Yes, I know.
"It may be possible," Abdiel mused aloud, "that Maigrey is not irretrievably lost. It may be possible to save her. If, somehow, his influence over her could be ended—"
That won't happen until he's dead! I told Abdiel.
"Mmmmmm." Abdiel made no response beyond that soft hum.
Dion put his head in his hands, clasped his hands over his ears. But I can still hear that humming. . . .
And the hum seemed to grow louder and more insistent until it was like the buzzing of thousands of insects inside the young man's mind.
Dion fell asleep and was awakened by Mikael, who came to escort the young man back into Abdiel's presence. Escort was necessary. Though Dion had been in the house two days, he continued to be uncertain of his way through the halls and the stairs that all looked alike. And he noted, after making some attempt to memorize a route by counting his footsteps, that Mikael either never took the same path twice or Dion was never lodged in the same room twice.
"I suppose," he said to Mikael as they walked along, "that my friends made it back to the plane safely?"
"I took them myself," Mikael replied. "It was the master's command, since the Warlord is on the planet. I waited to see their plane take off and was informed, by the gentleman known as Anselmo, who has monitoring instruments, that they safely left planetary orbit."
"It's odd," Dion said after a moment, "but I didn't think Tusk would leave . . . just like that."
"Why not, Your Majesty?" Mikael would, to judge by his words, have registered surprise, had any emotion been able to register itself upon his lifeless face. "After all, you yourself ordered him to go."
Dion laughed ruefully. "I'm glad he isn't around to hear you say that." His laughter trailed off. "He didn't act like he was mad at me or anything, did he?"
"No, not at all. But he did seem to be worried about another friend—a man named Dichter—"
"Dixter," Dion said, cheering up. "John Dixter. Yes, that must be it. I just hope they don't try any wild rescue schemes ... at least until I get back. I think I should go back," he said, suddenly impatient to be doing something, suddenly overwhelmed by the desire to leave Abdiel.
Mikael said nothing, having nothing to say in reply to such a statement, but led the boy to the master's room. The furnace was going full blast. Dion felt the wave of heat smack him in the face when he entered the door. He held back a moment, experiencing as usual a reluctance to enter. He remained standing in the doorway, fidgeting nervously.
Abdiel glanced at Mikael.
He has been asking about his friends, the mind-dead answered the unspoken question.
And you told him . . . ?
I mentioned John Dixter, as you instructed, master.
Abdiel's lidless eyes flicked sideways and Mikael, understanding, bowed and left the room. John Dixter had been one of many small, assorted bits of information Abdiel had obtained on his expedition into the boy's mental processes.
"Look, sir," Dion began abruptly, "I'm grateful for what you've done for me, particularly"—the voice grew grim—"for showing me the truth about . . . about things. But I think I should be leaving now.
"Let's face it. There's nothing I can do against Sagan. He's surrounded, day and night, by men who would think it the greatest honor ever granted to die for him. Not to mention the fact that he himself could chop me into little pieces without even working up a sweat. Tusk's right," Dion finished bitterly. "I'm just a kid—"
"My dear boy," Abdiel interrupted, voice soft with sympathy, "the great Alexander was in his teens when he fought his first battles and began the conquest of a world. Sagan was no older than you when he fought the cyborgs at the Battle of Star's End. I have not kept you here solely for the love of your company, my king, though your stay has been a sweet pleasure to me. I have a plan, you see."
"A plan? Plan for what?"
"A plan to help you confound your enemy and rescue those you love from his clutches."
"What? How?" Dion demanded, sitting down on the edge of a sofa and leaning forward eagerly.
"Patience, Your Majesty. Patience. All in good time. Two have arrived who will start providing answers."
Mikael appeared at the door to the sauna. "Two gentlemen to see you, master."
"Show them in."
The mind-dead bowed, left, returned, bowed again, and stood aside to permit two people coming along behind him to enter the room.
"May the rain that is falling prosper you as it does the ground. I am Raoul," one said in a mellow, exquisite voice, "and this"—gesturing to his companion—"is the Little One."
Dion stared, momentarily forgetting his own problems in his wonderment. Raoul was certainly the most beautiful human the boy had ever seen. Tall and slender, the man had ivory skin and features that might have been carved by a master craftsman. Hair, long and black and shining, fell from a center part to below his hips. The lithe, well-muscled body moved with the grace of a dancer.
The Little One was aptly named, for he, she, or it came only to Raoul's waist. Whether this personage was child or adult, male or female, human or alien, Dion couldn't fathom, for the Little One was muffled in a raincoat that might have belonged to someone twice the small person's height, topped off by a hat of the style known as a fedora. All that could be seen of the Little One were two large, marvelously penetrating and intelligent eyes, peering out from behind the tips of the raincoat's upturned collar.
"Snaga Ohme has sent us," Raoul said with a fluttering motion of his hand. "I am honored to be in the presence of Abdiel, former Lord Abbot of the late Order of Dark Lightning. "
"The honor is mine," Abdiel replied. "Will you be seated?"
"Thank you, no," Raoul answered with a charming smile of regret. "We are bidden not to intrude ourselves long upon your valuable time." The beautiful messenger spoke and looked only at Abdiel. The eyes of the Little One, however, never left Dion.
"We await your words with pleasure," Abdiel said, reaching out his hand and drawing the hookah to his side. He unwound the cord and placed the pipe between his lips.
"My employer, Snaga Ohme, deeply regrets that the business transaction to which you both were parties did not conclude to either his satisfaction or your own. Circumstances beyond the control of both of you intervened and the transaction was consequently disrupted."
"What is your point?" Abdiel sucked on the pipe; the water in the hookah gurgled soothingly.
Raoul brushed aside the black, shining hair from his face with a graceful motion of both hands, as if he were parting a curtain and about to enter center stage. "My employer, Snaga Ohme, wants to make certain you understand that he was acting in your best interests, just as he understands that you were acting in his."
"You may assure Snaga Ohme that I understand him and I am confident he understands me."
Raoul was charmed at the thought of so much understanding floating around the universe. The Little One had never, for an instant, taken the penetrating eyes from Dion, who found it difficult to look anywhere else except at the small, strange figure in the oversized raincoat.
"My employer, Snaga Ohme, is of the opinion that the business arrangement might still be brought to a conclusion satisfactory to both parties. In order to facilitate negotiations, Snaga Ohme would like to issue to you an invitation to attend an Event at his dwelling place. This"—Raoul reached into a pocket of his pale blue, satin-trimmed velvet suit and held out a small silver ball in his fine-boned hand—"will advise you of the time and also secure you admittance. Dress is formal. Weapons will not be permitted inside the hall and may be checked at the door. You will, however, be allowed two bodyguards to accompany you. Guests representing nations, corporations, worlds, and/or systems currently at war with the nations, corporations, worlds, and/or systems of other guests will be required to sign a truce lasting the duration of the Event." Raoul paused to draw a breath, his own having been completely exhausted during the recitation.
Abdiel took the opportunity
to respond. "Though I have never had the honor to attend one of Snaga Ohme's galas, I am familiar with the procedure." He made a sign to Mikael, who stepped forward and received the silver ball, then conveyed it to his master. The mind-seizer placed the ball in mid-air, where it remained suspended before him.
Removing the pipestem from his lips, he pointed it at Dion. "I have no bodyguards, only my servant. I have quarrels with none in the galaxy," he added humbly, "but I would like to bring this young man with me. You may assure Snaga Ohme that the boy is worthy. He is of the Blood Royal."
Raoul turned; purple eyes glittered exquisitely at Dion. The messenger extended one leg, placed his hand over his heart, and performed a low dip with his body. "I had the impression most of the Blood Royal were extinct. I am pleased to be informed that I was laboring under a delusion, my lord."
"Thank you," Dion said, flushing to the roots of his hair, feeling extremely awkward and uncomfortable. He was further disconcerted by the fact that Raoul, instead of replying to Abdiel's request, straightened, turned, and looked expectantly at his short partner.
The Little One said nothing; the intently staring eyes did not shift their gaze. Raoul, however, nodded and flipped the long black hair over one shoulder. "The Little One says the boy has feelings of hostile intent but, since they are not directed at Snaga Ohme, the young lord may attend."
Dion gaped, started to speak, but saw Abdiel move the pipestem back and forth, advising silence. The young man held his tongue.
Raoul and the Little One were obviously preparing to take their leave. "My employer, Snaga Ohme, has asked me to ascertain whether or not you would be interested in the property in question should he by chance come by the opportunity to reacquire it."
"Perhaps," Abdiel said, pipestem between his teeth. "Perhaps."
"We will convey your answer to Snaga Ohme. And now, if you will excuse us, we have other invitations to issue and several more to confirm. It has been charming conversing with you. Abbot of the Order of Dark Lightning." Raoul turned to Dion. "Young lord, I am enchanted to have met you. My one regret is that our acquaintance has, of necessity, been short. May the sun soon return to brighten your day."
Graceful, glittering, Raoul took himself out the door. The Little One, without a word, shuffled after, nearly tripping over the hem of the long raincoat, the fedora pulled low over the head, shadowing the searching eyes.
"What was that?" Dion gasped, when he and the mind-seizer were alone.
"What was what?" Abdiel, sucking on the pipe, had been absorbed in his thoughts, appeared slightly annoyed at being interrupted. "Oh, you mean Raoul—"
"Well, yes, but mainly that other fellow."
"The Little One? He's an empath. Raoul is an Adonian and a Loti. Empaths are often paired with the Loti. You know, of course, what the Loti are?"
Dion knew, having been introduced to a few by Link and Tusk during a bar-hopping excursion. Loti was the term commonly used for those heavily dependent on mind-altering drugs. When they are high, the Loti never suffer from any "negative" emotions. It would be logical to pair an empath with a Loti, who would generally always be calm and tranquil and would thus never upset the empath or interfere in the empath's ability to ascertain the emotional state of others.
Feelings of hostile intent . . . The more Dion thought about it, the more he resented the fact that everyone around here seemed to be delving into his mind. "When is this Event?" he asked irritably.
"Three days' time, I believe. Let us see." Abdiel tapped the silver ball on its side.
A musical voice responded, issuing the invitation, naming date, place, and time. It further reminded them that the dress was formal, no weapons would be admitted, bodyguards would, truces were to be signed and submitted to Snaga Ohme and would go into effect twenty-four hours prior to the Event and last twenty-four hours after. Champagne at 1800 hours, dinner at 1900, the showing at 2400.
"The showing?" Dion walked over to examine the silver ball that had floated gently down to the table when its message was concluded.
"Snaga Ohme exhibits his wares. That is why only the rich and powerful are invited to this Event of his. All the latest in killing devices will be on display and available for on-site testing—with the exception of some of the larger equipment, battleships, that sort of thing. And the bombs, of course," he added.
"Bombs," Dion repeated in hollow tones, thinking of one bomb, the crystal bomb in Maigrey's possession. He glanced at Abdiel out of the corner of his eye. "That's what Raoul meant by all that business transaction talk, wasn't it? Did you try to get hold of that bomb?"
"Naturally, my king!" Abdiel seemed surprised that Dion could ask such a naive question. "Knowing Sagan had designed this fearsome weapon and very properly fearing his intent, I took advantage of his defeat by the Corasians to attempt to secure the space-rotation bomb myself. Unfortunately, I could not compete with the Lady Maigrey's offer. I have no precious starjewel to sell."
"I can't believe she did that!" Dion said, shaking his head.
"What better proof could you want of Sagan's dark influence over her?"
Dion stirred restlessly, began pacing the room again. Stopping, he turned to the mind-seizer, who had been watching with eyes almost as intent and penetrating as the eyes of the Little One. "So Snaga Ohme is saying that he thinks there is a chance to get hold of this bomb. How?"
"Ah, my king. Snaga Ohme is not one to be trusted. His ways are nefarious. That Raoul you just met? One of the most skilled poisoners in the galaxy. Never eat or drink anything that man offers you. I fear for the Lady Maigrey's safety. I do, indeed."
Dion stared, shocked, suddenly felt sick and cold with foreboding. "Surely the Warlord would protect her. ..."
"Would he?" Abdiel was grim, stern. "He's tried to kill her before now, and for less cause. She remains alive because she has been clever enough to make it a condition that the bomb can be released only by her. But she stands alone between two evil men, Dion Starfire. Alone, without help, without protection. Sooner or later, she must fall. "
"But what can I do?" Dion demanded, feeling hopelessly young and inexperienced. "I couldn't get in to see her without Sagan having me arrested or maybe even shot—"
"There will be one place you can see her and talk to her in relative safety, my king."
"The Event!" Dion murmured. "Will she be there?"
"You may count upon it. Snaga Ohme would not miss such an opportunity. How does that childhood rhyme go: 'Will you step into my parlor, said the spider to the fly'?"
"But perhaps she won't go. Why should she?"
"She will go because her king will be there. Oh, don't look so surprised, Dion. Sagan has spies watching us. He knows you are here with me. No doubt he is gnashing his teeth in rage that not only have you escaped him but you have discovered the truth about him."
"You're saying I should go to the Event and talk to Lady Maigrey. Maybe I can persuade her to leave him— What? What's the matter now?"
Abdiel was laughing. "Ah, the naivete of youth! You are old enough to understand the ways of men and women, Dion. You've seen the two of them together. Do you truly think you can break the hold he has over her?"
Dion flushed with anger and shame. Folding his arms across his chest, he faced Abdiel squarely. "What is it you want me to do?"
The sleepless eyes were like two red suns. "Not what I want you to do, my king. What you want to do yourself. "
Dion swallowed, said thickly, "Kill Derek Sagan."
"He murdered your uncle, he murdered your father and mother, he murdered the man who raised you and loved you like a son. How many more must die? The Lady Maigrey? John Dixter? You yourself, my king?"
Dion clenched his hands into fists to keep them from shaking. Chills swept his body. He saw again the men falling in that control room, the blood splattering on the walls, on himself. . . . After the slaughter was over, he'd been appalled, horrified, sickened by what he'd done.
It was all for him, he said to himse
lf bleakly. I wanted to prove to him that I wasn't a coward.
But what better way to show him? I won't kill him in secret, like some paid assassin. I'll face him. I'll tell him. In those last few moments of his life, he'll respect me. By the God he believes in, he'll respect me!
Abdiel watched Dion, was aware of every thought passing through the boy's head. Perhaps he could have seen them even without his mind-probing skills, for the boy's radiant light shone through the pure, clear crystal of his soul—a paladin upon some holy quest.
The mind-seizer sucked on the pipe, drawing the smoke into his lungs. The drug didn't ease his pain, as he had told Dion. Rather, it enhanced it. He enjoyed the pain because it was his by choice, a constant reminder of his power.
And there came to him, through the pain, the amusing vision of a boy-king pulling a sword from a stone . . . and promptly impaling himself upon the blade.
Chapter Three
Sors immanis et inanis, rota tu volubilis . . .
Dread destiny and empty fate, an ever-turning wheel . . .
Carl Orff, Carmina Burana
"My lord, guards report that two . . . um . . . personages are being detained outside the base. These two request permission to speak to you. They claim to be sent by Snaga Ohme."
"Indeed. Their names?"
"They call themselves"—the captain grimaced slightly— "Raoul and the Little One."
The Warlord nodded. "Yes, I know them."
"I can show them on the vidscreen, my lord—"
"That will not be necessary. I have been expecting word from the Adonian." Sagan glanced at Maigrey. "This is it, my lady."
"Yes," she agreed quietly.
"Bring them to us here," he ordered his captain.
"Yes, my lord. We have scanned them. They did not come armed."
"Oh, yes, they did. But you would never find their weapons. Don't look concerned, Captain. They are not here to murder me. Send them in."
King's Test Page 34
