The Empire of the Zon

by R. M. Burgess

  The scrub was damp. Try as she might, Caitlin could not get it to light with her barbarian flint.

  “I don’t have a choice,” she said resignedly. “I’ll have to risk using my laser pistol. Hopefully we are not in the range of any Zon scanners.”

  She reached into one of her saddlebags and pulled out the oilcloth bundle in which she had concealed it. She fired a short burst, and a wet, smoky flame took hold. Nitya took a hollow wooden tube and blew expertly to get the heart of the flame to grow and become less smoky. Soon they had a cheerful fire going, cooking a bubbling pot of bean mash with herbs that Nitya threw together.

  After they ate their dinner, Caitlin arranged their blankets by the fire, stoked it, and fed it with more scrub. Nitya cuddled up to her and sighed contentedly. Caitlin petted her shining dark hair, marveling at the strength of the affection she felt for this barbarian girl.

  “I have heard on the comm that there is large glizzard coming,” said Caitlin, her eyes on the cave mouth, away from the fire. “We will take shelter in Upper Thal, a market town that we should be able to reach tomorrow. We also need to buy some supplies—we are almost out of what I packed in the Residency.”

  “We must make some changes to your dress and manner,” said Nitya, yawning. “Or else you will be instantly recognized as Zon.”

  “How so?” asked Caitlin.

  “You are very tall for a native woman,” she said, perking up. “But Utreans are tall, and while it is rare, there are some up there with your hair and eye color. So we must speak Utrish…I hope you can? And it would be well to conceal your gender to the extent possible. Your hair is very striking, so you must bind it to keep it out of sight. If we arrive at dusk, it will not seem unusual for us to remain wrapped against in the cold in our cloaks, with our faces in shadow.”

  Caitlin smiled inwardly when Nitya referred to her as a nonnative. We have lived on this planet for over a thousand years and are still aliens, she thought.

  “And we will need money for supplies,” continued Nitya. “Do you have any?”

  “I remembered to take some money,” said Caitlin. “I scooped up some handfuls of coins from my trunk. I hope it will be enough to get us supplies for a month or two.”

  So saying, she reached into one of her saddlebags again and drew forth a leather bag tied at the mouth with a leather cord. She opened it and poured the contents onto the sandy cave floor. Nitya’s eyes grew round. She got on her hands and knees to count the gold coins.

  “There are more than fifty gold talents here,” she said, looking up at Caitlin in wonder. “My father and I had never even seen a gold talent till Numius the merchant tried to buy me.”

  Caitlin’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?” she asked quietly. “I mean that this is a fortune—”

  “No, what do you mean that Numius tried to buy you?”

  “He raised our rent and said that my father owed him a lot of money,” said Nitya, growing fearful at Caitlin’s serious tone. “But he said he would forgive the debt and showed us the gold talent he would pay my father if he would sell me to him.”

  “What did he want with you?” asked Caitlin. “Surely he had enough slaves and servants.”

  “He wanted me for his bed, Lady Caitlin,” said Nitya, her voice beginning to quiver.

  “You are a child!” exclaimed Caitlin. “That fat old man with his shaking jowls! He deserves to be vaporized!”

  “I am almost old enough to have my woman’s blood,” said Nitya miserably. “I knew Numius would denounce us. I begged my father to sell me. But he loved me so much, he would not hear of it. We were all set to leave Chenak when the baker’s son took ill, and we stayed to nurse him. Those last few nights in Chenak, I knew that I should have stolen away and gone to Numius’s bedchamber. But I was weak; I was so afraid of him. And now my father is dead because of me.”

  She began to weep, saying brokenly, “I am sorry, Lady Caitlin, you have saved my life and given up everything for me. The least I can do is be happy and cheerful and good company. And I am trying my best, I really am! But I miss my father so!”

  THE LEADING EDGE of the glizzard had reached Nordberg. It brought heavy snow and howling winds, reducing visibility to near zero. Shabor stood by a great roaring fire in the High Hall of Nordberg Castle. He could see the High Terrace outside, already waist-deep in snow, but beyond there was nothing but whiteness. He licked his lips, thinking, We are tough northerners; this is our weather.

  Katog entered, the uneven footfalls of his lameness announcing his identity before Shobar turned to greet him. Katog went to one knee before his king. Shobar nodded, and he rose. At a sign from the king, a steward appeared with a tray of stewed eels and two large mugs of beer. Shobar sat on a large chair whose back rose an intricately carved mast with a series of spars, all hung with delicately wrought sheets and halyards. Katog sat on a lower chair on the king’s right.

  They each took a few bites of food and drank some beer.

  “The troop movement goes smoothly?” asked Shobar.

  Katog nodded.

  “We have had a good beginning, sire. But we have suspended further troop movements till the worst of the glizzard passes. The weather has also tied down the Zon. We have seen no airboat activity, and our lookouts report that no Zon have ventured from the Residency.”

  “What do we estimate their strength at?”

  “Their usual garrison is about two centuries. We counted twentyfive airboat trips from the airship, which would indicate that they have been reinforced with more than two additional centuries.”

  “A substantial force,” said Shobar, half to himself. “Too many for us to risk storming the Residency.”

  “But the barons are in high good humor,” Katog continued. “The withdrawal of the airship has really elevated your standing. Several of the undecided barons are now rising to your banner.”

  “Good, good,” said Shobar, rubbing his hands. They drank for a while in silence. Finally Katog broke it.

  “Animus, the White Khalif, came to see me today,” he said slowly. “Some of his clerics have returned from a proselytizing tour. He thinks they may have found Greghar in the Northern Marches.”

  Shobar put his beer mug down with a crash.

  “When?”

  “A few weeks ago. They found several who recognized his portrait in the small town of Upper Thal. He is using his god-name Asgar, passing himself off as an Utrean free ranger. They returned immediately to report it.”

  “Get together a troop of twenty light cavalry,” rapped out Shobar. “I want them mounted and on the road before nightfall. Kill him and bring me his head.”

  “But, Your Majesty, all troop movements have stopped in the glizzard. Surely we can wait till…”

  The king looked at him dangerously, and Katog trailed off.

  “I will draw the men from the Skull Watch,” he said, rising.

  GREGHAR HAD BEEN ranging the Marches alone. He was tall, even for an Utrean, and powerfully built with a thick head of ash blond ringlets that he wore long enough to cover his ears. His eyes were gray-blue and penetrating. His hair and eye color, as well as his sharp features, were unusual for a native. He had been out several weeks and was headed back for rest and supplies when he came across the two sets of horse tracks. His curiosity was piqued by the fact that they were so far from any thoroughfare. The riders had made virtually no attempt to hide their tracks. The wet, cold drizzle on the ground highlighted their hoof marks. He could follow their trail without dismounting, even across the stony terrain.

  He came to a stream crossing and found spots where their mounts had sunk to their fetlocks in the mud. Now he did dismount and squat to examine the hoofprints carefully. The soil was clayey, so they had left perfect imprints. He had before him perfect reverse images of every feature on the metal horseshoes. He instantly recognized the circle-cross insignia of the Zon Sisterhood and straightened, thinking deeply. He had never known the Zon to stray so far from their citadels unle
ss they were part of a large force. He was an experienced ranger, and he had come across no other tracks or signs. He had scanned the skies carefully and seen no airboats, much less an airship. Could someone else be using Zon horses? He had never heard of that happening either.

  He pushed on cautiously, staying on high ground, but below the ridgeline and making quick surveys every few hundred yards. Another few hours and he saw them, down on the valley floor. They were beautifully mounted. The small one was huddled in a thick cloak, and he could not see her features. The tall one was superbly equipped, though she wore no telltale Zon clothing and carried no Zon weapons. However, she had on gleaming metal wrist bracers. While she wore a thick cloak like her companion, it was draped casually over her shoulders—apparently she did not need any protection from the cold. Her bright red hair was uncovered and shone like a beacon even in the gray light.

  Every so often, the tall one looked around, presumably for watchers or followers. Greghar chuckled to himself. Clearly she had no idea of how to move with stealth. Her progress was so obvious that she might as well as have surrounded herself with trumpeters. She was a creature of technology, out of her element in the hard reality of the barbarian environment.

  He saw them make their camp in the cave and then saw the smoke curling out of the cave’s mouth. He shook his head. If someone was hunting them, they would not last long. Greghar saw that he could approach unseen to within a few yards of the cave if he stayed on top of the ridge and approached it from above. The very boulders that screened the cave mouth from the valley floor afforded him concealment as he approached it.

  He was a skilled hunter, and he was soundless as he flattened his back against the rock face by the cave’s mouth. He heard their voices clearly now. He sank behind a low rock abutting the entrance. He found a tiny cleft through which he could see into the cave, while remaining unseen.

  You are very tall for a native woman, he heard the little one say.

  He saw Caitlin looking out of the cave mouth, away from the fire. She is not stupid, just ignorant, he thought. Her warm beauty was enhanced by the flickering firelight, and Greghar found it difficult to take his eyes off her. The flames were reflected in her green eyes. He forced himself to be professional and examine Nitya as well and listen carefully.

  Nitya’s sallow skin, her cat-like eyes, and her aristocratic accent in Brigish did not add up. Her sallow skin color was not typical of Briga or Utrea and would be quite pale among the chocolate-brown and black masses of Daksin. Her eyes and accent, as well as her mien and bearing, suggested that she was highborn. However, her story seemed to indicate that she and her family had fallen on hard times and that she lived in poverty.

  What would a Zon huntress be doing in the wilds of the Northern Marches with a young native blueblood? It just did not make sense. Unless…

  THERE WAS A very gentle ping, but Diana was instantly awake and alert. She rolled out of bed, snapped on her wrist bracers, and, still naked, opened the comm channel.

  “Cornelle, we have just picked up a faint laser pistol blast.” Diana was slightly surprised to hear Megara’s voice coming from the Hydromeda’s monitoring center.

  “Where?”

  “In the foothills of the Northern Marches, about twenty kilometers south of a small town called Upper Thal.”

  “Get in-depth monitoring on the area. I will be there immediately,” said Diana, padding over to her wardrobe to get her uniform.

  Less than ten minutes later, she was in the Hydromeda’s monitoring center, with its huge banks of screens and holograms. Her command had been followed, and her Guardians had all scanners honed in on the area of the laser pistol blast.

  Megara came up to her as she entered, hand on heart in salute.

  “When did you get here, Seignora Megara?” asked Diana. “Why was I not informed?”

  “We landed only an hour ago, Cornelle,” said Megara. “We were told that you had just retired after fourteen hours on duty, so I asked them not to wake you. However, I thought it best to join the monitoring team immediately.”

  Megara bore the cold look of Diana’s pale eyes without flinching.

  “I suppose that was the right thing to do,” said Diana, finally. “What do you have for me?”

  “The bio-scanners have picked up two human signatures, Cornelle,” said Megara, the excitement rising in her voice. “And indepth runs indicate the presence of what appears to be Zon steel.”

  “Track them and get an airboat ready for launch,” said Diana evenly. As an afterthought, she added, “Send a complete report to Captain Rhea.”

  Diana’s eyes quickly swept the monitoring center to make sure that all present were her Guardians. Then she opened a comm channel to Durga Bodina and projected it onto the large central holographic display. In a few moments, the tall figure of the First Maiden appeared, and a collective gasp ran around the center.

  Durga Bodina was a striking study in contrasts. Her skin was exceedingly pale, and appeared even paler because her hair was so dark as to appear slightly blue. Her eyes had pale irises and large, dark violet pupils. She was dressed all in black and heavily armed, with a laser pistol and a longsword, a dagger in each thigh boot, and a ’grator slung over her back. She had an intricate tattoo down one side of her face that surrounded her left eye and came down her cheekbone, continuing down her neck and out of sight under her fitted leather vest. Her nail polish was ebony black, and her lips were painted bright red.

  “Diana Tragina,” she said. Her voice was gravelly, but not unpleasant. “I have been expecting you for some days now.”

  “Durga Bodina, I salute you,” said Diana formally.

  “How may I serve the Sisterhood?” asked Durga with a trace of irony.

  “Events have brought our paths together, Durga,” said Diana, her tone unusually warm. “I would like for us to sit down together as soon as is convenient for you.”

  “We can always use some recharged batteries,” said Durga, her smile wolfish. “Bring some with you, and we will welcome you with open arms in Simrania.” She grew more serious. “We also have some maternity cases that have developed rather serious complications. If you can bring a medica, that would be greatly appreciated.”

  “I am sure you have been following us on your scanners, so you know where we are,” said Diana, pleased. “Expect us in a few hours. We will bring a medica.”

  She cut the comm channel and turned to Megara.

  “Ask Medica Dannae and Centuria Alexandra to join us on the launch deck. And inform Captain Rhea of my intentions.”

  Two hours later they were crowded around an airboat on the hangar deck. Diana, Megara, Alex, and Dannae were all in their combat uniforms. All but Dannae had the full complement of weaponry. Rhea stood to one side with a set expression as the hangar deck crew made final checks on the airboat. Dannae was supervising the loading of medical supplies. The hangar deck pitched and rolled as the airship flew through the turbulence that heralded the coming storm.

  “Cornelle, I strongly recommend that you delay departure till this glizzard is past us,” said Rhea. “To fly an airboat in this weather is…is…” She considered before proceeding. “Not wise,” she finished.

  “I understand and appreciate your concern, Captain,” said Diana, with more understanding than Rhea had expected. “But the risks of waiting are even more severe. It will be a rough ride, but we should be able to get to Simrania before the full force of the storm hits. If we don’t leave now, we will have to wait a week or more. And we must get to Lady Caitlin before the barbarians do. Her actions in Dreslin will endear her to Durga Bodina. This opportunity to make common cause with the Maidens is too good to pass up.”

  “Medica Dannae is carrying twin girls,” said Rhea, searching Diana’s pale eyes for some sign of her thinking. “She carries the future of the Sisterhood.”

  “I will deliver her safely to Simrania,” said Diana solemnly. To Rhea’s surprise, she stepped forward and touched breasts before cla
mbering through the airboat’s rear hatch, followed by the other three. Alex seated herself in the copilot’s seat beside Diana while Megara and Dannae made sure that all the equipment was firmly strapped down.

  “Make sure those lashings are tight,” called Diana over her shoulder. “It’s going to be a bit bumpy out there.”

  CAITLIN AND NITYA had made an early start, but the going through the rocky, hilly terrain of the Marches was slow. They felt like they had climbed and descended hundreds of hills, and even Caitlin was becoming weary, even though it was only late afternoon. What began as a few flurries in the early morning had turned into a steady snowfall. The ground was beginning to freeze, and they had to proceed with caution for fear of their mounts slipping on patches of ice. The wind had been rising all day, and now it whined and moaned through the leafless trees, making conversation extremely difficult.

  They topped yet another rise, and through the blowing snow, Caitlin made out wisps of smoke on the next ridge a few kilometers ahead. She stopped and drew her long-vision from her saddlebag and trained it on the ridge. The towers of the forts of Upper Thal were clearly outlined against the horizon.

  “There is Upper Thal,” said Caitlin, leaning over to Nitya and pointing. The girl nodded and pantomimed dismounting. Rather than argue, Caitlin dismounted and followed Nitya as she led her horse back down the lee of the ridge. She stopped in a small hollow and hobbled her horse. Out of the wind, conversation was much easier. Nitya beckoned her, and Caitlin came up.

  “Let me look at you with my native eyes,” she said seriously. Caitlin stood still for the inspection. Nitya looked her up and down critically.

  “We must keep your red hair out of sight,” she said analytically. “Your leather traveling clothes, boots, woolen cloak, sword, dagger—these all can pass. You must cover your metal wrist bracers or take them off. We can’t do anything about your height and your green eyes. As I said earlier, if anyone asks we must say that you are from Utrea and hope for the best.”