"You wanted to talk to me, my lady?" Dion stood before her, speaking to her distantly, coolly, as if they'd just been introduced.
Maigrey kept her gaze fixed on Abdiel long enough for Dion to follow the line of her vision, then shifted her gray eyes to him. "I don't much like the company you keep, young man."
Dion flushed, the pale face crimsoning. "I could say the same for you, my lady." He glanced pointedly at the centurions, at the phoenix crest upon their armor.
Maigrey understood, chose to ignore him. "I warned you about the mind-seizers, Dion. I told you how they perverted the power of the Blood Royal." She saw the blue eyes ice over, saw him start to retreat behind the frozen wall. She broke off the direct attack, backed away, hoping to persuade him to come out from behind his barricade. "I'm not blaming you. I'm blaming myself. I didn't tell you enough about them, but that was because I thought they were all dead. I thought Abdiel was dead! If I had known ..." Her voice hardened, grew grim. She sighed, tried to dispel the darkness of the past. "But I didn't."
Dion regarded her impassively, looking out over the battlements of his chill fortress.
"Perhaps it was just as well you met him," Maigrey continued, trying to sound positive. "He's obviously done you no lasting damage. I saw his face when you revealed who you were. He was surprised, displeased. You resisted him and now you understand the harm he can do—"
"Like what? Open my eyes? Let me see the truth?"
"What truth?" Maigrey asked, feeling his chill steal over her.
"The truth about the power you'd deny me, if you could! The truth about you and Sagan. The truth about that phony magic show you two put on for me—"
"What?" She stared at him, uncomprehending.
"That fake rite of initiation or whatever you called it! Illusion, all illusion. All except the power. And he's going to teach me to use it." Dion lifted his chin proudly, hands fingering the belt buckle at his waist. "He's taught me some already."
Maigrey saw the belt buckle, saw the nervous fingers grasp at it, as if for reassurance. A warning bell sounded in her mind, but its clang was lost in the din of other concerns chiming their discordant notes. Damage had been done, perhaps irreversible. Abdiel had probed, discovered the boy's weak vein. He'd been able to inject the poison without his victim feeling the smallest prick of the needle.
Logic. The concrete. Believe only in that which you can see, hear, smell, touch. Platus, her own brother, in his disbelief, his loss of faith, had prepped the boy for the lethal dose. What could she use to counteract it? How could she fight the logical with the mystical?
"And in case you care, my lady"—Dion's cutting voice came to her indistinctly; she could barely hear it through the ringing in her ears—"Tusk is back on Vangelis, making plans to rescue John Dixter. I'm going to join him there tomorrow. We'll be certain to give the general your regards—"
"Tusk ..." Maigrey heard the name, grasped at it frantically. She'd found, if not an antidote, perhaps a way to slow the poison's effect. "Where did you say Tusk was?"
Dion stared at her coldly, perhaps thinking she was drunk. "I said he'd returned to Vangelis—"
"No, he didn't! He's still at Abdiel's!"
Dion shook his head in disgust. Bowing, he started to turn away. Maigrey caught hold of him, spun him around.
"You fool! Tusk saw through the mind-seizer! He warned you what Abdiel was, didn't he? I tell you, Dion, Tusk and Nola never left the mind-seizer's house!"
"Let go of me—"
"The Warlord has a spy watching Abdiel! Sagan told me. Tusk and Nola are still there. Or they were. Now they're expendable. . . . Dion, look at me. Listen to me! Our minds have been joined through the bloodsword. You know I'm telling the truth."
Dion didn't want to look, didn't want to hear. But he couldn't turn doubt's razor-edged blade. It slid inside him. The pain was excruciating, and the boy lashed back.
"Sagan told you that, did he?" he sneered. "When? While the two of you were in bed together—"
Maigrey struck him. A silver-gloved right fist to the jaw, delivered with skill and precision, sent the boy reeling backward into the arms of a gigantic, hairy warrior.
"Ah, laddie," the man said coolly, catching Dion in a grip of iron, "you asked for that one."
Dion's face hurt abominably. He wiped blood from a split and swelling lip, spit blood from his sore and cut mouth. He looked at Maigrey, saw her anger burn in her like a clear bright flame. She smoothed the glove over the knuckles of her right hand.
"Stand up, laddie, and make your apology like a man." The giant hoisted Dion to his feet with such alacrity that he nearly propelled the boy headlong into Maigrey.
Dion stumbled, caught himself, drew himself up stiffly. He put his hand to his jaw, felt it starting to swell. He heard scattered laughter in the crowd, saw people gathering around, felt his skin flush hot with shame. He wanted to apologize, but he hurt too much. Not just the pain of her blow, but the pain inside him. He was confused, furious, and frightened. If what she said was true, he had abandoned Tusk and Nola to imprisonment, perhaps death. Yet Abdiel had assured him they were gone. Who was lying? Who was telling him the truth? Were any of them?
At that moment, Dion hated them all and, above them all, he hated himself.
"If you will, my lady," he said, words coming slowly and stiffly through the swollen flesh, "tell my Lord Sagan that I want to talk to him. Alone." Turning on his heel, he stalked off, his hand nursing his bruised and bleeding cheek.
"Maigy, Maigy," the giant rumbled, gazing at her in admiration, "you haven't lost your touch!"
"But I shouldn't have lost my temper. I shouldn't have hit him." Maigrey sighed remorsefully, wrung her aching hand. "Hell never forgive me, and I don't blame him."
"Nonsense, Maigy." The giant's bearded face split into a wide grin. "You did rightly. He deserved it."
Towering over her, the warrior-king could easily have made three of her. He was clad in hand-fashioned leather armor, decorated with the tails of animals, dried body parts of various alien species, and long tufts of human hair. His own hair was long and black and curly, trailing down over his back and shoulders to his waist, mingling with a long, black, and curly beard that cascaded down over a broad, well-fed belly.
"A little bloodletting is good for a young one. Releases the evil humors. I should know," the giant added, winking. "You released them from me!" He thumped himself on his round belly. "That sword of yours sent me to bed for six phases! But by my spleen and bowels, lass, it was worth it! That white hair of yours would have made a show in my trophy collection!" He gazed at her helmed head with such fierce admiration that Maigrey's guards took a step nearer, faces set in grim warning.
"There's no need for alarm, centurions," Maigrey admonished hastily, unable to keep from smiling. "The warrior is an old, old friend. Bear Olefsky"—she held out her hands—"it's good to see you again!"
"An old enemy cudgeled into friendship." The Bear ignored her outstretched hands, gathered her into a hug, his large, hairy arms completely engulfing her. "I heard you were dead, lass," he said more somberly, releasing her. "I cut my beard. The shield-wife cut her hair. We made a braid of memory that hangs now in your name-child's room."
"Thank you, Bear," Maigrey replied, her voice soft and sad. "That was a terrible time. ..."
"But long over now!" The Bear laughed heartily, his booming roar rattling the dishes on the nearby buffet table. "I'll go home, take the wreath, and throw it in the fire! Better still, you come with me, Maigy."
Eyeing her, he shook his head. "You're too skinny. A man wants a woman he can find easily in the dark. Come back to Solgart with me. The shield-wife will feed you well. You will meet your name-child! You haven't seen her since she was a tiny baby. Though"—he heaved a gusty sigh—"I think she is too much like you. Thin as a young gazelle. I tell her no man will ever want her."
"And what does she say?"
"Nothing. She laughs at me." The Bear tugged at his beard. "Can
you imagine that? Laughs at me, her father. If my sons did that—" The Bear clenched an enormous fist, shook it. Then, sighing, he grinned ruefully. "But my daughter isn't the least bit respectful of me."
"She knows you're all growl. How is the shield-wife? Did Sonja come with you?"
"More beautiful than ever!" the Bear said proudly. "But she could not come. She was brought to bed by our sixteenth." The Bear rumpled up his long black curls, shook his head gloomily. "Another boy. Fifteen sons and only one daughter. And she born when you were on our planet for peace talks. Come back, Maigy. You're our luck! And bring old Sagan with you, unless he's too busy plotting treason!"
The Bear laughed again. His voice carried well. Many who had gathered near to eavesdrop quickly left the vicinity.
"I'd like to come, Bear. I'd dearly love to see Sonja and my name-child. But I have other responsibilities." Maigrey looked for Dion in the crowd, couldn't find him. She was worried about him, and her anxiety had pushed back even her desire to regain the starjewel.
The Bear nodded, sobering quickly. "The kinglet? Is it true, lass? Will Sagan back the boy's claim to the throne?"
"He will."
"And you trust him?" The Bear eyed her seriously, black eyes glittering narrowly from beneath thick, curling brows. It seemed he was looking at the scar on her face, though Maigrey knew well enough that it was hidden by the helm.
"Yes." She drew a deep breath. "I do."
The Bear snorted, musing, scratched his hairy chest, visible beneath the leather armor. "If the laddie is truly a Starfire ..."
"He is, Bear. He's the child I carried from the flames, the child I took from his dying mother's arms." Maigrey's voice broke. The memory was too vivid, too clear. "And Sagan and I performed the rite. That 'magic show' you heard Dion talk about."
Bear appeared even more thoughtful. "My ears and eyeballs. I better be talking to old Sagan about this." He cocked a black eye at Maigrey. "My empire seceded from the Galactic Republic last week, you know, lass."
Maigrey stared, astonished. "No, I didn't! What happened?"
"We received old Sagan's report on the Corasian attack on Shelton's planets. How Robes set us up. It made sense. More than Robes did with his yammering denials."
"Are you at war?"
The Bear was complacent. "I suppose we will be, if the Congress ever gets around to voting to declare it on us. They've been called into emergency session. But I think, when it comes to taking roll call, they'll find more than a few of their members missing."
"But what about the Warlord in your sector?"
The Bear winked at her again. "He's mine. Bought and paid for with the wealth of twenty systems. You think your kinglet could use support like that?"
"Of course," Maigrey murmured dazedly. This was all moving too fast, much too fast.
The Bear made a rumbling sound in his massive chest. "I'll talk to old Sagan. And I'll talk to the lad." Olefsky frowned. "But I'll have to think better of him than I do now before I put him on the throne. Ach!"
The man's gaze fixed on an altercation occurring at the far end of the buffet table, where it appeared his sons had blundered into and inadvertently smashed several articles of furniture and were now involved in a shouting match with Snaga Ohme's hired men.
"Those boys of mine are wrecking the place!" Bear heaved a gusty sigh. "I try to introduce them into society, teach them social graces, and look what happens!"
"Farewell, Bear." Maigrey stood on tiptoe, kissed what she could find of his cheek beneath the beard. "That's for my name-child."
"I'll give it to her, lass." Olefsky gazed at Maigrey, his tone suddenly gentle. "But it would be better if you came to give it yourself."
"Someday, Bear." Maigrey smiled, but there was a sadness in her smile that negated her promise. "Someday."
The Bear watched her walk away, silver armor gleaming brightly, until she was swallowed up by the crowd.
"The memory wreath will not go into the fire, Maigy," he said after her, but to himself, "for my heart tells me we would only have to make a new one. It's hard enough for a man to die once; to have to die twice is not fair. You'd think the good God would treat her better. By my beard, lass, I pray your second time will be easier than your first!"
Shaking his shaggy head sorrowfully, Bear Olefsky strode off through the crowd, bowling over waiters, trampling chairs underfoot as he went to knock his sons' heads together, teaching them the finer points of mingling with polite society.
"And was it really necessary, my lady, to slug the young man?" Sagan demanded.
"I lost my temper. Our talk went all wrong. It was my fault. I jumped at the boy, leapt for his throat. Of course, he fought back. But still, Dion should never have said ..." Maigrey paused, not quite knowing where that remark would lead her. "What he said," she ended lamely, feeling her skin burn. "Anyway, he wants to talk to you now. Alone."
The two stood in a far corner of the ballroom, near the orchestra. Rykilth, the vapor-breather, had concluded his conversation with the Warlord, a conversation which had ended satisfactorily for both, to judge by the denseness of the fog generated inside Rykilth's bubble-helm.
"Very well. Where is Dion now?"
Maigrey's flush deepened. "I don't know."
"Damn it, woman! He's in danger! Abdiel has to get rid of the boy, after that pronouncement of his. You heard Olefsky. I've been talking to Rykilth. It's only a matter of time before he and his systems pull out, as well. The political situation is rapidly deteriorating. Dion's claim couldn't have come at a better—or a worse—time."
"I'm sorry, my lord, but he walked off and, to tell the truth, I didn't feel much like going after him. I was afraid I might hit him again. He makes me so mad! He left Tusk there to die. And don't tell me he didn't know what Abdiel was up to!" Maigrey sighed, exasperated, then added remorsefully, "But you're right. I shouldn't have let him provoke me. I'll go with you to talk to the boy. ..."
Sagan considered it, shook his head. "No. You've done enough harm in that area for one night. I'll find Dion and try to reason with him. If that fails, I'll simply get him out of here.
While I'm doing that, you better have your talk with the Adonian. Snaga Ohme was looking for you. He claims he wants to continue negotiations."
"I'll meet with him—"
"Not alone. I won't allow it," the Warlord stated flatly. "And you did take the oath of allegiance."
Maigrey glared at him, at first defiant. Then she realized she wasn't being sensible. The Adonian had already tried once to have her killed. "You're right," she said, swallowing her pride. "I'll arrange a meeting, then summon you."
"You will have your best opportunity of finding Ohme now. He's on the lower levels, opening the target-shooting galleries."
"We're not going to kill him," Maigrey admonished. "The Star is cursed as it is without spilling blood on it. We'll talk to him. When we're finished, I have no doubt he will be glad to return my property to me in exchange for your promised payment."
"Your faith is exceeded only by your naivete, my lady. Arrange the meeting for at least an hour from now. I have work to do. In the service of my king," he added smoothly.
"This from the man who said he would rather reign in hell than serve in heaven!" She eyed him narrowly. "You're taking this shift in fate far too well, my lord."
"Someone has to reign in hell, my lady, no matter who reigns in heaven." He made her a mocking bow, then started to leave.
"Sagan," she called.
He glanced back at her, impatient to be gone. "Well, what?"
But she couldn't articulate her fears. "Be careful," she said, after a moment's struggle. "Dion's—something about him's not right."
He regarded her thoughtfully, then nodded. "I wouldn't expect him to be, after an encounter with Abdiel. Remember that, Maigrey. The mind-seizer is out there. Waiting. You be careful, as well."
The Warlord left her. Maigrey rubbed the gloved palm of her right hand nervously, prey to a growing sense of
foreboding. She confronted herself, examined her fear, and could find no concrete reason for it. She and Sagan would retrieve the starjewel, pick up Dion, and they'd all go home. And after that?
"Perhaps," she said irritably, "we'll spend our time parceling out shares of red-hot real estate. Reigning in hell! What can Sagan be up to now?"
But there was no use worrying about it. She had to keep her mind on the Adonian. Maigrey turned, looked for the exits, and saw that the crowd had thinned considerably. The night's true business was about to commence. Lights flickered on and off three times in the ballroom, a none-too-subtle hint that the entertainment portion of the evening was over. Everyone was now expected to move on to the target ranges, play with the merchandise, and spend money.
Banks of elevators descended to the lower levels. Accompanied by her guards, Maigrey made her way across the empty, echoing floor of the nearly deserted ballroom just as the lights were being extinguished, one by one.
Chapter Twelve
Don't tell me that you love me. Just say that you want me.
Fleetwood Mac, "Tusk"
The desert, by the light of Laskar's moon, took on a faint green tinge that was, to Tusk's mind, particularly ghastly. He hunkered down behind the boulder, blinked his eyes that ached with the strain of watching.
"You'd think someone would've missed those zombies that bird shot by now," he muttered to Nola, "come lookin' for them."
She shook her head. "There's not a lot of brotherly love lost among that group. I bet one zombie wouldn't know another's gone unless they took a head count. What are they doing, anyway?"
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