Hunt the Space-Witch! (42 page)

Moaris said casually, “My wife has been unfaithful to me. A trusted servant informed me of this not long ago: she has cheated me several times with no less a personage than an obscure member of our household, a groom or a lackey or some other person. When I questioned her, she did not deny this accusation. The Seigneur”—Moaris bowed in a throneward direction—“has granted me permission to chastise her here, to provide me with greater satisfaction and you with a moment of amusement.”

Herndon did not move. He watched as Moaris drew from his sash a glittering little heat gun. Calmly the nobleman adjusted the aperture to minimum. He gestured; a side of the cage slid upward, giving him free target.

He lifted the heat gun.

Flick!

A bright tongue of flame licked out, and the girl in the cage uttered a little moan as a pencil-thin line was seared across her flanks.

Flick!

Again the beam played across her body. Flick! Again. Lines of pain were traced across her breasts, her throat, her knees, her back. She revolved helplessly as Moaris amused himself, carving line after line along her body with the heat ray. It was only with an effort that Herndon held still. The members of the court chuckled as the Lady Moaris writhed and danced in an effort to escape the inexorable lash of the beam.

Moaris was an expert. He sketched patterns on her body, always taking care that the heat never penetrated below the upper surface of the flesh. It was a form of torture that might endure for hours, until the blood bubbled in her veins and she died.

Herndon realized the Seigneur was peering at him. “Do you find this courtly amusement to your taste, Herndon?” Krellig asked.

“Not quite, sire.” A hum of surprise rose that such a newcomer to the court should dare to contradict the Seigneur. “I would prefer a quicker death for the lady.”

“And rob us of our sport?” Krellig asked.

“I would indeed do that,” said Herndon. Suddenly he thrust open his jeweled cloak; the Seigneur cowered back as if he expected a weapon to come forth, but Herndon merely touched a plate in his chest, activating the device that the Meldian had implanted in his body. The neuronic mesh functioned in reverse; gathering a charge of deadly force, it sent the bolt surging along Herndon's hand. A bright arc of fire leaped from Herndon's pointing finger and surrounded the girl in the cage.

“Barr!” she screamed, breaking her silence at last, and died.

Again Herndon discharged the neuronic force, and Moaris, his hands singed, dropped his heat gun.

“Allow me to introduce myself,” Herndon said as Krellig stared white-faced at him and the nobles of the court huddled together in fright. “I am Barr Herndon, son of the First Earl of Zonnigog. Somewhat over a year ago a courtier's jest roused you to lay waste to your fief of Zonnigog and put my family to the sword. I have not forgotten that day.”

“Seize him!” Krellig shrieked.

“Anyone who touches me will be blasted with the fire,” Herndon said. “Any weapon directed at me will recoil upon its owner. Hold your peace and let me finish.

“I am also Barr Herndon, Second Steward to Lord Moaris, and the lover of the woman who died before you. It must comfort you, Moaris, to know that the man who cuckolded you was no mere groom but a noble of Zonnigog.

“I am also,” Herndon went on in the dead silence, “Barr Herndon the spacerogue, driven to take up a mercenary's trade by the destruction of my household. In that capacity I became a smuggler of starstones, and”—he bowed—“through an ironic twist, found myself owing a debt of fealty to none other than you, Seigneur.

“I hereby revoke that oath of fealty, Krellig—and for the crime of breaking an oath to my monarch, I sentence myself to death. But also, Krellig, I order a sentence of death upon your head for the wanton attack upon my homeland. And you, Moaris—for your cruel and barbaric treatment of this woman whom you never loved, you must die, too.

“And all of you—you onlookers and sycophants, you courtiers and parasites, you, too, must die. And you, the court clowns, the dancing bears and captive lifeforms of far worlds, I will kill you, too, as once I killed a slave proteus—not out of hatred but simply to spare you from further torment.”

He paused. The hall was terribly silent; then someone to the right of the throne shouted, “He's crazy! Let's get out of here!”

He dashed for the great doors, which had been closed. Herndon let him get within ten feet of safety, then blasted him down with a discharge of life force. The mechanism within his body recharged itself, drawing its power from the hatred within him and discharging through his fingertips.

Herndon smiled at Lord Moaris, pale now. He said, “I'll be more generous to you than you to your Lady. A quick death for you.”

He hurled a bolt of force at the nobleman. Moaris recoiled, but there was no hiding possible; he stood bathed in light for a moment, and then the charred husk dropped to the ground.

A second bolt raked the crowd of courtiers. A third Herndon aimed at the throne; the costly hangings of the throne area caught first, and Krellig half-rose before the bolt of force caught him and hurled him back dead.

Herndon stood alone in the middle of the floor. His quest was at its end; he had achieved his vengeance. All but the last: on himself, for having broken the oath he had involuntarily sworn to the Seigneur.

Life held no further meaning for him. It was odious to consider returning to a spacerogue's career, and only death offered absolution from his oaths.

He directed a blazing beam of force at one of the great pillars that supported the throne room's ceiling. It blackened, then buckled. He blasted apart another of the pillars, and the third.

The roof groaned; after hundreds of years the tons of masonry were suddenly without support. Herndon waited, then smiled in triumph as the ceiling hurtled down at him.

A Biography of Robert Silverberg

Robert Silverberg (b. 1935) is an American author best known for his science fiction titles, including
Nightwings
(1969),
Dying Inside
(1972), and
Lord Valentine's Castle
(1980). He has won five Nebula Awards and five Hugo Awards. In 2004, the Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers of America honored Silverberg with the Damon Knight Memorial Grand Master Award.

Silverberg was born in Brooklyn, New York, on January 15, 1935, the only child of Michael and Helen Silverberg. An avid reader and writer from an early age, Silverberg began his own fanzine,
Spaceship
, in 1949. In 1953, at age eighteen, he sold his first nonfiction piece to
Science Fiction Adventures
magazine. His first novel,
Revolt on Alpha C
, was published shortly after, in 1955. That same year, while living in New York City and studying at Columbia University, Silverberg met his neighbors and fellow writers Randall Garrett and Harlan Ellison, both of whom went on to collaborate with him on numerous projects. Silverberg and Randall published pieces under the name Robert Randall. In 1956, Silverberg graduated from Columbia University with a bachelor of arts degree in comparative literature, married Barbara Brown, and won the Hugo Award for Most Promising New Author.

Following the whirlwind of his college years, Silverberg continued to write consistently for most of his life. Writing under various pseudonyms, including David Osborne and Calvin M. Knox, Silverberg managed to publish eleven novels and more than two hundred short pieces between 1957 and 1959. Having established himself as a science fiction writer by this time, Silverberg went on to show dexterity in other genres, from historical nonfiction with
Treasures Beneath the Sea
(1960) to softcore pornography under the pseudonym Don Elliot.

Silverberg continued to write outside science fiction until Frederik Pohl, the editor of
Galaxy Science Fiction
, convinced him to rejoin the field. It was in this period, from the late 1960s to early 1970s, that Silverberg's classics, including
Tower of Glass
(1970),
The World Inside
(1971), and
The Book of Skulls
(1972), came to life. After taking a break from writing, Silverberg returned with
Lord Valentine's Castle
in 1980.

Though they had been separated for nearly a decade, Silverberg and Barbara officially ended their marriage in 1986. A year later, Silverberg married fellow writer Karen Haber. They went on to collaborate on writing
The Mutant Season
(1990) and editing several anthologies. Throughout the late 1980s and 1990s, Silverberg published important titles including
Star of Gypsies
(1986), and continued his established Majipoor series with
The Mountains of Majipoor
(1995) and
Sorcerers of Majipoor
(1997). In 1999, Silverberg was inducted into the Science Fiction Hall of Fame.

With a career that spans half a century, multiple genres, and more than three hundred titles, Silverberg has made major contributions as a writer. He currently resides in the San Francisco Bay Area with his wife.

Silverberg at six months old with his parents.

Silverberg at summer camp in August 1952, reading the September issue of
Galaxy Science Fiction
, which featured a story by Theodore Sturgeon.

The first page of Silverberg's manuscript for his first novel,
Revolt on Alpha C
, published in 1955.

An early rejection letter dated July 18, 1949.