The Empire of the Zon

by R. M. Burgess

  “I am a beggar,” Greghar said, shrugging. “As they say, beggars cannot be choosers.”

  “Oh, don’t be so self-pitying!” snapped Caitlin. “I have sparred long and hard with you. I know your style and form. I will be your second.”

  “I am sorry, Princess Caitlin, but even seconds must be able to walk,” said Greghar.

  Caitlin kicked the covers off, swung her legs off the bed, and stood up. Much to the surprise of both Greghar and Nitya, she stood unaided.

  “You will damage your healing leg, Princess Caitlin!” cried Nitya.

  Caitlin smiled for the first time since she had received the news of her mother’s death. It was a wan smile, a pale imitation of the smiles that lit up her face, but it was a smile nonetheless.

  “They have put a metal femur in me,” she said. “Medica Dannae wants me to exercise it, to get blood flowing through the new, rebuilt muscles. What better place than the training ring?”

  A SHORT WHILE later, Caitlin, Greghar, and Nitya were in the spectators’ seats at the Thetis’s training ring. Diana and Alex were just completing their sparring bout. Diana’s skill, speed, and lightness of foot were legendary, but even so, to actually see her in action was something else. Alex was an excellent swordswoman, but it was clear to Greghar’s professional eye that Diana was in a different league. The ease with which she parried even Alex’s most furious assaults had him shaking his head in admiration.

  When they were done, they pounded each other’s shoulder pads. They were both covered with sweat, but Alex was clearly more tired. She leaned on her sparring sword, saying, “I’m no match for you, Cornelle.”

  “I am sure our audience has a different opinion,” said Diana, grinning.

  Alex looked up and saw the three of them, with Caitlin and Greghar attired for combat.

  “I think you were both brilliant,” said Nitya. “Such speed, skill, dexterity, and balance! It is like a deadly dance.”

  “Well put, little one,” said Diana as she exited the ring with Alex and approached them. “So, Greghar, I see you have come to spy on me.”

  “Merely to warm up, as you have, Lady Death,” he replied, without rancor.

  Alex looked at Caitlin and tried to conceal her disapproval. Greghar saw it and said, “Perhaps you should sit in the gallery and watch me warm up, Princess.”

  “This morning Medica Dannae asked me to begin physical activity,” responded Caitlin. “Sparring will be good for me. However, I am afraid that I may not be able to give you much of a warm-up. Even at my best, I was not as good a swordswoman as Centuria Lady Alexandra.”

  Alex nodded to acknowledge Caitlin’s praise but said coolly, “Sparring with a barbarian is probably considerably more intense than Medica Dannae’s planned physical therapy.” She did not wait for a reply and left the chamber. Diana sat down in one of the seats.

  “Do you mind if I watch, Greghar? I have never seen you with a sword, though I have heard many tall tales of Asgar, the Utrean scout who served the House of Matalus in the Northern Marches.”

  “Tall tales are not reality, Lady Death,” said Greghar.

  Caitlin and Greghar stepped into the ring and took their guards with their blunt sparring swords. Caitlin was quite encouraged by how easily she could walk, but when she set up and clenched the muscles of her injured left leg, she felt a stab of pain. She ignored it, launched a cautious attack, and their blades rang. She tried to increase the pace of her strokes, but it was obvious to Greghar that she was not able to generate anywhere near the power or speed she had had during their sparring bouts before her injuries. She favored her right leg, but even so, the pain in her left leg grew steadily worse till finally it began to show on her face.

  Greghar stopped abruptly and caught her next stroke with his bare hand. The blunt metal made a slap as it hit his hand, but he held it firmly. She was caught like a fish on a line—she could not pull her blade free.

  “Oh!” She raged in frustration, jerking the hilt to try and free it. All at once her injured leg gave way; she lost her balance and began to fall. Greghar immediately stepped forward and caught her, and she was in his arms. The feel and smell of her warm body was so pleasant that he could not help himself—he tightened his hold and hugged her to him. For a brief instant, his head was buried in her silky hair. He did not want to let her go, but he restrained himself with difficulty. It was all over in a couple of seconds, and he helped her to regain her feet.

  “Thank you,” she said, blushing furiously, equally embarrassed by the desires excited by the touch of his hard body and by the sardonic look she caught from Diana.

  “Let us return to the sick bay,” he said.

  “But you have not even broken a sweat,” protested Caitlin. “You are nowhere near warm.”

  “It is no matter, Princess Caitlin,” he said, with a significant look at Diana. “I am sure that Lady Death will get me warmed up very quickly.”

  Caitlin wanted to protest further, but Greghar steered her out of the chamber with Nitya in tow. Caitlin twisted her head to look over her shoulder and saw that Diana was still seated, the ghost of a smile on her face. How can Greghar and Diana be so cool? They will shortly be in a dueling ring, trying to kill each other.

  JUST OVER AN hour later, the Zon party reentered the Hall of the Whale with full ceremony. Guardian squads led the way, followed by Hildegard and Andromache. Diana and Alex came next, followed by Greghar and Caitlin. Nitya had begged to be allowed to come, and Greghar could think of no good reason to deny her. So she entered as well, holding Greghar’s hand.

  Again, a small detachment of Guardians came forward to blow a fanfare announcing the queen. Then she ascended the dais and took the elevated seat as before. Andromache sat beside her. As soon as they sat, Lothar and his barons took their seats on the dais.

  The dueling ring had been set up as Lothar had promised. It was large, and the edges were marked with iron chains, laid out on the stone floor. There were two posts set up, one for each of the combatants. Pinnar, Lothar’s older son, had been appointed to oversee the duel, and he stood in the middle of the ring. The huge hall was packed with the worthiest of Vesterans, for the news of the duel had spread like wildfire. Every notable who had access to the Lighthouse Keep had exercised it and gained admission. There was the typical buzz from the crowd, but from the finger-pointing and the manner in which heads were craned, much of it seemed to be centered on the unlikely pair of Greghar and Caitlin.

  Leaving Caitlin at his post, Greghar approached Pinnar in the ring.

  “Cousin, we played together as boys,” he said. “I presume on that familiarity to beg a favor. I wonder if you can find a safe seat for my ward, the Yengar lass, Nitya. And if I am killed, I beseech you to take her into your household and adopt her as your own. I guarantee that she will be a source of joy for you and your wife; you will delight in her.”

  “Ask her to sit with my wife, Guttrin,” Pinnar said, pointing to a woman with two thick braids sitting in a row just below the dais. “If you are killed, I promise I will relay your request to her. But the household is hers to run, and I make no promises on her behalf.”

  “I can ask no more, cousin,” said Greghar courteously. He returned to his post, took Nitya by the hand, and conveyed her to Guttrin. The woman would not meet Greghar’s eye, muttering sotto voce to her neighbor, “A bastard as our champion! What a travesty!” But she looked at Nitya and pointed to the seat beside her. Nitya took the seat fearfully, realizing that Greghar’s death would mean reentering a world that did not want her.

  Greghar returned to his post with a heavy heart. Caitlin had the twin d’Orr swords, one in each hand. She handed one to him hilt first, saying, “Karya has been my constant companion since I was at the Academy, and I hope it will protect you from harm.” As he took it, she hefted the other one and continued, “Nasht protects your back.”

  “Princess Caitlin,” said Greghar, in an uncharacteristically earnest tone. “I do not know what the next hour
will bring. Whatever happens, I want you to know that I have never met anyone I respected more. It has been a privilege to know to you.”

  “Respect…privilege…” Caitlin found herself stuttering again, and she was strangely disappointed. She stopped, took a deep breath, and continued in a steadier tone. “I wish you the best of luck, Greghar Asgar Nibellus. If anyone deserves to carry a royal name it is you, for you have more honor than any man I know.”

  “Combatants to the ring, please!” called Pinnar.

  Greghar looked into Caitlin’s green eyes and impulsively touched her cheek lightly before turning and striding out to the center of the ring, where Diana already stood beside Pinnar.

  “I will stand at the edge of the ring,” Pinnar intoned. “When I call ‘on guard,’ you will commence the duel. All manner of combat is permitted. If disarmed, you may seek a like weapon from your second. You will fight for thirty minutes or to the death of one combatant, whichever comes first. There will be two periods of fifteen minutes each. If one party is grievously wounded, I will appeal to the dais for the life-or-death decision.” He indicated the dais where Lothar, Hildegard, and their parties sat. “Any questions?”

  Diana and Greghar were silent, staring past Pinnar at each other. He took their silence for acquiescence and walked away toward the edge of the ring.

  “I take no pleasure in this, Greghar,” said Diana when Pinnar was out of earshot. “Your behavior over the last weeks has been bewilderingly civilized—quite unlike a barbarian male. I have often regretted killing your father because it led to the rise of Shobar. But if he was anything like you, then I am guilty indeed.”

  “Have a care, Lady Death,” said Greghar, allowing himself a slight smile. “If you carry on like this, you may damage the ruthless, pitiless image that you have worked so hard to create and nurture.”

  “Barbarians underestimate me at their peril,” she returned, making a practice pass with Light.

  “The Sisterhood cannot survive without the Legions,” said Greghar, treading delicately. “With Princess Deirdre’s death, you are their heart and soul; your death would shatter their morale. Know that I will not be the one who removes the keystone to bring Zon civilization crashing down.”

  “Why not, Greghar?” asked Diana, batting her eyelashes. Her eyes seemed less cold and a brighter gray than usual, and he was conscious of what an extraordinarily attractive woman she was.

  If I did not know better, I would think she is flirting with me, thought Greghar. Remember! The Zon are trained to use their wiles as weapons, and Lady Death is the best of them.

  “It is of no importance,” he said dismissively, taking a practice pass with Karya and settling into a defensive stance.

  She followed suit and prepared herself for battle.

  “I know why, Greghar,” she whispered, loud enough for him to hear. “For I know who you are.”

  “On guard!” called Pinnar.

  Diana was so quick off the mark that almost no one in the huge audience saw her move. Greghar’s sword caught her thrust just in time, and he parried, retreating rapidly in the face of her furious assault. The sound of their Zon blades striking each other had a different and lighter pitch than the heavy clang of barbarian steel. Greghar found his timing, and he began to feel more comfortable. He eventually stopped retreating, stood his ground, and then began to push Diana back on her heels. She tried to hold her ground but was forced to retreat a step, then another, and then several more.

  She took a quick side step and crouched slightly, preparing to use her high kick.

  “You’re giving me a good run, Greghar,” she panted. “No one else could match me as you have.”

  “I wouldn’t use a high kick if I were you, Lady Death,” he responded in a disconcertingly normal voice. “My blade will take your leg off at the knee.”

  Diana did not let surprise affect her judgment but reoptimized immediately. She launched herself at him with a short stroke at his face. His blade caught hers, and they were only centimeters apart, their blades locked together. They used their body weight to move their opponent’s blades. Greghar’s greater weight and strength began to tell, and his blade moved ever closer to her face.

  “A shame to mark such a beautiful face, Lady Death,” he said, panting with exertion.

  “True enough!” Her words came out in a gasp. Suddenly, she sidestepped and reached down to her thigh boot with her left hand, drawing her long dagger. Her one-handed grip on Light reduced her counterweight on his blade, and he fell forward as though he were pushing on an open door. The danger of the dagger was very real, and Greghar flailed at it desperately as he stumbled forward. He managed to catch her wrist just in time and held the long blade vertical and away from his body. They were momentarily in a stalemate.

  However, strong as she was, he was far stronger, and while he could not squeeze her wrist through her bracer, he began to force his sword toward her face again. With a surge of strength, Diana threw her weight behind her dagger hand and managed to move his arm. Too late he saw the needlepoint on the base of her dagger hilt, and it gashed the side of his face, laying his cheek open to the bone. He was distracted from his own attack now, for it seemed that she was trying to drive the point into his eye. He had succeeded in forcing the dagger away from his face again when her knee came up viciously, and the metal kneecap in her thigh boot caught him in the groin. He managed to deflect the blow with his thigh, but the immediate pain was still intense. He staggered back, still holding Karya in front of him.

  She did not hurry after him to press her advantage. Greghar knew she was giving him time to recover. Why, Lady Death? he thought. Surely you are not overconfident? Time ticked by, and sand continued to trickle through the timer by Pinnar’s foot. The audience had been shouting encouragement to Greghar, but now they were silent, watching the two circle each other warily.

  Diana caught Greghar’s next stroke on Light and held it momentarily. In that brief moment she rasped, “You said you would not kill me, did you not?”

  Greghar swung his blade free, but with her next stroke, she found her blade held on his.

  “Yes, I did,” he said, breathing hard. “And you did not press your advantage after you marked my face.” The cut on his face was bleeding, but in the excitement of the duel, he did not feel the pain.

  She freed her blade, and they circled again, watching each other intently.

  “I have marked you, Greghar Nibellus,” she said, her voice low. “But I will not kill you. If you are a true friend to the Sisterhood, you could be a priceless asset.”

  “What do you suggest we do?” he asked, still circling, watching her like a hawk.

  “Let’s give them a show,” she said with a laugh. She stepped up and thrust at him in a classic maneuver, and he parried in an equally standard manner. “We will try and mark each other, you and I. It will be fun!”

  “I don’t trust you, Lady Death,” he said.

  “You are wise, Greghar,” she responded, laughing again.

  They fought on, enthralling the crowd with their skill.

  Lothar leaned over to his younger son, Bradar.

  “Lady Death seems to find the proceedings amusing,” he said crossly.

  “Don’t worry, Father,” Bradar said uncertainly. “Greghar will have her laughing on the other side of her face soon enough.”

  THEY FOUGHT ON, using the entire ring, sometimes one seeming to have the upper hand and sometimes the other. Diana realized that Greghar was fighting defensively, that he was not attacking her as strongly as he might. If he was really trying to kill me, I would have a serious fight on my hands, she thought. She was used to fighting men who were stronger than her, and sometimes faster as well. But she had never fought anyone who could match her fitness. She caught herself taking quick sidelong glances at the timer by Pinnar’s foot, for she knew she was tiring. He must be just as tired, she thought, trying to buck herself up.

  She had more experience than him and used every
trick in her repertoire to get through his guard. Finally, one of her double feints worked, and she saw an opening. Quick as a flash, she thrust and slashed, drawing a thin line of blood along his left forearm. Greghar instantly retreated and retook his guard, assessing his injury. He knew she could have cut him deeply, but she had expertly given him a superficial cut. The pain was sharp and it welled up with blood, but it looked much worse than it was. He looked into her eyes, and she gave him a predatory smile, baring her perfect, white teeth.

  Just then the sand ran out in the timer, and Pinnar struck a gong, ending the first period of the duel. Diana saluted Greghar with her sword and walked back to Alex, her boots ringing on the stone floor. She concealed her fatigue well, but as soon as she got to her post, she quickly sat down on her chair. She leaned back, closed her eyes, and tried to relax and prepare herself for the second half. Alex massaged her shoulders, whispering, “You have his measure, Cornelle. In the second half, he is yours.”

  Greghar was more tired than he could remember. But he too concealed his weariness as he made his way back to his post. Caitlin had a standard-issue first aid kit in one of her belt pouches and had contrived to get a bucket and some cloths. As he sat down, she wiped his bleeding face and arm, quickly dressed both with antiseptic, and covered them with light gauze bandages.

  “You are not fighting aggressively,” she said. “And she is not pressing her attacks.” She left the unspoken question hanging in the air.

  “I hope that we may both yet emerge from this alive,” he said, closing his eyes and trying to regiment his breathing.

  She did not press him further but made sure he drank fluid and wracked her brain for something suitably encouraging. It is my dearest wish that you survive without major injury, she felt like saying, but this sounded far too affectionate. So she merely said, “Be careful,” and cursed herself for sounding inane.