Unlike the brightly lit public spaces that the huntresses were used to, the winding streets of Dreslin were mostly dark. Flickering torches, which seemed to create more shadows than light, illuminated only the larger squares and intersections, while the rest of the city remained in darkness. There was dim candlelight in several windows, and they could see that furtive eyes were watching them. At length they entered Cathedral Square at the crest of Triangle Hill. The Cathedral of Thermad the Divine dominated three sides of the square. The official residence of the Red Khalif was on the fourth. Though large, Alumus’s palace was dwarfed by the massive cathedral. They were expected, and the two Red Sentinels on duty opened the large street doors to the Red Khalif ’s palace.
“Two huntresses will be admitted to the presence of His Virtue, the Red Khalif, to hear his response,” said the Red Sentinel officer firmly. “The rest of you will remain outside with my troop.”
Megara looked over at Felicia and nodded. The two of them dismounted.
“No weapons are allowed in His Virtue’s presence,” continued the officer.
Felicia opened her mouth to protest, but Megara held up her hand.
“We will comply,” she said, unbuckling her belt and gathering together the scabbard and pistol holster. She handed it to Jena, who was still mounted. Felicia frowned but followed suit with ill grace. The Red Sentinel officer turned to lead, but Megara stopped him with a gesture. “Bear in mind that my huntresses are armed with ’grators,” she said. “If Officia Felicia and I do not return within fifteen minutes, they will reduce this entire square to rubble.”
The officer nodded stiffly and gave her a slight bow of acquiescence. Then he turned and led the way into the Red Khalif ’s palace. Megara glanced back as she entered and saw that four more Red Sentinels followed them. They made their way through a series of small reception halls and corridors hung with large portraits of former Red Khalifs. Finally, they ascended two flights of stairs and entered a large audience hall. Even though there were several large torches burning in wall alcoves and several logs were burning in the great fireplace, the huntresses found it rather dim. Alumus was seated on his official throne, which was set on a raised dais, dressed in formal red robes. His senior cleric Holodus stood behind him. Beside him on the dais was a second gilt chair that had been festooned with silk to mimic an aerie and hung with the royal coat of arms. Queen Esme sat on it, her corset laced ceremonially tight, her blue gown in the latest fashion with a plunging neckline. She wore the crown of the royal consort, her curly locks peeping out from under it. Her pretty face was set in a scowl, her eyes stony. Two of her ladies-in-waiting stood beside her, doing their best to mimic their mistress’s look.
As Megara and Felicia approached the dais, all the Red Sentinels kneeled. The huntresses remained standing. Queen Esme whispered angrily to one of her ladies.
Alumus had Lady Selene’s note unrolled in his lap.
“I see you have come demurely attired, not flaunting your bodies for a change,” he said with a trace of a leer.
Megara inclined her head. “We respect your ecclesiastical house,” she said, drawing her cloak around her to emphasize her height and slim outline. She read disappointment in Alumus’s small eyes.
“So Lady Selene has seen fit to abide by the Zon treaties with Briga,” he said shortly, after eyeing them both for a few moments.
“Yes,” said Megara without ceremony.
“In that case, we shall expect complete respect for our treaties!” broke in Esme. “Lady Selene promises to hand over the witch—so far, so good. However, there is also the matter of the murder of my loyal young equerry, Cheval Ragnus Matalus, by Lady Caitlin d’Orr. This was a deliberate, unprovoked, and cold-blooded murder with dozens of witnesses, both Brigon and Zon. We demand that she be handed over to Brigon justice along with the witch.”
Felicia opened her mouth, but her angry response died stillborn as Megara put her hand up to silence her.
“Queen Esme, we do not have the authority to hand over Lady Caitlin. We can relay your demands to Resident Lady Selene,” said Megara. “However, we should be grateful for a formal response to our Resident’s offer of handing over the girl tomorrow at noon at the Pontoon Bridge.”
“We accept the return of the witch at the time and place you indicate,” Alumus said quickly. “But,” he added, with a slight bow to Esme, “we demand justice in the case of the murder of a Brigon nobleman on Brigon soil, in peacetime. Was Lady Caitlin was acting on her own, without orders? If so, the Zon administration can have no objection to handing her over to Brigon justice.”
“We will relay your demands to Resident Lady Selene,” repeated Megara impassively. Without further ado, the huntresses turned on their heels and strode out of the audience hall, the sound of their spurs receding behind them. Megara could sense the cold fury of Esme’s gaze in the middle of her back.
After the huntresses had left, Esme rounded on Alumus.
“Why did you accept the return of the witch so quickly, Red Khalif?” she said angrily. “They will now stall and, in the interim, fly Lady Caitlin back to Atlantic City out of our reach. We should have gone for all or nothing!”
“Your Majesty, we must worry about the public’s perception of the king’s justice,” said Alumus in a soothing tone. “If we get the witch back quickly and put her to death as required by the spirit of His Majesty’s pronouncement, we preserve the public’s faith in his ability to enforce his will. We cannot allow the people to become restive. Surely, Your Highness must see that this is for your own good: your fortunes are tied to the king’s.”
Esme made a face.
“Oh, I guess you are right,” she said. “But I do wish Harald would grow a backbone, and we could force a more decisive confrontation with these unnatural women.”
THEY WERE RIDING cross-country, their horses picking their way across the rocky landscape with the towers of Dreslin Center still visible on the horizon. They kept the hoods of their cloaks up against the night chill and to keep their faces hidden from any unseen prying eyes. Nitya finally worked up the courage to nudge her mount closer to Caitlin’s and speak in a cracked whisper.
“Lady Caitlin, where are we going?”
“I am taking you back to your family,” she said, not unkindly. “In King Harald’s audience chamber, you were said to be a Yengar. Your family is from the southern kingdom of Daksin, are they not?”
Nitya’s big eyes were sad.
“Our village was in Daksin, yes,” she said forlornly. “But not anymore. The Chekaligas used to come down from Bandar Kalas every year to take our grain and cattle and any of our girls that took their fancy. Then, six years ago, there was a new chief, and they came with fire and swords. They took everything of value, killed all the men and boys they could find, and burnt everything else. My father and I were in the fields when they came—he was showing me how to read the constellation of the South star. We hid at the edge of the fields, and my father covered my eyes, but I saw them kill my brother. And my mother, I saw…I saw them…” Her voice broke, and she was weeping, rocking herself back and forth in her saddle.
Instinctively, Caitlin reached down and lifted her onto her own horse and held her tightly in her arms.
“I have no one in Daksin,” Nitya sobbed into Caitlin’s breast. “I have no one in the world.”
“Hush, little one,” Caitlin murmured. “You have me. You are safe with me.”
Unconsciously she compared her own privileged upbringing in the seat of Zon power with Nitya’s lot: poor, powerless, hounded, and persecuted from the time she was born.
“We are both alone now,” said Caitlin, stroking Nitya’s hair. “But we have each other. Let us seek out the Engine Maidens together.”
SEVEN
IT WAS A wintry morning, and Resident Rita Cristina looked out of her viewports at the driving snow. The winds had abated somewhat, but it was still snowing heavily. Fall was giving way to winter in the Northlands. Just looking out
the viewport caused her to shiver, draw her thin robes more tightly around her, and turn up her temperature shield by a degree. Even with all the time she had spent in the north, she still could not get used to the harshness of their winters.
Her door buzzer sounded, and she called “Enter” into the speaker. It was the centuria of the Residency huntresses, who entered and placed her hand on her heart in salute. Rita waved for her to take a seat and called for her handmaiden to bring in some katsch. As they sat sipping their steaming drinks, Rita gestured at the viewports.
“Typical miserable Utrean weather,” she said with a smile.
The centuria nodded.
“Six more months, and I rotate back to Atlantic City,” she said. “I can’t wait for the end of my tour.”
“I envy you,” said Rita, her voice kind. “I have been up here ten years, and there is no end in sight. But enough bellyaching. You have a report?”
“Yes, Resident Rita,” she said, straightening her back in her seat. “A couple of reports, actually. The first is from our meteorologist. Our beacons on the Great Ice Range have detected the beginnings of a storm system, perhaps the first big glizzard of the winter. It should spill over the Ice Range into Utrea by tomorrow, perhaps reaching us by tomorrow night. The gale will carry winds of over two hundred kilometers per hour, and blizzard will bring snow accumulations of over a meter per hour. The system is powerful enough that it will push through to Briga and Atlantic City.”
“Great!” said Rita ironically, her face clouding over. “That will delay the Hydromeda. Batten down the Residency and reinforce the temperature shields. This is going to cost us power! What else do you have for me?”
“Our tower long-visions have observed Utrean troop movements beginning early this morning. I took the liberty of authorizing an airboat reconnaissance mission. It is confirmed—the Utrean barons are moving several of their best units northward, away from Nordberg and toward the Great Ice Range. We have placed video on the comm. You may view it at your leisure.”
“Heading north straight into the storm, eh?” Rita chuckled. Then she grew serious and continued. “It’s not likely that Shobar would do all this saber-rattling and then withdraw with his tail between his legs. He has those workings in the Great Ice Range, and we don’t know what is in there. We need to get this information to the Cabinet Council.”
TALL, IMPERIOUS, AND seemingly at ease, Lady Selene swept into the king’s small audience chamber, her thin robes flowing around her svelte figure. She was flanked by Megara and Felicia, their expressionless faces betraying nothing. Two huge Life Guards followed them. There was a large carving of an eagle that overhung the chamber and a small conference table at the center of it. It was set for five. King Harald, Queen Esme, Baron va Haxos, and Red Khalif Alumus were seated around the head of the table. The king’s chair was shaped like an aerie. The empty chair was at the foot and faced them.
Lady Selene walked up and placed her smooth, white hands on the back of the empty chair. She did not speak—she had been a diplomat a long time and knew the power of silence. The Life Guards stepped back and took up their positions, one by each side of the door. Alumus broke the silence.
“You dare come to us empty-handed,” he said, his tone poisonous.
Lady Selene inclined her head, shooting a look at Megara, who pulled the empty chair out. She sat, and both huntresses took up positions behind her. She surveyed them all with her cool, gray eyes but still did not speak.
“Oh, let me offer you some refreshment,” said Harald self-consciously. He snapped his fingers. A steward, who had been invisible against one of the tapestries on the wall, materialized and filled the silver goblet in front of Selene with aged Brigon apple wine from a decanter of Daksin blue glass. “Pleased you could make it,” he continued. “I am sure we can clear this up in no time.”
Baron va Haxos cleared his throat.
“Technically, no Brigon laws were broken,” he said gruffly. “The girl had been judged innocent by combat.” He glared at the Red Khalif. “There was no call to pursue the huntresses. Cheval Ragnus Matalus initiated hostilities by firing on Seignora Lady Caitlin’s squad. Her response was perhaps disproportionate, but it falls within the definition of self-defense.”
“I wonder, Baron, why we have summoned Lady Selene here at all.” Queen Esme spoke sweetly, but her tone dripped menace. “You argue so eloquently for the Zon, we hardly need to hear from her.”
“My dear, the good baron has just given us the unadorned facts,” said Harald, his tone conciliatory. “It would be foolish to let this little incident get out of hand. Enough blood has been shed: a perfectly good gladiator, young Ragnus.” The king shook his head. “He was always impetuous, even as a boy.”
“He was a Brigon patriot, sire.” Esme’s voice was low, but her face was set. “He died for Briga. It pains me to hear you speak of him in such a flippant manner.”
“I know, I know,” said Harald soothingly. “I am sure that the Zon mean to make it up to us. Don’t you?” With this, he looked down the table at Lady Selene.
Megara and Felicia began to realize the depth of Lady Selene’s acuity and expertise. Without saying a word, merely sitting there haughtily and sipping her wine, she had allowed the schism among the Brigons to reveal itself and widen. She allowed her eyes to engage each one of them, the Allerand tiara sparkling in the candlelight from the chandelier. She moved her head in such a way as to set off her swan-like neck to advantage. She was fully aware of Alumus undressing her with his eyes. She locked eyes with him last.
“Sire,” she said at length. “Queen Esme, Baron va Haxos, Red Khalif Alumus. This has been a trying time for all of us. I am delighted to see that the friendship between the Zon Sisterhood and the Kingdom of Briga is strong enough to withstand these strains.”
“Yes, yes,” broke in Alumus. “We did not summon you here to listen to platitudes.”
Lady Selene’s eyes glinted dangerously as he said “summon,” but she kept her calm.
“Baron va Haxos does not speak for the king,” said Queen Esme, with an approving glance at Alumus. “Zon participation in a Brigon trial by combat is unprecedented and illegal. Any verdict reached on the basis of that combat is null and void.”
“My dear, proceeding down that road will benefit no one but the lawyers,” said Harald with forced joviality. “What’s done is done. Let us get a full explanation, let Ragnus’s family be compensated, and let us put an end to this sorry chapter.” He looked at Lady Selene expectantly.
“Sire, you are most wise,” said Lady Selene smoothly. “And Queen Esme does have a point. While the treaties do not explicitly forbid our participation in trials by combat, they do specify Zon noninterference in the Brigon system of justice. We stand by our treaties. Unfortunately, even the best-intentioned structures can be undone by human frailty. I am here to tell you that Seignora Lady Caitlin, heiress to the Royal Tiara of d’Orr, has suffered a nervous breakdown. This caused her to turn rogue, to place her fellow huntresses in grave danger, and to betray the Zon Sisterhood and bring it to the brink of war with its staunch ally, the Kingdom of Briga. In her mentally disturbed state, she has kidnapped the witch and escaped.”
Baron va Haxos looked stunned. The king took a sip of wine from his goblet to hide his confusion. The queen looked over at the Red Khalif.
“She is in Brigon territory, then,” Alumus said, a trace of satisfaction creeping into his voice. “If we find her and the witch, they are ours.”
“They are,” confirmed Lady Selene flatly. “And that is our offer to the family of Cheval Ragnus Matalus. They can have the killer of their son and the witch who was the cause of his death, if your forces can find them.”
Felicia gripped the back of Lady Selene’s chair, her knuckles turning white with the pressure. She was on the verge of speaking up when Megara caught her eye. Not here, not now, her look said, urgently.
Queen Esme smiled smugly.
“Lady Selene, this is an
offer we can accept,” she said condescendingly.
“There, didn’t I tell you Lady Selene would set everything to rights?” said Harald, squeezing his queen’s hand. “I will have my scribes draft the agreement.”
“There is no need, sire,” said Lady Selene, drawing a rolled parchment from the sleeve of her robe. She untied the silk ribbon and smoothed out two separate copies of the document on the table in front of her. Smiling at the king, she put her hand up. Megara drew her laser pistol and put it in her hand. Queen Esme gasped, and her hands went to her jeweled throat. Lady Selene merely set the pistol to its lowest power setting and blistered out her elegant signature at the bottom of both parchments. She returned the pistol to Megara and slid the parchments down the table to Harald.
A steward appeared at his side with an inkwell and an eagle-feather quill. The king signed Harald V Rex to both parchments beside Lady’s Selene’s name and passed the signed agreements to Baron va Haxos. The document was in Brigish, but it was written in the script of Pranto, the ancient language the Zon had brought over from the old world. Like most barbarian languages, Brigish had no script of its own. The baron read the documents carefully. Finally satisfied, the baron rolled one copy up and tied its silk ribbon, sliding the other back to Lady Selene.
Lady Selene rose, gave Harald a slight bow, nodded at the others, and sailed from the room, followed by her huntresses. She paused for effect at the door, knowing Alumus’s eyes were on her bare back.
“By the way,” she said over her shoulder. “Our airboats will be looking for them too.” Before anyone could respond, she was gone, leaving faint traces of her perfume lingering in the air.
The Empire of the Zon Page 13