The Cyber Chronicles - Book I: Queen of Arlin

Sabre started awake as a deluge of cold water splashed over his face. The icy shock made him try to spring to his feet and drop into a fighting crouch, but most of his limbs did not obey, and all he did was roll over and raise a hand. A grinning stableman stood over him, holding an empty bucket. When he saw that his wake up call had been successful, he wandered away. Sabre sat in the wet straw and groaned. His head pounded as if the cyber had just staged another take-over attempt. His stomach squirmed and rumbled, and bile stung his throat. His mouth tasted like he had been eating cow dung, or a rotten cow, he was not sure which, and his eyes flinched from the sunlight. He staggered into the stable yard, holding his head, since it seemed liable to fall off.

  Locating a water trough, he plunged his head into it, gasping as the cold water redoubled his headache, and the shock made him vomit again. His shaking legs buckled, and he sank down beside the trough, clinging to its side. The dried blood on his chest pulled at his skin, and he tried to wash it off. Stablemen chuckled as they walked past, calling rude advice. Sabre dug in his pouch and swallowed some painkillers, then groaned and rested his aching head against the trough. He had no idea how long he lay there, his stomach a tight knot and his throat burning.

  A hand touched his shoulder, and he looked up into the brown eyes of a smiling young serving girl. She held out a mug of tea, and he muttered his thanks as he took it, washing some of the cow dung flavour from his mouth. She coaxed him to his feet and helped him into the kitchen, where she plied him with more tea and bread. When his stomach stopped growling, she presented him with a bowl of creamy porridge. Only when he finished eating, did he remember Tassin. By that time, the girl was washing the dried blood off his chest, and ordered him to sit still when he would have left.

  Deciding that the ungrateful Queen could wait, Sabre basked in the warm concern of the pretty girl, whose long golden hair framed a plump, rosy-cheeked face. Her ministrations soothed his sour mood, and her admiring gaze was a salve for his battered ego. How she could admire a man she had found lying in a pool of vomit was beyond him, but he was grateful for the attention. Her respect did wonders for his self-esteem, even though she did not know what he was. He tried to forget that and enjoy her ignorant regard. After she washed his cuts, he watched her work, sipping tea. She cast him many coy looks that made him self-conscious, yet the experience was interesting. After she dropped two plates and spilt a pot of hot water on the assistant cook, however, the cook ordered Sabre out.

  By then, it was mid-afternoon, and he was still in no mood to confront the Queen. He went back to the water trough and scraped the stubble off his chin, cleaned his teeth and washed. That done, he decided to face Tassin, whom he was sure would be sulking in the room, ready to pounce on him and give him a tongue lashing. Steeling himself, he knocked before entering, and was surprised to find the room empty.

  After a few seconds of dull contemplation, he went down to the common room. She had probably gone to spend her ill-gotten gains, he thought sourly. The common room was almost empty, since the evening crowd had not yet arrived. He sat at a table and ordered more tea, foreswearing ale. The innkeeper who served it relayed Tassin’s message, and Sabre frowned, trying to remember something he had heard last night.

  The last man to buy him a drink had said something about Torrian. Sabre’s numb brain chugged through the memory, which was distinctly fuzzy around the edges. Torrian had sent a messenger to offer a reward for Tassin’s capture, and she had gone to the palace. Sabre leapt up and went in search of the innkeeper, to ask him how long ago she had left. The answer made him angry, and he cursed the stupid girl, leaving the inn at a lope.