“No!” cried Nitya, her grip on Greghar’s hand tightening. “I will not leave Greghar!” She looked up at Greghar fiercely. “Tell them, Greghar! Tell them that we are inseparable.”
Guttrin shook her head sadly.
“You see, sire?” she said. “This is why the common folk accuse her of fornication and witchcraft.”
“Indeed,” said Lothar, slightly shocked at Nitya’s display.
“Sire, there must be another way,” said Greghar, trying to sound reasonable. “I understand your concerns. Let me get a chaperone, an elderly woman of unimpeachable character to travel with us and share quarters with Nitya. Surely this will dispel accusations of impropriety.”
“I am afraid that the damage is done, Greghar,” said Lothar, considering. “You two have spent so much time in intimacy that any measures you take will be laughed off as a cover to continue immoral behavior. Guttrin is being very kind. I cannot imagine why you would object to her offer.”
Greghar could not think of a logical objection, but he plowed on.
“Sire, if it would please you, I will gladly leave Utrea with her and seek employment in Briga or Daksin.”
“Greghar, now you are worrying me,” said Lothar. “I am beginning to think that perhaps she truly is a witch and that you are entranced.” He turned to Guttrin. “Call a couple of your ladies. Conduct Nitya to your chambers.”
Nitya looked at Greghar in panic.
“I will burn her alive!” she whispered to him,raising her right hand.
“Don’t,” Greghar whispered back urgently. “That will mean death for both of us—slow and horrible deaths. And this time, Princess Caitlin is not here to save us.”
“But Greghar—”
“Be strong, Nitya,” he said, trying to sound encouraging. “Don’t expend your power. Remember your father.”
Guttrin’s two ladies came and started to lead her away.
“Greghar,” she said over her shoulder, big tears rolling down her cheeks. “Take care of yourself. You will always be in my prayers.”
“And you in mine,” he said hoarsely.
THIRTY-TWO
DIANA GROANED IN her sleep. She buried her head in her pillow, but the dream would not stop. It was the tall elderly man, his thick hair and beard snowy white, wearing flowing, dark brown robes and a broad leather belt. He carried a stout staff and wore a longsword. Diana was struck with a nameless fear, a panic unlike any she had ever known. She turned and ran as fast she could, but every time she stopped to look behind, panting with exhaustion, he was still there, no further away. “Stop,” he cried. “Please stop. I am not who you think I am.” But Diana would not stop. She kept running and running.
She awoke in the morning exhausted, her bed soaked through with perspiration. Her head was buzzing from lack of sleep. The war had been over for more than half a year, the glorious late summer was now fading into a golden autumn. The same dream had plagued her ever since her return to Atlantic City, once and sometimes twice a week. She had buried her long-ago hallucinatory encounter on Beacon Peak deep in her subconscious, but these dreams brought it back with frightening clarity. Who was this old man, and why was he tormenting her? She was afraid to go to a psychological medica, fearing that she would be declared mentally unstable. Combat stress, she thought. It will go away.
But it would not go away. Another week with several sleepless nights, and her handmaiden began asking her if she was coming down with something. She checked her smooth, unlined face in the three-dimensional mirror and on magnification saw the barely noticeable bags under her eyes. This has got to stop! she thought. That night she went to bed saying to herself, I will not run, I will not run. It worked, for when the old man appeared, even though she was shaking with fear, she stood her ground and drew Light.
“I fought you before; I will fight you again,” she said, gaining control of herself. “I am Diana Tragina, and I am not afraid.”
He smiled, but unlike in her hallucination from long ago, it was a warm smile, a smile that lit up his eyes and melted her fear like the sun on snow.
“Yes, you are Diana Tragina, and you are never afraid,” he said, his voice honey-sweet and melodic. Whose voice did it remind her of?
“I will never give you what you want,” she said. “Maybe I cannot fight you, but all you will get from me is a corpse.”
“You have been misled,” he said, sounding so sincere that she lowered her sword. “My form was taken by a malign, vindictive being. But peerless warrior that you are, you delayed him long enough for me to arrive and tear him away.”
He did look subtly different from her hallucination from years ago. His skin was sallow, not light. His eyes were dark brown, not blue. But his form was so similar!
“I didn’t think that I beat him,” she said uncertainly. “He seemed to be borne away by an unseen power.”
“It was I,” the old man said simply. “I was your savior that day.”
“What do you want of me now?” she asked.
“You must come to me,” he said. “There is much I must tell you. But not like this. Come as soon as you can, for our enemies are gathering.”
“Where will I find you?”
“Go to the Yengar girl, Nitya. She will lead you to me.”
He began to fade away.
“Wait!” she cried, but he was gone.
The next night he appeared again. This time he did not wait for her to speak. He merely repeated, “Go to the Yengar girl, Nitya,” and faded away. He appeared to her every night now, always giving her the same short message before fading away.
THE HATCH HISSED open, and Diana walked out onto the High Terrace of Nordberg Castle. There was a troop of men-at-arms from Lothar’s Island Brigade in formal livery, and they pounded their pikes on the ground. Their captain, the fresh-faced younger son of one of Lothar’s barons, came forward to meet her.
“We have been expecting you, Lady Death,” he asked stiffly. “Your herald seignora delivered your request for a personal audience with King Lothar. It has been granted. His Majesty will meet with you in the High Hall.”
“Thank you, Captain,” said Diana.
The captain led the way into the High Hall, and the men-at-arms formed around her. Inside, a raised platform had been placed in front of the main fireplace, and on it was a high-backed chair with a masthead as its back. A few armchairs had been placed at ground level, facing it. There was a steward fussing over trays of food and drink. She accepted a cold goblet of Blu-berg wine and sat in one of the armchairs to wait. The men-at-arms took up positions around the chamber, and their captain posted himself behind the masthead chair.
Lothar stumped in half an hour later. He wore undress vestments of his royal station, velvet and leather. He looked tired.
“If I had known how many parchments I would have to read every day as king, I would have refused the Queen Empress’s offer,” he grumbled. “I have read so many figures this morning that my head aches. And it is not even noon.”
“You should appoint a trusted First Minister, Your Majesty,” said Diana with a laugh. “Someone who will do your reading for you.”
“My son Pinnar is a good First Minister,” responded Lothar. “But he has no head for figures. If I left it to him, he would bankrupt the treasury. But you have not come all the way to Nordberg to listen to my complaints. What brings you up here?”
Diana looked embarrassed.
“I feel awkward asking you,” she said. “But I need you to give me the Yengar girl, Nitya.”
“Why?” he asked, looking keenly at her. “Why are you Zon so interested in this girl? First Princess Caitlin took her from the Red Khalif, and now you wish me to hand her over to you.”
“It is a personal matter, sire,” said Diana, her pale face coloring. “You have been benevolent in taking her into your protection, but she is not really your problem. I thought I would relieve you of this burden.”
Lothar considered her astutely.
“I am not such a fool as
to think you are doing this out of the goodness of your heart,” he said. “I am sure you have your reasons. But she means little to me one way or the other. My daughter-in-law, the Lady Guttrin, has taken her under her wing and is teaching her to be a lady. Let us have her brought here.”
That little girl is more of a lady than any rustic baron’s daughter, thought Diana.
“Send a maid to Lady Guttrin,” Lothar said to his captain. “Ask her to bring the Yengar girl here.”
His steward poured him a goblet of Blu-berg wine and put together some choice pieces on a plate. Lothar ate and drank while they waited, relieving Diana of the need to carry on a conversation. Fifteen minutes passed before the curtains to the far door of the High Hall were pushed apart, and Guttrin entered preceded by a maid and with Nitya beside her. Both of them wore fine, brocaded northcountry gowns. They walked slowly, and she had a protective arm around Nitya’s narrow waist.
The maid curtsied and left. Guttrin came up before Lothar and curtsied deeply, ignoring Diana. Nitya did the same and remained by Guttrin’s side, her head bowed and her face obscured by a scarf.
“Your Majesty, we came as soon as we received your summons,” said Guttrin, smiling.
“Lady Death here wishes to take charge of the girl,” said Lothar. “I assume you have no objection?”
Nitya’s head turned sharply to Diana, the scarf slipping to her shoulders and her big green-hazel eyes growing even wider with hope. Diana’s own pale eyes showed her surprise. Nitya had grown! It was hard to believe she could have grown so much since Diana had seen her last. She was now taller than Guttrin but thin where the Utrean lady was voluptuous. She had budding breasts that were emphasized by the cut and neckline of her gown.
But Diana’s surprise stemmed more from the vivid bruises running down both sides of Nitya’s face from temple to jaw. Diana’s trained eye saw that they were bright red, meaning that they were quite recent. She quickly looked at Guttrin’s hands and saw the heavy gold rings on each of her fingers. The spacing between her fingers matched the spacing of Nitya’s bruises.
“I would very much like that—” began Nitya.
“Hush, girl!” said Guttrin, raising her hand in what seemed to be a conversational gesture. But it caused Nitya to cower and fall silent.
“What happened to her?” Diana asked, indicating Nitya’s face.
“Oh, you must ask her,” said Guttrin sweetly. “Child, tell Lady Death what happened to you.”
Nitya looked at Guttrin fearfully before responding.
“I am very clumsy, Cornelle Diana,” she said in a dull monotone. “I was running and hit my face on a doorjamb.”
“She is a trial, sire,” sighed Guttrin. “So clumsy, always falling and running into things. I try and try to make a lady of her, but it is hard work.”
“Well, now your troubles seem to be over,” said Lothar. “Let us make her Lady Death’s problem.”
“I would be delighted, sire,” said Guttrin. “But the problem is that she is already promised in marriage to my father’s youngest brother. My father would take it as a deadly insult if the promise were to be broken.”
“Your youngest uncle?” asked Lothar. “Isn’t he the retarded one, the one who cannot take care of himself? He must be nearly forty.”
“He is slightly needy, sire, as you say,” said Guttrin. “But he is a gentleman and has a modest property to the north of Rocness. A young girl like Nitya is the perfect caregiver for him, as she could tend him for the rest of his days. And it is all to her benefit as it would elevate her to being the lady of a household, at least as long as he lives.”
“As I recall, his property is insufficient to even maintain servants,” said Lothar.
“It is a small property, sire, that is true,” said Guttrin. “But enough to provide for room and board for himself and his spouse. And Nitya can cook and clean and sew and keep the garden. What need does she have for servants?”
“A good step up in life for a friendless, penniless girl,” said Lothar. It was unclear as to whether he was being sarcastic or not, but Guttrin took him at his word.
“Indeed, sire, that was what I thought,” she said.
“So you see, Lady Death, it is all arranged,” said Lothar to Diana. “It seems your trip up here was for nothing.”
Diana looked past Lothar at Guttrin.
“I will pay you for her,” she said. “Name your price. How many gold talents will you take?”
Guttrin looked annoyed.
“This is not a marketplace,” she said haughtily. “And I will not bargain and haggle like a common person. I have put my blood and sweat into training this girl for my uncle. You cannot put a price on that.”
Nitya’s blood and sweat more likely, thought Diana. She began to have doubts about this entire expedition. She had come all the way to Nordberg and could now potentially upset Zon relations with Utrea—all on the basis of some dreams and a hallucination. It was not worth it.
“Very well,” she said, looking back at Lothar. “I see everything is in hand, and I am too late.” She stood up. “I thank you for making time in your busy schedule to grant me this audience.”
Lothar rose as well.
“You know you are always welcome at Nordberg Castle, Lady Death,” he said, and this time there was no mistaking his sarcasm.
Guttrin curtsied to Lothar and looked balefully at Nitya till she did the same. Then she nodded to Diana and hustled Nitya out of the High Hall. Diana gave Lothar the slight bow he was due and turned to walk toward the High Terrace. She was halfway there when there was a clamor of raised voices, then a series of heavy thuds that sounded like a mattress being beaten out.
Diana stopped. Then as the thuds continued, she turned and strode back to the curtains through which Guttrin and Nitya had disappeared, her thigh boots ringing on the flagstones of the High Hall. She brushed the curtains aside and entered a large anteroom. Nitya was on the floor, curled up in a ball with her arms protecting her head. Guttrin was on her knees beside her, beating her with an ax handle.
“You thought Lady Death would take you away from me, did you?” Guttrin panted as she beat her. “You think you are too good for my highborn uncle, do you? You miss your bedmate, Greghar, don’t you, you whore?”
Each time the heavy wooden shaft struck her body, Nitya let out a gasp. She did not cry out and she did not weep but took the vicious beating dumbly, as one who expects no reprieve and no rescue.
“Stop.” Diana’s voice was low but carried enough menace to cause Guttrin to obey.
“You see how difficult she is,” Guttrin puffed, beads of sweat running down the sides of her face. “She had the nerve to refuse my uncle, to tell me to my face that she would never marry him. A worthless guttersnipe like her! You see how lucky you are to escape having her on your hands!”
Guttrin raised the ax handle to strike Nitya again, and the girl curled up tighter. Without thinking, Diana drew Light.
“If you strike her again, it will be the last thing you do,” she said.
Guttrin looked up into Diana’s cold, colorless eyes. They chilled her to the bone, and she dropped her arm to her side. Diana took a couple of steps, and with a short, precise kick, she dislodged the ax handle from her hand and sent it skittering across the anteroom floor.
“You would not dare harm the king’s daughter-in-law in Nordberg Castle,” Guttrin blustered.
“I slew the king himself in these very halls,” said Diana, aloof and distant. “The king’s daughter-in-law is small beer to me.”
Guttrin looked at the young captain of the Island Brigade who had just come in with a couple of men-at-arms.
“Captain, sound the alarm! This Zon has drawn her sword in your king’s castle! Arrest her!”
Diana glanced at him to gauge his reaction. He was nonplussed. Fortunately for the young officer, he did not need to respond, as Lothar entered.
“You did indeed slay a king in these halls, Lady Death,” Lothar said quiet
ly. “Would you do it again?”
Diana looked down at Nitya, who had cautiously uncovered her head and was peeking out at them with wide eyes. Instead of replying to Lothar, Diana addressed the girl.
“Can you stand, little one?”
Nitya used her hands to support herself and carefully got to her feet. She stood crookedly, both her hands on her left hip, which was obviously very painful.
“I will be fine, Cornelle Diana,” she said, sucking in her breath in an attempt to mask her gasps. “I have been beaten worse. When I was seven, my father and I were beaten so badly by a mob of youths in Brosen that we could not walk and had to crawl to the stream to bathe our wounds.”
“You were caught thieving, I expect, and got what you deserved,” spat Guttrin. “Sire, please end this charade and ask Lady Death to leave.”
Diana still had Light in her hand. She sheathed it now.
“I am older and wiser, sire, and would rather not slay a king today,” she said. She spoke flatly, and no one in the anteroom was sure whether she was serious or not. “Forgive me if I ask the little one to raise her skirts.”
Lothar raised his eyebrows quizzically but did not object.
Nitya slowly raised the skirts of her gown above the knee. Her legs were covered with blood-encrusted welts that appeared to be the results of whipping.
“Turn around, little one,” said Diana.
Nitya obediently did so, and Diana undid the buttons of her gown to expose her back. It was a mass of black-and-blue bruises that looked like the results of heavy blows from a blunt instrument. Diana now looked at Lothar.
“I entrust her to your justice, sire,” she said.
“I do not smile on sadism in my kingdom and certainly not in my family,” said Lothar. “Lady Guttrin, whatever the girl’s faults, there is no excuse for beating her like this. You promised my nephew that you would make a lady of her, and I trusted you to treat her well. You have abused my trust. Please leave us and return to your chambers.”
“Sire, the promise to my uncle—” protested Guttrin.
“I have made no promise!” roared Lothar. “I will tell your father that it is your word, not mine, that is broken. If he chooses to take umbrage, I will live with it. Now go!”
The Empire of the Zon Page 73