The Cyber Chronicles - Book I: Queen of Arlin Page 2

  The largest of the three moons had risen when she reached the glade with its ring of stones, flooding it with silver light. She reined Falcon in and stroked his thick, arched neck as he shifted beneath her, alert to every whisper of sound. An owl's hoot startled her as the winged shape flitted between the trees in search of prey. Her eyes darted amongst the ominous shadows that seemed to move and creep in the moonlight.

  Tassin slumped with relief when a white-robed figure emerged from the trees and walked into the centre of the ring of stones. Manutim's hooded robe covered all but his pale hands, and the hood's deep shadows hid his face. She guided Falcon over to him, and he stroked the warhorse's velvet muzzle while she dismounted. Although she had never seen his face, she had trusted him since her father introduced them eight years ago, and he had not betrayed her. The villagers spoke of strange lights in the sky when he visited, but she had never questioned him about it. Manutim's demeanour did not encourage idle questions, but he had offered a wealth of advice and taught her a great deal about life and politics.

  "Well met, My Queen," he greeted her in his soft, strangely accented voice. "How goes your war?"

  "Badly, Manutim. I rejoice to see you again. Have you been well?"

  His head dipped. Manutim never bowed to her, but he always appeared respectful. "I am well, Majesty. I hope you are also in good health."

  She sighed a cloud of steam. "I despair. I am losing this war, and that I will not accept. Before any of those three foul kings lay claim to me and lock me in his castle, I shall kill myself. I fear that time approaches."

  "I did advise you against this many years ago, did I not? Do you remember my telling you not to start a war that you could not win? Truly you have disappointed your teacher, little one."

  "What would you have me do? Wed that rapist monster, or one of the doddering fools?"

  "Indeed, your options are not the best. You could abdicate in favour of your cousin and put an end to their plotting, but I know that you would not consider such a move, although to die with your soldiers seems rather extreme. It is not too late to reconsider."

  She shook her head. "I shall not be defeated except by death. That at least is honourable."

  "Ah, and teach the kings a lesson, no doubt. Such pride is foolish, but you are too young to know the folly of your words. You will not realise how final death is until you stare into its face and feel the cold touch of fear."

  "Your words are cruel. Have you no other solution to offer? Pervor said that you would help me."

  "Do not despair, My Queen. I have the answer to your troubles."

  Her eyes brightened. "You are indeed a great wizard. What have you found?"

  "I originally purchased it for your father, may his soul rest in peace. He asked for my help to deal with the Death Zone, and the weapon I have brought was for this purpose. But it will serve you just as well in your need, after which you may send it into the Death Zone to complete that mission." He paused, considering her. "It resides even now in your dungeons, where I have conjured it. I searched the universe for this thing, and it cost much, yet I am happy for you to use it. When your war is won and the Death Zone destroyed I shall return for it, but until then it is yours."

  "What is it?"

  "You will see that for yourself, but do not doubt that it will defeat your enemies, no matter what you may think. Do not be deceived by its appearance. It is a powerful weapon."

  Tassin disliked the mystery, but Manutim she forgave, he had always been an enigma himself. "Thank you, good wizard, your help is much needed and appreciated. I trust in your judgement, and if you say that this thing is the answer to my troubles, then it must be so. Take this as a token of my gratitude." She slid a ring from her finger, set with a green-streaked blue stone, and held it out to him.

  Manutim's slender fingers closed around it like a spider clasping its prey, and he raised it to the light to examine it. "I require no payment, My Queen, but I shall treasure this gift since it is you who gave it."

  Tassin smiled, turning away to find a suitable stone to use as a mounting block. "I must hurry back. I am filled with curiosity about your gift, and it is not safe for me here."

  Manutim pocketed the ring. "In your dungeon you will find a casket. Press the button on its side, and within a few moments it will open and your new weapon will be revealed. I must leave, so you will not see me for a while. When I return, your war will be over, and the Death Zone destroyed."

  The wizard turned and walked into the forest, vanishing amongst the shadows as swiftly and silently as he had appeared. Tassin stared after him, then led Falcon to a rock and mounted, guiding him along the faint, moon-silvered trail that twisted like a tarnished serpent between the trees, dappled with flecks of shadow. The dark forest's silence pressed in upon her, oppressive and pregnant with unknown dangers. As she drew near its edge, Falcon tossed his head and sidestepped, ignoring her soothing murmurs and communicating his unease to her. She wanted to give him his head and race from the wood, but good sense prevailed, for an overhanging branch was too likely to sweep her from the saddle. The shadows took on a sinister air, and every looming tree seemed like a dark warrior with woody hands outstretched to snatch her from the saddle.

  Black figures burst from the undergrowth and leapt into her path, naked swords gleaming in their fists. Falcon stopped, tremors of anticipation running through him as he awaited her command. A suave, smug voice spoke from the darkness beside her, making her jump and whip around.

  "So, my pretty, it seems that I have won. There is no escape, you are now mine."

  Torrian stepped from the trees beside the path, a smirk on his strong-featured face, which, though considered handsome, was somewhat coarse. She forced herself to smile, and spoke in a gasping voice.

  "You overcome me, Torrian. I knew that you would be the one to win through and gain my hand, and I am glad to be proven right."

  "So this was all to test my mettle? How romantic. I approve, my dear Tassin. I had not known that you were the type of woman to sacrifice four thousand men to test your suitor." He chuckled.

  Tassin hid a shudder. "My palfrey trembles with fear, and I think he may bolt if your men do not hold him."

  Torrian eyed the warhorse. "He is a goodly size for a palfrey, and armoured too."

  "And yet a palfrey is all he is, for you know full well that no mere woman could ride a warhorse, though his appearance is intended to mislead those too slow of wit to realise this."

  The King hesitated, then gave the order to his men, who approached, lowered their swords and reached for Falcon's reins. As soon as they were near enough, Tassin loosed the reins, grasped the pommel, and shouted, "Falcon, attack!"

  The stallion reared with a scream of rage, his forefeet lashing out to strike two soldiers, smashing them to the ground. As he dropped to all fours he lunged, sank long yellow teeth into a third man and lifted him off the ground, flinging him into the trees like a rag doll, trailing an agonised scream. Tassin clung to the saddle as he spun and lashed out with his hind legs, two solid thuds testifying to his accuracy.

  "It's a warhorse!" a man cried, and the circle of soldiers closed, their blades flashing towards the stallion. Falcon reared again, propelled himself forwards with a powerful thrust of his hind legs and smashed two more men down with steel-shod hooves. A sword clanged against his armour-clad shoulder in a shower of sparks, and he staggered. Tassin drew her sword with a hiss of steel, slashing at the dodging men. Falcon lashed out with his hind feet again, but more men streamed from the woods, too many for a scouting party.

  Gathering up her reins, she urged Falcon forward, overriding the command to fight. The stallion plunged ahead, thrust men aside with his chest and squealed with pain as a soldier's sword opened a gash in his flank. He lashed out with his hind feet in retaliation, then they were beyond the soldiers, flying through the moon-silvered wood. Tassin crouched low over his neck as the trees whipped past. Branches lashed her, scratched her skin and ripped her clothe
s. Hoof beats thundered behind her, and she glanced over her shoulder at the party of horsemen that pursued her. Their drawn swords glinted, and Torrian's roars of rage goaded them after her. She clung to Falcon's mane, praying that a branch would not scrape her from his back.

  Falcon crashed through the forest, his hooves sliding on the treacherous leaves, almost sending him skidding into a tree. They burst into the open with Torrian's men close behind, their faster horses gaining on the warhorse. As they drew alongside, one reached for her reins. Falcon lunged at him, knocking his horse down. Man and beast rolled in a tangled heap, and Falcon turned his head to snap at the horse on the other side, making it shy away.

  Tassin struck at the rider who drew alongside to replace the one who had fallen, her sword bouncing off his armour in a shower of sparks. The man slashed at Falcon's neck, cutting a gash in the thick muscle. The stallion squealed, lashing out sideways with his hind feet. The blow snapped the other horse's leg with a crack, and it ploughed head-first into the ground. The warhorse was tiring fast, his wounds sapped his strength and his blood splattered her face. Ahead, men ran from the castle, alerted by the lookouts to the Queen's peril. Two of her knights thundered across the drawbridge, their armour flashing in the moonlight.

  One of her enemies darted closer and raked Falcon's flank with his sword, seeking to cut her girth. The weapon narrowly missed her leg, slipping under it. The stallion lashed out, sending the cavalry horse staggering away, but Tassin's saddle slid back. Grasping handfuls of Falcon's mane, she kicked free of the stirrups and let the saddle fall. Another rider closed, his sword aimed at Falcon's hamstrings.

  "Kick!" Tassin bellowed, and the warhorse lashed out, smashing the sword from the soldier's hand. Tassin urged him on as her knights reached her, engaging Torrian's soldiers in a clash of steel and roars of rage from their warhorses. She thundered over the drawbridge, glancing back at her enemies, who fled from her knights, their prey out of reach.

  Falcon's hooves skidded on the courtyard's stones as he propped to a standstill, steam rolling up from his heaving flanks. Tassin slid off, her legs trembling with shock as she clung to his sweaty, blood-streaked neck. She leant against him, patted him and murmured soft words of gratitude into his twitching ears. The clatter of hooves and boots echoed around the yard as her knights and warriors returned, the portcullis rumbling down behind them. A groom led Falcon away, and she noted that the stallion was lame, casting a worried look at her head groom.

  "Tend to his wounds at once."

  The groom bowed. "Of course, Majesty."

  Tassin marched into the castle and headed for the dungeons, but one of her knights confronted her before she reached the stairway.

  "Majesty, we have driven them off for now, but a large force is camped beyond the wood, and I fear that tomorrow they will lay siege."

  Tassin eyed Sir Duxon, whose beard was streaked with grey and waist thickening with age. He had been a good knight once, but now he was one of the few survivors only because he was over cautious, and would probably be useless when it came to the final battle. He had been sent back from the front two weeks ago with the message that her army was losing, and had arrived without a scratch on him.

  Duxon valued his life too much to be a good knight. Perhaps it was because of the brood of ten children his plump wife raised on his modest estate, but Tassin did not want him beside her at the last. He was more likely to hand her over to Torrian to save his skin than he was to die fighting to protect her. In his opinion, a woman's purpose was to serve a man and bear his children, and, although he had served her father faithfully, she did not trust him.

  She made no attempt to hide her contempt. "Fear not, Duxon, I have a new weapon. We will win this war."

  The old knight looked startled. "A new weapon, My Queen? Of what nature?"

  "You will see." She swept past him before he could delay her further, glancing down at herself with a grimace. Blood splattered her clothes and her hair flew about her shoulders in a tangled mane, but she decided to investigate her new weapon at once. In the corridor, two ladies-in-waiting rushed out from that shadowy, mysterious place where servants waited to spring upon their masters and mistresses, begging her to bathe and change her soiled garb. Tassin waved them away, grabbing a handkerchief that one fluttered to mop the blood from her face. A few strides further on, a tall, grey-robed figure stepped out of the shadows and into her path. She stopped and studied Pervor's gaunt features.

  "Yes, Pervor?"

  Her father's chief advisor bowed. "You met the wizard, My Queen?"

  "I did."

  "What of the weapon he promised?"

  "He told me that it now resides in the dungeon."

  "Ah. Allow me to accompany you."

  "If you must." She scowled up at him, resenting the way he always intimidated her. Maybe it was his air of aged wisdom, or his gaunt, cadaverous face, but most likely it was his great height, towering over her at two metres tall. All men were taller than her, but Pervor somehow managed to loom more than others.

  Turning into the doorway that led to the dungeons, she surprised a sleepy guard, who snapped awake, belatedly trying to salute as he grabbed a lantern and hurried after her. She descended the worn steps, Pervor close behind her, the guard trying to keep up, his lantern swinging wildly. The old advisor opened the first cell door for her, and she peered inside, finding it empty. They continued along the line of cells in this fashion, and at the fifth, the lantern's light fell on a smooth grey casket. The guard exclaimed in surprise and tried to move past her, but she stopped him with a raised hand and took the lantern from him.

  "Wait outside."

  "Majesty, that thing could be dangerous!"

  Tassin glared at him. "Wait in the corridor."

  The guard obeyed with a worried glance at the casket, and she entered the cell, closing the door. Pervor lighted the torches on the walls from the lantern, illuminating the room. A thin layer of straw covered the floor, and the walls bore the hopeless scratches of doomed men striving to leave their mark. Tassin studied the gleaming casket, which appeared to be made from moulded glass. It was at least two metres long and half a metre wide, shaped like a coffin. A square button marred its flawless surface halfway along its length, next to which were three dark crystals, one red, one yellow, and one green.

  "Push the button," she muttered, remembering Manutim's instructions. She did so, then stepped back when the red crystal lighted. It stayed on for perhaps ten minutes, during which time she glanced at Manutim, who watched the casket, clearly fascinated. Just as she was growing impatient, the red light went off, and the yellow one replaced it. This crystal stayed on for only about five minutes, then the green one lighted. With a faint whir and click, the lid rose slightly, a black line appearing around the edge of the casket. Tassin stepped back as mist flowed from the crack, cascading onto the floor. She took a deep breath, mastering her fear. Manutim would not betray her.

  Fitting her fingers into the crack, she raised the lid. Mist billowed up, and she waited for it to settle. Inside, on a bed of white satin, lay a near-naked man. Tassin scowled, wondering if this was Manutim's idea of a joke. She looked at Pervor, who stared at the strange man, his eyes intent.

  "This is a not a weapon, it is just a man," she said.

  The advisor glanced at her. "He must be a mighty warrior, My Queen. A magical one, perhaps?"

  Tassin turned to the man in the casket again. A narrow strip of golden metal, embedded with black crystals, ran across his forehead. It curved around his brow, no more than three centimetres wide and fifteen centimetres long, its rounded ends not quite reaching his hairline. Something emerged from the side of the casket and stabbed him in the arm. Tiny points of light appeared in the brow band’s crystals, flashing red, then green, some continuing to flash while others maintained a steady glow. Within seconds, the man opened pale grey eyes and stared blankly at the ceiling. Tassin frowned. He had a sculpted, hawk-like face with a narrow, high-bridged nose and l
evel dark brows above thickly lashed eyes. His well-shaped mouth was set in a firm, almost grim line, and his ears lay against his skull, from which most of the hair had been shorn. His golden skin gleamed like the satin in which he lay, smooth and hairless.

  Tassin leant over him. "Do you hear me?"

  The man's lips parted, and he spoke in a husky voice. "Yes."

  "Who are you?"

  "A cyber."

  "A sabre?" Tassin quelled a bitter laugh. "Stand up."

  The man moved slowly at first, sitting up, then rose to his feet a little stiffly and stepped from the casket. Tassin eyed him, blood warming her cheeks at his lack of clothing. All he wore was a pair of skin-tight silken shorts that reached to mid-thigh, but despite her embarrassment her eyes roamed over him. He possessed a lean, whipcord build with broad shoulders tapering to narrow hips above powerful thighs, every muscle prominent under a thin layer of skin. Even relaxed, lean muscle ridged his belly and padded his shoulders and arms. Although he topped her by at least fifteen centimetres, Tassin was a diminutive one and a half metres, so the stranger was only about one point eight metres tall, a short man. Even the aged and bent Duxon would top him by several centimetres, and Pervor towered over him.

  "Dress yourself," she ordered, annoyed at his lack of initiative and passive stance. He bent and stripped away the satin within the casket's lid, revealing a plethora of paraphernalia. Tassin leant closer to study the strange equipment, which the man proceeded to strap on, his face blank. He ignored her scrutiny as blithely as he did her presence, taking no notice of her unless she addressed him, which she found almost as irksome as his expressionlessness.

  When he was dressed in a pair of snug fitting dark grey trousers and sturdy boots, he donned a sort of harness that held many strange items, mostly metallic. As soon as he finished, he stood immobile, staring into space. She moved closer to study his face, intrigued by the metal contrivance on his brow. The strange brow band appeared to be affixed to his head by three prongs that entered his skin. Tassin shuddered. Facing him, she gazed into his pale eyes, trying to fathom what sort of man he was. He stared over her head.