Now Lady Selene could not contain her amusement, and she smiled, her gray eyes lighting up. Esme was nonplussed.
“We are making you comfortable, not roasting you, Queen Esme,” said Lady Selene. “We are all in a rage to know what brings the queen of Briga here in this especially singular manner.”
The assembled staff and huntresses smiled at the pun. Esme looked around and felt calmer.
“I cannot speak in a large assembly,” she said. “What I have to say is for your ears alone.”
“Very well,” said Lady Selene, still smiling. “However, we cannot conduct you into the Residency without precautions. You will be blindfolded and conducted to a secure location. And you must give your son to one of my huntresses for safekeeping.”
She motioned, and a huntress came up behind Esme and securely tied on a thick, black blindfold. Reluctantly, Esme gave Axel into unseen but gentle hands. She felt both of her arms grasped, and she was rapidly conducted forward. The journey included so many steps and turns that she rapidly lost count. She felt she had walked for kilometers, but the huntresses had merely conducted her on an extremely circuitous route to Lady Selene’s office. They sat her on the wide couch and removed the blindfold.
Esme rubbed her eyes, and they rapidly regained focus. She saw that she was alone with Lady Selene in her spacious office. She looked out of the viewport that looked over the Amu-Shan onto the watch fires of Dreslin Center and the myriad smaller ones at her father’s camp on the plains in front of its walls. She sighed heavily.
Lady Selene sat quietly and waited. Finally Esme spoke.
“I had hoped to convince Harald to rise against you,” she said moodily. “But I never made any headway with him. He is convinced that the Zon alliance is very good for Briga. Now my father has come down from the Northern Marches and usurped the throne. You know that he has already invaded the Aurora Citadel.”
“So you have gotten what you always wanted,” said Lady Selene.
“I thought I wanted this war more than anything in the world,” said Esme unhappily. “But I did not expect my father to take Harald away from me and imprison him. He is in the Dripping Dungeon! I fear that my father means to kill him and probably Axel as well to remove threats to his rule.”
“Why should this matter to you?” asked Lady Selene in a neutral tone. “You are a daughter of the Duke of the Northern Marches, now the new king of Briga. Your father will surely find you another excellent match. You will never want. You are young; you can always have more sons.”
Esme looked at Lady Selene in horror.
“You Zon are truly witches!” she exclaimed. “I love Harald! And I am a mother; my son is my world. What have you done with him?”
“Don’t worry, young Axel is safe,” said Lady Selene. “He is worth more to us alive than dead.”
There was a pause as Esme looked into Lady Selene’s cool gray eyes.
“Harald worships you,” she snapped. “You have known him since he was a baby; he believes you care for him too. He said he thought of you as a mother, but I think he is secretly in love with you. The tall, beautiful Zon aristocrat, forever young! But I always knew that to you, he was just a tool. Poor man!”
Esme looked at Lady Selene’s face intently as she spoke and saw a moment of uncertainty. As with Harald, she was not sure she was going to be happy with pursuing this line of conversation, but she plunged on.
“My Harald is good and kind, but he is not strong and ruthless like you,” she said, worry creeping into her voice. “They say that even the very mentally robust lose their reason within a day in the Dripping Dungeon.”
“I am not ruthless!” said Lady Selene sharply. “When Princess Deirdre first put Harald in my care, he was a baby. I brought up that boy. You—who have brought him doom from the rebellious Northern Marches—how dare you preach to me? I would have married him to the daughter of a sensible Brigon baron and strengthened his alliance with us. Instead he chose you, an empty-headed girl from a violent family, who sees the world in black and white, right or wrong, freedom or slavery. Well, your dreams of war have come true. And you will see that it is not glorious like the sagas, but made of nothing but misery and death.”
Esme’s courage began to slip away, and she felt a wave of hopelessness. She felt powerless, alone in the world with her baby son, with no one to help her. She raged at her inability to control her fate, and hot tears formed in her eyes.
“Please don’t let them kill Harald,” she said, miserable and angry at having to beg. “And please keep my son safe, as you did his father. I don’t care what you do to me.”
Lady Selene looked at her steadily.
“War makes strange bedfellows,” she said finally. She tapped her wrist bracer and opened a comm channel.
“Seignora Megara, please come to my office immediately. And bring Officiae Felicia and Jena with you. I would like you to undertake a mission into Dreslin Center with Queen Esme.”
WHEN CAITLIN’S HORSE bolted, it was all she could do to keep her seat. After his initial surge up the trail, he slowed, but he was still not calmed from his panic. Just past the Ice Bridge, the trail narrowed and swung to the left, around a huge boulder. Her horse was still too crazed and was headed straight for it. Caitlin dug her knees and spurs into his sides and, leaning down along his neck, screamed in his ear, “Up!” in Pranto. He was a well-trained Zon horse and responded. She went up in her stirrups, and he sailed over the boulder, landing well and then slowing to a canter.
Guttanar caught up with her and grabbed the bridle, relieved to see that his prize was intact and unharmed. The noose was firm around her neck, swathed in a silk kerchief to protect her skin from chafing, and he was pleased to see that it had not been drawn any tighter during her wild ride. Caitlin looked around and saw Guttanar’s six troopers, but no sign of Greghar. But he came for me, she thought, the knowledge itself making her irrationally happy.
“You ride well, huntress,” Guttanar said grudgingly. “I have never seen anyone ride as you do.”
He looked behind him at his men.
“Two of you cover our rear,” he said. “We will ride hard and fast for Ostracis. There is no telling how many of our enemies are back there.”
They rode as fast as the trail allowed. Caitlin had no choice but to ride and keep her seat. Guttanar was close behind her and kept nudging her horse’s flank to keep him moving at the pace he wanted. Caitlin had been to Ostracis on supply missions, but she had never been on the Ostracis trail before. The Steefen Gorge was even more wild and beautiful from the trail than from the air. She watched mountain goats sure-footedly bounding from crag to crag. Some came quite close, for the Zon did not hunt them and they had not yet developed much fear of humans.
The trail rose steadily, climbing the wall of the ravine till finally they came around a bend and saw the citadel itself. Caitlin was shocked to see the damage, especially the breach in the Ravine Wall. Hearing about it on the comm was one thing; seeing it in real life was quite another.
They approached the point where Ling Mae’s huntresses had destroyed part of the trail. Nestar Crogus’s men had jury-rigged a makeshift wooden bridge operated from the far side. Guttanar signaled to the group of Skull Watchmen on duty, and they rapidly operated the rope-and-pulley mechanism to set the bridge in place. The eight of them quickly passed over, and the bridge was lowered again, creating an almost impassable chasm. Caitlin’s heart sank when she saw it. There seemed no way to approach the citadel from the trail—its very impregnability was turned against her now.
She cursed herself for failing to replace the batteries in her wrist bracers on that fateful night in Grenhall. She had known that they were running low! Once she was captured, she had sent out an SOS on the comm and activated her locator transponder, but all she got before the batteries completely died was the “failure to connect” message.
Guttanar visibly relaxed as they entered the citadel. They rode up through Lower Town and then along the Dividin
g Stream before crossing into Upper Town. Everywhere, Zon, some bent over with age, were working on repairs under the supervision of brutal, whip-wielding Skull Watchmen. Whenever they chose, the men would drag a woman into a house or alley to satisfy their carnal urges. Caitlin could not avoid seeing this. Several of her sisters looked up at her as she passed, but she was too ashamed to meet their eyes, for several recognized her as the daughter of Princess Deirdre. With me in captivity, they must think we are well and truly defeated, she thought wretchedly.
They rode up to the Keep, which was being repaired by gangs of downcast Zon. In the courtyard of the Keep, Guttanar and his men dismounted, and the captain on duty called out cheerfully, “You are back much sooner than we expected!”
“We sent a unit on to deliver the news to Nordberg,” said Guttanar, smiling broadly. “But I have returned with a prize. My personal gift to the cheval: something to give him long years of pleasure!”
So saying, he helped Caitlin down from her mount and indicated her proudly.
The captain on duty stared at Caitlin and smirked.
“I think the cheval will be happy to put a bun in her oven.”
“She’s tired from the ride now,” said Guttanar, beaming. “Imagine what she looks like once she’s rested and prettied up!”
He carefully took the noose off Caitlin’s neck and walked her into the Great Reception Hall of the Keep. The captain on duty accompanied them, but Guttanar’s men stayed behind outside. They walked up the stairs higher and higher till they were at the top level of the Keep. Caitlin felt her spirits sinking further as she saw the extensive and indiscriminate destruction. Great paintings on the walls had been slashed, and many lay on the floor in tatters; statues were beheaded; marble bannisters had been broken; and even blank walls had been battered with rams. In a few places, there was evidence of ’grator and laser pistol blasts. There can be no accommodation with the barbarians, she thought. Truly, for the Sisterhood, it is victory or death.
Caitlin was ushered into the Small Reception Hall, which bore similar marks of wanton despoliation. The only thing cheerful about the room was the roaring fire in the grate. Nestar Crogus was alone. He wore a leather jerkin with a sword and dagger hanging from his belt and stood with his back to the fire. Caitlin noted with a stab of fear that a medium ’grator hung from his shoulder on a strap.
Both Guttanar and the duty captain bowed low. Caitlin was taller than either of them, but she stood erect, looking Nestar in the eye without fear. He beckoned them forward and they approached, prodding Caitlin before them. They waited for Nestar to speak.
“Welcome back, Guttanar,” said Nestar mildly. “Surely you have not made the journey to Nordberg and back in such a short time?”
“My men went on and are in Nordberg by now, lord,” said Guttanar nervously. “But when I captured this Zon prize…” Here he put his hand on Caitlin’s shoulder. “I knew at once that she was too good for me, that only my lord deserved such a beauteous woman. So I have brought her back to offer to you.”
He untied the cloak and stripped it off her, revealing her tight leathers and thigh boots. Caitlin’s arms were still bound behind her, arching her torso forward and emphasizing her breasts. Nestar looked at her for a long moment and then walked around her to observe her from all angles. Beads of sweat broke out on Guttanar’s brow, and he held his breath. Finally, Nestar completed his circuit and spoke.
“We are three armed men, and she is one unarmed woman. Is it necessary to bind her?”
Guttanar immediately drew Caitlin’s fine Zon dagger and sliced her bonds. They were of soft linen, so as to not mark her creamy skin. Then he approached Nestar and handed him the dagger, hilt first.
“Lord, she had this dagger when we captured her. It is very fine steel, and I believe it should be yours.”
Caitlin moved her arms stiffly. After such a long time without use, they were numb and felt strange, almost like they belonged to someone else.
“Lord,” Guttanar said. “She is very strong. She—”
Nestar turned Caitlin’s dagger around in his hands and waved his hand for silence. He traced the circle-cross Zon insignia etched into the flat of the blade before putting it in his belt. Guttanar shut up and took a step back.
“You have done well, Guttanar,” said Nestar, in good humor. “You know that this is the huntress that the Thermadan Mission seeks. With that huge bounty on her head, dead or alive, she is beautiful and valuable. But I will see that you are well rewarded. If King Shobar sees fit to elevate me to the Barony of Steefen, you shall have my chevalry in the Swarborg—and that is worth more than the reward of ten thousand gold talents.”
Guttanar glowed. He dropped to one knee and said, “I do not deserve this honor, lord, but I will strive to be worthy.”
“I will see that you do,” said Nestar pleasantly.
He returned to Caitlin. She had her hair bound in a knot on the top of her head. He undid it, and her red mane cascaded down over her shoulders. He ran his fingers through her silky tresses, sucking in his breath appreciatively. She stood stock-still and only prevented herself from striking him with an effort. His fingers lightly traced the ties on her leather vest, knotted together now after Guttanar had sliced them in Grenhall.
“So you are the Zon huntress who slew one of the top gladiators of Briga,” said Nestar thoughtfully. “You know one end of a sword from the other, do you? They say you put on quite a show in the fighting pit.”
So saying, he untied the knots on her vest, one by one. She got a good look at the ’grator that hung from his shoulder and noted that it was very low on charge. The red warning indicator had come on, suggesting that there was at most enough charge for one blast. Do they have batteries? she thought, trying to take her mind off her present humiliation. And does he know who my mother is? She desperately hoped that he did not.
When Caitlin’s vest hung open, the duty captain’s mouth dropped open. From her solar plexus down to her lower belly, Caitlin was a mass of bruises, red and blue, many now turning a nasty shade of black. The bruising was so extensive that the snarling wolf painted on her belly could not be discerned. Nestar ran his eyes over her discolorations. There was a pregnant pause. It grew heavier by the second, and Guttanar now felt true fear. Nestar could well take the damages to his prize as an insult—and the cheval did not take kindly to affronts.
“You have seen fit to chastise this huntress,” said Nestar.
“Lord, I could not help myself,” Guttanar began to babble. “The Zon killed my father and brother; it was my first chance to avenge them. And she was acting so…so superior, looking down her nose at me! I was careful not to do any permanent damage—all the bruising will heal completely in a few days, she will be as good as new—”
“It is understandable.” Nestar cut him off, but his tone was benevolent. “As you say, these bruises will heal soon.”
There was another pause.
“So, huntress,” said Nestar to Caitlin. “You are my prize and my slave. But to use you as a mere sex object would be a terrible waste. You are a warrior and a beauty—a consort for a leader of men! And most would say that I am quite a catch. I am commander of the Skull Watch and will soon be elevated to a barony. I have wenches enough, and they have given me bastard children. But I am in need of a fitting mate to be my baroness and birth my trueborn sons.”
Caitlin said nothing. She looked down at him, her green eyes cool. The top of his head was level with her aquiline nose, and she was seized with an irrational urge to laugh. This monster, who had presided over the wanton rape and slaughter of thousands of her sisters and enslaved the surviving population of Ostracis, truly expected her to be flattered by his offer. The thought of being touched by any man nauseated her, but such a man as this! And he was waiting expectantly for an answer.
“She is speechless at this honor, lord,” said Guttanar.
Caitlin did not deign to look at Guttanar. Her instinct was to show Nestar her loathing for him an
d her contempt for his offer. But she knew that would achieve nothing. He would doubtless rape her, torture her, and perhaps even force her to bear his child. With a great effort, she kept her face neutral. My only hope is to play for time, she thought.
“Cheval Nestar Crogus,” she said finally, speaking Utrean in her strong singsong Zon accent. “You have raped and pillaged here at Ostracis and are sworn to the destruction of my people. To be the baroness of Steefen is an attractive proposition, but you are asking me to give up my past and my heritage. I am sure you can see that this is a difficult decision for me. I need some time to think it over.”
Nestar stroked her hair again and petted her face.
“You are worth waiting for,” he said. “I will give you a day. You will spend it with me—it will give you a chance to get to know me.”
He looked at Guttanar and the duty captain.
“Pass my order to the Zon servitors,” he said cheerfully. “I want the best feast Ostracis can provide laid out this evening for my lady and me. We will dine in the master suite. And then, my lady…” Here he bowed to Caitlin. “I will yield the master suite to you for the night. I trust it will be your last night alone.”
FLYING INTO AURORA from the Hydromeda in a small flotilla of airboats, Deirdre took stock of the fighting from the air. Dressed in full combat uniform, she was seated in the copilot’s seat in the lead airboat piloted by Alex. There was fresh fighting on the embattled walls of Sunward. The barbarians had launched a furious attack on a bulbous protrusion in the walls. This section was surrounded on three sides by barbarian attackers based in the Outer Market.
“Let us repel this attack first, Alex,” she said tersely. “The formal meetings with the mayora of Aurora and the cornelle-commandant of the citadel can wait.”
Alex nodded and relayed the order to the other airboats. They landed within the inner walls of Sunward, and the Guardians reinforced the weary defenders, who were delighted to see them. Deirdre took charge herself.
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