Authors: Margaret Weis
"Is my lord
. . . dead?" Fideles stopped.
One of the
mind-dead turned around. "Come," he said.
Fideles heard,
then, the sound of a groan, a cry of terrible agony, coming from
behind the mortuary door. He thought he recognized Sagan's voice, and
the young priest hurried for-ward. Pushing aside the mind-dead, no
longer thinking of his own danger, Fideles thrust open the door to
the mortuary and hastened inside.
"My lord!"
he breathed in anguish and in pity.
Sagan lay upon
the stone bier, the bier on which the dead rested. A corpse—Fideles
recognized it as that of his lord's father—had been removed to
make room for the living. It had been dumped unceremoniously in a
corner of the stone room, the bodies of several of the mind-dead lay
still and motionless near it. The Warlord was bound, hand and foot,
with steel manacles, a precaution that seemed unnecessary,
considering the terrible severity of the punishment he had endured.
Fideles hurried
forward, stared in shocked horror at the tormented body. Sagan was
half-naked, his black robes had been torn from his upper body and his
legs. He had been beaten so severely that, in places, the flesh had
been stripped away, exposing the white bone beneath. Puncture wounds,
turning an ugly bluish purple, oozed dark blood. His face had been
battered almost past recognition.
Fideles glanced
at the bodies on the floor, at the blood that ran in the gutters of
the room. The Warlord had not submitted to his torment without a
fight.
"My lord!"
Fideles repeated in a choked voice, grasping hold of Sagan's right
hand. He felt blood, warm and sticky, on his fingers. Turning the
hand, palm up, he saw five fresh puncture marks in the flesh.
The priest's
voice roused Sagan from his half-conscious stupor. Turning his head
with a painful effort, he looked at Fideles. Recognition lighted the
dark eyes.
"I, too,
must pass through the fire," he whispered through lips that were
split and swollen and caked with blood.
"My lord,
tell me what to do! How can I help?" Fideles said urgently.
"By
carrying out your orders, of course, Brother Fideles," said a
voice.
An old man with
a disfigured, bulbous head crept out of the shadows of the back of
the room. He wore magenta robes, decorated with a streak of jagged,
black lightning.
"Abdiel,"
whispered Brother Fideles.
"Ah, you've
heard of me. His lordship told you, no doubt. How convenient. It
saves the need of tedious and time-consuming explanation. And you
haven't much time, Brother Fideles. You must return to Lady Maigrey
and to His Majesty, the king, immediately! You must warn them, tell
them that I, Abdiel, have taken Lord Sagan hostage. Though I think
you'll find that your news is not news to them, at all. I'm certain
that the Lady Maigrey already knows."
Sagan's eyes
narrowed, the swollen lips parted. The fingers of the hand that
Fideles held clenched in a spasm of rage and pain.
"I don't
understand, my lord," Fideles said, holding fast to Sagan and
ignoring Abdiel. "What is it
you
want me to do, my lord?
If it is to remain with you, to suffer and die with you here, then I
will commend my soul to God and do so."
"Those
weren't your orders, however, were they, Brother Fideles?"
Abdiel said cunningly. "That wasn't your lord's final command to
you. Hasten! The spaceplane is ready to go, to carry you safely to
Phoenix,
where the Lady Maigrey awaits your arrival."
The Warlord's
body jerked, muscles bunched. He raised his arms as if he would rip
the manacles apart. Wounds opened, blood flowed, his chest heaved.
"My lord,
stop! It's killing you!" Fideles cried.
"Remarkable,
isn't it," said Abdiel, eyeing Sagan in jealous admiration.
"After all he's endured, he still has the strength to try to
defy me. But, you are right, young brother. It is killing him."
Abdiel held up a
scythe, shaped like the head of a snake. "Before I'd let you
die, Derek, I'd use this. I don't want to have to. It would make you
extremely difficult to control, but I will, if you force me."
The Warlord's
eyes closed, a bloody froth formed on his hps. His head lolled, the
body went limp.
Fideles,
thinking he had died, placed his hand upon the naked chest, was about
to give a thankful prayer to God, when he felt, weak and slow but
steady, the beat of the heart.
"He is not
dead," said Abdiel. "He has escaped me the only way left to
him. His mind has withdrawn deep into its own hiding places. It will
be difficult, the task long and tedious, but I have time. I will
track him down and find him."
The mind-seizer
raised his left hand. Five razor-sharp needles, protruding from the
flesh, gleamed in the candlelight.
"And now,
Brother Fideles, you will obey your lord's final command."
Fideles
remembered the spaceplane, the myriad dials and buttons whose use and
function he did not understand. He thought about the long flight
through cold and hostile space, helpless, alone, perhaps drifting,
lost, marooned. He looked at the wizened old man, who stood leering
over the bier at him, and knew that, somehow, he would be doing this
evil man's bidding. Yet, Sagan had obviously foreseen something like
this happening. He must have had his reasons.
"Yes,"
said Brother Fideles, "with God's help, I will obey my lord's
command."
"Good,
good. And you will carry to the Lady Maigrey a message from me, from
Abdiel. Tell her that I have taken Lord Sagan to the galaxy of the
Corasians. In that mind"—Abdiel pointed at the Warlord's
bloodied head—"are the plans and designs for the
space-rotation bomb.
"I will
gain access to those plans by means of this"—Abdiel made
the needles wink and glitter in the light—"and I will pass
the knowledge on to the Corasians, who will then construct such a
bomb."
Fideles stared
at him. "You're mad! You'd give this power to our enemies?"
"No, to
myself," Abdiel replied with a wink and a smile. "I will
deal with the Corasians when the time comes. In the meanwhile, they
will serve me. Tell this to the Lady Maigrey. She will know where to
find us."
"A trap,"
said Fideles. "Another trap. I'll warn her. She won't fall into
it."
"She won't
fall, she will walk, run! Only she possesses the power to stop me.
Only she stands in my way from taking total control of this galaxy .
. . and of her king. She must destroy me. I must destroy her. An
interesting contest, don't you think?"
Brother Fideles
cast one last look at his lord, asking for some sign, some indication
if he was doing the right thing or not.
Sagan lay still,
unmoving.
Fideles sighed.
Lifting the limp hand, he pressed it to his lips. "God be with
you, my lord," he whispered. He laid the hand back on the stone
bier and turned away abrupdy, blinking back the tears that filled his
eyes. Bracing himself, he started to walk away from the bier, away
from the old man. The thin, cracked voice stopped him.
"And when
you talk to the Lady Maigrey, you should remind her of something that
she may have, perhaps, forgotten. Something that will make this
contest all the more entertaining."
Fideles paused.
He could not look around, revulsion and horror had almost overwhelmed
him.
"I'm
listening, " he said, keeping firm control over his voice to
prevent it from breaking.
"Remind my
lady, " said Abdiel, "that if she saves the life of Derek
Sagan, she saves the life of the man who is destined to end her own.
"
Build then
the ship of death, for you must take the longest journey, to
oblivion. And die the death, the long and painful death that lies
between the old self and the new.
D. H. Lawrence,
The Ship of Death
Those whom God
hath joined together let no man put asunder.
Prayer Book,
1662
, Solemnization of Matrimony
General John
Dixter, standing outside the double golden doors, decorated with a
phoenix rising from flames, leaned back against one of the bulkheads,
folded his arms, and crossed his legs at the ankles.
"Her
ladyship is extremely busy, sir," began Agis in apologetic
tones, embarrassed at keeping an officer of such high rank standing
in a hallway.
"I'm aware
of that," said Dixter mildly. "I said I'd wait."
"My lady .
. ." The captain had recourse to the commlink.
"Send him
in," came the curt reply.
The doors slid
open. Dixter stood upright, nodded his thanks to the captain, who
saluted the general as he entered the Warlord's quarters. The doors
slid shut behind him, the soft sigh of the mechanism masking Dixter's
soft sigh as he walked into the room.
Maigrey was
seated at a communications center at the far end of Sagan's quarters.
Dixter could see an image of Captain Williams, an obviously
distraught Captain Williams, on the screen in front of her. Maigrey
said nothing to her visitor, but she turned her head to acknowledge
his presence and invited him, with a glance and a nod, to be seated.
Dixter, having
experienced Sagan's furniture, decided to remain standing. He lounged
about the far end of the room, keeping a discreet distance between
himself and the communications terminal, and appeared to busy himself
by examining a few of the curiosities Sagan had collected to replace
those lost in the destruction of
Phoenix.
The general
looked at everything, saw nothing. Now that he was here, now that he
was close to her, he was wondering if he'd done the right thing in
forcing himself into her presence. He listened to her voice, to one
side of the conversation, the volume on the commlink being kept low,
and he heard the ragged edge of weariness, the sharpness of fatigue
that was not so much of body but of spirit.
"The
wedding is scheduled for 1800 hours, Captain. That gives the tailor
and his mates six hours. I am certain that in this time—"
Williams
interrupted, his tirade inaudible to Dixter, who could, however,
guess what was being said.
Maigrey bit her
lip, listened patiently, though her fingers drummed restlessly on the
console. At length, she cut in.
"Yes,
Captain Williams, I am fully aware that Nola Rian is an officer in
the Royal Air Corps. I am aware that she has been credited with
shooting down twelve Corasian fighters and the disabling of another
four. I am aware that she was decorated for her valor in the Corasian
battle and I will possibly concede the feet, Captain, that Nola Rian
is one of the 'toughest broads' you've ever met. But, damn it, she is
also a woman and this is her wedding day and if she wants to be
married in a white dress, then I say she will be. Besides, it will
look well on the GBC nightly news. You know that Lord Sagan would
never dream of using those white lace tablecloths anyhow."
Williams was
apparently still inclined to argue. Maigrey let him rant on a few
moments, then, "It would seem to me, Captain, that sewing a
skirt is far easier than sewing trousers. It's just a matter of a few
seams. . . . No, I've never done it before myself, but—Tell the
tailor I will send down one of my own dresses that he can cut up to
use for a pattern. You may also tell him that he will have that
wedding dress ready on time or I'll put a seam in his head! Is that
understood, Captain?
Thank you. Now,
about the wedding cake." Maigrey brushed back a lock of hair
from her face. "A cake designed in the shape of this warship is
not particularly romantic. I want something else. I have no idea
what. Tell Cook to use his imagination."
Williams made a
comment.
"Not quite
that
much imagination, Captain," Maigrey said with a wry
smile. "Remember, the reception will be open to the press and
available for public broadcast. Every man off-duty is to be in
attendance in full dress uniform. And, of course, yourself and
Admiral Aks."
Williams made
another comment.
Maigrey sighed,
placed her hand on the switch. "Believe me, Captain, no one
wishes my lord were back more than I do. You have your orders."
She depressed a
button. The screen went blank. She sat staring at the empty screen.
"If I ordered them to smash through that blockade out there, I
wouldn't hear a murmur. But this?" Her shoulders slumped, her
head sank into her hands. "Declaring war would be easier. ..."
"My lady."
Agis's voice came through the commlink. "Admiral Aks requests—"
"Tell the
admiral I'm in conference."
"He says
it's urgent, my lady. Something about the flowers. ..."
"I could
come back later," Dixter offered.
"No, stay
here, John. I—We need to talk. Tell the admiral to do the best
he can, Captain. I rely completely on his judgment.
"There."
Maigrey rose to her feet, walked around the chair, but she kept her
head lowered, her face hidden behind the curtain of pale hair. "God
knows what the man will come up with. I'm not sure Aks knows the
difference between a rose and a cauliflower. I don't suppose it will
matter much, at this point ..." Her voice trailed off.
An uncomfortable
silence fell between the two. Maigrey looked down at her hands,
resting on the back of the chair. Dixter carefully replaced whatever
object he'd been inspecting back on its stand.
"You've
been avoiding me, Maigrey."
"Yes,"
she answered coolly. "And I would have continued to do so if you
hadn't insisted on this meeting .that can only be extremely painful
to both of us."
"Maigrey,
I—"
"Don't,
John!" she cried suddenly, raising her hand in a warning
gesture. "Don't say it! I won't listen."