Authors: Margaret Weis
"I do. The
Blood Royal will always be a threat to him. He did his best to wipe
them out years ago, those that he could reach."
"At least
Dion's not dead yet. ..."
"Of course
not. Abdiel prefers to use live bait."
Maigrey shook
her head. "I can sense Dion. I know he's alive. but he's
indistinct, blurred in my mind. He's drawn very far away from me.
From us," she amended belatedly.
"Abdiel's
influence. You can imagine what the mind-seizer is doing to him."
"All the
more reason to save him."
"First, my
lady, it may be necessary to save ourselves. Dion isn't the only
member of the Blood Royal the mind-seizer means to destroy. I was
always too strong for him to dare to try to touch. He believed you to
be dead. Now, the two of us are together again. What greater threat
can there be
to
him? What greater opportunity
for
him?"
Sagan paused. "We
are
together again, aren't we, my
lady?"
Maigrey stirred
uncomfortably. "It seems we have little choice—"
"Then take
the oath."
"What?"
She stared at him in astonishment, uncertain she heard right, the
word ringing discordantly in her mind.
"The oath,
Maigrey. Retake the oath."
She hesitated,
considering, regarding him suspiciously. "What about John
Dixter? What about Dion? No, there's too much between us—"
"The hell
with Dion! The hell with John Dixter!" Sagan reached out,
grasped her tightly, held her fast. "None of that is important
now, Maigrey. This is between us—you and me. I learned
something last night. Seventeen years ago we betrayed each other, and
it wasn't because we didn't trust each other. We trusted too much—in
something that wasn't there! Mind-linked, closer than any two beings
can come, yet we didn't know each other. Our masters taught us to
keep a part of ourselves to ourselves, for the sake of pride. Out of
pride, we kept our true feelings—our doubts, our fears—hidden.
And that was a mistake. It made us just like any two other
humans—never what God intended us to be!"
Maigrey stared
at him, caught and held by his words more than his hands.
Sagan drew a
deep, shivering breath. "We each took an oath once, long
ago—just words to us then. It's not surprising we broke what
held little meaning for us. I'm asking you to retake the same oath
now. But realize, Maigrey, as I do, that this time the oath will bind
us fast. This time the oath will be forged out of steel that has been
tempered in the fires—not of heaven, as it was in our youth,
but of hell."
She shuddered.
He felt her shudder, as though her body had been riven apart. Shaking
her head, she tried to pull back away from him. "I can't! Not
after . . . not after . . . everything. ..."
"My lord."
The captain's voice came over the commlink. "The two requesting
to see you have arrived."
Sagan regarded
Maigrey intently. Then he released her.
"Send them
in," he said coldly, turning away from her.
Maigrey gathered
herself together, picked up the broken pieces, and joined
him—momentarily, at least—to meet their guests.
The door slid
open, revealing a black-haired charmer in a sky-blue suit and a
raincoated companion. Escorted into the Warlord's chambers by the
Honor Guard, Raoul glided gracefully, the Little One shambled along
behind.
"May
night's shadows give you ease, my lady, my lord." Raoul bowed,
hand over heart, to each.
"May the
moon rise and shed light upon your path." Maigrey offered the
proper response among Loti. "Won't you be seated?" But she
remained standing, as did the Warlord.
Raoul was so
excessively overcome at the lady's politeness and offer of
hospitality that for many moments he soared amid flights of effusive
gratitude. Maigrey and Sagan contained themselves patiently, waiting
for him to descend and come to the point. He finally did so,
declining an offer to be seated.
The Little One,
on entering the room, resembled very much a man who has suddenly
walked head-on into an invisible steelglass wall. The large, bright
eyes darted from lord to lady and back again, then narrowed in
exasperation.
Raoul,
indicating his companion with a fluttering gesture, remarked, "The
Little One is considerably impressed at your skill in thwarting his
empathic abilities. But then, of course, you are Guardians. The last
of the Guardians."
The steelglass
wall quivered slightly, but did not fall, though the muscles of
Sagan's right hand twitched involuntarily and Lady Maigrey curled her
fingers in upon themselves.
"I don't
suppose you came here to inform us of that," the Warlord said.
"No, no.
Please forgive me. The pleasure of meeting the two of you has
rendered me quite overcome. I will hasten on to the purpose of my
visit. My lord Derek Sagan"—Raoul bowed—"has
received an invitation to Snaga Ohme's Event and has been kind enough
to accept. My employer, Snaga Ohme, is honored, my lord, to think
that, once again, your presence will grace his humble dwelling."
The honor is
mine in being invited," Sagan returned, but the ice in his voice
chilled the polite effect of his rejoinder.
Raoul bowed
again and turned to face the lady. The eyes of the Little One finally
focused upon her, never left her, perhaps seeing a tiny crack in the
glass. "My employer, Snaga Ohme, regrets exceedingly that he was
unaware of the lady's true identity when she last graced his abode.
He fears his hospitality on that occasion was deficient—"
"He tried
to have me killed," observed Maigrey, smiling pleasantly.
Raoul was
astonished, appeared likely never to recover from the shock. "Word
has reached the ears of my employer, Snaga Ohme, that you believe the
foul calumny heaped upon his defenseless head. Snaga Ohme
respectfully reminds her ladyship that Laskar is notorious for its
bandits and he wishes only to add his sublime joy over the fact that
the lady emerged from her terrifying encounter safe and whole. The
lady walks with God."
"And
carries a beam rifle," Sagan said coolly. "But please
continue."
Raoul's
glittering purple eyes danced in amusement. "Yes. Quite true.
However, in order to make amends for his deficiencies as a host, my
employer, Snaga Ohme, has issued an invitation to the Lady Maigrey
Morianna to grace his Event with her presence." The Loti, with a
flourish, proffered a small silver ball.
"I would be
honored." Maigrey accepted the silver ball, laid it down upon a
table, forced it to stay down when it would have risen.
"It is my
employer, Snaga Ohme, who is honored, my lady. And now, regrettable
that it is to introduce talk of business into anticipation of
pleasure, my employer, Snaga Ohme, begs to inform the lady that he
would appreciate the prompt return of his property. It is a request
with which he is certain she will delight in complying since that
property was—undoubtedly quite unintentionally on my lady's
part—fraudulently obtained."
"Fraudulently!"
Maigrey repeated. "What does he mean by
fraudulently
? He
has the starjewel—"
"Ah, my
lady." Raoul seemed to retreat before her anger; the empath
nearly shriveled up into a ball. "Do not give way to hostile
feelings. Snaga Ohme has no doubt her ladyship meant well. But the
starjewel, you see, has proven worthless."
"You don't
expect me to believe—"
"My lady,"
Raoul interposed gently, "the starjewel has gone black as coal."
The Little One,
eyes on Maigrey, flinched visibly and uttered a small gasp of pain.
Maigrey said nothing, made no sound, no movement.
"My lady
cannot be held responsible for that," Sagan said. He was
startled to feel her ice-chill fingers dig into his flesh like
talons, gripping his wrist for support. "The jewel's value is
not diminished—"
"A matter
of opinion," Raoul suggested delicately. "The jewel is now
an object most unlovely to look upon. Indeed, my employer, Snaga
Ohme, has discovered that he cannot stand to be around it. He hastens
through the room where it is kept to avoid the sight of it. Snaga
Ohme was wounded by the fraud, but he bids me say that he has
forgiven her ladyship and he will be most happy to return the jewel
to the lady if she will return his property to him."
"And you
may tell your employer, Snaga Ohme, that her ladyship will see him
burn in hell first." Sagan touched the controls, opened the
door, summoned the guard with a gesture. "And now I think that
you had better leave. Your companion appears to have been taken ill."
The Little One
was doubled over in agony, but the large eyes remained fastened upon
Maigrey, a gleam of exultation visible through the pain.
"I feel it
only right to inform you that my employer, Snaga Ohme, does not take
kindly to threats." Raoul grasped hold of his companion's coat
collar, seemingly prepared to haul him off bodily.
"I never
make threats," Sagan returned, "only promises. My regards
to your employer. Inform him that the lady and I will both be pleased
to attend his Event."
"May your
repose be blessed," the Loti remarked pleasantly, his current
state of drug-induced euphoria apparently impossible to upset.
"May yours
be eternal!" Sagan muttered, slamming his hand down irritably on
the door's operational controls.
Maigrey remained
standing near him, her hand grasping the Warlord's arm tightly. She
did not look at him. She did not speak. There was no need. He
understood. Her soul was laid bare, slashed wide open.
Slowly, she
unclenched her fingers, released her hold. Sagan, glancing down, saw
four livid marks on his battle-scarred skin, the imprint of her pain.
She turned and left him, walking steadily, but moving blindly as one
who travels in the thick shadow.
"My lady,"
the Warlord said. "The night of the revolution, I took the
starjewel from around my neck and placed it in its rosewood box. I
have it still."
She ceased
walking, but did not turn around, stared straight ahead, into the
night.
"Maigrey,"
the Warlord continued quietly. "My starjewel is black. It
darkened that evening."
"Is that
supposed to comfort me, my lord?"
"Our bond
has been forged in the fires of hell. Take the oath."
Maigrey glanced
back at him, smiled wanly.
'"Fortune rota volviture; descendo
minoaratus
. . .' The wheel of fortune turns; dishonored I fall
from grace.'" She looked at him straight on, gray eyes meeting
his, no trace of color, of life, anywhere in her. "I will take
the oath, my lord. "
She left him.
Sagan took no
notice of her leaving. He should have been exulting in his victory.
The oath would bind them fast. What he wanted, she would want.
Thinking and acting as one. Yes, he had been victorious. But Maigrey
had managed to rob him of his pleasure.
Her quote had
been from
Carmina Burana,
the songs of the medieval goliards.
He had not thought of the songs in a long time, and they came back to
him now, suddenly, darkening his heart, the voice of the oracle,
speaking words of ill omen. He repeated to himself, softly, the
closing verse.
"'Quod
per sortem sternit fortem, mecum omnes plangite!'
" 'And
since by fate the strong are overthrown, weep ye all with me.' "
Questa notte
nessun dorma!
This night let
no one sleep!
Giacomo Puccini,
Turandot
Innumerable
dazzling new stars lit Laskar's night sky once the storm clouds had
rumbled past. Snaga Ohme's guests were arriving for the Event, and
their various shuttlecraft and orbiting ships and planes traced fiery
trails across the heavens. Local air and space traffic control was
jammed, but they were accustomed, every year, to handling the influx
and only the usual amount of crashes and near-misses resulted.
All major luxury
hotels, designed for both human and alien species, were booked solid
and had been for a year, there being always those who preferred a
cramped room with an inadequate supply of towels to the more
comfortable but less exotic quarters of their own shuttlecraft.
Prefab homes sprang up like fungi after the rains. RV lots were
filled to capacity. The locals all turned out, during the mild
Laskarian evenings, to stroll about and gape at the fabulous,
gleaming spacecraft, the elaborately uniformed guards, the incredibly
beautiful mistresses and/or paramours belonging to the galaxy's rich
and powerful.
President of the
Galactic Democratic Republic Peter Robes did not attend, though he
was annually invited. Ohme's Event was not an officially sanctioned
function and Robes preferred to keep himself aloof, which always
looked good in the press. The President never failed, during the
Event, to visit a children's hospital on some impoverished planet and
have his photo taken with a young alien, preferably of the small,
cute, and fur-bearing variety. His citizen generals were in
attendance, however, as well as numerous members of Congress.
In addition came
monarchs, military leaders, corporate heads from all sectors. During
the night prior to the Event, the rich and the beautiful and powerful
graced the streets of Laskar, a veritable walking encyclopedia of
anybody who was anybody. Security, provided by both Snaga Ohme and
the city of Laskar, was extremely tight. Tourists were not permitted
on Laskar during this time. Of the press, only those commentators
with the highest ratings were invited to attend, along with their
droid reporters and camera crews.
Monarchs and
generals at war with other monarchs and generals (and there were
many, given the current political turmoil in the galaxy) were often
forced into close proximity, either on the street where it was
fashionable to take the Laskarian air or at the numerous private
parties and gala balls given on the eve of the Event. The warring
enemies passed by each other with icy disdain, each affecting not to
acknowledge the other's existence. If trouble flared, as it sometimes
did among the more hotheaded, brawls were instantly quelled by Ohme's
watchful security force, the combatants separated and taken away to
cool off.