The Cyber Chronicles - Book I: Queen of Arlin (2 page)

Tassin sighed,
her eyes sweeping the night-shrouded land. The law said that she
must have a husband of noble blood, and the kings could force her
to wed one of them if she did not choose a suitable spouse. They
had pointed that out repeatedly, and, since there were no princes
of royal blood apart from Prince Victor of Olgara, her choice was
limited. Olgara was a poor kingdom bordering the badlands that
relied heavily on trade to survive, and it could not jeopardise its
alliances with the other kingdoms. Prince Victor had not offered a
suit, and King Xavier, his elder brother, had sent only a letter of
condolence. She wanted none of the three available kings, however,
and had announced it boldly to their faces.

Torrian had
been the most outraged, swearing to tear down her castle and drag
her to the altar by her hair, as the law allowed. In desperation,
Tassin sent invitations to all the unwed noblemen in her kingdom of
marriageable age. All but one had declined, and he, a young lord
from the southern part of her kingdom, had been waylaid and killed,
apparently by highwaymen. She knew that the three kings had used
threats and blackmail to prevent the suitors from accepting her
invitation, and in the case of the bravest, had resorted to murder.
In the face of this bold treachery, she could do nothing but
reiterate her refusal of their offers and weather the storm that
followed.

Torrian had
sent a party of men to kidnap her from her bedroom, but they had
been discovered and executed after confessing their mission. In a
fury of fear and defiance, Tassin had ordered her soldiers armed
and mobilised to defend her borders, preventing spies and would-be
kidnappers from entering. After she had foiled two more attempts
with these tactics, Torrian had joined with the other kings to
fight their way to her castle and carry her off by force. So the
war had started, and although her army had rallied to her call and
her lords fought bravely, she was losing.

Three armies
stood against her, united in their purpose and agreed amongst
themselves that the first to reach her side would win her hand and
rule Arlin. Pervor had begged her to wed Torrian and end the
conflict, but Tassin was adamant that she would not be forced to
wed a rapist. In her darkest hour, when it seemed that all was lost
and she would end up as a battle prize, the old advisor had told
her of the magician Manutim's promise to her father. The mage's
weapon was designed to destroy the Death Zone and put an end to the
monsters that came from it to ravage towns in Arlin, but such a
weapon might also help her to win the war.

Turning back to
the battlements, she clasped the cold rock and gazed into the
darkness. Manutim's promise of help gave her a vestige of hope, for
he was a wise and powerful mage. The weapon he had promised her
father must be fearsome indeed if it could win the war. She had
sworn to die in battle before marrying any of the vile kings. Then
her cousin, a weedy boy of twelve, would inherit, and her uncle
would be regent until her cousin was sixteen. Raising her chin, she
gripped her sword's chill hilt. She was a warrior queen, she would
fight for her right to be free and choose her husband.

The last shreds
of light faded from the sky with the sudden closing of a fist of
darkness, like a candle flame snuffed. Tassin clasped her fur coat
around her as the night air nipped at her skin. A cold breeze had
sprung up from the east, laden with the scent of rich earth and
vegetation. Shivering, she walked along the battlements to the
stairway that led down to the courtyard where her horse waited.
Stony-faced guards watched her pass, their eyes glittering in the
torchlight as they tracked her movement. If they had opinions to
offer upon the rash course that she had set herself, they knew
better than to air them within the range of Royanne's sharp
ears.

Deserters
slipped away like foxes in the night, clutching their shame as they
fled the coming bloodbath. The crippled guard captain, lacking an
eye and half of his face from a sword cut many years before, kept
tally of the dwindling men in the barracks and informed her daily
of their numbers. He did not offer to hunt down the deserters, his
reticence informing her that he did not blame them for their
cowardice. Nor did she, for it was cruel to ask men to lay down
their lives merely to keep their Queen from a marriage that she did
not want. In a land where women were little more than chattel, a
queen reigning alone was unheard of, and her decision to fight
seemed worse than folly.

The head groom
bowed as she approached, offering her the reins of her iron-grey
charger, a warhorse of the highest calibre trained to kill with
teeth and hooves. Falcon snorted, his ears twitching, and she
stroked his muzzle when he snuffled her. A mounting block was put
in place, and she swung into the saddle, gathering up the slack in
the reins as he pranced and sidestepped. Falcon stood eighteen
hands tall, his steel-shod hooves the size of soup plates, a
behemoth of muscle clad in plates of armour.

"Open the
gates!" the head groom cried when Falcon paced towards the
portcullis, his hooves striking sparks from the courtyard's stones.
The portcullis rose with a rumble of chains, and the drawbridge
beyond descended. The captain watched her pass, his disapproval of
her solo, nocturnal jaunt clearly written on his scarred
visage.

Falcon
thundered across the drawbridge at an eager canter, defying her
control. Once off the drawbridge, she let him have his head, his
muscles surging beneath her as the cold wind tore her hair from its
fastenings. She revelled in the freedom of the wild gallop, wishing
that she never had to return to her father's castle and the
incessant, losing war with its inevitable tragic conclusion.
Slowing Falcon to a bouncing canter, she turned him towards the
wood. The stallion fought her with good natured spirit, both of
them knowing that he could defy her if he chose. The trees loomed
ahead, and Tassin prayed that Manutim would be waiting. As they
entered the forest, she slowed the mettlesome charger to a walk,
only the crunch of leaves under his hooves breaking the breathless
hush.

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.