Authors: Margaret Weis
... so matched
they stood;
For never but
once more was either like
To meet so great
a foe . . .
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
destroy 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."
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.