The hologram of Franna dissolved and was replaced by a scene on the inner wall, a sidelong view of Deirdre staring outward with Yukia just beyond her. Suddenly, her hands flew out, one shooting out toward the videographer and the other grabbing Yukia’s shoulder. The scene became confusing as the videographer was forced down while the soundtrack picked up Deirdre’s voice urgently calling out, ‘Get down, everyone!’ The next thing the hologram picked up was Deirdre being hit, staggering back and falling. Alex’s scream of ‘No!’ came through clearly, followed by her barked orders.
The hologram stabilized as Alex reached the fallen princess, and Deirdre’s inquiry, ‘Is everyone okay?,’ came through very distinctly. What followed was her last exchange with Alex, ending with her dying message for Caitlin. The hologram dissolved and was replaced by Franna again, now crying freely.
“She died saving two commoners,” she continued miserably. “Yukia Rabbina, who had been her greatest critic, and me, who had so thoroughly abused her. But we were her sisters, and her love for us was unconditional: the whole of the Sisterhood was her family. And her dying words of love for her daughter—can anyone doubt that she was Zon motherhood personified?” There was a pause as Franna collected herself. “The saga of Deirdre d’Orr must live on, my sisters! You must not forget! Forward this comm edge to everyone you know!”
The hologram slowly dissolved, and there was silence, broken only by the two medical attendants sobbing quietly. Nitya had watched it with as much attention as the two medical attendants. She felt sick at heart, thinking, Lady Caitlin and I are both orphans now. The two medical attendants rose, wiping their eyes, and left, taking their data packs with them.
Nitya looked back at Caitlin and saw to her horror that her big green eyes were wide open. Caitlin’s immediate shock was too extreme for tears. Her mouth worked as she tried to form words, but she could only produce some incoherent sounds and spittle. Nitya threw herself on the bed covers and hugged her tightly.
Caitlin’s lips were right by Nitya’s ear, and she finally managed to stutter through her gasping sobs, “My…my mother is gone…I…I…have repaid her love…with disobedience and…ingratitude…I am…a despicable daughter…so unworthy…of her.”
“No, no, ma’am,” Nitya insisted breathlessly. “You are every bit the princess she was.”
MEGARA, FELICIA, AND Jena stood beside Lady Selene and the centuria of the Residency huntresses on the battlements of the Residency. They were looking down at the unruly crowd making its way up the broad expanse of open ground toward the moat that surrounded the Residency’s white walls. The wintry late-morning sun was low on the horizon and in their eyes, so the watchers on the Residency walls all had their dark visions on. It was a huge crowd, numbering in the tens of thousands. They carried burning torches, banners, and all manner of rudimentary weapons, none of which were particularly threatening to the defenders of the Residency.
“Our data visions have a rough count of the mob, your ladyship,” said the centuria. “We make it around sixty thousand.”
“Well, Hilson is not stupid,” returned Lady Selene sourly. “As he promised, we have a sea of women and children before us.”
“We have located some warriors hidden among them, my lady,” said the centuria. “Some of them are bowmen. When they get closer, I would urge you and the civilian staff to leave the battlements. We don’t want a repeat of what happened to Princess Deirdre.”
Lady Selene nodded. “I will be in the command center on a live comm feed. Keep me informed of all developments.” She left the battlements, followed by her civilian staff.
The centuria outranked her, but Megara’s detachment of Palace Guardians was the Residency’s best unit. So she turned to Megara and asked, “What is your opinion, Seignora?”
“I am more concerned about the new troops streaming into the Hilsons’ camp outside Dreslin,” she replied. “What does our latest airboat reconnaissance tell us?”
“Well, Hilson came here with about thirty thousand men. So far, the barons responding to his call have brought another fifty thousand. More are on the march. We have aerial reports of at least another sixty thousand within a few days’ march of here.”
Megara looked around Felicia and Jena, bringing them into the conversation.
“The barbarians remember their experiences from the War of Brigon Succession,” she said steadily. “They know as well as we do that that they do not need an army this big to take the Residency. As we discussed at our meeting last night, our current battery power in the Residency will probably be enough to destroy an army of thirty or forty thousand. The army they are assembling is so big that it will be impossible to maintain and feed for long in the field. They must commit it to battle soon and must have bigger goals than the Residency. The Aurora Citadel is already under siege. The only logical possibility is an all-out assault on Atlantic City—a total war.”
“The Cabinet Council is of the same opinion, Seignora,” said the centuria. “Atlantic City is already on full alert; all the Guard Castles are at full strength with their batteries fully charged.”
“We have never faced an attack of this magnitude,” said Megara soberly. “If the Hilsons are able to draw the majority of the Brigon barons to their banner, they could field an army of two hundred thousand. Ma only knows if we have the battery power to destroy an army of that size, even in Atlantic City.”
Several other huntresses had gathered around them now, and they looked uneasy. Megara knew how rapidly fear could sap morale, so she continued in a much more upbeat tone.
“Well, we are safe for the time being, at least. The Hilsons are not going to waste a significant part of their strength in taking the Residency. And on the march to Atlantic City, they will be vulnerable to attacks from the air. We will certainly be able to destroy at least half of their army before they get there. And we all know that the Great Vale can be held indefinitely, even with minimal power. We can wait them out as they run out of supplies and destroy them piecemeal.”
She strode away along the merlons, followed by Felicia and Jena.
“Seignora Megara, it was good of you to try and keep their spirits up,” said Felicia in her slow, country drawl. “For you obviously know that the power demands of the defenders of Aurora are already taxing our output. If indeed Atlantic City is attacked by an army of that size, the Cabinet Council will have to decide between sacrificing our second city and risking our capital.”
“All these are decisions beyond our pay grades,” responded Megara, trying to sound airy. “Our duty is fairly simple—to defend the Residency to the death.”
They continued to walk along the edge of the battlements, the three of them out of earshot of anyone else.
“Isn’t it a relief that our Caitlin is safe on the Thetis?” asked Jena, her unhurried folksy accent modeled on her heroine, Diana Tragina. “Princess Caitlin d’Orr now.”
“Badly injured, with the weight of her mother’s death to bear,” responded Megara. “In truth, I am quite worried about her. As you know, we practically grew up together, and I know her like a womb sister. She will feel terribly guilty for disobeying her mother, and she will be heartbroken that she has no means of reconciliation now. I wish I could be with her now to comfort her.”
“Small chance of that right now,” said Felicia. Just as the words left her mouth, a crossbow bolt flew by her, missing her helmet by a narrow margin. All three of them dropped to their knees behind the battlement merlons.
“Felicia, locate the bowman,” rapped Megara. “Jena, take the coordinates and shoot him.”
Felicia clicked her guidance visor down, magnified the image, and scanned the crowd quickly. She found the dark-armored crossbowman sheltering behind a woman and a gaggle of children. The woman was carrying a large placard that read, Return the traitor Harald! Felicia tapped her wrist bracer and sent the feed to Jena. The vector automatically aligned Jena’s ’grator and set the beam. She saw immediately that in shooting him, the ’gra
tor blast would also certainly kill the woman and perhaps a couple of the children as well. Her finger tightened on the trigger, but at the last minute, she eased up and said, “Seignora Megara, I will have to kill a woman and some children in order to shoot him. Permission to proceed?”
“Negative,” said Megara tersely. “Wait till you get a clean shot.”
“It may be impossible,” said Jena testily. “Think of what the barbarians did in Ostracis and what is going on in Aurora. Why should we spare their women and children? Especially when they are being used so cynically?”
“Because we are not them,” replied Megara. “We are a civilized society; we do not make war on the defenseless.”
“I am so pleased to hear you say that, Seignora Megara,” came a familiar voice from behind them. All three twisted around to see Esme crawling up to them on her stomach. Her traveling shift and cloak had been laundered, but crawling was not the best way to keep them clean.
“What are you doing on the battlements, Your Majesty?” asked Megara politely. “It is not safe here. There are bowmen hiding down there among the unarmed civilians. We don’t know what other weaponry they have concealed in the crowd.”
“I came up to ask if I could do some good,” Esme said hopefully. “Perhaps if I addressed them, I could make them go home peacefully.”
“I don’t think that is likely, ma’am,” said Felicia. “They have been whipped into quite a frenzy.”
The crowd had just reached the Residency’s moat. Half a dozen women, dressed all in black, their faces veiled in the manner of devout Thermadan females, emerged from the mass. They began to chant: “Give us…the traitor Harald! Give us…the traitor Harald! Give us…the traitor Harald!”
The crowd joined in, and their deafening chant seemed to shake the very walls of the Residency. Megara rose and made a circuit around the rear of the battlements, cheering up the huntresses with words of encouragement. Meanwhile Esme crawled up and peered out through a crenel between two merlons.
“Those women are Thermadan fundamentalists,” she said bitterly to Felicia. “I am religious myself, but these people are just crazy.”
“So they would be unlikely to listen to you,” Felicia returned, her friendly tone alleviating the jibe.
“I am afraid so,” said Esme seriously. “They think me sinful merely for appearing unveiled in public. I am the queen! How can I hide my face from my people?”
Mindful of Megara’s orders, Jena had returned her ’grator to its harness. Crossbow in hand, she was now scanning the crowd through a crenel, looking for other threats. She located another warrior, a longbow man, also screened by a group of children carrying placards. He was notching a long shaft, the arrowhead a mass of burning pitch. She sighted her crossbow, simultaneously calling out, “Fire arrows incoming!”
Felicia grabbed Esme and pulled her into a tight embrace, sheltering both of them under her shield. All the huntresses took similar measures. Megara called out, “Steady now, ladies! Hold your fire! We will not shoot unarmed women and children!”
Jena squeezed the trigger of her crossbow just as her target held steady before loosing his burning arrow. It was risky shot, but it was true and struck his lower trunk just as he loosed his bowstring. She pumped her fist as she saw him collapse. As he fell forward, his fire arrow went straight into the crowd in front of him. The burning pitch caught the black robes of a couple of women, setting them alight. They began screaming and beating at the flames, but the pitch had stuck fast in their robes and would not be extinguished. Several children milled about them, crying out loudly. The crowd fell back from them as the flames grew, and their screams eventually died out. The unpleasant smell of burning flesh wafted up to the battlements.
One of the leading veiled women by the moat took up a crude megaphone.
“See how the Zon treat us!” she cried vehemently. “See how they burn our unarmed women to death with their magic weapons! You see with your own eyes that their vaunted claims of ‘civilized behavior’ are all lies! We have more martyrs here today—defenseless women! Death to the Zon!”
The crowd responded, and soon the thunderous chants rose up and broke against the walls of the Residency like pounding waves:
“Death to the Zon! Death to the Zon! Death to the Zon!”
No one else saw exactly what happened, thought Jena, looking around the battlements at all the hunkered-down huntresses. I’m glad I got the whole thing on video.
DARBENI HAD RELUCTANTLY yielded to Vivia’s insistence and moved into her Lumin Hills palace. She had moved all her clothes into a guest suite while the new wing that Vivia meant for her was being finished. She put her posh flat up for rent. Vivia nodded her approval, saying, “You have inherited my head for business, darling. Of course, your flat will appreciate when the war is over, and you can sell it for a huge profit then.”
Privately Darbeni had no intention of selling it, and she kept all her furniture and fittings in place. It would be a nice retreat when Vivia was in one of her famous bad moods.
She had just returned after spending the morning at city court with Vivia. They had first gone through her legitimization procedures with the court clerk, a bubbly young commoner, who pulled up her old results to confirm her admission to the Middle Temple, Magis. After that, they had worked with an older, sterner clerk to complete the formalities of Vivia’s special admission to the Lower Temple, Lysia. Hildegard had already authorized it, but there were still mounds of forms to be completed. The administrative tasks completed, they were taken before a city court judge, a priestess in the robes of Magis, who looked none too pleased as she presided over the ceremony. Ignoring her disapproval, they took their oaths as electrae and were presented with their official chokers and wrist bracers.
By noon it was all done. They emerged from city court with the old-fashioned parchment scrolls of their new, elevated status. As they settled into the soft cushions in the rear of Vivia’s luxury speeder, she hugged Darbeni tightly and kissed her on both cheeks.
“It is done!” she cried happily. “You are now Darbeni Pragarina, my own daughter and heiress. We are both electrae! And as soon as the queen returns to Atlantic City, she will hold the ennoblement ceremony where she will place a tiara on my brow to create me a dame—Lady Vivia Pragarina! Just like that!” She snapped her fingers. “It is like a dream.”
Darbeni smiled but said nothing as Vivia took out a cold bottle of vintage clove wine and two stems from the speeder’s sideboard. She poured them out and handed one to Darbeni.
“Health and beauty!” said Vivia as they clinked stems.
“Health and beauty,” echoed Darbeni.
Her enthusiasm was not as great as Vivia would have wished, and she arched an eyebrow.
“I am delighted…Mother,” said Darbeni hastily. “Really, I am. I am just a bit overwhelmed. I could not in my wildest imaginings have foreseen that you could turn things around so completely. It seems like just hours ago I was making my peace with Ma, expecting to be shot for treason. Now I am an electra and the heiress to the largest fortune in the Sisterhood. It will take me some time to get used to it.”
Vivia laughed gaily.
“Once I am ennobled, we will throw a ball that will make the Sheel Ball look like rustic entertainment!”
When they reached the palace, Vivia retired to her suite with her maid, Naorina, for a massage and some beauty rest. Safely in her guest suite, Darbeni relaxed. She stripped off the fine gown that Vivia had insisted she wear to court, laid it on the huge bed, and pulled on some casual clothes. She sat in the suite’s study and tapped her wrist bracers gingerly. It took an hour for her to gain a basic ability to work the pair and to sync them up to the comm.
The bracers were more powerful than the handheld communicator she was used to, and she found herself grinning as happily as a child with a new toy. Synced up, she quickly accessed her data portal, tapped in her complex codes, and submitted to the retina and finger scan. Once in, she moved through
the Pragarina Enterprises data banks, searching for monthly transactions using the scraps of information Vivia had revealed in blackmailing the queen.
Darbeni had intimate knowledge of the Pragarina Enterprises systems, and it did not take her long to find what she was looking for. She downloaded the list of names, holographic images, and addresses and the automated airboat schedule to a local data store on her wrist bracer. She noted that the next scheduled automated delivery of money to network was in just a few days.
She thought about it for a long while, pacing periodically. Finally, she made her mind and pulled up the command hologram that controlled the automated airboat dispatch. After staring at the next scheduled delivery order for a few moments, she hit “cancel” with a decision tap. Then she sat back on her chair and looked out at the sweeping view of the city outside her suite. She knew what she wanted to do. She also knew that the sooner she did it, the easier it would be.
She tapped her wrist bracer experimentally to open a comm channel. It took her three tries before she got the hang of it.
“This is Darbeni Milsina,” she said, reverting to her birth name.
“Jena Saracenina,” came the impatient audio response with blocked video. “This is not a good time, Darbeni.”
“It will only take a minute,” said Darbeni quickly. “You owe Pragarina Enterprises over two hundred gold talents for purchases over the last year. I want to give you a way to expunge the debt.”
“Go on, I’m listening.” Jena’s tone was noncommittal.
“I need you to kill someone,” Darbeni said flatly.
The Empire of the Zon Page 57