Lady of the Star Wind (23 page)

Rothan was on his knees by the wheel, hands bound behind his back, a ring of spears pointed at his throat by Maiskhan soldiers. Heavily guarded, Tia and Sandy stood off to the side. The women were barefoot, in their linen night shifts, clinging together.
 

Captain Demari, Sallea, and his crew were clustered at the far end of the deck, standing silent and uneasy behind a line of enemy warriors. Relieved to see the other woman and the three archers were safely mixed in with the crew, Mark assumed Demari hadn’t betrayed them. Djed might have a few more resources to tap in any eventual rescue attempts.

Glancing at the deck of the Maiskhan ship, he saw a squad of archers with bows at the ready, should anyone on the
Lady Dawn
attempt resistance. As he’d figured, his blaster wouldn’t have been effective in these close quarters against so many of the enemy. Too much risk that Sandy, or their friends, would have been caught in the field of fire.

Fingering Sandy’s blond hair, a burly officer made some rapid comments while his comrades guffawed. She slapped his hand away and cursed at him in Outlier. Before she could strike his face, the man caught her wrist and twisted it behind her back.

 
Mark judged the time had arrived to make his entrance.

Getting a firm grip on the slippery rail, he vaulted onto the deck. The soldiers shouted to their commander as he landed.

He already had his Special Forces knife out, hilt forward in a gesture of surrender. “I’m the Lady of the Star Wind’s warrior.” He spoke in fairly smooth Nakhtiaar to the officer in command of the operation.

“Ah, the missing man we were told about,” answered the Maiskhan calmly, also in the local language.
 

Mark ignored Sandy’s instinctive cry of protest at his surrender, keeping his focus on the officer. “I claim the right to accompany the Lady wherever you take her. She’s not to be harmed in any way.”

“Bold words for a prisoner.” The officer in charge accepted the knife. Brows drawn together in a frown, lips pursed in a sneer, he said, “I’d never surrender myself so. If this is some trick, I warn you there’s no chance of success. Your woman will be the first to die.”

“I took an oath to protect her which I must honor even unto my own death.”

“You’ll suffer her fate at her side, then. We go to see your queen, who’ll decide the outcome.” Tucking the knife into his waistband, the officer gestured to his troops. “Tie the fool up. Get the others onto the small boats. We’ve wasted more than enough time.” He walked away, going to the portside railing.

“Can I be about my business now?” Captain Demari called out. “I’m an honest merchant, and I’ve perishable goods to land at dawn.”

The Maiskhan glared at him. “Consider yourself lucky to be sailing under the flag and seal of Minolos. We’ve no quarrel at present with him, or I’d seize your cargo and sell you, your woman, and your men into slavery besides. Give me a reason, and I still might. You aided traitors.”

“Unknowingly, my lord.” Hands spread in supplication, Demari protested as if he was an innocent bystander. “These people were presented to me as common passengers and paid their fare in anonymous gold.”

One of the other Maiskhan officers made an urgent request in his commander’s ear. Giving his subordinate a surprised look, the man raised his voice again. “I require the possessions of these prisoners. Queen Farahna will want to examine anything retrieved from the Empty Lands. Rothan may have found something she should claim.”

Demari gave orders for the requested items to be brought above deck. He stood with one arm casually encircling Sallea’s waist while his sailors hastened to do his bidding. Mark eyed the Mikkonite, wondering how Demari had persuaded her not to wade into battle when the ship was boarded. Outwardly docile, with downcast eyes, Sallea was going along with Demari’s ruse to keep her safe for now.

The Maiskhan soldiers bound Mark’s arms tightly behind him, while his companions were being lowered in nets to a smaller boat waiting alongside. When Mark’s turn for the uncomfortable descent came, he employed his excellent peripheral vision to see if Djed lurked in the vicinity of the
Lady Dawn
. To his relief, the archer was nowhere in sight. He didn’t have much genuine hope for Djed to find a way to get them out of the current situation, but it was a shred of comfort having a clandestine ally He didn’t know how much help, if any, he could anticipate from Demari or his crew.
 

The prisoners were rowed to the long docks and then pushed into separate chariots for the torchlit ride to the palace. As the vehicle holding Mark left the docks, he saw their possessions, including Sandy’s medical bag and the chest holding the Crown of Khunarum, loaded onto yet another chariot.
 

The caravan galloped through the empty streets of the city. When they reached the palace, uninterested Nakhtiaar guards watched the group climb the many stairs. Mark noted with professional interest this was the only spot where the Nakhtiaar were guarding their own. Everywhere else in the palace there were Maiskhan soldiers, made distinctive by their dark red uniforms and elaborate helmets, exhibiting the discipline of tough, experienced warriors.

When Mark entered the formal audience room deep inside the labyrinthian palace, the chamber was empty. Foaming water from a small fountain ran into a tiled fish pond at the far end, covered with lily pads and fragrant purple and white flowers. An impressive gilded throne topped a four-step dais. Large, ornately decorated columns supported the roof. Covering the walls, bright murals depicted a variety of pastoral scenes involving what he assumed were local deities.
 

Two tall Nakhtiaar guards appeared, flanking a short, chubby, bald man. The latter had the appearance of one just awakened and hastily dressed, fussing with his robes and straightening an intricate gold and enamel pendant dangling from heavy gold links around his neck even as he came into the room. “I received your messenger. The queen consented to deal with this matter tonight,” he informed the Maiskhan officer in charge of their party. “She’ll be here soon.”

“And Gaddaf, my own commander? He’s been notified?”

Frowning, the official appeared to take offense at being questioned. Straightening his spine, he brushed nonexistent dust from his collar. “All has been arranged as you requested in your message from the docks,” he replied, his tone arch.

The man in charge of the prisoner detail smiled, revealing a few missing teeth, and patted the newcomer on the shoulder. “Excellent and efficient as always, Seroj. Our mutual masters will be pleased.”

The Maiskhan soldiers forced Rothan and Mark to their knees, side by side on the hard tile directly in front of the throne. Tia and Sandy were allowed to stand, ringed by the enemy soldiers off to the left side.

“What happened?” Mark whispered to Rothan, keeping his eyes focused straight ahead.

“Soon after you left, the enemy boarded us. Routine inspection, the officer said.”

“In the middle of the night?”

Rothan kept his voice low. “We’ve been betrayed somehow, perhaps by one of Demari’s sailors. We tried to pass ourselves off as ordinary passengers, but the Maiskhan seemed to be expecting us. They knew who Tia and I were. Demari wouldn’t fight, although he did tell lies to protect Sallea. He couldn’t raise sail to flee either. We’d nowhere to hide. ”

Mark eyed the bruises on Rothan’s face. “You fought, though.”

“To no avail, and once the women were surrounded, I could only surrender.”

“I’d have done the same. Overwhelming odds.”

“But you were free, off the ship.” Rothan shifted on the hard floor. “Why give yourself up?”

Mark clenched his jaw. “I can’t do anything to help my lady if I’m not with her.”

“You can’t do anything to help her at present anyway,” Rothan pointed out.

“Silence!” The Maiskhan officer emphasized his command with swift kicks. Mark went sprawling on the floor, Rothan falling across his legs as he too was buffeted by their captor.

More people trickled into the room, two or three at a time—several ladies-in-waiting, two tall fan bearers, nobles, several scribes. Each yawning newcomer was rubbing sleep from their eyes, adjusting their garments, much as Seroj had done when he first arrived. A trio of musicians sauntered in bearing flutes and a stringed instrument and, after a false start or two, played quietly. The Maiskhan high commander marched into the chamber as if on parade, accompanied by a bevy of bearded priests in long fringed and striped robes. Hands behind his back, the enemy leader inspected the silent prisoners, pausing first in front of Mark and then Rothan.

“Excellent work, Captain Farun,” he said over their heads to the man who’d captured them. Gaddaf was evidently well satisfied. “Her Majesty is most pleased by what you’ve done, locating and capturing these fugitives.”

Chest puffed with pride at the accolade, Farun strutted to where Mark could see him. “Thank you, sir. When I received word of the ship’s arrival in port and that it was carrying passengers, I deemed it worth investigating immediately.”

“Prudent. The fugitives might have gotten away entirely in the morning, as busy as the port gets. Yes, indeed, a generous reward shall be yours, and a more important assignment to follow. We’ll discuss the details later, over wine.” Leaning closer to Farun, Gaddaf lowered his voice. “Let’s get through this audience with her. Her moods can be uncertain.”

Farun nodded. “I understand, sir.”

“Be ready for anything.” The commander assessed the prisoners. “Not an impressive lot, for all we’ve heard about this Rothan. She may want them executed on the spot.”

A horn fanfare sounded in the hallway to the left. A squad of Nakhtiaar guards marched smartly into the room, drawn swords held flat over their hearts. Four small, fat dogs gamboled and tumbled across the floor, threatening to trip the solemn soldiers. The Maiskhan commander kicked at one who came too close to his ankle. Unruffled, the dog waddled over to sniff at Rothan and Mark, before losing interest and sinking bonelessly on its side for a nap.

Queen Farahna made her entrance.

She was shorter than Mark had expected, and definitely on the plump side, gowned in gracefully flowing robes. Her apparently hastily made-up face featured three colors of eyeshadow, rosy cheeks, and ruby red lips. The artificial coloring only made her pale features appear harsh, not beautiful to Mark’s eyes. Her black hair was drawn into a sloppy chignon, accented with a curved white enamel crown. Rubies and pearls were set ino the crown at intervals, forming an intricate pattern, and a large sun-shaped medallion adorned the center. Tangled gold, turquoise, coral, and jet strands covered the queen’s ample chest. Brushing her shoulders, golden snake earrings hung from her extended earlobes. All the waiting Nakhtiaar in the room—except the guards, prisoners and priests—saluted smartly.
 

Staring at Farahna, Mark was reminded of Empress Ekatereen so long ago on Throne Planet. The two women didn’t look anything like each other physically, but both had the arrogance of absolute power in their stance and expression, laced with cruelty.

Rothan struggled to his feet, while the crowd stared at him, apparently aghast at the breach of court etiquette. “You’re not my queen. I swore no oaths to you, owe you no allegiance. Where is Hutenen? I demand he be summoned and I’ll explain my actions to him. It’s my right as an officer to report to my superior.”

Pausing in midstep for one breath, Farahna didn’t turn. With a shrug, she swept up the steps of her dais and seated herself on the throne, resting her elbows on the wide arms of the ceremonial chair. She arranged her skirts in graceful folds and stuck out one sandaled foot, admiring the jeweled straps for a moment. Then she raised her extravagantly outlined eyes to inspect Rothan head to toe, as if he was a horse for her stable. “Poor fool. All your efforts in the Empty Lands have been for naught—your ineffectual prince is dead.”

Mark, of course, already knew of Hutenen’s death, but he was sure the news rocked Rothan and Tia to the core. He heard the girl’s gasp from across the room and Sandy’s murmured condolence.

As if he’d been struck by a spear, Rothan retreated a step, shaking his head in denial. Chin raised, eyes narrowed, he said, “You lie.”

Farahna cackled in amusement, the sound grating and unsympathetic. “He died shortly after you left the capital without permission. Perhaps if you’d been here, you might have changed his fate, Captain.”

“You murdered him.” Face red and contorted in anger, Rothan struggled against the hands of the Maiskhan guards grabbing at him as he advanced toward the dais. “How could anyone, even I, have prevented such treachery?”

Farun, the Maiskhan captain, backhanded Rothan across the face, knocking him to the floor before placing a savage kick in the defenseless man’s ribs for good measure. “Speak with respect to your ruler, dog.”

“Surely you knew Hutenen was unwell.” Farahna sighed, the sound echoing in the chamber. She toyed with the golden tassel attached to a loop at the end of her elaborately enameled scepter. “His bloodline ran weak and thin.”

She’s reveling in this moment.
Mark studied the queen’s face, seeing scant possibility of mercy or any opportunity to bargain.

Farahna continued her recitation of her supposedly well-intentioned efforts. “I summoned my personal physicians for your prince, time after time, but he only grew worse. And then he died. But it matters not—Hutenen was a grain of sand blown away by the desert winds. Of no consequence.” Leaning forward, she pointed her beringed finger at Rothan. “I’m the ruler of this land, chosen by the gods to occupy this throne. You’ve shown much disrespect to me—a month ago and now tonight—and therefore disrespect also to the Exalted Ones. The gods demand your death, Captain Rothan. There’ll be no easy passage to the next world for one who committed treason against me and insulted the gods.”