"Some honeymoon, huh?" Tusk said, putting his arm around Nola.
"Yeah," she agreed. "Good thing we had ours before the wedding."
General Dixter was the last to leave. Pausing at the door, he looked back at Maigrey. She had turned to the computer, was giving it commands in a smooth, level voice.
John Dixter shook his head, left. The doors shut, sealed behind him.
Maigrey sank, trembling, back into her chair. A rustle of cloth made her jump, look up swiftly in alarm. The young priest stood before her.
"Brother Fideles." She rose haughtily to her feet. "I thought you had left with the others." Her chill tone advised him to immediately make up for his oversight.
The priest remained standing, head bowed, hands hidden in the folds of his sleeves. Suddenly he raised his head, looked her foil in the eyes.
"I'm going with you," he said.
She stared, speechless with astonishment.
"God has given me a sign. I'm going with you," Fideles repeated.
Maigrey found her voice. "You don't know what you're asking, Brother. You can't possibly understand the danger, the risks I'll be running. I must enter the Corasian galaxy. Have you ever even seen a Corasian, Brother Fideles?"
"No," said the priest steadily, "but I have seen Abdiel. I have seen what he did to ... my brethren, to my lord. I will go with you. You need help."
"I need help, all right," Maigrey answered, exasperated, uncertain how to cope with such stern, calm resolution. "But the help I need is a fighter, a warrior, someone who isn't forbidden by his vows to kill."
"The help you need is God's help, my lady," said Fideles. "'Benedictus, qui venit in monine Domini. Blessed is he that cometh in the name of the Lord.' "
Maigrey's hand went to her breast, to the place where the starjewel had once hung, to the place where it hung no longer. She thought of it, resting inside the space-rotation bomb, blackened, horrible to look on, cursed.
God has abandoned us, she'd once said to Sagan. Maybe that was wishful thinking.
"I'm against it . . . but I'll consider it," she added grudgingly, forestalling further argument. "Now, I have to leave for the meeting. I think it's best, on second thought, that you remain here, in these quarters, until I return."
Brother Fideles bowed in silent acquiescence.
"I'll have food and water brought to you—"
"Thank you, my lady, but all I need is sleep."
"Then lie down. The bed is through those doors."
"I will sleep on the couch, my lady—"
"I'm not going to be using the bed. I have too much work to do—Oh, very well, sleep where you want."
Fideles nodded. Kneeling beside the couch, he said his prayers, wrapped himself in his robes, and lay down. He was almost immediately asleep.
Maigrey, seating herself back at the computer, watched these proceedings out of the corner of her eye. She had one more command to issue before she left for the meeting. She was running late as it was, but her hands rested limply on the keyboard. What she was about to do would irrevocably set in motion the wheel of fate. There was, now, still time to change her mind. This plan, formed last night, when she could have traced upon her own body every wound Sagan had suffered, was dark, desperate, terrible.
But it was the one plan that might work.
Maigrey placed her fingers on the keyboard. The command she was about to give was far too secret to be spoken aloud, even in a room presumably sealed off to every other ear and eye aboard ship. She typed one word, the only word needed to launch a sequence of coded commands.
SPARAFUCILE.
Chapter Three
Oh build your ship of death, your little ark
and furnish it with food, with little cakes, and wine
for the dark flight down oblivion.
D. H. Lawrence, The Ship of Death
The ship's bells chimed eight times to indicate the changing of the watch at midnight when Maigrey returned, accompanied by Dion. The captain of the Honor Guard was talking quietly with the centurions on duty outside Sagan's quarters. Agis, having a feeling he would be summoned before the night was out, had not gone to bed.
"His Majesty and I are not to be disturbed," Maigrey ordered.
Agis nodded. "Yes, my lady."
The double doors opened, sealed shut behind them.
"Talk quietly," Maigrey said, glancing at the sleeping figure of Brother Fideles, huddled on the couch. "Though I doubt if, at the moment, a bomb blast would wake him."
Each fell silent. The spirit of the Warlord grew strong, was given life and power in this, his room. The spirit wasn't a comfort to Maigrey, but made the empty place inside her darker, colder, as if a chill wind blew through her.
"You're not going to tell me the details of your plans, are you, my lady?" Dion broke the silence.
"I can't, Your Majesty."
"Why not? Or"—he was bitter—"perhaps you don't trust me. Because of Abdiel and the bloodsword."
"It's not that, Dion. The reason is—if you knew what I planned, you would never permit me to go through with it.
"What's more," she continued, stopping him as he was about to speak, "when you find out what I have done, you must publicly denounce me, disavow my actions. You must say that I have gone insane. And you must issue a reward for my capture . . . and my death."
"I can't do that!" he protested.
"You'll have to. I will leave you no choice."
"I have a choice. I can forbid you to go at all."
She smiled wanly. "Don't do it, Your Majesty. It would lead to a confrontation between us. You'd be forced to confine me to quarters or throw me in the brig. That would cause talk. And I'd escape anyway, leaving anger, resentment between us. It will be easier for both of us this way. Don't worry," she added with a sigh, "when word of what I've done, reaches you, you won't have to pretend to be shocked and horrified."
Dion frowned, obviously irresolute, determined to prevent her going. "I don't see what good you can do—by yourself."
"I won't be by myself. I've explained that much." Maigrey reached out her hand to him. "Acting together, we have a chance to defeat Abdiel, but only if I find a way to catch him off-guard. Consider this, Dion. You enter the galaxy with a fleet of warships. The Corasians will sight you, alert Abdiel. No matter how fast you move, he will have time to destroy Sagan, to escape with the plans for the bomb. With luck, I'll be there by then. I'll be able to stop him. I'll return your bloodsword to you. And then you and the fleet will convey me safely back home."
"You make it sound so easy."
"Yes, well, it won't be. It will be exceedingly dangerous. Especially for you."
"Me?" He glanced at her bitterly. "What do I have to do except spend weeks traveling through hyperspace? The only danger I see is that I'm likely to be bored to death!"
"The danger is not physical. Your plan is a good one, Dion. But before you make the final decision to go through with it, I want you to count the cost."
"Cost? I have Sagan's wealth, the captured arsenal at Snaga Ohme's. I can afford it—"
"Money isn't what people want from you, Dion. DiLuna is the matriarch of a vast system of worlds, one of the most powerful forces in the galaxy. Rykilth will never admit it, but that tightfisted vapor-breather has set aside enough to keep himself in fog for generations to come. No, Dion, what they want is you. And that is what Abdiel wants, as well."
He shifted uncomfortably before her serious, gray-eyed gaze.
"I can't say what your allies might ask of you." Maigrey shook her head. "But you can be certain that the cost of their loyalty will run high. It may be higher than you are willing to pay. Higher than, perhaps, you should pay. As for Abdiel, you know what he wants."
"My lady," said Dion, after a moment's thought, "when the silver globe with the sharp spikes dropped into my hands, during the rite of initiation, did either you or Sagan reach out and catch it for me?"
"No ..." Maigrey faltered, somewhat taken aback.
"No, my lady, you didn't. I caught it. I held my hands beneath it. I felt the spikes slash off my fingers, break my bones, and pierce my flesh. I watched my own blood run down my arms. Don't you understand yet what that meant, my lady?"
"Do you, my liege?" Maigrey asked softly.
"Yes, I think I'm beginning to." He lifted his chin, shook back the red-golden mane of hair that flashed in the room's harsh light. "If I want the shining silver globe, I must pay the price, even if it means letting my body be broken, seeing my own blood spilled. I was prepared to lose my life that night, my lady. I was willing to make the sacrifice and I caught the globe and held on to it."
Is he right? Maigrey wondered, staring at him searchingly. We've been standing before him, shielding him, trying to protect him. But have we, instead, only been standing in his way?
"I will bring the fleet, my lady. And I suppose I have no choice but to let you go."
He brought her hand to his lips, kissed it.
Maigrey clutched suddenly at his fingers, held on to him tightly. "Dion, it could be that you will need to confront Abdiel, take back the sword yourself. Either that"—the gray eyes were dark, fathomless—"or consign the sword to him forever. The decision will be yours. The choice yours."
"What do you mean, 'consign it to him forever'?" He was suspicious, angry.
"After all, Your Majesty, you left it with him that night, didn't you?" Maigrey asked.
Dion faced her, denial on his lips, excuses ready. It was an oversight. Snaga Ohme said no weapons. I was excited, nervous, my brain seething with plans and plots. I simply forgot. . . .
He let go her hand, averted his face, ashamed for her to see the truth. It was bad enough knowing it himself.
Maigrey placed her hand on his arm. "When I find out where Abdiel is, I will let you know, Your Majesty. It will be your choice, then, either to come to us surrounded and protected by the fleet . . . or to come by yourself."
"Thank you for that much at least, my lady." Holding himself aloof, Dion walked away from her without looking back, walked out the door alone.
Maigrey stared after him, remembering, wondering . . . regretting. It was when she came to the regretting that she realized she was heading down a dead-end path and stopped herself, returned to the main road.
"Captain Agis, please step inside."
Agis entered. Maigrey paused a moment, looking at the dark, huddled figure of Brother Fideles, asleep on the couch. Should she wake him? Send him away?
Or let him stay?
"Seal the door, Captain," she ordered.
"Yes, my lady."
"You must have been waiting up for me," said Maigrey, smiling at him, yet studying him intently.
"Yes, my lady. I thought, perhaps, I might be needed."
"Do you know what has happened to your lord, Captain?"
The question was unexpected. Agis appeared slightly embarrassed. "My lady, rumors spread rapidly—"
"Lord Sagan has not defected to the enemy."
"I never supposed he did, my lady." The captain of the Honor Guard stood unblinking beneath her scrutiny.
She was satisfied. "What I am going to tell you, Captain, goes no farther than this room. Lord Sagan has been captured by a mind-seizer named Abdiel, one of the Order of Dark Lightning."
"The man Marcus fought?" Agis asked. "The man responsible for my centurion's death?"
"Yes, the same one."
"I know of him, my lady." The captain's voice was steel-edged.
"Abdiel has taken Lord Sagan to the Corasian system and holds him prisoner there. I am going to attempt to free my lord and destroy this man."
"Yes, my lady." Agis did not seem surprised, did not protest, question, doubt.
Maigrey's smile deepened, twisted the scar upon her cheek. "Captain, I need one man selected from the centurions to accompany me. One man only; our force cannot be large or we would be suspected. He must be willing to travel into the enemy's galaxy. He must be willing to put aside all notions of honor and fight by stealth, by murder, by knives in the back, by throats cut in the darkness."
"Yes, my lady."
"He must obey my orders and the orders of the man who will be my second in command without question, although this person who will be my second may be extremely repugnant to him."
"Yes, my lady."
"He must be reported as AWOL. You will issue an order for his immediate capture and/or termination."
"Yes, my lady."
"He must go, knowing that he will almost assuredly die. He must leave without hope of return. He must, therefore, volunteer to accept this assignment. I will not command anyone, nor will you, Captain, to face such peril unwillingly."
"Yes, my lady."
"Can such a man be found to do this for me, Captain?"
"My lady, this warship could not hold the number of men who might be found to do this for you," said Agis, his grim face relaxing in a smile.
Maigrey was, for a moment, overcome. "Thank you, Captain," she said, when she could speak. "Have the man report to me here, in uniform, at 0600. He will bring with him whatever weapons he considers himself skilled in using."
"Yes, my lady."
"You are dismissed, Captain."
Agis saluted and left. On his way out, he stopped to supervise the changing of the watch. "Have Lieutenant Cato report to me now in my quarters," he said to the centurion leaving duty.
Agis was working at his computer when the lieutenant entered, saluted, and stood waiting silently for orders.
"Lieutenant," said the captain, shutting the door, "when His Majesty awakes, you will tell him that I have gone AWOL. You will, as ranking officer, take over command. I have already entered the report and the charges against myself. Here is a hard copy."
The lieutenant was too highly disciplined to allow any exclamation of astonishment or questions to pass his lips. Silently, wordlessly, he accepted the document. Glancing at it, he saw the order for capture and/or termination and his lips tightened. He looked up, watched his captain take from his own shoulder the hand-tooled harness that indicated, along with the feather-crested helm, his rank. He handed the harness to Cato, who stood, face impassive, stiffly at attention.
Ceremony complete, both men relaxed.
"Is there anything I can do for you, Agis?"
"No, thank you, Cato. My affairs are in order. Serve His Majesty well."
"Of course." Cato hesitated. "The men will understand—"
"Then I trust they will keep their damn mouths shut," Agis said, grinning. He reached out his hand.
"They will." Cato took his comrade's hand, pressed it warmly. "Good luck, sir. My respects to his lordship."
"Good luck to you . . . Captain."
"Thank you, sir," said Cato softly. Saluting a final time, he left.
The door sealed shut, and Agis began preparing for his journey.
"Brother, wake up." Maigrey shook the young man gently by the shoulder.
Fideles blinked, sat up, looked around in confusion. Seeing Maigrey standing by the bed, he flushed, and hastened to scramble off the couch and to his feet.
Maigrey pointed to a pile of clothes, draped over a chair. "You can't go with us dressed in monk's robes. Have you ever worn body armor before?"
Fideles's face flushed with pleasure.
"No, my lady," he answered.
"It fits skintight. It's hard to put on, if you haven't got the knack. If you need help—"
"Thank you, my lady." Fideles's face went crimson, he stared at the floor. "But that won't be necessary. I'm sure I can manage."
"Very well. There's time for a shower, if you want. Dry off thoroughly, then cover your body with talcum powder. The armor will slide on easier. You can change your clothes behind the screen."
The young man's flush deepened.
"Thank you, my lady," he said. Taking the clothes and the body armor, he tucked them under his arm and disappeared into the head.
Maigrey smiled when he couldn't s
ee her, but her smile ended in a sigh. She sighed again when the young priest emerged from behind the screen.
He had apparently succeeded, after a struggle, in putting on the armor, for he walked as stiffly and looked as uncomfortable as a man in a body cast. That didn't worry Maigrey. With wear, the priest would soon get used to the strange, tight, squirmy feel of it. But . . .
"God help us," said Maigrey, eyeing the young man in exasperation.
"I'm sorry, my lady," said Fideles, glancing down at himself.
In an effort to disguise the priest, make him look like an outlaw, Tusk had rummaged out a pair of faded, dark-colored blue jeans, an old, ragged sweatshirt, a leather flight jacket, and a pair of combat boots. Brother Fideles, with his slim body, frank and open face, and long blond hair that fell over his shoulders in gentle waving curls, looked exactly like a priest trying to disguise himself as an outlaw.
"Tie your hair back. That will help some. And for heaven's sake, don't blush and stare at your shoes every time a woman talks to you!"
"I'm sorry, my lady." Fideles's face grew redder than before. "I—I've never been around many women."
"No, I don't suppose you have," said Maigrey, biting her lip, not knowing whether to laugh or cry. "Well, just do the best you can. Maybe, like the body armor, you'll get used to us eventually."
"But are we going to be meeting many women, my lady? I thought—"
"You thought we were going to sail into the Corasian galaxy without a care in the universe, trusting in God to protect us?"
"Well, not exactly—"
"We wouldn't get as far as the outer perimeter. We have to have a reason for being there, Brother. A reason for them not to blast us out of the stars ... or worse. We have to, therefore, fit in with the humans who travel there."
"Do humans travel there?" Fideles asked, eyes glancing up at her in astonishment, immediately lowering again.
"Oh, yes. The Corasians are quite fond of humans, human flesh particularly."
Maigrey said nothing more. Let him think about that one. She turned away, busied herself with packing items in a duffel bag. She had changed her clothes, was dressed all in black, black leather pants, tucked into high black boots; a black, high-collared, long-sleeved tunic, belted around her waist. Occasionally when she moved, there came from beneath the black the flash of shining silver armor. She wore the blood-sword, attached to its scabbard, on her right hip.
King's Sacrifice Page 22
