King's Test

by Margaret Weis

  His hand closed over hers. Her skin was like the marble in a crypt.

  "You altered the code word needed to shut the bomb off?" Sagan asked. His hand left hers, moved near the bomb, near the keys with their strange symbols gleaming brightly on top.

  "Did I, my lord?"

  "You must have. Otherwise I could stop it."

  Maigrey shrugged. "Yes, you could—if I didn't change it. If I did . . . touch that first wrong button, and you will get a surprise. Ah, I see you calculating the odds. It would be worth it, I know, in the last few seconds remaining, for you to make the attempt. But you don't know how many seconds remain. It could be five. It could be five million. And who knows, you might be able to persuade me to change my mind."

  Sagan moved his hand away from the bomb. It was hot in the plane, hot and stuffy. He took off his helm, ran his fingers through the hair that was thick and black but starting to recede slightly from his forehead, graying around the temples. "God will not forgive you, my lady. Your soul will be eternally damned for this."

  "Look at my starjewel, my lord, and tell me that my soul isnt already damned." Her gaze, sad and shadowed, went to the crystal bomb. "I wanted it. I wanted it for my own. When I realized I had the means to acquire it, back there on Phoenix, I threw away everything for the chance. I deserted Dion, my king I left John Dixter to die alone.

  "Ambition!" Maigrey's fist clenched. "The taint in the Blood Royal. Ambition was what truly led to our downfall, the lust for power that was like the sun in our eyes, dazzling, blinding. The downfall of the Guardians. The last of the Guardians." She sighed. Her bloodstained fingers were entangled in the chain.

  Sagan glared at her, frustrated, unable to touch any part of her. He wanted to throttle her. If he couldn't choke the information from her, then at least he would avenge his own impending demise. His hands twitched with the frustrated desire.

  But it's difficult to kill someone already dead. Sagan knew then how Abdiel must have felt.

  The Warlord threw himself into the co-pilot's seat. God, he was tired! Far too tired. Leaning back, he flexed his shoulders, tried to ease the knots cramping his muscles. If he couldn't figure out some way to stop the detonation, he would be resting comfortably very soon. A very long rest. Requiem aetemam.

  "Did you know, my lord," Maigrey continued, speaking softly, abstractedly, "that when I knew you were coming to find me on Oha-Lau, when I knew the mind-link had been reforged, I planned to kill myself. Did you know that?"

  "Yes," he answered.

  "My brother's spirit came to me and convinced me to live. Live for Dion. And I did live. But Dion wasn't the reason. I could see, through your mind linked with mine, the fleet of ships, the wealth of planets, the power. That was why I lived!" Maigrey looked at the chain binding her bloodstained fingers together. "And you threaten me with eternal damnation!"

  She fell silent. The Warlord said nothing. What was there to say, except acknowledge the truth? Minutes passed in silence, counted by each indrawn breath, each heartbeat, each involuntary blink of the eye that might be the last. He could picture the explosion, a white tongue of fire licking out from the crystal. His brain would have one split second to react, one horrible, awful moment of involuntary fear. Then his body consumed completely, nothing left. . . .

  "For one moment," Maigrey said, "we will shine brightly as a star."

  She lifted her head suddenly, glanced around as if she'd heard a noise. Sagan had the startling impression that she was waiting for something ... or someone. He thought, then, that he'd heard a sound. He turned, looked up into the cabin, straining to hear.

  Nothing. Only the pulse of his own life, beating inside him. And, above that—the faint, buzzing hum.

  "Perhaps I didn't send the boy away, my lady." He hazarded the throw. The minutes were ticking by.

  "You did, my lord. I know. Don't lie to me. I see it in your mind."

  "But he'll be alone now, Maigrey. With no one to advise him."

  "Better for him," she whispered. Her hands twisted the jewel's blood-encrusted chain, pulled it tighter. "Better for him. Without any of us to influence him, the taint in his blood will dwindle, be diluted. Perhaps he'll overcome it—"

  "How can I?" The youthful voice was cold, bitter, angry. The sound of feet came on the deck above them. "How can I now? After what you've done to me?"

  Dion appeared, standing above them at the top of the ladder leading down into the cockpit. A halo of flame framed the pale, resolute face, marred by the dark smudge of a bruised cheek and swollen lip.

  The Warlord faced Maigrey, saw her relax, the fingers cease their twisting. The silver chain slipped unheeded to the floor. "You should have left, Dion," she advised him quietly, not looking at him. "You could have escaped."

  "I'll leave." Dion returned, "when I have what I came for. My lord. I know how to stop the bomb."

  "You do? How?" The Warlord's gaze remained on Maigrey. Suddenly he understood.

  "Yes," Dion said, acknowledging his unspoken words. "She told me. She told me what she had done, just as she told you. Only she told me how to stop it."

  Maigrey's face was pale, sadly smiling. She shook her head, avoided meeting anyone's eyes.

  "Tell me the code," the Warlord commanded. He was on his feet, putting his hand to the keys atop the crystal bomb.

  "I will, my lord. But first I want something in return."

  "You fool!" Sagan snarled. "I don't know how much time is left—"

  "Not a lot," Maigrey murmured. "It's too late for any of us now " She pointed to a digital readout on the console. "T minus one minute. And counting."

  "I will tell you how to stop the bomb"—Dion ignored the interruption—"in return for . . . the bomb."

  Sagan stared at him. "You . . . want what?" He fought a wild desire to burst out into uncontrollable laughter.

  "You heard me, my lord. I want the bomb. Give me your word of honor. Swear to me in the name of your God that you will hand over the bomb to me, and I'll give you the code words needed to shut it down. If not—" Dion shrugged.

  "T minus forty seconds," Maigrey said, "and counting."

  "You expect me to believe that you'd actually have the nerve to stand here and wait to die?" Sagan sneered.

  "Try me." Dion was firm, unmoving.

  Sagan's eyes narrowed, dark brows coming together. He searched the boy for a crack, a flaw. The Warlord was tense; he could feel sweat running down his neck into his armor. Dion was cool, flawless, perfect as the crystal of the bomb.

  "Well, well," Maigrey said, almost to herself, "it seems that our little boy has grown up. T minus—"

  "You will have the damn bomb! I swear it, by Almighty God!" Sagan ground the oath with his teeth. "Now tell me the code!" His hand hovered over the keys.

  "T minus fifteen seconds ..."

  "The poem's name. 'The Second Coming.'"

  "You didn't alter it!" Sagan muttered in an aside to Maigrey.

  He punched in the words as swiftly as he dared, taking deliberate care.

  "No, I didn't." She lifted her head, her eyes fixed on Dion. "I thought it . . . appropriate."

  One by one, the rays of light running from computer to bomb flickered and went out. The humming sound ceased.

  "Detonation cycle . . . ended," Maigrey said, and softly sighed.

  Chapter Nineteen

  And be who at every age, as boy and youth and in mature hie has come out of the trial victorious and pure, shall be appointed a ruler and guardian of the State.

  Plato, The Republic

  Dion drew a deep breath. His knees had gone suddenly weak. He nearly fell, and grasped hold of the ladder's hand railing to catch himself. He was careful not to reveal his weakness, however, or how frightened he had really been. Consequently it was some moments before he considered his voice under control enough to speak.

  The Warlord had leaned back wearily against the console. Brow furrowed, he was staring quizzically at Maigrey. She alone seemed unmoved.


  "Here we are!" XJ's cheerful voice shattered the silence. "Back again. One big happy family. All together for the holidays. And now I've got something to say. I'd just like to make it known—"

  The Warlord came suddenly to attention, listening to a voice on his commlink. "Sparafucile? I can't hear you! The transmission's breaking up. Just a moment. Computer, pick up this signal. Enhance it."

  "Yes. my lord," XJ responded," rather miffed at being interrupted.

  The half-breed's voice came over the computer's speaker.

  "He is gone, Sagan Lord!"

  Maigrey glanced at Sagan swiftly; their eyes met. Dion remained standing above them, in the living quarters of the Scimitar He saw them conversing, the thoughts winging from mind to mind. He knew himself to be alone, left out of the world these two shared. For a moment he was filled again with jealousy, anger. Then his gaze went to the crystal bomb. He eased his grip on the railing, stood straight and tall. He supposed loneliness was something he'd better be getting used to.

  The Warlord's face had darkened. He looked older, suddenly, and tired. He rubbed his hand over his brow. "Explain."

  "We kill the mind-dead, Sagan Lord, and we capture shuttle. But"—the half-breed's voice sounded awed—"when we come close to shuttle, it wasn't!"

  "Wasn't? Wasn't what?"

  "Just wasn't, Sagan Lord!"

  "Damnedest thing I ever saw!" added another voice, sounding shaken.

  Dion recognized it. "Tusk!" he shouted, elated, the lonely feeling ebbing away. "Tusk, are you all right? And Nola, is she—"

  "Yeah, yeah, we're all fine here, kid. You're with the Warlord, huh?" Tusk didn't sound happy.

  "Mendaharin Tusca, what's going on?" Sagan demanded, glaring at Dion, stopping the words on the boy's lips.

  "Beats the hell outta me, your lordship," Tusk said. "One minute this big mother shuttlecraft was sittin' there, and I go to put my hand on it, and bam! It's gone!"

  "Jump-juice," XJ said in gloomy tones.

  "XJ? Is that XJ?" Tusk yelled. "Damn it. Look, my lord, I haven't been drinking! I'd swear on ... on my father's grave that one minute that blasted shuttle was there and the next it wasn't—"

  "Calm down, Tusca. I believe you."

  "You do?" Tusk sounded dubious. "That's good, my lord, because I'm not sure I believe myself. ..."

  "You saw what he wanted you to see, Tusca. He created the illusion in your mind," the Warlord explained.

  "He— Oh, you mean Abdiel. Yeah," Tusk added after a pause, "I guess I can believe that."

  "There's nothing more you can do there. Tusca, report back to me at the base."

  "Uh, if it's all the same to you, my lord, I'd rather not—"

  "Come back, Tusk," Dion cut in firmly, blue eyes on the Warlord. "And you report to me from now on. I am your king."

  "Shit, here we go again!" Tusk could be heard muttering in the background.

  Dion saw the Warlord's dark smile, felt his skin burn.

  "You have orders for me, Sagan Lord?" Sparafucile came on.

  "I'll be in touch," the Warlord responded briefly.

  "Yes, Sagan Lord."

  The connection went dead.

  "Abdiel escaped." Maigrey said.

  "Yes," Sagan answered, and then both were silent. But Dion could almost hear the unspoken conversation filling in the emptiness.

  The Warlord picked up his helm. "It's been an interesting night, for all of us. I'm returning to my shuttle. By your leave, of course, Your Majesty.

  The sarcasm cut, and Dion would bleed from the wounds inflicted until the day he died. I have Sagan's loyalty, albeit gives under duress, he realized. Damn it all to hell and back again what do I have to do to earn this man's respect?

  "The night isn't over yet, Warlord," he said.

  "Not by a long shot, sire."

  "There is still much to be done."

  "And with Your Majesty's permission, I'll set about doing it." Sagan said, impatience sharpening the edge in his voice.

  You'll set about doing it. And I'll . . . I'll . . .

  "You re injured, my liege," Maigrey said gently, looking up at him. "You should lie down and rest. I'll call for a medic—"

  "No. I'll take care of it myself. The wound's not . . . very deep."

  Dion continued to stand, jaws clenched, rigid. He didn't look at Sagan or at Maigrey. He stared fixedly at the crystal space-rotation bomb. "You have my leave to go, Warlord, and continue your duties." Whatever those are, he added silently. You would know. I don't. What am I, after all, but king? The crystal blurred in his vision. His fingers curled around the cold metal.

  "Thank you, sire. My lady," Sagan added, "I'll need to confer with you."

  "Yes." Maigrey sounded tired beyond endurance. "I'll join you in a moment, my lord."

  There was more to that conversation than there seemed on the surface Dion glanced down swiftly, suspiciously, saw the Warlord's dark eyes fix on Maigrey's gray ones, saw the shadow in his darken hers.

  Sagan nodded, turned, and climbed the ladder leading up out of the cockpit. Reaching the top, he faced Dion, the Warlord's tall, muscular body looming over the young man. Gold armor gleamed like flame in the red emergency lights. "Get some sleep, Your Majesty," he said. "And have that wound of yours looked at. You'll have a lot to do . . .in the morning."

  Dion didn't reply.

  Sagan's expression grew grave. "You should have been careful what you wished for, Your Majesty. It was granted. Now we will see what you can do with it." He bowed low, whether with respect or with mockery, Dion wasn't certain. He wasn't watching. He waited until he heard Sagan's heavy tread descending the outer hull of the spaceplane, then the young man slid down the ladder, coming to stand behind Maigrey in the cockpit.

  She had her back to him, her fingers tracing around the edges of the blood-encrusted star that was the deadly heart of the space-rotation bomb.

  "Don't go with him, my lady," Dion said, putting his hand on the back of her chair.

  Maigrey shook her head, said nothing.

  "Stay here, with me," Dion persisted. "We'll fly back to Defiant. Sagan will have to free John Dixter now. ..."

  Maigrey shuddered. The pale hair had come undone from its braid, fell across the scarred cheek.

  "The Warlord's right, Maigrey." Dion moved around to try to see her face, but her hair was a curtain, hiding her from his view. "I need someone to advise me. I don't know how to be a king."

  "What man does?" she asked. The starjewel's radiance gone, it was black as a void in space, empty as the vastness between galaxies. Sighing, she rose to her feet. The space-plane's red lights gleamed in her silver armor, making it seem as if she walked in blood.

  "There it is, Your Majesty," she said, gesturing to the bomb. "Yours. Power."

  Dion stared at it, frowning, disbelieving. "Sagan actually walked off and left me with it. I don't trust him. He'll try to get it back! Maigrey, you must stay with me—"

  "You can trust him, my liege," she interrupted him. "He swore his oath to God."

  "An illusionist who believes in his own illusions!" Dion scoffed.

  Maigrey smiled wanly, sadly. "We all need to believe in something."

  "Do we'" Dion challenged. "Then tell me this, my lady. That rite you and Sagan put me through. Was that real? Or was that illusion?"

  "If you can ask the question, my liege, you aren't prepared to understand the answer." She lifted the silver helm with its white-feather crest. "By your leave, Your Majesty—"

  "Riddles! Games! Tests!" Dion shouted, blocking her path. "That’s what this was, wasn't it? Another test! You wanted to see if I'd risk my life to attain my goal, my desire, my ambition—that ambition you call the taint in our blood. Well, I did! I was willing to die for it! Does that mean I pass?"

  Maigrey gazed down at her own bloodstained hand. She didn't look at him and when she spoke, it wasn't an answer.

  "I’m giving Your Majesty my starjewel. You'll need it to arm the bomb. And I'll tell you the cod
e to activate—"

  "No! Dion cried, halting her.

  Maigrey lifted her eyes, stared at him. "You don't understand, my liege. Without the code—"

  "I understand," he interrupted. "I will keep the bomb . . . as it is. And now," he added tersely, turning his back on her, "you better go. The Warlord will be waiting for you."

  She said nothing. Then he felt her arm around him. She held him close. He shut his eyes, longed—for an instant—to lay his head on her breast and sob like a child.

  I want to tell you about Marcus, Dion cried silently. He gave his life for you. He died in my arms! I want to tell you about those others I killed. How I dream about them at night. I want to tell you I'm frightened, Maigrey! I don't want to be what I am! I don't think I can! I know I failed the test. I failed you, failed Sagan. I failed myself! I'm ordinary. . . .

  "Like Marcus?" she asked aloud.

  He opened his eyes, stared at her.

  "I must go, my liege. Your Guardians have one last task they must perform." Maigrey reached out to him, touched the necklace he wore around his neck—a necklace bearing a small ring of fire opals. He gazed down at her hand, saw the opals sparkle with myriad lights, a contrast to the dark jewel in the bomb.

  Leaning near, Maigrey kissed the bruised cheek.

  "Congratulations, my liege. You passed."

  After she left him, he could feel, on his skin, the wetness of her tears. Dion slumped wearily down into the pilot's seat. His wound burned and throbbed.

  "She didn't really arm it, you know," XJ-27 remarked.

  "What?" Dion was jolted from his pain-filled lethargy. "Didn't arm what?"

  "What? The bomb, kid, the bomb! Jeez, where you been all night? It was a trick, to fool that mind-seizer character—"

  "—and me," Dion said softly, bitterly. "So that, too, was nothing but illusion."

  "We put on quite a show," the computer was saying proudly. "My performance was stunning. 'I have been programmed not to respond to any questions or commands,'" XJ repeated in a flat, mechanical mimic of itself. "We fooled the Warlord completely. And as for Abdiel, you should have seen that old man's face when he heard her give the code and the command. I added a few special effects. Those beams of light were my own touch. He was furious. If looks could kill— But then he thought my lady was already dead.