"We could, but we couldn't win," Maigrey said. "The swords are draining our bodies' energy and we're probably going to need what we have left when we reach His Majesty. I have an idea. Follow me."
She switched off the bloodsword, though she continued to hold it in her hand, and marched coolly out into the hallway, into the open, in plain view of Sagan's troops. Danha, Stavros, and her brother dashed swiftly after, her plan communicating itself to them through the linkage of the swords.
The centurions appeared slightly startled at the sight of the four Guardians, weapons in hand, blue robes stained black with blood, walking calmly down the hallway. A captain stepped forward, eyes narrowed in suspicion.
"Citizen Maigrey Morianna," Maigrey stated crisply, thanking the Creator she'd remembered at the last moment to change her title, "member of the Golden Squadron. I'm sure you recognize me?"
That was taking a lot for granted, considering how she looked on the vidscreen and what she looked like now. But somewhere beneath the blood and soot and ashes the captain must have seen the woman known to be number two in command of the famed squadron. He saluted, fist over his heart. Maigrey returned the salute, somewhat awkwardly, thinking bitterly to herself that it was like Sagan to have usurped Caesar's homage.
"Commander S-Sagan"—she found it difficult to speak his name, angrily forced herself to repeat it clearly—"Commander Sagan has ordered us to place under arrest Augustus Starfire, formerly known as crown prince. I assume that the elevators have been secured and are safe to use?"
"Yes, citizen." The captain spoke with respect, but he made no move to stand aside. He was looking at their gore-spattered clothing.
"The Guardians in the hall resisted arrest," Danha growled, glowering at the man. "Haven't you heard?"
"We did hear a rumor to that effect," the captain answered. His last doubts appeared to have been erased. He saluted once again and pointed to one of the elevators. "Take that one, citizens."
Maigrey, forcing herself to move slowly and calmly, stepped into the ornate gilded and mirrored lift. Danha, Stavros, and Platus crowded in after her. The captain held the doors open a moment.
"We heard someone killed the king. Is that true? Is the old man dead?"
Maigrey felt Danha, standing beside her, stiffen. She dug her fingernails into his arm. "Yes, the king is dead. Mores the pity. We hoped he would stand trial before the people. That's why we are being sent to ensure the safety of the crown prince."
"Good luck," the captain said, releasing the doors. "Though I think you'll find someone's beat you to it."
The doors slid shut. Maigrey gave the lift the floor number—a floor beneath the one on which the private rooms of the royal family were located. The elevator soared upward on jets of air. The four stared at each other in grim silence, tense, alert.
"I wonder what he meant by that?" Stavros asked.
"It doesn't matter," Danha said. "We do the same up there we did down below. That was a brilliant idea, Maigrey, and it will work again. We'll just walk in and, in the name of Derek Sagan, carry our king to safety!"
Maigrey leaned back against the cold glass walls. She didn't feel brilliant. She felt cold and hollow. And it hadn't been brilliance or courage that sent her marching down that hallway under the guns of twenty of the enemy. It had been panic, desperation. Augustus, with his silly giggle, Semele, her baby ... if it had been born. They were suddenly all Maigrey had, all she was living for.
The elevator slowed. The doors opened. The four pressed back against the walls, weapons ready. The hallway was dark and empty, deserted. Breathing easier, they slipped out.
On this floor were guest rooms, reserved for visiting dignitaries, ambassadors, members of the Blood Royal, most of whom were down below, trapped in the hall. Sagan's guards on the elevators were keeping the looters out—at least until the looters discovered the stairs and decided that whatever wealth was at the top was worth a climb of thirty flights.
"There are passages that lead from this floor to the ones above, aren't there?" Maigrey asked her brother in hushed tones.
"Yes. To almost every room."
Near the same age as Augustus, Platus had spent school holidays in the palace, since he wasn't wanted at home. The two boys had found the secret passages to be great fun and had played in them extensively until complaints from numerous startled and not terribly amused guests had brought the games to a halt. He knew the passages better than any of them. "Where do you want to go?"
Maigrey thought. "Somewhere near the entrance to the royal chambers. We'll have to deal with any guards posted there, and well stand a better chance if we can take them by surprise."
"I know of one passage—it's in the Red Chamber, and it comes out in the alcove where that marble statue of the king stands. You know, the one where he's dressed in costume for the royal hunt?"
Yes. Maigrey remembered. That would be perfect. The life-sized marble statue stood on a broad base complete with boar hound. It was huge and would provide cover; about time the silly-looking thing served some useful purpose.
They advanced swiftly but cautiously—two moving, two covering. A blow of Danha's large hand split the door to the Red Chamber. They hastened through the sumptuously furnished rooms, following Platus's lead, and came to a huge walk-in closet. Maigrey shoved aside silken gowns belonging to whoever was currently occupying the rooms—gowns that probably would never be worn again unless it was by the girlfriend of some looter—and found a blank cedar-paneled wall.
Platus studied the panels for only a second, confidently placed his thumb and the little finger of his right hand on two knots in the wood. The wall slid aside, revealing a narrow, winding staircase lit at intervals by electric torches in medieval-style sconces.
Maigrey started to gather up the blue skirts of her robe to climb the stairs. Thinking better of it, she swiftly trimmed the hem of the gown with the bloodsword. The fabric, she noticed, was wet with blood. She paid no attention to it, but hurried after her brother. Danha, bringing up the rear, smashed the plastic torches as he passed them, so that no light would shine out when they emerged.
A short climb took them to a door marked with the royal insignia. Platus, standing above Maigrey, looked around for instructions.
Ready? he mouthed.
Gripping her bloodsword, she nodded, and he put his index finger on the lion's head. Danha broke the last torch, plunging them into darkness. The door slid open silently, for which blessing Maigrey thanked God and the building maintenance crew. Light streamed in from the hallway beyond. Her brother crept out to reconnoiter.
Leaning back against the wall, conscious of Stavros right beside her—one step down—and Danha below him, Maigrey thought of times past when she had been in similar situations. Heart beating rapidly, blood pulsing, excitement mixed with adrenaline had always affected her like strong wine. But the wine was now laced with poison. Fear twisted inside her, the blood flowed sluggishly, she shook with chills.
Platus was gone only a short time. Then he reappeared, hurrying back down the stairs, speaking to them silently through the bloodsword linkage. His face, dimly seen in the light coming from the hallway, was grim. They could hear, in the distance, a baby's wail.
What's the matter? Maigrey grabbed him, dug her nails into his arm. What's wrong?
The mind-dead are here. They've killed the royal guard; bodies are lying all over the hallway. They've got Augustus—I could see him—and what looks like a doctor—
The one tending Semele, Maigrey inserted.
They've sent people to bring her and the baby, apparently. They're talking about removing them from the palace to a place that is safer—
"A prison," Danha growled aloud.
Maigrey shot him a glance, warned him to be quiet.
How many? she asked her brother.
There were about twenty that I could see. Fifteen just marched off down the hall. Their leader told Augustus they were going ahead to secure the area. That leaves five in the hall, but I don't k
now how many are inside the royal living quarters.
Their backs are to us?
"Yes, but, Maigrey," Platus said softly, urgency giving voice to his words, "they have the royal family with them! We can't use the lasguns without risking hitting the king and queen!"
"Set for stun," Stavros suggested.
"A stun setting that would stop an adult would kill a baby. We'll use the bloodswords," Maigrey said. "They're accurate, precise. Stab the guards from behind. They'll never know what hit them. We can take out four immediately. Platus, you and Stavros grab the king and queen and hustle them into the passages. Danha and I will deal with whoever's left, then we'll catch up—"
Maigrey stopped, her breath snatched away. She clutched at her throat, almost strangling.
"What is it?" Stavros had his arm around her. She had gone deathly pale.
"Sagan! He's aware of us; he knows what we're planning. He's on his way to stop us. The swords! He's read our minds. We should have thought—"
"Too late," Danha interjected. "Let's move! With luck, we'll be gone long before he can reach us."
They slid out from the passage. Keeping behind the statue,
Maigrey looked into the hallway. The mind-dead were standing in a knot near the entrance to the royal chambers. They did not appear particularly threatening, now that the royal guard was no longer a factor. No weapons were trained on Augustus or the doctor, who stood in the middle of the body-strewn hallway; both were unarmed, so neither was dangerous.
The baby's crying grew louder. Semele emerged from the royal chambers, attended closely by a volubly protesting nurse.
"Her Majesty has had a very difficult delivery! She shouldn't be out of bed! You're endangering her life—"
"Her Majesty's life will be in far more danger if she doesn't escape the palace," one of the mind-dead answered. Maigrey marked him as the leader and her first target. "I beg you to hurry, madam." The mind-dead spoke to Semele. "Derek Sagan has murdered the king. You and your family will be his next victims unless you accompany us to safety."
"Sagan!" Maigrey heard Semele's voice, heard it weak and dazed. "Sagan—a murderer, a traitor?" She looked at her husband, her voice growing firmer as she spoke. She held her baby in her arms. "I don't believe it, Augustus. I don't believe it!"
Maigrey gripped the bloodsword, raised her hand to give the signal.
Augustus went to his wife, put his arm around her.
"Move on, down the hallway," the mind-dead ordered. "We will follow behind, to see that you are safe. You, too, Doctor."
Maigrey breathed a sigh of relief, cast a look of grim exultation at her comrades. Sending the king and queen on ahead would make the Guardians' task much easier. She saw Augustus and Semele started on their way down the hall, Semele holding her baby tightly in her arms, refusing to give him to the nurse, who was fussing over her. Augustus walked with her, his arm around and supporting her. The doctor moved along at the new king's side.
Maigrey crept out from behind the statue and began padding, soft-footed, down the hallway. The mind-dead had spread out, standing in a line in front of her, their backs to her, their attention fixed on the king and queen walking down the hall. Suddenly, acting in concert, as one body, the mind-dead raised their beam rifles.
Not prison! Not taking them to a "place of safety"!
Too late, Maigrey understood. An execution.
She yelled a challenge, a scream of rage that might have come from the throat of the barbaric, savage Amazon woman who, thousands of years before, had defied Achilles on the walls of Troy. Running forward, she screamed again, trying desperately to force the mind-dead to turn their killing blasts on her. Beside her, Danha was thundering like Zeus; Stavros fired his lasgun into the ceiling, filling the hallway with lightning. He dared not fire at the mind-dead, for fear of missing and killing the king.
The mind-dead, acting with one single mind on one single purpose, ignored the fury that was descending on them from behind. Taking deliberate aim, they fired.
Maigrey's shout accomplished something—it alerted Augustus. Looking back, he saw the rifles raising and threw himself in front of his wife and child in a desperate attempt to shield their bodies with his. The blast of several beam rifles, aimed at point-blank range, blew him apart.
The Guardians reached the mind-dead. Maigrey swung the bloodsword, severed the head from the shoulders of one. The headless trunk sagged and toppled to the ground. The returning stroke of her sword caught another of the mind-dead in the back, nearly sliced him in two. Her enemies out of her way, Maigrey didn't pause. She trusted her comrades to deal with the rest, as she had trusted them all her life. Her heart bursting with pain, she ran toward the bloody mass in the center of the hallway.
The doctor lay dead, a hole blown in his back. The nurse was no longer recognizable as a human being. Neither was Augustus. Maigrey, acting in desperation, refusing to let herself think about what she was doing, shoved aside the charred and bleeding chunks of flesh and bone that had been her king in an effort to reach his wife.
Semele lay face-down, her body curled around the baby in her arms. Maigrey prayed to God that the blood on the woman's gown was that of her husband, not her own. Gently, she slid her arm beneath her friend's head and, turning it, lifted it.
Looking into the eyes, she knew her prayer, for some reason passing her mortal understanding, had not been granted. Life flickered in the eyes faintly, but they were already staring far, far away and didn't see Maigrey, didn't recognize her. One thing alone bound the woman to the life she was fast leaving.
"My baby ..." she whispered. Then her head lolled heavily on Maigrey's shoulder.
"Maigrey!" It was Platus, shaking her.
Maigrey ran her hand through Semele's shining black hair, pressed the head of her friend to her breast. "No, Semele, no! Please . . . no!"
"The baby, Maigrey! The baby's alive!" Platus gently removed the child from the mother's lifeless grip.
Maigrey gazed dazedly at the infant, who seemed to be swaddled in blood instead of a blanket, and saw that the child was crying frenziedly. She hadn't noticed. She held Semele in her arms, hugging the body close to her, rocking the dead mother as the mother might have rocked her child.
Platus peeled back the sodden fabric, gave the naked body a swift glance. "He's all right! No burns." He paused a moment, looked to Danha and Stavros, who had come to stand near. "We can still save the child."
Maigrey didn't move. She clung to Semele, buried her face in the black hair, and wept.
"Maigrey," Platus said to her softly, insistently, conscious of time slipping away, falling like the drip, drip of blood from the baby's blanket. "Maigrey, we can save the child! But we must hurry."
Still she didn't move. To do so, to lay the body down on the blood-covered floor beside the desecrated flesh of Semele's husband, would be to grant victory to death. If only they would leave her alone, let her rest here and stay with her friend. . . .
Danha knelt beside her, put his strong arm around her. "The king is dead, Maigrey," he said, his huge hand reaching out to reverently touch, as a priest might bless, the small, fragile head of the fist-clenched, mewling infant. "Long live the king."
Chapter Six
. . . wash this blood off from my guilty hand.
William Shakespeare, Richard II, Act V, Scene 6
Duty called Maigrey back. Through closed eyelids, she seemed to see the light of the Star of the Guardians shining brightly, undimmed by the horror, untarnished by the blood splashed upon it. She kissed Semele's cold forehead, lay the body gently down. Lifting the mother's fast-chilling hand, Maigrey slid from the bloody fingers a ring made of fire opals. She held the ring a moment to the lips that were forever silenced, then tucked it securely into the folds of the gore-spattered blanket that Platus had wrapped tightly around the baby.
"What's the quickest way to the passage that leads to the royal ship?" she asked, speaking and moving briskly.
"His Majesty's be
dchamber," Platus answered without hesitation. "There's a door inside the fireplace that leads directly to the launching pad."
"The ship will be guarded," Danha warned, voice grim.
"You can deal with them," Maigrey returned. Her voice was lifeless, without expression; it might have been the mechanical voice of a 'droid. She took a step down the hall, stopped when she felt Danha's hand on her arm. She stared at him with eyes that didn't know him.
"Your sword, Maigrey," he said, holding the bloodsword in his hand.
She stared at it as if she had never seen it before, had no idea what to do with it. She couldn't remember having worn it, couldn't remember taking it off. Nodding, she accepted it back, started to insert the needles into her hand.
"Maigrey, wait," Platus called to her. "Don't you want to take the baby?"
He held out the child to her. Maigrey looked at the infant, who had suddenly ceased to cry and was staring around him with a solemn and uncanny intelligence.
"My arms were meant to cradle the dead," she said. "Not the living."
She activated the bloodsword, and the four Guardians, Platus carrying the child, traversed the hall. The floor was slippery, wet with blood; they moved with as much haste as they dared. Reaching the door to the royal chambers, Platus and the others hurried inside, stopped halfway through the entry hall when they realized that Maigrey wasn't with them.
"Stay here," Stavros ordered Platus, and hurried back to the doorway in company with Danha.
Maigrey stood in the doorway, her body straight and tall, staring into the shadows of the death-drenched hall with eyes that held in them no more life than those of the corpses around her.
"Go ahead," she said to them before they had opened their mouths. "Take the baby someplace safe, someplace hidden. Watch over him. One day the people will come to rue bitterly what they have done. They will be glad to fall on their knees before their king."
"Maigrey, you can't—"
"I can. I must." Her eyes seemed to see them and know who they were for the first time since she'd laid Semele's body to rest. "Sagan's on his way here now. I'm the only one who can stop him. You know that. Go on. You don't have much time."
King's Test Page 31
