The Cyber Chronicles - Book I: Queen of Arlin (24 page)

"Do you think
the cyber will allow you to leave me?"

He frowned, his
eyes narrowing. "I don't know."

"But you are
going to find out."

"Damn
right."

When they went
to the common room to eat, Sabre drew a lot of looks from the
serving girls, but he made no effort to encourage them, glancing
away from their blatant come-hither stares. Instead, Tassin
attracted trouble in the form of a tall, bearded man with a dusky
complexion. He approached their table when they had finished eating
a rather tough goat stew, and bowed to Tassin.

"May I buy you
a drink?" he asked in a deep, strangely accented voice.

Tassin stared
at him in confusion, then glanced at Sabre, who eyed the stranger
with what appeared to be a mixture of annoyance and dislike. She
wondered what he was thinking, and how he would react to this
situation.

Sabre had a
powerful urge to tell the strange man to go away, without knowing
why. When he had contemplated finding somewhere more comfortable to
sleep than the floor, Tassin's suggestion that one of the serving
girls might provide him with a bed had been welcome. Their
unwholesome interest in him had confused and repelled him, however,
and he had decided that it was not such a good idea. Now the young
Queen's obvious naiveté sparked a whole new set of strange and
hitherto unknown emotions. He stood up, undaunted by the fact that
the dusky man topped him by a good eight centimetres.

"She's not
interested."

The stranger
raked him with a scornful glance. "I see no wedding ring on her
finger, and I was addressing her, not you."

Sabre looked at
Tassin, whose wide-eyed confusion had given way to a calculating
look that he knew boded ill. Whatever was going on in her
pea-brain, he was sure he was not going to like it. His suspicions
were confirmed when she smiled at the dusky man with surprising
boldness.

"I do not see
why not."

Sabre's eyes
narrowed as comprehension dawned. "Tassin, tell him to push
off."

"No."

The dusky man
smiled, revealing white teeth. "Ah, my lady is most courteous. What
would you like? Wine? I hear they have an excellent vintage
here."

Tassin's smile
widened, her eyes alight with glee as Sabre's brow furrowed.

Sabre toyed
with the idea of leaving her to deal with the situation herself, a
pleasant prospect on initial contemplation, but spoilt by the fact
that he would eventually be called upon to extricate her from it.
Far better to nip it in the bud, and perhaps avoid a conflict, he
decided.

He turned to
the man. "I said she's not interested. She's just a girl, and in my
charge."

The Olgaran
shrugged. "She's not that young. She can decide for herself." He
reached for the back of a chair to seat himself, and Sabre's hand
flashed out to grip his wrist, preventing him from completing his
action.

"I'm only going
to tell you once, now beat it."

The Olgaran's
smile vanished, and he snatched a curved knife from his belt so
fast that it seemed to appear in his other hand by magic, pointed
at Sabre's chest. "I think it's you who should leave."

Sabre eyed the
blade and shot Tassin a furious glance, which she met with a
smirk.

"I don't want a
fight," he informed the man.

"Then you
should leave."

"That's not
going to happen."

The Olgaran's
eyes glittered. "I recommend you release my arm, unless you'd like
to lose some fingers."

Sabre
considered informing the stranger that his chances of cutting
through a cyber-host’s barrinium-reinforced phalanges were exactly
nil, but the explanation would be far too complex. On a modern
world, a man would have had more sense than to challenge a cyber,
but here, they had no idea of his true nature. He glanced around,
noting the growing interest of several nearby patrons, and decided
that breaking the man's wrist might arouse rather too much
unwelcome interest in his ability to do so. As would, most
probably, the inability of the pugnacious Olgaran to slice off any
of Sabre's fingers. Clearly the Olgaran had no intention of backing
down, and Sabre released him.

The innkeeper
must have had a good nose for brewing fights, for he appeared
beside Sabre and ordered them to take it outside. The Olgaran
smiled again, tightly, and gestured for Sabre to precede him.

Tassin
followed, a crowd of eager spectators jostling her. She solicited
bets on the pale-eyed warrior, and found a favourable response. It
seemed the bearded man had a reputation as a good fighter, as well
as a frequent picker-of-brawls. She found many takers, and bet as
much as she could, knowing that she would not have to cover the
wagers.

The street was
deserted, except for a few beggars who made their homes in
doorways, the throng of merchants and shoppers gone with the sun.
The crowd surged into it and formed a noisy circle. Tassin, her
bets laid, wriggled to the front. The two torches at the inn's
doorway lighted the scene, and a few spectators brought more
torches as the tall Olgaran waited for Sabre to produce a weapon.
When he did not, the Olgaran shrugged and lunged, and Sabre dodged
with a swift sidestep. He leapt and spun, one foot lashing out.

The Olgaran
ducked, receiving a glancing blow that sent him staggering into the
crowd, which caught him and pushed him back. The Olgaran shook his
head, scowling, then lunged at his foe again. Sabre swayed aside,
allowing the knife to skim past his ribs. Stepping closer, he
landed two stiff-armed jabs to the Olgaran's solar plexus, sending
the man staggering back. The Olgaran went down with a grunt,
clutching his stomach, and the knife fell with a tinkle.

Sabre turned to
leave the circle, but the crowd closed ranks, refusing him egress.
Apparently in this land, a fight was not over until one contender
admitted defeat. He turned back to his opponent, who eyed him with
newfound respect, nursing his belly. The Olgaran picked up his
weapon and rose to his feet, his expression wary. He circled,
tossing the knife from one hand to the other in the manner of a
skilled knife fighter with a yen to show off. Sabre stepped closer
in a flowing motion, aiming a punch at the Olgaran's head. The man
ducked, and the knife flashed. A line of blood appeared on Sabre's
chest. The Olgaran was fast.

Sabre chopped
at the bearded man's wrist, but he moved swiftly, slashing again
inside Sabre's guard. Another cut appeared on the cyber's belly,
and Tassin frowned. The crowd cheered the Olgaran, laying more bets
against the pale-eyed warrior. Sabre stepped closer and kicked the
Olgaran in the chest, sending him reeling into the throng, which
thrust him back into the circle again. The Olgaran rubbed his chest
with a grimace, then lunged at his opponent. Sabre skipped aside
and landed a blow on the back of the man's neck. The Olgaran
staggered, but his hand flashed up to inflict a shallow wound in
Sabre's side, and more blood flowed.

Tassin bit her
lip in vexation, wondering why Sabre moved so slowly, and allowed
the Olgaran to injure him. As if reading her mind, Sabre's eyes
glittered, and he spun. His right arm snapped out, striking his
opponent's arm as the man raised his weapon again. There was a
sharp, distinct crack of breaking bone, and the knife spun into the
crowd, evincing a yelp from an unfortunate spectator. The Olgaran
stumbled back with a stifled cry, clutching his broken arm. He
glared at Sabre, who turned to the crowd, which parted to let him
through.

Tassin squirmed
into the throng in search of the men who owed her money as Sabre's
eyes hunted for her. She collected most of it, though some had
slipped away. Sabre gripped her wrist and yanked her towards the
inn. He dragged her to the room, his expression thunderous. Shoving
her onto the bed, he folded his arms. Tassin rubbed her aching
wrist, eyeing him.

"Just exactly
what did you think you were playing at?" he demanded.

Tassin returned
his glare. "We need the money, and you refused to fight."

"So you just
instigated a fight with a knife fighter."

"I did not know
he was a knife fighter! Besides, you said you can beat any
man."

"I can," he
retorted. "But usually they die, and if I try not to kill them, I
can get hurt. As it was, I had to break his arm."

"I did not know
that. Maybe you should have explained it properly?"

Sabre's eyes
frosted. "Maybe I should shake some sense into you, or better
still, leave you to fend for yourself."

"You would not
dare!"

"Wouldn't I?"
He stepped closer, then swung away with a growl when she shrank
back, going over to the table to pour a cup of water from the
pitcher.

"We made a lot
of money," she declared.

"Great, now you
can buy your fancy clothes and go shake your butt for the
King."

He slammed the
cup down and stalked towards her again, his manner threatening.
"Let me explain it to you, Your Majesty. Cybers are killing
machines. We're a great deal stronger and faster than the average
man, or even, for that matter, a skilled fighter, armed or not.
That means it's an effort not to kill or seriously injure
them."

He held a
scarred hand before her flinching eyes. "I can crush a man's skull
with one blow. To me, it's like an eggshell. I can punch through
four centimetres of hardened duronium, the strongest metal known to
man. It's all in the natty brochure that comes with a cyber when
you buy one. But you don't know what I'm talking about, do you? A
normal man might break his hand before his opponent's skull was
fractured. That's because the skull is stronger than a normal hand.
Every blow I land, I have to control.

"I could've
killed that guy in a couple of seconds, just as the cyber would
have killed your King Torrian if he hadn't been wearing armour, and
as it did kill those soldiers in the gorge. This is a primitive
culture. Hell, it's a restricted world! I shouldn't even be here,
and your spacer buddy broke quite a few laws when he brought me
here. These people will think I'm using magic, just like you did. I
don't want to end up fighting the entire City Watch because they
think I'm a damned warlock, or something ridiculous. Holding back
isn't easy, and I don't want to kill a local hero and make a lot of
enemies. Understand?"

She nodded,
staring at his hand as it clenched under her nose.

"You were
lucky, you know," he continued, turning away. "You ordered the
cyber to defeat the men at the fair. If you'd just told it to fight
them, it would have had the lethal option, and it would have used
it, because my bio-status at that point was very low. For a cyber,
it's easier to kill than to defeat a man. Even so, a cyber only
kills when necessary, like the soldiers at the river, or when
ordered to. I was used to kill four assassins before I came here,
and again with those twenty-two soldiers. I hate killing!"

Tassin flinched
from his anger and huddled against the wall, hugging her knees.
Sabre sat on the edge of the bed, and she watched him warily,
biting her lip. He stared at the floor, his face grim with anger
and something else, which, she realised with shock, was
self-loathing.

"I can't change
what I am, or what I'm capable of, so don't play your silly girlish
games with me, okay? I'll help you, but don't instigate
fights."

Tassin nodded
and buried her face in her knees, blocking out his angry face. He
touched her hand, and she looked up at him. The coldness and anger
had left his expression, leaving only bitterness, and a yearning
she did not understand.

"Don't be
scared of me. I won't hurt you. I'm not a monster, although they
tried to make me into one." He touched the brow band. "In spite of
what they did, I'm still mostly human. That was an idle threat,
okay?"

She raised her
chin, annoyed by his assumption that she was afraid of him. "I am
not scared of you. The cyber would not let you hurt me."

He jumped up.
"You're the most maddening, smug, selfish female I've ever met!
Here I am thinking I'm putting the fear of God into you, and you're
laughing at me!" He swung to loom over her again, a finger raised.
"Don't rely on the cyber, missy, you could get a nasty surprise if
you make me mad enough."

Tassin climbed
off the bed and faced him. "Go on then, let us see if the cyber
will let you."

"I wasn't
talking about..." Sabre's mouth twisted. "You're a real little cow,
you know that?" He strode out, slamming the door.

Tassin sank
down on the bed again, wondering if he would return. Deciding that
he would, she pulled out the money she had won and counted it. She
had more than enough to buy a good quality outfit and pay for
lodgings for several weeks. Sabre did not appreciate her
forethought, and she did not understand his reluctance to use his
abilities. As far as she knew, warlocks and witches were respected
in Arlin, and, she assumed, the other kingdoms.

Sabre received
accolades in the common room. The men showed him new respect, and
several bought him drinks, introducing him to the novelty of
alcohol. The strong ale soon made him light-headed, and he enjoyed
the relaxed feeling it bestowed. Cyber training had honed his mind
to a constantly vigilant, ever guarded cesspit of reflexes and
situational mandates, which he wished he did not have. They
dictated many of his reactions, so much so that he found it hard to
find a normal response to some situations. More than anything, he
wanted to be human, and indulging in copious amounts of this bitter
brew seemed to be something men did. Therefore, it stood to reason
that he should, too.

The men took
turns to slap him on the back and buy him a fresh drink whenever
his cup ran dry. It seemed that even if they had lost money on him,
they liked a good fighter, and it was always prudent to be friends
with one, Sabre mused. At first, the back slapping had evoked a
hostile response, but he soon realised that it was a form of
friendly mannerism, and curtailed his unnatural reaction. One of
the primary responses of a cyber-trained mind was to defend against
any form of potential or perceived attack, and, although he
overrode his initial reflex, it still made him uncomfortable. The
men regaled him with tales of past fights between the local
brawlers, praising his abilities.