Chapter Eighteen

 

That evening, at a hastily arranged banquet to celebrate the Queen's return, Sabre was forced to sit through a number of long, tedious speeches. Evidently Tassin had explained at great length that he was the reason for her survival, and many toasts were drunk to him. He accepted the accolades with a wry smile, declining to make a speech. He was forced to wear a stylish suit of dark blue velvet trimmed with silver, since when he had emerged from the bathing-room, he had found that his clothes had been confiscated and the blue suit was all there was to wear. The velvet itched, and he scratched irritably, ignoring his neighbours' pointed looks. Tassin sat at the head of the high table, looking uncomfortable in a high-necked white satin dress ornamented with silver and gold thread, seed pearls and tiny diamonds. A golden circlet held a sapphire at her brow, and, judging by her frown, it was giving her a splitting headache.

The duke sat on her right and Bethan on her left, while Sabre and Dena had been relegated to the lower tables with the lordlings and knights. Dena wore a stiff pink dress with white ribbons, probably one of Tassin's old ones, dug from a dusty chest. Unfortunately, it was stretched across her hunched back, and, although her short hair had been washed and curled, its patchiness was still obvious. The girl told anyone who would listen that she was going to be a princess, most of whom looked disbelieving. Sabre hoped the Queen remembered her promise.

Sabre enjoyed the food, the likes of which he had never tasted before. Juicy roast fowl, crisped to a turn, preceded a course of sucking pig bathed in savoury sauce. Pitchers of wine and frothy ale accompanied it, along with steaming plates of vegetables in creamy sauce, boats of gravy, bowls of soup and platters of savoury meats. He sampled them all, avoiding only the wine and ale. When people tried to engage him in conversation, they found his mouth full and politely left him to eat.

By the time dessert arrived, he had undone several of his jacket's buttons, and started on the sweets with a will. Bowls of strawberries and jugs of yellow cream jostled for space amid plates of honey cakes and apple pie, gooseberry pie, raspberry pie and custard. He tried them all as well, his stomach stretching to its limit. When he could not eat another bite, he pushed his plate aside and looked up to find Tassin watching him. He smiled and patted his belly in appreciation, and she smiled back a little weakly.

Sabre turned to Dena and recoiled. Sticky sauce and custard smeared her face to the eyebrows. Wetting a napkin in a finger bowl, he wiped it off, much to her disgust and her neighbours' obvious relief, for the sight had been unappetising. She glared at him when he was finished.

"Princesses don't stuff their faces like that," he pointed out.

"Well, I'm not a princess, yet. But if I was, I doubt I would have my face scrubbed like that."

"Yes you would. Princesses are still children."

She sighed. "Well, I'm full, anyway." Her eyes drooped.

"Tired?"

"No!" Her eyes snapped open, slightly glazed.

"Yes you are. Come on, time for bed."

He rose and pulled her from her chair, ignoring her mumbled protests. Picking her up, he carried her out, glad to have a reason to leave.

"Do you want to drown in your pudding?"

"No." She looked at him suspiciously.

"Then you must go to bed, or you'll fall asleep and your face will end up in that bowl of cream, and you'll drown."

Dena eyed him. "You're a terrible liar."

"Am I? Well, look at it this way. If you eat any more, you'll get fat, and then you'll look like a round lump in all those pretty dresses you'll have when you're a princess, and people will look at you and say, `Oooh look, there's the fat princess!'."

Dena giggled and snuggled closer to wrap her arms around his neck. Sabre tucked her into bed, then shucked his itchy clothes and climbed into his own.

The next morning, Sabre woke to find Dena already gone, and a new set of clothes, this time dark grey cotton, laid out for him. Normally such activity would have woken him, but his sleep had been heavy and dreamless. The soft bed, large meal and hot bath, combined with his exhaustion and newfound safety had contrived to relax him, and he was much refreshed for it. The cyber would have flashed a warning when anyone entered his room, but he must have slept through it. He discovered a distended Purr asleep on the cushions in the lounge, and he opened a sleepy eye at Sabre's approach.

"I take it you found the kitchen, Purr?"

The mosscat yawned with sated satisfaction. "Yes, what a place. I never saw so much food in all my life."

Sabre chuckled. "Careful, or you'll get so fat you'll be waddling just now."

Purr stretched, muscles thrumming. "Never fear, I have a lot of catching up to do. Many lean years of raw fish and Flux-fruit."

"So you do like it here, then?"

"Sure, it's okay. Could get boring, though." He gave his purring chuckle. "There was a cat in the kitchen who thought she owned the place, but I soon changed her mind."

Sabre smiled. "How did you do that?"

"With a claw."

"A claw?"

Purr extended a chubby hand, and a six-centimetre, razor-sharp claw shot from the end of one finger. He sneezed softly. "She thought her claws were sharp."

Sabre laughed. "There's not much to match you here, that's for sure."

Purr regarded him. "Yes, I'll look after the Queen when you're gone."

He frowned. "You do that."

In the courtyard, Sabre collared a few loitering soldiers and told them to transport the lasers to positions on the walls. The sergeant objected, and Sabre suggested that he see the Queen, which he evidently did, returning white-faced, presumably with a flea in his ear. From this, Sabre deduced that Tassin was back in queenly form, and chuckled. After that, he had all the help he needed.

At the bottom of the cart, he found the humming sword. He took it to his room and wrapped it in a cloth before stowing it in a cupboard. The sword chimed as he was about to shut it away in the darkness, and he glared at it.

"This is more than you deserve, so don't complain."

The sword gave a flat chime as he closed the door. He locked it, hiding the key in a crack under the mantelpiece. On his way out, he turned and addressed the cupboard. "For all I care, you can stay there forever."

Over the course of the following week, the stone masons and carpenters Sabre hired built gun placements and cradles for the laser cannons. The soldiers eyed the silver cylinders he placed in the cradles with overt curiosity. He wondered what Tassin had said to the sergeant, for the soldiers and workmen followed his instructions without hesitation or question, and even called him 'sir'. Several times, he spotted nobles watching him, even the duke, but no one bothered him.

In two days, he had the weapons mounted on swivelling wooden supports, protected by walls on the sides and most of the front, allowing enough room to turn them. He glimpsed Dena in the company of noble ladies on several occasions, looking radiant in frilly frocks. She had been moved to another room, but was not a princess yet. In order to do that, he guessed that Tassin would have to adopt her, probably a lengthy process.

When the lasers were installed, Sabre called together the soldiers and asked for volunteers to work the new weapons. The men muttered, shaking their heads.

He turned to the sergeant. "Go and tell the Queen."

The man blanched. "Tell her what, sir?"

"That her men are a bunch of superstitious cowards."

The sergeant's eyes darted, and he coughed. "That – that won't be necessary, sir."

"Good. I need twenty men." Sabre left the sergeant to find twenty reluctant volunteers.

When the men presented themselves, looking cowed, Sabre showed them how to aim and fire the disarmed lasers. The big weapons had several settings and telescopic sights, which he removed, deciding that a glance through them would blow the soldiers' superstitious minds. He set them to broad beam, since they were not going to be used with any degree of accuracy, and the power he set to medium, which was plenty for poorly armoured men. When the men were familiar with the weapons, he ordered them to place straw bales in the fields around the castle and invited Tassin to watch the demonstration.

The Queen appeared on a balcony above the courtyard with the duke, Dena, Bethan and a number of strangers. The trainees gathered around when Sabre settled behind a laser and inserted a power pack. He set the beam to fine, aimed at the furthest bale and fired. It vanished in a blast of fire and black smoke, a cloud of ash settling in its place. He glanced around at the stupefied men who stared at the spot where the bale had been. Tassin and Dena applauded, while the other nobles stood open-mouthed. Sabre grinned and swung the laser to aim at another bale. After destroying three bales, he moved to the next laser, taking the power pack with him.

When he asked for a volunteer, the men clamoured to be chosen. Combining testing with training, Sabre fired each laser in turn, finding only one that did not work. He replaced it, then tested the grenade launchers, which all worked. The launchers impressed the men even more than the lasers had, and they begged for permission to practice more, but ammunition was scarce. When the training was over, he covered the lasers with cloths and found Tassin waiting in the courtyard.

He approached her. "Your Majesty?"

She frowned, fiddling with the heavy lace on the skirt of her lavish azure satin dress. "Do not call me that."

"I'm glad you haven't turned back into that snobbish little cow I first met."

"I shall never be like that again. I was a fool."

"Agreed."

She looked down at the lace she had mangled, smoothing it. "I am sending messengers to the kings tomorrow, to tell them I am back. The lasers are ready, so I cannot delay any longer."

He shrugged. "I hope there isn't too much killing."

"I have asked for a parley, so there should not be any killing, just a demonstration."

Sabre nodded, glancing away. He wondered why he was so ill at ease in her company after only a few days apart. Tassin obviously suffered from an attack of shyness, and he found it hard to look at her. His eyes slid away from her alien finery and elaborately dressed hair.

He cleared his throat. "Good. By the way, when are you anointing Dena a princess? You did promise."

"I know. Tonight, actually. I want you to come to the feast. You have not been in the supper hall since we arrived."

He studied the soldiers on the battlements. "All those busy bodies asking questions. I prefer my own company. I'll never fit into your society."

"I suppose not. But just tonight? Dena will be so unhappy if you do not." She stopped smoothing the lace, which was growing limp, and sent him a quick, shy glance.

Sabre shifted, became aware that his hands hung at his sides and clasped them behind his back. He felt like a loitering fool, unused to the inactivity of safety, and uneasy with it. "Sure, I'll come. The grub's great, at any rate."

"Grub?"

"Food." He smiled, his eyes flitting over her face. Tassin opened her mouth, then shut it again and shot him an answering smile before turning away. He watched her go, his heart heavy. As soon as Torrian was no longer a threat, he would leave. When he returned to his room, he found another foppish suit laid out for him, and groaned.

At the banquet, which was smaller than the first, Dena sat beside Tassin, dressed in a lacy white frock covered with ribbons and embroidered yellow flowers. Her hair was curled to hide the bare patches, and a lacy cap sprigged with fresh blossoms covered the worst of the mutation. The dress was designed to hide her hunch, and she looked like a normal, pretty little girl. A fire burnt in the massive hearth behind the Queen, giving off waves of welcome heat. Winter approached, and draughts plagued the castle.

Before the main course, Tassin rose to her feet and silence fell, broken only by Sabre munching an entrée. This drew the disapproval of every noble in the hall, and he found himself the object of many critical stares. He smiled and selected another appetiser.

Tassin raised her voice to address the assembly. "My lords and ladies, Uncle, Aunt, and Cousin. Tonight I wish to announce that I am adopting into my family a brave young lady who risked her life to save mine. She has no parents, for they perished in the horrors that lie beyond the Death Zone. I am not old enough to be her mother, so I therefore declare her to be my sister, and not in contention for the throne. My sole heir remains my cousin until I bear a child of my own, in accordance with our laws of bloodline inheritance. Henceforth, she will be Princess Dena Alrade."

Stilted applause arose from the sour-faced nobles, and Sabre wondered how many arguments Tassin had had with her advisors and family before this compromise had been reached. He did not doubt that she had fought long and hard to give Dena the reward she had promised, and he was proud of her commitment and loyalty. Dena beamed at Tassin, her adoring eyes shimmering with tears. Sabre stood up, surprising everyone, who had only ever seen him eat, and raised the glass of wine he had acquired especially for the occasion.

"A toast!" he cried in ringing tones. "To Princess Dena!"

No one could refuse to toast the new princess, and they raised their glasses while Dena blushed and squirmed. Tassin shot Sabre a grateful smile as a servant appeared at her side bearing a velvet cushion. On it lay a silver circlet, which Tassin placed upon Dena's curls, settling it around her brow. Dena flung her arms around Tassin's neck and hugged her, dampening the Queen's royal blue outfit with tears of joy.

Sabre had no interest in the rest of the banquet, and when he had eaten his fill he slipped out. On the way to his room, he encountered Dena, accompanied by a lady-in-waiting, also heading for bed. Sabre bowed so deeply that his forehead almost touched his knees, and an ominous ripping sound told him that the fancy trousers he wore were not designed for such contortions. Recovering his aplomb, he fought the urge to discover how large the hole in his trousers was and straightened.

"Your Highness."

Dena raised her arms, and he picked her up. "Sabre."

He looked attentive. "Yes, Your Highness?"

"Wasn't it wonderful?"

"Yes, Your Highness."

"Did you enjoy yourself?"

"Yes, Your Highness."

"I'm a princess now."

"Yes, Your Highness."

"Sabre?"

"Yes, Your Highness?"

"You ripped your trousers." She giggled, her eyes sparkling.

"Yes, Your Highness."

"Sabre!" Dena thumped his chest.

"Yes, Your Highness?"

"Stop that!"

"Yes, Your Highness."

"Well?"

"Yes, Your Highness?"

Dena burst into giggles, and Sabre chuckled and hugged her. The lady-in-waiting looked confused. Dena leant back to study him, and her smile faded. Her lower lip trembled, and her eyes filled with tears.

"I don't want you to go!" She flung her arms around his neck and clung to him, weeping.

"Oh, brother," he muttered, and turned to the lady-in-waiting. "Excuse us."

Sabre carried Dena to his room, closed the door and sat down. Settling her on his knee, he pried her arms from his neck. "Tassin told you, I suppose?"

She nodded, hiccupping. "I didn't think you would really leave, when you told Tassin that you would on the cart. I thought you were just teasing. You'd be safe here. You don't have to go!"

"I do. I'm not safe anywhere."

Her face crumpled, and she wailed, "I want to come with you!"

"I wish you could, but it's impossible. I'm sorry."

"But I'll miss you! It's not fair!"

He stroked her hair. "I'll miss you too. Hey, do you want me to tell you a story?"

Dena's tears dried while Sabre made up a rather silly story about a princess and a king. She did not seem to notice the flaws in it, but gazed at him with sad eyes, and he wondered if she was even listening. Several times, she reached up to touch the brow band, running her fingers along the crystals in a forlorn manner that told him Tassin had explained it to her. His husky voice lulled her to sleep, and he held her for a while, studying her innocent features. Sadness filled his heart, as it always did when he contemplated his bleak future. He would never know the joy of the love of a wife and children, and he would have cherished them. All that lay ahead for him was a life of slavery and pain. His inner voice mocked him from the dark recesses of his mind, shouting bitter words at the irony of his futile dreams. Cyborg! He rose and carried Dena to her room.

As he wandered the dim corridors on his way back to his room, a shadowy figure stepped into his path. Sabre tensed, then relaxed as he recognised one of the ladies from the feast, Countess somebody-or-other. Her elaborately arranged blonde hair framed a heart-shaped face, and violet eyes glowed in frames of thick dark lashes. He bowed and moved to circumnavigate her, but she laid a hand on his arm.

He raised his brows. "Countess?"

"I have been watching you all night, and I have heard some astounding tales about you. You must be a very brave, strong man, Sir Sabre." Her voice throbbed and her liquid eyes roamed over him in a way that made him want to squirm, although he did not really know why.

"I'm not a knight, and I just did what I had to."

The countess pouted and stepped closer, running her hand up his arm. "I want to hear more of your adventures. Perhaps you would care to join me in my suite? We could have wine."

Sabre cleared his throat, averted his eyes from her blatant stare and stepped back, only to encounter a wall. She moved closer, pressing herself to him now that he had no retreat, and started to unbutton his jacket. He buttoned it again as fast as she undid it, and she gave a husky giggle.

"Are you so bashful, Sir Sabre?"

"Countess, I -"

"He is not interested."

Sabre jumped as Tassin stepped from the shadows beyond the countess, who swung to face the Queen and curtsied. "Your Majesty."

Tassin walked closer, her cold eyes fixed on the blonde woman. "You may pack your things and leave, Countess Marrin, you are no longer welcome at Castle Alrade."

"But Your Majesty, I -"

"Now, Countess."

The woman picked up her skirts and fled, and Tassin turned to Sabre. "I apologise for her behaviour."

"It's not your fault."

"Most would have accepted her offer. Would you?"

"No."

"Why not?"

He shrugged. "I'm not interested."

"In anyone?" Her eyes roamed over his face as if seeking to read his mind. "There was a time when you were keen to bed the sluts in a tavern. Now you act like a monk."

"I was just... My tastes have changed."

"To what?"

"Celibacy. I'll bid you goodnight, Your Majesty." Stepping around her, he strode away down the corridor.

In his room, Sabre sat on the couch and stared at the wall, railing inwardly at the joke he called a life. He gripped the brow band, wishing he could tear it off. He was trapped. Condemned to be a cyber. The inner voice that so often mocked him awoke and shouted the insults he tried so hard to ignore. Cyborg! Killing machine! Freak! Fury swept through him in a wild, unbridled tide that craved release. He raised his fist and brought it down on the heavy wooden table with all his strength, smashing it to splinters with a terrific bang.

Sabre stared at the wreckage for a long time, then groaned and sat back. He could not stay at the castle. His whereabouts would not prevent the spacer from coming for him, and he did not want Tassin and Dena to see him turned back into a cyber. It would be distressing for them to witness his removal, and to listen to the spacer's assurances that he was just a machine; a piece of high-tech equipment that needed a little repair. How could Dena understand that? Rising, he went to the bed and flung himself down on it, buried his face in the pillow and wished he could escape reality as easily.

The following day, Sabre went for a wild ride through the woods, enjoying the rushing wind and thunder of hooves. When he turned the panting horse towards home, he was more relaxed, as if some of his troubles had been left behind. There was no escaping his fate, however. Stopping the horse, he sat and watched the tranquil woodland, enjoying the peace. Time. It was just a matter of time, but at least he had had these few months; a brief interlude of adventure, of life. His time was ticking away. Each day brought the end closer. Like a condemned man, he wondered how much time he had left, and how to make the most of it. With a sigh, he headed homewards.

As he approached the castle, a platoon of cavalry thundered over the drawbridge, pennants flying. The guard sergeant led them, and Sabre guided his mount to canter alongside him.

"What's happening?" he bellowed over the thunder of hooves.

"One o' them things got through the mountains again."

Sabre went with them down the winding road that led to the town. A broad swathe was torn through a field of wheat, heading for the village. In the pasture beyond, a shepherd's hut was flattened, and numerous dead sheep, gutted by sharp claws, dotted the grass. Sabre wondered why chaos beasts were so destructive, and what drove them to seek out towns and rampage through them. If the Core had merely maddened them, they would just as soon have ravaged a forest, but they did not.

In the town centre, a Death Zone monster attacked buildings and people. A throng of townsfolk armed with farming implements surrounded it, reminding Sabre of the people he had saved in the Zone. They cheered when the soldiers arrived, and some retreated while others continued to harry the horse-sized creature, which resembled a bear. Long tusks jutted from its jaws, and twelve-centimetre claws tore the ground. A ridge of bone blades rose from its spine, and a long, spike-tipped tail lashed behind it. Blood streaked its short, dapple-grey, moss-like fur where the townsfolk had stabbed it with pitch forks and crude spears, and it left a crimson trail. Its Roman-nosed head swung from side to side as it roared its fury and pain, glaring at its assailants with tortured brown eyes.

Sabre empathised with the animal's suffering. It had been torn from its home and mutated into a monster, and now knew only hatred and pain. Once it had been a predator on some alien world, hunting to feed itself and its offspring, no more dangerous than the shy cats that inhabited the forests of Arlin. Jerking the guard sergeant's sword from its scabbard, he vaulted from his shying horse and ran at the creature's exposed flank. The men distracted the animal, and he thrust the sword between its ribs, hoping its heart was in the usual place. It swung, snapping jaws that no longer closed properly, its exposed, over-large teeth dripping saliva. It stumbled and collapsed, its growls becoming whimpers as its life ebbed away. He ignored the soldiers' congratulations, his heart heavy.

The creature's ribs showed through its silken fur, and desert sand clogged its eyes. Deep gashes marred its grey hide, scabbed with dried blood and sand, where it had fought, or maybe tried to ease an itch, not knowing that its claws were now too long and sharp to avail it that simple pleasure. It was starving, unable to eat with the huge fangs that jutted from its jaws. There was no triumph in slaying it, only relief that its misery was ended with a quick, humane stroke. Like him, the chaos beasts had been made into monsters and sent out to savage and kill, driven by pain and hunger. He turned from the jubilant townsfolk and remounted his horse, riding back to the castle without a backward glance.

The Cyber Chronicles Book III - The Core
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