Authors: Margaret Weis
Maigrey drew a
breath, let go of the tree, pushing herself forward slightly with the
tips of her fingers, and walked to meet him.
"My lady,"
he said with a slight inclination of the head.
"My lord."
She held out her
hand, wishing that it would not tremble, wishing her chill, numb
fingers had some life in them. He took her hand in his, but did not
carry it to his lips. He held it fast. His strong, warm fingers
closed around hers. He drew her near him.
Can you feel the
pain? She had felt it, shared it with him. The battery of emotions
assailing him had beaten down his fortress walls, smashed through his
defenses, left him, for a brief time, open and vulnerable. Maigrey
had wept for him, that first night after he'd heard the news. And
though her giving way to tears generally irritated him, this time
she'd sensed him grateful, as if through their shared consciousness,
he'd found solace in her compassion.
But that was
past. He was working to repair the breach, build the walls around him
higher, thicker than before. Not a crack remained in the stonework.
She could catch no glimmer of light.
"You will
go?" she asked, knowing the answer but wishing him, willing him
to change his mind.
"Yes, my
lady. I will go."
Maigrey removed
her hand from his grasp, twisted and twined her fingers together, a
habit when she was nervous. She averted her eyes from his steady,
intense gaze, stared unseeing at the statue, her brow furrowed,
twisting her hands.
A sudden gust of
wind swirled dead leaves in a small cyclone down the path. She
watched it, her attention caught by the sound and movement. The
cyclone ended suddenly, the leaves becoming tangled in the thorns of
a bush filled with blood red roses. Maigrey reached out a hand,
touched a blossom.
"Have you
ever noticed that the roses are most beautiful in autumn? Their
colors are more brilliant, vibrant, as if they know what fate awaits
them and they are reveling in life."
He said nothing,
made no movement. Patiently waiting, he stood near her, still looking
at her, she knew, though she was not looking at him. She kept her
gaze on the roses.
"My lord,"
she said softly, "the words I'm going to say we hold captive in
the darkest portion of our souls. I'm going to free them, speak them
aloud although, God knows," she added, shivering, "I wish I
could let them stay there."
Maigrey turned
her gray eyes, earnest and intent, full upon him. "One man knows
about the crack in your armor. One man knows the weak link in the
chain mail that will give way and let the point of the spear drive
home. Abdiel was in your mind, my lord. He owns a portion of you, as
he owns a portion of ... a portion of—"
Maigrey's voice
broke. She began to shake uncontrollably. Huddling deep within the
folds of the sky-blue mantle, she lowered her face, trying to hide
her weakness behind the curtain of hair.
Sagan put his
arms around her, gathered her close She stiffened for an instant at
his touch, then she relaxed, pressing her head against his breast.
Eyes closed, she heard his heartbeat, slow, strong, steady. The
warmth of his body, radiating through the armor, drove away the chill
from her skin, at least, if not her heart.
"Derek, I
used my power."
She spoke
hesitantly, uncertain whether her words might not impel him forward,
rather than hold him back. The body pressed against hers tensed,
muscles went rigid. He ceased to breathe.
Maigrey drew a
breath, as if for both of them. "I looked across time and space
and . . . and inside the Abbey walls."
His hands closed
painfully over her upper arms. He stared at her eagerly, hungrily.
"It's true.
Your father is alive. ..."
Sagan relaxed
his grip on her. His eyes closed, he drew a shuddering breath.
Maigrey grasped him in turn, digging her strong fingers into his
flesh.
"Derek,
listen to me. A shadow lies across him, across the Abbey! A shadow my
power couldn't penetrate."
"That could
be due to many things, my lady." Sagan thrust her away from him.
He was suddenly crisp, businesslike, evidently sorry for his former
display of emotion. "The priests would not permit you to see
within, for one thing. Or," he added, his voice growing cooler,
"it could have been the shadow of approaching death. ..."
"Yes, but
whose?" she demanded, fear snapping patience.
He frowned,
crossed his arms over his chest. "This wasn't what I came to
discuss, my lady—"
"Oh,
Derek!" Maigrey caught hold of his arms, felt, beneath her chill
fingers, the taut muscles, the smooth skin broken by the scars of his
battles and the scars of his devotion to his faith. "You told
me, that night at Snaga Ohme's, that we could never fight Abdiel
alone. That the only way we could defeat him was to fight him
together. Don't you see, my lord? This is the one way he knows he can
divide us! I know you must go. At least take me with you!"
He was angry,
extremely angry, and she thought for a moment the anger was directed
at her. But it wasn't, it was aimed at himself. The flesh beneath her
hand trembled. She understood the depth of his fear, understood that
he was angry because he had been tempted and he had nearly weakened,
nearly let himself be persuaded.
"Derek,
please," she urged.
He sighed.
Reaching up, he ran his fingers gently over the scar on her face. Her
pale hair, tousled by the evening wind, brushed across his hand. He
smoothed it back.
"Impossible,
my lady. Women are not permitted within the monastery walls—"
"I was
once!"
"You would
not be again."
"I could
wear a disguise. The hooded robes, like those the young priest has
on, would hide my face, my body. ..."
The Warlord
almost smiled. "The brethren would know, Maigrey."
Yes, she thought
in bitter despair. They would know. But what mattered most was that
he
would know. The warrior-priest would never permit such
sacrilege within the walls of his one true sanctuary.
"Besides,
my lady," he continued coolly, smoothly, "you have other
duties. That is what I came to discuss. You must return to Dion."
Maigrey stared
at him. She hadn't been prepared for this, hadn't seen the blow
coming. He'd caught her uncovered, off her guard. She went numb, the
blood and life drained from her as surely as if he had stabbed her.
She turned away from him, walking blindly, tripped, stumbled, and
caught hold of the trunk of the oak to save herself from falling.
U-r », y>
I won't go.
"No? Where
will you run to this time, my lady?" he asked dryly. "There
aren't many hiding places left."
"How can I
face him? After what I did? He knows, doesn't he? Knows the truth?"
"Dion knew
it before that night, my lady. Abdiel made certain of that."
Maigrey lifted
her head, stared out into the garden that was slowly darkening with
evening's lengthening shadows.
"Then he
knows I failed him. He knows I planned to betray him. I was going to
keep the space-rotation bomb. I was going to be queen!"
"In the
end, you didn't."
"But that
wasn't
my
fault! Give credit where it's due, my lord. Give it
to yourself, to Abdiel. Our blood's all tainted with the same
poison."
"Yes,"
he said somberly, and there was something dark and ominous and
hurting in his tone that made her forget her own grief. She turned,
fearfully, to look at him.
"I broke my
oath to him, Maigrey," Sagan said. "Or rather, I would have
broken it, if Brother Fideles hadn't stopped me with the"—there
was the slightest hesitation—"with the message from my
father."
"My God!"
Maigrey could say nothing more, could only Stare at him. She had seen
the deepening of the lines of his face, noted the pallor beneath the
rich tan, the darkening of the shadows around the eyes, the grim
tightness of the lips. But she had accounted them to shock.
Now she knew,
now she understood. A wind swept through the garden with the biting
cold of winter, scattering the dead leaves. They skittered down the
paths like demons dancing for joy at the fall of another soul.
"You're
shivering," Sagan said. "We should go inside—"
He was drawing the hood of her cloak up over her head.
"No, I want
to stay out here. I couldn't breathe . . . inside." She glanced
around, shuddered. "I feel sometimes that our lives are like
this garden. All the paths surrounded by a stone wall that hems us in
and constantly turns our footsteps so that no matter where we walk we
must end up in the same place. If God exists at all, Derek, is this
what He is? A stone wall?"
Sagan shrugged.
"I read somewhere—perhaps in the Kaballah, I can't
remember—that the closer man comes to God the less free will he
has. The truly devout man knows the mind of God, you see, and to work
God's will, man must forfeit his own. The angels," he added
grimly, "being the closest to God, are therefore virtual
slaves."
Which is why
Lucifer rebelled, she thought.
Better to reign in Hell than serve
in Heaven.
"Maigrey,"
added Sagan quietly. "There is the gate. You are always free to
open it and leave."
"You mean
run away," she said bitterly.
Run away from my
responsibility. From trying to set right what I made wrong.
Those
who know the mind of God.
Or if not His mind, at least their own.
Maigrey sighed
wearily, bowed her head in resignation. "What must I do?"
"My shuttle
will take you back to
Phoenix.
The Honor Guard will be yours
to command. Brother Fideles and I will go on in my own private
spaceplane."
"Alone?
Surely you could take one of the centurions—"
His brows came
together in annoyance.
Maigrey saw her
words would do no good, saved her breath.
"When you
return to
Phoenix,"
he continued, "go to my
quarters. I have reset the controls to allow you and you alone to
enter. Using our code—you know the one—you will have
access to all my secret computer files, all my reports, all my
wealth. Use the information, use the money. Use whatever you need."
Maigrey shrank
back from him, shaking her head, appalled. "No! I don't want—"
"Then turn
it over to Dion, if you think that's what's best!" he said
impatiently. "I mean," he amended, "to His Majesty."
His hands went
to his waist, he unbuckled his sword belt. Folding the straps neatly
around the bloodsword, he handed it to her.
"Keep this
for me. One does not come armed into the presence of God."
Maigrey took the
bloodsword, felt the leather smooth and warm from his body. No need
to tell him he might be walking defenseless into the presence of the
one enemy in the universe who had the power to destroy him, to
destroy them all. He knew.
"I will
keep it for you until you return," she said steadily, calmly.
He started to
say something, changed his mind. Silently, he reached into the worn
and ancient leather script he wore at his side, drew forth a small
rosewood box, and held it out to Maigrey.
For a moment she
didn't think she had the strength to take it. But her courage would
match his. She accepted it, opened it, was surprised to find it
empty. She lifted her eyes to him in mute questioning.
In answer, he
drew aside the folds of his cloak. The Star of the Guardian hung on a
silver chain around his neck. The jewel was dark, unlovely, hideous
to look at.
"My
penance," he said with a rueful, dark smile.
Maigrey felt
tears running down her cheek, the moisture cold on her skin. She knew
her crying would annoy him, raised her hand to hastily brush the
tears away, attempted to hide the motion behind a curtain of pale
hair. He saw, however.
"Let's
walk," he said. "Warm the blood. Time grows short and I
have one more subject to discuss with you."
They walked the
garden paths, walked unconsciously in step, each with the other,
their footfalls sounding on the stone paths as one. Blue cape and
crimson red trailed behind, dragging the dead leaves after them with
soft, rustling whispers. They walked shoulder to shoulder, close but
not touching. His hands were clasped behind him, beneath his cloak.
Hers held the hilt of the bloodsword.
Each knew what
the last subject was to be discussed. Neither wanted to bring it up,
both planned to avoid it as long as possible. Maigrey hoped fervently
he would decide not to mention it at all.
"How have
you lived here, my lady?" Sagan asked, striving to speak
nonchalantly, his gaze roaming over the low stone wall, going to the
abandoned, deserted buildings.
"My needs
are simple," she replied. "I live in the caretaker's
cottage. Do you remember it? The house is small, with a fireplace for
heat and cooking. There's a village near here, now. It was supposed
to be a city, when Robes took over the Academy, but it never quite
got that far. Now it's a farming community, the inhabitants glad to
live isolated lives, away from the world. A young woman comes once a
week, with a gift of bread and fruit and meat."
"A gift?"
He glanced at her, amused.
Maigrey flushed
in embarrassment. "I try to pay her for it, but she refuses. I'm
not sure, but I think the people believe I'm a ghost. Either that, or
I'm insane. They hope their gifts will keep me from murdering them
all in their beds. You should have seen the poor child when they
first sent her up here. She was half-dead from fright. She fainted
when she saw me. Even now, she puts the food down on the grass, waits
until she sees me take it, then runs."
The Warlord made
no reply. Maigrey didn't blame him. She was rambling, talking simply
to fill the vacuum.