King's Sacrifice

by Margaret Weis

  Brother Daniel shook his head. "They are God's children."

  Agis spoke. "My lady, what about capturing this ship and replacing the civilians with military personnel? At least soldiers would have a fighting chance."

  "I considered that," Maigrey said slowly. "But an operation like that would take weeks to bring together. It's too big, word is bound to leak out. The Corasians have spies all through this galaxy—"

  "All through the military," Xris commented. The cyborg took another twist from a pocket, put it to his lips, lit it with a flick of his mechanical fingers. "You ever fought Corasians, Priest? Ever been around them?"

  "No," Brother Daniel admitted. "But—"

  "They're real good at putting two and two together. Better than most. They haven't got eyes, but they see fine without them. Their sonar and radar and internal scanners don't miss much. You can bet they'll board us when we reach Corasia. They'll want to inspect the meat before they invest in it and—"

  "Don't call it meat!" Brother Daniel cried, flushing in anger. "These are people we are talking about—"

  "You'd better get used to it, Priest," Xris cut in coolly. "If they see anything the least bit suspicious . . . Well, you can figure yourself to be on top of their breakfast menu."

  "Why are we wasting time arguing with him," Agis demanded sternly. "You warned him, my lady. You told him not to come."

  Brother Daniel stammered, cut himself off, kept quiet long moments. Finally, he spoke. "Again, I've been a fool. Forgive me, my lady. We are in God's hands. He will deliver us." He turned pleading eyes to Maigrey. "Don't leave me behind! You can count on me from now on. I won't fail you, my lady, or my lord."

  Maigrey glanced around. Agis looked grim and dubious. Xris, no telling what the cyborg was thinking. Sparafucile didn't appear to have heard a word being said. He crouched on the deck, staring at her through slit eyes that had never once moved.

  It was her decision. The most logical—and probably the kindest—thing she could do for the young priest would be to send a laser beam through his head. The situation was going to get darker, grimmer. If he fell apart like that around the Corasians, he could put them all in jeopardy. And how could she trust him now? Might he not decide to take matters out of God's hands and into his own?

  Be honest, Maigrey. You can't kill him. You don't have it in you. And you can't leave him behind for the mind-dead to find and interrogate. Which gives you no choice.

  Deliberately brusque, businesslike, she turned from him, ordered Sparafucile to call up a diagram of a cruise ship on his vidscreen.

  "Now, here's my plan."

  The remainder of the night was spent going over details and finalizing strategy. They discussed tactics, logistics; grappled with cold, harsh reality, and Maigrey finally relaxed, her mind cleared. The hard part was over. She was committed, she couldn't back down or argue herself out of it now. The die was cast. The game afoot. No choice.

  She believed she had a good team. Xris made several excellent and intelligent suggestions. Agis was, of course, solid as null-grav steel. The problem of Brother Daniel she'd resolved for herself. As for Raoul and the Little One, no one in his right mind ever trusted a Loti. But this Loti was an Adonian, out to avenge the death of another Adonian. And one of the Adonians' few redeeming characteristics—brought about because they thought so well of themselves—was the fact that they were incredibly loyal to each other. Sparafucile volunteered to keep an eye on Raoul and his diminutive sidekick. Which left her only one lingering doubt—the half-breed himself.

  The meeting did not break up until early in the morning.

  Agis woke Brother Daniel, who, exhausted, had fallen asleep on a pile of rags. Xris took his money, counted it, nodded, satisfied, and thrust it in a compartment concealed inside his cybernetic leg. Sparafucile escorted them all to the air lock, opened it, then disappeared somewhere into the shadows of his plane.

  Xris had a few more questions, dealing with minor details. These settled, he extinguished his twist before putting on his breathing apparatus, and departed. Agis assisted the bleary-eyed, stumbling, half-asleep priest into his spacesuit, then the centurion put on his own.

  "Go on," Maigrey told them. "I'll catch up in a minute."

  She was so tired she could barely think what she was doing. Standing alone in the air lock, she fumbled at the catch on her helmet. The half-breed was beside her, appearing out of the darkness with a suddenness that startled her. His deft fingers took over the task. Silently, he assisted her. Silently, he opened the air lock.

  She was about to thank him. The look in the misshapen eyes froze the words on her hps.

  "You not kill my lord," said Sparafucile softly.

  So that was it. Maigrey tried to remember what had been said. It was Agis who had spoken. In other words, if we cannot rescue my lord, we must destroy him. And she had agreed.

  "I trust that will not be necessary," she began, "but circumstances might force—"

  The half-breed drew in his breath, let it out in a hiss. "You will die yourself first!"

  No good arguing, attempting to explain. He would never understand. Maigrey turned away, stepped into the air lock. It sealed shut. Pressure dropped, stabilized, the lock opened. She stepped out onto the moon's surface. Agis was there, waiting for her. He had sent Brother Daniel on, remained to escort her.

  "Problems with the half-breed?"

  "I was worried that he might not be loyal enough." Maigrey shook her head. "It never occurred to me that he might be too loyal."

  "Do we continue to use him?"

  "Yes," she answered, adding wearily what seemed to have become an accursed credo, "we have no choice."

  Chapter Twelve

  Upon that I kiss your hand, and I call you my queen.

  William Shakespeare, King Henry V, Act V, Scene 2

  Time is, as one noted twentieth-century thinker put it, so that everything doesn't happen at once. The measurement of time, at least by the clock, is exact. The measurement of time by the heart and the head is far different. Time passes, time flies. It creeps or crawls. It moves faster than light. Time, for Maigrey, was running rapidly through her fingers. The hourglass emptying fast. Time, for Dion, was standing still. The stars had ceased to turn. All the suns in the galaxy were shining down on him.

  "Isn't she beautiful, Tusk!" Dion demanded.

  "Yeah, kid," Tusk agreed, trying unsuccessfully to stifle a yawn. "She's a beauty, all right. Hard to believe. She must take after her mother's side of the family. She sure," he added with heartfelt emphasis, "doesn't take after her father."

  "And what do you think of her, Nola?" Dion turned to the young woman, who sat curled up on the bed beside Tusk.

  "I like her. There's something very refreshing about her. She's honest, open, unpretentious—"

  "Barbaric," Tusk whispered in her ear.

  "Be quiet, he'll hear you!" Nola squeezed Tusk's hand.

  "No, he won't. Look at him." Tusk yawned again.

  Dion didn't hear them. He stood at the window, staring out blissfully at the lake that could be seen in the distance, stars and moon glimmering in its dark water. A golden haze surrounded him with radiance, elevated him above all other mortal beings, filled him with enchanting music that obliterated all sounds except those he wanted, needed to hear.

  Tusk and Nola had been ready to retire for the night when Dion appeared at their door. He couldn't sleep, didn't want to end what had been the most marvelous evening of his life. And he couldn't clearly remember any of it. He could only remember her.

  "I'm going to ask her to marry me," he said.

  Tusk and Nola exchanged alarmed glances, sleepiness startled out of them.

  "Uh, isn't this a little sudden, kid. Talk to him!" Tusk urged his wife in an undertone.

  "Why me? You're his friend."

  "Because women are better at these things."

  "Oh, yeah!" She snorted. "I thought the only difference was in X and Y chromosomes. I didn't know we had one l
abeled 'advice to the love-lorn' !"

  "C'mon. It'll be good practice for you—when we have our own kids."

  "He's not a kid," Nola retorted. "Or hadn't you noticed?"

  "What is it?" Dion turned. "What were you saying? You agree with me, don't you? She's wonderful."

  Tusk, making emphatic signs to Nola with his eyebrows and jerks of his head, appeared to have contracted a nervous disorder.

  "What's the matter? What's wrong?" Dion asked, the golden haze receding enough to let him see that his friends weren't exactly bounding around the room with joy.

  "Nothing, kid," said Tusk, standing up. "Uh, I got to go use the facilities. I'll ... be back." He dragged out his boots, slid his feet into them, beat it for the door. "You and Nola . . . have a nice little talk while I'm gone. "

  "I'll get you for this!" Nola shot out of the corner of her mouth.

  Tusk grabbed a nuke lamp and fled, slammed shut the door behind him. Out in the hall, he leaned back against the wall, heaved a sigh of relief, wiped sweat from his forehead. "God! What a narrow escape!"

  Feeling some remorse that he'd left his wife behind, but not enough to go back, he hastened down the hall, determined to make his stay in the outhouse last as long as it would be humanly possible for him to endure the cold and the smell.

  "I admit I haven't known Kamil very long," said Dion, leaving his place by the window, coming forward to plead his case, "but look at all the other women I've met in the last few months! I've dated women from all over the galaxy. Every age, every type. None of them come near comparing to her. Do they?"

  "No, Dion," Nola answered slowly. "Kamil is different, very different."

  "And I never fell in love with any of those others, did I?" Dion demanded. "I'm not like Link, who's in love with somebody on a weekly basis. I knew I hadn't found the right person. I had to keep searching. But when I saw her standing on that rock, when I looked into her eyes, I knew I'd found her, Nola. The only woman I could ever love."

  "I know you think so now, Dion," Nola said hesitantly, "but you've been lonely, very lonely. I've seen it, so has Tusk. And what with our getting married, and Lady Maigrey leaving, and all the turmoil and upset . . . well, it's natural that you should be looking for someone to love—"

  "And I might latch on to the first person who came along?" Dion asked her quietly. "I thought about that, Nola. I really did, on the walk home tonight. I had to, if I was going to ask her to be my wife. I looked into my heart, and I know the answer. She's the one, Nola, the one I've been waiting to find."

  He didn't mention the dream, didn't mention the woman with golden eyes who'd fought at his side, held her shield protectively before him. Despite experiencing the still, small voice within, despite seeing Platus's spirit appear to him, Dion had been unable to come to believe completely in a Creator, in a Will and Force other than his own, guiding his life. But this latest miracle had nearly convinced him. It seemed to him, because of the dream, that his love for Kamil had been foreordained and therefore blessed.

  "And I know she's been waiting for me," he added.

  "It's something you should think seriously about, Dion," said Nola. "You've been around other women, lots of other women. But Kamil hasn't been with other men. Oh, yes, she's got scads of brothers and probably male friends. But, Dion, despite the fact that she's as old as you are in years, she isn't nearly as old as you are in experience or maturity. She's obviously just barely out of her childhood. In fact, I'll bet she's never before thought about or dreamed of thinking about a man the way she's suddenly starting to think about you."

  Dion remembered her sitting on the rock, calmly watching him swim stark naked, with no more passion than if she'd been looking at one of her brothers, whom she must have seen from diapers on up. He was forced, reluctantly, to admit that Nola was right. He himself had witnessed her dawning awareness of his sexuality, and perhaps her own, as well. He remembered vividly the warm blush suffusing the smooth, tanned skin, the eyes that had been bold and laughing, suddenly selfconsciously unable to meet his gaze.

  "You believe she does care for me, then?" Dion asked, skipping over the part of the conversation he didn't want to hear, landing squarely on the part he did.

  His thoughts went to the evening they'd spent together, to the rowdy, boisterous gathering around the dinner table, to the girl—almost a woman—who'd talked only to him, who'd looked only at him. It had seemed to him that they were the only two people in the room, but now he vaguely recalled her brothers' nudges and snickers, her father's beard-tugging ruminations whenever he observed the young couple.

  "Oh, Dion," said Nola, smiling at him. "Everyone in the hall saw how she felt about you, tonight. And that's my point. She's been raised to be honest, open with her feelings. She knows nothing about flirting—harmless or otherwise. She knows nothing about deceit, flattery, playing mind games, manipulating. Can you have Kamil, Dion, and still be what you want to be?"

  "Can I have Kamil and still be king, that's what you're asking me, isn't it?"

  Nola nodded gravely.

  "Of course," he said impatiently. "Why couldn't I?"

  "Because you'll put her on display in a glass cage for billions of people to stare at, poke at. Because they'll stick vidcams in her face, want to watch her eat, dress, go to the bathroom, make love, have babies. They'll hate her, love her, become obsessed with her. . . . You know, Dion! You know what it's been like. But the difference is that you were born and bred to it. Fame, adulation—they're mother's milk to you and to all the Blood Royal, to the Lady Maigrey and Sagan. To Kamil, it could be poison."

  "Oh, come on, Nola! You sound like her big sister and you've only known her a few—" He stopped, looking rather foolish.

  "Dion," said Nola gently, wisely refusing to press her advantage on an opponent who'd just inadvertently lowered his guard, "Kamil's like the jewel the Starlady wore—clear and pure and flawless. I have no doubt, from what I saw tonight, that you could make her love you. But if she gives her heart to you, Dion, she will give herself completely, utterly. Her love will be her life, and she will expect—and deserve—no less from you. And if you ever failed in that ..." Nola sighed, shook her head.

  "I wouldn't fail, Nola. How could I?"

  "I don't think you'd have any choice. You aren't some ordinary Joe. Your life isn't your own. Already, you're bound by commitments. You talk of marriage and yet in a few days you're planning to go off to the Corasian galaxy—"

  "All right. You've made your point. Just drop it, will you." Moodily, Dion turned away and stared back out the window, stared back out at the moonlight glistening on the lake.

  The cost . . . will run high. It may be higher than you are willing to pay. Higher than, perhaps, you should pay.

  Maigrey's warning. He'd answered glibly enough, he remembered. But what little he'd had then didn't seem too much to spend. His life. Yes, he'd been willing to give up his life. He knew the dangers he faced in the Corasian galaxy. He'd fought the Corasians, been captured, tortured by them. And that was all he'd supposed she'd meant. A life. Easy to give up a life, especially when it was hollow, empty . . . lonely.

  But there'd been the dream. Surely the dream was a portent, a sign. Surely there could be a way to pay the price and withhold just a tiny bit for himself. . . .

  Turning abruptly, wanting to be alone to think, Dion nearly fell over Nola, who had come up silently behind him. He tripped, she stumbled, they caught onto each other for balance.

  "You're not mad at me, are you, Dion?" she asked wistfully.

  Dion was mad at her, mad at fete, mad at himself for having given fate a few healthy pushes along the way. He was tempted to relieve his feelings by shouting, acting like a royal pain, as Tusk sometimes accused him. He mastered himself, however, was startled to feel tears, cold and wet, on his lashes.

  Shaking his head, unable to speak, he squeezed Nola's shoulders tightly and then bolted from the room. He didn't even see Tusk, who passed him in the corridor.


  "For God's sake, sweetheart, what'd you say to the kid?" Tusk demanded, coming inside, shutting the door behind him and locking it, in case Dion might get it into his head to have another midnight chat. "You were supposed to talk to him, not jab a knife into his gut!"

  "Oh, Tusk," cried Nola, flying into his arms, burying her head in his chest. "Why do people have to fall in love? Why does it have to hurt so much?"

  "What?" Tusk, mystified, stared down at her.

  "Leave me alone!" Nola shoved him away.

  Flinging herself on the bed—the side of the bed farthest from Tusk's side of the bed—she pulled the sheets and comforters and blanket up over her head, curled into a tight ball, and turned her back on him.

  Foreseeing a long and cold night ahead of him, possibly many long and cold nights, Tusk scratched his head ruefully.

  "This does it," he muttered. "I definitely got to get back to indoor plumbing."

  Dion, in his haste, had neglected to take his nuke light with him. The castle's corridors were cold and dark, except for where windows admitted the light of moon and stars, forming patches of ghostly whiteness on the floors and the walls. Dion didn't mind, however. He was glad of the darkness, it suited his mood.

  He groped his way through the chill hallways, feeling his tears freeze on his skin.

  "Nola's wrong," he told himself. "Kamil isn't some fragile doll. She's strong, a fighter. And she's smart. All she needs is someone to tell her what to wear, how to behave in front of the vidcams, what to say, what not to say."

  He tried to picture her in a sleek little number one of his dates had worn—a short, tight skirt; low-cut, tight-sleeved blouse; a cute little hat perched on her forehead. He thought of Kamil's long huntress strides, her free-swinging arms, silver boyish-cropped hair. . . .

  "Besides, as queen, she'd set fashion, she wouldn't follow it." He had a sudden mental image of the foremost women in the galaxy wearing leather trousers and deer-hide vests and he almost began to laugh. His laughter changed to a sigh. Clasping his arms in misery, shivering with cold and the ache in his heart, he leaned against the stone wall and shut his eyes.