The Lost King

by Margaret Weis

  Sagan looked down at her. She could see the starjewel glitter in his eyes that were darker than the darkness. "I don't think it will matter," he said, and she felt the power heave and surge and tremble between them.

  Maigrey reached for the gun. Their hands touched. A burning sensation shot through her arm, hurting her worse than the Corasian laser. She snatched back her hand.

  "And don't forget to change the polarization," Sagan admonished.

  "I wasn't going to!" Maigrey snapped, trying to convince herself that she was telling the truth, though she knew she was so keyed up and strung out that she would never have remembered. Hurriedly, hands shaking, she reset the gun and gripped it tightly.

  Back pressed against the wall, hoping to escape immediate observation if one of the enemy happened to stick its sensors out the door, she eased forward. Sagan was by her side, a grenade in his left hand. Maigrey saw that he wore several attached to his belt and she cursed herself for not remembering to do the same.

  After all, it'd been seventeen years!

  Reaching the door, she paused, drew a deep breath, then lunged into the room. A quick glance showed her the boy still lying on the table. She raised the gun and fired four times in rapid succession, aiming high and in the general direction of those she was supposed to take out. Plastisteel exploded. Maigrey had a vague impression of a blast in the corridor behind her.

  The four Corasians were no longer standing around the table; two were lying dead at her feet, a third was helpless, and a fourth was crawling out of its shell. Maigrey fired twice more and ran into the room.

  Sagan plunged after her, the two never speaking but reacting to each other's thoughts, moving together in a chaotic dance to a music only they could hear.

  Maigrey fired at the two standing at Dion's head. Sagan's sword whistled. He cut down the one standing on the far side of the steel table. Another Corasian that Maigrey hadn't seen emerged suddenly from behind some sort of diabolical machine.

  Left! his thought came to her.

  She turned, set her foot on a piece of something, and lost her balance. Her shot went wide. The Corasian aimed for her, point-blank. Sagan lunged at it, caught hold of the robotic body in his hands, lifted it, and hurled it against the machine. Fire spurted, electricity crackled, smoke spewed out. And. for the moment, they were safe. 1040 and ticking.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Bone of my bone, and flesh of my flesh.

  Genesis 2:23

  Maigrey ran for the boy. Sagan returned to guard the doorway.

  Metal clamps secured Dion's hands and feet. Maigrey sliced through them with her sword, casting Dion worried glances as she worked. The bloodsword's blade burned with an eerie luminescence, giving the boy's pallid face a whitish blue cast, turning the red-golden hair purple. A black stream of blood trickled from Dion's mouth, but, Maigrey determined swiftly, it didn't come from any internal injury. In the extremity of his pain, he'd bitten through his tongue. She could find no other wounds on his body.

  Mental torture. The Corasians had developed it into an art form. After all, if the mind thinks its body's limbs are being hacked off, what's the difference if they're not? Don't want to damage tomorrow night's dinner; let's keep the meat intact, the juices flowing.

  Maigrey laid her hand on Dion's forehead. The boy shivered at her touch and tossed his head, crying out frantically.

  "Dion!" she said, trying to be gentle, yet conscious of the fact that the orange glow in the corridor was growing steadily brighter. "Dion, it's Lady Maigrey. Hush, there, it's all right."

  "You sound like his nursemaid! Get him on his feet!" Sagan growled. He tossed a grenade. A flare of white light, an explosion, and the orange glow dimmed again.

  "Dion!" Maigrey pleaded. Putting her arms beneath his shoulders, she raised the young man to a sitting position. He shook his head groggilv and groaned in pain. "Dion"— Maigrey's voice grew stern—"you're all right. It's in your mind. There's nothing wrong with you."

  Dion's eyes flew open, looked swiftly, wildly, at his right arm. He appeared puzzled, then stared at her. Maigrey saw the terror in his eyes and her heart ached for him, but he was going to be a lot more terrified if they didn't get out of here.

  "Dion—" she began.

  Sagan shoved her roughly aside. "Guard the door," he commanded, thrusting a grenade into her hand. "That's the last one."

  Maigrey ran to the door and peered out. The corridor was dark in one direction; an orange glow, like a setting sun or a raging fire, lit the other. The Corasians were being cautious, waiting. They could have stormed the room, but why bother? The "meat" would be forced to come to them eventually. It occurred to her, too, that there probably weren't many of the enemy left on board. They would be forced to ration both supplies and energy this far from their home base, and so undoubtedly operated with the barest number of crew possible. Not that this mattered a lot. It only took one to kill you.

  Maigrey glanced back over her shoulder, saw Sagan grab Dion by the collar of his flight suit, drag him from the table, and force him to stand. The boy's legs collapsed and he crumpled to the deck in a heap.

  "Get up, boy. You look just like that Guardian of yours— Platus—groveling at my feet!"

  Dion was awake, alert, the blue eyes glittering in the sword's light as brightly as the starjewel. Slowly, hand on the steel table, he pulled himself to his feet. His eyes never left Sagan's.

  "Platus didn't grovel!" Dion's voice was thick; he spit blood. "I saw him. He faced you—"

  "The Starfires, then. The blood of your father runs in your veins, runs piss-yellow!" Sagan laid his hand on the boy's shoulder.

  "Why did you come for me, then?" Dion cried.

  "Because I need a warm, living body with red hair and the Starfire eyes and genes and chromosomes. Whether or not that body has a backbone isn't my concern."

  The Warlord gave Dion a shove that sent the boy stumbling across the deck toward the door. Maigrey caught him as he reeled into her. She saw tears in his eyes.

  "Snap out erf it!" Maigrey gave him a shake.

  900 and still counting.

  Maigrey took hold of one of Dion's arms; Sagan had the other. Together, they guided the boy down the corridor. Dion walked like a blind man, uncaring, letting them take him where they would. "You didn't have to be that rough on him, my lord."

  "I suppose I could have wakened him with a kiss, my lady, but at the moment it didn't occur to me. Here they come. Get behind us, boy!"

  Dion's head snapped up. "I can fight," he said, and raised his bloodsword.

  The Warlord heard the dullness in the tone and cast the young man a keen, speculative glance. "Good," was his only comment.

  The orange glow burst upon them, fiery bolts whizzed around them. Maigrey hurled the last grenade. They flattened themselves against a wall, braced for the explosion, and when it came, jumped forward and dashed down the corridor before the debris had settled.

  Dion moved in time with them, the bloodsword connecting their minds, playing its mystical music. The three slashed at anything that still glowed or moved. But that had been their last grenade. The exhilaration of the shared power could support the spirit but not the flesh.

  The light of Maigrey's bloodsword was growing dim. She was losing energy. Sagan's sword, too, wasn't flaring as brightly. The breath whistled through his clenched teeth, and he winced when he swung the blade and paused to massage his shoulder. Dion fought numbly, the look on his face the look of one who walks in his sleep.

  We're finished, thought Maigrey. We can't survive another onslaught. The darkness will close over us, enfold us, peaceful, restful. . . .

  Darkness. Maigrey looked around. She was in darkness. They were standing in the corridor that led to the hangar decks, to their planes, to escape, and it was dark.

  "Shut down the swords," came Sagan's command, and Maigrey reacted a split-second before he spoke. "Conserve your energy."

  The light of the bloodswords gone, the starjewel gleamed
brL -.intly. Seeing Sagan's stern gaze fixed on it, Maigrey tucked the Star of the Guardians away beneath her body armor. The darkness around them was now complete and absolute.

  "This is weird," Maigrey whispered. She thought, all in all, she preferred the enemy.

  "How did you leave your plane, my lady?"

  "As you ordered me, my lord. It'll blow in"—she was too distracted to calculate—"however many seconds we have left."

  "779. What about your plane, boy? Where's the Scimitar?"

  "I don't know. I can't remember," Dion said dispiritedly.

  Maigrey heard the sound of a blow, not a gentle one.

  Dion staggered back against her and she caught him and shoved him upright. Taut and tense, unnerved by the smothering darkness and the seconds beating faster than her heart, she was tempted to slap him herself.

  "You have to!" Sagan said, his breathing labored. "You told me once that Platus taught you to take note of your surroundings. It was apparently the only worthwhile thing he ever did teach you. You'd better make use of it!"

  Dion was silent. Maigrey, standing near him, could feel his body tremble.

  "Down this corridor. Second hangar we'll come to on our right."

  TTiey activated the swords for light and protection and began to move stealthily down the passageway, Maigrey taking the front, Dion in the middle, Sagan walking behind, guarding the rear. Maigrey glided warily past each doorway, prepared to see it flung open; ready for the sudden attack.

  Nothing.

  "This is it," called Dion.

  They flattened themselves against the wall. Sagan motioned and Maigrey cautiously, sword at the ready, slid to the entryway and twisted her head around to peer inside. Cool air flowed from it, lifting her hair, drying the sweat on her scalp and temples.

  "The plane's there. The hangar's empty. No sign of the enemy." 500.

  "Then let's get the hell outta here," Dion said, scowling. He started forward.

  Maigrey heard a click, the sound coming from somewhere near her ankle.

  That was why there were no Corasians in sight.

  She hurled herself at the boy and knocked him backward as far as she could carry him. Maigrey landed on top of Dion and felt a heavy weight smash down across her. A strong hand pressed her head down flat, covered her face and eyes.

  A sheet of flame shot out into the corridor. The intense heat seared the lungs; noxious fumes poisoned the air.

  "Run!" Sagan grunted.

  Twisting to his feet, he dragged Maigrey up and propelled her forward. Shaken from the fall and dizzy from the femes, she pressed her hand over her nose and mouth and staggered into the hangar. The air in here was cool, and she gasped for breath. The bomb had burst outward, avoiding damage to the coveted spaceplane.

  439.

  Sagan helped Dion into the hangar.

  "Go on ahead," he commanded the stunned boy, "and get the plane started."

  Dion nodded wordlessly and ran past Maigrey, heading for the Scimitar. She looked him over as he went by her. He seemed unhurt, but she noted that he was rubbing the back of his head with his hand.

  I hit him pretty hard, she reflected ruefully.

  Maigrey glanced out the hangar. The orange glow could be dimly seen reflecting off the steel walls of the corridor—the Corasians coming to see the results of their booby trap. Sagan was searching for the controls to shut the doors. Sword ready, Maigrey took her place by his side.

  350.

  Sagan found the controls. Copied from the human ships the Corasians had scavenged, the mechanism was familiar and easy to operate. The doors rumbled shut and the Warlord slashed at the controls with his sword, effectively putting them out of commission.

  Maigrey sighed, and shut off the bloodsword. The darkness that enveloped her now was welcome—cool shade to one sweltering in blazing sun. Strength ebbed from her body, every muscle ached, and it was going to take an effort to make it to the plane. She should feel elated, but she didn't. She was drained. Unable to see in the darkness, she tripped and fell headlong over something unknown. Sagan caught hold of her arm. supported her, steadied her.

  His grip was strong, almost painful.

  "Thank you, my lord. I'm all right now," she said, keeping careful control of her voice. "You can let go of me."

  Instead of releasing her, his hand tightened. He drew her close, drew her to warmth and strength, a fast-beating heart and deep, quick breathing.

  Maigrey hesitated, knowing that this was a seduction not of the body but of the soul. She saw in his mind what he wanted from her, what he wanted her to give him. She saw clearly what he could give to her.

  A galaxy, with its billions of people, all looking to her in adoration, hailing her their queen.

  Maigrey struggled, not against him, but against herself. His hps brushed the scar on her cheek; his chin, unshaven, was rough against her skin.

  To rule was wrong, it wasn't her right; she hadn't been born to it.

  That didn't mean she didn't deserve it. That didn't mean she couldn't take it.

  Maigrey clasped her arms around the Warlord's body, pressing close to him, almost as though she would crawl inside him, become part of his flesh and blood and bone.

  Sagan's mouth crushed against hers, drawing out her breath, her life.

  300.

  Something sharp was piercing her flesh—the edges of the starjewel. Drawing back from Sagan to catch her breath, she reached to break the chain around her neck, snatch off the necklace. Her hand closed over it.

  A brilliant white light flared around her, nearly blinding her.

  "I might have known," said a young and bitter voice.

  The lights of the spaceplane illuminated the hangar with a harsh, artificial radiance that threw everything into sharp relief—white and black, seen and unseen, visible and lost in darkness. Maigrey freed herself from Sagan's embrace and twisted around. The Warlord let her go, but kept his hand on her shoulder, kept her near.

  Dion stood in front of them, his arms crossed across his chest, his blue eyes wide and rimmed with white, his face pale and bloodless.

  "Guardians! Old comrades! Pah!" The boy spit blood. "You were lovers!"

  230 seconds.

  Their lives were ticking away and they stood immobile.

  225 seconds.

  "I told you to start up the plane, boy," Derek Sagan said.

  "Don't call me 'boy !' Dion flashed. "My name is Starfire,

  Dion Starfire!" He threw back his head proudly; the mane of red-golden hair glistened in the shining light. "And I am your king!"

  His words echoed in the silent hangar. Maigrey clasped the starjewel tightly, welcoming the scourge, the sharp points pressing into her flesh. She stepped away from Sagan. His hand lingered on her shoulder an instant. Maigrey tensed, her body stiffened, and he let her go. Glancing at him, she saw his lip curled in a sneer. His shadowed gaze was fixed on Dion.

  "King? You're a whelp, a pup, and you'll do what I tell you to do." The Warlord strode forward. "We have barely enough time to escape. You may have cost us our lives, boy—"

  Dion's bloodsword flared. The young man stepped in front of the Warlord, blocking his path.

  189 seconds.

  Sagan activated his sword. He wasn't going to kill, Maigrey knew. He was going to maim. A royal heir missing an arm or a leg, his eyes slashed to eternal darkness, would be useful to him still.

  The Warlord raised his sword. Dion moved clumsily to block the blow. Maigrey, forgotten, slid her sword noiselessly back into its scabbard. Clenching her fists together, concentrating all the enhanced strength of mind and body, she lunged forward and clubbed Sagan on the back of the neck, right above the shoulder.

  At the last moment, he was aware of her and tried to swing around to defend himself, but she had the advantage. The blow felled him; he sprawled unconscious at Maigrey's feet.

  "You should have never let me get behind you, my lord." Maigrey glanced up at Dion, who was staring at her, open-mouthed.r />
  "He'll be all right. We don't have much time. Help me carry him to the plane."

  "We could . . . leave him." Dion was white to the lips.

  "We'd never get back onto Phoenix without him," Maigrey returned.

  100.

  Between them, they dragged the Warlord to the plane and pushed and shoved and hoisted him on board.

  "You take the controls," Maigrey ordered.

  Dion nodded and hastily sat down in the pilot's seat. The Scimitar's cockpit was cramped and crowded with three of them. Maigrey stretched Sagan out on the deck; she was too tired to try to lift him into a seat. Hastily, she sat down in the co-pilot's chair next to Dion.

  75 seconds.

  The plane's engines roared.

  "We can't get out!" Dion cried hoarsely. He pointed. "The hangar bay door's shut!"

  70 seconds.

  "It'll open. Automatically, when the plane's engines switch on. A safety precaution. That's how they're designed.'

  That's how we design them, Maigrey said to herself. That didn't mean the Corasians designed them that way. Or maybe they've had time to realize their booby trap didn't work. Maybe they've sealed us inside the hangar. . . .

  65 seconds.

  The plane lifted with a slamming blast from behind, the thrust of the engines propelling them forward. Slowly the steel doors shivered and began to open, then stopped. The Corasians, realizing their prize was slipping away, had shut them down.

  "You can do it," Maigrey said, her hand closing over Dion's. "The opening's wide enough. Fly through the crack."

  53 seconds.

  If it wobbles, if he can't hold it steady, we'll crash.

  Hold it . . . hold it . . .

  The plane scraped through the opening, metal screeching, and then they were frantically clawing into open space. Traveling this fast this soon after starting up the engines was extremely dangerous—the computer was reminding them loudly of this fact in no uncertain terms. But it would be extremely dangerous not to. Maigrey glanced back, behind them.

  2.

  An explosion—a single explosion—tore apart the Corasian mothership. For one plane to blow up, it had done an incredible amount of damage. Maigrey waited for the second explosion, but it didn't come. Then she understood. She and Sagan had matched each other to the nth second. Their planes had blown up simultaneously.