"This has to be the right level," Maigrey stated, glancing around in frustration. She was tense, nervous, oppressed with an increasing sense of danger. She wondered, too, where Sagan was. He should have joined them by now.
She tried to reach him, touch him with her mind, but his mind was focused, intent on something else. He was aware of her, but he couldn't respond, couldn't withdraw his full and concentrated attention from whatever he was doing. Her sense of danger grew stronger, not only for herself, but for him.
"This is the third hall we ve searched. Is there another one we've missed?" she demanded sharply, masking her disquiet.
"No, my lady, not according to the map posted—"
My lady." Caius touched her arm, motioned with his hand. "Over here."
First glance had indicated that this corridor ended in a blank wall. Caius, on inspecting, discovered that the wall was an illusion, a holographic image. The corridor continued beyond it a short distance. The three, peering through the holograph, could see posted a small white sign, reflecting the light, out of order.
"That's it." Maigrey drew a breath, felt it catch in her throat. "What time is it?"
"It lacks only a few minutes to the appointed hour, my lady."
Marcus looked at her worriedly.
"Well wait for my lord," she said to him, knowing what he was thinking, "but only those few minutes."
Dion's sweating hand almost slipped off the gun. His mouth was dry; his heart beat so rapidly it made him almost lightheaded. His bowels cramped, stomach muscles gripped.
"Do you know what this is?" he demanded, exhibiting the weapon. His own voice sounded strange to his ears, he almost wondered who had spoken.
The Warlord's eyes, shadowed by the helm, flicked over the gun in the boy's hand. "I know. Do you, I wonder?"
"Damn right I know!" Dion sucked in air in a vain attempt to fill his lungs. "I know what to do with it, too. Now start walking, down the hallway."
He and Sagan moved down the corridor, side by side. The guards followed, apparently unaware that anything was wrong.
"No, don't, my lord! Keep your hand away from the bloodsword! You don't dare harm me anyway. You pledged me your allegiance. That God of yours wouldn't like it if you broke your oath, would He?"
"Dion," Sagan said, slowly withdrawing his hand, "the Lady Maigrey needs my help. Yours, too, if you'll come. She's in danger."
"You've made a mistake, Warlord. I'm not the wide-eyed kid who used to follow you around like a puppy with my tongue hanging out. Her only danger is you and I'm about to end that right now. There, this will do." Dion gestured with the gun toward a darkened room, its door standing partially ajar. "Go inside."
"It's not a trick, Dion. Reach out to her through the Blood Royal. You'll know if I'm telling the truth—"
"Yeah, and you'd jump me the moment I so much as blinked! No, my lord. I'll keep my mind on you." The boy was heady with power. The Warlord was actually reduced to pleading with him, trying to trick him. At last, he—Dion-was in complete and total control! "Send your guards away."
Sagan regarded the boy thoughtfully, grimly, then made a gesture with his hand. "Centurions, return to the Adonian's central control room. Wait for me there."
The guards obeyed, leaving them alone. The Warlord entered the room. Dion surged in behind him, slamming shut the door. He glanced around swiftly to make certain the room was unoccupied. Small, windowless, it was furnished with two long tables and numerous chairs. Along a wall stood various food and drink dispensing units, vid arid game machines. Obviously, an employee break room.
Sagan strode casually across the floor, came to stand before a game terminal, his back to Dion. Fingers rested idly on the controls. The screen came on, filling the room with a garish yellow and red light that blurred in the boy's eyes.
The young man blinked, endeavoring to clear the film that misted them. He was shaking almost uncontrollably and fought to steel himself.
"So, Dion," Sagan said, "you mean to kill me."
He sounded smug, self-assured, almost amused. Dion went cold, as if he'd plunged in icy water. His vision cleared; his shaking ceased.
"I do," he said steadily, and raised the weapon that had been modeled in the shape of an eight-pointed star.
Something had gone wrong. Maigrey knew it, knew Dion was involved, but whatever was transpiring with Sagan was murky and confused. She hesitated, toying with the idea of finding them both, of coming to their assistance. But if she left the target range now, she might forever abandon any hope of recovering the starjewel.
Irresolute, she made up her mind. She was here, she would talk to the Adonian. Whatever treachery Snaga Ohme was plotting, Maigrey believed she was equal to it. If he wanted to bargain in good faith, fine. She would do so. If not . . . well, she was ready for that, too.
As for Sagan and Dion, the two would simply have to take care of themselves.
"We're not going to wait for my lord any longer." Maigrey announced her decision to the guards. Drawing the bloodsword, she inserted the needles into her hand. "It's ten minutes past the time. I don't want the Adonian to think I'm not coming."
"I don't like this, my lady," Marcus said, frowning. "It's odd that we haven't seen the Adonian before now, entering the target range himself."
"Quit trying to stall." Maigrey smiled, shook her head. "There's probably another way in and out, a back entrance. Look, I don't like it either. And that's why we're going to be careful. Very careful."
"I wish to God I had a weapon!" the centurion muttered, hands clenching in impotent frustration.
"I wish to God you did, too, but there's no help for that now. We tried our best; there's nothing in these target ranges but toys. At least I have the bloodsword."
Maigrey activated the weapon, motioned the two centurions to fall in on either side of her. By the sword's light, they advanced through the holograph into the deserted corridor. Reaching the target range, they tried to see past the steelglass. It was like staring into a black hole. The darkness was impenetrable, but gave Maigrey the strange feeling that it was luring her inside. She reached out her left hand to the range's control panel, pressed the button that glistened in the sword's light. Four long buzzes. Two short. That had been Ohme's instructions.
A door slid open; chill air flowed out. Maigrey sniffed, caught a familiar scent. The Adonian's perfume. He was in there, then, waiting in the darkness. Maigrey found herself growing suddenly angry. She took a step forward, only to bump into Marcus.
"Let me enter first, my lady."
"Don't be ridiculous!" Maigrey shoved him aside. "You're not armed and I am. Keep a lookout for anything coming up behind us and for God's sake don't let that door close!"
Caius took up position at the door, blocking it with his body, keeping watch down the corridor. Maigrey advanced cautiously into the target range, the sword's light illuminating the chamber. Marcus accompanied her, staying to her left, leaving her sword arm free.
She entered a jungle. A path, cut through masses of artificial vegetation, led into deeper, dense shadow.
"I know this place," she murmured, almost to herself.
"Yes, my lady." Marcus answered her unexpectedly, startling her. "The planet where Lord Sagan found you."
"The planet where I exiled myself."
Marcus drew near. "This is a trap, my lady," he warned softly, urgently.
"Yes. I know."
Maigrey continued on along the path, shoving aside plastic leaves of plants she recognized, plants that grew on only one planet. A planet few people in the civilized galaxy had ever visited. A planet whose image was, however, indelibly imprinted in her mind. The scent of the Adonian's perfume was stronger. He had to be here.
"Very well, Snaga Ohme," Maigrey spoke to the darkness, moved ahead cautiously, "we're tired of playing your little game. The price I'm prepared to offer for the jewel is going down. I—"
Something swung at her head, moving at her from the shadows. Maigrey gasped, duc
ked involuntarily. Raising the sword to defend herself, she saw—by the sword's light—the soles of two patent leather shoes, dangling in the air above her head.
Something dripped warm on her hand.
Blood.
White trousers, a gleaming white cape, were barely visible among the thick foliage. Maigrey reluctantly lifted the sword higher, and two eyes sprang out of the darkness, stared down at her.
"My God!" she breathed, shrinking back into the shadows, away from the eyes' gaze.
But the eyes couldn't see her. They couldn't see anything anymore. Glassy, empty, only the whites visible, the eyes bulged from a face no longer recognizable, a face whose handsome features were bloated and dark with engorged blood, lips swollen and black, the tongue protruding from the mouth.
Snaga Ohme hung suspended from the limb of a fake tree, his body twisting slowly at the end of a length of silver chain. Wrapped around his neck, so tightly that the chain had cut deeply into the flesh, was the Star of the Guardians.
"Yes, Derek Sagan, I mean to kill you," Dion said, feeling the charge build up inside him, burning in his blood until it was almost painful. "Right here. Right now."
"In cold blood? Murder? The king has become an assassin!" Sagan sneered.
"Not murder. An execution," Dion corrected. "I am your king. You've acknowledged as much. As my subject, your life is mine to dispose of as I will. Take off the bloodsword and put it on the floor."
Sagan did not, at first, respond. Then, slowly, he unbuckled the bloodsword from around his waist and, kneeling on one knee, laid it at Dion's feet, as he had done earlier this night in the crowded ballroom.
Dion moved closer, keeping the gun trained on the Warlord, kicked the bloodsword away with his foot. Sagan remained kneeling before him, helmed head bowed.
"Your crimes are these. You came to my home to take me away by force. You murdered the man who raised me. Do you have any defense to offer, Derek Sagan?"
The Warlord raised his head. "I have no defense. What you say is true. But you should consider this, Your Majesty. Perhaps I didn't come to Syrac Seven to capture you, Dion." Sagan's eyes, in the shadows of the helm, flickered with flame. "Perhaps I came to rescue you. ..."
A tremor seized the young man's hand. Dion gripped the gun harder, willing the shaking to stop. He tried to bring to mind an image of Platus, dying by this lord's treacherous hand.
But all he could see was that house, isolated, hidden away from the world, away from life. His mentor, advising his charge to be . . . ordinary.
"Go ahead, Your Majesty." Sagan spoke almost irritably. "If you're going to kill me, do so now. Or do you plan to talk me to death?"
"Stand up." Dion licked his dry lips.
"Oh, no." The Warlord shook his head. "I remain on my knees before my king. You must kill me as I am, Your Majesty. Kneeling, unarmed, at your feet."
Dion gritted his teeth. "You don't think I can! I can kill! I've killed before!"
"I know. I saw your bloody handiwork aboard Defiant. But it's one thing to kill men in battle, when you're fighting for your life, when you're scared. Me, you must murder in cold blood. You must watch me die."
"This is another test, isn't it?" Dion shouted, losing control. Tears of anger flooded his eyes. "Another one of your goddam tests! And what do I have to do to pass? Kill you! That's it, isn't it? I have to kill you because if I don't you'll think I'm weak, spineless, not fit to rule a hill of ants!"
He raised the weapon, aiming at the Warlord's throat, the one place left vulnerable by the helmet and the armor. He could barely see through his tears. Sagan had become nothing to him but a shining blur of gold and blood-red. "Make your peace with that God of yours, Derek Sagan! Because this is one test I will pass!"
Dion summoned the power of the Blood Royal. Electricity surged through his body, danced in his nerves. The energy flooded him, flooded the gun.
He was clearheaded, in control. Carefully, he took aim and fired.
Chapter Fifteen
. . . quod per sortem sternit fortem, mecum omnes plangite!
. . . and since by fate the strong are overthrown, weep ye all with me!
Carl Orff, Carmina Burana
"My fault," Maigrey said, staring at the body of the Adonian. slowly revolving on the silver chain. "All my fault. . .
Marcus whispered urgently, "My lady! We've got to get out of here!"
"Too late. We're caught." She shook herself, seemed to come out of a daze. "And I'm not leaving without what I came for."
Detaching the sword from her hand, she caught hold of a low limb of the tree from which Snaga Ohme hung and started to pull herself up. Marcus, realizing her intent, caught hold of her. "Begging your pardon, your ladyship, but let me do that."
Maigrey glanced up at the corpse, at the starjewel dangling just below the left ear. Her stomach wrenched; her hands weakened, nearly losing their grasp. She was thankful for the offer and was tempted to give in. The moment she recognized that temptation, she steeled herself against it, rebuked herself for her weakness.
"It's my responsibility, centurion. Besides, you can't use the bloodsword." Maigrey pulled herself up into the tree until she was level with the head of the gruesome object that had once been the Adonian.
"My fault," she repeated through clenched teeth. Ohme's hands were tied securely behind him. This had been murder, not suicide. Not that she had ever suspected suicide. Adonians think far too well of themselves to leave the universe poorer by their absence.
The silver chain had been twisted tightly around his neck and attached to a hook embedded in an overhanging tree limb. The Adonian's wrists were wet with blood. He'd struggled against his fate, the ropes cutting into the flesh of his arms as the chain cut into his neck. Death had been long in coming, his own weight dragging him down, strangling him slowly, slowly. . . .
Maigrey swung the bloodsword. The blade sliced through the silver chain. The body plummeted to the ground, landed in a twisted heap at Marcus's feet. The centurion bent over it, obviously intent on retrieving the starjewel. Maigrey leapt lightly from the tree, shoved him aside.
Cursed, defiled.
She knelt beside the corpse, cringed at the touch of the fast-chilling flesh beneath her fingers. The jewel was dark and slippery with the Adonian's blood. The chain had sunk so deeply into the flesh it had almost completely disappeared. Struggling to get a grip on it, she slid her fingers beneath the chain and finally wrenched it free. She clasped the starjewel thankfully in her hand, rose to her feet, and very nearly blacked out. Marcus caught her, held her, steadied her.
"I'm all right," she said thickly, drawing in deep gulps of air. The sword's light was dimming; her weakness was affecting her power to wield it. Angrily, she thrust the jewel on its broken chain beneath the breastplate of her armor. The pointed crystal pierced her flesh. The pain was welcome, helped her clear her head. The sword's light grew brighter.
"Now we can leav—" she began.
"My lady!" Caius shouted. "Look ou—"
A flare of laser light, a blast that registered somewhere near the door.
"A kill," reported a mechanized voice, echoing in the darkness.
Marcus darted down the path, Maigrey beside him. They dove through the vegetation and came within sight of the exit.
"Down!" the centurion gasped, reaching out and pulling Maigrey to the ground. A Corasian trundled into sight, spinning around, seeking a target. It fired at the sound; an inoffensive beam of light streaked over their heads.
"Miss," reported the same mechanized voice, which seemed vaguely familiar to Maigrey, though she couldn't take time to think why.
It's only one of the target robots!" Maigrey whispered, almost laughing in relief.
"No, it isn't, my lady," the centurion returned grimly. "Look!" He gestured forward.
Cautiously, Maigrey lifted her head. Caius lay unmoving, his body sprawled in the hallway.
"Your comrade isn't fond of playing practical jokes, is he?" she whisp
ered.
The Corasian's robot head rotated, trying to zero in on the noise.
Marcus shook his head.
"Then we can assume he's dead. ..."
The door began to close, sliding shut, sealing off their only way out. The robot stood between them and the exit.
"I'll draw its fire!" Maigrey shouted to her guard. "You hold open that door!"
She jumped to her feet, flaring sword in her hand, the bloodsword's shielding device activated. The Corasian robot swiveled to face her. The centurion made a desperate attempt to dodge around it. The robot ignored Maigrey. Its weapons system, built into its body, fired at Marcus. The beam was lethal, blowing up parts of the artificial jungle, showering the centurion with bits of plastic, wire, and polystyrene, but he managed to avoid the hit. Twisting in mid-air, he crashed down among the foliage, uninjured but far from the rapidly closing door.
"Miss." This time, the mechanized voice seemed amused.
Maigrey raced forward, switching her sword to attack mode, and smashed the blade into the Corasian before it could fire again. The robot burst apart, its lights sizzled, its insides smoked, and it went lifeless.
"A kill," conceded the mechanized voice.
Marcus, on his feet again, made a despairing lunge for the door, crashed into it bodily as it boomed shut.
A troillian warrior leapt up out of the jungle undergrowth directly in front of Maigrey. She reacted, but she was too late. The warrior fired at her point-blank. The lasgun's beam struck her in the head.
She was nearly blinded by the bright light, but beyond that, nothing happened. The robot troillian immediately went dark, and sank back down into the fake plants.
"That would have been a kill," the mechanized voice said. "But I don't want you dead, fair lady."
King's Test Page 44
