King's Sacrifice

by Margaret Weis

  "No, don't leave. We need to talk. I've . . . sent for the others."

  She started to stand, fell back. Dion hurried to her, offered his help. She leaned against him, rose stiffly to her feet. He was alarmed at the chill feeling of her flesh, the terrible pallor of her skin.

  "Have you been here all night?" he asked, guiding her to a chair.

  Dark circles shadowed her eyes, that were red-rimmed and swollen. Dried blood flecked her lips, the marks of her teeth plain upon them. Her face was drawn and haggard, her hair ragged and uncombed, her blue velvet dress wrinkled and spotted with tears.

  "Yes. I waited for ..." Her voice caught. She shook her head. "No, I don't want to sit down. I need to walk, start the circulation going again. My legs have gone numb. There, thank you. I can manage."

  Maigrey pushed Dion's hands away and moved slowly across the deck, rubbing her arms.

  "You've heard nothing?" Dion asked.

  She didn't turn around, didn't look at him. Her head lowered.

  "No."

  "He's not ..." Dion swallowed.

  "He's alive." She pressed her hand over her breast. "I know that . . . here. But I can't reach his mind."

  "My lady!" Admiral Aks came through the double doors. "Your Majesty, I'm glad you're together. We've been monitoring galactic news wires. You must see what's coming over the vids now."

  Aks went to the console, the screen came on, bringing with it a face and a voice.

  "The self-styled Warlord Derek Sagan, under indictment for the murder of the Adonian weapons dealer Snaga Ohme, has reportedly eluded capture and fled to the Corasian galaxy. It is rumored that he has with him the space-rotation bomb, the awesome weapon designed by the notorious Snaga Ohme."

  "So that's the story," Maigrey murmured.

  "That's it," Aks said grimly.

  The newsman continued: "It was an argument over this very weapon which presumably led to the Adonian's murder. Now reports have it that Derek Sagan, whose ruthless disregard for life and lust for power are well known, has taken this weapon over to our most feared enemies.

  "We switch now to the Common House, where President Peter Robes has called a press conference."

  President Robes, wearing a dark and depressing suit, with an expression specially chosen to match, stood on a broad patch of clipped green artificial grass.

  "I am shocked at this news," the President was saying, "but not extremely surprised. Derek Sagan, or Lord Sagan as he demands to be called, has always considered himself above the laws that govern the rest of us ordinary people. He assumed he could commit murder with impunity and he was furious when he learned he was to be called to account."

  Reporters clamored to be heard. The President nodded at one. The alien spoke through its translator.

  "You said, Mr. President, that Sagan's fleet is surrounded by our own warships. How was it that he escaped?"

  "Apparently he had received prior warning of our attempt to bring him to justice. We have learned that Sagan had in his pay numerous spies who reported to him every move made by the people's duly elected government officials. He was not on board his ship when the fleet was surrounded. Sources indicate that he flew his shuttlecraft to an obscure planet, there to meet with his cohort, the Lady Maigrey Morianna. His former lover, she is undoubtedly implicated in his flight. Warrants have been issued for her arrest."

  "Mr. President! Lord Sagan was a hero in the battle with the Corasians. Why would he defect to the enemy?"

  "As always with Sagan, he was a hero when it suited his purpose to be one. We have received several reports, the contents of which we can't discuss at the moment, which indicate that Sagan may have been in collusion with the Corasians all along, that die battle was staged for our benefit to cover up his manufacture of that fiendish weapon, the space-rotation bomb."

  "But, Mr. President, Sagan himself circulated reports implying that you had something to do with that attack."

  The President was grieved and mildly exasperated. "I state now as I have stated in the past, I see no need to dignify those charges with an answer."

  "Mr. President, what do you think Derek Sagan's intent is, taking the bomb to the Corasians?"

  "What do you think his intent is, Lizz?" the President asked bluntly. "Derek Sagan is ruthless, ambitious. The free people of the galaxy made it clear that they weren't going to give power to him, and now he's going to take it by force."

  "You mean all-out, full-scale war with the Corasians?" The reporter was dramatically solemn.

  "I don't want to start a panic, but it has always been my policy to tell the people who elected me to office and who have put their trust in me the truth. We must assume that this is what Derek Sagan plans." The President was calm, but obviously upset. "The Congress has been called into emergency session to determine what action we will take."

  "You watching this?" Tusk demanded, entering the room, followed by Nola and General Dixter. "What the hell's going on?"

  "I'll explain in a moment," Dion told him.

  "And now, before I answer any more questions," President Robes was saying, "I would like to send a personal message to one young man out there."

  The President looked directly, intently, and with utmost sincerity into the eyes of the innumerable cams turned on him.

  "Dion Starfire, I hope you are listening. You are an honorable young man who has been misguided by bad advice. I truly think that you believe yourself to be acting for the good of the people in this galaxy. I hope that is the case. Derek Sagan has proclaimed publicly, more than once, that he supports your claim to the throne. He has declared, more than once, his loyalty to you as his liege lord. If you do have such influence over him, young man, then you have a chance to save the people of the galaxy.

  "Dion Starfire, if you know where Sagan is hiding, if you can talk to him, persuade him, then I hope and trust that you will act at once to alleviate this terrible danger. An ordinary citizen of this galaxy would do no less. A king would do much more."

  Dion stared silently at the screen. His glance flicked to Lady Maigrey, who had remained immovable, impassive, except for a pale ghost of a smile when the President mentioned issuing a warrant for her arrest.

  "Admiral," an excited voice broke in over the commlink, "Lord Sagan's spaceplane has just materialized out of hyper-space!"

  "What?" Aks gasped, looked confused, then hopeful. "Perhaps my lord managed to escape!"

  "The plane won't respond to any of our attempts to contact it, sir. It's just sitting out there, dead in space, although our readings indicate that there is someone alive on board. The spaceplanes of the Galactic fleet are moving to intercept—"

  "He's injured, then. Lock a tractor beam onto that space-plane and get it the hell inside here!"

  "Lord Sagan isn't aboard that plane," Maigrey said, sighing. "Its passenger is a priest. And the fewer people who know that, the better. Captain"—her gaze turned to Agis—"take your men and meet the priest the moment he sets foot on deck. Bring him here immediately, without any fuss, if you can help it. Make certain he talks to no one on the way."

  "Yes, my lady."

  "Tusk, go with them." Maigrey's voice softened. "The young man 's been through a terrible ordeal. He'll be glad of a friendly face in the midst of all that steel. Do what you can to make his arrival appear normal."

  "Yeah, sure," said Tusk, looking dubious. "Priest, huh? What . . . er . . . what's his name?"

  "Fideles. Brother Fideles."

  "Fiddle," repeated Tusk, leaving on his errand.

  "Admiral Aks"—the voice over the commlink again—"the press is demanding access to His Majesty. What shall—"

  Dion's eyes met Maigrey's. "I'll be calling a press conference shortly," he said.

  She nodded her approval. "Is Lord Sagan's spaceplane aboard?"

  "Not yet, my lady. But the tractor beam is locked on and intercept planes have retreated."

  "Gave up without a fight?" Aks was disbelieving.

  "They know S
agan's not on board," Maigrey said.

  The admiral snorted and shook his head. Maigrey ignored him. She had withdrawn from all of them, locked herself away inside herself, surrounded by a wall of ice. Anyone who drew near risked being burned by the cruel cold.

  No one spoke, although everyone present had innumerable questions. They had the feeling that their questions would be answered soon; that when the answers did come, they probably weren't going to like them anyway. And so they sat in silence in the Warlord's quarters, waiting for a priest, who had arrived, alone, in the Warlord's private spaceplane.

  The golden double doors opened. Tusk entered, shepherding a young man clad in brown robes, his head covered by a hood.

  "This is him," said Tusk grimly. "Brother Fiddle. My long-lost cousin come to pay his respects at my wedding. He's the white sheep of the family," he added, jerking a thumb at the young man's white complexion, a marked contrast to Tusk's own ebony-black skin.

  "Thank you, Tusk." Maigrey smiled faintly. "Did everything go well?"

  "I guess. I called him 'cuz' and hugged him and we slobbered over one another for a while. Maybe a few people bought it." Tusk didn't sound at all hopeful.

  "It should stop most of the wilder rumors, anyway. That's as much as we can ask. Please, enter and welcome, Brother Fideles."

  The young priest had stopped just inside the doorway. He kept his hands in his sleeves, his head down. At Lady Maigrey's request, he walked into the room, into the light. The brown robes were splotched with dark, ugly stains—dried blood.

  Dion rose silently to his feet. Clasping his hands behind him, he walked over to stare out the viewscreen. Admiral Aks's face had gone gray. He sagged in his chair. John Dixter glanced quickly, concernedly at Maigrey. Nola went to stand beside Tusk.

  Brother Fideles came to Maigrey, knelt before her on one knee.

  "My lady," he said softly, reverently.

  Maigrey, composed, pale, gave him her hand. He kissed the tips of her fingers that must have been chill to the touch as the hand of a corpse.

  "Rise, Brother, and be seated. I know that you are worn from your long journey and ordeal, but you will have time to rest and refresh yourself later. Now, it is imperative that you tell us what has happened."

  "My lady"—Fideles hesitated—"should I speak before all these people? Perhaps you alone—"

  "No, all these people are ... or will be . . . involved. His Majesty is present." She drew his attention to Dion. "The time for secrets is past."

  "Yes, my lady."

  Fideles rose, bowed to Dion, then sat down in a chair. Nola thoughtfully brought him a glass of water. He accepted it, kept his hood over his head, his eyes cast down, as was proper for a priest when in the presence of women. Those assembled drew chairs nearer his, gathering around him. Dion, however, remained standing at the viewscreen. He could see the young priest's reflection, a ghosdy image hovering between the king and the stars beyond.

  Fideles told his tale of what had happened to himself and to his lord inside the dark towers of the Abbey of St. Francis. He spoke clearly and concisely in a voice that was steady and firm. He did not stammer or hesitate, had obviously carefully sorted his thoughts, gone over his report in his mind prior to his arrival. He shared his own fears, his doubts. His descriptions were simple, yet poignant and precise, and deeply affected his audience.

  Nola and Tusk shivered and drew closer together. Aks, hearing of Sagan's torment, lowered his head, hid his face with his hand. At the mention of Abdiel's name, Dion clutched his left hand over his right, rubbed the scarred palm that ached and burned.

  Maigrey remained unmoved, listened to the tale without outward emotion, her gaze fixed steadfastly on the young priest. Dion realized suddenly that she must have, through the mind-link, already known everything that had occurred, had perhaps even shared Sagan's agony.

  "When the one who called himself Abdiel told me that I must leave and bring this information back to you, I was confused." Fideles's calm demeanor wavered. "Perhaps I did wrongly, obeying this evil man's command. But it was my lord's command, as well, and it seemed, though my lord couldn't tell me at the end, that this was what he wanted."

  "You did well, Brother," reassured Maigrey gravely. "If you had refused, Abdiel would have turned you into one of his 'disciples' and then you would have had no choice."

  "How do we know he didn't?" Tusk demanded hoarsely. "Let's get a look at this priest."

  "Yes. Remove your hood," Aks commanded.

  Fideles did so. His face was pale and thin; his eyes, however, were bright and alert and intelligent. Tusk, peering into the eyes, grunted and stepped back, satisfied. Aks, recognizing the priest as his AWOL nurse, stared at him in astonishment.

  "It's not likely Abdiel would send one of the mind-dead, Admiral," Maigrey said. "The mind-seizer had littie time to waste. He needed to get his message to us quickly and Sagan had thoughtfully provided him with the means. Abdiel bad his prize, he wanted to flee with it. By now, the mind-seizer is undoubtedly halfway on his journey to the Corasian galaxy."

  "And Sagan with him," said Dion abruptly.

  "Yes," Maigrey said, "Sagan . . . and the knowledge that he carries inside his head . . . with him."

  "My lady." Brother Fideles raised his eyes, looked at her unhappily, reluctantly. "My lady, I have one more message to give. A message from Abdiel to you. Perhaps it would be better if I told you alone—"

  "No, Brother. As I said, the time for secrets is past. What is your message?"

  Brother Fideles repeated, hesitantly, Abdiel's final words.

  " 'Remind my lady that if she saves the life of Derek Sagan, she saves the life of the man who is destined to end her own.'"

  Dion turned around. Dixter rose to his feet, came to stand beside her. Maigrey flushed and bit her lip, appeared to regret exceedingly that she'd ordered the young priest to speak.

  "What does that mean, my lady?" Dion demanded.

  "Nothing that has any bearing on the subject under discussion. The very urgent subject," she remarked coldly. Leaving her chair, escaping Dixter's outstretched hand, she walked rapidly across the room, came to stand in front of the command console. "We must decide what action to take, determine the best course to follow."

  "Apparently the time for secrets isn't past," Dion said.

  Maigrey lifted her head, gray eyes dark and threatening as a stormy sea. "This is a personal matter, between Lord Sagan and myself. It has nothing to do with anyone else. If, of course, Your Majesty commands me to speak—"

  "I do," Dion said calmly.

  Maigrey glared at him, the gray eyes flashed lightning. Her face had gone livid with anger, the lips drawn tight and bloodless, the scar an ugly red slash across her skin.

  Dion weathered the storm, unbending, unyielding. "What does Abdiel's message mean?"

  Maigrey turned away. The fingers of her hands, clenched over the back of a chair, were white with the strain.

  "Lord Sagan had a dream. Nothing more than that. He took it as a portent."

  "Lord Sagan has great faith in his dreams," stated Admiral Aks, indignant at the slur against his commander. "Perhaps it was coincidence that they often came to pass, as I myself frequently told him, but I must admit that—"

  "Oh, shut up, Aks!" Maigrey snapped. "What do you know?"

  "I know that my lord discussed this particular dream with me on more than one occasion. He had the dream several times. He said that in it he—"

  "Your Majesty!" Maigrey interrupted impatiently. "We must decide what is to be done and we must waste no more time doing it. Didn't you hear me say that Abdiel is hallway to the Corasians by now? The President has challenged you to make good your promises to the people. Refuse to go after Sagan and you are finished."

  "But, damn it all, Starladv, it's a trap! Abdiel admitted as much!" Tusk slammed his fist on a table. "You can't send the kid out into it!"

  "Of course it's a trap. Don't you see? This is Robes's solution to a most annoying probl
em. He doesn't dare have Dion killed, make him a martyr. The people would immediately suspect the President, it would end his political career. But if Dion dies in a faraway galaxy, dies during a battle, Robes is home free and clear. He can mourn the young man as a hero, put up a statue to his memory, bring tears to the eyes of everyone when he refers to it in his campaign speeches."

  "Then the answer's obvious," stated Tusk. "The kid says he's real sorry to hear about Lord Sagan, he'll do what he can to help, but it ain't his problem. Toss in our cards and fold."

  "No," said Maigrey, "Abdiel's made the stakes high, made it worth our while to stay in the game. Nothing less than a golden crown sits in the center of the table. If Dion goes to the Corasian galaxy, and if he survives, and if he comes back victorious, Robes is finished. The people of the galaxy will name Dion their king. They'll carry him to his throne on their shoulders."

  "What do we do?" Dion, like everyone else in the room, was mesmerized by her, caught up in her excitement.

  "I have a plan, Your Majesty. We'll need to work it out in detail, but basically it is this. You announce that you're going to Corasia. Robes will offer to 'help,' he'll insist that the Galactic fleet convey you to the enemy."

  "And when I have crossed over into enemy territory, I fall victim to a convenient enemy bombardment or some such thing." Dion smiled ruefully. "I'm beginning to understand."

  "Accept Robes's challenge, but refuse any help. State publicly that the only people you trust are those who support you wholeheartedly—those who have put their trust in you. That sort of thing."

  "But the Galactic fleet," Tusk protested. "They've got us webbed in."

  "I think we can handle the fleet," Dion replied. "Admiral Aks, call a meeting of top officers. But what about Lord Sagan. And . . . Abdiel."

  "The two of them," said Maigrey, "will be my concern."

  Dion opened his mouth to argue, command . . . but he saw it would be like trying to break the everlasting cycle of an ocean's tides. This was going to be a bitter argument and one he didn't want to do in public.

  "We'll discuss this later. For now, we have plans to make and little time to make them. I propose that we adjourn to the war room." Turning on his heel, he walked out.