Lothar’s heralds moved forward and raised bugles. They blew several discordant blasts before bawling out, “Arch Baron Lothar, Lord of Draigynys and the Northwest, Master of the Iceberg Sea, scion of the Royal House of Nibellus, welcomes the Queen Empress of the Zon and her servants to his abode.”
In the traditional manner, the receiving troop now rode forward to take positions on their flanks and rear. Surrounded by intimidating armored troopers, Andromache felt her throat constrict and her shoulders tense with apprehension. She sat more erect in her sidesaddle and pressed her thighs together tightly. She looked at the calm Guardians by her side and took some measure of comfort. She glanced back at Diana and envied her loose-limbed seat and her air of confidence, bordering on arrogance. Does she even know what it feels like to be afraid? she thought.
Lothar’s party turned and led the way to the Lighthouse Keep. It was built on the highest rise within Fort Town, itself the highest point in Vesterans. It took its name from the light that was kept burning day and night in its highest tower. It could be seen for an enormous distance out to sea and had been used by sea captains to steer for Vesterans for as long as anyone could remember.
There were more troopers at the drawbridge and yet more in the bailey. The notables dismounted here. Guardians helped Hildegard and Andromache dismount from their sidesaddles in their long gowns. They formed up in order of protocol, with Greghar leading the party as their envoy, the Guardian squads screening the two royals, and Diana and Horus bringing up the rear. Led by an escorting troop, they entered the Hall of the Whale, named for the enormous carvings on its walls. The hall had several grates, and fires were burning brightly in all of them.
In the time it had taken them to form up and enter, Lothar, his sons, and his principal barons had taken seats on the dais. There were two empty seats, one set on a small pedestal to raise it above the level of all the others. All the Zon noted this adherence to the requirements of vassalage and were relieved. They also noted the absence of any seating for anyone other than Hildegard and Andromache, effectively treating Diana as just another soldier.
When Hildegard ascended the dais, led by her Guardians, Lothar and all his party rose and bowed. Hildegard smiled and put her hand out, palm upward, to acknowledge their fealty in the conventional manner of Zon queens. She took her seat, and Andromache took the other one. Diana and Horus took up positions behind them, and Greghar stood at Hildegard’s right hand. The tableau was now complete, and Lothar cleared his throat. Hildegard knew that this indicated that he was nervous and grew more confident.
“Your Imperial Majesty, I am delighted to welcome you to my abode. This is the first time you have visited us since you ascended the throne. I know you have traveled a great distance, and we are honored by your solicitude for us, distant as we are from the environs of Atlantic City. I would like to begin by offering you the hospitality of my house.”
Stewards appeared as if from nowhere with trays of stone goblets and offered them to all present on the dais. It was a vitrus, a strong liquor popular in the northwest that was colorless and drunk ice-cold. The goblets were all filled to the brim with crushed glacial ice, so it was impossible to tell how strong the drinks were. There were also trays with a range of pickled winter root vegetables in deference to Zon sensibilities – potatoes, carrots, beets, and the like.
Hildegard and Andromache each accepted a goblet and took tiny servings of vegetables on quarter plates. All the others followed their example, and under Diana’s stern eye, even Horus restrained himself. When everyone on the dais had been served, Lothar rose and raised his goblet.
“I toast the Queen Empress of the Zon and wish her and the Sisterhood peace and prosperity.”
“Peace and prosperity,” echoed everyone, taking a sip of vitrus.
Still seated, as required by protocol, Hildegard raised her goblet.
“Arch Baron Lothar, we wish you health and happiness. Long may your house rule in Utrea!”
“The House of Nibellus!” echoed everyone.
One by one, each of Lothar’s barons rose and proposed toasts, each drawing a similarly amiable response. Again, in keeping with protocol, Andromache waited till the last to propose her toast and smiled at the warm response. The ceremonial exchanges complete, Lothar wasted no time in getting down to the real reason for the meeting.
“Your Majesty, I suggest we adjourn to discuss issues of mutual interest,” he said ponderously.
“Indeed, Arch Baron, we are of the same mind,” replied Hildegard, handing her stone goblet to a hovering steward. “Princess Andromache and Cornelle Diana are here as my political and military advisors.”
“I would prefer to meet with you alone first, Your Majesty,” said Lothar. His tone was firm but not hostile. “Our advisors can join us in due course.”
Andromache debated whether to intervene, but while she was doing so, Hildegard had already replied.
“Arch Baron, this is an unusual request,” she said. “But this meeting is too important to allow minor issues to delay us. Please lead the way.”
Lothar stood and led the way off the dais. As Hildegard stood, she whispered over her shoulder to Diana, “Have a couple of Guardians attend me and take up positions at the door of whatever chamber we enter. I don’t want anyone to interrupt our meeting without my knowing.”
Lothar made no objection as two tall Palace Guardians followed Hildegard off the dais. He made his way to a corridor at the end of the Hall of the Whale, and a short way down, it opened into a much smaller reception chamber. A cheerful fire burned in the hearth, and there were a few comfortable chairs arranged on either side of it. There were relatively few candles in wall alcoves, so the room was not particularly bright. After Hildegard entered, Lothar shut the heavy door, duly noting that the two Guardians had taken up positions outside.
She sat in one of the chairs calmly, arranged her gown, and touched her crown circlet to make sure it was positioned just right. Lothar sat facing her and looked at her in the flickering firelight. She returned his gaze coolly, trying to ignore his resemblance to his dead brother.
“You are as beautiful as ever, Hildegard,” he said slowly. “And just as much of a temptress. It has been a quarter century since your son was born, and you don’t look a day older. And look at me—I have become an old man.”
“We are not here to discuss personal issues, Lothar.”
“Really? What brought you here other than the fact that you were my brother’s wife, my sister-in-law? On what other basis did you expect a friendly reception?”
Hildegard did not have an immediate response. She stared into the fire for a long moment.
“I know you blame me for your brother’s death,” she said at last.
“Blame you!” Lothar exploded. “Why should I? You show up here with my brother’s killer as your military advisor. What else am I to think, other than that you were party to his killing?”
“How dare you!” Hildegard said sharply. “No one loved your brother more than I! I gave him my maidenhead, something we Zon prize above life itself. And I gave him a son.”
“A son you abandoned upon his death,” responded Lothar bitterly.
“Why must you make this so difficult, Lothar?” asked Hildegard, tucking an errant ringlet of hair back under her circlet. “You know full well that if I had had any contact with Greghar, I risked leading Shobar to him.”
“I ask again, why is Lady Death here as your commander in Utrea? You are queen of the Zon—you could have made her suffer for what she did to us. For what she did to the husband you wed before his God as well as yours. Or was that secret ceremony just a political ploy to guarantee his cooperation with your regime?”
“It is not so simple, Lothar,” said Hildegard tiredly. “Our political system is very complicated. Diana has always had powerful protectors. I am queen, but unlike in barbarian kingdoms, my power is not absolute. I am but the first among equals in the Cabinet Council.”
“Either yo
u are queen, or you are not,” said Lothar doggedly.
“Lothar, I have told you many a time that I did not authorize what Diana did that day. I was a new queen, unsure of my powers, and I never expected the huntresses to use violence without explicit clearance from the Cabinet Council. But if I cannot convince you of my powerlessness in this matter, can we at least put it behind us?”
“I loved my brother,” said Lothar heavily. “You are asking for a lot.”
“We both loved him,” said Hildegard. “Nothing we do can bring my Jondolar back. But we can preserve and advance his dreams. You know that there was nothing dearer to his heart that the well-being and prosperity of the Utrean people. And believe me when I tell you that he considered the Zon alliance to be the surest guarantee of that.”
“Just tell me what you want, Hildegard,” said Lothar dourly, leaning back in his cushions. “We may be remote and isolated in Draigynys, but even here we know that you have been defeated and have lost the Ostracis Citadel to Shobar’s Skull Watch. And we hear rumors of further defeats in Briga.”
Hildegard took a deep breath. This was the moment of truth. She plunged ahead.
“Artor Hilson has usurped the throne of Briga and has moved virtually all his forces to the Amu-Shan plain. He is calling up all Brigon barons, and we are afraid that he may soon march on Atlantic City with as many as two hundred thousand men. In the process, he has stripped his home front almost bare, and his capital is ripe for the taking. I would like you to gather your barons, take Karsk, and straddle Hilson’s rear. In addition, once you have the women and children of Karsk in your hands, we will have bargaining chips.”
“You want us to fight our way into the Northern Marches? In winter?”
“No,” said Hildegard. “We can transport several thousand of your men to Karsk in our airship. We can get you there unscathed. And you will not be alone. You saw that Cheval Horus, the heir to the House of Matalus, is with us. He has repledged the fealty of his house to us. So you will have one of the most powerful baronies in the Northern Marches as your ally.”
“So you need us, Hildegard,” said Lothar. “No matter how brightly you paint the picture.” It was a statement, not a question.
“Yes,” said Hildegard simply.
“If I agree to help you, then you must pay my price.”
“What do you want?” asked Hildegard cautiously.
“I want the head of Lady Death,” he said flatly.
Hildegard flinched as though he had struck her.
“You want revenge,” she said accusingly.
“I want justice,” he returned evenly. “An eye for an eye.”
Hildegard hesitated.
“Won’t you consider that Cornelle Diana today is not the rash, headstrong, young huntress she was when she killed Jondolar?” she asked, trying to appeal to his reason.
“The passage of time has not erased her crime,” he said implacably.
Hildegard sat for a period of time in silence, her distress obvious on her delicate features. By the traditions of Utrean royalty, she would have become my wife upon my brother’s death, Lothar thought. He almost felt the beginnings of sympathy.
“Is there nothing else I can do to satisfy you, Lothar? Name a price in gold talents, in territory, in titles, and I will move the heavens to gratify you.”
“Do not cheapen my brother’s death with talk of gold!” cried Lothar, his voice rising. The veins stood out in his neck, and his eyes bulged with rage. Hildegard saw that further discussion was futile.
“Cornelle Diana is a senior military officer,” she said finally. “I cannot make this decision unilaterally. I have to consult with my advisors.”
“Please do so,” said Lothar. “But bear in mind that unless we clear this up, there can be no alliance between us.”
He stood up, and she followed suit. He opened the doors, and the waiting Guardians entered and took up positions at Hildegard’s side. She walked out of the chamber, head held high, and he followed her, adhering again the protocols of vassalage.
The leave-taking ceremonies were less formal and more rapid. The Zon Imperial party returned to the parade ground, and the Thetis lowered her ramp again to receive them. As the horses clattered into the egress deck, Hildegard said, “Princess Andromache, Cornelle Diana, and Greghar, please join me in the command stateroom at once.”
CAITLIN SAT WITH Nitya in the sick bay of the Thetis. She was propped up in her bed with her left leg heavily bandaged. Her right forearm was also bandaged, but much more lightly. She looked much better but still far from her normal self. A pale pallor had replaced her usual healthy, bronzed complexion, uncovering a very light dusting of freckles on her nose and cheeks. Her suffering had taken a toll, and her red mane now had some lighter blonde streaks in it.
Nitya had just completed the story of her experiences with Greghar in their quest to rescue her from the Skull Watch. She dwelt on Greghar’s worries and his willingness to risk everything for her.
“I cannot tell you, Lady Caitlin, how happy Greghar and I are to have you back safe,” she concluded. “Many a time I despaired, but Greghar, he never gave up hope.”
“I am touched by your loyalty,” said Caitlin. She was sedated and spoke sluggishly, slurring her words. “Tell me, where is Greghar now?”
“Queen Hildegard and her Imperial party have departed to a conference with Arch Baron Lothar in the Lighthouse Keep, his Vesterans residence,” Nitya said. “Greghar has accompanied them. I heard the medicae talking about it.”
Why are we in Vesterans? thought Caitlin. Why is Greghar accompanying the queen? It makes no sense. Her brain seemed to be working in slow motion. She had so many questions, but she could not seem to marshal her thoughts.
“Nitya,” Caitlin said, her voice growing woozy. “I’ve been having a terrible nightmare. My mother keeps calling to me, and I try to respond, but I am paralyzed; I cannot go to her, I cannot even respond to her. She keeps crying and crying my name. Tell the medicae that I must speak to her on the comm as soon as possible.”
“I will try, Lady Caitlin,” said Nitya, leaning over and smoothing her hair, eliciting a faint smile. Caitlin’s eyelids felt heavy, and she drifted between sleep and wakefulness. Nitya fell silent and sat quietly at her bedside. She watched Caitlin breathe peacefully and meditated again on the chant of power.
Two medical attendants entered and went about checking the equipment and monitors around Caitlin’s bed, tapping information into data packs. They ignored Nitya as they went about their work and chatted with each other.
“So, I was talking to my cousin in Aurora, and she was telling me all about it,” one was saying. “The whole citadel has been in an uproar since it happened. And now my cousin sent me this comm edge displayed by some server called Franna Kostarina. She is the one that Princess Deirdre saved in the ambush on the inner wall in the Docks district.”
“What’s it like? What does she say?” asked the other one curiously.
“It really changed the way I think about things,” the first one replied. “It is truly heartbreaking. It made me cry.”
“Really? You must show it to me,” said the second one eagerly.
“Well…maybe at our break…” the first one began.
“We won’t be disturbed here,” insisted the second. “And we can always tell Medica Dannae that our data downloads took longer than we expected.”
The first one took a quick glance at Caitlin, whose eyes were halfclosed, her breast rising and falling gently.
“Oh, don’t worry about them,” the second one said carelessly. “Princess Caitlin is deeply sedated and the barbarian won’t understand anyway.” Nitya kept her head down as though uncomprehending, but her ears pricked up as the medical attendant continued. “See? They don’t understand Pranto.”
“Well, okay, I guess you’re right,” said the first one uncertainly. She tapped her communicator and cued up a comm channel. It projected a hologram on the floor at the other side of the
small sick bay cabin. It was a sharp image of Franna, dressed in her finest black gown, with jewels at her throat and in her hair. Her face was puffy, and her eyes were red from crying. But when she spoke, her voice was firm.
“My name is Franna Kostarina, and I am recording this for posterity, for I hope that my words will live on the comm long after I am gone. I am a commoner of modest means, not an orator or a politician—so my words are simple, but they express the deepest feelings in my heart. I speak to you today of Princess Deirdre. Like many of you, I used to think that she despised us commoners. I thought that she was cold, haughty, and arrogant, for she had every reason to be. Her name was synonymous with Zon beauty, she wore the royal tiara of d’Orr as the scion of the oldest house in the Sisterhood, she was rich, and she was one of the greatest warriors in the Legions. If I had even a small portion of her gifts, I would be insufferable. I had seen her many times on the comm, most recently on The Eight Percent on Lives of Our Sisters. There she was shown as a heartless warmonger, interested only in preserving the benefits and rights of the electrae. So when she came into my café and tried to befriend me, I rebuffed her cruelly—how I regret that now! She was warm and caring, enquiring about my troubles and offering to help me. What I did not know at the time was that she had just been seriously wounded in the battle for the Docks and was still weak from loss of blood. But her concerns were still for her less fortunate sisters.” Tears started out of Franna’s eyes. Nitya sneaked a look at the two medical attendants and saw that their eyes were moist as well as they watched the hologram with rapt attention.
“What I started at the café led to a fracas as many sisters, as ignorant as I, began attacking Princess Deirdre. Weak as she was, she tried to convey her love for us all, but we were deaf to her entreaties. To be so rejected by those for whom she gave everything! I cannot begin to imagine the pain we caused her! So when I was asked to appear with Princess Deirdre on LOS by Yukia Rabbina, I was delighted, for I thought it would give me the chance to make amends for my unforgivable behavior. As we stood together on the inner wall, I apologized to her profusely, but she turned it all aside saying, ‘I view the suffering of every one of my sisters as a personal failing. You have suffered much, so it is I who must apologize to you.’ Can you imagine such love, my sisters? Yukia Rabbina’s response to the princess was skeptical in the extreme, doubting her sincerity, but tragically, her cynicism would soon be given the lie. My words will not do justice to what happened, so I will show it to you.”
The Empire of the Zon Page 56