King's Sacrifice

Kings Sacrifice

Star of the Guardians, Book 3

Margaret Weis

Acknowledgments

To Gary Pack, who is now currently in the employ of Xris, and who is
responsible for developing much of the cyborg's technology.

To Nicole Harsh, Maigrey's swordmistress, who was concerned about
milady's exercise regimen.

To our "special agent" Mike Gibbons, FBI, who has worked
with Xris.

To friend, author, and poet, Michael Williams, who didn't know he was
also a starship captain.

To my daughter Elizabeth, for being very patient and for keeping her
music turned down.

To John Hefter, who is now a prior in the abbey of St. Francis.

To the later Mary Renault, whose wonderful historic novels have
provided ideas, pleasure and thought. These include
The Mask of
Apollo,
(Bantam Books, 1966) and
The King Must Die
(Bantam
Books, 1958).

To Van Gelis, whose music provided inspiration, particularly
Heaven and Hell,
1975 RCA Limited.

To Steve Youll, for his fantastic covers, Jamie Warren for cover
design and both of them for their support.

To Amy Stout, editor and friend, not necessarily in that order.

And to Dave Cole, one of the most caring copy editors ever.

... if you will believe with me that the soul is immortal and able to
endure all good and ill, we shall keep always to the upward way and
in all things pursue justice with the help of wisdom. Then we shall
be at peace with Heaven and with ourselves, both during our sojourn
here and when, like victors in the Games collecting gifts from their
friends, we receive the prize of justice; and so, not here only, but
in the journey of a thousand years of which I have told you, we shall
fare well.

Plato,
The
Republic

Dion was,
indeed, at this time extremely young in years, but of all the
scholars that attended Plato he was the quickest and aptest to learn,
and the most prompt and eager to practise the lessons of virtue, as
Plato himself reports of him, and his own actions sufficiently
testify.

"Dion,"
Plutarch's Lives of Illustrious Men
, Volume III

... if you will
believe with me that the soul is immortal and able to endure all good
and ill, we shall keep always to the upward way and in all things
pursue justice with the help of wisdom. Then we shall be at peace
with Heaven and with ourselves, both during our sojourn here and
when, like victors in the Games collecting gifts from their friends,
we receive the prize of justice; and so, not here only, but in the
journey of a thousand years of which I have told you, we shall fare
well.

Plato,
The
Republic

"This is a
stem

Of that
victorious stock; and let us fear

The native
mightiness and fate of him."

William
Shakespeare,

King Henry V,
Act II, Scene 4

"Welcome to
Galaxy in Depth,
the program that discusses the news of today
with those who are making it. I am your host, James M. Warden. I am
pleased to introduce to you a young man who undoubtedly needs no
introduction, a young man who has created an intergalactic sensation.
His Royal Highness Dion Starfire."

The robotcam
panned left from the rugged, erudite features of GBC's popular news
commentator James M. Warden to a young man clad in a military-cut
suit of black with short black jacket, high collar, red piping on the
cuffs and collar. He wore no medals, epaulets, or insignia except for
a small Scimitar pin on the left collar and a brooch that was the
face of a lion. Red hair the color of an exploding sun framed the
pale, serious face, tumbled shoulder length over the black suit of
clothes. Intense eyes of a vibrant cobalt-blue showed well on the
vidscreens and the robotcam zoomed in on them frequently, to the
intense and swooning delight of millions of this young man's
followers.

He sat at ease,
poised, confident, unlike many others who had faced an interview with
the incisive reporter.

"I am
pleased to be here, Mr. Warden," replied the young man in a
rich, melodious voice that flowed out of the vidscreens of billions,
including that of the President of the Galactic Democratic Republic,
Peter Robes. "Thank you for inviting me."

" 'Thank
you for inviting me,' " mimicked President Peter Robes with a
sneer. "I wonder if he knows Sagan did everything in his power
to keep his puppet off this stage?"

The President
paced about an elegantly furnished room in his residence, a residence
known publicly as the Common House, because he fashioned himself a
"common" man, a man of the people. But when the people were
too much for their president, he fled to the Common House, which was
located on a tightly secured plot of land as far from civilization as
possible and where not one of "the people" could possibly
set foot.

"Dion is no
puppet," remarked an extremely old man, clad in loose-flowing
magenta garments, who sat huddled in a chair, shivering as with a
chill. "That is what makes him so dangerous. Mistaking him for
one will prove costly, for both you and Sagan. Do sit down, Peter.
You are annoying me."

The room was
extremely warm; the heat had been turned up expressly to benefit the
elderly man. President Peter Robes mopped his forehead with a
handkerchief—careful not to disturb the plastiskin
smoothness—and shed his suit coat. Tossing it to a waiting
servbot, he subsided into a chair next to that of the old man, and
glared at the vidscreen.

"Only a
short while ago, no one had ever heard of Dion Starfire." James
M. Warden swiveled in his chair to face his intergalactic audience.
"Then one night a young man walked into the home of the Adonian
Snaga Ohme, stood in front of the most powerful people in the galaxy,
and announced to them that he was their king.

"Since
then, backed by the support of Derek Sagan, one of the wealthiest,
most powerful, and most feared men in the galaxy, Dion Starfire has
traveled throughout the various star systems, and everywhere he goes,
he brings turmoil and unrest."

Warden turned to
face his guest. "Your critics charge you with inciting the
people to riot and rebellion in an attempt to overthrow the
government. How do you answer those charges, Your Majesty?"

"I am not
the one who incites the people to rebellion," said Dion quietly.
"When I go before them, I
say
very little. Instead, I
listen—something no one's done in a long, long time. And the
angry voices I hear are the voices of the people, demanding change."

He leaned
forward, hands gesturing eloquently, his tone earnest, intense. "The
government of Peter Robes is corrupt from the top down. The contagion
has spread from the President throughout the Congress until it now
infests every governmental body. Where is the federal agent who
cannot be bribed? Where is the Congressman who does not devote all
his time and effort to assisting the rich and influential, letting
the poor and helpless suffer? The people want change, but they feel
powerless to alter a system so rank with disease that it contaminates
all who enter it."

"And you
are the prince who will ride to their rescue?" asked Warden with
a slight smile.

"I am their
king," Dion replied gravely, with dignity.

Warden raised an
eyebrow. "But, Your Majesty, Peter Robes has been duly elected
and reelected President by the democratic process, by these very same
people."

Now it was Dion
who smiled, charmingly. "I recall one newsman making the comment
on election night that Peter Robes had, once again, 'got his money's
worth.' I believe that was how you put it, wasn't it, Mr. Warden?"

Warden gave a
rueful chuckle. "Very good, Your Majesty." He swiveled back
to the audience. "We'll break now for a word from our sponsors."

"The boy
is
good," President Robes stated grudgingly.

"What do
you expect?" asked the old man with a shrug. "He's Blood
Royal, and he's been well coached."

"You're
making a mistake, Abdiel. Not letting me confront the boy publicly."

"And give
his claim credence? In the act of refuting it, you acknowledge it.
He's baiting you into doing that very thing. No, my dear, far better
to keep yourself aloof as you would from any other fed that catches
the public fancy."

"But he
isn't a fad. You said yourself he was dangerous. We could implicate
him in the murder. You were at Ohme's that night. You could come
forward and tell—"

"Would that
be wise, do you think, my dear?"

Abdiel's
interruption was soft. Reaching out with his left hand, he took hold
of the President's right hand, turned it to the light. Five swollen,
fiery red marks, clearly visible on Robes's palm, corresponded to
five sharp small needles protruding from the palm of the old man.

The fingers on
Robes's hand twitched, his arm stiffened.

"Would you
want it known publicly, my dear, that you and I have formed a—shall
we say—liaison?" Abdiel caressed gently Peter Robes's
hand. "Would you have it known publicly that the Order of Dark
Lightning wis not destroyed during the Revolution? That one member
still exists? People would start to ask questions. I think you might
find them difficult to answer, particularly die one question on
everyone's lips—how and why did Snaga Ohme die?"

The President
shuddered, swallowed, and swiftly jerked his hand away from that of
the old man's. "The public know how Snaga Ohme died. Sagan
murdered him, of course, to obtain the space-rotation bomb. The Grand
Jury brought an indictment. The Warlord's a hunted criminal, rot to
mention a damned rebel."

Abdiel said
nothing, shook his head, smiled to himself, and hunched deeper into
his robes.

Robes glanced
sideways, nervously, at the old man and ran his finger around his
collar and loosened his tie. His shirt was soaked with sweat.

"If it
comes to that," he said accusingly, "you took a chance
yourself that night, Abdiel, going to Ohme's, showing yourself before
that crowd. Your arrival might have been recorded."

"Nonsense,"
Abdiel answered crisply, his gaze fixed on the vidscreen. "No
trace of me exists anywhere that I do not want it to exist. Ohme's
elaborate security devices carry no record of my presence. Only three
people know I was ever there and, like you, they dare not admit it.
To all the rest, I was one too many glasses of champagne. Hush, now,
Peter, my dear."

The program
returned. Warden continued.

"You claim
to be the son of the late Crown Prince Augustus and his wife,
Princess Semele Starfire. Your parentage has been proven through
genetic testing. For those of us who have forgotten our history
lessons, would you explain to us, Your Majesty, your relationship to
the late king, Amodius Starfire?"

"He was my
uncle. He died childless. On his death, his younger brother, my
father, would have succeeded to the throne. Since my father, too, is
dead, I am next in line."

"Let's be
honest, Your Majesty. You are next in line to a throne
that
doesn't exist."

"According
to the polls," Dion replied coolly, "there are many who
believe it should."

James Warden sat
back in his chair. "You are backed by one of the richest, most
powerful Warlords in the galaxy. You've said numerous times that you
believe you have a mandate from heaven. Why don't you go to war to
claim your rightful inheritance?"

"I will not
make war upon my own people."

"And yet,
Your Majesty, reliable sources report that you have in your
possession one of the most destructive weapons ever created, a weapon
that some speculate could tear a hole in the fabric of the universe—a
space-rotation bomb."

"I am
certain you will understand that, for reasons of security, I can
neither confirm nor deny such a report."

James Warden
shook his head. "You are a king without a crown. You refuse to
go to war to gain it. There are those who are saying this is all a
publicity stunt."

"One day, I
will be king."

Dion spoke with
a quiet, firm conviction that impressed even the cynical newsman.

"How, Your
Majesty?"

"My people
will rise up, like a tidal wave, and sweep away the remains of this
corrupt, unsanctioned, and illegal government."

"Peacefully?"
Wardens tone was skeptical.

"Peacefully."

"With a
warmonger such as Derek Sagan behind you? How can we believe you are
sincere, Your Majesty?"

"Derek
Sagan is of the Blood Royal, a distant cousin of mine, in fact. He
has acknowledged me his liege lord and pledged his allegiance to me."

"Derek
Sagan was involved in the overthrow of the monarchy. He was, many
believe, responsible for the death of the king, your uncle. For
eighteen years, Derek Sagan went about the galaxy systematically
rounding up and killing those known as the Guardians. He has been
implicated in the murder of the Adonian Snaga Ohme. How can we trust
such a man? How can you?"