Authors: Margaret Weis
She stole a
glance at him, doubted if he'd even heard. The lines in his face had
deepened, darkened. He looked gaunt, haggard, weary beyond the
ability of sleep to give him ease. She drew near him, placed her hand
upon his arm. He closed his own hand over hers, stopped in the middle
of the path, standing before a copy of a Pieta, done by some
forgotten artist of the past.
"Maigrey,
have you ever considered that it might be better if I did
not
come back?"
"No, my
lord," she answered calmly, looking up at him.
"You know
that you are destined to die by my hand—"
"Destiny,
again!" Maigrey interrupted him. "The stone wall, the
winding, twisting paths. No, I
won't
believe it! You had a
dream. That's all! You were furious with me for failing you that
night. You hated me, you wanted revenge. Wishful thinking, that's all
it was and—"
"My lady."
He finally managed to stop the torrent by placing his fingers gently
on her lips. "You are right. I was furious that night, the night
we failed each other. And I had the dream soon after. I've dreamed it
many times. And at first I reveled in it, I looked forward eagerly to
my revenge."
"There, you
see?" she said quickly when he stopped to draw a breath. "It's
time we were returning. That poor priest of yours you left standing
by the gate has probably frozen solid—"
"Maigrey.
The dream comes to me still. Now I loathe it. It haunts me. And yet,
each time, its images are clearer."
"Which
means?" she asked reluctantly, knowing he would never leave
until she heard him out.
"That the
event is coming closer. Do you still have the silver armor?"
"I won't
give it up. It was a gift from Marcus. Now a gift from the dead,
doubly precious."
"Or doubly
cursed. Heed my words, Maigrey. The time may come when you are forced
to make a choice—"
"If so, it
will
be
a choice, Derek! And
I
will make the decision.
I will determine my own fate. Neither you nor God nor anyone else
will determine it for me."
The Warlord
regarded her grimly for long moments, then bowed.
"So be it,
my lady," he said coldly.
"So be it,
my lord."
And that was
their farewell.
Twilight gilded
the tops of the trees with a golden, red-tinged radiance, driven away
by dusk's shadows that crept through the garden, night moving
inexorably to overtake and banish day. The two said nothing more. The
Warlord retrieved his helm, that he had left upon the bench near the
statue of the eternally doomed burghers of Calais. Lord and lady
walked in silence to the gate, where Brother Fideles waited
patiently.
Two together
must walk the paths of darkness before they reach the light.
Maigrey recalled the old prophecy, shook her head. Destiny, prophecy.
Perhaps it had meant nothing more than that the two of them would
walk through a dying rose garden in the dusk. She looked quickly at
Sagan, half-afraid he'd heard her unspoken words. He would consider
such thoughts blasphemous.
He gave no sign
that he had. The fortress of his being stood fast, impenetrable,
impervious to assault.
Better to
reign in Hell than serve in Heaven.
But I wonder if
Lucifer ever thought of repenting, of going back, Maigrey asked
herself. And what would God do to him if he did?
I will say
unto the God of my strength, Why hast thou forgotten me: why go I
thus heavily, while the enemy oppresseth me?
My bones are
smitten asunder as with a sword: while mine enemies that trouble me
cast me in the teeth;
Namely, while
they say daily unto me: Where is now thy God?
Prayer Book,
1662
, Psalms 42:11
. . . the lion
does not defend himself against traps, and the fox does not defend
himself against wolves. . . .
Niccolo
Machiavelli,
The Prince
"We
interrupt this broadcast for a GBC special report. As expected, the
former Citizen General Derek Sagan—hero of the Revolution, a
hero of the recent battle with the Corasians—has been indicted
by a military tribunal for the coldblooded and brutal murder of the
notorious Adonian Snaga Ohme.
"If found
guilty, Sagan would, by military law, automatically receive the death
penalty. We are standing by, live, for what we are told will be a
personal appeal by the President of the Galactic Democratic Republic
for Derek Sagan to give himself up.
"No
evidence against the citizen general has been made public and will
not be, according to the office of the judge advocate general, until
the trial. However, private sources reveal that the evidence is
extremely damning.
"And now we
are going live to the Common House."
An officious
voice: "The President of the Galactic Democratic Republic."
The President
faced directly into the cam. A shimmer of tears brightened his eyes,
his voice broke. "Derek, you and I have known each other a long
time. You've always claimed to be a man of honor. Do the honorable
thing now, Derek, and turn yourself in. Stand trial. Answer these
terrible allegations publicly. You owe it to yourself, Derek, and to
your followers.
"And now I
have a message for those followers, for the people of the systems who
have left the Republic. Citizens, for I still think of you as
citizens, you are being led blindly to your own destruction by
leaders who care nothing for you or your well-being.
"One of
those leaders, who had long styled himself Warlord, has been accused
of committing a crime whose ferocity shocks the galaxy. Rise up and
let your leaders hear your voices. Let your leaders know that you
won't put up with their attempts to drag you into a devastating war.
For it is you, not they, who will suffer.
"We would
add"—the President's voice softened, the facile face
molded itself into a look of paternal patience and understanding—"a
word to Dion Starfire. We all admire you, young man. We believe that,
deep down, you truly believe you are doing the right thing. Derek
Sagan proclaims you publicly to be his king, his ruler. Therefore, we
trust that in the interests of justice that you claim to uphold, you
will encourage him to give himself up. In any case, I am certain you
will not want to be embroiled in the scandal and disgrace of
harboring a fugitive from the law.
"And
finally, I leave you, Derek Sagan, with this warning. You are
powerful, but the people are the true power in the galaxy. The people
have spoken. You are not above the law. The people will see justice
done. If you do not turn yourself in, you will be arrested like any
other common felon. I give you forty-eight hours, Standard Military
Time."
And how does
it feel to be alone, my king?
came the insidious voice, the voice
through the bloodsword.
Dion knew the
voice was Abdiel's, yet it spoke his own words. He knew Abdiel's
voice, knew it far better than this other voice, trying to be heard
within him. He knew Abdiel's words were lies, deceits, but there was
always, disconcertingly, a hint of truth within them. A hint of truth
that made him doubt. . . .
Sagan is
gone. The Lady Maigrey gone. They discovered they couldn't use you,
and so they have left. Plotting some treacherous scheme against you,
my king, of that you may be certain!
"Shut it
off," Dion ordered.
Tusk did so,
lightly touching the controls on the arm of his chair. The vidscreen
went blank, but no one in the room moved. They sat in their swivel
chairs in the War Council Room, stared in brooding silence at the
vast expanse of whiteness or exchanged glances with each other.
"Well,
well," said General Dixter.
"This is
insane!" Dion shook his head. "Sagan didn't kill Snaga
Ohme! It was—It was . . "He stopped, unwilling to say the
name. He thought he heard, from deep within, silent laughter.
"But no one
knows
he
was there," Dixter said grimly. "His image
doesn't even show up on the vids. And the only people who know he was
the murderer are the Lady Maigrey, you, and Derek Sagan. Give
evidence that a mind-seizer, a member of the Order of Dark Lightning,
still lives and has done murder and you'd be laughed out of the
courtroom."
"We could
testify, sir," said Nola. "Tusk and I. Abdiel tried to kill
us!"
"And who
would corroborate you? That Sparafucile fellow who saved your lives?
One of the Warlord's paid assassins? Against this, they have probably
obtained evidence that Snaga Ohme attempted to double-cross Sagan
over the sale of the space-rotation bomb. Sagan was heard by half the
people in the room, the night of the party, making threats against
the Adonian's life. And, then, of course, those officers—his
peers—who would sit in judgment are all his enemies. All of
whom would sleep much better at night with the pleasant sight of
Derek Sagan walking into the disrupter in their minds."
"But this
phony personal appeal! What is Robes up to?" Dion asked, running
his hand through the mane of flaming red-golden hair. The voice had
left him and he felt, as always, an unsettling emptiness inside. He
hated it, yet he missed it when it was gone.
"Remarkable
timing, too. These charges come out right when Sagan disappears. What
a coincidence," Tusk added.
"It's no
coincidence. Robes
knows
Sagan's not around to answer the
charges or turn himself in. The fleet is riddled with spies and no
matter how we've tried to keep the Warlord's continued absence quiet,
you know the word's leaked out."
General Dixter,
hands on his knees, pushed himself to his feet. "I wonder . .
."He paused, frowned as if a sudden thought had occurred to him
and he didn't particularly like it. "We know it's not
coincidence. But what if it were more than that?"
"More than
what, sir?" Tusk stared at him. "What are you saying? I
don't understand."
"I don't
understand myself, son. Robes is up to something, that's for certain.
For openers, it puts Dion in one hell of a spot."
"How? We'll
simply issue a statement, saying that the Warlord has disappeared and
we have no idea where he is. At least," Dion added wryly, "we'll
be telling the truth."
"Yes, but
unfortunately, the truth will only get you in worse trouble. Few will
believe you. They'll figure—and Robes will be certain to point
it out in case they miss it—that you're simply harboring a
fugitive."
"The
solution is simple. We fight!" said Tusk, slamming his fist on
the table. "The Republic's got no right to board this vessel. If
they attempt to do so by force, we defend ourselves. That way, we
don't start this war. They start it."
"I don't
think war is what Robes is after," Dion said thoughtfully. "I'm
still extremely popular with a majority of the people and it would
mean a lot of bad publicity for the President at a time when he's got
to be thinking of holding the Republic together. He could have
declared war on the secessionists, but he hasn't. Still, if not war,
then what?"
"Your
Majesty." Admiral Aks's face appeared on the vid-screen.
"Yes,
Admiral?"
"A large
fleet has materialized out of hyperspace."
"Whose?
Rykilth's? DiLuna's? Olefsky's? All promised when they left to send
us support."
"No, Your
Majesty. These are ships of the Galactic Democratic Republic, from
the fourteenth sector. Their commander is Citizen General Pang, a
woman known to be loyal to the President."
Tusk glanced at
Dion. "Not war, you said?"
"Are they
threatening us in any way, Admiral?" Dion asked, brow furrowed.
"No, Your
Majesty. But they've begun weaving the net."
"Weaving
the net?" Dion looked questioningly at Dixter, who looked
questioningly at Tusk, who looked grim.
"Standard
procedure. They're deploying their destroyers to block off all the
Lanes, so that we can't make the Jump and disappear on 'em. When
they're finished, it'll be 'we've got you surrounded, come out with
your hands up.
"Or else
come out shooting," Dion said.
That's about it,
lad."
"Has
Citizen General Pang attempted contact, Admiral?"
"Yes, Your
Majesty. She asked permission to come aboard to speak to Lord Sagan."
"What did
you tell her?"
"I told her
that Lord Sagan wasn't receiving visitors."
"What did
she say?"
"She
laughed, Your Majesty."
"I see,"
Dion murmured. "And then, Admiral?"
"Citizen
General Pang demands that Lord Sagan surrender himself into her
custody. If he does not, she will send an armed force to board the
ship and arrest him. If we refuse to permit them to board, it will be
considered an act of resistance and they will have no choice but to
fire on us. We have forty-eight hours."
"How long
before they get this . . . er . . . net in place?"
"Only a few
hours, Your Majesty. If we're going to escape, we've got to do it
now."
"And play
right into Robes's hands," Nola warned. "This would look
extremely bad, Dion. The President would claim that Sagan was fleeing
arrest, proving his guilt. And now you'd be involved, too. Robes
stopped short of trying to implicate you in these crimes, but that
would probably be his next step. You'd leave yourself wide open to
accusations."
"And
neither Rykilth nor DiLuna would take kindly to hearing of their king
running away with his tail between his legs. I don't think even
Olefsky would stand for that."
"It's heads
Robes wins, tails we lose," muttered Tusk.
Dion stood up,
began to pace the room. "How could Sagan do this to me? Surely
he must have foreseen ..." He pivoted to face General Dixter.
"That's
what you were thinking, wasn't it, sir? What you
said about Robes arranging—"