The Empire of the Zon

by R. M. Burgess

  “Sire, send a mere thousand troops with us,” said Sueteri. “With our weapons, that will be ample to storm and take Ostracis Citadel. Once the citadel is in the hands of your troops, you may come there at no risk to your person and give us our due. If it is a trap, you will have lost a thousand troops, fewer than you have lost every year in your defiance of the Sisterhood.”

  Shobar scratched his beard thoughtfully.

  “Captain,” he said finally. “Place these women in my personal guest chambers. Make sure they are given every consideration and comfort.”

  He turned to Dushka and Sueteri again.

  “First, Minister Katog and I will consider your generous offer,” he said with as much warmth as he could muster. “We will let you know our answer as soon as possible. In the meantime, please take your ease. You have the freedom of Nordberg Castle.”

  As soon as they had left the East Hall, Shobar turned to Katog.

  “When we return to the council of war, take aside Karstein Tenus of Grigholm. Tell him that I want him to lead three thousand of his men and storm the Zon Residency.”

  “Sire, that will be suicide!” said Katog nervously.

  “So much the better,” said Shobar grimly. “That old fox has been a pain in my backside for too long. I don’t trust him—I suspect he is really working for Lothar. I fully expect him to fail. But I would like him to fail in a very specific way—they should throw a thousand men into the first wave over a couple of days, then regroup and throw a thousand more in a second wave, and finally the last thousand in a third wave. I want a continuous battle, day after day.”

  “I am sure Your Highness has a sound strategy,” said Katog in a conciliatory tone.

  “Indeed,” said Shobar with relish. “Our scouts saw the Zon airship Thetis enter the Steefen Valley, so we know she is at Ostracis. Even with a few Zon weapons, our troops will have no chance against an airship. I want Resident Rita Cristina to think she is under unrelenting attack. That will prompt her to recall the airship from Ostracis. While the attacks on the Residency are ongoing, we will have a thousand of my Skull Watch follow the Zon traitors to Ostracis. Without the cover of the airship, Ostracis will not be able to resist them. If Karstein Tenus dies at the Residency while helping me take Ostracis, I will give him a funeral oration worth dying for!”

  PRINCESS DEIRDRE DROVE her personal speeder past the Long Trek Memorial and into the bailey of Chateau Regina. She drove past the East Wing and around to the North Wing, the official residence of the Queen Empress. Winter had come to the Great Vale, and the great mounds of snow that ringed the north courtyard were testimony to the efficiency of the Atlantic City public works department. A light snow was falling.

  The gull-wing door of the speeder hissed open, and two Palace Guardians were instantly there. Deirdre stepped out, dressed in the pink robes of a priestess of the Middle Temple, Magis. Her robes were fastened at her left shoulder with a gold clasp bearing her Order of Motherhood. Her feet were encased in fashionable pink shoes with bows on the heels, and she wore priestess wrist bracers with colorful pink anodizations on the metal. The d’Orr tiara nestled in her bright blonde hair.

  The Guardians stood there perplexed. They were prepared to salute the First Principal, but how should they greet this priestess of Magis? Finally, the senior of the two spoke up.

  “Princess Deirdre, we did not expect you. Are you alone?”

  Deirdre smiled.

  “I see you are confused,” she said cheerily. “I can drive myself, you know. And I assure you, my outfit is not a disguise. I have been admitted to the Middle Temple, though it was many years ago, and I never served there; I have always served in the Legions. I wish to see the queen on a non-military matter. Is she in?”

  “Yes, she is in, Princess. However, she is not expecting company. She is with her handmaiden, preparing to retire for the night.”

  “While it is not a military matter, it is quite important,” said Deirdre unaffectedly. “So please lead me to her and announce me.”

  By habit, both Guardians saluted, hands on hearts.

  “We hear and obey,” they said in unison. The senior one turned on her heel and led Deirdre into the palace, while the other resumed her post at the gate.

  The Guardian stopped at the door to the queen’s personal bedchamber and pressed the panel discreetly. The voice of one of the queen’s handmaidens responded to the chimes, high-pitched and breathless. “Who disturbs the queen?”

  Deirdre spoke up.

  “It is I, Princess Deirdre,” she said, keeping her voice contrite. “I apologize for the lateness of the hour, but it is a matter of considerable importance and urgency.”

  “Give us a minute, Deirdre,” said Hildegard, her voice calm.

  A moment later, she called, “Enter!”

  The Guardian bowed and retired. Deirdre entered as the door slid open with a hiss.

  The queen sat on her enormous bed, wearing a thin robe of white silk. Her handmaiden stood beside her protectively, clad only in a light shift. She was flushed, and her eyes were bright.

  “Your Majesty, may we speak privately?” asked Deirdre emotionlessly.

  Hildegard glanced at her handmaiden and motioned with her eyes. The girl bowed and left, shooting a hostile look at Deirdre’s back. Hildegard leaned back on her bed and took in Deirdre’s pink priestess robes with an amused look.

  “I have not seen you in those robes since your admittance to Magis, all those years ago,” she said, smiling. “Are you returning to the Temples?”

  Deirdre sat and arranged her swirling robes carefully, as though she were preparing to have her portrait taken. This took a few moments, and she kept Hildegard waiting.

  “I wish to emphasize that I am a priestess and fully qualified to be queen,” she said finally.

  “Of course you are, Deirdre,” said Hildegard, meeting the First Principal’s cold formality with warm friendliness. “I have always regarded you as one of my possible successors. I cannot tell you how happy you make me by recognizing your position in the Temples and celebrating your keen intellect. I think that you see the importance of perseverance and honesty in our dealings with the barbarians. And your daughter, too, instinctively sees what is right. I am sure there are many right-thinking barbarians who applaud Caitlin’s actions. If we are patient, they will eventually recognize the superiority of our civilization and our ways, and we will recreate the Golden Age we achieved on Eartha. This is the Manifest Destiny of the Sisterhood.”

  “There is a time for patience and a time to strike,” responded Deirdre. “I fear that your administration has failed to see the difference.”

  Hildegard refused to be baited.

  “I think we have done quite well,” she said, still smiling. “And you cannot deny the part you and your supporters, like Lady Selene, have played in pacifying Briga in the aftermath of the War of Brigon Succession. The upbringing of King Harald, the peace and plenty in Briga, and the bountiful trade we have enjoyed with them are all thanks to your implementation of my policies. I mean to repeat the work of Good Queen Sonia, who signed the Treaty of Wolf ’s Head and made peace with Daksin a hundred and fifty years ago. Think of the peace and prosperity that reigns in our southern vassalage! Since Wolf ’s Head, we have never had to use military force, and our airships rarely visit the Daksin Residency, and then only for ceremony. The kings of the House of Bhoj have voluntarily increased their tribute payments to us every decade in return for our keeping their wild tribes in the hills.”

  Deirdre tapped her heel in annoyance.

  “You are purposely evading the issue,” she said crossly. “You know I refer to your failures in Utrea. For fifteen years you have allowed Shobar to mock us, slapping him on the wrist for his defiance. Now we are reaping the bitter fruit of your policy of appeasement. He has built a secret lair in the Great Ice Range, and we face a full-scale rebellion. He has called up his barons and has now gathered over twenty thousand troops. I ask why you have such a sof
t spot for Utrea? Why have you allowed matters to drift so far? What are you keeping from me?”

  Deirdre thought she saw a hint of worry in Hildegard’s clear eyes. However, the queen remained unruffled, and her tone remained cordial.

  “Deirdre, I have made you privy to all matters of state,” she said.

  “Every aspect of a queen’s life is a matter of state,” said Deirdre, her tone implacable.

  Hildegard said nothing but smiled and waited.

  Deirdre crossed her long legs and with her back ramrod straight, placed one hand palm down on her thigh and covered it with the other, emphasizing the look of a portrait pose. The red ribbons trailing from her Order of Motherhood completed the flawless picture.

  “Hildegard,” she said. “We have Greghar.”

  The color drained from Hildegard’s face. Her eyes grew fearful, and as she tensed, she looked older.

  “You have not harmed him…?” she asked, her tone full of worry.

  Deirdre nodded. She strove to keep her face wooden, a mask, but in spite of a mighty effort, the dam broke, and her anger spilled out.

  “How could you, Hildegard?” she spat out. “As a young priestess, you rode in the airships doing your research on combat stress; you wrote the manual we still use. You understand the tremendous odds we face. I did not always agree with you, but I respected you, I supported you, and yes, I even loved you. How could you betray everything we stand for? To break the Male Abortion Law! And to bear the child of the king of Utrea! At least tell me that you were inseminated in the normal way and did not allow him to touch you physically.”

  Hildegard listened to Deirdre’s outburst and paradoxically felt the tension drain out of her.

  “Deirdre, I have served the Zon Sisterhood all my life with honesty and integrity,” she said. “I wear no Order of Motherhood, yet I am a mother, perhaps more a mother than any in the Sisterhood. I have known the love of a good man, a brave man, who lived for his subjects, strove to better their lives, and paid for it with his life. He was the heart of my heart, and I bore him a son. Not a day passes when I do not mourn him. I tell you, Deirdre, that if this is sin, then the Sisterhood is doomed. For the male is meant to be the mate of the female, not a cancer to be cut out of society.”

  Deirdre clapped her hands over her ears.

  “Enough!” she cried, her voice growing shrill. “I will not hear such blasphemy. May the Mother Goddess Ma have pity on your soul.”

  She collected herself and lowered her voice before going on.

  “Hildegard, your actions are unprecedented, and there is no protocol to deal with them. However, it is clear that you cannot remain queen. Here is what you will do. You will announce your retirement immediately. You will continue as caretaker queen, while nominations are called for and an election is held for your successor. Directly after the elections, you will leave for Ostracis, taking your secret with you. As caretaker, you will do exactly as I say. If you refuse, I will denounce you to the Cabinet Council and call for your execution for treason. You have committed a capital offense; you can have no doubt as to the Cabinet Council’s reaction.”

  Hildegard looked more sad than disappointed. Her speech had been a last throw of the dice. She had hoped for more but had expected little else from Deirdre.

  “I have no cards to play, Deirdre,” she said tiredly. “You hold all the aces. I only ask that you grant me one last request.”

  “Ask and I will consider it,” said Deirdre warily.

  “Spare my son,” Hildegard said. “He is alone and powerless; he can do you and the Sisterhood no harm. Do not give him to Shobar.”

  “I swear that we will not give him to Shobar,” said Deirdre, sounding magnanimous. Diana says he is quite a specimen; it would be a waste to give him to Shobar, she thought. He’s a fantastic addition to the Repository; he would make a great subject for Repro experiments. “I will expect you to announce your retirement on the comm first thing tomorrow morning.”

  She rose and swept from the queen’s bedchamber. She nodded to the Palace Guardians when they brought her speeder around and refused their offer to drive her home. As she passed over the drawbridge out of Chateau Regina and past the Long Trek Memorial, she opened a secure comm channel to Diana in Simrania.

  “Cornelle Diana, you have done very well. You will hear the outcome of your actions on the comm tomorrow morning. Now, I want you to implant a tracking chip under Greghar’s skin so that whatever happens, we can always find him.”

  “I hear and obey, Princess Deirdre,” said Diana, her deceptively sweet voice always appealing to her commander.

  Back in Chateau Regina, Hildegard drew her robe around her and went to the viewport to watch Deirdre’s speeder exit the north courtyard. Her handmaiden entered timidly, but hers was not the companionship Hildegard wanted. She dismissed her for the night and opened a comm channel to Andromache. She said simply, “Please come to me. I need you.”

  Andromache did not ask questions but said merely, “I am on my way” and closed the channel. She found the queen still on her wide bed, still clad in nothing but her thin robe. She sat by her and took her hand and squeezed it without speaking. The comfort of Andromache’s touch was a balm to Hildegard’s tortured frame of mind.

  Hildegard could no longer contain herself, and the whole story tumbled out. Her grief overcame her, and she began to cry. She cried for Jondolar, her slain love. She cried for Greghar, her lost son, for she had no illusions—she did not expect Deirdre to spare him. Andromache put her arms around her, holding her, knowing that no words would console her now.

  GREGHAR AND NITYA shared a cell in the depths of Simrania. Their force restraints had been removed. It was warm enough that they both had cast aside their overclothes and yet had sheens of perspiration on their brows. The volcanic cone of Mount Ignis had been dormant for centuries, but there was still magma leaching from the active ducts of neighboring Mount Brimstone. As one got deeper into the bowels of Simrania, the smell of sulfur grew stronger, the temperature was noticeably higher, and the stone walls were warm to the touch. They had just been given a good meal—a haunch of venison for him and a rich, buttery gruel for her. Greghar licked his fingers and then wiped them on one of the absurdly dainty napkins they had been provided.

  “Well, it appears that they do not mean to starve us,” he said, speaking comfortably in Utrish. He leaned over and rubbed the tip of her nose, bringing a smile to her face.

  “Who are you, Greghar, son of Jondolar?” she asked. “You are Utrean, yet you speak fluent Pranto. Your face, your features, your hair, your eyes—you are the male image of a Zon huntress.”

  He laughed and ruffled her hair.

  “What do you know of huntresses, young Nitya?” he asked playfully. “I may well ask the same of you. You claim to be a Yengar of Daksin, yet all Yengar that I have ever met were much darker-skinned than you. Granted, we see few of them up in Utrea, old men on their way to die in the Great Ice Range as decreed by their strange religion. You have the accent of a blueblood from the Brigon heartlands and are almost pale enough to look the part. Are you sure you are not a Shelsor?”

  Nitya laughed gleefully, a musical sound that lifted Greghar’s heart and mood. He laughed with her and tickled her, delighting in her giggling fit. Finally, he stopped, and she sat back against the wall, tears of laughter streaking her face. This Utrean made her feel so happy and safe, she thought. She smiled at him.

  “My family is far older than the Shelsors,” she said, stating it as a matter of fact, rather than pride. “I am of the Mokshadoot Yengars, a small subsect. We were the chosen of Lord Moksha long before the arrival of the Zon. There is a story that one of our ancestors, named Vasitha, helped Queen Simran the Merciless in the Long Trek and that she bore him a son that he brought up as a Yengar. But my father said it is probably just a legend.”

  “What else does your father say?” asked Greghar. His tone was casual, but his words seemed to mock her.

  “My father
was a great man,” she said fiercely. “He was weak of body; he could not defend us physically. But he had such mental power as could have vanquished armies. It is against the teachings of Lord Moksha to use the power for worldly ends—else he could have made himself a king!”

  “He did not use this power to save his loved ones?” asked Greghar.

  “It is forbidden,” she said doggedly. “He did the right thing. I was his undoing. If I had died with my brother and mother, he would have been free to go to the Great Ice Range like his father before him and seek Unification.”

  “Unification?”

  “Unification with Lord Moksha,” said Nitya patiently. “Those Yengar men you saw passing through Utrea, they were on their way to seek the Lord. The weaker ones would become one with him; the more powerful ones would become Great Spirits…immortal.”

  Greghar said nothing, but just looked at her with a smile on his face.

  “You don’t believe me,” she accused. “You think that I am ignorant and superstitious like all the common folk.”

  He put up his hands.

  “No, no,” he said, still smiling. “I am sure you are quite right in your beliefs.”

  “I will show you,” she persisted. “I am but a tiny acorn where my father was a massive oak, but I can still give you a glimpse of his power.”

  So saying, she sat cross-legged and put her hands on her knees, palms up. She closed her eyes. Her face relaxed, and her mouth opened slightly as she mouthed a silent litany. Greghar looked on indulgently.

  Then his eyes grew wide in wonder. A small blue flame appeared in her right palm. She opened her eyes and looked down at it and cupped it with her other hand. She looked at him with her large eyes that now looked more dangerous and feline. She stood and walked toward him, the blue flame growing larger. He shrank back against the warm stone wall of the cell. She stopped a meter from him and turned her palm toward him. The flame shot at him and burned a small hole in his tunic. He felt the heat on his skin. She blew on the flame, and it went out. Her eyes closed again; she swayed and began to fall. Greghar leaped forward and caught her, cradling her in his arms. She had fainted.