King's Sacrifice (61 page)

Xris glanced out
at the flame-covered lake, the bridge spanning it. "I hadn't
planned on it."

"Oh, and,
boss ... I don't think firing lasguns would be such a hot idea in
there, either. Or rather, it might be a real hot idea."

"One blast
inside that cavern," added Bernard, "and we're likely to
find ourselves in the galaxy's biggest toaster oven."

Xris looked at
the flames swirling over the surface of the water, the tunnel walls,
covered with glistening oil. He holstered his lasgun. "From now
on we stick to dart guns, bolt pistols. Britt, looks like you get to
use your crossbow. Stash the beam rifles. No sense dragging them
around. We'll pick them up on our way back."

Britt lowered
his beam rifle to the floor of the cavern, then cast a nervous glance
back down the passage. "I thought you said that poisoner was
coming along behind. Shouldn't he be here by now?"

The passageway
was empty, no sign of Raoul or the Little One. Xris tried his scanner
once more, gave it up. Nothing but static.

"I don't
trust that Loti. Do what you can to hide the weapons, shove 'em under
a rock or something. I'm going back."

The cyborg
headed down the passage, moving away from the light. He listened
intently, but couldn't hear a sound. The mincing footfalls had
ceased, the dragging of the raincoat quieted. He cursed himself for
leaving them behind, cursed the woman for bringing them along. Maybe
they were in league with this Abdiel character—

His night-vision
eye caught sight of motion—Raoul, hiding in a niche in the
cavern wall, beckoning to him.

Distrustfully,
weapons hand activated, Xris advanced.

"What?"
he began.

The Loti shook
his head emphatically, placed a gloved finger near his lips. He
motioned Xris closer. The cyborg stepped into the niche, was
disconcerted to feel the Loti's slender body press up against his,
the gloss-covered lips brush against his ear.

"The Little
One says that there are two mind-dead moving this way," Raoul
whispered, his words little more than a breath. "That
direction."

He motioned down
the converging tunnel Xris had passed earlier.

The cyborg
looked down it, listened. He heard faintly the sound of footsteps.

"They must
not know we are here. Make no sound. If they detect anything
suspicious, they will report it instantly to their master."

The poisoner's
breath was moist on Xris's face, the faint scent of perfume cloying
in his nostrils. The passages were deathly silent. The sounds of
battle had ceased; the lady had either won or lost. He could hear the
footsteps drawing nearer.

His men, at the
opposite end, were going about their business quietly, stealthily.
That was habitual, routine. And they could easily deal with two of
these humans, but from what he had learned about the mind-dead, all
it would take was one glimpse of his men and the alarm would be
sounded.

The footsteps
were nearer, he could hear their voices.

"The woman
has entered."

"We are not
to stop her?"

"No. Our
master is dealing with her. We are to wait here for the young king,
who is—"

A series of
beeps broke the silence, lights flashed. Xris looked down at his
cybernetic arm. The systems were running through their normal
checking sequence, advising him that all was in proper working order.

"Shut it
off!" Raoul hissed urgently.

Xris glared at
him.

"You must!"
the Loti insisted.

Xris knew he
must. The mind-dead, discussing their orders, hadn't heard anything
yet, but it would only be a matter of time. They were near the tunnel
entrance. The stabbing beams of their nuke lamps sliced through the
darkness, probed here and there.

Cursing bitterly
beneath his breath, the cyborg reached over, switched off the arm,
felt it fall heavily, uselessly to his side. It was dead weight now,
dragging him down, reminding him that he was, in reality, nothing but
a cripple. A helpless, useless cripple . . .

"We will
patrol this area first," said one of the mind-dead, stepping
into the passageway. He turned in the direction of Xris's men. "Then
we will take up our position near the outside entrance."

"What do we
do when the young king arrives? Apprehend him?" The other
mind-dead, the one asking the questions, was a woman.

The two
proceeded at a slow pace down the tunnel, moving away from Xris,
heading toward his men.

"We are to
take him to Abdiel—"

Xris started to
activate his arm. So what if they heard him. So what if they alerted
their master. So what if everyone in this whole goddam place knew he
and his squad were here. He hadn't expected to get out of this
without a fight anyway. . . .

Raoul was
shaking a gloved finger in front of his nose.

Xris was about
to shove the poisoner out of his way when the Little One suddenly
darted out of the niche. He clapped a small tube to his mouth, aimed
it in the direction of the mind-dead, and blew. Shifting his aim, he
blew again.

One of the
mind-dead slapped his hand against the back of his neck, as if
killing a stinging insect. The female turned to look at him. Her hand
came up to her cheek. The male slumped to the ground. A split second
later the female toppled down beside him. Their bodies lay still,
inert on the cavern floor.

"Now,
friend cyborg," said Raoul softly, "you may turn yourself
back on. They are dead in body as well as in mind."

Xris activated
his arm. He was breathing heavily, sweating, a prey to the panicked
reaction he always experienced when his mechanized half—the
half he loathed, the half that kept him alive because he was too much
a coward to die—shut down.

He moved through
the tunnel, stopped to look intently at the bodies lying at his feet.
Putting his toe beneath one of the mind-dead, he flipped her over.
She was dead, all right.

"What
killed them?"

Raoul knelt
down, pointed to a small black object on the woman's cheek—a
tiny metal dart.

"Allow me,"
Raoul advised.

He plucked it
out, held it gingerly between gloved fingers, handed it to the Little
One. The empath held open one of the many pockets of the voluminous
raincoat. Raoul dropped in the dart, retrieved the other, held it up
for Xris to examine.

"Do not
touch. The poison kills instantly, as you saw. It is quite a painless
way to die. The victim feels only a slight stinging sensation, then .
. . nothing."

Xris looked over
at the Little One. His small hands—and presumably the
blowgun—had both vanished back inside the raincoat. The cyborg
thought of all the times he'd turned his back on what he had assumed
was the harmless empath.

"He got any
more of those?"

"Yes,
certainly," said Raoul. "It is his favorite weapon. He is
so sensitive, you know. It was difficult for him to kill anything
without being terribly disturbed by his victim's suffering. This is
much easier on him."

"I'm glad
we didn't upset his sensibilities," Xris said dryly. He chewed
on the end of his twist, glanced up and down the passageway. "Any
more of these mind-dead around?"

Raoul looked at
the Little One. The fedora replied in the negative.

"No, it is
safe to proceed, although we should make haste. Your men have sighted
Corasians, entering the Room of Fire."

"That tears
it." Xris took the twist from his mouth. "They're going to
know we're here, now."

"A pity,"
agreed Raoul, shrugging. "But it cannot be helped. And this did
not go to waste. Abdiel, at least, does not know we are here. And
these mind-dead will not be around to apprehend the young king."

Britt appeared
at the end of the tunnel, waving his hand.

"Boss!"
he called in a low, urgent voice. "We got company!"

"I'm
coming," Xris looked at the Loti, still kneeling beside the
bodies. "What about you two?"

"In a
minute, friend cyborg. We have something we must do first."
Raoul raised his eyes to meet those of the Little One.

Xris clamped his
teeth over the twist, shook his head, turned, and started down the
tunnel.

"Not yet,
Abdiel does not know you and I are here. But he will." The voice
was Raoul's. Only a murmur, but it came clearly to the cyborg's ear.

"Now what?"
Xris muttered, paused, looked back.

The Little One
removed a small case from the pocket of his coat, handed it solemnly
to Raoul. The Loti opened it with equal solemnity, took something
out, slid it into the hand of the corpse.

Xris adjusted
his cybernetic eye, brought the object in the corpse's hand into
sharp focus.

A gold-embossed
business card carried the message:

COMPLIMENTS
OF SNAGA OHME.

... of whom to
ask Which way the nearest coast of darkness lies . . .

John Milton,
Paradise Lost

Maigrey, Agis,
and the half-breed crouched on opposite sides of the dark tunnel,
weapons ready, waiting. Brother Daniel was some distance behind them,
posted near the intersection of the two passageways. He had orders to
run back quickly if he saw anything. Up ahead, the red light at the
tunnel's entrance was bright, glowing, but no sign of Corasians.

"What the
hell are they doing?" Maigrey snapped irritably. "Why don't
they attack?" She had shut off the bloodsword, shut off its
telltale light. Unfortunately she couldn't shut off the voice that
came with it.

They are
waiting for you, my lady. You must go that way, you know. You must go
that way in order to reach Sagan.

"Maybe
they're waiting for us," suggested Agis, an unknowing echo.
"Hoping to draw us out into the open."

"I go have
look," volunteered Sparafucile, and before Maigrey could stop
him, the assassin was gliding silent as death down the passage.

She watched him,
his body a shapeless dark mass silhouetted against the red light,
until he merged with the shadows and vanished.

A short time
later he reappeared again, almost directly in front of her, startling
her.

"Not
fire-bots. Dead-ones"—(the half-breed's term for
mind-dead)—"only. Many dead-ones, carrying red lamps. We
meant to think they are fire-bots."

"Why?"
demanded Agis, suspicious. "That doesn't make sense."

"A mind
game," said Maigrey. "Anything to keep us off-balance."

Yes, my lady.
Mind games. You are so good at them, too. But you find them wearing,
don't you? It saps the ability to concentrate on more important
matters. Dion is coming, Maigrey? Did you know?

"Lady, we
go now. We not stay here! Dangerous!"

Sparafucile's
hand on her arm, shaking her.

He's been
talking and talking. I heard his voice, Maigrey realized. I wonder
what it was he's been saying? I suppose it must have been important.
. . .

"Dead-ones
block passage. But wall like arm. We hide behind arm, shoot."
The assassin gestured, as if firing over a barricade. "Weird
place," he added. "Water burn."

"Burning
water," Maigrey repeated absently.

Certainly
Dion is coming, Mind-seizer. That's the plan. He's coming to destroy
you.

Destroy me?
Or join me? Not that it matters to you, my lady. Dion comes to me
alone. And you won't be around to help him.

"You'll
find he doesn't need my help, Mind-seizer, " Maigrey said aloud.
Alone! Surely, not alone! He was wiser than that now, wasn't he? She
could see Dion clearly, see him in the cockpit of the Scimitar, see .
. .

Maigrey sighed
in relief. He wasn't alone. But he was deceiving Abdiel into thinking
he was. And she was the one who might shatter the illusion. Abruptly,
she wrenched her mind away from Dion, before the mind-seizer could
touch him through her, discover the truth.

"My lady."
It was Agis, quiet, respectful. Brother Daniel stood beside him; both
regarding her with concern. "Are you all right?"

My God, what a
stupid question! No, she wasn't all right. She was threatening empty
air, shouting answers to questions no one had asked. She looked at
Agis, saw Abdiel's face. And she didn't dare banish the mind-seizer's
image. She had to keep him before her, keep that keen mental gaze
fixed on her, not on Dion.

Half of me's not
here, she wanted to tell Agis. Half of me's fighting a battle you
can't see or understand. And, if I lose, there's no way you can save
me!

She wanted to
say all this . . . But how could she, to Abdiel's mocking visage?

"Move out,"
was what she finally said, aloud.

They continued
down the tunnel, no longer worried about keeping silent. Sparafucile
made less noise than the darkness, but Agis's boots thudded on the
rock floor. The heavy beam rifle he carried rattled, whined as it
powered up. Maigrey's armor jingled like myriad small, silver bells.
Brother Daniel's robes swished and flapped.

Stealth wasn't
important now. Abdiel knew they were there, knew they were coming.
Haste was important. Maigrey had to reach Sagan. When she found him,
she would be whole again.

The half-breed's
"arm" in the wall turned out to be a natural rock
formation—a groin, that stretched out into the passageway,
forming a crude barricade. Beyond, Maigrey could see the red nuke
lamps clearly now, against a backdrop of yellow light that wavered
like flames.

Water burn
.
She recalled the half-breed's words, wished she'd asked him then what
he meant. It was too late now. Shadowy figures were visible, moving
back and forth across the light.

Something
whizzed past her, making an odd sound that she didn't at first
identify.

"Bolts,"
said Agis. "They're shooting bolts at us."