Knights Of The Black Earth

by Margaret Weis

  Glancing through a dangling drape, Raoul caught a glimpse of the expression on Dixter's face--helpless, frustrated.

  Raoul knew just how the man felt. "How will we ever get to the king now?" he asked his small companion.

  The Little One had some idea in mind, perhaps, for he dragged Raoul out from under the opposite end of the scaffolding and plunged back into the crowd. Raoul tripped mincingly along behind his friend, keeping up a running stream of apologies.

  "I beg your pardon, madam. So sorry, sir. We must get through. Urgent information. I adore your dress, my dear. Is it an original or a copy? Are you quite sure? It's a copy," he said in an undertone to the Little One.

  His friend growled impatiently, pulled Raoul along so fast that he nearly stepped out of his pumps.

  "Where are we going?" Raoul demanded.

  The Little One pointed, indicated his plan. Raoul blinked, astounded at the idea. The more he considered it, the better he liked it.

  "GNN! News anchor James M. Warden. His Majesty undoubtedly has avid machine in the limo. We will get ourselves on camera and issue the warning that way! James M. Warden will certainly not allow anyone to shoot us--at least until after the interview."

  The two hastened ahead.

  "Mr. Warden!" Raoul called, once again waving the hankie. "Mr. Warden! You don't know me, but--" James M. Warden faced them.

  Raoul had the sudden impression that he'd been mistaken; that the news anchor did indeed know them and that they weren't at all a welcome sight. Warden's expression was cold, dire.

  The Little One halted so abruptly that Raoul tumbled over him.

  "Hostile? Why should he be hostile--"

  Warden turned to Cato. "Captain, those two men over there. I recognize them. They are members of the cyborg's mercenary team!"

  Cato looked, saw them, recognized them. The captain shouted for his men, started forward.

  Raoul was caught out in the open, nowhere to run.

  This called for desperate measures. He reached into his handbag for his lipstick ....

  At that moment, the limo's jets fired.

  Captain Cato whipped around, began issuing orders. "Clear the area! Get His Majesty to safety!"

  The Royal Guard instantly sprang to action. The ring of steel expanded outward, firmly, determinedly pressing people out of the way. The Royal Limo started to lift off the ground.

  Raoul and the Little One thankfully mingled with the excited crowd, let the mob pick them up and sweep them away, back to the relative safety of the scaffolding.

  The Adonian heaved a sigh of relief. "Ah, nothing to worry about now. Xris Cyborg must have disabled the device. We can-- What is it?"

  The Little One was leaning forward, his head cocked, as if he were listening to a distant call.

  Raoul followed his companion's line of sight. "News anchor James M. Warden appears exceedingly displeased. Well, he's obviously just realized he's missed his chance to interview us. Oh, that's not it? He's contacting someone. Trying to contact someone. They're not answering. He's trying to contact his news crew! The people in the hotel! You don't suppose--"

  The Little One suddenly stiflened; his gaze became unfocused, abstracted. He put his hands to his head, shook it in confusion.

  Raoul stared at his friend worriedly. "What "

  The Little One stomped on Raoul's foot.

  Raoul took the hint, fell silent, though he mourned over the black mark on his golden pumps.

  Spinning around, the Little One grabbed hold of Raoul to ensure his complete attention, and transmitted his message.

  Raoul sucked in a breath. "You were talking to Xris Cyborg! We're supposed to look for a backup assassin, carrying one of the negative wave devices! Somewhere near the king! Possibly a GNN crewman. A GNN crewman? Are you sure? What else? What else did he say?" The Little One clasped one small hand over his own wrist. "They've been captured." Raoul sighed. "It's up to us." He gazed around. GNN news crew were everywhere. A quick count garnered about twenty. And everyone of them seemed to be either holding or standing next to some sort of machine. And every machine, as far as Raoul could judge machinery, had the potential of being deadly.

  "One of these people is going to murder the king," he murmured. "And there is nothing the Royal Guard or anyone can do to stop the assassin, because they will never see it coming. The young king will die, horribly, painfully, and no one will ever know how, why. The assassin will simply walk away."

  "Get a shot of that limo!"

  The voice belonged to news anchor James M. Warden, instructing his cameraman. The man shifted the vidcam to the limo jet.

  The engines shut off. The limo fell back to the ground, with what must have been a bone-jarring jolt for those inside.

  "Now," Warden was saying. "I want a shot of the king."

  "That's it! The device!" Raoul cried. "Stay here," he ordered the Little One.

  Raoul pulled out his lipstick, flipped off the cap. A tiny needle flicked out of the tube. Holding the tube in his hand, careful not to touch the needle, he ran toward the cameraman.

  No one, with the possible exception of Xris, would have now recognized the Loft. Raoul's gaze was concentrated, absorbed, intent on his target. He ran lightly, swiftly, his black hair streaming out behind.

  He reached the cameraman, could see--in the vidcam's lens--red-golden hair. Dion was facing the camera, looking right into it. The ridcam hummed ....

  Raoul jabbed the needle deep into the cameraman's back. The man cried out in astonishment and pain. He dropped the camera, tumbled down to the ground, and lay there-unconscious.

  And then the Little One's voice sounded in Raoul's mind.

  The wrong man/He's not the one/ The assassin is-

  A clenched fist slammed into Raoul's jaw, spun him around. He fell on all fours, dazed and groggy from the blow.

  In front of him, on the ground, lay the cronera, still humming, lights still flashing.

  Raoul flung his body on top of the vidcam. fumbling for the switch in a desperate attempt to shut it off. A savage kick drove into his rib cage. Bones cracked. Pain shot through him. A hand grabbed hold of him, flung him up and backward.

  James Warden picked up the vidcam, aimed it at the king.

  The Royal Guard were closing in--on Raoul. No one was paying the slightest attention to the news anchor.

  Raoul tried to sit up, but the pain of the broken ribs was intense. It hurt too much to breathe, let alone move. He was vaguely aware of the Little One standing over him, saw the small hand emerge from the raincoat, carrying a blowgun.

  The Little One put the blowgun to his lips.

  Warden clapped his hand to the back of his neck, as if he'd been stung by an insect. He gave a cry of fury and outrage, fought to hold the camera steady. But the poison from the feathered dart worked swiftly. His body jerked. He staggered. Dropping the ridcam, he clutched at his throat. Then he fell to the ground, dead.

  The Little One bent anxiously over his friend.

  "The camera!" Raoul choked, clasping his side. The pain was horrible; he felt sick and faint. "Shut it off!"

  The Little One stared in baffled consternation at the vidcam. Even if he hadn't been terrified of the mechanical thing, he had no more idea how to shut it down than Xris had of how to apply lipstick. The little Tongan, member of a primitive race, from a primitive planet, searched for and found one of mankind's very first tools. This he knew how to use.

  Lifting a large rock, the Little One held it over his head, brought it down with all the force of his small body on the negative wave device. Again and again, he bashed the machine with the rock.

  It worked quite as effectively as the on/off switch. The device died.

  But the Royal Guard was, in the interval, thundering down on them, lasguns raised, aimed.

  "I don't think they will be disposed to listen to our story," Raoul murmured. "I believe, in fact, that they are about to shoot us--"

  "Raoul!" A voice called. "Over here!"


  Raoul managed to weakly lift his head.

  The door to the Royal Limojet stood wide open. Its engines had fired; it was ready to depart.

  Lord Admiral Dixter gestured. "Quickly!"

  The Little One took hold of his friend's hand, helped him to his feet.

  Tottering on weak knees, Raoul stumbled toward the limo. Only a step away, he fell, unable to walk farther. The Lord Admiral caught hold of him, eased him into the vehicle, where Raoul collapsed thankfully onto one of the leather seats. The Little One clambered inside after his friend.

  "Your Majesties," said Dixter gravely. "I have the honor of presenting the Ambassador from Adonia and his aide."

  Lying sprawled across the seat, Raoul waved a graceful hand to the king, smiled charmingly at the queen, and fainted.

  Dion looked at Raoul, looked back at Dixter.

  Dixter nodded, grimaced, jerked a thumb at the crowd, the news media.

  "I understand," Dion said gravely. "Thank you, my lord."

  The Lord Admiral slammed shut the limo door.

  "Drive on," His Majesty commanded.

  CHAPTER 41

  Nothing in life is so exhilarating as to be shot at without result.

  Sir Winston Spencer Churchill,

  The Malakend Field Force

  Xris woke to the touch of a soft hand on his good hand. "Marjorie," he said dreamily, and gave the hand an affectionate squeeze.

  Then pain bunled through the ragged edges of whatever drug he'd been given; memory returned. He jerked his hand away. The other hand released his.

  Xris opened his eyes and stared into the widely grinning, hairy face of Bear Olefsky.

  "My friend!" said the Bear, slapping both his hands on his knees, "by my ears and eyeballs, it is good to see you!"

  But that soft hand hadn't belonged to Olefsky, who was seated on Xris's left. Xris glanced over to his right, saw Rowan. Her face was averted. Her cheeks were stained crimson. Her hands were now clasped in her lap.

  Xris turned back to peer bleary-eyed at Olefsky.

  "The king?" The words came out a parched croak.

  "Fine, laddie, fine. The Peacock and the Small One acted with enormous courage and much good sense." "Are they okay?"

  "The Peacock suffered two broken ribs and"--the Bear winked--"much damage to his fancy feathers. I think that bothered him most. But, or so I understand. Her Majesty the Queen has been most helpful in repairs." "The queen?" Xris was perplexed.

  "A long story and one that I am certain the Peacock will want to tell you. Suffice it to say that the assassin was killed, his heinous weapon destroyed." "Warden, wasn't it?"

  "A snake in man's skin," Olefsky said grimly. "No disparagement to the noble reptile family."

  Xris nodded tiredly. "I figured as much---right before I passed out. It made sense. He had the necessary contacts in the Navy and in the government, access to the king. It made sense."

  He started automatically to reach for a twist with his right hand. Pain shot through his arm, radiated from his shoulder. He sucked in a breath, grimaced.

  Rowan eased his arm back down on the bed. He smiled at her.

  She smiled back, tentatively, hesitantly. "We need to talk," she said softly.

  "Yeah. I know. In a minute."

  Xris took a look at his surroundings. There were no viewscreens, but he guessed from the thrumming sound, the feel of vibrations through the bed---that he was on board a spaceship. He was in a large open area, probably the ship's hold, that had been hastily furnished with cots and blankets. Jamil was stretched out on one, Quong on another. Harry sat on another, tapping on his ears.

  Tycho appeared, hypo in hand. "How you feeling, Xris? Doc says you're to have this shot. It'll help the pain."

  "Everyone else okay?" Xris asked.

  "Harry is deafer than a bread box," Tycho reported. "But he will heal. Jamil was not severely wounded. I was not injured. You want a glass of water, Xris?"

  "Thanks. What's wrong with the Doc?"

  "Nothing. He is taking a nap. I now intend to join him." Tycho brought the water and left for his own cot.

  Olefsky rumpled his beard. "The doctor worked very hard on you and Jamil there. But you both will be well, thank the good God."

  Xris nodded, chewed contentedly on the twist. A warmth spread through the good side of his body. He felt drowsy, relaxed, content. That was due to the drug. He had no reason to feel content, other than the fact that the young king was safe, the Knights of the Terra Nera thwarted. He himself was still in a hell of a lot of trouble. But that could wait.

  He almost slept, then remembered something. Two things.

  "Those soldiers that took us captive," Xris said, waking, looking up at Olefsky. "Yours?"

  The big man grinned expansively. "Some of my troops. What the major over there would call 'Special Forces.' I call them the Wolf Brigade. I deemed it best to carry you swiftly away from there."

  Xris smiled. "Or kill me if I'd betrayed you."

  The Bear's expression grew grave. "Aye, laddie. That, too. It was a solemn oath I swore. And one I would have kept. But," he added, cheering up, "there was no need. For which, again, I thank the good God."

  "We're your prisoners," Xris said. "Where are you taking US?"

  "Wherever you want to go, friend Xris. You are not my prisoner. I have hidden you away in the hold, but that is to keep the rest of the crew from knowing anything about you. The Wolf Brigade knows, but no torture ever devised could wring such knowledge from their tongues."

  Bear eyed Xris speculatively. "You are a wanted man. Serious charges: breaking into a Naval base, kidnapping Major Mohini, hijacking that drop ship. If you give yourselves up, I have it on good authority, from the Lord Admiral himself, that you and your people will receive reduced sentences. Perhaps even full pardons, due to your prevention of the assassination attempt upon the king."

  "But we'd have to turn ourselves in, go on trial." Xris grimaced again, gingerly shifted his wounded ann to a more comfortable position. "A highly publicized trial." He looked over at Rowan.

  "We need to talk," she repeated.

  The Bear looked at the two of them, stroked his beard. "Two are company. Three is a rotten egg, as our friend the chameleon would say. I will take a walk."

  He did, managing to nearly garrote himself on a hammock in the process.

  Xris looked over at Rowan. "Yeah? What?"

  "Don't do what you're thinking of doing for my sake, Xris," she said quietly. "I don't deserve it. You see, it was my fault."

  For a moment he didn't understand what she'd said. Then it sunk in. "You're talking about the factory explosion, aren't you?" His voice hardened. "Your fault? According to what you told me, Armstrong was the one responsible--"

  "He was. That's not what I mean. Or rather, in a way it is. Don't you see? If we'd been able to talk about... me-all that was going wrong with me, inside me--then we could have gone past that. But I couldn't talk about myself. I didn't know how to say what I had to say."

  The drug must be affecting him, though he felt wide awake now. Xris shook his head. "I still don't get it."

  Rowan sighed. "If I had talked to you that day before we left. Gone with you to the bar that night. If I had told you. Trusted you enough. Tried to explain." She spread her hands helplessly. "But how could I, when I really didn't understand myself.9 How could I, when I can't even do it now?"

  She brushed a tear from her cheek with a quick jerking motion.

  He knew then, realized he'd known ever since he'd first seen her, hadn't wanted to believe it. He didn't want to even now.

  "So don't. Let's leave it, okay?"

  "There," she returned bitterly. "You see? This is exactly what you would have done seven years ago. This is me!" She made a sweeping downward gesture with her hands, a gesture that included her breasts, her small waist, her hips. "Me! As I was meant to be!"

  He said nothing, just shook his head again.

  Reaching over, she gripped his hand, his good h
and. "I didn't know back then, though I think I suspected. Or maybe I knew and I just didn't have the courage to admit it. Much less go through with it. All the signs were there. My disastrous relationships with women. How I thought I could buy love like fake diamonds. Pay enough for them and no one will ever know they're phony. No one except me.

  "To make up for it, I put myself into a machine. My work was my refuge. My hiding place. In the excitement, the tension, I could forget. It was only when all that was over, when the undercover work was finished and I was alone and scared--then I understood. I looked in a mirror and I saw myself and I knew myself. And that was the day Dalin Rowan died. I wept for him, Xris. I cried for him as I cried for you and for Ito. I'd lost someone very close to me. But that's all he ever was. Someone close. And that's why it was my fault."

  "And if it's your fault, then that makes it my fault, too," Xris said harshly. He pulled his hand away from hers. "Because I let you down. Because I wasn't there for you. I wasn't sensitive enough. You're saying that if we'd sat down in the bar that night and you said to me, 'Hey, Xris, old buddy, I've decided to get my wienie whacked off and grow boobs,' that this would have helped us nail Armstrong?"

  He thought she'd be angry, maybe hoped she'd be angry. But she only regarded him sadly. "You don't understand," she said in a dull, hopeless tone. "Damn right I don't. Why don't you try to explain it?" She was silent, wouldn't look at him. He was about to give up, go to sleep, let her sulk on her own, if that's what she wanted, when suddenly she began to talk.

  "I was so hung up on myself I didn't recognize the warning signs about Armstrong. All kinds of red lights were going off in my brain, but I ignored them. I should have spotted that bastard, Xris. I should have nailed Armstrong from the beginning."

  "And I shouldn't have gone into that factory when I knew in my gut it was all wrong," he said quietly. "I beat myself up with that stick every day for a year. It didn't help. It didn't bring back my leg and my arm. It didn't bring back Ito."

  She was staring bleakly at him.

  He looked up at her. "So where does this leave us?"

  "Different from what we were. Changed." Rowan sighed. "You're right, we can't go back."