King's Test (51 page)

A tear dropped
on the shining surface. She brushed it away swiftly, lest it should
spot the metal.

"What are
you saying, my lord?"

"That if
you accept this armor, you accept your own doom."

Maigrey looked
up at him suddenly, swiftly. "And yours!"

"Yes,"
he said, after a moment's silence, "and mine."

"We have no
choice?"

"There
is
a choice, my lady. Cast the armor aside. Throw it away."

"And you
would counsel me, out of fear, to renounce this gift that was given
to me for my valor?"

"That would
be the wisest course, my lady."

"But not
the most honorable." Maigrey pondered not her decision—she
knew in her heart what that must be—but her reason for it. "I
have cast too much aside already, my lord. I thought, in fact, I had
nothing left. But I find that I do have one thing remaining to me."
She raised her eyes, smiling. "'He shall have his fine armor,
and every man that sets eyes on it shall be amazed.' "

This armor
doesn't come from the forge of the gods as did Achilles' armor, my
lady," the Warlord said dryly.

Maigrey lightly
fluffed the white feathers of the crest, watched them drift softly
through the air. "Perhaps it did, my lord," she murmured.
"You never know." She replaced the helm on its stand,
turned to face Sagan. "And now, my lord, tonight's plan—"

"—does
not concern you, my lady. You're not going."

"I'm not."
Her voice was calm, flat, like the sea before a hurricane.

"No, you
are not."

"And where
is the prison built that can hold me, my lord? Where are the walls I
can't walk through, if I choose? Where are the men to guard me whose
minds I can't turn to butter—"

"Damn it!
It's for your own good, Maigrey! It's far too dangerous for you.
Remember, my lady, Abdiel wants Dion and me dead. You ... he wants
alive."

"And so do
you, my lord. And for the same reason." She came near him,
stared up at him. "I
am
going. You can't stop me. I lost
the starjewel. I will get it back. I abandoned Dion. I'll do what I
can to save him. These are
my
responsibilities. My dying is a
risk
you
will have to run, my lord.

"It is not
your death that concerns me, my lady. Abdiel has little use for
people who are dead."

Maigrey paled,
but she remained firm, resolute.

Sagan regarded
her with exasperation, then turned away. He strode angrily back to
the window, stared out at the base, which had erupted into bustling
activity. Troops were mobilizing, hovercraft taking to the air,
planes thundering low over the tarmac before swooping into the green
Laskarian twilight.

"You will
be responsible for acquiring the starjewel, my lady," he said at
last.

"Yes, my
lord." Her voice was cold and knife-edged.

"And talk
to the boy, do what you can to make him understand his danger."

"That will
be difficult, my lord."

"It may be
impossible," Sagan snapped, watching the organized chaos, seeing
very little of what was transpiring. "It's a dangerous game
we'll be playing tonight, my lady. If you insist upon playing it."

Ignoring his
last comment, she moved nearer him, laid her hand upon his arm. "We
could eliminate Abdiel immediately, when we first arrive. Together,
we could do it."

"I
considered that," the Warlord said, drawing away from her touch.
"But we can't kill Abdiel while he still maintains a hold on
Dion. There's a possibility he could control the boy from beyond."

"After
death? That's ludicrou—" Maigrey began, then bit her
tongue, remembering her brother's ghost appearing to her. But she
couldn't believe Sagan was all that afraid of spirits. No, there was
much more to this game than he was letting on. The base on full
alert, people and equipment mobilizing, obviously preparing for an
assault. Surely he knew he couldn't take the Adonian's fortress! What
did he have in mind? She tried to enter his thoughts, found them
locked, barred, shuttered against her.

She was suddenly
aware of his mind approaching hers and she immediately slammed and
bolted her door. Yes, she would insist on playing this game. She was
planning a few surprise moves of her own.

"What do we
do about Abdiel?" she persisted.

"What we
can."

"But if he
leaves and takes Dion with him—"

"He won't
leave, my lady," Sagan said flatly. "That has been
arranged."

"The
ubiquitous Sparafucile, no doubt. He's good, but Abdiel is far
better."

"Sparafucile
knows his limits, as do I."

"And so, in
essence, my lord, we have no strategy tonight."

"On the
contrary, my lady,
my
strategy is perfectly laid out and
prepared."

"You won't
tell me?"

"Since when
does the commander need to explain his battle plan to his troops?"
Sagan returned with bitter irony. "You have your orders,
Major."

"Yes, I
have my orders," Maigrey retorted. "But forgive me if I
don't particularly trust you,
Commander!"

"Forgive,
my lady? No, I won't forgive! You betrayed me once—-"

Maigrey turned
on her heel, headed for the door.

"Walk out,
my lady, and you lose everything! Including your precious king!"

Her back stiff
and rigid, she halted. But she did not turn around, did not look at
him. "What would you have me do, my lord?"

"If you
insist on going tonight, I insist that you take the oath."

"Which will
work to
your
advantage!"

"Perhaps.
Perhaps not. Certainly it is a risk
you
should take, my lady."

Maigrey
struggled with her anger, paused to consider calmly, rationally, what
she should do. She recalled the words of the oath. Yes, it could work
to help her, especially if she found herself in trouble. And if not,
if all went well and she acquired the starjewel and the boy, the oath
gave her room to maneuver.

"Very well,
my lord."

She meant to
speak coldly, but she had the sudden, frightening impression that the
solid bulkhead of the shuttle-craft was falling away from her, that
the world was falling away from her, that she was shrinking and
shriveling, becoming something small and insignificant and that—tiny
and fragile and helpless as she was—she found herself cowering
in the presence of a Being terrible and awful in Its divine majesty.

She sank to her
knees, and whether it was out of reverence or because her body lacked
the strength to stand, she couldn't tell. The Warlord knelt across
from her, bending his tall body gracefully, more accustomed to the
gesture. But it seemed to her as if he, too, was acting under
constraint. Looking into his face, Maigrey saw the Presence and she
saw his anger and the battle against it.

God has not
abandoned us, after all, she thought, awed and frightened. Perhaps
that had just been wishful thinking. If we speak these words now, He
will hear and accept our oath and bind us in chains of adamant,
forged in the fires of both heaven and hell.

Choice. Yes, we
have a choice. We could rise up and walk away and no lightning bolt
would blast us, no thunder would split the heavens. Our souls'
light—this tiny, feeble candle flame in the universe that,
nonetheless, shines brightly as a star in the sight of our Creator,
will flicker and dwindle and die.

Two together
must walk the paths of darkness to reach the light.
So went the
prophecy, given when we were young.

What a fool I
was to think we'd already walked it! What a fool I was to rail
against God for making such dreadful, tragic blunders. Maybe they
weren't blunders. It wasn't God who failed us. It was we who failed
God. Now He is giving us a second chance.

"Raise your
right hand, my lady." Sagan's voice, angry and defiant.

Maigrey
understood and could pity him. She had been offered a choice. He, who
had made his choice long ago, had been chastised for it, reminded of
his duty. Maigrey raised her right hand and held it, palm outward.

Sagan raised his
hand, palm outward, the five marks of the bloodsword clearly visible.

"Maigrey
Morianna, I hold your life dearer to me than my own. I hold your
honor dear to me as my own. This I pledge before the witness of
Almighty God." He moved his hand closer to hers.

Maigrey spoke
the vow and each word burned itself into her heart. "Derek
Sagan, I hold your life dearer to me than my own. I hold your honor
dear to me as my own. This I pledge before the witness of Almighty
God."

She moved her
hand closer to his. Their palms touched; the scars of the wounds
pressed together. His fingers closed over hers in a crushing grasp
that seemed desperate for the warmth and touch of human contact. She
held on to him tightly, no less grateful, and the two remained on
their knees, holding each other fast until the Presence left and they
knew themselves, once again, alone.

They stared at
each other, aware of chill fingers and aching wrists and arms. Each
let loose the other's hand, knowing they weren't really letting
loose, knowing they couldn't let loose.

"Well,"
she said, trying to banish a tremor in her voice, "where does
this leave us, my lord?"

"My lady, I
have no idea," he answered grimly. Rising to his feet, he walked
over to the door to his private sleeping quarters, slammed his hand
against the controls. "Meet me here in one hour's time!"
Pausing before he entered, he turned to face her. "You're
wearing that damn armor?"

"Of course,
my lord."

"Why?"

Maigrey managed
a slight smile. "You would despise me if I didn't."

Sagan glared at
her furiously, bitterly. "Which leaves me instead to despise
myself for what I am destined to do! I'll have-it sent to your
quarters." The door slid shut behind him.

Maigrey sighed
and stood up, weak-kneed and trembling. Moving past the armor on its
stand, she lifted the helm and, brushing the feather crest with her
fingers, took it to her room.

. . two
different fates are carrying me on the road to death. If I stay here
and fight . . . there will be no homecoming for me, but my fame shall
never die ..."

Homer,
The
Iliad
, translation by W. H. D. Rouse

Lord Sagan would
have liked to have spent the hour before departure confronting God
and demanding to know just what in hell was going on. The Warlord had
no time for argument, however. He had to go over his plan with Haupt
once again, reassure the brigadier of the likelihood of it
succeeding, and bolster the man's sagging courage. Haupt was a good
soldier; he was having difficulty being a good traitor.

These
machinations took up almost the whole of Sagan's hour, and when they
were finished to his satisfaction, he began to don his own ceremonial
armor, made of gold and adamant. Ceremonial, but functional. It would
turn a knife, deflect the fire of a lasgun, absorb the explosive
force of a grenade. It could not, however, stop the blade of the
bloodsword, nor would it shield him from a more insidious attack—an
attack launched against his mind.

Sagan drew on
his gauntlets, smoothed the leather over a forearm marred with the
scars of self-inflicted wounds. He had no illusions about his ability
to defeat Abdiel in a one-on-one physical challenge. The Warlord had
strength, courage, skill in arms. But all that counted for nothing
when the mind-seizer burrowed his way into Sagan's skull, carried the
battle into realms where even the conscious mind feared to go.

Maigrey and I,
joined together, our power totally committed to the defeat of our
enemy—we might be able to defeat him. Might.

As for the
Adonian, Snaga Ohme would probably drop out of the game tonight.
Sagan had that contingency covered.

Which left only
Dion. The Warlord decided he would have to wait and see. There might
be so little of the boy's own will left that saving him wouldn't be
worth the bother.

Sagan lifted the
golden helm, fit it over his head. He felt better, calmer. He
believed that he understood God now and, what was more important,
that God understood him. The Warlord picked up the bloodsword,
stopped, remembering. Weapons were not allowed.

Let them try to
take it, he resolved, and buckled it around his waist.

Maigrey, too,
wore her bloodsword, with much the same thought. Let the Adonian try
to take it from her. Accoutred in the silver armor, she entered the
Warlord's quarters just as he was emerging from his room. His gaze
flicked over her and she thought she saw the eyes darken, but the
helm masking his face kept her from seeing his expression. So did the
inner helm masking his thoughts.

His gaze fixed
upon her sword. "You know that there are to be no weapons
allowed?"

Maigrey looked
at the sword he was wearing and smiled.

Sagan nodded,
lips parted in a rare, answering smile. Brusquely, he turned to face
the Honor Guard, drawn up to send their lord and lady off with
fitting ceremony.

"Captain,
detail two of your men to accompany my lady—"

Maigrey froze,
literally shivering with suppressed fury. "So, my lord!"
she said in a soft and deadly undertone. "
This
is the
regard you have for my oath! I'm to be a prisoner—"

"Damn it,
woman!" Nerves taut, Sagan exploded. "We're each allowed to
take two bodyguards!" Shoving his captain out of his way, the
Warlord turned to his line of men. "Marcus! Caius! Fall out!"

The two did as
commanded, eyes straight ahead, standing at attention.

"You two
are, from this moment, no longer in my service."

"Yes, my
lord." Both men stiffened, faces paled.