The Cyber Chronicles VII - Sabre (13 page)

"Don't. You're
getting all dirty."

"It's all
right."

"No, it's
not."

Tassin looked
up at Sabre, her expression anguished.

He said, "The
farmhouse is only two hours walk from here. We could take her
there. They'd give her a hot bath."

Tassin nodded.
"She's not strong enough to walk that far."

"I know."

Sabre scooped
Dena up, and she wound her arms around his neck. Tarl stamped out
the fire and picked up the packs.

The dog
started barking before they reached the dark farmhouse, since they
were upwind. Tassin banged on the door, and a few minutes later the
wavering yellow light and shuffling steps approached from within.
Merry opened the door a crack, and her eyes widened.

"You again!
Are ye determined to let us get no sleep?"

"Sorry,"
Tassin said. "We need your help."

"What be it
this time? Bed and breakfast?"

Tassin glanced
back at Sabre and his burden. "We found a young waif in the woods.
She needs a bath."

"A bath is it?
Whatever next?"

"Perhaps some
food? We can pay."

"Aye, ye did
last time, right 'andsomely too. Come in then."

Merry shuffled
aside, and Tassin led the little group within. Aerik stood at the
bottom of the stairs, holding his rusty sword. He put it down when
he saw them and plugged in his ear trumpet to listen to Merry's
explanation.

"I'll put some
water on the fire," she said, heading for the kitchen, her nose
wrinkled at the stink that followed them in.

The bath tub
was behind a curtain in the corner, and Sabre and Tarl filled it
with warm water. Merry handed Tassin a bar of soap as she guided
Dena behind it. When she re-emerged, Merry and Aerik sat at the
table with Sabre and Tarl, jugs of mead set out for all. Tassin sat
down and smiled at them.

"She'll feel
much better soon."

"You found 'er
in the woods?" Merry asked.

"Yes, the poor
girl looks like she's been badly treated by someone."

"That's fer
sure. You'll be wanting more of me stew then?"

"That would be
wonderful."

An hour later,
Dena hunched over the table and picked at the dirt under her
fingernails, chewing her lip. Tassin and Sabre sat opposite,
sipping jugs of mead. Merry and Aerik had retired to bed, and Dena
wore one of Merry's old dresses, which was tatty and too big, but
clean. Her wet hair was brushed sleek against her skull, and her
skin had an unnatural pallor. A bowl of Merry's tasteless stew
filled her stomach, and she looked better, Sabre thought. Tarl
leant back in his chair and yawned, balancing it on its back legs,
his eyes drooping.

"You can't go
to your castle, Tass," Dena said.

"I know."

"What are you
going to do?"

"Get my crown
back."

"How?"

Tassin sighed
and leant on the table. "That depends. Who would help me?"

"Apart from
me? No one that I can think of."

"What about
Grisson's son?"

Dena looked
up. "Sharmian? I don't know if he would."

"What sort of
man is he?"

"Wonderful."
Dena grimaced. "But powerless."

"How so? He's
a king."

"Of
Mandor."

Tassin
inclined her head. "Still, he has an army."

"You don't
understand. Torrian helped his ascension."

"So he's an
ally?"

"No, he hates
Torrian and Dellon. He's a pawn. Torrian can dethrone him any time.
All he has to do is revoke his support."

"Then who will
inherit?"

Dena pulled a
face. "Grisson's cousin's son, Rademan. He's a nasty piece of
work."

"If Sharmian
helped me to get my throne back, he'd have a powerful ally in
Arlin, and my support would replace Torrian's."

"You'd have to
talk to him. I can't speak for him."

"Would he
betray me?"

"No. But he'd
be afraid."

Tassin nodded.
"We'll risk it. We need a place to stay while we make plans. We
can't stay in Arlin. Once you're discovered missing, there will be
search parties, and if we're found things will go badly. We must go
to Mandor."

Chapter Nine

King
Sharmian’s tall grey castle stood on the brow of a stony hill,
stark against a pale grey sky. Tassin squinted at it in the chill
wind that stung her eyes and cheeks. Mandor was, she mused, the
most unpleasant of the five kingdoms. It bordered Arlin to the
west, a harsh landscape of rocky hills and poor soil clothed in
sparse, hardy grass and belts of stunted forest. Water was scarce,
and a bitter wind blew for six months of the year, shaping the
trees into leaning plumes and scouring the hillsides bare. The
journey here had been a gruelling two weeks of constant travel.

Sabre had made
it possible by stealing four horses from a noble's stables, then
sneaking into towns to take what they needed, sometimes leaving a
little gold as payment. He had procured sturdy fur-lined coats for
everyone, and Tassin now wore a smart black riding habit from a
noble lady's wardrobe. The same noblewoman had provided Dena with a
royal blue riding habit. The empty summer mansion had proven to be
a rich source of supplies, including daggers, swords, a crossbow,
bedrolls, tents and four rather badly trained, mettlesome
warhorses.

They had
avoided people, sleeping in forests or farmers' sheds. Sabre's
forays had gone unnoticed, and the ease with which he had taken
what they needed made Tassin proud. She did not consider it
thievery, but rather contributions to the fight to free Arlin,
something she was sure all the contributors would have wanted to
donate to, in any case. Dena had gained weight on the nutritious
diet of smoked meat Sabre had procured. With a cyber to provide for
them, they had lacked for nothing, and, while the constant
travelling had been tiring, the good food had kept up their
strength.

Tassin leant
on her pommel and considered the castle at the end of their journey
while they rode along the road that led to it. Sabre reined in his
horse when it tossed its head, steadying its fretting.

Tassin turned
to Dena. "Will Sharmian see you?"

Dena nodded.
"Yes, of course. He was one of the few friends I had. Grisson died
six months after you left, and Sharmian was crowned a month later.
I came to his coronation."

"Good. Then
you're our ticket in, because I've never met him."

"We'll be
putting him in terrible danger."

"Great things
come from taking big risks," Tassin said. "If he helps me, he'll be
free of Torrian. I just hope he's a brave man."

Tassin urged
her horse into a canter towards the tall castle, built in ancient
times to defend against savage hordes after the holocaust. Red and
gold banners fluttered from its battlements.

"I see
Sharmian has different colours from Grisson," she commented.

"He took his
mother's colours. He disliked Grisson."

"I like him
already."

When they
arrived at the portcullis, a sentry in a smart red and gold uniform
emerged from a guardhouse beside it, buckling on his sword. Tassin
glimpsed a fire inside the hut; two more soldiers huddled over
it.

Dena rode over
to the guard. "Please tell King Sharmian that Princess Dena is here
to visit him."

The man
glanced at the rest of them with raised brows. "Of course,
Highness."

The sentry
vanished through the door in the gate and returned several minutes
later to open it with the aid of the other two soldiers. The
portcullis rumbled up, and Dena led the party into a sheltered
courtyard, where grooms came to take their horses and servants
appeared to carry their baggage. A flunky in a smart crimson
uniform led them through a tall door into an echoing corridor with
bare grey stone walls. The wind moaned in the battlements, giving
the place an eerie, dismal air. The servant showed them into a warm
room lighted by lamps and a roaring fire. Rugs softened the floor
and rich tapestries adorned the walls. Carved tables and chairs
were arranged rather haphazardly around it, and three spacious
sofas faced the fire. Two gangly wolfhounds looked up at their
entry, and one gave a half-hearted bark.

"Quiet,
Grimsby," a cultured voice said, and a man rose from one of the
sofas, turning to face them.

King Sharmian
bore no resemblance to Grisson, Tassin thought. His black hair and
fine brows matched his eyes, which were framed by ridiculously
thick lashes. He was a little shorter than Tarl, surprising in a
world dominated by tall, beefy men. A black-lined crimson smoking
jacket and satin trousers clad his slender form, and he held a
glass of red wine. His smile revealed white, slightly crooked teeth
as he put down his glass and stepped forward to greet Dena, took
her hand and raised it to his lips.

"Princess
Dena, this is a pleasant surprise. A little... um... surprising,
too."

Dena curtsied.
"Your Majesty. It's good to see you again."

"And you."
Sharmian glanced at Tassin. "You've brought friends?"

"Yes. I..."
Dena hesitated. "You must prepare yourself for a shock."

"Oh, god,
don't tell me Torrian's chosen a bride for me already?"

"What? Oh, no,
nothing like that, Your Majesty."

"Oh, good.
Please, enough with the honorifics. I thought we agreed.

"Sharmian."
Dena smiled, blushing.

"That's
better. Please, sit, have some wine."

"First... Well
perhaps we should sit down." Dena went over to a sofa and settled
upon it. Tassin took another, Sabre and Tarl beside her, while
Sharmian sat beside Dena.

"This
sounds... err... bad."

"Well, it is,
and it isn't, depending on how it turns out, I suppose."

"Are you going
to introduce your companions?"

"Yes." Dena
glanced at Tassin and drew a deep breath. "Allow me to introduce my
adopted sister, Queen Tassin Alrade of Arlin."

Sharmian's
mouth dropped open, and he stared at Tassin, who smiled and
inclined her head.

"King
Sharmian."

He closed his
mouth, shaking his head. "You are supposed to be dead."

"The tales of
my demise have been greatly exaggerated."

Sharmian stood
up, and Tassin rose to face him, extending her hand. He took it and
kissed the back of it, and she bowed her head.

"I am
honoured," Sharmian murmured. "Your name is steeped in legend and
mystery."

Tassin
introduced Sabre and Tarl as knights, and Sharmian nodded at them,
then turned back to Tassin. "This is amazing, but why do you travel
with just two knights? Where is Dellon?"

"Dellon
doesn't know I've returned, and I'd like to keep it that way for
now."

"You are in
exile?"

"In a manner
of speaking. I intend to reclaim my throne, but I will need your
help."

Sharmian swung
away, shaking his head. "Do not involve me, please."

Dena jumped
up. "Just hear her out, Sharmian."

"It was bad
enough what happened to you. Do you want the same thing to happen
to me?"

"It won't.
Listen to Tassin, please."

Sharmian said,
"I cannot help anyone. I am just a puppet."

"How would you
like to be free of Torrian's yoke; to rule in your own right?"
Tassin asked.

"That is not
possible."

"It is.
Support me, acknowledge me, provide me with a safe place to stay,
and you'll become my closest ally when I reclaim my throne. No
strings. I will give you my full support, and no one will take your
throne."

"
If
you
reclaim your throne, and that is a very big 'if'." Sharmian shook
his head again. "I cannot provide you with a safe haven if Torrian
finds out you are here, and my support will mean nothing in that
event. If I acknowledge you, I will lose my throne."

"Sharmian,
please," Dena said. "Tassin will get her throne back. She doesn't
fail when she sets out to do something, and, even if you lose yours
in the struggle, she'll see to it that you get it back."

"Unless
Torrian chops off my head. Where is her army? How can she do
anything when all she has are two nobles, and you? I could not even
help you, and I wanted to."

"I know. Just
listen to her plans before you decide. What harm can that do?"

He sighed.
"None, I suppose. But you should know, Queen Tassin, that my army
numbers five hundred men. Torrian took the rest. His demands for
tithes have emptied my coffers, and my people are beggars, at his
mercy. He has reduced Mandor to a servile kingdom. What can I
possibly do to help you?"

"Become my
ally. Acknowledge me as the Queen of Arlin, and proclaim your
support."

"And get my
head chopped off for my troubles. Between the two of us we do not
have enough power to raise the taxes in a hamlet. I only have
Dena's word that you are Queen Tassin. Do you have any proof?"

"Only him."
Tassin nodded at Sabre, who picked at a frayed cuff, and glanced up
in surprise.

Sharmian
looked confused. "How is he proof that you are the Queen of
Arlin?"

"Everyone
knows that the Queen of Arlin returned from the Death Zone with a
great warrior with lights on his head. Everyone knows he drove
Torrian away with magical weapons and restored me to my throne.
Everyone knows he was my beloved, and my champion."

"The warrior
mage?"

"Yes."

"I have heard
the tales too, but... May I see the lights?" Sharmian asked Sabre,
who sighed and removed the bandana that hid the control unit. The
young king stared at it. "Amazing. Can he really do magic?"

Tassin nodded.
"Yes."

Sharmian sank
down on the sofa, picked up his glass and took a gulp of wine. "So
if I acknowledge you and proclaim my support, what happens
then?"