The Empire of the Zon

by R. M. Burgess

  “I will not be party to murder, directly or indirectly,” said Jena furiously. “I don’t know what your game is, Darbeni, but I am cutting the channel right now.”

  “Wait!” said Darbeni in a panic. “You misunderstand me. I was not talking about murder. I want you to kill a specific barbarian to help the war effort.”

  “Who is it?” asked Jena suspiciously.

  “A Brigon man,” said Darbeni vaguely. “He is a danger to the Sisterhood. I’ll explain everything when we meet to work out the details. You’ll see that this is a very righteous project.”

  “Since when has righteousness been an objective of Pragarina Enterprises?” asked Jena.

  “In this case, righteousness happens to coincide with the interests of Pragarina Enterprises,” said Darbeni. “I would not have called you otherwise.”

  “I’ll hear you out,” said Jena carefully. “But we have an emergency here. I can’t leave the Brigon Residency.”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll come to you,” said Darbeni. “I can use one of our airboats. Vivia Pragarina and I would like to donate some materiel to the war effort. What can I bring our brave defenders in the Residency?”

  “I’ll send you a list,” said Jena briefly and cut the channel.

  Darbeni leaned back in her chair and breathed deeply. It took a long time for her rapidly beating heart to slow. She knew she was playing a very dangerous game.

  TWENTY-SIX

  NESTAR CROGUS SAT in the Small Hall and shook the parchment that he had been handed. His ability to read was limited, so while he had discerned a few words, his knowledge of the contents came from the messenger’s reading it aloud. He crooked his finger and summoned Guttanar, whose reading abilities surpassed his own, and handed him the parchment. Guttanar scanned it and then read through it laboriously.

  “It is as he says, my lord baron,” Guttanar said meekly. “King Shobar summons you to the Great Ice Range, along with a troop of fifty of your best men.”

  “He has just created me Baron of Steefen,” growled Nestar. “Why should I abandon my baronial seat? The Zon are very likely to mount a counterattack to retake the citadel.”

  “His Majesty says not to worry about that,” said the messenger nervously. “He plans to emerge from the Great Ice Range, drive the Zon out of Utrea, and pursue them all the way to Atlantic City. The Zon capital itself will yield to him, he said.”

  “I see,” said Nestar, stroking his beard. “I would love to know what our king has up his sleeve. But I am sure he will tell me.” He paused and fixed the messenger with a stare, causing the man to drop his eyes to the ground. “Cheval Guttanar, select our fifty best men. We ride at daybreak. In the meantime, lay out a plan to defend the citadel in our absence, should the Zon counterattack.”

  “Yes, my lord baron,” said Guttanar, bowing deeply. He was delighted to be selected as Nestar’s best captain and strove to avoid looking smug.

  KATOG, THE ORIGINATOR of the message, rode on a small pony beside Shobar’s tall warhorse. He looked up when his master asked, “So when should we expect Nestar to join us?”

  “He needs to travel down the Steefen Gorge and back up the Lofgren Valley,” said Katog. “It really depends on the weather. If the weather closes in, it could take him a month.”

  “Well, no matter,” said Shobar carelessly. “We will leave a troop out to wait for him at the entrance to the cavern. I assume the map you sent him will bring him there pretty easily?”

  “A blind man could follow it,” said Katog confidently. “And he will be guided by your messenger.”

  “Good, good,” said Shobar, rubbing his hands, which were encased in heavy leather gloves. He looked up at the sky where an airboat was making a pass at about a thousand meters. “I wish I had a ’grator to shoot those cursed bitches down! Well, at least we have the Zon guessing at our intentions. They must be working themselves into a frenzy wondering what we are up to.”

  “Your Majesty is a master strategist,” said Katog dutifully, keeping his considerable doubts to himself.

  Their main force stretched out behind them. Their immediate escort consisted of some companies of Shobar’s Skull Watch, and they had scouts ranging out ahead and on their flanks. A scout came galloping up to them now, reining in his lathered horse a respectful distance from the king. Steam issued from his horse’s nostrils as well as his own. He bowed low in the saddle.

  “Approach,” said Katog.

  The scout did as he was bid.

  “Your Majesty, I have ranged the cavern,” said the scout in a formal monotone. “It is as we left it last winter. The defensive emplacements are untouched, and the food stocks we laid in have been well preserved by the cold.”

  “Excellent,” said Shobar, breaking into a grin. “How far is it from here, exactly?”

  “Just over two days’ ride, Your Majesty,” he said, bowing again.

  “Send one of the light cavalry regiments ahead to prepare the workings for our arrival,” Shobar said to Katog. Turning back to the scout, he continued, “Get a fresh horse. You will guide them to our destination.”

  “As you command, Your Majesty,” said the scout.

  LOTHAR AND HILDEGARD sat facing each other across the fire in the small reception chamber off the Hall of the Whale again, and now each had adherents seated with them. Lothar’s sons, Pinnar and Bradar, flanked him. Hildegard had Andromache seated on her right and Diana and Greghar standing behind her. Two tall Guardians stood on either side of the Zon party. Several stewards bustled about, serving Utrean blue-berg wine and a selection of hors d’oeuvres.

  The conversation was stilted, neither party keen on being the first to broach the matter at hand. Eventually the stewards retired and Lothar cleared his throat, a sign that Hildegard knew presaged his making a pronouncement.

  “Your Imperial Majesty,” he said, addressing Hildegard. “At our last meeting you indicated that you would let us know whether you could meet our conditions for joining the Sisterhood in an alliance. We are eager to hear your decision.”

  “Arch Baron, I have consulted with my advisors and with the Cabinet Council,” said Hildegard, betraying no sign of emotion. “Our decision turned on a phrase you used at our last meeting. ‘An eye for an eye,’ you said. We accept your conditions in precisely that perspective. Cornelle Diana challenged King Jondolar to decide the tribute payment on the basis of a duel, in which he was killed. Cornelle Diana will accept a challenge from a champion of your choosing. The outcome of this duel will settle her guilt or innocence. It pains me to offer this barbarian-style resolution, for we Zon do not believe in settling disputes by violence.”

  “Yes, that is very true,” said Lothar with heavy sarcasm. “We all know how you Zon conquered all of Tarsus with your beauty and your persuasive arguments.”

  Hildegard did not respond. There was a long pause as Lothar looked into the fire and then at Hildegard. She met his gaze steadily.

  “My champion will have the choice of weapons,” he said at last.

  Hildegard was nonplussed and glanced behind her uncertainly.

  “Agreed, Arch Baron,” Diana said, speaking up, her tone reasonable. “In return, you must name your champion in advance so I know who I am facing.”

  “That will not be a problem,” said Lothar. “For I will name him right now. I name the son of your victim, Greghar Asgar, as my champion.”

  There was shocked silence in the chamber. Even the normally insensitive Guardians looked startled. Greghar was the only one who maintained a stoic calm.

  “Will you accept this role, Greghar?” asked Hildegard, working hard to sound matter-of-fact.

  Greghar shrugged.

  “It is not my desire, Your Majesty,” he said without emotion. “However, I will do what is necessary to secure this alliance. It is what my father would have wished.”

  “Consider, Lothar,” said Hildegard, turning to him. “You have lost your brother. Would you risk losing your nephew in the same manner?”

>   Outwardly her face betrayed no sentiment. However, inwardly she screamed, Lothar, you are breaking my heart! You would have me risk my son in the same manner that I lost my husband.

  “It is his duty to avenge his father,” said Lothar, unmoved.

  “When would you have this duel take place?” asked Andromache, realizing Hildegard’s pain and placing her palm on her thigh.

  “Why should we delay?” asked Lothar. He looked over at Greghar. “How soon can you be ready, nephew?”

  “I am well rested, uncle,” said Greghar. “I am at your service.”

  “This evening, then,” said Lothar. “I will have a dueling ring prepared in the Hall of the Whale. I assume the sword will be your weapon of choice?”

  “Yes,” said Greghar.

  “We can outfit you properly,” continued Lothar. “My armorer can adjust one of my suits of heavy armor to fit you.”

  “I prefer to fight in the light armor I have on,” said Greghar politely.

  “You will stay with us to prepare? We can provide you with sparring partners to warm you up and a comely wench to relax you.”

  “I have my ward—the Yengar child, Nitya—aboard the Thetis, Arch Baron,” said Greghar respectfully. “She has no one in the world but me—I must spend time with her.”

  “If you spend this time with the Zon, who will serve as your second?” asked Lothar, slightly peeved.

  Greghar considered.

  “I had not thought of that, Arch Baron. I am baseborn. I cannot ask my noble, highborn cousins to serve me.”

  The queen had an iron grip on herself, and no one but Andromache saw the very slight point of color that rose to her cheeks at Greghar’s words. You are not baseborn, my son, Hildegard thought. I married your father before Ma—you are royalty twice over. How can anyone not see your regal mien?

  However, Lothar said, “That is true enough. I will get our best gladiator to serve as your second.”

  BACK ON THE Thetis, Diana went to her cabin and changed back into her combat uniform. She was just adjusting her helmet when the door chimes sounded. She tapped her wrist bracer, and the portal hissed open. Diana’s face broke into a welcoming smile when she saw it was Alex.

  “Come in, Centuria Lady Alexandra,” she said with mock formality.

  Alex took a step into the cabin and saluted, hand on heart.

  “I am pleased to see you, Cornelle,” she said, her pleasure obvious.

  Diana impulsively stepped up, put her hands on her shoulders, and greeted her warmly.

  “There is no one I would rather see, Alex,” she said warmly. “When did you get in?”

  “We just landed. I came straight here. What is this I hear about a duel between you and a barbarian ape?”

  “It is no ape—it is Greghar, the son of Jondolar, late king of Utrea,” said Diana, amused. “I never thought it would come to this—unlike most barbarian males, he is too mature to fight for pride or revenge. His uncle is forcing him into the duel. But what brings you all the way up here to Draigynys?”

  “We caught and roasted Princess Deirdre’s killers,” returned Alex grimly. “I heard that you have her heiress, Princess Caitlin, aboard, so I have brought the princess’s effects to her. The heads of the killers, along with their chief, Cheval Kantus Hilson, are on display in Aurora.”

  “Well done!” said Diana. “I am sure that Caitlin will be delighted to hear it. She should hear it from your own lips. You will find her in the sick bay.”

  “Before I go, Cornelle…” Alex paused.

  “Yes?” Diana asked patiently.

  “I offer myself as a second for your duel.” Alex colored as she spoke. “I am not hopeful, for I know you must have many offers.”

  “Why, Alex, there is no one I would trust my life to more than you,” replied Diana, smiling. “I should be delighted to have you as my second. Come to the training ring when you are done with Caitlin, and we will spar.”

  Alex saluted and took her leave. Like most huntresses with her seniority, she had served on the Thetis, so she quickly found her way to the sick bay. She announced herself to the duty medical attendant and was directly shown into Caitlin’s cabin. She was surprised to find Caitlin sitting up in her bed and even more surprised to find Nitya and Greghar sitting in chairs by her bedside.

  Seeing Alex enter, Caitlin sat up straight in bed and saluted, displaying her repaired and bandaged right arm.

  “At ease, Seignora Princess Caitlin,” said Alex, giving Caitlin the formal response she wanted. She noted the heavily bandaged thigh and the blonde streaks in her hair.

  “Please be seated, Centuria Lady Alexandra,” said Caitlin, still sitting straight. “Shall I ring for some katsch?”

  “No thank you, Seignora,” said Alex, looking from Greghar to Nitya. “May I speak with you in private? I have some news of a rather personal nature.”

  Before Caitlin could say anything, Greghar rose and took Nitya’s hand.

  “Come, Nitya, let us go to the waiting room.”

  Alex registered that he had spoken Pranto and gaped after them.

  “They are full of surprises, those two,” said Caitlin tiredly. Alex swung back and looked at her more carefully, seeing the still-wet tracks of tears on her face and her moist eyes. A small teardrop still clung to one of her eyelashes.

  “I am sorry to rekindle your grief, ma’am,” said Alex quietly. “But I felt it my duty to come to you. Your mother’s killers have been caught and roasted.”

  “That will not bring her back to me,” sniffled Caitlin, dropping the veil of formality. Her sniffs grew louder, and she had to catch her breath to continue. “I wish I had served as her handmaiden and waited on her hand and foot. She deserved a faithful, obedient daughter, not a wayward, wicked one like me.”

  Alex was not entirely surprised by Caitlin’s response.

  “This is your grief talking,” she said, sitting down and taking Caitlin’s good hand in hers. “It may seem unbearable now, but you must be strong. As the wearer of the d’Orr tiara, you take one of the most respected positions in the Sisterhood.”

  “I…I…am not worthy,” stuttered Caitlin hopelessly.

  “Caitlin, you are a huntress, a Palace Guardian, and a priestess of Cognis,” said Alex. “There is nothing you cannot do, if you put your mind to it. Your mother’s confidence in you was unshaken to the last. I was with her when she died. ‘Always righteous, better than me’…those were her words.”

  “I know,” said Caitlin in a small voice. “I saw the comm edge. I never knew she loved me so much.” She began to cry again.

  Alex continued to hold her good hand in silence. Eventually, Caitlin gained control of herself and asked for a wet wipe. She wiped her face and blew her nose.

  “You must forgive me, Centuria Lady Alexandra,” she said with a calm that had a brittle veneer. “I have no right to impose my grief on you. I am very grateful to you for coming all this way to share my mother’s last moments with me.”

  “I have brought you her things from Aurora—her weapons belt, the d’Orr sword, Nasht, and her traveling trunk. I will leave them with the medical attendant.”

  “Thank you,” said Caitlin.

  Alex stood up to take her leave, when she suddenly remembered.

  “Oh, I almost forgot. Your mother killed a Hilson slayer in single combat. Before he died, he gave her this for his wife.” She drew the crumpled parchment from a pouch in her weapons belt and handed it to Caitlin. “She thought it may be important, but it is yours to decide.”

  Caitlin took the parchment and saw “Lidill Ikren, Tirut” written on it in Alex’s hand.

  “Oh, I wrote that,” said Alex. “Your mother told me the name the slayer gave her, and I wrote it down so I wouldn’t forget it.”

  Caitlin slowly opened the parchment. It was part of a crude map, but the scale was too big to tell where it was. There were some dates and times and the address of a market in Tirut.

  “What could this be?” she asked.<
br />
  “He knew he was dying, and he wanted his wife to have it,” said Alex thoughtfully. “It must be something that is worth money. Perhaps he owns this property in Tirut?”

  “It could be,” said Caitlin, losing interest and refolding the parchment. “I thank you again for your thoughtfulness and sympathy.”

  “It is the least I could have done,” said Alex, rising. Caitlin sat up again and saluted. Alex returned her salute before leaving to seek out Diana in the training ring.

  Greghar and Nitya resumed their seats as soon as Alex left.

  “So you were telling me why you must fight Cornelle Diana, Greghar,” said Caitlin, resuming the conversation that had been interrupted by Alex’s arrival.

  “My uncle, Arch Baron Lothar, demands it,” he said. “It is his price for allying himself and his barons with the Sisterhood.”

  “I can see that he wants revenge for his brother’s death,” said Caitlin. “But why put you in the ring and not some gladiator?”

  “He says it is my duty to avenge my father.”

  “I am sure there is more to it than that,” said Caitlin shrewdly. “He must have ambitions to sit on the Masthead Throne of Utrea. If you are victorious, he will claim honor for his house, honor far beyond anything Shobar has achieved. If you are killed, it will be one less potential claimant he needs to worry about.”

  “That was exactly my thinking, Princess,” said Greghar, pleased that his troubles were taking Caitlin’s mind off her own.

  “You are in an awkward position, Greghar,” said Caitlin. “Lothar’s advisors are doubtless telling him that you are a Zon stooge, taking refuge in a Zon airship. And here aboard the Thetis, most of the huntresses would shoot you as easily as look at you.”

  “I am indeed caught between two worlds, Princess,” he said. “But it has been so all my life. I am used to it.”

  “But there are practical issues,” Caitlin persisted. “Who will be your second?”

  “My uncle has promised me his best gladiator,” said Greghar.

  “Someone you have never met!” exclaimed Caitlin. “A second guards your back; it should be someone you trust. In the Dreslin Center fighting pit, I could concentrate on my opponent because I had my dearest friend, Megara, at my back.”