The Empire of the Zon

by R. M. Burgess

  The centuria had already opened a comm channel to Aurora Medical, and an emergency team now arrived in an air ambulance. Two medicae gently took Deirdre from the centuria’s grasp and laid her on a stretcher. As they were strapping her down, Deirdre said, “You must tell me when Centuria Lady Alexandra and her…” and passed out.

  WHEN DEIRDRE AWOKE, she was in crisp white sheets with sunlight streaming in through the window. There was a vase with a spray of yellow flowers by her bedside, with a card propped up against it. Why am I in Medical? she thought, before the memories came flooding back. She tried to sit up, but the pain in her shoulder was sharp enough to make her gasp and her eyes water.

  “Whoa, take it easy, Princess,” came Alex’s familiar voice. “You’ve had a hard night.”

  “Did you destroy the batteries, Alex?” asked Deirdre anxiously. “It is imperative—”

  “We did better than that, ma’am,” Alex responded. “We found the crate and brought it back. So now we can use the batteries.”

  Deirdre lay back, smiled, and said, “Thank Ma.”

  Alex looked severe.

  “You must take better care of yourself, ma’am,” she scolded, in her best ‘Lady Alexandra Sheel, First Handmaiden to the Queen’ tone. “We also found a dead barbarian in the warehouse close to the battery crate—a Hilson slayer, from their special corps of mercenaries. There was a crossbow bolt stuck in the battery crate. Your laser pistol was out of charge, and your wrist bracer batteries were dead. You are First Principal—you can’t act like an irresponsible young seignora! You should not even be on the front lines!”

  Deirdre looked contrite.

  “I’m sorry, Alex,” she said. “Everything happened so fast, I didn’t want to expose our Guardians to needless risk—”

  “It is their job to take risks,” said Alex. “You should have been the first off the battlefield, not the last.”

  Then she grinned, looking like Alex again.

  “You’ve made quite an impression, though. Check out the card.”

  Deirdre picked up the card by the vase. It was handwritten. The cover read: To Princess Deirdre, our fearless First Principal. She opened it. Inside was the message We will follow you anywhere! There were literally dozens of signed names, many with personal messages.

  “Every huntress in Aurora wanted to sign it,” said Alex. “And everyone in Aurora Medical. They had to cut the circulation short and bring the card in because they wanted it here before you woke. You won’t believe how much you’ve raised morale. Even the air ambulance crew has stories—they said that even as you passed out from loss of blood, your only thought was for your Guardians.”

  “What else would it have been about?” asked Deirdre, puzzled. “You were in the field, in harm’s way.”

  Impulsively, Alex leaned over and kissed Deirdre’s cheek.

  “That is why I would follow you over the Great Ice Range, into Glacial Hell itself,” she said fondly. “And why every huntress in the Legions would do the same.”

  “You mentioned a dead Hilson slayer in the warehouse,” said Deirdre, changing the subject. “I just remembered something. As he died he gave me a fragment of parchment—he wished it delivered to his wife, a woman by the name of Lidill Ikren in Tirut. It is in one of the pouches in my weapons belt.”

  Alex retrieved Deirdre’s belt, which was hanging from a peg on the wall. She found the parchment and pulled it out.

  “Just hang on to the parchment, Alex,” said Deirdre. “It could be something important, you never know.”

  “I hear and obey,” said Alex, dutifully writing “Lidill Ikren, Tirut” on the parchment and stuffing it into a pouch in her own weapons belt.

  An hour later, Medical had everything in order. Deirdre’s shoulder reconstruction and skin replacement therapy was scheduled for the afternoon. The medicae bandaged her up and put her arm in a temporary sling. It was a sunny winter’s day—too nice to be spent lying in bed.

  “Let’s go to a café, Alex,” Deirdre said to Alex. “Anything to get out of Medical.”

  They strolled down Market Boulevard arm in arm. It was hard to believe that the city was besieged with life-and-death battles being fought less than a kilometer from where they were. The boulevard was almost as crowded as in peacetime, with commoners shopping, relaxing, and in the cafes. Outdoor temperature shields were operating at full blast, using power like it was going out of style. The only evidence of the war was the presence of small groups of armed huntresses in combat uniforms, all of whom made a point of approaching them and saluting. Several murmured obviously rehearsed words of praise for Deirdre’s actions, which she acknowledged gracefully.

  They found a nice sidewalk café and seated themselves. It was a few minutes before a server appeared. She was a pretty brunette with very fair skin, large expressive eyes, and a rounded, hourglass figure. She transferred the menu to them on the comm with ill grace, saying curtly, “I am Franna, I will serve you today.”

  “May we have some katsch while we peruse the menu?” asked Deirdre courteously.

  “Of course, anything that my noble ladies desire,” said Franna sarcastically. “You are both heavily armed, so I had best do exactly as you order.”

  “Is anything the matter, dear?” asked Deirdre, surprised.

  “Well, thanks to your war, my seafood business is on the verge of bankruptcy,” Franna said, putting her hands on her hips. “So I must work here to make ends meet. My mother failed your huntress beauty boards last year, and now she has been raped and tortured by the Utrean Skull Watch in Ostracis. But I am just a commoner—what do my troubles and sorrows matter to you highborn electrae?”

  “Of course we care for you!” Deirdre said, shocked. “The Sisterhood values every sister equally.”

  She took the server’s hand and sought to have her sit at their table, but Franna jerked her hand away.

  “Oh, that is rubbish,” she snapped. “The Sisterhood is run by the electrae for the electrae. We have all seen how well you aristocrats live on Temple Heights.”

  Deirdre was at a loss and looked over at Alex helplessly.

  “She refers to the program The Eight Percent about our electrae,” said Alex. “It is on the Lives of our Sisters live site. Yukia Rabbina showed a video of the palaces on Temple Heights on it.”

  “Who do you think cares for you, then?” asked Deirdre, addressing Franna again.

  “Vivia Pragarina and the Trading Guild,” said Franna promptly. “Like us, they are commoners and work hard for a living. And they provide us with opportunities to get ahead. You electrae are just leeches living off the toil of the commoners.”

  A small crowd had begun to gather, and there was an angry buzz, with most of them voicing agreement with Franna. Deirdre stood to address them, adjusting the sling that cradled her wounded arm.

  “My sisters,” she said. “The Sisterhood is a meritocracy. Any sister can qualify as an electra and rise in the administration—there is no favoritism. My own mother wore the d’Orr tiara, but she ended her life as a simple officia; she was never even promoted to seignora.”

  “I bet she was not in Ostracis at the mercy of the Skull Watch,” retorted Franna.

  “No, she wasn’t,” said Deirdre quietly. “She was killed by the barbarians in the War of Brigon Succession.”

  This created a moment of embarrassed silence. But it did not last long.

  “But what of your daughter, Lady Caitlin?” asked a young darkhaired girl with sloe-black eyes and a flamboyant red dress. “Like that girl Kintane said in your interview on LOS, it is she who has brought on this war with her unnecessary meddling in barbarian affairs. Yet she is allowed to run free. Would Lady Selene have treated her with such delicacy if she had been a commoner? No! She would have been shot immediately.”

  This put Deirdre in a weak position. She knew nothing she could say would convince the girl otherwise. But she plowed on doggedly.

  “Every effort is being made to recapture Lady Caitlin, an
d she will face disciplinary proceedings for her actions,” she said, maintaining her calm. “We Zon are a society of laws, rules, and procedures. Lady Caitlin is a military officer, and she will face a court martial like any other military officer. If she were a civilian, she would have faced a civil court. There will be no nepotism.”

  She looked around the hostile crowd, trying desperately to connect with them.

  “You are all my sisters,” she said plaintively. “And I love you all. I will shed my last drop of blood to keep you from harm.”

  Alex had risen to her feet along with Deirdre and now spoke up.

  “You should all be ashamed of yourselves! Princess Deirdre is here fighting on the front lines to protect you—and she has been grievously wounded doing just that. Meanwhile, your precious Vivia Pragarina is hiding away in Atlantic City, safe in her luxurious palace in Lumin Hills.”

  The crowd had grown by now. Deirdre could not believe how popular Vivia was with the commoners. However, this exchange had clearly sown some seeds of doubt. The crowd grew more restive, and Deirdre began to feel woozy from all the pain-killers the medicae had given her. She put her hand on Alex’s shoulder for support. Then two off-duty huntresses pushed their way through the crowd.

  “May we be of assistance, Princess?” one asked.

  “Perhaps I should return to Medical,” said Deirdre weakly.

  Alex took charge. With the two huntresses clearing the way, she let Deirdre lean on her during the short walk back to Aurora Medical. As the crowd parted to let them pass, the huntresses could not avoid hearing snatches from a multitude of muttered conversations:

  “The bitch is probably faking the injury, it’s all politics…”

  “I don’t know about that, I have a friend who works at Aurora Medical, and she said that the Princess lost over half her blood and nearly bled to death last night…”

  “I hear there’s no love lost between the Princess and Queen Hildegard. Now there is a leader who loves us…”

  “The queen is no warrior, though…”

  “Lady Caitlin is a spoiled young whore! Fat chance of her ever facing a court martial!”

  “My womb sister is a groom with the Guardians and said she’s actually very nice. As for the court martial, they do have to catch her first…”

  “Vivia Pragarina would come to us in an instant if she believed there was real danger…”

  “Not unless she thinks she can make money here. I’ve always found Vivia to pursue profit at all costs. So…”

  “I have heard that Vivia’s palace in Atlantic City is grander than anything in Temple Heights…”

  ESME SAT SILENTLY in the airboat, belted in and apprehensive. The slight huntress, Jena, sat across from her. She put a small inhaler to each nostril in turn and drew deeply. The Katsang stung her sinuses, and she coughed. The drug came from the leaves of the same plant that produced katsch berries, but it was a far more powerful stimulant and quite addictive. The Zon did not outlaw drug use, but the Excellence boards tended to take a dim view of them, and overuse sometimes led to forcible retirement.

  She replaced the inhaler in one of her belt pouches and settled back into her seat. Her eyelids drooped, and she looked so maddeningly relaxed that she appeared to have drifted off into a nap. Megara sat up ahead in the pilot’s seat with Felicia beside her.

  “Queen Esme,” Megara said, after they had gone through the checks and the engines were humming in quiet mode. “We are counting on your not being missed yet. You know the routine of the Great Stony Keep. At what time do your servitors enter your chambers?”

  “They would not dare enter my bedchamber till I rang,” said Esme stiffly.

  “I see. But what about other chambers?”

  “Well, my personal maid, Lupa, will come into my bath chamber just after six to heat the water and set out the oils and perfumes for my bath. She typically waits there till I ring for her. I usually ring around seven. I sometimes ask her to bring me breakfast from the kitchens, but usually I walk over to Harald’s chambers to breakfast with him.”

  “So you are sure that no one will enter your chambers till six.” Megara put it to her as a statement.

  “Yes, I am sure of that,” said Esme confidently.

  “And you are sure that no one saw you leave last night,” Megara continued.

  “Well, the captain and the watch detail of the Great Stony Keep saw me leave, but the guard would have changed shortly thereafter, and they would assume that I returned after they went off duty.”

  “What about the guards at the city gates?”

  “I pretended to be a serving woman,” said Esme with a giggle.

  “The man who let you through was stupid,” said Felicia in her slow drawl. “No serving woman could have your carriage, manner, and soft skin.”

  “I am a good actress,” replied Esme smugly. “He took some liberties, called me ‘hot,’ and offered to make me his woman.”

  All three huntresses laughed heartily, even Jena, surfacing from her supposed nap.

  “I am sure you got his name,” said Megara, wiping tears of laughter from her eyes. “And when you are on the throne again, he will pay with his head.”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” said Esme lazily. “It is always nice to be called ‘hot,’ you know.”

  Megara turned back to the controls, and they lifted off. In quiet mode, the engine noise was so low that it caused no stir in the Residency. The gentle takeoff allayed Esme’s fear of flying. Lady Selene stood in her office, watching the airboat rise into the air from its bay in the inner courtyard. Megara was flying without running lights, so the dark shape rapidly disappeared from view in the night. The whisper quiet of the engines comforted her.

  Megara had chosen an airboat from the Blackbird squadron because it was painted almost completely black. Flying in quiet mode, without running lights, they were almost invisible to anyone but the keenest observer. She climbed to five thousand meters, drifting, rather than powering higher. She used the instruments to precisely position the airboat over the Great Stony Keep.

  “Ma’am,” said Megara, speaking over her shoulder. “We will get you back to your bedchamber. Call your maid and gloat over your husband’s fall from power. Express joy that your wish for a war with the Sisterhood has come about.”

  “What purpose will that serve?” asked Esme. “Lupa has served me since I was a girl; she came down with me from Karsk. She is loyal to me.”

  “Ma’am, if your servitors are anything like our commoners—and I am sure that they are—anything you tell her will be common knowledge among the servants and guards within the hour. As for her loyalty—would you trust her with your life and Harald’s?”

  Esme looked troubled. Then she looked out of the window.

  “What are those lights far below?”

  “Some watch fires in Dreslin, ma’am,” said Felicia.

  “We are so high! How does this machine work? Is it magic?”

  “It is not magic, but it is complicated,” said Megara patiently. “However, to continue with our plan—we wait for you in the corridor outside your chambers. We will follow you and keep out of sight as you go down to find Harald. Do you know your way to the Dripping Dungeon?”

  Esme looked less certain.

  “I know the way to the entrance of the dungeons of the Great Stony Keep,” she said hesitantly. “I assume that the Dripping Dungeon is down there.”

  “It is imperative that we get to the Dripping Dungeon without being challenged,” said Megara patiently. “Once we have Harald, we can shoot our way out. But if we start clashes before we have him, they are likely to kill him before we can get to him.”

  “The dungeons are guarded by the Moles, commanded by Magnus Pontus, the king’s executioner. Harald used to say that they had the worst job in the Great Stony Keep, and he often invited their captains to go hawking with us. So I have met most of them.”

  “Okay, I think we have a rough plan—we will hope that you can get the du
ty captain of the Moles to guide you to the Dripping Dungeon. We can work out the details on the ground. Jena, you will come with me. Felicia, you will stay with the airboat. Keep the heavy ’grator powered up.”

  Very slowly, Megara eased the airboat down. Her external cameras had night vision enabled, providing a ghostly picture of the Great Stony Keep below them on the display.

  “Ma’am, please come forward. I need you to identify your chambers.”

  Jena unsnapped herself and helped Esme out of her harness and supported her into the cockpit. She stared at the display, mesmerized. “Magic!” she muttered to herself.

  “Just point out your chambers, ma’am,” said Megara, still patient.

  Esme pointed to a section of the Great Stony Keep further to port. Megara drifted lower, hoping fervently that the gentle shushing of the engines in quiet mode would not attract the attention of a strolling sentry on the battlements. Esme’s chambers were on the highest level of the Great Stony Keep, and the closest feasible landing spot was a wide balcony about ten meters below one of her small galleries. Megara drifted down toward it and landed with as gentle a touch as she could. Felicia immediately hit the hatch releases, and Megara, Jena, and Esme quickly emerged into the chilly night air.

  “Who goes there?” came a guttural challenge from the battlements ringing the balcony.

  Esme stepped forward without hesitation.

  “It is I, Queen Esme,” she said in a low voice. “How dare you question me in my own Keep?”

  “I am sorry, Your Majesty, but this—”

  There was a whizzing sound followed by a firm thunk! The sentry collapsed and slumped to the ground. Jena silently advanced and kneeled by the body, her eyes unnaturally bright. She rolled him over. The hilt of her long dagger protruded from his throat. She extracted it and dragged the body behind a balustrade.

  “Never issue a challenge from an exposed position,” she said. “Who trains these guys?”

  “Jena is a qualified expert on barbarian weapons and tactics,” said Megara to Esme by way of explanation. “I am glad she is on our side.”