"FREE-30" - читать интересную книгу автора (Jerome Bigge - Warlady 9 - The Freedom Fighters Of Trelandar)Freedom Fighters of Trelandar A Tale of Adventure in the Second Dark Age Book Nine of the Warlady Series By Jerome B. Bigge Chapter Thirty "Leave us," Darlanis spoke in level tones to those about her as I stepped into the tent that had been provided for her use. I felt "numb", stunned by the events of this afternoon, the death of my sister at the sword blade of this woman sitting before me. It was still raining, the day "gray", chilly, "miserable" for any who had to be outside in it. A fitting day for what had occurred here in this place. It was growing dark now, the day at an end, our nation conquered. Now a part of the "Empire of California". The sun was "setting" upon us all, with Darlanis now our monarch. "You have won," I said, standing there, looking at her, the Empress who had "won", the woman who had killed my sister. I saw her "nod", her eyes, like beautiful blue jewels, gleaming into my own. "Not by force of arms, but by exploiting the caste codes." Once again it had been these stupid caste codes I so hated now... "`You' gave me no other choice," Darlanis answered me back, her eyes burning into mine as I nodded, understanding her words. I had beaten her, forced her to act as she had to save her cause. Her left arm in a sling to ease the cut muscles in her shoulder. "It's all over now," I spoke, thinking of the funeral that we would hold tomorrow. My sister had died as a Warrioress, with a sword in her hand, as she would have wanted it to be here too. I wondered if I could ever understand such people, their thinking in these matters. They were not "civilized" by my standards, but more like "throw backs" now to a time before the dawn of history. The very "ideals" of the caste based upon the ideas of a Lorraine Duval, who Janet Rogers had so worshiped. Cursing us with a so- cial order based upon the idiotic fantasies of a social misfit.* * This was the way that I felt about it at the time. (Sanda) "I am not `vindictive'," Darlanis answered, sitting there. "I will not serve you," I said, holding her eyes with mine. "Tara is `competent' at what she does," Darlanis answered. "There will doubtless be need for attorneys again," I spoke. I'd thought of going to Talon, placing myself at the "service" of Queen Dala Dai, who was "next" on Darlanis' list of "conquests" here, but I was sick of war, of killing, of the entire mess here. My tactics were well known, and others could take over my tasks. Someone would eventually defeat this golden haired "empress", I consoled myself here. Dularn perhaps, if Talon failed to do so. If not them, then the Nevadas or the Wyomings would finish this. "I suppose that there will be," Darlanis nodded back at me. "There is a Lorr Servitor, your Imperial majesty," the cap- tain of her Warrioresses interrupted here, sticking her head into the tent. Such women "served" the Lorr, much as slave girls here on Earth served their masters. "One whose name is Aurora," she now added. The Empress nodding, glancing up at me for a second. "I am finished here," Darlanis answered. "Send her in now." Aurora now entering the tent, a jade eyed blonde, her height, her slimness, her silvery attire, the "size" of her chest leaving no doubts as to what she was. Such women are human only in form... (the next day) "We honor a Queen who was, who stood for what was right, who honored the codes of her caste, who put the welfare of Trelandar `ahead' of her own," I spoke, reading from the prepared text I'd written here earlier. The body of my sister, in her regal at- tire, covered by a shroud, lying there on the bier before me now. Those before me standing there, the sun shining, the sky clear. Darlanis in her finery to one side, watching, now our Empress in reality. Our ruler, our Queen, our monarch, head of our govern- ment. Earlier this morning the nobles of Trelandar had formally announced their allegiance to the Queen of Sarn, thus ending the war that had taken place for the last nine months. A war that we had won but for Darlanis' exploitation of the caste codes here... The High Priestess of Trelandar stepping forward, raising her arms in a prayer to Lys that the Mistress of All would look upon Paula's soul with mercy, and grant her everlasting life with Her. My husband there at my side, my son Jerry standing there clasping my left hand in his right, aware that "aunt Paula" was no more... I took the torch from the Warrioress, the sunlight gleaming off her armor, her helmet with its crest, and lit the bier, the flames shooting up, hot, bright as the lamp oil burned. Such had been Paula's wishes, that her body now be burned after her death. The fire hot, making us step back from it as the smoke rose up into the cloudless sky above, marking the end of a Queen of Tre- landar. The end of a free nation now subject to another's rule. ***************************************************************** "Not `much' of a Christmas, is it?" I said to Carl as we watched Jerry unwrapping the presents I'd bought for him there in Thistle a couple days ago. I was "wealthy" so far as money went, having inherited as mine everything that had once belonged to my sister, and as the last of the Harles clan here now, I was still one of Trelandar's famous noble names. The manor I'd been born in was gone, burned, but we had moved into the house that Kather- ine had lived in before her death a week ago when word had come. That Trelandar was now a part of the Empire of California, that Darlanis had "won" despite our best efforts to stop her here. My former mother in law had walked into Thistle, plunged her dagger into an Imperial trooper's heart, and died from another's blade. She had left a note saying that she no longer wished to live in a Trelandar ruled by the "likes" of Darlanis, and that hopefully by the time of her next incarnation the country would be free again! "We're at least alive to enjoy it," my husband pointed out, perhaps thinking of so many others who had died during this war. Of Marta Satel, who had died there in the horrid jaws of a Garth. "The same attitude that slaves might have," I retorted now. "We're `better off' than nearly anyone I know," he answered. "Our `mistress' is `kind'," I replied, my voice unpleasant. "She is `beautiful'," Carl grinned, a comment I didn't like! "Maybe you'd like to lick between her legs then!" I snapped! The anger showing in my voice. I hated the woman, this Empress!! "Sanda!" Carl breathed, surprised no doubt at my anger here. It was the first time since our marriage that I'd snapped at him. Jerry looking up at us, aware of the change in my voice here now. His new puppy, a little "pug girl", Mischief, busy tearing up the paper that I had used here to wrap his Christmas presents in now. The puppy having been one of a litter that Paula had picked out. "I'm just not `myself'!" I answered, going to the window and looking out, the fire in the fireplace a comfort against the cold of this December 25th, the year 2550 as Man once measured time... The woman now riding up on her unicorn not even registering in my mind for a second before I realized that we were going to have a visitor here! Mischief stopping her paper tearing to stand alert there on the carpet, the three month old puppy showing her breed- ing. The Boston Terriers, despite their small size, being excel- lent watchdogs. Carl looking at me standing there, no doubt now aware that he'd said things to me that he never should have here. "I didn't mean to `upset' you, Sanda," Carl said to me then. I knew that, but just now it seemed everything touched a "nerve". That the slightest comment about Darlanis brought back memories. "Lady Lana is here," I said, going to the door, glad to see her, to see a friend after all that had happened in the last two weeks. True, she served the Imperials, but that didn't matter to me now. We were all Darlanis' subjects, from the lowest Peasant tilling his tiny clearing to the highest nobles in the land now. Mischief running across the carpet to stand at my feet, her cute little black and white pug face looking up into mine as I picked her up so that she would not run outside when I opened the door. Lady Lana's riding boots clumping on the porch as I drew it open. Her light woolen jacket, black stylish hat, veil, befitting here. "I just learned that you returned," Mrs. Daris smiled to me, her hazel eyes sparkling into mine as I forced a smile back then. "I'd wish you a `Merry Christmas', but I can understand how you must feel right now..." she continued, giving me a friendly hug. Petting Mischief on the head with a gentle caressing hand then. The Boston Terrier squirming so in my arms, eager to be put down. "It is `hard', especially for Sanda," Carl said to her now, Jerry standing there looking up at the black clad Imperial Lady. The sword at her hip reminding me of Darlanis' weapon laws here. Of the fact that we were "slaves", not "free men", only "slaves" being disarmed by law. Something that had been commented on by a number of people, it being held by most scholars that freedom and the right to keep and bear arms were two sides of the same coin. "I have my bow and my sword," I said, meeting Lana's eyes. "I will issue you a `permit' for them," Lana smiled back.* * There is a note here in my manuscript written many years ago by Lorraine which reads: "Definitely not a `dumb blonde'. Must have known more about the past here than I thought. Will have to ask her about this `Sullivan Law' next time that I see her." (Sanda) Freedom Fighters of Trelandar A Tale of Adventure in the Second Dark Age Book Nine of the Warlady Series By Jerome B. Bigge Chapter Thirty "Leave us," Darlanis spoke in level tones to those about her as I stepped into the tent that had been provided for her use. I felt "numb", stunned by the events of this afternoon, the death of my sister at the sword blade of this woman sitting before me. It was still raining, the day "gray", chilly, "miserable" for any who had to be outside in it. A fitting day for what had occurred here in this place. It was growing dark now, the day at an end, our nation conquered. Now a part of the "Empire of California". The sun was "setting" upon us all, with Darlanis now our monarch. "You have won," I said, standing there, looking at her, the Empress who had "won", the woman who had killed my sister. I saw her "nod", her eyes, like beautiful blue jewels, gleaming into my own. "Not by force of arms, but by exploiting the caste codes." Once again it had been these stupid caste codes I so hated now... "`You' gave me no other choice," Darlanis answered me back, her eyes burning into mine as I nodded, understanding her words. I had beaten her, forced her to act as she had to save her cause. Her left arm in a sling to ease the cut muscles in her shoulder. "It's all over now," I spoke, thinking of the funeral that we would hold tomorrow. My sister had died as a Warrioress, with a sword in her hand, as she would have wanted it to be here too. I wondered if I could ever understand such people, their thinking in these matters. They were not "civilized" by my standards, but more like "throw backs" now to a time before the dawn of history. The very "ideals" of the caste based upon the ideas of a Lorraine Duval, who Janet Rogers had so worshiped. Cursing us with a so- cial order based upon the idiotic fantasies of a social misfit.* * This was the way that I felt about it at the time. (Sanda) "I am not `vindictive'," Darlanis answered, sitting there. "I will not serve you," I said, holding her eyes with mine. "Tara is `competent' at what she does," Darlanis answered. "There will doubtless be need for attorneys again," I spoke. I'd thought of going to Talon, placing myself at the "service" of Queen Dala Dai, who was "next" on Darlanis' list of "conquests" here, but I was sick of war, of killing, of the entire mess here. My tactics were well known, and others could take over my tasks. Someone would eventually defeat this golden haired "empress", I consoled myself here. Dularn perhaps, if Talon failed to do so. If not them, then the Nevadas or the Wyomings would finish this. "I suppose that there will be," Darlanis nodded back at me. "There is a Lorr Servitor, your Imperial majesty," the cap- tain of her Warrioresses interrupted here, sticking her head into the tent. Such women "served" the Lorr, much as slave girls here on Earth served their masters. "One whose name is Aurora," she now added. The Empress nodding, glancing up at me for a second. "I am finished here," Darlanis answered. "Send her in now." Aurora now entering the tent, a jade eyed blonde, her height, her slimness, her silvery attire, the "size" of her chest leaving no doubts as to what she was. Such women are human only in form... (the next day) "We honor a Queen who was, who stood for what was right, who honored the codes of her caste, who put the welfare of Trelandar `ahead' of her own," I spoke, reading from the prepared text I'd written here earlier. The body of my sister, in her regal at- tire, covered by a shroud, lying there on the bier before me now. Those before me standing there, the sun shining, the sky clear. Darlanis in her finery to one side, watching, now our Empress in reality. Our ruler, our Queen, our monarch, head of our govern- ment. Earlier this morning the nobles of Trelandar had formally announced their allegiance to the Queen of Sarn, thus ending the war that had taken place for the last nine months. A war that we had won but for Darlanis' exploitation of the caste codes here... The High Priestess of Trelandar stepping forward, raising her arms in a prayer to Lys that the Mistress of All would look upon Paula's soul with mercy, and grant her everlasting life with Her. My husband there at my side, my son Jerry standing there clasping my left hand in his right, aware that "aunt Paula" was no more... I took the torch from the Warrioress, the sunlight gleaming off her armor, her helmet with its crest, and lit the bier, the flames shooting up, hot, bright as the lamp oil burned. Such had been Paula's wishes, that her body now be burned after her death. The fire hot, making us step back from it as the smoke rose up into the cloudless sky above, marking the end of a Queen of Tre- landar. The end of a free nation now subject to another's rule. ***************************************************************** "Not `much' of a Christmas, is it?" I said to Carl as we watched Jerry unwrapping the presents I'd bought for him there in Thistle a couple days ago. I was "wealthy" so far as money went, having inherited as mine everything that had once belonged to my sister, and as the last of the Harles clan here now, I was still one of Trelandar's famous noble names. The manor I'd been born in was gone, burned, but we had moved into the house that Kather- ine had lived in before her death a week ago when word had come. That Trelandar was now a part of the Empire of California, that Darlanis had "won" despite our best efforts to stop her here. My former mother in law had walked into Thistle, plunged her dagger into an Imperial trooper's heart, and died from another's blade. She had left a note saying that she no longer wished to live in a Trelandar ruled by the "likes" of Darlanis, and that hopefully by the time of her next incarnation the country would be free again! "We're at least alive to enjoy it," my husband pointed out, perhaps thinking of so many others who had died during this war. Of Marta Satel, who had died there in the horrid jaws of a Garth. "The same attitude that slaves might have," I retorted now. "We're `better off' than nearly anyone I know," he answered. "Our `mistress' is `kind'," I replied, my voice unpleasant. "She is `beautiful'," Carl grinned, a comment I didn't like! "Maybe you'd like to lick between her legs then!" I snapped! The anger showing in my voice. I hated the woman, this Empress!! "Sanda!" Carl breathed, surprised no doubt at my anger here. It was the first time since our marriage that I'd snapped at him. Jerry looking up at us, aware of the change in my voice here now. His new puppy, a little "pug girl", Mischief, busy tearing up the paper that I had used here to wrap his Christmas presents in now. The puppy having been one of a litter that Paula had picked out. "I'm just not `myself'!" I answered, going to the window and looking out, the fire in the fireplace a comfort against the cold of this December 25th, the year 2550 as Man once measured time... The woman now riding up on her unicorn not even registering in my mind for a second before I realized that we were going to have a visitor here! Mischief stopping her paper tearing to stand alert there on the carpet, the three month old puppy showing her breed- ing. The Boston Terriers, despite their small size, being excel- lent watchdogs. Carl looking at me standing there, no doubt now aware that he'd said things to me that he never should have here. "I didn't mean to `upset' you, Sanda," Carl said to me then. I knew that, but just now it seemed everything touched a "nerve". That the slightest comment about Darlanis brought back memories. "Lady Lana is here," I said, going to the door, glad to see her, to see a friend after all that had happened in the last two weeks. True, she served the Imperials, but that didn't matter to me now. We were all Darlanis' subjects, from the lowest Peasant tilling his tiny clearing to the highest nobles in the land now. Mischief running across the carpet to stand at my feet, her cute little black and white pug face looking up into mine as I picked her up so that she would not run outside when I opened the door. Lady Lana's riding boots clumping on the porch as I drew it open. Her light woolen jacket, black stylish hat, veil, befitting here. "I just learned that you returned," Mrs. Daris smiled to me, her hazel eyes sparkling into mine as I forced a smile back then. "I'd wish you a `Merry Christmas', but I can understand how you must feel right now..." she continued, giving me a friendly hug. Petting Mischief on the head with a gentle caressing hand then. The Boston Terrier squirming so in my arms, eager to be put down. "It is `hard', especially for Sanda," Carl said to her now, Jerry standing there looking up at the black clad Imperial Lady. The sword at her hip reminding me of Darlanis' weapon laws here. Of the fact that we were "slaves", not "free men", only "slaves" being disarmed by law. Something that had been commented on by a number of people, it being held by most scholars that freedom and the right to keep and bear arms were two sides of the same coin. "I have my bow and my sword," I said, meeting Lana's eyes. "I will issue you a `permit' for them," Lana smiled back.* * There is a note here in my manuscript written many years ago by Lorraine which reads: "Definitely not a `dumb blonde'. Must have known more about the past here than I thought. Will have to ask her about this `Sullivan Law' next time that I see her." (Sanda) |
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