King's Sacrifice

by Margaret Weis

  John Milton, Paradise Lost

  Sagan sat up too swiftly. A wave of dizziness assailed him. He closed his eyes, put his hand to his head.

  "I could give you a stimulation shot, my lord," said a concerned voice.

  The Warlord opened his eyes, glanced down from the bier on which he sat, saw the young priest, standing respectfully nearby, a medkit in his hands.

  "Brother Fideles?" Sagan wondered, at first, if he'd left the monastery.

  "Praise be to God for your safety, my lord."

  "I wouldn't be too quick to praise Him, Brother," said the Warlord bitterly. "And no, I don't need a stimulation shot. I haven't atrophied, if that's what you're afraid of.

  "This"—he gestured at the bier—"was all a set-piece designed entirely for my lady's benefit. The mind-seizer was forced to keep my body alive, despite the fact that I wasn't in it. I've been fed, exercised. You remember how it was, when he captured us the last time, my lady? Like rats, in a laboratory."

  She nodded, shivered, and looked involuntarily around, though what she sought couldn't be seen with the body's eyes, only those of the mind. "Abdiel's coming. We don't have much time. I brought your sword.

  The centurion stepped forward. Kneeling, he lifted the bloodsword in outstretched hands and offered it to Sagan.

  "What? You here, too, Captain?"

  "Yes, my lord. Your weapon, my lord."

  The Warlord did not immediately take the sword, but turned, looked intently at Maigrey.

  "Did you think I would forget?" she asked.

  "Not forget, he said, after a moment's hesitation, "but perhaps think it best not to bring it to me."

  Maigrey smiled, shook her head. "I'm not afraid of you, my lord. Or of my destiny. You see, I wear the silver armor."

  The vision of her death came to him again, clear, more real than anything around him. Blood streaming down silver armor. Only it wasn't the bloodsword he held. It was the dagger, the small dagger, its hilt designed in the shape of an eight-pointed star, used by priests to make their offering of their own life's blood to the Creator. Sagan breathed deeply, closed his eyes in thankfulness. His dagger was not here. It was far away, left behind in the monastery when Abdiel had taken him captive.

  The dream was a lie. It couldn't come true. Or maybe not a he, for that would be to deny his faith. Perhaps one of them, he or Maigrey, or perhaps someone else—Dion maybe—had done something, offered some other sacrifice, that had altered the course of the future.

  Flexing his muscles, stretching, he reached out briskly to take the sword from Agis.

  "Wishful thinking, Sagan," came a dry, cracked voice.

  The Warlord caught up his sword, turned. Maigrey drew her sword, activated it, came to stand beside him. Once again together, lord and lady prepared to walk the paths of darkness.

  Abdiel's frail and wizened form emerged from the shadows of a doorway to the north, crept along the bridge and into the light. The flames burning on the dark water shimmered on the heavy magenta robes, decorated with a slash of dark lightning.

  "How touching," he continued, "to witness a reunion of lovers long parted. I've been moved almost to nausea. And you would have me believe you are united? Lovers who betrayed their love? Guardians who betrayed their king? Dion doesn't trust you. You don't trust each other. You don't even trust yourselves."

  He paused, the lidless eyes flitted from Maigrey to Sagan, stealthily trying the door handles, rattling the locks, peering through cracks, seeking an opening. The lidless eyes glinted in the firelight. The wizened body drew back, huddled into its robes.

  Sagan shook his head. "Long ago, that strategy worked for you, Abdiel. Long ago, you found the entry into each of us you sought. Pride, fear, jealousy, distrust. My lady and I defeated you, only—in the end—to defeat ourselves. But you will not find your way in now. We stand against you. Two together."

  "Two who will feel the bite of the serpent's tooth." Abdiel's hand slid into his robes.

  Agis, concealed behind the bier, took advantage of the mind-seizer's preoccupation with Maigrey and Sagan to draw his dartgun. He was an expert shot. The old man was an easy target, standing alone, illuminated by the firelight. Agis took aim.

  "Ah, would you, centurion?" The lidless eyes glowed red. "And which of us would you shoot?"

  The voice came from his right. Agis saw movement out of the corner of his eye, a flash of magenta. He glanced that direction. The mind-seizer stood in the doorway to the east. Startled, Agis looked back to the north. Abdiel stood there.

  "You should never turn your back on me, centurion."

  This time, the voice was from behind.

  Agis refused to fall for the old trick, though the hair on the back of his neck rose and prickled, instinct warning him to turn.

  The shot came from behind, struck him in the back. The laser beam blasted through his armor, burned flesh, melted bone. Agis pitched forward, landed face-down upon the span of rock.

  In the doorway behind him stood one of the mind-dead, a beam rifle in his hand.

  Brother Daniel flashed a defiant look at the mind-dead, whose rifle was turned on him, and ran to the centurion's side.

  "Hold your fire, Mikael," Abdiel ordered. "This should prove amusing."

  The mind-dead did as commanded.

  "You had no reason to shoot him!" Maigrey said angrily. "Your illusions fooled him! He couldn't have harmed you!"

  "On the contrary, my dear." Abdiel smiled unpleasantly. "I had a very good reason."

  "Agis!" Daniel said softly, kneeling to examine the extent of the man's injuries. "Lie still. Don't move. "

  The centurion lifted his head, looked at Daniel.

  "Is the old man watching?"

  Daniel looked up furtively. "No ..."

  "Take my gun!" Agis pushed the weapon along the floor toward the priest. "Quickly!"

  Daniel hesitated. He could scoop it up swiftly, hide it in his robes.

  "Take it!" Agis urged. "Save . . . my lord!"

  The priest reached out, saw his hand closing over the gun's hilt. His own fingers were red-stained, gummed with blood: Agis's blood, the assassin's.

  Daniel dropped the gun, shrank away from it. "No ... I cannot ..."

  "Coward!" The centurion snarled, grabbed hold of the gun. "Get out of my way."

  Daniel tried to stop him. "No, you'll kill yourself—"

  Agis gave the priest a violent shove, struggled to push himself up. The exertion was too much. Moaning, he slumped over, shuddered, went limp. The gun clattered to the stone floor.

  Hunched in misery, Daniel buried his hands in the folds of his robes.

  "A show of power," Abdiel commented. "Ostentatious, perhaps, but necessary. You might, perhaps, save yourselves. But you can't save those you brought with you. Anymore than you will be able to save Dion. And you needn't bother to look for your assassin, Lady Maigrey. He's dead, too. You'll find his corpse there, on the floor behind you. The priest killed him."

  "As God is my witness," Daniel cried in misery, "if I killed him, I didn't mean to. He went mad, attacked my lady. I tried to stop him." He lifted his hands, stared at them in horror. "The next thing I knew ... he was dead."

  Maigrey remembered the blow, striking her from behind. It had knocked the sword from her grasp. She remembered, vaguely, the glint of a knife. The words of the monk came back to her, You yourself made the choice that will determine the outcome.

  "How he died doesn't matter, Brother Daniel," Maigrey said quietly. "You did what you had to do."

  "You broke your vows, didn't you, Brother?" Abdiel smiled, his mouth seemed to have no lips, as his eyes had no lids. "God has turned his face away from you, false, lying Priest! Turned away in wrath! You will die and your soul will be eternally damned!"

  Daniel tried to clasp his bloody hands together as if to pray, but couldn't bring himself to do so. Frantically, he wiped them on the hem of his robes.

  "Don't listen to him, Brother," Sagan warned. "He's trying to dest
roy you as surely as he destroyed Agis. Keep your faith in God."

  "I?" The mind-seizer looked amazed. "I've done nothing. He's destroyed himself—as do all who have the misfortune to come around you two."

  Abdiel cocked his head, listening. "Ah, and speaking of God, His Anointed has landed. No, no, my lord. Make no move." This to Sagan, who had started to take a step forward, bloodsword shining. "It would be impolite to conclude this meeting before His Majesty has had a chance to visit with old friends. Mikael, go and offer your services as escort to the king. My lord and my lady and I will endeavor to amuse ourselves while we await his arrival.

  "Lady Maigrey, if you so much as flicker an eyelid, Mikael has orders to return not with his Royal Highness, but with his royal corpse.

  "Once His Majesty comes, he and I will be so rude as to ignore you both and enjoy a talk together—just the two of us. You will not disturb us or attempt to interfere. For remember, my lord and my lady, that I have in my hand the serpent's tooth. It's bite is sharp, and the king's flesh is tender."

  Chapter Twelve

  The sacrifice of God is a troubled spirit: a broken and contrite heart . . .

  Prayer Book, 1662, Psalms 51:15

  "Test the commlink," said Tusk.

  "Testing," said Dion. "Can you hear me?"

  "Loud and clear, kid. Loud and clear."

  Dion nodded. Tusk handed him a weapons belt.

  The young man shook his head. "Abdiel won't let anything happen to me."

  "Maybe not, but how much control does even he have over the Corasians?"

  Dion took the belt, strapped it around his waist.

  "Anti-matter grenades. Lasgun," said Tusk, pointing. "The grenades are for humans and Corasians. The lasgun's just for humans. Got that?"

  "Yes." Dion barely glanced at them.

  Tusk eyed him, chewed his lip. "I dunno, kid. I got to admit maybe XJ is right. I don't like the thought of you going in there alone."

  "Alone," repeated Dion softly to himself, smiling as if over some private joke.

  "Look, maybe I should—"

  "No, Tusk, you shouldn't. You can't." Dion raised his head, looked at his friend earnestly. "You have to do this for me, Tusk. You're the only one who understands, the only one I trust." He put his hands over Tusk's. "You will do this for me? If I say so?"

  "Yeah, sure, kid," Tusk mumbled, looking down at the white-skinned hands that stood out in sharp contrast against his black-skinned ones.

  "The space-rotation bomb is armed. All you have to do is punch in the symbol'd.' Then leave. You'll have six hours— time to get back, warn the fleet, and make the Jump into the Void. You will leave, Tusk. You won't try to find me or rescue me. Because if I tell you to blow up the bomb, it will be too late to save me. You know that, don't you?"

  The mercenary didn't answer.

  Tusk?"

  "Yeah, sure. I'll leave."

  "I want it this way. It has to be this way to save my people. Now—"

  "Damn it, kid, enough already!"

  "No, I just have to say one more thing. I've been thinking, and XJ was right when he said what you did for me cost you more than I can ever repay—"

  "I didn't mean it!" XJ called out suddenly. For the past few minutes, odd, blubbering sounds had been emanating from the computer.

  Tusk was vehemently shaking his head. "Kid, listen—"

  "No, you listen. You've been a true friend, Tusk. You've stood by me no matter how stupid I was or how obnoxious I acted. And now you've risked your life for me. More than that, you've risked your happiness, you and Nola both."

  A muffled sob came from the gun turret.

  "I wish I could tell you that I'd make it up to you, but I can't, ever. I only want you to know that I appreciate it, that your friendship has meant . . . that my last thoughts will be . .

  "I can't take this!" XJ wailed.

  The lights went out.

  Tusk, for once, was grateful. He drew Dion into a swift, fierce embrace and was reminded suddenly of watching Platus embrace the young man, of seeing the knowledge of approaching death on the Guardian's face. Tusk knew that if the lights came on, he'd see that same expression on his own face.

  Laughing nervously, awkwardly, he wiped his nose, started to tell XJ to turn the lights back on, thought better of it.

  Dion fumbled in the darkness, searching for the ladder that led up and out. Life support had shut down as well as the lights. The plane was quiet, the silence broken only by an occasional mechanical-sounding hiccup.

  Putting his foot on the first rung, Dion paused. "Good-bye, Nola. Good-bye, XJ."

  An incoherent sob from the gun turret and a spasmodic flicker of the lights—on and then off—were the only answers.

  "Good-bye, Tusk."

  "Good-bye, kid," said Tusk, from the darkness.

  Dion pulled himself up and out of the hatch. He stopped, studied the planet's surface. The night-sky, with its lambent starlight, was far brighter than the darkness of the plane he'd just left. He saw nothing, heard nothing. But there was no cover between himself and the mound-covered openings that led below the surface. Drawing his lasgun, he climbed down the side of the spaceplane, hit the ground running.

  Undoubtedly Maigrey had come this way, he supposed, glancing at her spaceplane, gleaming white, as he ran past.

  He could have reached out to her, could have discovered where she was, what she was doing. He could have reached out to Sagan, as well, if the Warlord was still alive. But Dion knew that to open himself to them was to open himself to Abdiel and he wasn't ready for that yet.

  He kept his thoughts and mind focused on his decision, on the fete that lay ahead of him. The sacrifice must go willingly, or it would all be in vain.

  And he never noticed, in the distance, hiding in the darkness, among the stumps of charred trees, the army of mind-dead, waiting. He never noticed, when he entered the passages that led blow, the lurid red glow starting to light the sky behind him.

  Dion groped his way along the passage slowly, cautiously. The darkness was intense. He should have brought along Tusk's night-vision goggles. Dion was considering switching on a small nuke beam he carried in his weapons belt, debating on whether the risks he would incur using the light would outweigh stumbling around in the dark, when the voice spoke.

  "Dion Starfire. We have been expecting you. This way, please."

  Nervous, tense, Dion swung around, gun in hand. It took a moment for him to make sense of the words, barely heard over the sudden pounding of his heart.

  He switched on the nuke beam, aimed it about eye level, hoping to blind whoever it was talking until he had a good look at them.

  The light illuminated the figure of human male, standing composedly near a rock wall. The beam caught him full in the eyes, but whether or not his vision was impaired by it was impossible to judge. His eyes squinted involuntarily, but no expression of pain, irritation, or annoyance crossed the impassive face. The eyes, once they had adjusted to the light, reflected it back, flat as mirrors, with no light of their own.

  "Mind-dead," said Dion to himself, keeping the lasgun fixed on the man. Aloud he asked, "Who are you?"

  "My name is Mikael," said the man, detaching himself from the wall.

  Dion was momentarily confused. He'd met Mikael before, the time he'd first met Abdiel on Laskar, and this wasn't the same man. That Mikael had died, struck down by the centurion Marcus. Dion dimly remembered someone—Sagan, Maigrey, someone—telling him that Abdiel called each of his most favored servants by that name, promoting a new Mikael to the position whenever the previous Mikael passed on.

  "I want to see your master," Dion said.

  Mikael bowed. "My orders are to take you to him, Your Majesty. Please, follow me. You will not need your light."

  The man switched on a nuke lamp of his own. Dion, ignoring him, kept his own light turned on, played it over every centimeter of ground, wall, and ceiling.

  The passageway appeared empty, except for themselve
s.

  "Go on, then," ordered Dion. "You first."

  This Mikael was a taller, broader, more muscular Mikael than the last one, but the expression on the two faces was so similar that they might have been created in the same womb. Which, to a certain extent, they had been, Dion thought, eyeing with repugnance the man moving ahead of him.

  His senses heightened, tense, and alert, Dion was suddenly aware of Maigrey's presence in the passage. She wasn't here now, but she had been here, been this way, recently, too. It was as if he could smell a lingering fragrance, see a faint glimmer of silver light shining phosphorescently on the dark rock. He longed to reach out to her, but to touch her would be to touch Abdiel. All of them were so close, they could not help but mentally bump into each other.

  Better, Dion decided, to remain alone.

  They continued walking. He saw, some distance ahead, what he thought was firelight, its reflection flickering yellow, flaring brightly one moment, waning another. He was curious to see the source, but Mikael, at the last second, turned aside, entered a smaller, narrower passage that branched off to the right.

  Dion stopped. He had lost Maigrey's trail. She had taken a different path.

  "Is this the right way?" he demanded.

  "It is for you, Your Majesty," answered Mikael, as if he knew what Dion was thinking.

  They traveled downward, the tunnel floor sloping at a steep angle, spiraling round itself. Other passages slanted off. Dion saw their dark entryways, sometimes thought he heard the sound of machines thumping, pulsing. Once, rounding a turn, he saw the red glow that meant Corasians. Terrible memories of his captivity aboard the Corasian mother ship came back to him. His hand closed over a grenade on his belt.

  "Have no fear, Dion Starfire," advised Mikael in his lifeless voice. "They will do you no harm."

  The disciple continued walking, moving straight toward the Corasians.

  Not wanting to appear weak or fearful, Dion did the same, although he kept his fingers wrapped tightly around the grenade. The Corasians came into view, trundling down the same corridor, passing so close that Dion felt the intense heat radiating from their steelglass bodies, could see the inner workings of the robot mechanisms that propelled them.