She slowly came to a few minutes later, finding herself lying on the ground with her head in Greghar’s lap. She twisted around and sat up, but then rested her back on the cell wall, overcome by dizziness.
“Take it easy, Nitya,” he said solicitously, but with an edge of fear. “You fainted. Just rest for a while.”
“I…I am not strong,” she faltered,. “But my father, he could produce a raging wildfire that could consume hundreds. He could levitate boulders as big as houses and fling them thousands of meters. But he chose restraint; he remained true to Lord Moksha. I am proud of him.”
“Did the Zon know of your father’s power?”
“No, the Zon think that their science and technology can explain everything,” she said with a slight note of condescension. “My father taught me much about the Zon in the little time we had together. They came to New Eartha—as they call Tarsus—and lost much of their advanced technology when their great starship crashed on arrival. They have spent the last thousand years trying to relearn all that their ancestors knew, but their progress has been pitifully slow. The huntresses spend the great bulk of the Zon state’s revenues on weapons, and the Trading Guild is only interested in making money.”
“People say that the Zon are a different race from us, as different as dogs are from cats,” Greghar said, curious to hear her response. “They have no men, most of them are so much taller than local females, and they age slowly and seem physically perfect to our native eyes.”
“They are human,” she said, tolerantly. “My father said that they are what they are because they have run a ruthless breeding program for over a thousand years, since before they came to our world. Just as you can breed horses to be tall and strong, so the Zon select breeding stock for the specific characteristics that they admire—height, athleticism, mental acuity. They allow only those with appropriate characteristics to become mothers. They worship physical beauty, so once it is dimmed by age, sloth, or incurable mishap, they are exiled to the Ostracis Citadel in your native Utrea.”
“You are an enigma,” Greghar said with a quizzical smile.
“As are you,” she responded. She leaned forward and touched his ash-blond ringlets. “Your hair is a color much favored by the Zon. I truly wonder about your parentage.”
“Be careful, child—you are swimming in waters deeper than you know,” he said, ruffling her hair again.
There was a knocking on the bars of their cell. They both started, looking up guiltily. Caitlin stood on the other side of the bars, with a heavily armed Maiden behind her, looking abashed.
“I…I am sorry you have both been treated like this,” she began, attempting to control her stutter.
“Oh, we are fine!” said Greghar. “We have just enjoyed a wonderful repast, and we are delighting in each other’s company. We could not ask for anything more.”
Caitlin looked at the Maiden behind her.
“Cor…Cor…Cornelle Diana assured me that I could speak to the prisoners in privacy,” she managed to bring out.
The Maiden backed away with bad grace and retreated down the corridor, thudding her boots on the stone. Caitlin put her forehead on the bars.
“Greghar, Nitya,” she whispered urgently, her confidence seeping back. “I will get you out of here tonight. Be ready in about four hours.”
She pushed a small metal chronograph through the bars. Nitya picked it up and secreted it in a pocket of her tunic. Caitlin did not wait to hear their responses, but disappeared down the corridor.
ELEVEN
RESIDENT RITA GROANED as her comm channel pinged. By long habit, she rolled over and snapped on her wrist bracers in the dark. It was the centuria of the Residency huntresses. Her chronograph showed three a.m., and it was pitch dark outside. She looked out of her viewport. At least it had stopped snowing. The centuria’s voice was urgent.
“Resident Rita, we are tracking a strong force of Utrean infantry. They have units moving rapidly up the approach paths toward the main gate as well as the valley gate. They are carrying siege ladders and pushing wheeled catapults.”
The news drove all the cobwebs of sleep from Rita’s mind. This was impossible; it had never happened before in Utrea—a full-scale assault on the Residency!
“Sound the alert,” she said to her centuria. “Deploy a century on the battlements; hold the remaining century in reserve. Mount ’grators in all placements, fire a few warning shots, and call out warnings on the megaphones. If they are not heeded, open fire. Do not let them approach the Residency walls.”
“I hear and obey, Resident Rita,” said the guard centuria.
Rita put together a rapid report and dispatched it on the comm to Atlantic City. Then she opened a comm channel to Captain Hebe on the Thetis.
“Captain, we are under a full-scale attack here at the Nordberg Residency,” she said urgently. “I would appreciate it if you could return here at once to support us. We are being assaulted from both the river as well as from our flank on the valley.”
Captain Hebe’s voice was calm.
“Surely, these attacks are madness,” she said. “Both the approaches up from the river and from the valley are narrow and treacherous and exposed over much of their length to your ’grators. You should be able to pick off the attackers like ripe plums.”
“Captain Hebe, I have no means of knowing how many men-atarms are being thrown into this attack,” said Rita tartly. “We know that Shobar has mobilized over twenty thousand men. If only a thousand get through to the Residency walls, we will have our hands full. I really think that air support is essential.”
Hebe sighed.
“There is trouble here at Ostracis, Rita,” she said worriedly. “I don’t like leaving them unprotected.”
“You have deployed two centuries there, Hebe! Surely that should be enough to keep the old women and fat rabble in order?”
“Very well,” said Hebe resignedly. “We will weigh as soon as possible. You may expect us soon after breakfast. We will take katsch together.”
Rita closed the channel and dressed rapidly and carefully in her ceremonial robes, inspecting herself in her three-dimensional holographic mirror. In stressful times like these, it is important to look one’s best to inspire confidence in one’s subordinates, she thought. She took the antigravity shaft to the top of the South Tower. She found the centuria and her staff already there, dressed in full combat uniforms. She quickly scanned the battlements. Her orders had been carried out. A century was already deployed, and all the defensive positions were occupied. ’Grator barrels were depressed, aimed at the approaching troops, still ant-like in the distance along the narrow cliff paths that led up to the Residency at the crest of the high hill.
She put her hand out and was handed a long-vision. Through it the banners carried by the advancing troops were clear.
“Baron Tenus of Grigholm,” grunted Rita. “He’s a long way from home. I’ve always thought of him as a crafty fox, not given to this sort of rashness.”
“We have fired a few warning shots, and even taken out some sections of the cliff paths,” said the centuria. “Though our long-visions we can see that they are defiant. They have used siege ladders to bridge the gaps in the path that we have created and are still advancing.”
“Begin firing in earnest,” said Rita grimly. “I want no one left alive. Use wide beams and full power, I don’t care if the paths are never built again.”
The centuria put her hand on her heart in salute, saying “I hear and obey, Resident Rita.”
CAITLIN FOUND MEGARA in the training hall, going through a two-handed sword drill with a heavily tattooed Maiden in black leather. A ring of Maidens surrounded them, yelling encouragement to their comrade. The ringing sound of metal on metal echoed around the chamber. The Maiden was more heavily muscled and taller than Megara, but she was clearly getting the worst of it. She bore bright red bruises on her shoulders and forearms where Megara had struck her. Just as Caitlin arrived, Megara found an op
ening, and the round tip of her blunt sparring sword sank into the Maiden’s solar plexus, driving all the breath out of her. She sat heavily on her rump with a strangled cry. Megara pumped her fist and, seeing Caitlin among the onlookers, raised her sword in salute. Caitlin pushed her way through the ring of Maidens in time to help Megara pull her opponent to her feet.
“Well fought, Seignora Megara,” said the Maiden, still gasping from the final blow. “We should fight again.”
“No, now you know all my tricks,” smiled Megara. They pounded each other’s shoulders with their fists and left the training ring, taking towels from their seconds to wipe down their sweat-covered faces and arms.
“Megara, I must speak with you,” said Caitlin in a low tone.
Megara nodded, saying, “If you don’t mind my sweat!” Taking a rain check on a drink invitation from her erstwhile opponent, she followed Caitlin out of the training hall. Caitlin led the way to an antigravity shaft and up to Rim Path that girdled the volcanic cone. It was barely wide enough for two to walk abreast. It dropped off on one side a hundred meters to the bottom of the cauldron and on the other, thousands of meters to the valley floor. The two walked arm in arm, their boots crunching on the ice and snow, but they were comfortable in their temperature shields.
“No one will hear us here,” said Caitlin, getting straight to the point. “Both Nitya and Greghar the Utrean are in the cells. I fear that both of them are doomed unless I do something. Diana will likely follow Lady Selene’s orders and return Nitya to the Red Khalif. It appears Greghar is being treated as breeding stock, so he will be shipped to Repro for processing.”
Megara nodded. “If he is lucky, he will go straight to the gas chambers,” she said impassively.
“If not, he will be used for experimentation,” continued Caitlin. “A long, slow, lingering death. I cannot, in good conscience, allow that. I am going to try to get them out of here.”
“Caitlin, this is becoming a habit with you,” said Megara, her words teasing, but her tone deadly serious. “You wished to join the Engine Maidens—you have managed to get here in one piece. You could throw your lot with Durga Bodina and wait to see how things shake out in Atlantic City. I hear from the Maidens that she is willing to defy the Sisterhood’s calls to repatriate you. Instead, you are allowing a menagerie of pet barbarians to determine your fate.”
“I did not expect the Sisterhood to follow me to Simrania,” said Caitlin, half to herself. She continued earnestly. “Megara, Greghar was willing to lay down his life for me in that inn. I don’t know what his motives are, but my instincts tell me to trust him. And I have grown very fond of little Nitya. You know what the Red Khalif will do to her. I could not live with myself if I sacrificed them.”
“So what do you want me to do?” asked Megara, ever practical.
“When we returned from Upper Thal in the airboats, we brought back the horses that Nitya and I rode, as well as Greghar’s horse and equipage. I can bring everything we need to the stables. There is only one Maiden guarding their cell. If you can draw her away on some pretext, I can find a way to get them out of there.”
“How will you get out of Simrania? The outer gates are guarded, and the Pinnacle Lookout commands all the paths up here.”
“There is only a pair of sentries at Brimstone Gate. I have looked at the duty roster; I know who will be on duty tonight. I think I can drug their evening meal. The forecast is for heavily overcast skies with more snow. Visibility from the Pinnacle Lookout will not be good. There is nothing certain in life, but I think I have a good chance.”
They were a quarter way around the Rim Path. They walked on for a time in silence. Finally, Megara spoke.
“I asked you the last time to come with you,” she said abruptly. “I ask again.”
“Megara, would you throw away your entire career and future for a cause that is not your own? Are you doing this for Nitya and Greghar, or for me? Because unless this is your cause and your fight, you will eventually begin to hate me for what you have given up.”
Megara pondered Caitlin’s words before answering.
“I wish that you would give up these barbarians,” she said despairingly. “I just know that if you do, we can make everything right again with the Sisterhood, and things will be as they were before. You are the heiress to the Royal Tiara of d’Orr, the descendent of queens! You were born to lead the Sisterhood!”
“We cannot turn back the clock, Megara,” said Caitlin gently. “We are Zon; I am what I make of myself, not who I was born.”
Almost on cue, she was interrupted by the ping of her comm channel—it was her mother. She showed her wrist bracer to Megara with a significant look. Megara mouthed, “Shall I leave you to take the call?” Caitlin shook her head, mouthing back, “Stay—I need your moral support.”
Nervously, she opened the comm channel on audio.
“Caitlin.” Her mother’s voice was brittle, but it had a warm veneer. “I have been terribly worried about you. What possessed you to take off from the Brigon Residency with the barbarian witch? Thank Ma Diana found you and brought you back safely. I have ordered her to bring you back to Atlantic City as soon as possible.”
“Mother,” said Caitlin, hopefully. “The young girl I defended in Dreslin is here along with a barbarian by the name of Greghar, who is the son of King Jondolar of Utrea. If they are set free, I will come to Atlantic City with a light heart to face whatever punishment the Sisterhood chooses to give me.”
Deirdre’s laugh was merry and tinkling.
“You are such a child, Caitlin,” her mother said, her voice growing warmer. “I love your righteousness, your abhorrence of unfairness. You were always so, even as a little girl. But the world is not fair. I must act for the good of the Sisterhood, and good policies are driven by politics. We need to keep the Red Khalif happy, as Lady Selene told you. We must give him the barbarian girl. And we cannot have someone as dangerous as a claimant to the throne of Utrea roaming around free. There is no telling what forces may rally to his cause. Utrea is in enough ferment as it is.”
“But Mother—”
Deirdre cut her off. “Caitlin, I cannot spend any more time bandying words with you on the comm. Diana will bring you to Atlantic City, and I have arranged with the Cabinet Council for you to be held under house arrest at Palace d’Orr until your court martial. You will want for nothing. We are facing war in Utrea, so even if you are found guilty, I may be able to get you a battlefield position where you will have the chance to wipe out your disgrace by serving the Sisterhood. You are the d’Orr heiress. I have every confidence in your courage, and it is my fondest desire that you add luster to the tiara.”
“I am sorry I have been such a disappointment to you, Mother,” said Caitlin. “I wish I was a daughter you could be proud of.”
“All is not lost, Caitlin,” said Deirdre, ignoring the despair in Caitlin’s voice. “You just need to learn to follow orders.”
She cut the comm channel. Megara squeezed Caitlin’s arm.
“You can turn back the clock,” she said excitedly. “Your mother has not forsaken you—she wants you to succeed. She is certain to get you a battlefield assignment; she would not have mentioned it otherwise. I will volunteer to come with you; we will fight the Utreans side by side.”
“I cannot,” said Caitlin. “Please do not entreat me. I must get Nitya and Greghar out of here tonight.”
QUEEN ESME WAS in her boudoir, her aerie seat on a raised dais. Cheval Kantus Hilson, her cousin and a vassal of her father, kneeled before her. He was powerfully built but squat and swarthy, taking after his mother, who was from the Southern Marches. He was a fearsome warrior many years her senior and a confidant of her father.
“Majesty, it is a delight to see our little girl on the throne of Briga,” he said, his voice ponderous. “I knew even as I dandled you on my knee that you were destined for great things. I am cognizant of the great honor you do me by welcoming me into your intimate chambers.”
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“Rise, Cousin Kantus, your devotion does you credit. Pray be seated.” She pointed to a lower chair, which he took gratefully. She went on.
“Thank you for bringing the letters from my sister Talia. Please convey to her that she and her son are always welcome here. However, right now I have a more important task to charge you with. I would like you to take a message to my father, Duke Hilson. The sensitivity of this message is the reason I have chosen to meet with you in this intimate manner. Do you know what explosive material is?”
“I have heard it spoken of, Highness,” said Kantus doubtfully. “Mostly as idle talk in the taverns. There are stories that with a suitable mixture of chemicals, it is possible to create a deadly weapon called a ‘bomb.’ This involves a container and a wick that must be lit. All this is speculation—no one has ever seen one in reality.”
“It exists,” said Esme, her voice rising with excitement. “Vivia Pragarina, the High Mistress of the Zon Trading Guild, is willing to sell us this material. I want my father to put together enough gold to buy this material from the Trading Guild. I am sure that his soldiers will soon be able to master its use. But this project requires complete secrecy. You must tell no one but my father.”
“I understand, Majesty,” said Kantus gravely. “We will ride hard for Karsk, and I will take your message to your father myself.”
BRENDEL NEVISINA SAT comfortably in the captain’s great cabin on the Thetis, sipping some clove wine from her mother’s personal stock. Hebe paced back and forth, her own wineglass on the low table, untouched. Through all the viewports, the dark rock of the ravine wall was visible, uncomfortably close.
“In the name of the Goddess, Mother, sit down and drink with me,” said Brendel peevishly.
“How can you be so calm, Brendel?” asked Hebe agitatedly. “Damn Ling Mae for asking for your squadron! I could not refuse her, and it would have seemed too obvious to offer her another one instead. Ostracis is such an awful place with all these old and ugly women! And the poverty of even Upper Town brings to mind a barbarian rather than a Zon city.”
The Empire of the Zon Page 22