Authors: Margaret Weis
She stared,
speechless with astonishment.
"God has
given me a sign. I'm going with you," Fideles repeated.
Maigrey found
her voice. "You don't know what you're asking, Brother. You
can't possibly understand the danger, the risks I'll be running. I
must enter the Corasian galaxy. Have you ever even
seen
a
Corasian, Brother Fideles?"
"No,"
said the priest steadily, "but I have seen Abdiel. I have seen
what he did to ... my brethren, to my lord. I will go with you. You
need help."
"I need
help, all right," Maigrey answered, exasperated, uncertain how
to cope with such stern, calm resolution. "But the help I need
is a fighter, a warrior, someone who isn't forbidden by his vows to
kill."
"The help
you need is God's help, my lady," said Fideles.
"'Benedictus,
qui venit in monine Domini.
Blessed is he that cometh in the name
of the Lord.' "
Maigrey's hand
went to her breast, to the place where the starjewel had once hung,
to the place where it hung no longer. She thought of it, resting
inside the space-rotation bomb, blackened, horrible to look on,
cursed.
God has
abandoned us, she'd once said to Sagan. Maybe that was wishful
thinking.
"I'm
against it . . . but I'll consider it," she added grudgingly,
forestalling further argument. "Now, I have to leave for the
meeting. I think it's best, on second thought, that you remain here,
in these quarters, until I return."
Brother Fideles
bowed in silent acquiescence.
"I'll have
food and water brought to you—"
"Thank you,
my lady, but all I need is sleep."
"Then lie
down. The bed is through those doors."
"I will
sleep on the couch, my lady—"
"I'm not
going to be using the bed. I have too much work to do—Oh, very
well, sleep where you want."
Fideles nodded.
Kneeling beside the couch, he said his prayers, wrapped himself in
his robes, and lay down. He was almost immediately asleep.
Maigrey, seating
herself back at the computer, watched these proceedings out of the
corner of her eye. She had one more command to issue before she left
for the meeting. She was running late as it was, but her hands rested
limply on the keyboard. What she was about to do would irrevocably
set in motion the wheel of fate. There was, now, still time to change
her mind. This plan, formed last night, when she could have traced
upon her own body every wound Sagan had suffered, was dark,
desperate, terrible.
But it was the
one plan that might work.
Maigrey placed
her fingers on the keyboard. The command she was about to give was
far too secret to be spoken aloud, even in a room presumably sealed
off to every other ear and eye aboard ship. She typed one word, the
only word needed to launch a sequence of coded commands.
SPARAFUCILE.
Oh build your
ship of death, your little ark
and furnish it
with food, with little cakes, and wine
for the dark
flight down oblivion.
D. H. Lawrence,
The Ship of Death
The ship's bells
chimed eight times to indicate the changing of the watch at midnight
when Maigrey returned, accompanied by Dion. The captain of the Honor
Guard was talking quietly with the centurions on duty outside Sagan's
quarters. Agis, having a feeling he would be summoned before the
night was out, had not gone to bed.
"His
Majesty and I are not to be disturbed," Maigrey ordered.
Agis nodded.
"Yes, my lady."
The double doors
opened, sealed shut behind them.
"Talk
quietly," Maigrey said, glancing at the sleeping figure of
Brother Fideles, huddled on the couch. "Though I doubt if, at
the moment, a bomb blast would wake him."
Each fell
silent. The spirit of the Warlord grew strong, was given life and
power in this, his room. The spirit wasn't a comfort to Maigrey, but
made the empty place inside her darker, colder, as if a chill wind
blew through her.
"You're not
going to tell me the details of
your
plans, are you, my lady?"
Dion broke the silence.
"I can't,
Your Majesty."
"Why not?
Or"—he was bitter—"perhaps you don't trust me.
Because of Abdiel and the bloodsword."
"It's not
that, Dion. The reason is—if you knew what I planned, you would
never permit me to go through with it.
"What's
more," she continued, stopping him as he was about to speak,
"when you find out what I have done, you must publicly denounce
me, disavow my actions. You must say that I have gone insane. And you
must issue a reward for my capture . . . and my death."
"I can't do
that!" he protested.
"You'll
have to. I will leave you no choice."
"I have a
choice. I can forbid you to go at all."
She smiled
wanly. "Don't do it, Your Majesty. It would lead to a
confrontation between us. You'd be forced to confine me to quarters
or throw me in the brig. That would cause talk. And I'd escape
anyway, leaving anger, resentment between us. It will be easier for
both of us this way. Don't worry," she added with a sigh, "when
word of what I've done, reaches you, you won't have to pretend to be
shocked and horrified."
Dion frowned,
obviously irresolute, determined to prevent her going. "I don't
see what good you can do—by yourself."
"I won't be
by myself. I've explained that much." Maigrey reached out her
hand to him. "Acting together, we have a chance to defeat
Abdiel, but only if I find a way to catch him off-guard. Consider
this, Dion. You enter the galaxy with a fleet of warships. The
Corasians will sight you, alert Abdiel. No matter how fast you move,
he will have time to destroy Sagan, to escape with the plans for the
bomb. With luck, I'll be there by then. I'll be able to stop him.
I'll return your bloodsword to you. And then you and the fleet will
convey me safely back home."
"You make
it sound so easy."
"Yes, well,
it won't be. It will be exceedingly dangerous. Especially for you."
"Me?"
He glanced at her bitterly. "What do I have to do except spend
weeks traveling through hyperspace? The only danger I see is that I'm
likely to be bored to death!"
"The danger
is not physical. Your plan is a good one, Dion. But before you make
the final decision to go through with it, I want you to count the
cost."
"Cost? I
have Sagan's wealth, the captured arsenal at Snaga Ohme's. I can
afford it—"
"Money
isn't what people want from you, Dion. DiLuna is the matriarch of a
vast system of worlds, one of the most powerful forces in the galaxy.
Rykilth will never admit it, but that tightfisted vapor-breather has
set aside enough to keep himself in fog for generations to come. No,
Dion, what they want is you. And that is what Abdiel wants, as well."
He shifted
uncomfortably before her serious, gray-eyed gaze.
"I can't
say what your allies might ask of you." Maigrey shook her head.
"But you can be certain that the cost of their loyalty will run
high. It may be higher than you are willing to pay. Higher than,
perhaps, you should pay. As for Abdiel, you know what he wants."
"My lady,"
said Dion, after a moment's thought, "when the silver globe with
the sharp spikes dropped into my hands, during the rite of
initiation, did either you or Sagan reach out and catch it for me?"
"No ..."
Maigrey faltered, somewhat taken aback.
"No, my
lady, you didn't. I caught it. I held my hands beneath it. I felt the
spikes slash off my fingers, break my bones, and pierce my flesh. I
watched my own blood run down my arms. Don't you understand yet what
that meant, my lady?"
"Do you, my
liege?" Maigrey asked softly.
"Yes, I
think I'm beginning to." He lifted his chin, shook back the
red-golden mane of hair that flashed in the room's harsh light. "If
I want the shining silver globe, I must pay the price, even if it
means letting my body be broken, seeing my own blood spilled. I was
prepared to lose my life that night, my lady. I was willing to make
the sacrifice and I caught the globe and held on to it."
Is he right?
Maigrey wondered, staring at him searchingly. We've been standing
before him, shielding him, trying to protect him. But have we,
instead, only been standing in his way?
"I will
bring the fleet, my lady. And I suppose I have no choice but to let
you go."
He brought her
hand to his lips, kissed it.
Maigrey clutched
suddenly at his fingers, held on to him tightly. "Dion, it could
be that you will need to confront Abdiel, take back the sword
yourself. Either that"—the gray eyes were dark,
fathomless—"or consign the sword to him forever. The
decision will be yours. The choice yours."
"What do
you mean, 'consign it to him forever'?" He was suspicious,
angry.
"After all,
Your Majesty, you left it with him that night, didn't you?"
Maigrey asked.
Dion faced her,
denial on his lips, excuses ready.
It was an oversight. Snaga Ohme
said no weapons. I was excited, nervous, my brain seething with plans
and plots. I simply forgot. . . .
He let go her
hand, averted his face, ashamed for her to see the truth. It was bad
enough knowing it himself.
Maigrey placed
her hand on his arm. "When I find out where Abdiel is, I will
let you know, Your Majesty. It will be your choice, then, either to
come to us surrounded and protected by the fleet . . . or to come by
yourself."
"Thank you
for that much at least, my lady." Holding himself aloof, Dion
walked away from her without looking back, walked out the door alone.
Maigrey stared
after him, remembering, wondering . . . regretting. It was when she
came to the regretting that she realized she was heading down a
dead-end path and stopped herself, returned to the main road.
"Captain
Agis, please step inside."
Agis entered.
Maigrey paused a moment, looking at the dark, huddled figure of
Brother Fideles, asleep on the couch. Should she wake him? Send him
away?
Or let him stay?
"Seal the
door, Captain," she ordered.
"Yes, my
lady."
"You must
have been waiting up for me," said Maigrey, smiling at him, yet
studying him intently.
"Yes, my
lady. I thought, perhaps, I might be needed."
"Do you
know what has happened to your lord, Captain?"
The question was
unexpected. Agis appeared slightly embarrassed. "My lady, rumors
spread rapidly—"
"Lord Sagan
has not defected to the enemy."
"I never
supposed he did, my lady." The captain of the Honor Guard stood
unblinking beneath her scrutiny.
She was
satisfied. "What I am going to tell you, Captain, goes no
farther than this room. Lord Sagan has been captured by a mind-seizer
named Abdiel, one of the Order of Dark Lightning."
"The man
Marcus fought?" Agis asked. "The man responsible for my
centurion's death?"
"Yes, the
same one."
"I know of
him, my lady." The captain's voice was steel-edged.
"Abdiel has
taken Lord Sagan to the Corasian system and holds him prisoner there.
I am going to attempt to free my lord and destroy this man."
"Yes, my
lady." Agis did not seem surprised, did not protest, question,
doubt.
Maigrey's smile
deepened, twisted the scar upon her cheek. "Captain, I need one
man selected from the centurions to accompany me. One man only; our
force cannot be large or we would be suspected. He must be willing to
travel into the enemy's galaxy. He must be willing to put aside all
notions of honor and fight by stealth, by murder, by knives in the
back, by throats cut in the darkness."
"Yes, my
lady."
"He must
obey my orders and the orders of the man who will be my second in
command without question, although this person who will be my second
may be extremely repugnant to him."
"Yes, my
lady."
"He must be
reported as AWOL. You will issue an order for his immediate capture
and/or termination."
"Yes, my
lady."
"He must
go, knowing that he will almost assuredly die. He must leave without
hope of return. He must, therefore, volunteer to accept this
assignment. I will not command anyone, nor will you, Captain, to face
such peril unwillingly."
"Yes, my
lady."
"Can such a
man be found to do this for me, Captain?"
"My lady,
this warship could not hold the number of men who might be found to
do this for you," said Agis, his grim face relaxing in a smile.
Maigrey was, for
a moment, overcome. "Thank you, Captain," she said, when
she could speak. "Have the man report to me here, in uniform, at
0600. He will bring with him whatever weapons he considers himself
skilled in using."
"Yes, my
lady."
"You are
dismissed, Captain."
Agis saluted and
left. On his way out, he stopped to supervise the changing of the
watch. "Have Lieutenant Cato report to me now in my quarters,"
he said to the centurion leaving duty.
Agis was working
at his computer when the lieutenant entered, saluted, and stood
waiting silently for orders.
"Lieutenant,"
said the captain, shutting the door, "when His Majesty awakes,
you will tell him that I have gone AWOL. You will, as ranking
officer, take over command. I have already entered the report and the
charges against myself. Here is a hard copy."
The lieutenant
was too highly disciplined to allow any exclamation of astonishment
or questions to pass his lips. Silently, wordlessly, he accepted the
document. Glancing at it, he saw the order for capture and/or
termination and his lips tightened. He looked up, watched his captain
take from his own shoulder the hand-tooled harness that indicated,
along with the feather-crested helm, his rank. He handed the harness
to Cato, who stood, face impassive, stiffly at attention.