The Cyber Chronicles - Book I: Queen of Arlin (30 page)

Sabre looked up
at the prince. "So why didn't you give me to him?"

"Because I want
you for myself, of course. I want to learn your way of fighting.
Fortunately, I was able to persuade my brother. His agreement with
Torrian did not include you, so he refused, and Torrian had to
accept it." Victor smirked.

"How long ago
did they leave?"

"Just this
morning, only two hours ago. Your Queen Tassin was most upset. I
have never heard such language from a woman before, never mind a
queen."

Sabre smiled.
"She has her moments."

The servant
returned with the food and water, and the conversation stopped
while Sabre drained five cups of water and consumed a bland gruel.
When his hunger and most of his thirst were assuaged, he slid off
the bed, testing his legs. He appeared to be in one of the palace's
suites, as sumptuous as the one Tassin had occupied. Victor lounged
in a chair, watching him, and two soldiers stood at the door. Sabre
tested wobbly legs and cursed his weakness.

"How long was I
asleep?"

"Three days,"
the prince supplied with languid disinterest.

Sabre sat on
the bed, waiting for some vitality to flow into him from the gruel.
"What kind of transport did Torrian have?"

Victor looked
smug. "A big, gold-plated coach. Torrian loves his pomp and
ceremony, although it is not very practical."

Sabre stared at
the floor. That meant they would not be travelling fast, and would
probably only reach the pass in two or three days. It gave him time
to escape from Xavier's palace and catch up with Tassin before she
arrived at Torrian's castle, or better still, before they reached
the pass. He became aware that Victor was addressing him.

"...I do feel
sorry for your queen, however, she is a lovely girl. I was most
distressed to have to turn down her offer of marriage. It was
extremely tempting."

"She asked you
to marry her?" Sabre's brows shot up.

"Oh, indeed,
she was terribly upset when I refused."

"I'll bet."

"She has a
rather... astringent tongue."

"That's putting
it mildly."

Victor nodded
in a superior manner. "Naturally you, as her man-at-arms, were
subject to her fury more than once."

"Naturally."

"When do you
suppose you will feel well enough to start teaching?"

"Maybe
tomorrow."

The prince rose
to his feet. "By the way, I was impressed by what you did to the
dungeon door, and the shackles. How did you break them?"

Sabre glanced
at one of his wrists, which had a broad black bruise across the top
of it. "I snapped them."

"So
easily?"

"Not that
easily."

"So you do use
magic, then."

Sabre shrugged.
"Not exactly. You could say that magic has been used on me, to make
me stronger."

"And you cannot
use this magic on another, to make him stronger too?"

"No."

"But your magic
turned against you in the end, did it not?"

"More like I
turned against it." By disobeying the Queen, Sabre thought
bitterly.

"I see."

Sabre knew he
did not, and hid a smile as the prince left. The guards at the door
bowed as Victor passed them, then eyed Sabre with deep misgivings.
It seemed that the tales of his prowess had spread to all and
sundry. Sabre winked at them, making them tense, then he sighed and
lay down. Torrian was no fool. Thirteen days had passed since the
wolf's attack on the mountain. During that time, the king had
deduced their destination and despatched a messenger, then set out
for Olgara himself.

Tassin glared
across the coach at Torrian, who smiled at her with conceited
arrogance. He looked like an oaf, when compared to Sabre, she
reflected. His coarse handsomeness and large nose were repugnant to
her now, and she wondered how she had ever thought him attractive.
His low forehead overhung his close-set eyes, and his expensive
perfume did not completely overpower his pungent odour. Instead,
the two mingled to form an even more repulsive smell.

Thick black
hair curled from under his collar, making her shudder to think of
what he must look like without the royal trappings. She tore her
eyes from his hateful face and stared out of the window at the
passing scenery. The heavy coach rocked and swayed on the rough
road, making her nauseous. Only the occasional crack of the
coachman's whip broke the incessant rumbling. She had remained
silent for the duration of the journey so far, rising to none of
Torrian's baiting about her failure to elude him.

Tassin shifted
as her girdle pinched her, tugging at the uncomfortable dress.
Queen Mirrial had insisted on dressing her in a lacy pink
concoction with ruffles and puffed sleeves, despite Tassin's fierce
opposition to the ridiculous idea. The girdle made breathing
difficult, and the gown was impractical for a journey. Its delicate
lace overskirt begged to be torn by protrusions, and the numberless
petticoats made walking tiresome, never mind climbing in and out of
a coach. The gown's copious white lace already showed the dust that
blew in through the window. Her hair, piled atop her head, was
fastened with long pins that pulled at her scalp. A bit of grit
flew into her eye, and she turned from the window, rubbing it.

"Are you all
right, my sweet?" Torrian's deep, solicitous voice and false
concern annoyed her.

"Oh, shut
up."

"You will have
to learn to treat me with more respect, Tass. I will soon be your
husband."

"Do not call me
Tass," she snarled.

"I will call
you whatever I want, including bitch."

"I will never
marry you. My father would turn in his grave, if I was forced to
marry a stinking, hairy pig like you."

Torrian smiled.
"Then he should have made arrangements before he died."

"He wanted me
to choose my husband, and I am not marrying you."

"You have no
choice, my dear. Your magic warrior is useless to you now. Victor
has him, and I have you, so what will you do?"

Tassin snorted.
"Do not be so sure you will not die on your wedding night, should
you get that far."

He chuckled,
his eyes glinting with unwholesome amusement. "Idle threats. You
are only a woman, Tass." Leaning forward, he placed a hairy,
banana-fingered hand on her knee. "A very lovely woman."

Yanking a pin
from her hair, she stabbed it into the back of his paw as hard as
she could. Torrian jerked away with a yell, then raised his hand as
if to hit her. Tassin shrank back, holding the pin poised, ready to
impale any part of him that came within reach. He subsided with a
growl, sat back and inspected his hand.

"You will pay
for that, you bitch."

"You keep your
dirty paws off me, Torrian, or I will do worse than that, I
promise."

He sucked the
wound, glaring. "I can see I will have to tie you to the bed on our
wedding night."

Tassin blanched
at the thought. "You will also have to be careful what you eat,
when you sleep, whom you trust, what you drink, and especially
whether or not I am safely tied down every night."

The king's eyes
narrowed. "So, it is to be a war, then?"

"I shall kill
you somehow, I swear it. You will never be able to relax in my
company. I will make what is left of your life a living hell."

Torrian sat
back, regarding her with loathing. "Believe me, if not for your
kingdom, I would never marry a harpy like you."

Sabre sat on
the yard fence and watched Victor's men practising the moves he had
shown them. A lot of his strength had returned since the previous
day, but he did not reveal it. Victor had supplied all the food he
could eat, eager for him to start the training he had promised.
Earlier, the prince had watched Sabre demonstrate the techniques
the men worked on now, and seemed well pleased.

The cyber
constantly prompted Sabre to go after the Queen, and he had decided
to leave tonight. With a fast horse, he might be able to overhaul
the coach by the following night. In a way, he was sad to leave
Prince Victor. He was a decent man, if somewhat pompous, and had
treated Sabre well, even hinting that Garvon was due to retire
soon. A job as Victor's master-at-arms would be a well-paid
position, and he could lead a normal life in Olgara, until the
spacer who had brought him returned to reclaim him.

The idiotic
Queen had to be rescued, however. Even without the cyber's
insistent prompting, he disliked the thought of Torrian forcing her
into an unwanted marriage, despite the fact that she had ruined
their best chance of escape.

A burst of
laughter disturbed his reverie, and he jumped down to break up a
brewing fight, then returned to his perch when the men resumed
their practice. The new partnership with the cyber pleased him. He
found the computer's information useful, and it no longer intruded
on his control. Sabre hoped the cyber would be content to remain in
the back seat and allow him to pursue his life once Tassin was
safe. At worst, the cyber would keep him at her side, a prospect he
found unpleasant. He had no wish to spend his precious freedom at
the beck and call of a silly girl.

Sabre signalled
to the men to stop their training for the day, and followed them
into the barracks, where he now stayed. After a final night of
luxury in the palace, Victor had informed him that he was to share
the billets with the other men. Sabre would have preferred the
privacy of a cell; his training made rubbing shoulders with a lot
of people uncomfortable.

His freedom had
surprised him; he had expected to be shackled and locked up when he
was not teaching the men. Evidently Victor thought there was
nothing Sabre could do now that Tassin was Torrian's prisoner, and
did not think he would try to rescue the Queen. The broken shackles
and smashed cell door might have also convinced him that he could
not keep Sabre prisoner, in any case. Making him sleep in the
barracks was the prince's only attempt at guarding him, probably
thinking he would have little chance of escape from there.

Chapter Sixteen

When Sabre
woke, the control unit's chronometer informed him that it was two
in the morning, local time, as he had planned, and he wondered if
the computer had woken him. Sitting up on the hard bed, he listened
to the amazing variety of noises men made in their sleep. The
barracks resounded with rattles, buzzes, whistles, wheezes,
grating, grunting, moaning, sawing, and a peculiar flubbing sound
made by lips flapping in the breeze. Sabre smiled as he dressed. He
certainly did not need to creep around. The racket would cover any
noise he made, unless he shouted at the top of his voice.

Sabre left the
barracks and used the shadows to seek the outer wall. The
three-metre wall was easily climbed, and he walked into town in
search of a stable, still angry that Tassin had refused to scale
the wall. At the Singing Harlot, he cast his eye over the
assortment of horseflesh available. Spotting rangy chestnut with a
broad blaze and four white socks, he recognised it as the mount of
the young nobleman in Arlin. Sabre saddled and bridled the animal,
then led it outside. The chestnut pranced and sidestepped, tossing
its head, so he led it to the outskirts of the city before
mounting. On the open road, he gave the horse its head, allowing it
to stretch out in a cracking gallop.

Dawn found him
watering the horse at a stream, wishing he had been able to bring
provisions. He also wished he had not lost the wrist laser, even if
there had been little ammunition left. When the horse had drunk its
fill, Sabre rode on at a more sedate pace, conserving the animal's
strength. The horse remained eager and bouncy, moving at a fast
trot.

Night had
spread a gloomy shroud over the land when he spotted Torrian's
gilded coach beside the road. Sabre tethered the chestnut and
walked closer, using the cyber's scanners to ascertain the
sentries' positions. Crouching behind some bushes at the edge of
the camp, he studied it. Torrian's warriors shared a fire, while
the king and Tassin sat at another, a servant attending them.

Two tents were
pitched close to the coach, presumably for Tassin and the king, and
Sabre smiled. The horses were picketed beyond the firelight, and he
approached them, using the scrubby bushes for cover. Selecting a
sturdy-looking bay, he saddled it and led it back to his chestnut,
tethering it there. Returning to the camp, he settled down to wait
for everyone to retire, his stomach rumbling at the smell of
cooking.

Tassin glared
at Torrian with deep loathing. After she had stabbed him with her
hairpin, insults had thickened the air, and she had longed for the
strength to overpower him and escape. Forced to quell her
rage-induced wish to kick him, she had contented herself by winning
the verbal sparring. By the time he had resorted to sullen silence,
the atmosphere was almost too thick to breathe. Its stifling
animosity remained, making the servant scuttle nervously, for fear
of bearing the brunt of their ire, she assumed.

Tassin forced
herself to eat the roasted fowl and steamed vegetables she was
served, despite her knotted stomach. Torrian consumed his repast
with much lip-smacking and grease-dribbling, which nauseated her
further. He rounded off his revolting performance with several loud
belches, and refilled his wine cup. The servant offered her wine,
fruit, nuts and pastries, but she waved him away and retired to her
tent to escape Torrian's company.

Tassin removed
her girdle and hairpins, wishing she had other clothes. In their
absence, she took off the outer dress and lay on the pallet in her
thin under gown. Staring at the tent's roof, she contemplated her
bleak future, filled with dread that Torrian would choose to molest
her now that she was at his mercy. The thought made her stomach
clench further, and she forced herself to relax, listening to him
talking to one of his officers beside the fire. Her vigilance did
not wane until she knew, from the silence, that he had retired to
his tent, then she closed her eyes and fell into an uneasy
doze.