Authors: Margaret Weis
"Within,
Your Majesty." Brother Daniel placed his hand on his heart. "You
look within."
Dion closed his
eyes. In his mind, he went back to Syrac Seven, went back to the
house in the middle of the prairie, back to the garden and his music,
back to the open window, the breeze ruffling his hair, the pages of
his book.
Dion went back
to Platus, who had loved him for himself.
Dion went back.
And he took Tusk
with him.
. . . to lose
thee were to lose myself.
John Milton,
Paradise Lost
Phoenix
had arrived at the Corasian outpost. The warship maintained a
stationary position between planet and sun. Its short-range Scimitars
patrolled deepspace, keeping watch for the Corasian strike force that
was reportedly on the way.
The cruise
liner,
Galaxy Belle,
had joined it. Its captain had, for some
reason, refused to leave the vicinity, though she had been given the
coordinates necessary to make the Jump. A contingent of men was sent
over to assist the captain. Scimitars surrounded the liner
protectively, in case of attack.
Phoenix
would remain in the vicinity only long enough to remove those on the
planet, then destroy the outpost. A demolition squad, armed with
proton bombs, had been sent below.
Xris and his
commandos were taken aboard
Phoenix,
along with Raoul and the
Little One. Men and officers eyed the Loti and his small friend with
suspicion, particularly when it became known that the two had been
discovered moving among the bodies of the mind-dead on the surface,
leaving business cards on the corpses. Word spread that the
formidable cyborg and his commando squad had taken the pair under
their protection, however. Xris had made the two a part of his team.
Once again, they were six.
Admiral Aks was
again in command, having received a very handsome apology from His
Majesty. Captain Williams proved somewhat more difficult to placate,
but his wounded dignity and injured pride were eventually assuaged, a
major's bars for his collar assisting in the process.
The young king,
looking worn and tired, arrived on board to a hero's welcome, which
he graciously acknowledged, then immediately disappeared into the
sick bay in company with his critically wounded friend. Rumors,
spawned by the medical staff, soon began to circulate concerning this
friend. Men listened, shook their heads in disbelief.
"I've seen
nothing like it in all my years," Dr. Giesk said to General
Dixter, who stood outside Tusk's room, waiting for Dion. "Evidence
of massive internal injuries, to say nothing of the loss of blood. He
shouldn't be alive. Should not be alive." The doctor appeared to
take Tusk's living as a personal affront.
"They're
talking miracle." Giesk sniffed. "There's a rational
explanation. Somewhere. I'm running tests. I'll soon come across it.
Tusca's half Blood Royal, you know. That may account for it."
Dion emerged
from Tusk's room. The young king was pale, drawn with weariness and
anxiety. But a radiance shone about him, coming from deep within,
that illuminated the eyes, like the sun rising into a cloudless blue
sky.
"You wanted
to see me, General?"
Dixter shook his
head to counsel silence for the moment, waited until Dr. Giesk had
hustled back, eager to get his hands on his patient. "Poor
Tusk," said Dixter sympathetically.
"Brother
Daniel is with him," said Dion. "He'll keep the doctor from
harassing Tusk too much."
"How is
he?"
"Fine. He's
going to be fine." Dion smiled to himself, a smile that was both
elated and sad. Glancing around the corridor in which they stood, he
saw men regarding him in awe. "How is every thing going, sir?"
"That's
what I came to tell you, Your Majesty. The demolition squad reports
that the bombs are set and primed. They're on their way back. The
Corasian strike force is drawing near. It's an armada, two of those
of mother ships, plus God knows how many fighters. We've got to clear
out of here and soon."
"Everything's
ready. When the demolition squad returns, give the order. Why not?
What's the matter."
"Dion,"
said Dixter quietly, drawing the young man aside, into a nearby
doorway, "Lord Sagan hasn't returned. There's been no word from
him. Have you seen him or Lady Maigrey?"
"No. I
thought she might be in sick bay. She had a cut on her hand. But Dr.
Giesk hasn't seen her and—General Dixter, sir. Are you all
right?"
The general had
gone gray. "What do you mean—a cut?" He could barely
speak. "The crystal scythe shattered on her armor. You didn't
tell me she'd been hurt."
Dion stared at
him, perplexed. "She said she cut herself on a rock." He
stopped. The shadow that had laid across his heart deepened,
darkened. "I'm going back down there."
"Well have
to hurry," said Dixter grimly. "We don't have much time."
Dion arrived on
planet just as the shuttle carrying the demolition squad was leaving.
He was flying Tusk's long-range Scimitar, its anti-grav unit having
been hastily repaired. If the Corasian armada was sighted, Aks had
orders to make the Jump. Dion and Dixter would follow, find their own
way back across the Void. The space-rotation bomb was still aboard.
Dion had not had time to disarm it.
XJ, having been
assured innumerable times that Tusk was safe, finally believed Dion
was telling him the truth. The computer spent the entire trip
complaining bitterly about the blood on the deck.
"There's
Maigrey's plane," Dion reported, pointing out the viewscreen.
The sun's feeble rays were beginning to drive back the darkness on
the planet's surface, illuminating the white spaceplane on the ground
below. "But my instruments don't show anyone nearby. Wait.
There. I've got a life-form reading. Some distance away. On the other
side of those trees. I'm going to put the plane down here."
John Dixter said
nothing. He had not said anything since they'd left
Phoenix
.
Dion landed the
spaceplane, shut it down, prepared to leave the cockpit.
"Is that
Maigrey's starjewel?" Dixter asked suddenly. He was staring
gravely, fixedly, at the space-rotation bomb.
"Yes,"
Dion answered, startled.
"I think
you should bring it with you."
"But that
would mean disarming the bomb."
"You
weren't planning to use it, were you, son?"
"No,"
Dion said after a moment's thought. "I'm not planning to use it.
Ever."
"And it
would be safer not to leave it—"
Carefully, Dion
removed the starjewel, stood a moment, staring at it, as if willing
it to give him a sign. It lay in his hand, dark, unlovely. He closed
his hand over it, and prepared to exit the spaceplane.
They found Derek
Sagan standing at the head of three rock cairns on which lay three
bodies. His hands were clasped before him; his red cape, ruffled by
the morning breeze, fluttered on the wind. His golden armor gleamed,
reflecting the burning red sliver of a new and fiery sun, rising up
over the tops of the ruined trees.
Dion clasped the
starjewel tightly in his hand, the sharp points dug into his flesh,
leaving eight tiny bruise marks that he would find the next day. He
could not see the figures on the cairns clearly, but he could see, on
the one in the center, silver armor, shining in the sunlight.
Starjewel in his
left hand, Dion drew the bloodsword with his right. The sword had,
during the intervening hours, been recharged. It burst into life, its
blue-white blade flared. The flame, the fluttering red cape, the
golden armor, the terrible, burning ache in his throat and heart, all
combined to remind him vividly of the night Platus had died, this
sword in his hand. Dion ran forward with a shout, a challenge.
Derek Sagan did
not move.
Strong arms
clasped around Dion. A voice, deep and heavy with grief, but sharp
and stern from years of command, sounded above the roar of blood
pounding in his head.
"Dion,
stop!" Dixter wrestled him backward. "You don't know what
you're doing!"
"Maigrey's
dead! Can't you see that?" Dion cried. "And look at him!
Her blood on his hands! Just as Abdiel said—
"Dion! The
crystal scythe! That was the serpent's tooth! That cut on her hand
..."
The shadow
lifted from Dion's heart, the curtain parted. Light flooded in, he
saw and understood. The bloodsword's fire faded, went out. His arm
was weak, numb. He slid the sword back into its sheath before he
dropped it.
"Oh, God!"
he whispered in agony. "She knew. They both knew and they kept
it from me. They . . . they sent me away. But if I had stayed . . . I
could have helped her . . ."
"And Tusk
would have died." John Dixter put his arm around the young man's
shoulders. "I'm not sure there would have been anything you
could have done for her, son."
The general
looked at Sagan, tears glistened on the weathered cheeks.
"Her
destiny . . . and his . . . are fulfilled."
Three cairns,
made of rocks piled one on top of the other, stood together, in a
row. The one in the center rose higher than the other two. On it lay
the body of Lady Maigrey Morianna, King's Guardian. She was clad in
the silver armor that had been washed free of blood. Her hands were
clasped upon her chest. The bloodsword's empty sheath had been
removed from around her waist and rested at her feet, to denote her
victory over her enemy. The pale, fine hair had been loosened from
its braids, arranged over her shoulders.
Dion leaned down
to fasten the starjewel around her neck, felt the hair brush against
his hand. It seemed warm, alive; the flesh his hand touched was
chill. He looked into her face, saw it white, cold, fair. He knew
her, and he didn't. He realized, after a moment, that she looked
unfamiliar to him because the scar was gone. The deathly pallor
overspreading her complexion had absorbed the scar, made it one with
the marble flesh.
Dion adjusted
the Star of the Guardians to lie on her breast. Drawing his hand
back, he paused, waiting, hoping to see its darkness fade, as had the
scar. He waited to see it catch the sun's bright rays.
The sun touched
it, the starjewel altered in appearance. It did not burst into
blazing fire, however, did not regain the shining brilliance he
remembered. Or if it did, he saw its fire as he saw the fire of the
stars, far removed from him, their warmth diminished by distance, by
time. The starjewel, like her armor, gleamed with a pale, cold light.
On Maigrey's
right lay Agis, centurion, captain of the Guard. On her left,
Sparafucile, half-breed, assassin. Disparate companions for her long
journey. And yet, thought Dion, somehow right and fitting.
John Dixter
looked down at the still, calm face. He reached out his hand, softly
stroked the pale, fine hair.
"No more
good-byes for us," he said to her softly. "Ever."
The sun climbed
steadily higher.
Dion cleared his
throat, turned to Sagan. "My lord, a Corasian strike force is on
the way. We've set proton bombs in the tunnels. We're going to
destroy the outpost before we leave."
Derek Sagan said
nothing, did not move from where he stood at the head of her cairn.
His face was impassive, registered no expression, neither grief nor
anger, sadness nor regret. Nothing.
"We have to
go, my lord," Dion prompted gently.
Sagan made no
response.
Dion glanced
helplessly at Dixter, who only shook his head.
Suddenly, the
Warlord turned the dark eyes, looked into Dion's. Lifting his hand to
his neck, he seemed about to remove his own starjewel.
"No,"
said Dion, confused for a moment, then understanding Sagan's intent.
"I don't need the jewel. I don't intend to arm the bomb . . .
ever again. I will keep it, but only to make certain that it doesn't
fell into the hands of another. I will"—he paused,
amended—"I hope to rule without fear."
Sagan's
bloodstained hand fell, nerveless, to his side.
John Dixter
reached out, clasped the bloodstained hand, whispered something to
the Warlord, something between only the two of them. The empty
expression on Sagan's face did not alter. His hand tightened around
Dixter's for a brief instant, then released its hold. He withdrew
more deeply into himself. The stones of the cairn seemed more alive
than he did.
"Your
Majesty," said John Dixter, "it's time for us to leave."
Dion laid his
hand over Maigrey's still fingers. "Go with God, my lady,"
he said. He looked into Sagan's dark, empty eyes. "My lord."
Turning, the
king left the dead, walked into the dawn.
Phoenix
was ready to depart. The demolition squad was safely on board. The
short-range Scimitars had been called back. One task remained.
Captain Williams
approached the admiral. "Should I give the order to explode the
proton bombs, sir?"
Aks, troubled,
glanced at Dion. The king had just arrived on the bridge. He stood
staring out the viewscreen at the planet, that appeared nothing more
than a nondescript mote of dust at this distance.
"Your
Majesty, we haven't received any word from Lord Sagan. It's possible
that he's still—"
"Are you
picking up any life-form readings from that planet, Admiral?"
Dion asked quietly.
"No, Your
Majesty, but—"
"Do your
scanners indicate that the spaceplane is still on the planet?"
"No, Your
Majesty. It took off a short time ago, but if Lord Sagan were flying
it he would have contacted—"
"Proceed
with the destruction of the planet."
"But, Your
Majesty!"
"Proceed,
Admiral."
Jaw working,
face blotchy, Admiral Aks did as he was commanded. "Detonate the
proton bombs."