The Cyber Chronicles - Book I: Queen of Arlin (32 page)

Kicking his
horse back into a canter, Sabre headed into the badlands' arid
sands, ignoring the Queen's enraged shouts. When her shrieks
stopped abruptly, he glanced back. Tassin had jumped off the horse,
and was climbing to her feet, clearly intent on heading back
towards the soldiers. With a muttered curse, Sabre brought the
chestnut to a propping standstill, then yanked the horse's head
around and urged it into a canter again. The Queen gathered up her
skirts and ran, kicking up plumes of sand.

Sabre guided
his horse alongside her and pulled her onto his pommel. She fought
and kicked as he turned the chestnut with one hand, forcing him to
increase the pressure of his arm until she gasped. He eased it when
she stopped struggling, allowing her to breathe again. The bay
horse followed when he spurred the chestnut into the desert, and
Tassin slumped, looking back at what she thought was her prince in
shining armour.

What a shock
she would have got, Sabre mused, to find that she was not the
object of Victor's desire after all. The prince would be after
blood, for the insult of Sabre's escape from the palace. He urged
the horse on, and the chestnut stretched gamely into a full gallop
across the hard sand.

Victor's troops
turned off the road and followed, but their slower mounts fell
behind as Sabre skirted a large area of black glass. According to
the cyber, the radioactivity was still high in the glassy areas,
where the bombs had exploded. Sabre kept checking the scanner
information, and avoided invisible pockets of radiation. He slowed
the tiring chestnut to a canter, allowing the bay horse to catch
up. Far behind, the dust that marked Victor's position had stopped.
Evidently the prince and his men were unwilling to brave the
badlands' curse.

Sabre slowed
the blowing gelding to a walk, not wanting to exhaust it at the
outset. Although it was unlikely that the animals would survive the
trip, he wanted them to last for as long as possible. The scanners
showed him that Victor's men had turned back, and met up with
Torrian's dozen. They would have a nice little chat, he surmised,
imagining how furious they would be. Tassin gazed over his shoulder
until the troops vanished into the distance, then buried her face
in his chest. The situation was rather too intimate for his liking,
but he knew that if he objected, it would only spark another
furious outburst and lead to an argument. After a few minutes, she
leant back and glared at him, her eyes accusing.

"You have
doomed us. We will die out here."

"Not
necessarily. The cyber and I have come to an arrangement. It's
programmed to help you, so it's agreed to help me. It can detect
radiation, or the curse, as you call it, so I can avoid it. With a
bit of luck, we'll cross the desert."

"The Death Zone
will kill us!"

"The Death Zone
is just radiation."

She shook her
head. "It is evil, terrible magic, just like Mother Amy said."

"There's no
such thing as magic. Believe me, we'll be all right."

She rubbed her
eyes. "If we do not die of thirst."

"There is
that."

"And if we do
reach the other side, we will be trapped in a strange land."

"Perhaps you'll
find a nice prince there, or even a king, then you can come back.
If it can be crossed one way, it can be crossed the other."

Tassin stared
over his shoulder. "I am the Queen of Arlin."

"Well, you
don't want to marry any of the kings, so you're being a bit
picky."

"Victor was
coming to save me!"

"Victor was
coming to try to chop off my head."

Tassin sniffed.
"Are you sure?"

He shrugged.
"Either that, or he still wanted me to train his troops."

"So you could
have stayed with him?"

"Yes."

"But you came
after me."

Sabre smiled.
"The cyber made me."

"Oh." She
rubbed her nose. "So you did not want to?"

"Not
particularly. I knew you'd only find fault."

"You do not
like me, do you?"

He glanced at
her. "You're a hard person to like."

"Why?"

Sabre gave a
bark of laughter. "Because you're bossy, selfish, pig-headed,
thick-skinned, rude and abrasive."

She scowled.
"That is because I'm a queen!"

"You're still a
human being."

She snorted.
"You are just a commoner, what do you know?"

"Then don't ask
me."

"I will
not."

"Good."

A thick silence
fell, which only the steady thudding of the horses' hooves broke.
As the sun climbed higher, the heat increased, and shimmering waves
danced on the horizon. Sweat trickled down Sabre's chest, and
Tassin leant away from him, rigid with disgust and indignation. Her
hair grew limp with perspiration, and clung to her brow in damp
tendrils. The chestnut sweated under the double load, but he did
not trust Tassin not to steal the bay and make a dash back to the
mountains.

At midday,
Sabre stopped and helped Tassin to dismount. The heat drained the
horses' strength, and the sweating dehydrated them. The distant
mountains danced in the heat waves, a beckoning haven of verdure
and water. The horses stood with drooping heads, and Tassin flopped
down in the bay's shadow. The sun had reddened her arms and face,
and he knelt beside her to inspect the burns.

"You must cover
yourself, or you'll get sunstroke."

"How solicitous
of you. Would it not be better if I died? Then you would be rid of
an unwanted burden."

"Stop being
stupid. Take off one of your petticoats."

Tassin
complied, muttering, and he fashioned it into a hooded poncho, then
retreated to his patch of shade and contemplated their situation.
They had enough water for several days, if it was used sparingly.
The food would last longer, and, if the Badlands could be crossed
in a few days, they would be all right, but for all he knew, there
might not be a paradise on the other side, only a poisonous sea. A
gurgling sound made him glance around to find Tassin gulping from
one of the water skins. He jumped up and grabbed the skin.

"The water has
to last. Drink only a little at a time."

"I am
thirsty!"

"So am I, but
you'll suffer more if we run out."

Hanging the
water skin back on the horse, he retreated once more to his
precious patch of shade and lay down, ignoring Tassin's glare.

Chapter Seventeen

For four
nights, Sabre led the Queen across the desert, skirting glassy
areas and pockets of wind-borne radiation. Tassin whined about the
water rationing, complained about the discomfort of sleeping on the
hard sand and grumbled about riding in the cold wind. After a while
Sabre tuned out her constant carping, even though there was little
else to occupy his attention.

On the fifth
night, the cyber's scanners detected underground water at the limit
of their range, and he headed towards it. A concrete slab was half
buried in the sand, and he dismounted to study it, ignoring the
Queen's plaintive questions about why they had stopped. Sand had
drifted over the slab, hiding what could only be a pre-war
reservoir. The cyber informed him that the seeping water it had
detected was not contaminated, but the slab was too heavy for a
normal man to shift. Sabre crouched and brushed the sand away from
the edges, and Tassin came to stand beside him.

"What is
it?"

"There's water
under here. I just have to move this."

"Water! I can
have a drink. We will be able to refill the skins!"

"Yes, but not
too much, or it'll make you sick," Sabre warned as she trotted to
the nearest horse and grabbed a flaccid skin. While she gulped from
it, he exposed the entire slab, wondering if he would be able to
lift it. He had little choice, especially now that Tassin had
consumed half the remaining water. The slab offered no handholds or
protuberances to which he could attach a rope, even if he had one,
so he could not use the horses to pull it aside. He joined Tassin
and drank some water while he pondered the problem.

The slab was a
good twelve centimetres thick, and he estimated its weight at
around eight hundred kilos. He prompted the cyber to raise his
metabolism to provide the necessary energy, and a warm flush of
vitality washed through him. He handed the skin back to Tassin and
returned to his task. Digging the sand from under one side, he made
enough room to insinuate his fingers. It would be an awkward lift,
placing a lot of strain on his back, which was reinforced only with
a telescopic strand of barrinium to prevent disks from slipping.
The springy metal did not interfere with his spine's suppleness,
but only added a little strength to it. Crouching, he slipped his
hands under the slab and prepared to lift it.

Tassin stared
at him in patent amazement, and he almost smiled. The slab looked
far too heavy for anyone to move, never mind lift off the ground,
he supposed, but then, she had no idea of a cyber's capabilities.
Sabre took a few deep breaths, then went rigid as he took up the
strain. His thigh muscles burnt, and cords strained at the skin of
his neck. His heart rate quadrupled and his face grew hot as his
blood pressure shot up, causing vessels to throb on his forehead
and bulge on his arms. Pain lanced from his shoulder, elbow and
wrist joints, and he grimaced. Tassin's eyes widened as the slab
rose with a dull grating as Sabre straightened. He leant against
it, and it slid back, exposing a round hole. Unable to push it
further without falling down the well, he dropped the slab with a
gritty boom.

The smell of
water excited the thirsty horses, which tried to reach it. Sabre
caught them and turned them away before they kicked sand into the
well, removing a pack and tethering them to it. Returning to the
half open well, he peered in. The scanners indicated that the water
was a good ten metres down, and Sabre cursed, wishing he had some
rope. His gaze flicked to the ribbons and ruffles of Tassin's pink
dress, and he stepped closer to finger the material. Tassin stared
at him with wide, horrified eyes.

He smiled. "I
need something to make into a rope. This will do." Without giving
her a chance to protest, he ripped off the long strips of material
that formed the bows and flowers. Yards of tough silk came away in
his hands, and he remarked, "I'm glad Mirrial made you wear this,
it's proving mighty handy."

"I am so happy
I have something to contribute," she sniped.

"Me too."

After a great
deal of ripping, Sabre held four long pieces of superfluous cloth,
which he tied together. The dress yielded around seven metres of
silk, and he made up the difference with his weapons' harness.
Using an empty saddle bag as a bucket, he hauled up enough water to
fill another for the horses. When their thirst had been slaked,
Sabre flopped down to rest while the animals dug in the sand,
hoping to uncover grass. Their instincts did not help them, for
there was no grass to find here, as there was under the snow in
winter. Nothing had grown in this desert for decades.

Sabre
considered the beasts sadly. They had not eaten for five days, and
the flesh had melted from them to reveal ribs and gaunt muscle. The
water would help, but he calculated that soon they would be too
weak to ride. He tossed Tassin some dried meat and tore at a piece
while he considered her. Because of her dark colouring, Tassin had
tanned to a deep gold, which suited her. His skin had also
darkened, making his scars more noticeable.

They spent two
days at the well, where the plenitude of water allowed them to
bathe to stave off the heat during the day. Sabre knew they could
not linger there for long, however, without food for the horses.
Soon they would have to press on across the burning wasteland.

Torrian glared
at his advisors, who studied their feet and shifted uneasily. A
tense silence filled the banquet hall, broken only by the
sputtering of torches and the scratching of a dog under the table.
Suits of armour stood in the corners, and fading tapestries adorned
the walls between coats-of-arms and battle banners. The
wrought-iron chandelier that hung on a stout chain from the open
beams cast flickering light on the silver cutlery and golden
goblets. A fire roared in the vast hearth, warming the room and the
three wolfhounds that basked on a bear skin rug before it. The
hall's decor, and indeed the rest of the castle, reflected
Torrian's penchant for the trappings of hunting and battle, its
walls hung with trophies and weaponry.

After two days
on the dusty road from Olgara and a further week to reach his
castle, Torrian's temper was frayed beyond any foreseeable hope of
repair. His ego still smarted from the insults Tassin had rained
upon his head and the ease with which she had escaped him. The
advisors had been summoned to the banquet hall soon after his
arrival, to suffer the brunt of his ire. Torrian presided over a
cooling feast, his appetite gone; only the rich wine in his goblet
of any interest to him. The king's eyes flitted over his elderly
counsellors and came to rest on Gearn, who shuffled under his
scrutiny.

Torrian
growled, "You have failed me, mage. Your wolves failed. Now that
accursed man has stolen her away again. He is truly a powerful
magician. More powerful than you, I suspect."

Gearn's eyes
glinted. "I could defeat him, Sire, but they will surely die in the
badlands."

"Perhaps,
perhaps not. If that man is as great a wizard as he seems, he may
well be able to cross the desert and the Death Zone."

"What will that
avail them? The Queen cannot rule her land from the other side of
the desert, Sire. She will return."

"Maybe. But I
am not a patient man. So long as she is free, I am denied her
kingdom and its riches, for which my men have fought and died. I
demand a solution to this. I want her back here!"