The Cyber Chronicles - Book I: Queen of Arlin by T C Southwell Page A

and
banged her knee. Torrian's bellow echoed through the fortress,
calling for more men. A guard blocked her way, but stepped aside
when she charged him. No soldier dared to lay hands upon the
Queen's person, especially her uncle's men, who were practically
her own. Bursting into the courtyard, she spotted some grooms
loitering by the stables.
    "Bring my
horses, now!"
    The men ran to
obey, and a group of red-liveried soldiers who idled there looked
up. A twenty-man honour guard was all Torrian had brought into the
castle, but they were far more of a threat to her than her uncle's
soldiers. They started towards her, and Tassin glanced around. To
try to run was hopeless, even if the long skirts did not hamper
her. Spying a wood pile nearby, she ran to it and snatched up a
sturdy faggot, brandishing it. The men hesitated, but then Torrian
came out of the castle.
    "Hold her! Do
not let her leave!"
    Niam's soldiers
watched, grim-faced, as ten of Torrian's men surrounded her. They
would have to be careful; if they hurt her, Niam's soldiers could
retaliate, for they hung on a knife edge of loyalties. Tassin swung
the branch, making a soldier jump back, but another grabbed it and
wrenched it from her, as two more gripped her arms. Tassin yelled
and struggled, and several of Niam's soldiers started towards her,
then stopped. Her uncle stood in the doorway, his hand raised.
    "Traitor!" she
shouted. "Your brother is cursing you from his grave! You hand me
over to a rapist! A woman beater! A -"
    "Silence!"
Torrian's roar drowned her out, and Niam hung his head, his face
pale and haggard. His men shuffled their feet, but would not go
against the Duke's orders. Tassin kicked at her captors, hit one in
the shin and made him hop and curse.
    "Stop that, you
little wild cat." Torrian loomed over her, his eyes hard. "I am
going to have fun taming you." He grinned, revealing large yellow
teeth. "You will enjoy being My Queen, never fear."
    Tassin glared
at him, her heart thudding. "I will take a knife to you one dark
night, you bastard!"
    Torrian
laughed. "No you will not, my beauty. We will have a great
marriage, though."
    Tassin spat at
him, and his face reddened, then he raised a beefy hand and slapped
her. Pain exploded in her head, and she sagged in the soldiers'
grip, tasting blood. Niam started forward, protesting, and his men
gripped their weapons. Torrian waved him away.
    "See what you
condemn me to, Niam!" Tassin yelled. "I hope you can live with
yourself! You could have helped me!"
    Torrian
gestured to his men, wiping his cheek. "Get her out of here."
    Tassin glanced
around, desperate for a way out of this predicament. The grooms had
returned with the saddled warhorses and Falcon on a lead rein, and
stared at her. If she could reach the horses, she might have a
chance to escape. Perhaps there was one man who could, and would,
help her, insufferable though he was.
    "Sabre!" she
shrieked, looking around as the soldiers dragged her towards the
gate. "Sabre!"
    A man emerged
from the billets, the crystals on his brow sparkling.
    "Help me,
Sabre, damn you!" Tassin shouted.
    As the cyber
broke into a lope towards her, Torrian's soldiers moved to
intercept him. He raised an arm, and blue fire spat from his wrist,
slicing through the armour and flesh of four of them as if it was
butter. They collapsed with soft cries, and her captors turned to
gape at their dead comrades. The others backed away, their swords
brandished before them. Torrian stepped in front of Tassin, drawing
his double-handed broad sword.
    Sabre stopped,
dwarfed by Torrian's great height and bulk. He raised his arm
again, but the beam of light that struck the King was weak, only
making him step back as a glowing spot appeared on his armour.
Sabre reached for a tube on his harness, something Tassin did not
recall him doing the last time he had used the blue fire. It had
seemed inexhaustible before, but apparently it was not. Torrian
roared and charged, his sword held high. The