“Okay, Guardians, deploy,” said Alex into the comm in Pranto.
No sooner had Darbeni disappeared into the airboat than a squad of Guardians emerged from each side of the airboat, ’grators at the ready.
Kantus looked from one squad to the other wildly.
“What have you done to Darbeni?” he roared, swinging on Alex. “You must have tortured her to make her do your bidding! She would never have betrayed me willingly!”
He raised his arm, summoning his remaining troopers, and drew his sword.
“Get them,” said Alex harshly into the comm. Zircon lassos whirled out from one of the Guardian squads, and almost all of the slayers were ensnared and dragged down off their horses. The two or three that remained in their saddles tried to reach for whatever weapons were closest to hand. The second Guardian squad fired quick, short bursts from their ’grators, vaporizing an arm or a leg, incapacitating them and bringing them down.
The mass of remaining troopers were galloping toward them, rapidly covering the two hundred meters that separated them.
“Bring the airboat in now,” intoned Alex into the comm. “I want these charging horsemen vaporized.”
Before Kantus’s unbelieving eyes, a Zon Mark VII airboat streaked into sight, both engines at ear-splitting full power. Its heavy ’grator was lined up, and it was so close that the blinding flash and loud crackle were almost simultaneous. The mass of horsemen vanished in a cloud of smoke, with nothing left but the smell of burning flesh. As the airboat climbed away, its trailing sonic boom filled the quarry. The huntresses had activated their helmet sound baffles, but the barbarians were deafened.
Kantus still had his sword in his hand. He was the only one left standing now—all his men were vaporized, trussed up in zircon lassos, or groaning on the ground with missing limbs. The Guardians moved around the ten incapacitated Hilson slayers, putting them in force restraints.
“I will take you with me, you Zon bitch!” he cried, rushing at Alex.
“One more step, and I will vaporize your sword arm,” said Alex, leveling her laser pistol.
Kantus stopped. He knew he was beaten. He threw his sword into the snow.
“Kill me, huntress,” he said bitterly. “There is no other way for this to end.”
“You are the barbarians who killed Princess Deirdre,” returned Alex, speaking Brigish loud enough for all of the men to hear. “We would have hunted you down to the ends of the world and to the end of time.”
A Guardian came up behind Kantus and placed him in force restraints. Only then did Alex holster her pistol.
“At least let me see Darbeni one last time,” Kantus said, a note of entreaty in his voice. “I don’t know how you have turned her against me, but I am sure she will want to say good-bye.”
Alex wondered, When will these barbarians understand that we find them repulsive? She thought of Deirdre dying in her arms and could not resist rubbing a last bit of salt in his wounds.
“Darbeni, we have Cheval Hilson out here in force restraints,” she said into the comm. “He would like to say good-bye.”
Darbeni did not respond, and Alex thought that she was too afraid to emerge. But a few moments later, she came back down the ramp. She touched her coiffure with her fingers, displaying her prettily manicured nails. It struck Alex that her blood-red nail polish was particularly appropriate. Seeing her big brown eyes made Kantus’s heart melt anew. But her face was stony.
“Cheval Hilson,” she said in her strong singsong Zon accent. “You are violent, cruel, and uncivilized. You represent everything I hate. It is my greatest pleasure that I have had a small part in delivering you to justice. The sooner you are dead, the happier I will be.”
Kantus’s head jerked back as though she had struck him. His shoulders slumped, and his big frame seemed to shrink.
“You’ll be dead all right,” said Alex grimly. “But it won’t be that soon.”
Kantus turned and looked over his shoulder. The Guardians were preparing eleven spits, each with a bed of coals beneath it.
“Careful how you roast the cheval,” said Alex to her Guardians through the comm. “I want his head preserved in good condition for display.”
TWENTY-FIVE
THE THETIS WAS above Vesterans, riding on sky anchors. The Draigynys archipelago stretched out below, black rocky outcrops in the gray Iceberg Sea. Little grew here even at the height of summer, for the land was stony and the soil was thin. These were a hardy, seafaring people who depended on the sea for survival. It gave them food and clothing, but it was a capricious provider and often took payment in lives. The Iceberg Sea was aptly named, for massive mountains of sea ice were year-round features of its perpetually cold waters. Like all the seas around the One Land, it was prone to sudden and very severe squalls. Looking down from huge viewports in the observation deck of the Thetis, Greghar and Nitya gazed with wonder.
“Your uncle must be a hard man,” she said, looking at the whitecaps below her with wide eyes. “This is a forbidding world.”
“Yes, it is,” responded Greghar. “I have never seen Draigynys from up in the air, but I have often sailed these waters. My uncle brought me here frequently as a boy, and we spent a lot of time together at sea. It is gray and rough down there now, but this is nothing—the storms on the Iceberg Sea are the stuff of legends.”
“You have experienced them, then?”
“When I came of age and secretly journeyed here in hopes of rousing my uncle to action, Shobar’s spies were everywhere. It was safest to travel in stormy weather. I have never experienced anything like the storm we sailed through to get to Vesterans that night, not even in a northern glizzard.”
“Short in years, but long in experience, aren’t you, Greghar?” Diana’s pleasant voice made them both start. They had been too engrossed in each other’s company to notice her approach. Horus followed her, glaring at them balefully.
“You and me both, Lady Death,” said Greghar. Diana was surprised to find that this barbarian’s compliment gave her a touch of gratification and brought a hint of color to her cheeks.
“I taught him everything he knows,” said Horus arrogantly. Diana’s remark and Greghar’s response had made him painfully jealous. “He’s still a bit green about the ears, though. That’s why he fears me.”
Greghar did not respond but stared him down coolly. Nitya shrank back behind Greghar, recalling her terror of Horus at the inn at Upper Thal. Horus eventually broke the stare and looked away angrily.
Diana looked at the two of them, amused.
“I thought I was reuniting two old comrades in arms,” she said. “Had a bit of a falling out, did we? I understand you wanted to bed this pretty child, Horus, and Greghar stood in your way.”
“That was all a misunderstanding, Lady Death,” Horus stammered, going red. “I merely offered her a warm place to stay for the night in the glizzard. It is Greghar who had carnal designs on the girl, while I wished to protect her.”
This was too much for Nitya. She emerged from behind Greghar’s back, crying, “That is a vile lie! You are a disgusting fraud and a coward, Horus! Greghar is too much of a gentleman to put you in your place. If I were a boy, I would not be so gentle—I would call you out and kill you.”
Looking at Nitya’s angry face, Diana burst out laughing.
“My, my, what a spitfire you are, little one,” said Diana, reaching over and mussing her soft hair. “I would be wary if I were you, Horus. I wouldn’t fancy your chances against her.”
Horus laughed uncertainly, not quite sure whether Diana was joking or serious. Lady Death is such an enigma.
“I would love to continue this banter, but I am afraid we have serious business to attend to,” continued Diana, still smiling. “Greghar, you will lead our embassy to your uncle, serving as an unofficial Utrean envoy from the Queen Empress. The Imperial party will follow you. Horus, you and I will bring up the rear. And remember what I told you—don’t speak unless I call upon you.”
>
“Yes, Lady Death,” said Horus, nodding happily. “I will be delighted to be your partner.”
He reached for Diana’s hand, but then he caught the look in her pale, colorless eyes—it was so cold that it chilled him to the marrow, and he hastily withdrew. Both Greghar and Nitya saw the interchange, and each smiled inwardly. Horus, Horus, thought Greghar. You have fallen for Lady Death—you have no idea who you are dealing with.
Ling Mae entered the observation deck, now in full dress uniform.
“Cornelle, the squads are forming on the egress deck,” she said after saluting Diana. “Your stallion, Hikon, has been groomed and saddled, with all the equipage polished.”
“It is time to go,” said Diana, her smile vanishing abruptly. “Centuria Ling Mae, summon a couple of my Guardians and escort these barbarians to the stables. Mount Horus on my gray mare. Greghar will be up in front of the Imperial party, so find him a big stallion. Little one, come with me; I will take you to the sick bay. You will remain on board, tending to Princess Caitlin.”
With poise and polish unusual for someone her age, Nitya responded in Pranto with a flawless High Zon accent, “I am honored by the confidence you repose in me, Cornelle Diana.”
Diana, whose own Pranto accent reflected her folksy and rustic roots, looked at her sharply before turning to leave the observation deck. Nitya obediently trotted after her. Diana led the way to the sick bay and, opening the portal to the waiting room, said kindly, “Someone will come for you, little one.”
The daunting Guardian Cornelle seemed so much more approachable that Nitya stopped Diana just as she turned to go, blurting out, “Cornelle Diana, you have such a fearsome reputation. But I think I see a soft center under your hard shell.”
Diana turned and looked at her with the steady, pale stare that most found so disconcerting. Nitya quailed but her green-hazel cat’s eyes held the tall Guardian commander’s scrutiny.
“Don’t be fooled, little one. It is an illusion, a means of getting those around me to lower their guard. Ask Greghar—he will tell you that there is no pity in me, that I am hard, through and through.”
“But you are an artiste, Cornelle, a woman of taste and culture,” Nitya persisted. “They say you have the most beautiful singing voice in the Sisterhood.”
“Think of me as a siren, little one. Where I go, death follows. The barbarians have named me aptly.”
Diana turned on her heel and left her. First Greghar, now Nitya, she thought. Why am I letting these barbarians get under my skin?
Nitya watched her leave through the closing portal, a stubborn and unconvinced look on her face. She has created an image of herself to sow fear in the hearts of her enemies, she thought. She does not know how to love, but she is not a ruthless killing machine.
Diana had moved out of the command stateroom into one of the cabins maintained for senior officers of the airship’s expeditionary forces—the command and guest staterooms were now occupied by Hildegard and Andromache. In her cabin she stripped off her combat uniform and the rest of her clothing and stepped into the cleansing unit that efficiently washed and dried her. Then she went over to the bed where her handmaiden had already laid out her dress uniform. She rapidly donned it and buckled Light and her laser pistol on the weapons belt in place of the showy ceremonial sword.
She took a quick look around the cabin. It was anonymous with no personal memorabilia. After almost twenty years in the Legions, all of Diana’s worldly possessions could fit into a single trunk. Of course, in typical Zon style, she was proud of her physical perfection and showed it off to her sisters in beautiful, exceptionally feminine ensembles that she wore at official balls and functions. But she never had more than a few at any time, giving away older ones to charity whenever she bought anything new. Her salary accumulated month after month virtually untouched, so her accrued balances made her a well-to-do woman.
She strode out and made her way to the egress deck. It was a hive of activity, with several dozen horses in dress equipage being tended to by grooms. There were two beautiful mounts with sidesaddles being held ready for the Queen Empress and the High Priestess. Two squads of Palace Guardians in dress uniforms were already mounted on splendid horses, which stood in disciplined ranks. Greghar was also mounted on a huge roan warhorse, looking very regal. Somehow they had found him some light armor, and it had been burnished to a high gloss. At the rear were two of Diana’s horses, her white stallion, Hikon, and her gray mare with Horus astride her. A groom held both halters, and Diana’s handmaiden stood beside her with Greghar’s and Horus’s weapons.
Diana nodded to her handmaiden, and she dutifully went up to Greghar and then to Horus and handed them their weapons. There was a low whistle announcing the captain, and Hebe entered the egress deck preceded by her handmaiden. She came up to Diana and said in a low tone, “I see you have your pet barbarian here by your side.”
Diana ignored her and mounted. Looking down at Hebe, she said, “You should get to the bridge and take the conn. The queen and Princess Andromache will be here soon. We’d better be anchored at ground level and ready to debark when they get here.”
The Thetis had reeled in her sky anchors and was descending smoothly. With her huge size and bulk, the last few hundred meters were challenging, especially since the island of Vesterans was rocky and mountainous and the local winds were unceasing and treacherous. The small city of Vesterans consisted of two towns, descriptively called Port Town and Fort Town. Port Town was clustered around a large sheltered bay that had a relatively narrow entrance to the open sea, flanked by tall guard towers. It had been growing inland, especially since Arch Baron Lothar had moved back permanently. Now its inland edges extended all the way to the steep mountainside that was crowned by the walls of Fort Town. The Lighthouse Keep that served as the abode of the Lord of Draigynys was here, along with much of his administration. Most of his better-off subjects resided here as well.
The high ridge overlooking the narrow coastal plain opened up to form a wide tableland upon which Fort Town was built. The site was chosen for security rather than convenience, for the land fell away steeply on all sides. There was a very steep ox-cart path that ascended up to the top from Port Town. It took the better part of a day for a loaded cart to cover the short distance between the two parts of Vesterans. The path had been cut so that the defenders on the walls of Fort Town could target its entire length.
There was a huge parade ground covered with hardy crabgrass and gorse at the center of Fort Town. It was abutted by a fairly large spring-fed lake—although it was frozen for much of the year, it still provided the fort with a dependable source of water. This was the only open space in Vesterans large enough for the Thetis to reach ground level. Hebe was in the command chair on the bridge now, painfully aware that the Imperial Party was now mounted and ready to debark. As the airship descended through the last hundred meters toward the ground, Hebe could see the receiving party through her long-vision. There was Arch Baron Lothar himself, armored and wearing a plumed helmet. There were several barons by his side, all equally well turned out. Hebe recognized some, but not all, of them. The receiving troop seemed rather large to her eyes.
She opened a comm channel to Diana and said, “We should be ramp down in less than five minutes, Cornelle. Arch Baron Lothar and his receiving party are arrayed on horseback. Their receiving troop numbers about two hundred—a bit too large for my liking.”
“Thank you, Captain, that does seem rather large,” said Diana. “I’ll screen the Imperial party with one of the Guardian squads.”
The ramp thudded down, and the bitter weather of Draigynys came into the egress deck for a moment before the temperature shields reset themselves. There was a wintry mix of wind, sleet, and a cold drizzle outside. Only two types of weather in Draigynys, thought Greghar, recalling the old Utrean joke. Bad and worse. He looked behind him and caught a subtle nod from Hildegard. He patted his horse’s neck and started forward down the ramp.
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sp; He was glad of the warm cloak Ling Mae had found him. It was of Zon manufacture and made of a waterproof material that was unknown to him. Inside it had a soft woolen lining. Once he was on the parade ground, he saw the full extent of the receiving party. Lothar and his two sons, Pinnar and Bradar, had pride of place in the middle of the ranks. There were chevals and barons of the islands as well as from the nearby mainland. All had their banners flying from fauchards held by wooden-faced flag bearers. Greghar glanced over the banners and saw some notable absences. He took in the large receiving troop, thinking, Uncle is taking no chances.
He cantered forward, aware that the Imperial party was just behind him. At Diana’s orders, one of the Guardian squads had taken up a screening position. The queen and Andromache were effectively screened off from the receiving troop and could only see directly forward past Greghar, where Lothar and his immediate group stood waiting. Greghar rode right up to within ten meters of Lothar before drawing rein.
“I am Greghar Asgar,” he said in a carrying voice. He did not use the family name of “Nibellus” in deference to the assembly of nobility where his illegitimacy was well known. “I am here as an envoy from Hildegard, Queen Empress of New Eartha and Mistress of Utrea. She comes herself on this embassy in response to the sufferings of her Utrean subjects under the misrule of the usurper, Shobar.”
Having made his prepared speech, Greghar bowed in his saddle to Lothar, who nodded without emotion.
Two of the Guardians trotted up to Greghar’s side. Both had flagstaffs mounted on their saddles—the Zon circle-cross banner fluttered from one, and the Queen Empress’s personal standard fluttered from the other. They drew long trumpets from their saddle scabbards, put them to their lips, and blew a loud but short and rousing fanfare. Then they sheathed the trumpets and called out in unison, “Queen Empress Hildegard, Mistress of Utrea, and High Priestess Princess Andromache!”
The Empire of the Zon Page 55