The Cyber Chronicles - Book I: Queen of Arlin (33 page)

"Sire." Gearn
bowed. "I have no other solution to offer. Perhaps you should send
more soldiers after her."

Torrian
snorted. "We all know soldiers cannot defeat that man. He is a
mage!" The king leant forward, his eyes narrowing. "No, you will go
after them, Gearn. You will defeat him, as you say you can, and
bring the Queen back."

"Sire, I am
honoured that you have such faith in me, but... what if I
cannot?"

"Then you will
pay for your failure, I suspect, with your life. You are a great
wizard, Gearn, the best in all the kingdoms, am I right? Certainly
that is what you have always boasted, so perhaps now is the time to
prove it. This may be the challenge for which you have been
waiting. I want that girl brought back here, and I have ordered you
to perform this task. I do not care how you do it, is that
understood?"

"Yes, Your
Majesty." Gearn bowed low, his cadaverous face pale. The rest of
the advisors had slumped with relief when Torrian had focused his
anger on Gearn, and some of them shot the mage smug looks. They had
long resented his high status and privileged position with the
king, earned with the unsavoury arts of magic, most of which they
thought were trickery. Gearn had not helped matters by being
arrogant and rude, which meant that he had no friends amongst the
advisors. Torrian dismissed them, and they filed out after Gearn,
who stalked from the room with an air of proud determination.
Torrian pulled a leg from a roasted fowl and gnawed it, ignoring
the whining dogs that watched him with hungry eyes.

Gearn hurried
along the cold corridor that led to his chamber in one of the
castle's many towers. The heavy wooden door creaked when he pushed
it open, its hinges rusted from lack of oil. The servants never
came to his tower, and consequently it suffered from neglect. Dust
covered the floors and shelves, cobwebs festooned every corner and
beam. Piles of unidentifiable paraphernalia cluttered the dirty
floor, and a long table groaned under mounds of herbs and strange
rocks, flasks and pots.

Skulls grinned
in the shadows, and dusty cobwebs festooned the sconces like dirty
rags. Guttering torches filled the room with smoky light, and a
fire blazed in the grate, sustained by a magical log that would
burn forever. The room reeked of enough magic to offend the nose of
the most uneducated peasant, and few dared to enter Gearn's lair.
Several wards ensured that any who did would regret it,
particularly if they were fellow magicians.

Gearn stood
before the table, deep in thought. He caressed the pots of potion
that had transferred the souls of the old soldiers into wolves,
remembering the magic he had used to achieve it. That had been a
mighty spell, more powerful than any magician had cast since the
great, long dead Rimlon. He would overcome this young upstart mage
who protected the Queen, and if he could catch up with them before
they entered the Death Zone, so much the better. The thought of
braving that dreaded place did not please him, for the Death Zone's
magic was powerful and evil.

Gearn's gaze
fell upon the wolf that lay in a dusty shadow, his muzzle on his
paws, his yellow eyes watching the mage. "You will come too, Miate,
your task is not yet complete."

The wolf
whined, raising his head.

"Yes, you long
to redeem yourself in the eyes of the king, do you not?"

The wolf
lowered his muzzle back onto his paws, his eyes eager.

"Go and bring
Hispor."

The wolf rose
and padded out, a flitting grey shadow. Gearn turned back to his
potions, rubbing his chin as he pondered the problem. "I need
something better than a wolf, something stronger," he muttered.
"That man is not only a mage, but a warrior too. A warrior mage, a
magic warrior... That's it!" He snapped his fingers. "A great
warrior, with me to protect him with magic and make him
stronger."

Gearn went over
to a bookshelf and ran his finger along the row of ancient tomes,
selecting one and taking it down. Clearing an area on the table, he
opened the book and leafed through it. He glanced up as his
apprentice came in, a black-haired youth with dark eyes and a lean,
expressionless face. The wolf slunk in behind him, returning to his
shadow beside a pile of skulls.

Gearn
contemplated the boy. "Hispor, I have been assigned a great task. I
must cross the cursed lands and bring back Queen Tassin. The king
has entrusted this most important work to me, for he knows I will
not fail him. I shall find the Queen and defeat the warrior mage
who guards her, and the king will shower me with praise and riches.
In this endeavour, you will play an important part."

Hispor gazed at
his mentor, his eyes reflecting the fire's flames. He seldom spoke,
and sometimes unnerved Gearn with his cold black stares. Gearn
turned away, holding out his hands to the fire. He always found it
necessary to assure Hispor of his importance, and treated him with
far greater kindness and courtesy than anyone else, purely because
he entrusted the boy with important tasks that he could not afford
to have sabotaged or bungled.

"You will find
me a warrior, Hispor. A gladiator, whatever it takes. I want a big
man, very strong, a fighter. The king tells me this warrior mage is
a small man, so we will find one who can beat him, aided by my
magic."

Hispor nodded.
"A good plan, master."

Gearn glared at
him. "Of course it is, now go. There is no time to waste. Find me a
fighting man, the biggest you can get. Promise him riches, women,
everlasting life, whatever it takes. They are usually stupid and
greedy. You know what to do."

Hispor bowed
and vanished through the door as Gearn turned back to his
workbench. He cleared a space with a sweep of his arm, consigning
numerous bottles and pots to the pile on the floor, then began to
assemble a new set of potions while the wolf in the shadows
watched.

Chapter Eighteen

Sabre gazed at
the distant city, wishing he could explore it. There might be water
in it, but it would be radioactive, like the city itself. It could
not harm him, but Tassin's presence forced him to detour around it.
Two nights ago, they had left the well and headed across the desert
once more. Now they passed the ruins of a great city destroyed by
the bombs, its crumbling walls rising like jagged teeth from the
sea of sand that lapped at their feet. The city was the reason that
such a vast area had been irradiated. It had been the focal point
of the war, and its destruction had ended the holocaust.

When Tassin
asked him about it, he explained the ancient war that had created
the badlands and the Death Zone. Now and then they encountered
ruins half buried in the sand, but they were radioactive and had to
be avoided, to Tassin's chagrin. Sabre surmised that there had once
been a river running through the centre of the badlands, and the
city had been built on its banks. Huge residential areas must have
surrounded it, but these had been bombed out of existence, leaving
behind the scattered ruins they passed.

Four nights
after leaving the well, the horses were too weak to be ridden, and
they were forced lead the stumbling animals. Tassin complained
about the added hardship, but Sabre ignored her. He had noticed
that the water supply was dwindling far too rapidly, and knew she
was helping herself to it while he slept. This annoyed him, but
instead of rebuking her and starting a row, he used the last two
water skins as a pillow.

The next day,
he was woken by her tugging a skin from under him, and cursed the
fact that the cyber's flashing red warning light had not roused him
from his exhausted slumber sooner. He grabbed the skin and wrenched
it away from her, and she glared at him.

"I am thirsty,
Sabre!"

"So am I. So
are the horses. There's not enough for any of us, and I have no
idea how long it will be before we find more. If you drink it all
now, you could die before we find any."

"We might never
find any!"

He sighed.
"There you go with that fatalistic crap again. It has to last as
long as possible, to give us the best chance of finding more,
okay?"

"No! I want
some now!"

"Tough
shit."

"How dare you
speak to me like that?" she fumed. "You got us into this mess, now
you expect me to suffer because of your stupidity! This is all your
fault, so you should go without, not me."

"I'm already
going without," he informed her.

"Then it is all
mine, and I may drink it when I please."

Sabre frowned,
his concern for her welfare decreasing with every barbed remark she
made. Deciding that she would argue until she got what she wanted,
no matter what he said, he tossed the water skin to her.

"Just a
little," he warned.

Tassin shot him
a triumphant smile and lifted it to her lips, the gurgling sound
making his mouth burn. The horses nickered and shuffled closer, and
Sabre sympathised. The only thing worse than being thirsty was
being forced to watch someone else drink.

The food had
run out, and he considered slaughtering one of the horses, for it
would provide moisture as well as food, if eaten raw. The animals
had protruding ribs and shrunken bellies, their eyes sunken with
dehydration.

When he rose at
dusk, he found that the bay had died in its sleep, sparing him the
onerous task of killing the hapless animal. Sabre butchered it and
ate the liver, kidneys and heart, but Tassin refused to eat any of
it, grimacing in disgust. The chestnut whinnied for its friend, a
lost and lonely sound. Sabre cut thin strips of meat from the
horse's haunches and packed them away to be laid out to dry in the
sun the next day. While he chewed on the raw liver, he considered
their predicament again.

After ten days,
they must have covered over nine hundred kilometres, yet still no
end was in sight. They had passed the ruined city on the eighth
night, and, if it was at the centre of the badlands, they should
only have another six days to go. There was only enough water for
two more days, however.

That night,
they continued to trudge across the desert, leading the shambling
chestnut. Close to dawn, Sabre stopped, and Tassin stumbled into
him. The cyber's scanner information showed a band of radiation
that stretched across the desert in front of them, blocking the
way. Tassin lay down and fell into an exhausted sleep, not
bothering to ask why they had stopped. Sabre left the horse beside
her and approached the radiation belt to see how thick it was. The
scanners found it to be over a kilometre wide, and there was no way
to tell if it was moving. He returned to the Queen and set up the
tents, then lay down to sleep through the heat of the day.

Waking at dusk,
Sabre caught Tassin helping herself to the water and snatched it
from her. "Don't be bloody stupid! You've got to make it last."

She glared at
him. "We are going to die anyway, why suffer more than
necessary?"

"We're not
going to die." He put the skin away. "Another four or five days and
we'll be out of it."

"You think.
Maybe we will just find the sea."

Sabre's throat
was too dry to argue, so he rose and collected what little
equipment they had left. The cyber told him that the radiation had
dispersed or moved away during the day, and he frowned, studying
the information again. A mauve dot pulsed at the limit of the
scanners' range, directly in their path, and the colour indicated
an unidentified life form. He had not expected to encounter any
life so far out in the badlands.

Sabre persuaded
Tassin to start walking and headed towards it, hoping it was
something he could kill for food. The life form remained
stationary, and, as they drew closer, he slowed. Even with infrared
vision the desert ahead seemed empty, although they were within two
hundred metres of the life form now. He stopped and turned to the
Queen.

"There's
something out there. You stay here, I'm going to look."

Tassin opened
her mouth, but he strode away before she had a chance to say
anything.

Sabre
approached the life form warily. The brilliance of the mauve dot
indicated that the creature was large, but the desert ahead
remained empty. Unless the scanners were malfunctioning, which he
doubted, the creature must be underground. He studied the sand
before him, wondering if he would have to dig it up, and if so,
whether it was worth the effort. He was tempted to detour around
the spot, for the only weapons he possessed were the knife from the
packs and Tassin's sword. The possibility that it could provide
food for them was too tempting, however. He crept nearer, then
swung around at the sound of footsteps to find Tassin approaching,
looking annoyed.

"What are you
sneaking up on? There is nothing here. You must be going mad,
Sabre."

"I'm not - go
back to the horse, now!"

She folded her
arms and glared at him. "Not until you tell me what you are doing,
creeping around in the middle of an obviously empty desert as if
you were stalking some sort of animal."

"There's
something here, under the sand..."

A red warning
light flashed in his brain as a grating sound came from behind him.
Tassin's gaze focused on something beyond him, and her eyes
widened. Sabre whipped around as she turned and ran.

A huge,
buff-coloured creature rose from the ground, sand running like
water from its scaly hide. Massive clawed feet heaved a sinuous
body from its hiding place, and it shook the sand from its head,
opening eyes and ears. Long blades of horn framed a narrow,
fierce-eyed head crowned by a cluster of curving horns. It reared
up with a sibilant hiss, its beak-like jaws opening to reveal a
blue tongue covered with backward-curving spikes.