The Cyber Chronicles VII - Sabre (11 page)

"Says
you."

Sabre said,
"We're just tired and hungry. We'll pay for food and shelter. And
if we wanted to murder you and your husband, would we have knocked
on your door first?"

The woman
huffed and peered at them, her eyes lingering on Tassin’s black
jeans, which must have looked mighty peculiar to a denizen of Omega
Five, she mused, where women always wore gowns. "Reckon not. All
right, but me husband keeps a sword, so mind yerselves."

"We will."

Tassin smiled.
"Thank you, kind lady."

The crone
shuffled back to allow them entry into the dingy confines of a
cramped kitchen. Tarl, last to enter, closed the door, and the
woman moved around the room, lighting candles and lamps that filled
the shabby room with soft radiance. Polished brass pots hung on a
yellow wall above a rusty woodstove on the far side of the room,
and bunches of dried herbs dangled from the soot-stained rafters. A
few dusty animal hides softened the adobe floor, and coarse grey
homespun curtains covered two glass-paned windows. An elderly man
in a nightcap and gown similar to his wife's stood at the bottom of
a flight of stairs, the aforementioned sword dangling in his frail
fist.

"They be
seeking food an' shelter, Aerik," the old woman explained.

"Eh?"

"Use yer
trumpet ye deaf old goat."

The man raised
the brass trumpet he held in his other hand, plugging it into his
ear. "Eh?"

The woman
repeated her explanation, and he nodded with a gap-toothed smile,
put the rusty sword down and shuffled over to the scrubbed kitchen
table to sit on one of the rickety chairs that stood around it.

"Welcome,
welcome. Sit, the old bag will make something 'ot for yer
bellies."

Tassin lowered
herself gingerly onto another of the wobbly homemade chairs, and
Sabre and Tarl joined her. The woman poked the coals in the
woodstove to life and set a pot on it.

"'Tis only
last night's stew, times be hard," she said.

"Did you have
a bad winter?" Tassin asked.

Aerik snorted.
"Aye, and a bad summer before it."

"The last
three years 'ave been horrible, young miss. Where 'ave ye been?"
the woman asked.

"Away. What's
happened in the last three years that was so terrible?"

"Ah well,
that's a story and a half, ain't it?" Aerik grumbled as he picked
up a pipe and loaded it from a tobacco pouch.

"We'd like to
hear it."

"Would yer
now? Well, I guess it all started when our young queen disappeared
four years ago."

Tassin gaped
at him. "Four years? But... I've only been away for a few
months."

Sabre leant
closer and whispered, "Space travel causes time dilation. It's
quite likely that more time has passed here."

"Then you know
the story," Aerik said, tamping his pipe.

"No, I don't,"
Tassin said. "Please tell me."

"Aye, well,
things were all right for the first year. Young Princess Dena
looked after us right proper, indeed she did."

"Aye, she
did," his wife echoed from where she stood by the stove.

"Then Duke
Niam declared that the Queen were dead, and 'is son were the
rightful heir. 'E were crowned King, young snot that he is.
Straight away he raised the taxes, bled us dry so he could 'ave his
fancy clothes and his rich parties, bringing in all the spoilt
lordlings from far and wide, indeed he did."

"So he did,
an' all," his wife agreed.

"Raised the
taxes again when his coffers ran dry, didn't he Merry?"

"Aye, that he
did."

"An' then he
sent his soldiers to collect it when we couldn't pay. They took our
'orses an' cattle, so now we can't plough our land no more."

"And we have
to walk to town," Merry added, stirring the stew.

"What happened
to Princess Dena?" Tassin asked.

The old man
nodded. "Oh aye, she were in a right pickle, weren't she
Merry?"

"Aye, that she
were, Aerik."

"She were
'omeless, poor pet, kicked out on the street. But then she were
taken in by Countess De'vorice, bless her. They say she's governess
to her grandchildren now. A real pity."

"Aye," Merry
muttered. "A princess a governess. 'Tis a crying shame."

Aerik leant
closer. "There were talk of rebellion, so there was. There was even
a few riots. People stoned the castle, they were that angry."

"An' they got
killed for it," Merry adjoined.

"Aye, they did
too."

Tassin sat
back, stunned. "That's terrible."

Aerik nodded.
"Aye, young lass; Arlin's not a good place to live no more. King
Dellon has even had King Torrian over at the castle, shootin' game
and makin' sport with the serving wenches. They're great friends,
tis said."

"What about
the other kings?"

"Aye, well,
Grisson died, drank himself to death, I 'eard tell. His son
inherited, and by all accounts he's a good king. Bardock wed a fat
duchess from his northern province, daughter of his father's
brother, would you believe?"

Tassin
frowned. "Grisson didn't have a son."

"Nay, lass,
he's illegitimate, but his mother's a noblewoman, Lady
Someoneorother, so he were given the crown."

"Has Torrian
married?"

Merry
chuckled. "Who would 'ave him?"

Aerik said,
"They do say he were smitten with our queen, and pines for 'er
still."

Merry came
over with four jugs of mead and banged them down on the table in
front of her guests. "Drink some o' that, young uns. I brew it
meself, and it ain't half bad, I do declare."

Aerik nodded
and picked up his jug. "It ain't at that, Merry."

Tassin sipped
her mead. "What do they say happened to your queen?"

"Ah, there's a
sad tale."

"Oh aye, it'll
make ye weep, I reckon," Merry chimed in.

Aerik lighted
his pipe and puffed a cloud of smoke. "They say she were mad in
love with a fella who left her at the altar, ran off to faraway
lands, so he did. Our poor lass were broken-hearted, and went off
after him, indeed she did."

"Aye, she
did," Merry agreed, fetching a jug of mead for herself and joining
them at the table. "Went off into the dangerous wild lands, foolish
girl, all for the love of a feckless 'andsome danderer."

"Danderer?"
Sabre enquired.

"Aye, a
danderer, 'e was. You from foreign parts?" Merry eyed him. "Funny
lights you got on yer head, laddie."

"Yeah, they
are. What's a danderer?"

"That be a lad
with too much lead in his pencil."

Sabre looked
confused. "Lead?"

"Aye. Where be
you from?"

"A faraway
land."

"Must be right
faraway an' all," Merry declared. "A danderer be a lad who struts
his stuff, 'ops the 'edgerows, throws his leg over anything that
don't run away fast enough."

Sabre shook
his head, and Tassin turned to him, her cheeks warm. "She means a
man who sleeps with lots of women."

"Oh."

Tassin faced
Merry again. "So what happened to your queen?"

"Well they
reckon she got eaten by monsters, true enough."

"Or killed by
bandits," Aerik added.

Tassin stared
at the table top's grey wood. "Maybe she's not dead. Maybe she's
just lost, and will find her way home one day."

"That 'ud be a
fine day, young miss," Merry declared. "But I reckon she'd have a
world o' trouble if she did."

"Aye," Aerik
agreed. "I reckon yer right, our Merry."

Tassin looked
up. "Why?"

"I don't
reckon King Dellon's just gonna bow out graceful, lass, no
indeed."

"If she came
back, he'd have to."

"Nay, nay, not
our King Dellon. He'll wine an' dine 'er, then slice her throat
while she sleeps, indeed 'e would."

Merry nodded.
"Aye, 'e would too."

"Unless she
found her handsome young man, and he came with her to protect her,"
Tassin said.

"The feckless
danderer?" Merry chuckled. "Unless he's an army all on his own,
he'll get his throat slit an' all, so 'e will."

Tassin took a
gulp of mead and coughed. "Maybe he is."

“
I think he’d rather be a feckless danderer,” Sabre
muttered.

Merry went
back to the stove and dished up the stew. "Well, lass, if that be
the case, good luck to 'em, I say. But it'll never happen, you mark
my words. That be the stuff o' fairy tales. Like the other
story."

"What other
story?"

"We 'eard tell
of a tall tale indeed. A magic sword, no less, brought from the
wastelands by a 'ero o' steel. It carried our queen off into the
stars to find the 'ero after he were bound with a spell and taken
away by an evil mage. Aye, an' if you believe that, ye'll believe
anything."

Tassin stared
into her jug of mead. "Perhaps it's good to believe in fairy tales.
Sometimes they're true."

Sabre placed a
hand on her arm. "Whoa there."

Merry banged
steaming bowls of stew down in front of them. "Eat up while it's
'ot, young uns, it ain't gonna stay that way. 'Tis only turnips and
a scrawny chicken, but it fills the empty belly."

"Thank you."
Tassin picked up her spoon.

"Where be you
going then?"

"We were going
to the castle to see Princess Dena, but now I suppose we're going
to Countess De'vorice."

"Friend of
'ers, are ye?" Merry asked.

"Yes."

"You watch
yerself young miss. They say King Torrian visits there often, and
'e has an eye for a pretty girl."

Tassin glanced
up. "Countess De'vorice is his friend?"

"Well now, I
wouldn't know 'bout that, would I? But I reckon 'e ain't 'er
enemy."

"Yes, I
suppose so."

Merry eyed
Sabre. "Would this 'andsome lad be yer 'usband then, lassie?"

"Um...
yes."

"And t'other
would be his da then, I reckon. Not much of a family resemblance,
though."

"No," Tassin
shot Tarl an amused look. "They don't look much alike, do
they?"

Merry regaled
them with a tale of her husband's sister's son's girlfriend's
illegitimate child while they ate the runny, rather tasteless stew.
Aerik drained his mead and bade them good night, making his way up
the creaking stairs, and Merry followed soon after. Tassin pushed
aside her half-eaten stew and stared into space, her mind
reeling.

"Four years!"
She shook her head. "I've been gone for four years?"

"So it would
seem." Sabre scraped his plate clean.

"Everything's
fallen apart. I've lost my crown to a twerp with the brains of a
flea. What am I going to do?"

"Get it
back?"

"That won't be
so easy. Merry's right, he won't give it back without a fight.
He'll denounce me as a pretender, or try to kill me, or both."
Tassin rubbed her face. "How could it have gone so wrong?"

"Hey, we'll
fix it."

"How? If
Dellon wants to keep the crown, and I know he does, he'll never
acknowledge me, and I have no proof of who I am."

"Surely other
people will acknowledge you? Your uncle, for one."

"Not if he
wants his son on the throne, and no one else will risk it, for fear
of their lives. A monarch's rule is absolute. Challengers will be
murdered, and anyone who helps them. He controls the army; he holds
all the power."

"What about
the other kings?"

She snorted.
"Torrian? You must be joking. He'll revel in my downfall, and take
full advantage. He'll sell me out to Dellon, who'll help him
silence me, one way or another."

"Not Torrian.
What about this new king? Merry says he's a good man."

"Grisson's
illegitimate son. His kingdom is the smallest, aside from Olgara.
Why would he help me?"

Sabre shrugged
and pushed aside his empty plate. "You could offer him an alliance,
perhaps."

"He may not
need, or want, an alliance. He's probably friends with Torrian and
Dellon. Even if he isn't, even if he hates their guts, what can he
do? Invade Arlin? He'd be crushed. Torrian has a long standing
alliance with Bardock, and now with Dellon."

"We should at
least find out before you reject the idea out of hand. You don't
know what's happened since you've been gone, apart from the dubious
stories of a pair of old farmers."

Tassin nodded.
"Although those two are salt of the earth. Their stories are
probably true."

"There must be
a lot they don't know."

She glanced at
his silver bracelet. "Fairen could help."

"No.
Absolutely not. I'm not using Fairen to solve every little
problem."

"Little
problem?" She frowned at him. "I've been usurped!"

"And we'll fix
it. We'll find a way. First we need to find out more about what's
happened while you've been away. And before that, we need to get
some sleep. Tomorrow we'll see Dena, and she can tell us everything
we need to know, then we'll decide what to do."

She nodded,
draining her mead. "I want to wring that little shit's scrawny
neck, so help me I do."

"Aye, I reckon
ye do, an' all." Sabre mimicked Aerik's brogue perfectly.

She smiled and
shook her head. "This is no time to be flip."

"It'll be
okay, you'll see."

Tarl put down
his empty jug and rose, using the cushions from the couch to make a
bed, which he offered to Tassin. They settled down on the floor,
and, despite the worries that churned in her mind, weariness soon
dragged Tassin into the sleep's soft folds.

Chapter Eight

Sabre pushed
aside a leafy branch to reveal a grand, two-storey mansion at the
end of a long, tree-lined driveway. The building’s dressed stone
walls supported a steep tiled roof, and many diamond-paned windows
were set into broad white lintels. Two fluted columns upheld a
modest stone porch and framed a broad, brass-bound front door. The
gravelled driveway circled a patch of clipped lawn with a clump of
flowering shrubs in the middle of it, and more blooms edged the
mansion's walls. Gardens bordered the sides of the house, with
clipped hedges and stone seats visible through a screen of
ornamental yellow fir trees. A wrought-iron gate on the far side
afforded a view of a cobbled stable yard.