The Cyber Chronicles Book III - The Core (31 page)

The rest of
the courtiers sidled in while she was being outfitted with the
symbols of her office, shuffling into position around the room. The
duke and his family took up their rightful station on her left, and
a flushed, bright-eyed Dena, resplendent in her silver circlet,
hurried in to stand on Tassin's right. Sabre watched it all with
jaundiced eyes, amused by the pomp and ceremony. In a matter of
minutes the room was transformed into a fully-fledged court, the
Queen presiding. As the courtiers stopped jostling for position
around the walls, twenty stern-faced guards entered and took up
posts in front of them, grounding their spears.

A herald
announced King Torrian's arrival in a high nasal voice, and the
dusty, dishevelled King stalked in. A black, crimson-edged cloak
hung from his shoulders and silver armour clad his torso. Golden
lions emblazoned the sleeves of the scarlet surcoat he wore under
it, and his black trousers were tucked into suede calf boots. The
long sword at his hip jingled as he walked, and the musky stench of
stale sweat followed him in. Sabre thought he would march up to the
Queen and try to wring her neck, so thunderous was his expression,
but he stopped before the throne and nodded, barely polite.

"Tassin."
Torrian's angry voice boomed around the room. "This is intolerable!
You cannot refuse to marry all three of the kings of this land. You
know the law. You must take a husband of noble blood, and I am
within my rights to demand your hand. Now you turn diabolical magic
upon my troops. You go too far! You cannot flout the laws of this
land, drawn up centuries ago by our forebears."

Tassin glared
at him. "I will do as I please, and now you cannot force me. I will
choose a husband in good time, but I will not have him foisted upon
me."

Torrian dug in
his belt pouch and drew out a yellowed parchment scroll. "Let me
refresh your memory." Ignoring the Queen's impatient snort, he
unrolled the scroll. "So that there may be peace ever more in the
kingdoms of Arlin, Prane, Mandor, Olgara and Pradish, this is the
law:

"The eldest
legitimate issue of each ruling king shall inherit his kingdom. If
the eldest issue is female, she shall be required to marry a
nobleman. Any unrelated and unwed king or prince may bid for her
hand, either by courtship, capture, or single combat of
champions.”

Tassin's
nostrils flared. "I am aware of the law. As yet you have failed to
capture me, and, as long as those weapons are upon my battlements,
you cannot. There is nothing in the law that states that I may not
use whatever means available to defend myself."

Torrian rolled
up the parchment. "Then, since you cannot be captured, I challenge
you to a testing of champions, to the death."

"No! I will
have no more bloodshed! You are beaten. I refuse the
challenge."

"You cannot
refuse. It is the law. If you do not select a champion, the high
court will declare you my prize, and your own men will bring you to
me. No one flouts the law."

Sabre's heart
twisted at the despair in her eyes as she scanned the ranks of
nobles in search of him. Just when he thought he had solved all her
problems by making her castle impregnable, Torrian came up with a
new angle. He cursed and stepped out of the shadows. Tassin
beckoned to a herald, murmuring to him. The boy hurried down the
broad aisle to the door where Sabre stood and bowed to him.

"The Queen
requests your presence."

Sabre
approached the throne, aware that all eyes were upon him. Torrian
stared at the brow band when Sabre stopped beside him. The King
towered over him, and looked like he enjoyed that fact.

"I thought you
were dead."

Sabre forced a
tight, cold smile. "Had you known I was alive, you wouldn't be
doing this, would you? Who do think armed the castle?"

Torrian
nodded. "I should have guessed, but I would still be doing this.
You see, I have found a fighter who can beat you, to be certain of
my victory."

"Indeed? Not
yourself, of course."

Torrian
flushed an ugly red. "By law, I must appoint a champion."

"Good for
you."

"Sabre."
Tassin's soft call made him turn.

"Your
Majesty."

The Queen
looked uncertain and sorrowful. "I do not have the right to ask
another favour after all you have done. Yet it seems I must. If you
choose not to fight I will understand. But in all my kingdom, and I
think all the world and even the heavens above, there is no better
warrior than you. If you defeat his champion I shall be safe, for
my castle is now too well defended for him to return and steal me
from my bed. I ask you... to be my champion."

Torrian
glowered at Tassin, and the uncertainty in her eyes made him wonder
if she was really silly enough to imagine he would say no. After
all he had already done for her, she surely could not think he
would abandon her now. He approached the throne and sank to one
knee, taking the hand she held out.

"I'll gladly
lay down my life for you, Tassin, worthless as it is."

A collective
indrawn breath rustled around the room at his use of her name. Her
grip tightened, forbidding him to rise, and he met her gaze.

"Thank you,"
she whispered.

Two tears
escaped down her cheeks, and he lowered his eyes. "I live only to
serve you, My Queen."

The tinge of
bitterness in his tone evidently did not escape her, even though he
had tried to hide it, for she leant forward. "No. You are free to
choose."

He nodded. "I
have chosen."

Tassin
released his hand, and he rose and swung away to stride out under
the courtiers' stares and Torrian's murderous glare. He marched
along the echoing corridors to his suite, where servants awaited
him with another suit of foppish finery. Sabre eyed the silken
tights and brocaded, pearl-studded jacket with a frown.

"You have got
to be kidding. Bring me my old clothes."

The two men
looked aghast until he repeated the order, then one hurried out
while the other primly folded the vainglorious garments. The
servant returned a few minutes later, holding Sabre's ragged
trousers and harness as if they gave off an offensive smell.
Although clean and pressed, the trousers were well worn, roughly
darned in places, and generally disreputable. He did not care; he
needed the stretch fabric for a fight. The velvet trousers he wore
would split at the first kick, and the silken tights were even
worse. The servants tried to help him disrobe, and he ordered them
out when he found four hands too many fumbling at his jacket's tiny
buttons.

As he donned
his standard issue cyber clothes, painful memories rushed back. He
recalled stepping out of the casket racked with agony, his
unfocussed eyes brushing the countenance of the most beautiful girl
he had ever seen. At the time, he had thought he would never be
able to speak to her, or even see her clearly. Soon, he would be
returned to that half-life. In all likelihood, he would not need
the stretch properties of his old combat clothes, since he was
pitted against just one man. It was only a precaution.

Sabre walked
to the courtyard, more comfortable in his old clothes despite the
memories that came with them. Nobles and courtiers crammed the
edges of the yard and soldiers lined the battlements. Servants
pushed and shoved for a better view in doorways and windows. Tassin
sat in an upholstered chair next to the wall, well out of harm's
way. Torrian waited nearby, looking disgruntled. Dena clutched the
back of Tassin's chair, her eyes wide and fearful. Sabre winked at
her, wishing she did not have to watch him kill a man. All eyes
followed him to the centre of the courtyard, where a rough circle
had been chalked on the stone.

Torrian
gestured, and a man entered the arena from the direction of the
gate. Sabre eyed the short, wiry newcomer, who walked with a
confident swagger. His slanted eyes and straight black hair told
Sabre that he was descended from Oriental stock. Torrian probably
thought he could beat Sabre because he had impressed the King with
a demonstration of martial arts. Sabre wanted to laugh. Had either
of them known what a cyber was capable of, they would never have
considered challenging him. It was a joke. The Oriental had no hope
against a cyber but, unfortunately for him, he did not know it.
From the confident way Torrian had spoken, anyone would have
thought he had found another cyber. Then again, only Tassin knew
the truth about what Sabre was.

He turned to
the King. "I can kill this man in a few seconds with both hands and
one leg tied behind my back. Withdraw your challenge and let him
live."

Torrian
sneered, "Trying to chicken out?"

"Trying to
save his life. At least let it be until one wins, not to the
death."

Torrian spat.
"To the death. He is a match for you."

"No, he isn't.
If I knock him unconscious, the fight's over."

"If you manage
to do that, he will be revived, and you will fight until one of you
is dead. But I assure you, it is you who will die today."

Sabre glared
at him. "I wish it was you who challenged me. I think I'd enjoy
killing you."

Torrian
snorted and turned to Tassin. "Choose the weapons, Queen Tassin, as
is your right."

She said, "I
choose unarmed combat."

Torrian's
champion looked a little disappointed, but shrugged and swaggered
into the circle. He bowed to Sabre, who returned it. As he
straightened, Sabre said, "Withdraw now and live."

The Oriental
smiled. "You don't scare me."

Sabre sighed.
If only he knew how scared he should be. It was no holds barred
this time, against one opponent. He decided to end it as quickly
and painlessly as possible.

Torrian
boomed, "Let the fight begin!"

The Oriental
dropped into a crouch, on the balls of his feet, arms out, hands
tense. His fighting style was out-dated, effective in its time, but
old. Sabre waited, arms at his sides, for his opponent to make the
first move. The Oriental did so confidently, leaping forward to aim
a straight-armed jab at Sabre's throat. He swayed out of the way,
not bothering to retaliate. The Oriental smiled, then spun and
leapt high, lashing out with a foot. Sabre avoided it easily, his
reflexes honed by years of painful training.

Torrian's
champion grinned, brimming with confidence, and made the fatal
mistake Sabre had been waiting for. He stepped closer, looking for
the best target to land his killing blow, since Sabre had made no
effort to defend himself. Sabre waited until he was about to
strike, his arm drawn back, his head within range. The cyber's fist
shot out and struck the man on the side of his head with a dull
crunch. The Oriental's lifeless body flew two metres and sprawled
on the stones, blood seeping from his shattered skull where Sabre's
fist had torn the skin.

The spectators
gaped at the corpse, and some turned away, clearly sickened. Sabre
rubbed a little blood and hair off his knuckles and walked over to
glare at the King with deep loathing.

"I hope you've
exhausted all your options now, because if you bother Queen Tassin
again, I'll kill you. Also, you can tell Grisson and Bardok not to
bother challenging, because any who do will face me. I offered to
save his life, but you don't care about that. Lives are cheap to
you. If you're planning to challenge again, you can search the
length and breadth of this world, but you won't find a man who can
beat me."

Sabre wanted
more than anything to rid the world of this monster. Torrian stood
his ground, grim-faced. A touch on Sabre's arm made him look around
to find Tassin at his side, her eyes on Torrian, filled with
contempt.

"You have
lost, Torrian. By law, you must withdraw your suit, and you have no
more business in my castle, or on my land. From this day forth you
are not welcome here and, should you set foot in Arlin again, you
will be evicted with maximum force. Having been so warned you have
no recourse for complaint should this come to pass. Now get
out."

Torrian's eyes
glittered. "Since you reject the suit of all the kings of this
land, you will marry no one. Victor will never wed you; I shall see
to it. You will die a lonely woman with no children to carry on
your line, and your father's blood will die with you. You will rue
this day for the rest of your life."

Torrian spun
on his heel and headed for the gate, where his soldiers waited with
horses. Sabre watched until they had clattered over the drawbridge
before turning to Tassin.

"Can he do
that?"

She nodded.
"Oh yes, he can, and he will. But I do not care. I know what I will
do. It will be a simple matter to make you a nobleman and give you
lands, then -"

"No."

"But -"

"I'm
leaving."

She grabbed
his hand. "No! You must stay! I can stop Manutim."

He looked
away, unable to meet her pleading eyes. "You can't. I wish you
could. I don't want you to see me taken. Spare me that, please. I'm
not..." He hesitated, frowning. "I'm a freak; a weapon; a cyborg.
You saw what I just did. That's all I'm good for. It's all I know,
and I hate it. I hate myself. Don't you understand? Forget me."

"No, you are
not! I will not let you go." Her voice was low and fierce. "I will
throw you in the dungeon if I must."

He smiled.
"You have your kingdom back, and your castle's safe from attack.
You don't need me anymore." He disengaged her hands, holding her
wrists. "Let me go."

"No! Please,
not yet, not now! Just stay a little longer."

He bowed his
head. "All right. Just to celebrate your victory."

"Thank
you."

Sabre swung
away as Tassin heaved a great sigh, her face radiant with joy, even
if it was only a temporary reprieve.