Authors: Margaret Weis
Dion stared
silently at the screen. His glance flicked to Lady Maigrey, who had
remained immovable, impassive, except for a pale ghost of a smile
when the President mentioned issuing a warrant for her arrest.
"Admiral,"
an excited voice broke in over the commlink, "Lord Sagan's
spaceplane has just materialized out of hyper-space!"
"What?"
Aks gasped, looked confused, then hopeful. "Perhaps my lord
managed to escape!"
"The plane
won't respond to any of our attempts to contact it, sir. It's just
sitting out there, dead in space, although our readings indicate that
there is someone alive on board. The spaceplanes of the Galactic
fleet are moving to intercept—"
"He's
injured, then. Lock a tractor beam onto that space-plane and get it
the hell inside here!"
"Lord Sagan
isn't aboard that plane," Maigrey said, sighing. "Its
passenger is a priest. And the fewer people who know that, the
better. Captain"—her gaze turned to Agis—"take
your men and meet the priest the moment he sets foot on deck. Bring
him here immediately, without any fuss, if you can help it. Make
certain he talks to no one on the way."
"Yes, my
lady."
"Tusk, go
with them." Maigrey's voice softened. "The young man 's
been through a terrible ordeal. He'll be glad of a friendly face in
the midst of all that steel. Do what you can to make his arrival
appear normal."
"Yeah,
sure," said Tusk, looking dubious. "Priest, huh? What . . .
er . . . what's his name?"
"Fideles.
Brother Fideles."
"Fiddle,"
repeated Tusk, leaving on his errand.
"Admiral
Aks"—the voice over the commlink again—"the
press is demanding access to His Majesty. What shall—"
Dion's eyes met
Maigrey's. "I'll be calling a press conference shortly," he
said.
She nodded her
approval. "Is Lord Sagan's spaceplane aboard?"
"Not yet,
my lady. But the tractor beam is locked on and intercept planes have
retreated."
"Gave up
without a fight?" Aks was disbelieving.
"They know
Sagan's not on board," Maigrey said.
The admiral
snorted and shook his head. Maigrey ignored him. She had withdrawn
from all of them, locked herself away inside herself, surrounded by a
wall of ice. Anyone who drew near risked being burned by the cruel
cold.
No one spoke,
although everyone present had innumerable questions. They had the
feeling that their questions would be answered soon; that when the
answers did come, they probably weren't going to like them anyway.
And so they sat in silence in the Warlord's quarters, waiting for a
priest, who had arrived, alone, in the Warlord's private spaceplane.
The golden
double doors opened. Tusk entered, shepherding a young man clad in
brown robes, his head covered by a hood.
"This is
him," said Tusk grimly. "Brother Fiddle. My long-lost
cousin come to pay his respects at my wedding. He's the white sheep
of the family," he added, jerking a thumb at the young man's
white complexion, a marked contrast to Tusk's own ebony-black skin.
"Thank you,
Tusk." Maigrey smiled faintly. "Did everything go well?"
"I guess. I
called him 'cuz' and hugged him and we slobbered over one another for
a while.
Maybe
a few people bought it." Tusk didn't sound
at all hopeful.
"It should
stop most of the wilder rumors, anyway. That's as much as we can ask.
Please, enter and welcome, Brother Fideles."
The young priest
had stopped just inside the doorway. He kept his hands in his
sleeves, his head down. At Lady Maigrey's request, he walked into the
room, into the light. The brown robes were splotched with dark, ugly
stains—dried blood.
Dion rose
silently to his feet. Clasping his hands behind him, he walked over
to stare out the viewscreen. Admiral Aks's face had gone gray. He
sagged in his chair. John Dixter glanced quickly, concernedly at
Maigrey. Nola went to stand beside Tusk.
Brother Fideles
came to Maigrey, knelt before her on one knee.
"My lady,"
he said softly, reverently.
Maigrey,
composed, pale, gave him her hand. He kissed the tips of her fingers
that must have been chill to the touch as the hand of a corpse.
"Rise,
Brother, and be seated. I know that you are worn from your long
journey and ordeal, but you will have time to rest and refresh
yourself later. Now, it is imperative that you tell us what has
happened."
"My
lady"—Fideles hesitated—"should I speak before
all these people? Perhaps you alone—"
"No, all
these people are ... or will be . . . involved. His Majesty is
present." She drew his attention to Dion. "The time for
secrets is past."
"Yes, my
lady."
Fideles rose,
bowed to Dion, then sat down in a chair. Nola thoughtfully brought
him a glass of water. He accepted it, kept his hood over his head,
his eyes cast down, as was proper for a priest when in the presence
of women. Those assembled drew chairs nearer his, gathering around
him. Dion, however, remained standing at the viewscreen. He could see
the young priest's reflection, a ghosdy image hovering between the
king and the stars beyond.
Fideles told his
tale of what had happened to himself and to his lord inside the dark
towers of the Abbey of St. Francis. He spoke clearly and concisely in
a voice that was steady and firm. He did not stammer or hesitate, had
obviously carefully sorted his thoughts, gone over his report in his
mind prior to his arrival. He shared his own fears, his doubts. His
descriptions were simple, yet poignant and precise, and deeply
affected his audience.
Nola and Tusk
shivered and drew closer together. Aks, hearing of Sagan's torment,
lowered his head, hid his face with his hand. At the mention of
Abdiel's name, Dion clutched his left hand over his right, rubbed the
scarred palm that ached and burned.
Maigrey remained
unmoved, listened to the tale without outward emotion, her gaze fixed
steadfastly on the young priest. Dion realized suddenly that she must
have, through the mind-link, already known everything that had
occurred, had perhaps even shared Sagan's agony.
"When the
one who called himself Abdiel told me that I must leave and bring
this information back to you, I was confused." Fideles's calm
demeanor wavered. "Perhaps I did wrongly, obeying this evil
man's command. But it was my lord's command, as well, and it seemed,
though my lord couldn't tell me at the end, that this was what he
wanted."
"You did
well, Brother," reassured Maigrey gravely. "If you had
refused, Abdiel would have turned you into one of his 'disciples' and
then you would have had no choice."
"How do we
know he didn't?" Tusk demanded hoarsely. "Let's get a look
at this priest."
"Yes.
Remove your hood," Aks commanded.
Fideles did so.
His face was pale and thin; his eyes, however, were bright and alert
and intelligent. Tusk, peering into the eyes, grunted and stepped
back, satisfied. Aks, recognizing the priest as his AWOL nurse,
stared at him in astonishment.
"It's not
likely Abdiel would send one of the mind-dead, Admiral," Maigrey
said. "The mind-seizer had littie time to waste. He needed to
get his message to us quickly and Sagan had thoughtfully provided him
with the means. Abdiel bad his prize, he wanted to flee with it. By
now, the mind-seizer is undoubtedly halfway on his journey to the
Corasian galaxy."
"And Sagan
with him," said Dion abruptly.
"Yes,"
Maigrey said, "Sagan . . . and the knowledge that he carries
inside his head . . . with him."
"My lady."
Brother Fideles raised his eyes, looked at her unhappily,
reluctantly. "My lady, I have one more message to give. A
message from Abdiel to you. Perhaps it would be better if I told you
alone—"
"No,
Brother. As I said, the time for secrets is past. What is your
message?"
Brother Fideles
repeated, hesitantly, Abdiel's final words.
" 'Remind
my lady that if she saves the life of Derek Sagan, she saves the life
of the man who is destined to end her own.'"
Dion turned
around. Dixter rose to his feet, came to stand beside her. Maigrey
flushed and bit her lip, appeared to regret exceedingly that she'd
ordered the young priest to speak.
"What does
that mean, my lady?" Dion demanded.
"Nothing
that has any bearing on the subject under discussion. The very
urgent
subject," she remarked coldly. Leaving her chair,
escaping Dixter's outstretched hand, she walked rapidly across the
room, came to stand in front of the command console. "We must
decide what action to take, determine the best course to follow."
"Apparently
the time for secrets isn't past," Dion said.
Maigrey lifted
her head, gray eyes dark and threatening as a stormy sea. "This
is a personal matter, between Lord Sagan and myself. It has nothing
to do with anyone else. If, of course, Your Majesty commands me to
speak—"
"I do,"
Dion said calmly.
Maigrey glared
at him, the gray eyes flashed lightning. Her face had gone livid with
anger, the lips drawn tight and bloodless, the scar an ugly red slash
across her skin.
Dion weathered
the storm, unbending, unyielding. "What does Abdiel's message
mean?"
Maigrey turned
away. The fingers of her hands, clenched over the back of a chair,
were white with the strain.
"Lord Sagan
had a dream. Nothing more than that. He took it as a portent."
"Lord Sagan
has great faith in his dreams," stated Admiral Aks, indignant at
the slur against his commander. "Perhaps it was coincidence that
they often came to pass, as I myself frequently told him, but I must
admit that—"
"Oh, shut
up, Aks!" Maigrey snapped. "What do you know?"
"I know
that my lord discussed this particular dream with me on more than one
occasion. He had the dream several times. He said that in it he—"
"Your
Majesty!" Maigrey interrupted impatiently. "We must decide
what is to be done and we must waste no more time doing it. Didn't
you hear me say that Abdiel is hallway to the Corasians by now? The
President has challenged you to make good your promises to the
people. Refuse to go after Sagan and you are finished."
"But, damn
it all, Starladv, it's a trap! Abdiel admitted as much!" Tusk
slammed his fist on a table. "You can't send the kid out into
it!"
"Of course
it's a trap. Don't you see? This is Robes's solution to a most
annoying problem. He doesn't dare have Dion killed, make him a
martyr. The people would immediately suspect the President, it would
end his political career. But if Dion dies in a faraway galaxy, dies
during a battle, Robes is home free and clear. He can mourn the young
man as a hero, put up a statue to his memory, bring tears to the eyes
of everyone when he refers to it in his campaign speeches."
"Then the
answer's obvious," stated Tusk. "The kid says he's real
sorry to hear about Lord Sagan, he'll do what he can to help, but it
ain't his problem. Toss in our cards and fold."
"No,"
said Maigrey, "Abdiel's made the stakes high, made it worth our
while to stay in the game. Nothing less than a golden crown sits in
the center of the table. If Dion goes to the Corasian galaxy, and if
he survives, and if he comes back victorious, Robes is finished. The
people of the galaxy will name Dion their king. They'll carry him to
his throne on their shoulders."
"What do we
do?" Dion, like everyone else in the room, was mesmerized by
her, caught up in her excitement.
"I have a
plan, Your Majesty. We'll need to work it out in detail, but
basically it is this. You announce that you're going to Corasia.
Robes will offer to 'help,' he'll insist that the Galactic fleet
convey you to the enemy."
"And when I
have crossed over into enemy territory, I fall victim to a convenient
enemy bombardment or some such thing." Dion smiled ruefully.
"I'm beginning to understand."
"Accept
Robes's challenge, but refuse any help. State publicly that the only
people you trust are those who support you wholeheartedly—those
who have put their trust in you. That sort of thing."
"But the
Galactic fleet," Tusk protested. "They've got us webbed
in."
"I think we
can handle the fleet," Dion replied. "Admiral Aks, call a
meeting of top officers. But what about Lord Sagan. And . . .
Abdiel."
"The two of
them," said Maigrey, "will be my concern."
Dion opened his
mouth to argue, command . . . but he saw it would be like trying to
break the everlasting cycle of an ocean's tides. This was going to be
a bitter argument and one he didn't want to do in public.
"We'll
discuss this later. For now, we have plans to make and little time to
make them. I propose that we adjourn to the war room." Turning
on his heel, he walked out.
"Some
honeymoon, huh?" Tusk said, putting his arm around Nola.
"Yeah,"
she agreed. "Good thing we had ours before the wedding."
General Dixter
was the last to leave. Pausing at the door, he looked back at
Maigrey. She had turned to the computer, was giving it commands in a
smooth, level voice.
John Dixter
shook his head, left. The doors shut, sealed behind him.
Maigrey sank,
trembling, back into her chair. A rustle of cloth made her jump, look
up swiftly in alarm. The young priest stood before her.
"Brother
Fideles." She rose haughtily to her feet. "I thought you
had left with the others." Her chill tone advised him to
immediately make up for his oversight.
The priest
remained standing, head bowed, hands hidden in the folds of his
sleeves. Suddenly he raised his head, looked her foil in the eyes.
"I'm going
with you," he said.