The Cyber Chronicles VII - Sabre (22 page)

A glance
inward at his bio-status found that it had dropped to seventy-five
per cent. He was still convinced one of the knights was Dellon, but
there was no way to tell which. Sweat ran down him inside his
armour, mingling with blood from the cuts on his neck and arms to
drip from his elbows and wrists. Steam rose from him in the chill
air. His core temperature was a hundred and four degrees. He spun
as a sword slashed at his legs, jumped over it and rammed his blade
into the chest of a knight beside him, shearing through the man's
armour with a metallic shriek.

The knight
collapsed, pulling Sabre off the throne. He yanked the sword free
with another screech of tortured steel, dropped and rolled to his
feet beside a knight, punching him in the face. The helm's visor
bent, and the man stumbled back with a grunt. Concern for Tassin
gnawed at Sabre. He longed to quit the battle to search for her,
but that meant abandoning the castle to Dellon. The usurper king’s
soldiers were undoubtedly aware of her presence in the forest
outside by now, and probably searched for her. If they captured
her, the conflict would be lost. A sword clanged against the side
of his head, making stars burst in his eyes. He sidestepped a blade
that skimmed past his ribs, his armour now tattered and dented.

Battle sounds
still came from the courtyard, and he wondered who was winning. He
parried a blade aimed at his neck and ducked under another. Jumping
sideways, he drove his sword into the armpit of a knight who made
the mistake of exposing his flank. The man went down, and Sabre
yanked the bloody weapon out to slash at a knight behind him and
parry a stab at his back. He kicked a man in front of him in the
crotch. The metal codpiece dented with a bong, and the man reeled
away, roaring with pain. Sabre hoped it was Dellon.

Spinning, he
chopped at a man's neck, shearing through the chain mail to slice
open his jugular in a spray of blood. Realising that his sword had
become blunt, he bent to wrench a fresh one from a dead fist,
dropping the battered weapon. The cyber flashed a warning, and he
sprang aside as two armoured giants charged him, trying to crush
him between them. Another sword bounced off his neck. He ducked and
spun, but space to manoeuvre was becoming scarce as the knot of
knights dwindled, tightening the ring around him. He punched a
knight in the crotch, and the man stumbled back with a strangled
howl. The problem with a suit of armour was that it did not allow a
man to protect that vital area, and armour was not much good
against a cyber.

Sabre charged
into the gap, performed a handspring and landed on his feet outside
the ring of knights, but dropped his sword in the process. He
scooped up another fallen weapon as the knights charged again,
skipped back and ran at the wall. Once more he sailed over their
heads, staggering a little on landing as his knees almost buckled.
He glanced at his bio-status, which had dropped to sixty-nine per
cent. Blood ran from shallow wounds on his arms and legs, weakening
him, and he wondered if he was going to be able to defeat the
fifteen steel-clad warriors who still faced him.

They were
tiring too, and some swayed with exhaustion. A few quit the battle
to rest, leaning on their swords. While they were able to fight him
in relays, however, he had not stopped moving since he had kicked
down the door. Still, they were slowing, which compensated somewhat
for his increasing fatigue. Blood slimed the floor and splattered
the walls, ran down priceless tapestries and soaked ornate carpets.
Tassin's throne had several deep cuts in it where swords had missed
him and chopped deep into the black wood.

The knights
charged him with a roar, and once more he sprinted across the room,
heading for the opposite wall. The cyber flashed a warning as he
ran up it, and too late he realised that a chain ran from it to the
vast chandelier in the centre of the throne room. By that time he
was airborne, and he twisted, cat-like, tucking up his legs. The
chain clipped one of his boots and sent him spinning. He crashed to
the floor, banged his head and wrenched his arm as he landed on one
shoulder. The sword clattered from his hand as his arm went
numb.

The knights
closed in as he regained his feet with an agile twist, stars
flashing in his eyes. His right arm hung useless, and he kicked a
metal-clad giant, sending him stumbling back with a foot-shaped
dent in his armour. A knight tried to skewer Sabre from behind, and
he flung himself forwards. Catching himself on his left hand, he
kicked the man in the chest and sent him sprawling with a great
crash, noting that his bio-status was now sixty-one per cent.

****

Tassin peered
through the leaves, spotted a movement and fired. A man collapsed
with a cough. As far as she could tell, only two men remained, and
a hot blue flash from below felled one of them. The survivor
spurred his horse and galloped away. Tarl glanced up at her, his
face pale and drawn, his eyes filled with pain. Although she was
still furious with him, concern shot through her.

He forced a
weak smile. "That was the last of them. We're okay."

"Are you
hurt?"

He nodded,
groping around the back of his thigh. "Got a bolt. It's bleeding
bad."

"Let's get out
of this damned tree."

Tassin tucked
her laser into her tunic pocket and scrambled down to him,
concerned afresh by his haggard appearance.

He managed a
lopsided smile. "Damn, this hurts like hell. I don't know how Sabre
does it, I really don't."

"Come on;
climb down so I can have a look at it."

Tarl groaned
and eased himself out of the fork, wincing and grimacing as he
descended, favouring his injured leg. On the forest floor, he sank
down, holding his leg up so the bolt did not touch the ground.
Tassin landed beside him, glancing around. Two of the soldiers'
horses stood a short distance away, their reins snagged on a bush.
Approaching Tarl, she peered under his leg.

"Lie on your
stomach, I can't see." Tarl rolled over with another groan, and
Tassin eyed the quarrel. "I should pull it out, then I can bandage
it."

"No way, I'll
bet that thing's got a barbed head."

"Maybe not. It
has to come out, and the sooner the better."

"If it's
barbed, it's only going to do more damage."

Tassin went
over to a corpse and searched it, found a pouch of slim bolts and
held one up for Tarl to see. "No barbs. They're hunting
quarrels."

"Okay. It's
still going to hurt like hell."

"Don't be such
a sissy. Sabre would pull it out himself."

"Sabre's a
goddamned cyber."

"He still
feels pain."

"Of course he
does, but he's used to it."

Tassin
squatted beside him. "Do you really think a person can get used to
pain?"

"To a certain
extent, yes."

"Well then,
it's time you experienced some, then you'll know a little of what
those poor cybers suffered at your hands."

Tarl grimaced.
"You're a heartless cow."

"It's going to
hurt even more if I leave it in."

"Okay, okay,
just make it quick."

Tassin used a
scrap of cloth cut from one of the dead men's tunics to grip the
blood-slimed bolt, and jerked it out. Tarl let out a blood-curdling
howl that made the horses shy, and Tassin stared at him in
amazement.

"You truly are
a coward."

"Let me stick
that in you and pull it out, then we'll see how much noise you
make," he said, gasping.

"I have seen
Sabre bear far more pain than that without as much as a groan."

"Like I said,
he's a bloody cyber. He's suffered since he was a child."

She nodded.
"Torturers." Cutting a dead soldier's shirt into strips, she bound
Tarl's thigh, ignoring his groans, gritted teeth and grimaces. Then
she caught the horses and led them back to him.

"Now we're
going to the castle to see what's happened to Sabre, whether you
like it or not. I want see that he's okay."

"Only if your
flag is flying."

"Even if it's
not. He might need our help."

"No, you
can't. If you go charging in there you might make it worse for him.
If Dellon takes you hostage, it's over."

She glowered
at him. "I won't leave him there to die if I can help him."

"But if -"

"Enough! I'm
going, with or without you."

Tarl groaned
and shook his head. "He'll kill me."

"Get on the
damned horse."

"Tassin -"

"Now!"

Tarl sighed
and climbed to his feet, hopping. It took almost half an hour to
get him into the saddle, and Tassin knew he was being deliberately
difficult, to buy time. Her concern for Sabre burnt in her heart
like a hot coal, and she almost abandoned the cyber tech. When at
last he was on the horse, she mounted and cantered back the way
they had come, Tarl grunting and groaning at every jolting stride.
Tassin paused at the edge of the forest to study her castle. The
flagpole was gone, but the gates stood open and black smoke rose
from some of the keep’s windows in lazy coils. Dread clutched her
heart at the fortress’ ominous stillness.

Tarl gazed at
it with narrowed eyes. "Well, the battle seems to be over. But who
won?"

"You said
Sabre would win."

"He should
have."

"So let's go
and see."

Tassin spurred
her horse towards the drawbridge, and Tarl groaned as his mount
raced after her.

Chapter Sixteen

Sabre raised
an aching arm and thrust it into the chest of a swaying knight,
making the man step back. Two more moved closer with plodding
steps, reaching for him. He tried to avoid them, but his legs
buckled and he fell to his knees. His bio-status was at forty-two
per cent, and a red warning light flashed deep in his mind. Only
four of the beefy knights remained on their feet. Several groaned
and twitched on the floor, too weak to rise while burdened with
armour; the others lay still in blood pools. One knight stood
behind the three. Sabre groped for a sword with his left hand, his
right arm still numb.

"Hold him,"
the fourth knight said in a rasping voice. He pulled off his helmet
to reveal the thin, pockmarked face of a weedy nineteen-year-old
youth who matched Tassin's description perfectly, his lank brown
hair plastered to his scalp with sweat. His armour bore hardly any
damage, indicating that he had abstained from most of the conflict,
and had probably only darted in occasionally for a stab at Sabre
before retreating again.

Sabre raised
his head to glare at him. "Dellon."

"King Dellon,
commoner scum."

"Dellon the
dolt," Sabre bowed his head and chuckled.

A knight
kicked away the sword the cyber reached for, and another hauled him
to his knees. After he had lost the use of his right arm, the
combat had continued in close-quarter fighting. He had dispatched
seven more knights with his feet and a left-handed sword, but it
had cost him dearly. Bruises ached all over him from where he had
rolled across the floor or dived aside, some from the hefty punches
knights had occasionally landed, as well as sword strokes that had
bounced off his armour. Blood ran from fresh cuts on his neck and
arms. His bio-status was ticking down rapidly; already it had
dropped to forty-one per cent. All his reserves had been used up,
and blood loss drained much of his remaining strength.

Dellon hefted
his sword as the knights dragged Sabre closer, making pain shoot
from his injured shoulder. He turned his head towards the one on
his right, mumbling. The man leant closer in a natural reaction,
and Sabre head-butted him in the side of his helmet, left an oblong
dent and sent him staggering away. The third knight stepped up to
take his place, and Dellon approached.

"So, warrior
mage, at last you are defeated."

Sabre raised
his head and smiled. "It cost you, though."

Dellon glanced
around. "Indeed. But it was worth it. With you gone, Tassin is at
my mercy, and will meet my sword's blade soon enough."

"A nice cousin
you are."

"I am the
King! She abandoned us. She has no right to return now!"

"She came to
save me, and she has more courage than you and all your cronies put
together."

Dellon
snorted, walking around to stand beside Sabre. "She should not have
wasted her time, then."

Sabre twisted
his neck to keep Dellon in sight. "You think you can chop my head
off, huh?"

"You think I
cannot?"

"I'll bet
you're going to have a jolly good try."

"You are not
invincible."

"Nope, but I
am pretty well bloody indestructible."

Dellon raised
the sword. "We shall see. Hold him."

The knights
forced Sabre to bow down, twisted his arms behind his back and
caused fresh pain to lance from his shoulder, which he suspected
was broken. He sagged as a wave of weakness washed over him. His
bio-status had dropped to thirty-nine per cent. The strange thing
was, he mused dully, his bio-status would continue to fall even
though he was no longer exerting himself. He had burnt up all his
fuel, as well as most of his reserves. He was burning muscle tissue
now, and, as a consequence, his condition would continue to worsen
for a while yet. The knights cursed and held him up.

Dellon swung
his sword high. As he brought the blade whistling down, a scream
echoed around the room. The sword hit the back of Sabre's neck and
bounced off, smashing his face into the ground. The impact jarred
the hilt from Dellon's hands, and the weapon hit the floor with a
shrill clatter. Stars swirled in Sabre's eyes, blinding him. The
brow band had taken the brunt of the impact, and he recognised the
anguished voice that cried his name from the courtyard door.