Clockwork Goddess (The Lesbia Chronicles) (13 page)

Chapter Seventeen

In the very heart of Clitera City, the jewel of Lesbia, an excited squire was addressing the court. "Your highness," she said, drawing fast panting breaths. "Our scouts have located the final witch in a small rebel camp to the far south. If it please you, she is barely guarded and their resistance is in disarray."

The queen had shown little interest in the squire's arrival, but the message got her attention. She turned her eyes from the little clockwork toy in her hands toward the kneeling woman and smiled brightly.

"You have done well," she said in rich, melodic tones. "You will be rewarded."

Queen Cadentis was yet young for a monarch having just seen her thirtieth birthday, but she had already made a significant impression on the social landscape in her short three year reign. A myriad of technologies had made their way into the hands and homes of the common folk thanks to her insistence that all of Clitera City should enjoy the fruits of the modern arts of hengineering. There was a train which wound around the central city, ran by clockwork windings, and water pumped to every home of significance besides. The results were undeniably positive, a healthier populace with access to running water and transportation within the city which allowed commerce to flourish.

As a result, Cadentis enjoyed the popularity which is given to monarchs who spoil their citizens. Her likeness was displayed all over the city in both public and private. Many artists had made representations of her flashing dark eyes and the raven dark hair cut to many lengths but none exceeding her index finger. Most of the ladies of court and the fashionably interested outside the castle walls sported similar styles.

Cadentis was not an imposing woman in stature, being of slightly more than average height and slightly less than average build, but she wore her office well. Her hallmark intensity was evident in her choice of clothing, a vermilion velvet doublet and britches matched with ruby shoes of shining patent leather with silver buckles atop and silken stockings covering her lower legs. She alone wore red, but the courtiers and the courtesans and the citizens clustering the court all wore lesser shades of pink and orange so that the grand room bloomed with color.

"Where are my riders?" She lifted her voice in summons. She did not have to wait long for a response.

Three women clad from head to toe in black leather stepped from the alcove near the grand entrance where they had been waiting. They each wore long swords with pommels of silver and red. Their faces were hidden in the shadow of their cowls, for their identities did not matter. They were the servants of the throne, the instruments of Cadentis' will. Only the most accomplished military women were given the honor of taking up the cowl, forever losing their given names in the eyes of the every woman and laying their lives down for the throne. They were in some sense the walking dead, removed from the common folk by merit of their office.

"You will come with me," the queen announced. "And we will ride as four. I will be the one to capture this last witch. I will be the one to rid our lands of the last traces of this scourge. This has been the aim of all the queens of Lesbia stretching back into history. We will be the hands and hearts which impart the justice of centuries!" She spoke in ringing tones, her eyes lit with fervor, her crimson lip curling in a predatory snarl as her slim fingers curled about the arms of her throne.

At the end of her words, all those present burst into applause, save the riders themselves. Sleek, svelte and always reserved they made no motion, waiting for the orders of their queen.

"People have clung to the ways of the witches for too long. Their lies have stood in the way of greater knowledge and deeper truth, and the people have hobbled their minds with fanciful notions," Cadentis continued when the clapping had died down. "No longer! The magic will end by my hand. I promise you all that."

She rose to her feet, stretched her finger to the sky and looked about her at the faithful courtiers who followed her in every thought and deed. "When the historians write of us, they will say that we were the ones who turned history upon its head. We were the ones who discovered the depths of the mechanical world and bought those marvels to all the world. Myth, superstition and wild blind belief will no more have a place. People will think and learn and know."

Another ripple of applause followed Cadentis' speech. She smiled, tossed her head so as to send her sweeping fringe out of her eyes and strode toward her riders. "Let us make ready," she instructed her guard. "The hunt is on."

Chapter Eighteen

"I am NOT going to look after Liz!"

Vix burst into Moon's tent, but found only Mistress Trebuchet in residence. The broad shouldered, short haired warrior was sitting on the bed polishing a short blade. She looked up with mild surprise at Vix's entrance.

"I'd say you already have," she said. "If it wasn't for you, she wouldn't be alive right now."

"No she wouldn't," Vix growled. "I should have left here there."

"You wouldn't do that," Trebuchet said. "You can't help but be good."

"And what do I get for it? That damnable witch harassing me at every turn."

"Ah," Trebuchet said, running an oiled cloth along the length of the blade, her eyes following along its journey. "That is what this is about."

"She will not leave me alone," Vix said, pacing a tight circle. "Every time I turn around, there she is."

"Sounds just what you need."

"How would you know what I need?" Vix spat the question then panicked when she realized who she'd spoken to so rudely.

She needn't have worried. Trebuchet smiled broadly. "I've never seen you riled over a woman before. It's quite cute."

"There's nothing cute about any of this," Vix asserted. "This isn't some love affair, this is a meddling witch who considers everyone she meets to be part of her personal project to... I don't even know what she's trying to achieve." Vix stopped pacing and looked at Trebuchet. "I think I'm going to leave," she said quite seriously. "This unit doesn't really need a hengineer, and I don't need a witch telling me what to do."

"Leave, hmm? Where will you go?"

"I don't know, anywhere," Vix shrugged. "This war is mostly in Kira's imagination anyway."

"Careful," Trebuchet warned, lifting a brow in Vix's direction. "I know you're upset, but be cautious which battles you pick."

Vix subsided into her usual careful silence. Sighing, she crumpled into a sitting position, legs crossed on the floor, chin in her hands. "Why does everything have to be so hard?"

"Make yourself useful if you're going to sulk," Trebuchet said, passing a dagger over. "This needs polishing."

Vix looked down at the weapon in her hand, saw that it was mostly clean already save for a few dark flecks around the base of the blade near the hilt. Someone or something's blood had coated it recently.

She looked up at Trebuchet under her lashes as she started to clean. Trebuchet never talked about her exploits or her hardships, and though Vix herself hadn't seen any action, it was obvious that Trebuchet had. Those little flecks were silent reminders of what was really at stake.

"How do you do it?"

"How do I do what?"

"Make someone see how stupid they're being without saying a word?"

"It only works on the smart ones," Trebuchet winked.

Vix smiled a little. "I must seem so petty to you."

"We all live through our own experiences," Trebuchet replied. "If you had lived my life, then perhaps your reaction would be petty, but you have lived your life and I am sure this is just as disturbing to you as it seems to be."

Vix shook her head. "You are surely the wisest warrior in Lesbia."

"And that is still one of the dirtiest blades. Get to shining," Trebuchet said with a wink.

*****

"So I am a punishment?" Liz addressed the question to Ayla, who was busy preparing some unction or unguent or ungulate or something of that nature. "You inflict me upon others as a source of pain?"

Ayla looked over her shoulder and smiled. "Not quite," she said. "Vix's impatience with you will serve you both well."

"I see," Liz said. "She is my punishment."

"You could each stand to learn something from the other," Ayla replied.

"What shall I learn from her? How to be an unimaginative bush woman? How to have twigs in my hair and splinters in my fingers? She is barely alive. She's an automaton, like one of her machines." Liz frowned as she made her proclamations, most unimpressed by the idea she could learn anything from the mundane Vix. "Besides, I do not need looking after. I have a higher purpose, and those with higher purposes are always protected. No harm can come to me. Ariadne will not allow it."

"Harm already came to you, remember? Vix saved your life."

"The plants weren't that poisonous. They just made me feel sick."

"Being ill and exposed is a dangerous combination," the witch reminded her. "Vix saved you, make no mistake."

"Then Vix was an instrument of Ariadne," Liz replied. "Ariadne works in many ways, she uses many people as her instruments."

"Is that so." Ayla hid her amusement, but only barely. "And how do you know the ways of Ariadne so very well?"

"Ariadne lives inside me," Liz declared. "I hear her voice. I give myself to her and I allow her will to guide my steps. My life is lived so that I might bring forth her vision."

"Well," Ayla said mildly. "It's good to have purpose."

"Yes," Liz nodded. "It is."

Silence fell as Ayla mixed her potions and Liz sat there brimming with self-righteous importance.

"You did not beat me," she said after a time. "You must be starting to hate me less."

"I never hated you," Ayla said almost absent-mindedly as she mixed a purple slush into a golden paste.

"Yes you did," Liz said knowingly. "When we met, you disliked me very much."

"When we met you had sneaked into my home."

"You didn't mind that," Liz said. "You didn't like my face. That's why you never look at me, only my buttocks."

"I look at your buttocks because that is the part of you I must most often deal with."

"You're lying, witch."

Ayla's eyes narrowed for a moment in rare irritation. She opened her mouth for a moment, then shut it again.

"You keep me close," Liz said. "But you don't want me here. Why is that?"

"I keep you close because you needed healing," Ayla said. "And I am a healer."

"And a liar."

Ayla took a deep breath, her rising bosom visible through the cleft of her gown. Having gained control, she lowered her head over her potion vial, long silver blonde strands obscuring her expression as Liz looked at her from the bed.

"You can't hide from your lies," Liz said, needling the obvious sore spot with no regard for her own safety. She sat there looking mischievous, the peasant blood showing through quite plainly in her ruddy cheeks and sparkling eyes. Crossing her legs, she sat and fiddled with her dirty braid, keeping a careful watch on the witch.

"I'm not lying."

Liz pointed at her emphatically. "Another lie."

"If I didn't know better," Ayla sighed, putting her potion down to look at the small giant. "I'd say you want a beating."

"What I want is the truth. Don't you think you should tell me the truth?"

"Perhaps I should. What truth would you like to know? The truth that you are a misguided little wretch worshiping a force she doesn't begin to understand?"

A look of hurt flashed over Liz's face. "No," she said. "I want to know why you don't like me, but you insist on keeping me close. My presence hurts you. I can tell. Your face twists up whenever you look at me."

"You share some similarities in appearance to someone I knew long ago," Ayla finally admitted with a heavy sigh.

"Someone you hated?"

"No," Ayla said softly. "Someone I cared for very much. Someone I failed."

"Oh." Liz nodded slowly. "That makes sense." She unfolded her legs and slid from the bed. "Thank you for your tonics," she said. "But I have business to attend to far from here. Ariadne calls me onward. I think it will be less painful for us both if we do not meet again. And do not worry about me, witch. We giant bloods are dense. We can take a lot of punishment. More than you imagine."

Ayla reached out and put a hand on Liz's shoulder, stopping her before she could leave. "Don't go."

Liz cocked her head. "Why do you say that?"

"Because," Ayla said. "I do not believe in accidents, nor do I believe in chance meetings. We have crossed one another's paths for a purpose, and that purpose is not yet fulfilled."

Liz nodded slowly. "I think perhaps you are right. But the tension here is growing. It will be dangerous here soon..."

The tent flap was thrown open. "Make ready to depart," a soldier said. "Kira's orders. Pack down what you can and be ready to move in one hour. We have a long march ahead of us."

Ayla and Liz looked at one another as the solider rushed on to inform the others.

"Apparently you're not the only one to sense danger," Ayla mused.

"I should hope not," Liz replied. "It's like the coming rain. You can smell it. Can you not sense it?"

Ayla shrugged a little, and Liz frowned deeply. "You can sense it," she said. "You just don't care. I think maybe you're the one who needs someone to look after her."

The simple words made a smile bloom on the witch's face, and for a moment she looked almost as young as Liz. "That's a sweet notion, but I can very much take care of myself."

"That's the sort of thing I'd say," Liz pointed out. "And you know how that turned out for me."

"But I am not you."

"I don't know about that," Liz replied. "You're taller, and prettier, granted, but I don't know if we're that much different. I think you and me are related somehow. You have any giant blood in you?"

"My blood is as much of a mystery as Ariadne's whereabouts," Ayla said.

"You're a little bit tall for a giant," Liz said, eying Ayla critically, "though that bottom of yours could be giant. Thick through the hips, you are..."

"If you don't mind," Ayla interjected. "I believe we're packing to flee."

"Oh yes," Liz agreed. "But I don't have anything to pack. Do you have anything I could flee with?"

Ayla smirked and laid her palm across Liz's cheeky posterior with a sound whack. "Will that do?"

Liz scrunched her face up and rubbed her backside. "I should have seen that coming. Typical giant trick, that."