King's Sacrifice

by Margaret Weis

  He stood prepared to fight, but the Corasians wheeled past, giving no sign that they were aware of him or his companion, beyond a slight hissing sound, like steam escaping from an overheated kettle. Dion relaxed his grip on the grenade, continued after Mikael.

  The tunnel grew narrower. Dion gradually became aware of a light shining from somewhere below them, reflecting off the walls, growing steadily brighter. He became aware, at the same time, and in almost the same way, of Abdiel's presence, reflecting off Dion's mind, growing steadily stronger.

  The passage ceased its downward slant, leveled out sharply, suddenly, causing Dion, accustomed to the slope, to miss his footing and nearly fall. He caught himself on the wall, steadied himself.

  Mikael turned to him. "Why do you stop? My master awaits you."

  "I'll go when I choose," Dion said harshly.

  The passage opened into a large, round cavelike room with a low, domed ceiling. It was hot, reminded Dion of Abdiel's saunalike "house" on Laskar. The young man moved forward, came to stand in the doorway, and he saw the source of the heat. At first he thought the room was on fire. Flames burned in every part of it, yet there was no smoke and the air, if anything, was easier to breathe than in the tunnel.

  "Come in, my king," said a well-remembered voice that sent an electric shock through Dion's nerves. "Come in where it is warm and we can talk together comfortably. Old friends of yours are here, awaiting your arrival with considerable impatience. "

  "Stay on the bridge," warned Mikael, "and you will avoid the fire."

  Dion saw Sagan, saw Maigrey, and for a confused moment he was back on Phoenix, entering another domed chamber, meeting them both for the first time.

  The sun and the moon. He was in the presence of both and he felt their pull on him, felt his blood surge like the tide, his body move in response. It would be very easy to take his place in orbit around these two. . . .

  But he hadn't. Nor would he. He'd become his own sun.

  Maigrey was looking at him expressively, her eyes gray and cold as ashes.

  And he was once again back on Phoenix but now he had entered the Warlord's chamber. He was there for the rite, the test. He'd looked into her eyes, seen there a reflection of his own fear.

  "I'm going to die," he'd told her then.

  And when he'd spoken the fear aloud, he'd been filled with sudden peace, imbued with a terrible calm. A calm such as he felt now.

  Dion walked unhesitatingly into the chamber filled with fire.

  A span made of rock lifted him up and over flames burning on the surface of a vast pool of black water beneath him.

  He studied the cavern, taking note of his surroundings as he'd been taught. Four passageways opened into the room, four bridges led from each entrance, formed the shape of a cross over the flaming water. In the center stood what might have been a tomb. Lady Maigrey and Lord Sagan were on one side of the tomb, Abdiel on the other. Resting on top of the tomb was Dion's bloodsword.

  "A long journey, my king," said Abdiel solicitously. "Long and dangerous. And yet you've taken this risk to come to talk to me. I am flattered."

  Dion hesitated. Only a moment, a split-second. He didn't mean to, he tried to cover it, but he knew by the sudden narrowing of Sagan's eyes, by the lowering of Lady Maigrey's, that his hesitation had been observed, understood.

  Dion set his jaw. "I didn't come to talk to you or to them." His gaze flicked to Maigrey, Sagan. "I came," he continued resolutely, "to get my sword."

  He drew near the tomb. No one moved, no one seemed even to breathe.

  "And if you try to stop me," he said, speaking to everyone in the fire lit room, "I've brought the space-rotation bomb with me. On my orders, Tusk will detonate it. This time," he added with emphasis and a meaningful glance at Maigrey, "the bomb is armed. This time it's not a test—"

  "This time,'" Abdiel mimicked him, "the space-rotation bomb is mine. Tusk," he added conversationally, "is dead."

  Dion had approached the tomb, his hand outstretched for the sword. At the mind-seizer's words, he halted, his hand wavered.

  "I don't believe you."

  "Yes, you do. I can't he to you. You would know it. Just as you can't lie to me." Abdiel smiled, the lidless eyes bored into Dion. "Try to contact your friend. Go ahead."

  Dion swallowed, but the dryness in his throat increased. He had no need to use the commlink. He knew, by the sudden, searing pain in his chest, that the mind-seizer was right. Something had happened to Tusk. Something terrible . . .

  And so" I've foiled, Dion realized. My sacrifice is now meaningless. The true sacrifice was my people, my friends.

  Dion lunged forward, grabbed for the sword.

  Abdiel was watching, waiting. His left hand snaked out, closed over Dion's left shoulder, sharp needles jabbing deep into the young man's flesh. Dion cried out, more in anger and frustration than in pain.

  "Don't move, my lord, my lady," Abdiel warned. "You know what will happen if I inject the virus into him at this point on his body, this point near the heart. The virus and micro-machines, entering the body outside their usual, proscribed paths, will flare in his blood like liquid fire."

  Both froze, motion arrested. The bloodswords they held burned. They were both within striking distance of Abdiel, though he stood on the other side of the bier.

  He read their thoughts, nodded. "Yes, a danger. But not for long. Throw your swords into the water."

  Sagan sucked in a breath, his face went livid with fury.

  "If you don't," Abdiel continued, "I'll kill your king. And you took an oath to protect—"

  "I'll die!" Dion cried, voice hollow. "It's what I came to do. You understand, don't you, Maigrey! I came to make the sacrifice. Kill him! Then go to Tusk. Set off the bomb!"

  Abdiel jabbed the needles in deeper. Dion gasped, sank to his knees before the tomb. Blood trickled down his arm.

  "Kill him!" he gasped.

  "You are strong, my king," said Abdiel in admiration. "Not like that fool, your uncle. With my help, you will make an excellent ruler. Much as you would have, Sagan, if you had accepted my offer. Or you, Lady Maigrey. Throw your swords into the water, Guardians."

  Sagan, dark, grim, shook his head. "I'd throw myself in first, Mind-seizer!"

  "Then do so, by all means," said Abdiel.

  The Warlord took a furious step toward the bier, his sword raised.

  Abdiel drove the needles deeper into Dion's flesh.

  "Go ahead, my lord!" Dion shouted, flinching. He clutched desperately at the mind-seizer's hand, tried to tear it from him. "I command you! Kill him!"

  "Don't!" Maigrey caught hold of the Warlord's arm. "We have ... no choice," she said softly, bitterly.

  Turning, she threw the bloodsword away from her, sent it spiraling over the rock span. It fell into the flames, struck the black water with a splash of fire, and sank into the darkness.

  Sagan glared at Abdiel in rage, impotent, frustrated. Then, with a bitter curse, he hurled his bloodsword far from him. It smashed into a wall, exploded in a ball of blue-white fire, brighter, for a moment, than a star. And then it was gone.

  Abdiel removed the needles from Dion's flesh. The king slumped over the bier, shivering, his hand grasping his bleeding shoulder.

  "Mikael," the mind-seizer ordered, "watch over my lord and lady. You, Priest, come join them. I'm certain they would appreciate your prayers."

  Brother Daniel, eyes lowered, hands hidden in the folds of his sleeves, rose to his feet and came to stand beside Lord Sagan. The mind-seizer aimed the beam rifle directly at them.

  "And now, His Majesty and I will have our little talk. For you did come to talk to me, didn't you, my king?" Abdiel continued.

  "I won't talk with you," said Dion, his eyes on the needles imbedded in Abdiel's palm. "Not like that. Not again. I'd die first.

  "No, you would die last. The lady"—Abdiel glanced at Maigrey—"will die first. And then the priest, then the Warlord. You speak very glibly of sacrifice, my king.
Will you sacrifice these, as you have already sacrificed your friend Tusk? And for what? Are you afraid to talk with me? Afraid to hear the truth?"

  "Perhaps I am," Dion answered softly. "Perhaps that's why I came, after all. Far easier to die." He shook his head, then raised his eyes, looked directly at the mind-seizer. "But, no, I won't sacrifice them or anyone else. We will talk, if that's what yon want"

  Abdiel smiled at him. Reaching out, he took hold of Dion's hand, caressed it, then pressed the needles into the five scars on Dion's palm.

  His muscles jerked. The virus flowed into his body, warming, burning, like dark lightning. Dion sighed and relaxed.

  The mind-seizer put his arm around the young man, drew him near.

  Chapter Thirteen

  "The time has come," the Walrus said,

  "To talk of many things:

  Of shoes—and ships—and sealing-wax— Of cabbages—and kings ..."

  Lewis Carroll, Through the Looking Glass

  The virus and micromachines flowed from Abdiel's body into Dion's. Their minds joined together and Dion was once again in the mind-seizer's dwelling he had first entered on Laskar.

  Dion gazed around, wondering at the change, but not terribly astonished by it. The house was enormous, filled with rooms and in each room were valuable treasures, waiting to be explored, discovered. Treasures of ancient wisdom and vast knowledge stood next to treasures of cunning tricks, deceits, machinations.

  I could roam among them freely, pick, choose. . . .

  Abdiel sat on a sofa in the sweltering hot room. He held the long-stemmed pipe of a hookah in his shriveled hand. A puff of smoke wafted occasionally in the air, coming from his lips. The hookah made a gurgling sound.

  "Please be seated, my king," Abdiel said.

  Dion accepted the invitation, made himself comfortable. On the table, in front of the mind-seizer, were a handful of pills— Abdiel's dinner—Dion's bloodsword, and another weapon, a sort of scythe, he supposed, though it was unlike any he'd ever seen before. Made of crystal, it looked fragile and insubstantial, harmless, liable to shatter if one grasped it too tightly— almost like Abdiel himself.

  "How nice to see you again, my king," continued Abdiel, as if they had just recently bumped into each other. "You are looking well. The royal bowings and scrapings suit you. You were born to it.

  "Forgive the beat." Abdiel waved his hand vaguely. Dion could not see them but he had the impression of leaping flames, burning not too distantly beneath them. "You remember my infirmity. I live here, sleep here, eat here. A virtual prisoner. No other room in this blasted warren is warm enough. But then, we all make sacrifices . . ."

  The lidless eyes gazed fixedly into Dion's, probed and prodded their way into his mind.

  "Open up to me, my king. Don't fight me. We have much to discuss and little time. That ill-advised marriage you've agreed to, for example. Disastrous." The mind-seizer shook his head, sucked on die pipe. "Mark my words," he said, the stem clenched between his rotting teeth, "DiLuna means to rule, through her daughter, of course. She means to bring back the worship of the Goddess. Those women have ways, you know, of enticing men to do their bidding, of enslaving them.

  "Or perhaps you don't know," added the old man, eyeing Dion shrewdly. "You haven't slept with the girl yet. But the contract hasn't been made that cannot be broken, my king. Acting on my advice, with my help, you should be able—"

  "Your help!" Dion almost laughed. "Why should I invite your help? The last time you offered it, you betrayed me, tried to kill me."

  "Yes," said Abdiel, nodding complacently.

  "You have the effrontery to admit it?" Dion marveled.

  "Of course," said the mind-seizer dryly. "I could hardly do otherwise. I was afraid of you, my king! Fear? Is that such a grievous fault in a minister? The great Machiavelli himself advised that 'it is better to be feared than loved.'

  "With fear comes admiration, respect. You have humbled me, my king. Set me in my place. Allow me to serve you, then, as only I can. You have seen what doors I can unlock to your mind. And that was only a few, so very few. This is, after all, why you came to me, isn't it?"

  "And what must I give you in return?"

  "Give!" Abdiel chuckled, but he seemed irritated, put out. "What is all this talk of giving, of sacrifice? You are king, Dion Starfire! Kings take what they want. If you want that daughter of Olefsky's, take her. If you want Sagan's wealth and power, take it! If you don't want DiLuna, use her and cast her aside. I can show you how."

  "And what is the difference between you and DiLuna?

  Between you and Sagan? You want to use me, just as they do. You tried, once, and you failed, Abdiel. Remember?"

  "I admit it freely, my king. I made a mistake. I underestimated you. I thought you were like those of the Blood Royal who produced you: your uncle—poor weak king. Your father, that giggling sycophant. Peter Robes, Derek Sagan, Platus Morianna, and his sister, Maigrey. Weak, all of them weak. And flawed. How could I suppose that you would be otherwise?

  "But I discovered my mistake. You are far stronger than any of them, Dion. Far stronger than even you know. You have no need to fear me. I could never gain ascendancy over you, just as they've never been able to. I'm not flattering you. I'm speaking the truth, and you know it, my king. You are just beginning to understand, to feel your power. I can enhance that power, teach you the ways to use it to best advantage, as I taught Peter Robes."

  "And in the end, you abandon him for me?" Dion looked at the bloodsword, lying on the table, near the crystal scythe.

  Abdiel sniffed, took the pipe from his lips, coiled the tube around the hookah's base.

  "Peter Robes! Weak like all the rest. Weak and shallow. I poured into him what I could. I had more to give—much more—but he lacked the capacity to hold it.

  "You, Dion!" Abdiel sighed, closed his eyes in a kind of ecstasy. "I could empty my being into yours. Together, we would create a young and vital king, yet one who possesses the subtle knowledge and wisdom of my years."

  Dion trembled, not with fear, but with desire. He knew, as Abdiel had said, that the mind-seizer was telling him the truth. This time, Abdiel had no intention of killing his king. This time, the mind-seizer meant what he said. He would deliver as promised.

  The sacrifice? Myself. But then, I came prepared to make that sacrifice anyway.

  "And what would become of me when you are gone?" Dion asked. "For you are mortal. Not all the biochemistry in the galaxy can keep you alive much longer."

  "Sadly true, my king. But I foresee that a bond such as we will forge between ourselves will not be broken, even by death. You are still resisting me, my king. Open yourself to me completely. You will understand then what I mean. We have much to talk over."

  Talk. Always that voice inside me. I'd hear it and no other. Never my own.

  His voice, a voice he only recently learned to hear, one he had yet to learn to trust, to rely on. He had no doubt it would advise him wrongly, sometimes. It would make mistakes. It was young, inexperienced, flawed.

  Dion smiled sadly. Perhaps this was one of those times. If so, it would likely be the final time. But when he died, the last voice he heard would be his own, not the voice of any others.

  "Thank you, Abdiel," said Dion clearly. He stood tall and straight. "I know what you want to give me and I reject it. After all, I came only to get my sword."

  He withdrew his hand from the mind-seizer's.

  Abdiel did not try to stop him.

  The lidless eyes stared at him. "Is that your final decision, my king?"

  The vision of the dwelling lingered before Dion's eyes. He was filled with a deep sense of regret, suddenly, a sense of loss. All those rooms, all the knowledge held within, so much to have gained.

  "It is," said Dion.

  The vision began to fade.

  "A poor one."

  Abdiel lifted his hand, started to slide it into his robes. Patches of decaying skin flaked off, fell on the table, near th
e fragile-looking crystal scythe.

  Dion was once more back in the chamber of burning water. His bloodsword lay before him on the tomb. The crystal scythe was nowhere in sight. Deeming the scythe unimportant, having more urgent matters on his mind, Dion forgot about it, forgot to wonder what it was or why it had been there.

  He saw, out of the corner of his eyes, Mikael turn in his direction, aim the beam rifle at him. The disciple moved slowly, time moved slowly. It seemed to Dion he had all the time in the universe, time to notice small things, like the five glistening spots of blood in the palm of the hand that reached for the sword, time to search within himself and know that what he was doing was right and that he wasn't afraid.

  The last fight of the last of the Guardians, the last fight of the last king. We will fall, but we will be victorious. And the people will come to hear of pur sacrifice and it will touch them and out of the ashes will rise a new order . . . like a phoenix. . . .

  Dion's hand closed over the hilt of the bloodsword.

  Abdiel's hand, hidden within the magenta robes, closed over the hilt of the serpent's tooth.

  Chapter Fourteen

  "Take the Long Way Home."

  Supertramp

  Tusk groped his way through the dark spaceplane, making a mental note to duck to avoid hitting his head on the same metal beam on which he always hit his head and promptly rammed his knee painfully into the corner of a storage compartment. He swore briefly, bitterly. For once, XJ said nothing in reproach. The lights and life-support systems switched back on.

  "You all right?" Nola called down anxiously.

  "Yeah, I'm okay. You see anything of the kid?"

  "He just walked into the cave or whatever it is."

  "Nobody tried to stop him?"

  "No, there's no one around."

  "I don't like it. It's too damn quiet. You're positive you don't see anything? Maybe I should come up there, have a look myself."

  "Sure, Tusk. If that's what you thinks best." Her voice was too soft, too understanding.