rinds of stale bread. Her face was tear-stained, and her big eyes were frightened. As soon as she saw Caitlin, the fear in her eyes was replaced with a mixture of uncertainty and hope. Chains clinking, she dipped her fingers in the water and tried to wash the salt tracks of her tears off her face. Caitlin’s blood boiled at the malevolent cruelty, and her resolve was strengthened. How are we any better than the barbarians when we treat a little girl like this? she thought.

  She used the larger of the two keys to unlock the barred door to the cell and used the smaller one to remove the manacles and leg irons. She helped Nitya to her feet.

  “I am taking you away from here,” she whispered in the girl’s ear. “Keep your head down and don’t say anything till we are out of the Residency.”

  Nitya nodded. Caitlin put her hand on her shoulder and propelled her down the corridor, back to the chamber where the Residency huntresses rose from their seats as they entered. It was easy for Nitya to remain silent with her eyes fixed on the ground, as she was frozen with fear. Caitlin returned the key ring to the senior of the two huntresses saying, “Thank you. I will see you both soon.”

  “Please bring her back as soon as you can, Lady Caitlin,” said the senior guard. “We go off duty in half an hour, and the new detail will be here when you return.”

  Concealing her delight at this stroke of good luck, Caitlin nodded and half carried Nitya up the winding stairs to the surface, where Megara awaited them.

  FELICIA HAD JUST joined Jena in the stables and set down the heavy rucksack she had brought from Caitlin’s chambers when her comm pinged. She opened the channel. It was the centuria of the Residency huntresses.

  “Officia Felicia Andrina,” she said, rather pompously. “In the name of the Resident Lady Selene, I order you and Officia Jena Saracenina to lead a squad, under the flag of truce, to the Red Khalif. You will offer the return of the witch on the Pontoon Bridge at noon tomorrow. Please work with Officia Jena to select a squad to best uphold the dignity of the Sisterhood. The seignora at the Dreslin Gate has been instructed to expect you within the hour.”

  “I hear and obey, Centuria,” said Felicia, exchanging glances with Jena.

  An hour later the squad of huntresses, all wearing long cloaks over their combat uniforms, formed up in the Residency courtyard. They all had their visors down to activate their night vision. Felicia was in the lead, with Jena by her side. All the huntresses in the squad were handpicked Palace Guardians. Megara had taken a subordinate role and was two files back. They had dressed a sparring dummy in a cloak and helmet and put it on a horse, which was paired with Megara’s. Caitlin was further back in the column, anonymous under the helmet and cloak, in which she had enveloped Nitya. The dark night was in their favor.

  They rode slowly through the courtyard gate into the outer ward and toward the main Dreslin Gate. The seignora in command of the gate stepped out of her gatehouse with two huntresses behind her and motioned for the column to stop. Felicia leaned down from her horse and gave their exit code.

  “Why the barbarian cloaks, Officia Felicia?” she asked, only half in jest.

  “Why, we are off to seek an audience with the Red Khalif,” drawled Felicia. “You know how he hates exposed female flesh. We need him to be in good humor, so he accepts Lady Selene’s terms.”

  The seignora grunted. “Makes sense, I suppose. Though it burns me up that we have to kowtow to that snake.”

  “For the good of the Sisterhood,” said Felicia steadily.

  The seignora signaled one of her huntresses, and winches whined, raising the portcullis, opening the gates, and lowering the drawbridge. Just a few nervous minutes later, they were out of the Residency. They rode unhurriedly toward the pontoon bridge. They were all acutely aware that the huntresses on the battlements were doubtless watching them with their long-visions.

  As soon as they were over the Pontoon Bridge, Felicia signaled a wheel, and they rode parallel to the Dreslin walls, following them till they were out of the line of sight of the Residency. Concealed from the eyes on the Residency walls, Felicia signaled a halt. Megara immediately came up to take command of the squad. At her command, the sparring dummy was taken down and buried. Its cloak was wrapped around Nitya, who took the dummy’s place on the spare horse. Caitlin dismounted and held Megara tight for a few moments.

  “You mind that noble arse of yours,” said Megara, sniffling. “Without me to watch it, you’ll need to grow eyes on the back of your head.”

  “The Sisterhood is a more dangerous place these days than the barbarian lands,” retorted Caitlin with a catch in her voice. “I worry that you are not wily enough to stay out of trouble. Keep your head down. May Ma shelter you and keep you.”

  She swung up into her saddle, and the squad put their hands on their hearts in salute. She returned their salute and wheeled her horse. She gave Nitya’s bridle a quick tug to get her to follow. She did not look back because she knew if she did, the lump in her throat would choke her. Megara mounted and sat still in her saddle, watching her childhood friend r
ide away with the girl who was the cause of it all. “May you find someone to love and watch over you as I do,” she whispered.

  They waited till the two of them dwindled into tiny specks in the distance before forming up and cantering toward the Forest Gate.

  MEGARA HAILED THE captain of the Forest Gate three times before a sentry’s head appeared at the crenellated wall. Jena was beside her, holding the staff of a white banner embroidered with gold, the well-known Zon flag of truce. The huntresses could see the cocked crossbow in the guard’s hands. Megara’s laser pistol was in her lap as she sat very still on her horse.

  “I have a message for Red Khalif Alumus,” she called out. “I will lob it up to you.”

  Almost immediately, a dozen flaming torches appeared on the battlements, and the captain of the gate appeared, surrounded by his officers.

  “Lob it up, huntress,” he called down.

  Felicia rode up beside Megara and pulled a long-barreled air pistol out of one of her saddlebags. She pointed it toward the battlements and, taking aim, squeezed the trigger. There was a hiss of air, and a thin metal canister was propelled upward in a graceful arc. It fell harmlessly at the captain’s feet with the tinkling sound of metal on stone.

  The captain picked up the canister and passed it to one of his officers.

  “The Red Khalif will receive this,” he called down. “Will you wait for his response?”

  “We will wait,” confirmed Megara, thinking of Caitlin and Nitya getting farther away with every passing minute.

  In the circumstances, they did not have long to wait. The drawbridge creaked down, and the captain of the gate rode out on a fine-looking horse, his armor glinting in the torchlight.

  “Follow me,” he said, wheeling and leading them in through the gate. There was now a large troop of Red Sentinels waiting in the outer ward, all in the Red Khalif ’s red-on-silver livery. The Red Sentinel officer jerked his spear at Megara, indicating that the huntresses should follow them into Dreslin. They rode forward, listening with trepidation to the rattling chains that indicated that the drawbridge was being raised again. None of them had been in Dreslin after nightfall before. They rode slowly, following the Red Sentinels, who were afoot.