The Cyber Chronicles - Book I: Queen of Arlin

Chapter Three

  Tassin woke in a bed so familiar that for a minute she wondered where Royanne was with her morning tea. Opening her eyes, she gazed at her strange surroundings. She sat up and winced as her bruises and scratches reminded her of her ordeal. Sunlight flooded in through tall windows framed by brocaded curtains on one side of the room, and a freshly lighted fire crackled in the grate. Gilt-framed portraits of long-forgotten ancestors, prized horses and beloved hounds gazed down from the walls, and a suit of armour stood in the corner. Niam’s keep had an air of aged opulence, its battle-scarred walls dating back to the war that had divided the land. The Duke spent the bulk of his time entertaining local nobles, hunting and chronicling Arlin’s history in the dusty tomes that stocked his library.

  A least she was safe now. Her uncle would undoubtedly shelter her from the monstrous kings and perhaps help her to escape them, too. Buoyed by this thought, she rose and dressed, also relieved that she would be rid of the hateful Sabre, who, for all his magic, was insufferable. She had related the tale of her misadventures to her uncle and aunt over dinner the night before, but had claimed that the escape had been her plan and omitted the indignities to which Sabre had subjected her. While Niam and Bethan had listened with apparent sympathy, they had not offered any workable plans to outwit the kings. She shrugged it off. Perhaps they needed time to think of one.

  The dress that had been laid out for her, scented with honeysuckle and warmed by the fire, was a lacy creation of yellow taffeta and white ribbons. She would have preferred her more practical riding clothes and battle jacket, but her split skirt was ruined, so the dress would have to do until she could find something better. A knock at the door heralded a serving girl, whose eyes widened when she found the Queen already up and dressed. The maid brushed the tangles from Tassin’s hair and arranged it in a plaited coil with ringlets to frame her face, while the Queen fidgeted.

  Tassin skipped down the sweeping white marble staircase to the bright morning room whose tall doors opened onto a sunlit balcony overlooking a sweeping, forested valley. The open doors allowed in a scented breeze that ruffled the white silk curtains, giving the room a pleasantly soothing ambience. Niam’s three lazy wolfhounds dozed on rugs near the walls, and her uncle, cousin and aunt waited for her to join them for breakfast, seated around one end of a long polished redwood table. Liveried servants stood behind them, armed with pots of tea and jugs of cream. The Duke rose and bowed, as did her aunt and her cousin, Prince Dellon. Tassin tucked into the hearty meal of crisp bacon, poached eggs, smoked fish and grilled mushrooms in a tangy sauce, washing it down with aromatic, honey-sweetened tea. Becoming aware of the strained atmosphere when her hunger was assuaged, she glanced from her uncle to her aunt, raising a brow.

  Niam cleared his throat and leant forward. “You must marry one of the kings, Tassin. Your army is defeated. Your castle is fallen. I cannot help you. My army barely numbers three hundred men.”

  She shook her head. “Never, Uncle. I have eluded the kings for now. All I require is shelter while I demand aid from King Xavier, who will undoubtedly supply it, and -”

  “Tassin. We had another visitor during the night. We did not want to disturb you, and he graciously consented to wait until morning.”

  “Torrian!” She jumped up. “How could you, Uncle? I came to you for help and you betray me?”

  “No, my pretty,” a deep, familiar voice drawled behind her. Tassin spun to face Torrian, his smirk triumphant. “He is helping you, and his advice is sound.”

  Tassin backed away as he advanced, shaking her head. Torrian was over two metres tall, bull-necked and barrel-chested. His helm hid his thick brown hair, and his shaven, coarse-featured face held the trace of cruelty she found so repellent. The gold band that encircled his helm denoted his rank, just as the slight sneer that curled his lips revealed his arrogance. His silver armour was moulded into muscular contours, and a gold-hilted sword hung at his side. She bumped into a chair as she retreated around the far end of the table, Torrian following. Seizing her chance before he got too close, she made a dash for the door, where two guards stood.

  “Stop her!” Torrian roared.

  The guards crossed their spears, but she ducked under them and ran down the hall, gathering up her skirts. Heavy boots pounded after her as Torrian and the guards gave chase. Tassin flew down the broad staircase, slipped on the smooth floor at the bottom and banged her knee. Torrian’s bellow echoed through the fortress, calling for more men. She sprinted for the main doors, and a guard blocked her way, but stepped aside when she charged him. No soldier dared to lay hands upon the Queen, especially her uncle’s men, who were practically her own. She burst into the courtyard, where some grooms loitered by the stables.

  “Bring my horses, now!”

  The men ran off, and a group of red-liveried soldiers looked up. A twenty-man honour guard was all Torrian had brought into the castle, but they were far more of a threat to her than her uncle’s soldiers. They headed towards her, and Tassin knew that trying to run was hopeless, even if the long skirts did not hamper her. Spying a wood pile nearby, she ran to it and snatched up a sturdy piece, brandishing it. The men hesitated, but then Torrian came out of the castle.

  “Hold her! Do not let her leave!”

  Niam’s soldiers watched, grim-faced, as ten of Torrian’s men surrounded her. They would have to be careful. If they hurt her, Niam’s men could retaliate, for they hung on a knife edge of loyalties. Tassin swung the piece of firewood, making a soldier jump back, but another grabbed it and wrenched it away while two more gripped her arms. Tassin yelled and struggled, and several of Niam’s men started towards her, then stopped. Her uncle stood in the doorway, his hand raised.

  “Traitor!” she shouted. “Your brother is cursing you from his grave! You hand me over to a rapist! A woman beater! A -”

  “Silence!” Torrian’s roar drowned her out, and Niam hung his head, his expression despondent. His men shuffled their feet, but would not go against the Duke’s orders. Tassin kicked at her captors, hit one in the shin and made him hop and curse.

  “Stop that, you little wild cat.” Torrian loomed over her, his eyes hard. “I am going to have fun taming you.” He grinned, revealing large yellow teeth. “You will enjoy being my queen, never fear.”

  She glared at him. “I will take a knife to you one dark night, you bastard!”

  He laughed. “No you will not, my beauty. We will have a great marriage, though.”

  Tassin spat in his face, and he slapped her. Pain exploded in her head as she sagged in the soldiers’ grip, tasting blood. Niam stepped forward, frowning, and his men gripped their weapons. Torrian waved the Duke away.

  “See what you condemn me to, Niam!” Tassin yelled. “I hope you can live with yourself! You could have helped me!”

  Torrian signalled to his men, wiping his cheek. “Get her out of here.”

  Tassin glanced around, desperate for a way out of this predicament. The grooms had returned with the saddled warhorses and Falcon on a lead rein. If she could reach the horses, she might have a chance to escape. Perhaps there was one man who could, and would, help her, insufferable though he was.

  “Sabre!” she shrieked as the soldiers dragged her towards the gate. “Sabre!”

  The cyber emerged from the billets, the crystals on his brow sparkling.

  “Help me, Sabre, damn you!” Tassin shouted.

  Torrian’s soldiers moved to intercept the cyber as he broke into a trot towards her. He raised an arm, and a lance of blue fire shot from his wrist weapon, slicing into four of them at waist height. They collapsed, and her captors stopped to gape at their dead comrades. The others backed away, drawing their swords. Torrian stepped in front of Tassin and drew his double-handed broadsword.

  Sabre stopped, dwarfed by Torrian’s great height and bulk. He raised his arm again, but the beam of light that struck the King was weak, only making him step back as a glowing spot appeared on his armour. Sabre reached for a tube on
his harness, something Tassin did not recall him doing the last time he had used the blue fire. It had seemed inexhaustible, but apparently it was not.

  Torrian roared and charged, his sword raised. The cyber dived aside as the weapon whistled down to strike sparks from the stone where he had been an instant before. He rolled to his feet, spun and leapt, one foot lashing out to strike Torrian a glancing blow on the side of his helm that staggered him.

  The King growled and slashed at Sabre’s legs, forcing the cyber to leap over the blade. As he landed, Sabre lunged and punched Torrian in the midriff. The King sprawled with a crash of metal on stone, his armour saving him from serious injury. Torrian’s soldiers, seeing their monarch in danger and Sabre no longer able to use the blue fire, rushed into the fray.

  Tassin was certain he would be cut to pieces, but he leapt aside and chopped the closest man in the throat. The soldier coughed and dropped his weapon to paw at his neck, falling to his knees. Sabre ducked under a sword stroke and punched its wielder in the chest, sending him flying backwards to lie winded and writhing. The cyber swayed aside to avoid a thrusting blade, which grazed his ribs and sliced through his harness. He punched the man, who dropped and lay still, blood oozing from his crushed nose and split lips.

  Sabre skipped back, blood running down his side, and Torrian’s men charged after him. The cyber twisted aside to evade a blade, whipped around and kicked the man in the gut, sending him crashing to the cobbles. Sabre dived under another swinging sword, sprang to his feet close to a soldier and chopped him in the throat. He dropped his weapon and fell backwards, making horrible gurgling noises. The men fanned out to encircle the cyber.

  Sabre dodged a slashing weapon, ducked an attack from behind and kicked backwards, sending the soldier sliding with a glitter of sparks. Stepping closer to a man, Sabre landed a spinning straight-armed blow on the side of his head, dented his helmet and knocked him down. The remaining soldiers snarled and pressed home their attack in a mass of brawn and sharp-edged weaponry. Sabre eluded a sword and sent another soldier sprawling with a kick, accompanied by a sickening crunch of breaking bone.

  The rest impeded each other in their eagerness to cut him down. Sabre deflected a blade with a lightning-fast punch, ducked under another swinging weapon to lunge at a soldier, and then dropped into a crouch to punch the man in the ribs. The warrior staggered sideways and fell, his armour dented. Sabre flung himself backwards as a sword skimmed over his chest, landed on his hands and jerked up his legs. His foot cracked into the underside of the soldier’s jaw, snapped his head back and sent him crashing onto his back. Sabre thrust himself back onto his feet with a powerful push of his arms, twisting to avoid the stab of another blade. His hand flashed up, caught the soldier’s wrist and yanked him forward, driving his sword into the man on the other side while Sabre swayed back to evade the swing of the second man’s sword.

  The injured man reeled away to collapse, and the cyber broke the first man’s wrist with a savage twist and sharp crunch. The soldier howled and recoiled, dropping his weapon to clutch the limb.

  Torrian sat up, spat blood and shook his head, spied the brawl and roared, “He is mine!”

  As the men retreated, Sabre faced the King, who stood up and raised his sword. Torrian kept the weapon pointed at Sabre as he circled, looking for an opening. Niam’s soldiers muttered as an unarmed man took on the strapping, armoured King, whose reputation as a swordsman was unrivalled. The fact that Sabre had already defeated fourteen armed combatants and emerged almost unscathed was undoubtedly not lost upon them, however. A few of the men Sabre had knocked down climbed to their feet, looking dazed and clutching their injuries, but most lay still.

  Tassin’s captors were apparently enthralled, forgetting to drag her out of the gate. Sabre reached for a tube on his harness again, but it hung askew, due to the cut strap, and his hand found bare webbing. Torrian charged, forcing him to leap aside. Pirouetting away too fast for the King to swing the heavy sword, Sabre kicked the hilt, sending the weapon spinning to skitter away with a clatter. Torrian went after it, but Sabre drove his foot into the King’s flank, and Torrian sprawled. The cyber stepped towards him, then spun as the soldiers attacked again.

  Sabre batted away a sword thrust at his chest and stepped back. Torrian rolled onto his side and seized Sabre’s ankle. As the cyber tried to wrench free, a soldier chopped at him, and he threw himself aside. Torrian’s grip on his ankle forced Sabre to twist like a cat, landing a glancing kick on Torrian’s chin as jerk of the King’s head deflected it. Torrian held on, and Sabre had to break his fall with out-flung hands. The soldiers closed in, hacking at the cyber as he rolled aside.

  “Hold him! He is mine!” Torrian bellowed.

  The five men flung themselves at Sabre as he tried to yank his foot from Torrian’s grasp, but the King hung on long enough for them to grab the elusive cyber. Mindful of their sovereign’s claim on Sabre’s life, the soldiers strived to pin him down. Two seized his arms as he sent a third rolling away with a punch to the solar plexus. The other two went for his legs, but Sabre kicked free of Torrian’s hold and raised his legs in a swift movement that gave him enough momentum to roll over backwards, twisting his arms from the soldiers’ grip. As he regained his feet, the men lunged for him again, knocking him down with the force of their concerted charge.

  Tassin winced as Sabre’s head hit the flagstones with a dull crack, and he writhed as the men piled on top of him, two of his previous victims joining them. Torrian rose to his feet, clutching his ribs, while his men struggled to hold Sabre down. The soldiers punched the cyber in an effort to subdue him, pinning his arms and legs. One man tugged off Sabre’s loose weapons’ harness and tossed it aside. Torrian waded into the melee as his soldiers dragged the cyber to his feet. The King drove his armoured fist into Sabre’s face, snapped his head back and ripped him from the soldiers’ grasp. He hit the ground so hard that he bounced with a soft grunt, his head cracking onto the stones again.

  Tassin flinched, wondering if her magic warrior would be defeated. Torrian wrung his hand and cursed, then walked to the cyber’s side and kicked him in the ribs with all his might. Sabre coughed and writhed as the air was punched from his lungs once more. Torrian raised a foot and stamped on Sabre’s head with a sickening thud, then stepped back, certain of his victory. The soldiers released the cyber and stood up, grinning at their king, who frowned and flexed his hand. Sabre writhed, a lot of the lights on his brow band flashing red, then he rolled away and staggered to his feet. The brow band’s lights remained bright, but some turned green again. Several soldiers muttered, and the King looked perplexed.

  Sabre faced Torrian once more, his expression as blank as ever. Blood trickled from his nose and one ear, and he turned his head from side to side, presumably looking for his harness. Torrian charged, and Sabre dropped and tackled the King’s legs as he overshot him, then leapt up as Torrian crashed to the cobbles. About a third of the lights on his brow band still flashed red. The soldiers closed in again, preventing the cyber from reaching the supine King. Sabre spun to face a soldier who charged him from behind, as if he had eyes in the back of his head, smashed his fist into the man’s face and sent him crashing onto his back.

  Torrian climbed to his feet, shaking his head, and advanced on the cyber, his brows knotted. Tassin had the impression that Sabre would have tried to reach his harness, but knew that if he went after it Torrian would prevent him again. The cyber bent and yanked a knife from a fallen soldier’s belt. The King paused, considering the weapon, then swung a fist at Sabre’s head, missing when he ducked. The cyber lunged and stabbed Torrian in the thigh, since he wore full torso armour and arm-guards. The King roared and recoiled. Sabre followed, landing another double-fisted punch in the King’s solar plexus that dented his armour. The force of the blow lifted Torrian off his feet, and he crashed to the cobblestones yet again. The soldiers charged into the fray once more, this time with deadly intent.

  Sabre spun away from
the blades that swished past his neck and chest, landing a vicious blow on the side of the nearest man’s head. He dropped like a pole-axed ox, and Tassin did not doubt that he was dead, despite his helmet. Sabre spun to face the last two men, ducked a sword and swayed past a jabbing weapon to lunge closer and send the soldier sprawling with a throat punch.

  The last man stabbed at Sabre from the side, his sword sliding past the cyber’s belly as he sprang back. He spun and leapt, his foot striking the man on the side of the neck, and he collapsed with a grunt. Sabre went over to pick up his harness and strap it on, tying the cut webbing.

  Sabre turned to Tassin, plucked a tube from his harness, ejected the spent one from his wrist weapon and inserted the fresh charge. As he advanced on the Queen’s captors, one released her and drew his sword. Sabre raised his arm, then lowered it and ran at the man, leaping high to kick the soldier in the face. The flat of the man’s sword hit the cyber on the side of the head as the soldier was flung backwards, his neck breaking with a muffled crack.

  Sabre stumbled as he landed, then approached the soldier who held Tassin in front of him, twisting her arms behind her back. She struggled, but the man only tightened his grip. Sweat ran down Sabre, mingling with the blood that oozed from the numerous grazes on his chest and arms. The soldier dragged her backwards, but not fast enough. Sabre reached around her head, his arms touching her cheeks, and gripped the man’s neck. The soldier released her as his throat was crushed, the soft crunch turning her stomach.

  Tassin slipped out from between them as the man collapsed and ran to the groom who still held the warhorses. Snatching the reins from him, she ordered him to help her mount. He boosted her into the saddle, and she spurred the warhorse past Sabre, heading for the gates. He vaulted onto the second warhorse as it passed him. Her uncle raised a hand, and the soldiers at the gate stood aside. Falcon followed as she galloped across the fields towards the forest, beyond which lay the mountains and safety. Torrian’s army, encamped on the fields around Niam’s castle, watched her pass, several officers running towards the keep, doubtless to find out what had become of their king.

  The trees forced her to slow down when she reached them, Sabre close behind. She continued at a trot for an hour, glancing back often at Sabre with growing concern. Although still angry at his unwanted rescue from her castle, her conscience pricked her. After all, without him she would be at Torrian’s mercy now. Many of the lights on his brow band remained red, and she stopped beside a stream and slid from her horse. Sabre dismounted and stood impassively.

  She approached him. “Are you all right?”

  “This unit is functional.”

  She scowled. It annoyed her when he spoke gibberish. She was sure the lights on his brow band meant something. “Why are the lights on your... um, thing... red?”

  “Some damage has been sustained. Greater control is necessary.”

  Tassin shook her head. The man ought to be half dead, and he did not even show pain. “Sit down.”

  He sank to his knees, then sat back on his haunches. She knelt beside him and tugged at his harness. “Remove this.”

  Sabre unclipped the webbing and stripped it off. Deep grazes on his chest and shoulders oozed blood down his belly and back, more ran from the gash on his ribs and scrapes on his elbows and knuckles. Tassin took the knife from his harness, keeping a wary eye on his reaction, but he merely turned his head towards her. She cut a strip from one of the many petticoats that came with her ridiculous dress, wet it in the stream and wiped away the blood. A part of her wondered why she performed this menial task instead of ordering him to do it. Much as she strived not to notice it, there was something terribly seductive about this terse, lethal man with his aura of leashed power.

  Sabre sat immobile, although an occasional twitch betrayed his pain. When this happened, the lights on his brow band flashed, some turning red. A mottled red bruise formed on one side of his chest where Torrian had kicked him, and a swelling seeped blood on the back of his skull from its impact with the flagstones. Tassin had seen men injured in fights before, and, after the beating he had taken, she was surprised he could still function. Although he gave no sign of it, she knew he had to have at least one broken rib, and by rights he should have more.

  Although his knuckles bled, his hands should have been broken after punching an armoured man hard enough to dent curved steel. That, in itself, was incredible, but how he did not have a cracked skull was also a mystery. Speckles of red patterned a mottled pink area at the top of his nose where Torrian had punched him. Once again, she was amazed that his nose was not crushed, and, on the pretence of examining it, she scrutinised the brow band.

  The three prongs pierced his skin, the flesh slightly raised around each one. She ran her finger along the band, which was warm, as if it was truly part of him. Although she was almost nose-to-nose with him as she peered at it, he remained expressionless.

  Emboldened by his lack of reaction, she tugged at the band, finding it solid, as if it was bolted to his skull. Revolted, she sat back, and jumped. For an instant, so brief that she later dismissed it as imagination, his piercing, luminous eyes focussed on her face, and seemed to look right into her soul, making her gasp. Then the moment passed and his eyes returned to their vacant gaze. The brow band sparkled as three of the diagonal line of seven green lights on the right hand side of it flashed red for several seconds before turning green again.

  Tassin stood up and indicated the stream. “Drink if you are thirsty. Since an honourable death in battle is denied me, my uncle has betrayed me and I no longer have a weapon, it seems escape is now my only option. We will follow the stream into the mountains. I will be safe on the other side.”

  Tassin led the way upstream for the rest of the day, heading for the distant mountains. As fingers of dusk crept across the land, she stopped in a dense copse of black-leafed jilla trees that offered some shelter. She shivered in the night chill and ordered Sabre to light a fire. He gathered wood and constructed a pile, lighting it with yet another device from his harness.

  Tassin huddled close to it, spread her hands to the warmth and studied Sabre, who sat on the other side. He was a handsome man, she decided.

  “Sabre, where do you come from?”

  The lights on the brow band flashed. “This unit was manufactured on Myon Two.”

  “Manufactured? You mean born.”

  “Yes.”

  She tossed a twig into the flames. “Where is Myontwo?”

  “Star cluster GZ482.”

  She frowned. He was talking gibberish again. “How old are you?”

  “Unknown.”

  “You do not know?”

  “Time spent in cold sleep cannot be calculated.”

  Her temper frayed. Why did he keep talking nonsense? “How old do you think you are, then?”

  “Time spent in operation: twenty-six years.”

  Although she despised her uncharacteristic interest in him, she was curious about his many oddities. “Why do you speak so strangely?”

  “Cybers are not designed for conversation.”

  She shook her head. “It is more than that. You are injured, yet you show no pain. You have no expression, as if you are some kind of idiot, yet you are not. What of the magic you use?”

  The brow band’s crystals sparkled. “Magic is a mythical power with no basis in fact.”

  “But you use it. The blue fire is magic.”

  “That is a laser, standard weapons issue for cybers.”

  She prodded the fire. “You talk riddles. What is a laser?”

  “A weapon that uses light.”

  “Where does it come from?”

  “Myon Two.”

  She glared at him. “I mean the light.”

  “The power packs store the energy used.”

  She sighed. The more questions she asked, the more confusing his answers became. Her stomach rumbled. “Can you hunt?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good, go and catch so
mething for us to eat then; a rabbit or pheasant.”

  Sabre rose and vanished into the darkness. Tassin instantly regretted her order, for the forest was spooky without his comforting presence. She reviewed that thought. Comforting? The man did not even look at her, and his utter obedience frightened, yet exhilarated her. If she had not seen it, she would not have believed him capable of defeating Torrian and his broadsword, especially whilst unarmed. Yet, magical though he was, his injuries were real and his blood was as red as hers. What would happen if she set him an impossible task? Would he refuse and argue as any sane man would, or obey and die?

  Although she was accustomed to people obeying her, none had ever done so quite the way he did. Yet her feelings for him remained mixed. He was terribly rude, and his strange ways made her nervous. There was no subservience in his manner, none of the eager-to-please boot-licking she had experienced in the past from minions who curried her favour. She stared into the leaping flames, lost in thought.

  Tassin jumped when Sabre emerged from the gloom, but she was glad he was back. He carried two rabbits whose heads had been burnt off, and she recoiled when he offered them to her.

  “Clean them! Skin them and cook them, Sabre!” She grimaced. “Do you expect me to soil my hands?”

  The cyber vanished into the gloom again, returning about half an hour later with the rabbits gutted, skinned and spitted, and set them on the fire to cook. Despite his skimpy outfit, he did not appear to be cold, while she shivered.

  “I am cold,” she informed him.

  Sabre raised his head and looked in her general direction, then went over to the saddles and brought her one of the blankets. She wrinkled her nose at the smell of horse sweat. “This stinks.”

  “It will provide warmth.”

  “It still smells.”

  “Yes.”

  Tassin draped the blanket over her legs and watched him cook the rabbits. She did not normally engage servants in conversation, but she needed to talk to someone, maybe to dispel the forest’s eeriness. She gave a mental shrug. Okay, she was curious.

  “Sabre, what is the thing on your head?”

  “It is the cyber.”

  “What does it do?”

  “It controls the host body.”

  “How?”

  “Cyber design is classified.”

  Tassin lowered her gaze to the flames. Curiosity plagued her, and she longed to ask more questions, but his replies were so unintelligible she only found them annoying. Now he was keeping secrets, which was even more galling. Sabre handed her a cooked rabbit, and she wondered why he spoke gibberish sometimes. Was he touched in the head? Possessed? He was certainly not normal. Across the fire, Sabre ate his rabbit, ignoring her scrutiny.