“Get to the point.”
“My mother has a hard time dealing with aristocrats like Princess Andromache and you. But I am not like her. For example, she is delighted that Princess Caitlin has been driven into exile from the Sisterhood, a delight I do not share.”
Darbeni dabbed at her eyes. Her distress was not entirely an act.
“Do you have any idea of the depth of Princess Caitlin’s grief?” asked Alex, commiseration seeping into her voice in spite of her disapproval of Caitlin’s behavior. “I took her mother’s things to her sickbed on the Thetis. Every item I gave her tore at her heart. I had to divert her with a discussion about the parchment.”
“What parchment?” asked Darbeni, her ears pricking up.
“Oh, just a parchment that was given to Princess Deirdre by a dying Hilson slayer in Aurora,” said Alex. “It was a fragment of a map, and he asked the princess to deliver it to his wife, a Lidill Ikren in Tirut.”
The name “Ikren” made Darbeni’s heart beat faster. So that was why her man had failed to show up!
“Does Princess Caitlin have this parchment?”
“I don’t know,” said Alex. “I gave it to her. It was from her mother, so I imagine she kept it.”
Darbeni changed the subject, and they spoke inconsequentially for a few more minutes before parting, more amiably than when they met.
Darbeni hurried away and found a secluded corner where she opened a comm channel to Jena. “Where are you?” she asked.
“I’m at your ball.” It was hard to hear Jena’s voice over the driving beat in the background.
“Meet me in the entrance hall. Immediately.”
“Why? I’m having a great time here.”
“It’s worth money to you,” said Darbeni. “A lot of money.”
“I’m on my way,” said Jena. She cut the channel.
Five minutes later they met in the entrance hall. There were just a few people lounging around, but Darbeni did not want to take chances. She led the way to her suite, away from the hubbub of the ball.
As they sat down, Jena pulled out an inhaler from her bodice and took two quick hits of katsang.
“I’m getting rather tired of your drug-taking,” said Darbeni. “I have a good mind to reverse my work on those.” She pointed to the ax-and-hammer insignia on Jena’s wrist bracers.
“It’s a party!” protested Jena. “And those were my first hits.” She put her hand on her heart in mock salute. “No more, I promise. Tell me about the money.”
Darbeni thought about it. She would rather work with someone else, but she was stuck with Jena now.
“I need you to find Princess Caitlin,” she said.
Jena looked horrified even as the initial effects of the katsang were making her a bit lightheaded.
“I will not kill her,” she said. “We are a foursome—Caitlin, Megara, Felicia, and I. I will kill you if you are plotting against her.” She smoothly slid up the hem of her gown and drew a dagger from a sheath strapped to her thigh.
This crazy junkie will kill me! thought Darbeni, terrified. She put up her hands.
“No, no, again you misunderstand me,” she said, striving to keep her fear out of her voice. “I wish to do exactly the opposite. I want to help her. She has a piece of parchment that I need. I will give her gold, supplies, protection—all the things that she will need in the barbarian territories—in exchange for it. I need you to find her and make this exchange. If you bring the parchment back to me—and it is the right one—I will pay you. A lot.”
“How much?” asked Jena, her eyes getting glassy as the katsang began to settle into her system.
“I know you’ve racked up new debts since our last partnership,” said Darbeni. “I’ll forgive them all. And I will pay you five hundred gold talents.”
This was a fortune to Jena—it was more than three years of her huntress salary. She was sorely tempted, and Darbeni could see that she was struggling with herself. Finally, she stood, sheathed her dagger, and fanned herself with her little clutch. The hyperactivity induced by the katsang was making her fidgety and warm.
“I don’t trust you, Chief Counsel Darbeni,” said Jena. “I would never do anything to harm Princess Caitlin. Find someone else to do your dirty work.”
She stood up and began walking to the portal. Her athletic gait and high heels made her hips swing. Her elegant gown rustled and shimmered in the light.
“I am a bad enemy, Jena,” Darbeni called after her. “I will squeeze you dry for what you owe us.”
Jena made a rude gesture behind her back but kept walking.
I have neutralized Vivia’s control over the Sisterhood for now, thought Darbeni. But it is all for naught if I cannot gain that control for myself with the third piece of parchment. As long as Vivia doesn’t find out what I have done, the Sisterhood is safe from her blackmail. But if she finds out, she will get a new set of barbarian agents. And she will not forgive me.
“A thousand gold talents,” Darbeni called after Jena. The huntress stopped just outside the portal. She turned and re-entered Darbeni’s suite.
“Forgive my debts immediately,” Jena said. “And pay me five hundred tomorrow, the other five hundred when I deliver the parchment.”
“Okay,” said Darbeni. “We have a deal.”
Darbeni made a mental note maintain the autopilot airboat schedule and to keep deducting the payments, just in case Vivia checked. She also decided to pay the caregivers at Temple Heights Nursery to take extra care of little Lady Asgara, in case Vivia turned her attention to her. If I ever find Caitlin, I will need her goodwill, she thought.
HIGH CRAG WAS reputedly the end of the Long Trek and the pass through which Queen Simran led the original group of Zon survivors into the Great Vale. High Crag was also the first guard castle that she built, and her foresight was justified by the series of attacks it withstood from the revenge-seeking heirs of King Larax. In the Simran Saga, the white walls of High Crag guard castle were said to have run red with barbarian blood.
Every Zon was brought here on school trips. The scholasticas described Simran the Merciless as the heroine who founded the Sisterhood on New Eartha. Caitlin had always felt embarrassed when they pointed her out as a direct descendent of the legendary queen. But looking up at High Crag guard castle now, she felt her blood stirring.
She turned and rode along the Ridge Road. To her left, the Great Rocky Escarpment dropped off steeply over a thousand meters to the Amu-Shan plain. To her right, the drop was less steep and only about a hundred meters to dry scrubland that grew drier as one went westward, eventually morphing into the Western Desert. Ridge Road led directly to Rocky Scarp, but it was a long ride. Caitlin rode for a couple of hours past dark, her way lit by a particularly bright yellow moon. Her left thigh began to nag her, but it was a mild ache, and she inwardly blessed Medica Gisfin for the orthopedic procedure she had organized. She found a small mountain spring and made camp. She watered Rufus and hobbled him before spending an hour scouting the environs to make sure the camp was secure and all approaches were visible to her. She slept with her sword by her side and her laser pistol under her pillow. She surprised herself with how much she had learned from Greghar, without consciously trying.
She rode on the next day and the next. Soon the days began to run into one another. Ridge Road began to descend, and eventually she saw the soaring pinnacle of Rocky Scarp in the distance. It was so tall that it took her most of the day to reach its base. There was a large stone memorial to the battle and some well-built picnic shelters with running water. This was a popular Zon educational destination, and Caitlin had been here before on school trips. The trip that had taken her such a long time to accomplish on horseback took less than an hour by airboat.
She camped at the edge of the plateau, selecting a spot that was invisible to anyone arriving at the pinnacle itself. She checked out comm edges from Atlantic City before she went to sleep. She was pleased to note that the huntresses at the High Crag gu
ard castle had posted a comm edge describing her departure from the Great Vale in some detail. They had even taken the trouble to post a couple of pictures that showed her in her barbarian leathers. She bounced them to a few live sites, feeling sure that they would pick them up and use the photos to show her in a bad light. My sisters wanted death or exile, she thought. When they see that they have gotten their way with me, surely they will forgive Asgara.
The next morning she rose early, rode to the base of the pinnacle, and ate a spare breakfast in one of the shelters. She watered Rufus but left him unsaddled and untethered. She patted his muzzle and spoke to him softly. “Wait for me here, Rufus,” she said. “Wait for today.”
She walked to the base of the pinnacle and looked up. It was an overcast day, and she could not see the top through the cloud cover. Climb or die, she said to herself. Exile or death.
She began to climb steadily. Caitlin had been trained to climb at the Academy. The first hundred vertical meters were hard going, but there were abundant handholds, footholds, and ledges. Thereafter it grew more technical, and she climbed to reach set sub-goals, resting in between. Under normal circumstances, Caitlin would have considered this climb far too risky for a solo ascent without fixed ropes. But her travails had changed her, and she was almost hopeful that she would fall and die.
Three quarters of the way up, she broke through the low cloud and saw the top for the first time. It was a bit brighter above the cloud, but now she faced a marble-smooth section of cliff face without even the smallest of handholds. She was positioned with most of her weight on her left leg, and she could feel it begin to twinge. She could not rest on it for long. She craned her neck and saw a crag high above. As she watched, a huge eagle poked its head over it. Just what I need, she thought. An aerie.
She knew she did not have much time and therefore had no choice. She pulled her mother’s zircon lasso out of her weapons belt and fashioned a loop. Whirling the lasso till she thought she had enough momentum, she swung hard and then guided the loop with her right hand, her left on a handhold. Fortunately for her it was a large crag, and the lasso skittered off one and then another stony projection before settling around a third one. Caitlin pulled hard on the lasso, tightening the loop and making sure it would hold her weight. Then she began to climb, thanking Ma that her broken right forearm had fully recovered its strength.
By the time she got to within three or four meters of the crag, the eagle stuck its head over the edge again. Seeing her this close, it screeched, a bloodcurdlingly loud sound that reverberated in her ears. Holding onto the lasso with her right hand, she reached down with her left and drew her mother’s long dagger from her thigh boot and put it between her teeth. Then she cautiously resumed climbing.
When she was just below the lip of the crag, she held on with her left hand and took the dagger in her right. As she expected, the bird put its head over the edge, its sharp beak less than a meter from her face. She lunged forward with all her strength and got her shoulder over the lip of the crag, her dagger in front of her. The bird seemed to sense the danger of the dagger and retreated a step or two, shrieking. But Caitlin was on the crag now. Sweat poured down her, and the muscles of her upper body trembled with exhaustion. She leaned against the cliff wall, engaged in a stalemate with the angry bird. She sheathed the dagger and drew Nasht. She did not want to harm the creature and thought the best way to achieve this was to scare it into leaving her alone. The sun was high in the sky now, making the blade so bright that looking at it directly was painful. She hoped that it was sufficiently intimidating to deter the bird from attacking her.
Minutes ticked by. Caitlin began to recover from her effort, and the bird seemed to settle down in defense of its aerie. She looked upward and mapped out a series of holds for her next leg. Watching the bird warily, she sheathed Nasht and slowly began to climb away, above the crag. The farther away she got, the less interested the bird became, and soon she lost sight of the aerie below her. Two more hours of climbing, and she heaved herself up over the final lip to the flat summit. She lay there on her back, completely spent. She whispered thanks to Ma for seeing fit to let her live. I am sure that Simran was a far better climber than me, she thought. But even so, it must have been divine will that allowed her to make this climb in the pitch dark of a New Moons night.
She stood and looked around at the vista at her feet. She was high enough that she could see the rocky, brown land to the south fading into the tan of the Great Daksin Desert. To the north and west, it went to a deeper brown and then to the green of the fertile Amu-Shan plain. The verdict is rendered, she thought. It is exile, not death.
She took her base chute from her pack and buckled it on. She had never thought of herself as an adrenalin junkie, but she felt the rush as she leaped off the edge of the pinnacle and went into free fall till the chute blossomed and arrested it. She landed safely, packed the chute away, and walked over to the base of the pinnacle where Rufus waited placidly. He whickered as she approached him.
“Well, Rufus, I am back,” she said as she saddled him. “Which barbarian land shall we explore?”
Greghar, my love, she thought, finally acknowledging her feelings. If you would have me I would fly to you, though I know it to be a mortal sin. But you were disgusted by my lameness, my weakness in saying ‘yes’ to Nestar Crogus. You were just too polite to say it.
GREGHAR PACKED HIS few belongings and hefted his pack. Nitya did the same with her smaller pack. The last thing Greghar picked up was Karya, the beautiful d’Orr sword. He looked into its gleaming blade, and Caitlin’s face seemed to be looking at him, her green eyes wide and guileless. He felt a deep wave of sadness wash over him. At that moment he missed her so terribly that he felt a physical constriction in his chest.
“She loves you,” said Nitya.
“What do you know of love, little one?” asked Greghar, and she shrank back as though he had struck her. He was immediately remorseful. “I did not mean to snap at you, my dear. It is just that you surprised me. We barbarians are low, almost subhuman in Zon eyes. She is kind to me as she is kind to a dog.”
“But you care for her, don’t you?”
“What would be the point of it?” responded Greghar, sliding Karya into its scabbard. “I may be baseborn, but I am a man of honor not someone’s pet.”
She is better off with her own kind, he thought. Just as it was best for my mother to give me up and retain her exalted position in the Sisterhood.
They made their way down to the royal suite in Nordberg Castle to take their leave. When they got there, they found both Pinnar and Bradar with their father. Greghar was surprised to see Guttrin there as well.
Greghar knelt to Lothar saying, “As per your command, I take my leave for Rocness.” Nitya knelt as well, though less graciously.
Lothar raised him and gave him a quick hug.
“You are dear to me, Greghar,” he said. “I know that you will do me proud as my representative in the court of the Baron of Rocness.”
“I will do my best, sire,” Greghar said.
Pinnar and Bradar came up and gave him bear hugs. They thumped each other’s backs.
“We will establish a new era in Utrea,” said Pinnar. “With me here in Nordberg, Bradar in Estrans, and you in Rocness. We of the House of Nibellus will raise Utrea to greatness once again.”
“If you wish to visit the northeast,” said Bradar, “there will always be a seat for you at my table.”
“You are my brothers now,” said Greghar. “It is my good fortune that you look upon me kindly.”
He turned to take his leave. Nitya threw a quick curtsey to Pinnar and Bradar and turned to follow him.
“One moment,” said Guttrin, her sudden intrusion surprising everyone.
Greghar stopped at the door and turned, Nitya behind him.
“Remember, brother, before the duel at Vesterans, you asked me to take in your ward if something should happen to you?”
“Yes, I did,”
said Greghar, not sure where this was going.
“I have given this much thought since then. It seems unnatural to have a young girl so close to you, especially as she is no longer a child. Girl, you have had your first blood, have you not?”
Nitya nodded, mumbling, “But only recently.”
“You are a young woman then, and fit for the marriage bed,” declared Guttrin. She turned to Lothar. “Sire, my maid tells me that the marketplace is rife with gossip about the relationship between your nephew and his ‘ward.’ You will pardon my repeating this foul language, but they are calling them ‘the bastard and his whore.’ This gossip reflects badly on your house. My father may well take such an embassy from you as an insult.”
Greghar’s face went red with rage.
“I will not hear this nonsense!” he burst out. He swung on Lothar. “Sire, on my father’s soul, my relationship with Nitya is as pure as the fresh-fallen snow.”
“Guttrin did not accuse you of immoral behavior, Greghar,” said Lothar. “She only brings us news of what people in the marketplace are saying. And you must admit that when a handsome young buck like yourself spends so much time alone with a pretty young thing like Nitya, tongues are bound to wag. And consider the effect on her reputation, nephew. It was not long ago that the Thermadan Mission was accusing her of being a witch and offering a reward for her head.”
“Let me take her in, brother,” Guttrin said, her tone very sincere. “Riding around the country with you, she has become a wild thing, unfit for her woman’s role in society. We will tame her and train her in the ways of the court. In time, we will find her a noble husband.”
“There may be something in what you say,” said Greghar slowly.
The Empire of the Zon Page 72