The Rebel of Valkyr Returned



  The Rebel of Valkyr Returned

  by Alfreda Coppel

  Copyright 2010 Alfreda Coppel

  . . . From the Dark Ages of Space emerged the Second Empire ... ruled by a child, a usurper and a fool. The Great Throne of Imperial Earth commanded a thousand vassal worlds—bleak, starved worlds that sullenly whispered of galactic revolt . .

  At last, like eagles at a distant eyrie, the Star-queens gathered ... not to whisper, but to strike!

  *****

  Out of the dark ages of the Interregnum emerged the Second Empire. Once again in the space of a millennium, the banner of Imperial Earth waved above the decimated lands of the inhabited worlds. Four generations of conquerors, heirs to the greatness of the Thousand Empresses, had recreated the Galactic Empire, by force of arms. But technology, the Great Destroyer, was feared and forbidden. Only witches, warlocks and sorcerers remembered the old knowledge, and the mobs, tortured by the racial memories of the awful destruction of the Civil Wars, stoned these seekers and burned them in the squares of towns built amid the rubble of the old wars. The ancient, mighty spaceships—indestructible, eternal carried women and horses, fire and sword across the Galaxy at the bidding of the warlords. The Second Empire—four generations out of isolated savagery—feudal, grim; a culture held together by bonds forged of blood and iron and the loyalty of the warrior star-queens ...

  Quintus Bland,

  ESSAYS ON GALACTIC HISTORY

  I

  Kiera, Warlord of Valkyr, paced the polished floor angrily. The flickering lights of the vast mirrored chamber glinted from the jewels in her ceremonial harness and shimmered down the length of her silver cape. For a moment, the star-queen paused before the tall double doors of beaten bronze, her strong hands toying with the hilt of her sword. The towering Janizaries of the Palace Guard stood immobile on either side of the arching doorway, their great axes resting on the flagstones. It was as though the dark thoughts that coursed through Kiera's mind were—to them—unthinkable. The huge warriors from the heavy planets of the Pleiades were stolid, loyal, unimaginative. And even a star-queen did not dream of assaulting the closed portals of the Emperor's chambers.

  Kiera's fingers opened and closed spasmodically over the gem-crusted pommel of her weapon; her dark eyes glittered with unspent fury. Muttering an oath, she turned away from the silent door and resumed her pacing. Her companion, a brawny woman in the plain battle harness of Valkyr, watched her quietly from under bushy yellow brows. She stood with her great arms folded over the plaits of grizzled yellow hair that hung to her waist, her deeply-lined face framed by the loosened lacings of a winged helmet. A huge sword hugged her naked thigh; a massive blade with worn and sweat-stained hilt.

  The lord of Valkyr paused in her angry pacing to glare at her aide. 'By the Great Destroyer, Nevitta! How long are we to stand this?'

  'Patience, Kiera, patience.' The old warrior spoke with the assurance of life-long familiarity. 'They try us sorely, but we have waited three weeks. A little longer can do no harm.'

  'Three weeks!' Kieran scowled at Nevitta. 'Will they drive us into rebellion? Is that their intention? I swear I would not have taken this from Gilmera herself!'

  'The great Empress would never have dealt with us so. The fighting women of Valkyr were ever closest to her heart, Kieran. This is a way of doing that smacks of a man's hand.' She spat on the polished floor. 'May the Seven Hells claim him!'

  Kiera grunted shortly and turned again toward the silent door. Ivane! Ivane the Fair ... Ivane the schemer. What devil's brew was he mixing now? Intrigue had always been his weapon—and now that Gilmera was gone and he stood by the Great Throne ...

  Kiera cursed his roundly under her breath. Nevitta spoke the truth. There was Ivane's hand in this, as surely as the stars made Galaxies!

  Three weeks wasted. Long weeks. Twenty-one full days since their ships had touched the Imperial City. Days of fighting through the swarms of dilettantes and favor-seekers that thronged the Imperial Palace. There had been times when Kiera had wanted to cut a path through the fawning dandies with her sword!

  Gilmera of Kaidor lay dead a full year and still the new Court was a madhouse of simpering sycophants. Petitions were being granted by the score as the favorites collected their long-delayed largess from the girl-Emperor Torana. And Kiera knew well enough that whatever favors were granted came through the ambitious hands of the Consort Ivane. He might not be allowed to wear the crown of an Emperor without the blood of the Thousand Empresses in his veins, but by now no one at Court denied that he was the fountain-head of Imperial favor. Yet that wasn't really enough for him, Kiera knew. Ivane dreamed of better things. And because of all this hidden by-play, the old favorites of the warrior Gilmera were snubbed and refused audience. A new inner circle was building, and Kiera of Valkyr was not—it was plain to see—to be included. She was prevented even from presenting her just complaints to the Empress Torana.

  Other matters, she was told again and again, occupied Her Imperial Majesty's attention. Other matters! Kiera could feel the anger hot and throbbing in her veins. What other matters could there be of more importance to a sovereign than the loyalty of her finest fighting women? Or if Torana was a fool as the courtiers privately claimed, then surely Ivane had more intelligence than to keep a Warlord of the Outer Marches cooling her heels in antechambers for three weeks! The Sir Ivane, himself so proud, should know how near to rebellion were the warrior peoples of the Periphery.

  Under such deliberate provocations it was difficult to loyally ignore the invitation of Freka of Kalgan to meet with the other star-queens in grievance council. Rebellion was not alluring to one like Kiera who had spent her boyhood fighting beside Gilmera, but there was a limit to human endurance, and she was fast reaching it.

  'Nevitta,' Kiera spoke abruptly. 'Were you able to, find out anything concerning the Sir Alyn?'

  The grizzled warrior shook her head. 'Nothing but the common talk. It is said that he has secluded himself, still mourning for Gilmera. You know, Kiera, how the little prince loved his mother.'

  The lord of Valkyr frowned thoughtfully. Yes, it was true enough that Alyn had loved Gilmera. She could remember his at the great Emperor's side after the battle of Kaidor. Even the conquered interregnal lords of that world had claimed that Gilmera would have surrendered the planet if they had been able to capture her son. The bond between mother and son had been a close one. Possibly Alyn had secluded himself to carry on with his mourning—but Kiera doubted it. That would not have been Gilmera's way, nor her son's.

  'Things would be different here,' said Nevitta with feeling, 'if the little prince ruled instead of Torana.'

  Very different, thought Kiera. The foolish Torana bid fair to lose what four generations of loyal fighters had built up out of the rubble of the dark ages. Alyn, the warrior prince, would add to the glory of the Imperium, not detract from it. But perhaps she was prejudiced in his favor, reflected Kieran. It was hard not to be.

  She recalled his laughing eyes and his courage. A slim child, direct in manner and bearing. Embarrassing her before her roaring Valkyrs with his forthright protestations of love. The armies had worshipped him. A lovely child----with pride of race written into his patrician face. But compassionate, too. Gravely comforting the dying and the wounded with a touch or a word.

  Eight yeas had passed since bloody Kaidor. The child of twelve would be a man now. And, thought Kiera anxiously, a threat to the ascendant power of the Consort Ivane . . .

  The tall bronze doors swung open suddenly, and Kiera turned. But I was not the Empress who stood there framed in the archway, nor even the Consort. It was the gem-bedecked figure of Landora, the First Lady of Space.

  Kiera snored
derisively. First Lady! The shades of the mighty fighter: who had carried that title through a thousand of Imperial Earth's battles must have been sickened by young Torana's ... or Ivane's ... choice of the mincing courtier who now stood before her.

  The more cynical courtiers said that Landora had won her honors in Ivane's bed, and Kiera could well believe it. Out in the vast emptinesses of the Edge women lived by different standards. Out there a man was a woman—a thing to be loved or beaten, cherished or enjoyed and cast off—but not a touchstone to wealth and power. Kiera had loathed Landora on sight, and there was no reason enough to believe that the First Lady reciprocated most completely. It vas not wise for anyone, even a Warlord, to openly scorn the Consort's favorites—but restraint was not one of the lord of Valkyr's virtues, though even Nevitta warned her to take care, Assassination was a fine art in the Imperial City, and one amply subsidized by the First Lady of Space.

  'Well, Landora?' Kiera demanded, disdaining to use Landora's title.

  Landora's smoothly -handsome features showed no expression. The pale eyes veiled like a serpent's.

  'I regret,' the First Lady of Space said easily, 'that Her Imperial Majesty had retired for the night, Valkyr. Under the circumstances . . .' She spread her