King's Sacrifice (71 page)

Nola was sitting
up. "We need painkiller," she said briskly, "and
blankets."

Xris held up a
syringe. "I'll take care of him," he offered. "You go
get the blanket."

The woman's eyes
gleamed with unshed tears. Hurrying away, she opened a closet, pulled
out a blanket. Xris gave Tusk the injection, saw Nola's shoulders
slump, her head sink. She hid her face in the blanket. His augmented
hearing picked up the sound of the sobs she was trying to muffle in
the thick cloth.

Xris took a
twist from his pocket, shoved it between his lips. The cyborg had
also heard the sounds of footsteps outside the spaceplane, a faint
thud now and then on the hull. Probably setting explosive charges
planning to blow their way in.

The spaceplane
shook. The inside of the Scimitar was lit by a bright flare of light.
The banging on the hull ceased abruptly.

"What's
going on out there? Tusk! I said five minutes," came a
mechanical voice. A remote unit, small arms wiggling in frustration,
popped out from the cockpit. "Where is that good-for-nothing?
Ah, ha!" XJ pounced on the pilot. "Lying around, eh? Been
in the jump-juice again, eh?"

The lines of
pain had eased from Tusk's face. He opened one eye, peered fuzzily at
the remote unit, and managed a grin. "XJ ... go to hell,"
he whispered.

The remote's
lights flared in fury. It hovered over the mercenary. "How dare
you? I'll shut off every system in this plane! You won't have water
for a week! I'll—What . . . what's wrong with him?" The
computer's tone altered. "Look! His fluid's leaking out! Well,
don't just stand around! Somebody do something! Repair him. You
there, Tin Man!" XJ whirled furiously on Xris. "Make
yourself useful! Boil some water. That's it! Boil water. Roll
bandages. Unroll bandages—"

"That won't
be necessary, XJ," Nola said, returning with the blanket.
"Everything's under control."

She was, at
least. She had dried her tears, cleaned all trace of them from her
face. Gently, she covered Tusk, drawing the blanket up over his
shoulders, studiously avoiding looking at the large crimson stain
that immediately began spreading over the cloth.

"I guess
this is the end, sweetheart," Tusk said quietly, looking at her,
filling his mind with her light to drive back the dark shadows. "It's
been kind of a strange life, but like the song says, we took the long
way home. I guess I'm gonna get there before you do, but—"

"Nonsense,
Tusk, don't talk like this." Nola quickly wiped away two tears
that had crept past her guard. "We're going to get you to a
hospital and you're going to be line. Aren't you?" She ran her
hand over Tusk's tight-curled hair, adjusted the pillow beneath his
head.

"Nola, the
fleet's four hours away and that's banking on everything going good."
He coughed. He shifted his gaze to die cyborg. "You tell her."

Xris understood.
"I'm sorry, sister, but I have to be honest. He won't last that
long. Nothing short of a miracle can save him. The pain will get
worse, much worse, until even the drug won't block it." The
cyborg held the syringe to the light. "The best thing we could
do for him would be to . . ."

Nola wasn't
listening. "Miracle!" she repeated softly to herself. She
was staring in the direction of the mounds. Swiftly, she bent down,
kissed Tusk, fussed over his blanket. "Don't give him any more
of that stuff."

"Nola!"
Tusk groaned.

"Well,
maybe just enough to keep him quiet," she added severely.

Getting to her
feet, Nola walked over, took hold of the beam rifle, and, before Xris
fully realized her intention, started to climb the ladder leading to
the hatch. "You stay here, guard the bomb," she told him.

"Not so
fast, sister!" The cyborg grabbed her wrist. "Just where do
you think you're going?"

"Inside
there." Nola gestured toward the mounds with a shake of her
curly hair. "I have to find someone."

Xris stared at
her. "Listen, sister! Those aren't grapefruit my boys are
dropping outside there!"

The spaceplane
rocked, shivered. Laser fire burst around them. Nola turned her head,
looked reluctantly out the viewscreen. Spaceplanes dived, bright
beams slanted along the ground, killing anything they hit. The forest
was burning. Some of the Corasians, feeding off the fire's energy,
were growing stronger, but anti-matter bombs were now falling among
them. Blackened dying blobs littered the area in front of die mounds.

"And if you
did manage to make it to the tunnels alive, you're going to face more
of those things, not to mention those human zombies. You haven't got
a chance, sister!" Xris's strong cybernetic hand tightened its
grip.

"Neither
has he," said Nola, looking at him steadfastly. Tears glimmered
in her eyelashes. "And do you think that if anything happened to
him, I'd want to go on?"

Xris regarded
her thoughtfully. Slowly, the cyborg released his hand.

"All right.
I'll contact my men, tell them to give you covering fire if they can,
at least watch out for you if they can't. Once you make it inside,
there's a Loti who might be able to help you find whoever it is
you're looking for and keep you from falling in with the wrong crowd.
His name's Raoul. He's got a buddy, an empath."

He was rewarded
with a smile that rearranged the freckles on the woman's pale face,
lit her green eyes.

"Stay with
Tusk, XJ," Nola called to the remote. "Don't let him die.
Remember, he owes you money."

"Die!"
The remote's lights flickered. It sank to the deck. Then, with a
struggle, XJ roused itself. "Owes me money. That's right. If
this isn't just like you, Tusk. You'd do anything to try to screw me
out of money. You d-die"—XJ's audio fluttered, but it
managed to hang on—"and I'll sue your black ass! And now,
I ... I have to go . . . figure out how much . . . you owe me!"

Wobbling
unsteadily, the remote fled back to the cockpit. "Excuse me,"
it said. "System failure."

The lights went
out.

Tusk shouted.
"Nola! For God's sake—"

"Good-bye,
Tusk. Don't go anywhere without me."

Nola's footsteps
clattered on the ladder, the hatch whirred open, shut again.

"Why'd you
let her go?" Tusk demanded.

The cyborg lit
the twist in his mouth, blew smoke.

"I had a
wife . . . once," he said.

One equal temper
of heroic hearts,

Made weak by
time and fete, but strong in will

To strive, to
seek, to find, and not to yield.

Alfred, Lord
Tennyson,
Ulysses

The fire burning
on the water seemed to burn in Sagan's brain. He could literally
neither see nor hear clearly for the rage that consumed him. The
flames of his fury roared in his ears, the smoke clouded his vision,
the heat sucked the air from his lungs. He had to struggle to
breathe, to draw a breath. Pain shot through his chest, sweat chilled
his body. He alternately shivered and burned with the fever of his
anger.

He had
experienced fury like this only one other time in his life: the night
Maigrey had betrayed him. It had been in a red rage like this one
that he'd struck her down. And now, again, she had been the one to
stop him, thwart him. . . .

Sagan struggled
with himself, but the flames licked his soul, seared his mind. The
pain in his chest increased, blood boiled in his head. It seemed
something must burst and it occurred to him, suddenly, that unless he
could regain control, he would die, consumed by the fire.

"You
counseled me to keep my feith, my lord," came a voice, soft,
gentle, soothing as balm. "I do not understand His ways, but I
rest my trust in Him."

A hand touched
Sagan's. He felt an object press hard against his palm, a dagger, its
metal warm from being carried near the body, its blade small but
extremely sharp, its hilt—an eight-pointed star. .

"
'
Benedictus, qui venit in nomine Domini
. Blessed is he that
cometh in the name of the Lord,' " whispered Brother Fideles.

Maigrey watched
Brother Daniel move nearer Sagan, heard the priest's gentle voice,
and was afraid, for a moment, from the dark fury on Sagan's face that
he might strike the young man.

"
Benedictus,
qui venit in nomine Domini
. Blessed is he that comes in the name
of the Lord,"' Brother Daniel said softly.

The expression
on the Warlord's face did not alter, the rage smoldered inside, but
the fire no longer blazed wild, out of control. He was rational once
more, thinking. Either Brother Daniel's prayers were extremely
powerful, or he had offered something besides prayer.

Maigrey did not
dare risk the mind-link. Abdiel was preoccupied with Dion, his mental
probes darting, jabbing into the young man, but part of him would be
alert to their thoughts, their plans.

She was aware of
Sagan staring at her strangely, intently, as if he had some dark and
dreadful choice to make and was asking her for help.

She smiled at
him, reminding him silently that no matter how deep the darkness
around them, they were together once more. Nothing, no one had ever
defeated them, when they acted together.

Abruptly Sagan
averted his gaze. He sighed, long, shuddering. His mind touched hers,
but it came to her from a far distance. He had withdrawn, retreated
behind the walls of his soul.

Be ready.

He had a plan,
but gave no hint of it. Of course, he dared not. Abdiel would be
listening.

Tense, Maigrey
measured distances with her eyes, tried to anticipate what Sagan had
in mind. Mikael, the mind-dead who stood guard over them, was nearest
the Warlord and would, therefore, be Sagan's responsibility.

She was nearest
Abdiel and Dion, though the bier separated them. But there was no
telling what the mind-seizer would do, when Dion refused him.

If Dion refused
him.

He would. He was
Semele's son, after all. She had seen from the moment he entered that
he was his own person now; he had chosen to be the hero of his own
life. After this, he would no longer need them, his Guardians. And
that was right, the way it should be. And when he made his choice,
his decision, he would reach for his sword. As he was doing, now. His
right hand, separating itself from Abdiel's deadly touch. The left,
reaching out . . .

"I know
what you want to give me and I reject it. After all, I came only to
get my sword." Dion spoke aloud.

Maigrey, looking
at Sagan but not looking, saw the muscles in his arms and shoulders
tighten, saw him flick his gaze swiftly at her, nod obliquely at the
mind-dead guard.

"Is that
your final decision, my king?" Abdiel was asking.

Mikael, hearing
the voice, turned his dead eyes toward Abdiel, the one who gave him
life. Maigrey answered the Warlord, lowering her eyelids slighdy,
imperceptibly to show she understood. Sagan opened the fingers of his
left hand, the hand near Brother Daniel. Maigrey saw a flash of
silver in his palm, then the fingers closed over it.

She understood.
He had the priest's dagger.

"It is,"
said Dion.

"A poor
one." Abdiel's hand slid inside the folds of the magenta robes.

Mikael raised
the beam rifle, but uncertain who to shoot, he looked to Abdiel for
orders. The mind-seizer's thoughts were not on his disciple, however.

The crystal
scythe glittered in the firelight.

"Dion, get
back!" Maigrey cried.

Dion saw the
flash of the blade. Twisting sideways, he hurled his body across the
bier, making, in the same motion, a wild, desperate grab for his
sword.

Abdiel's blow
sliced harmlessly through the air. He raised the blade again, brought
it slashing down on the rock bier.

Dion rolled,
fell off the tomb, and landed heavily on the floor. He scrambled to
his feet, fumbling at the sword, trying to fit the needles into a
hand that shook with excitement and tension.

"Kill the
Guardians!" Abdiel ordered his disciple. "I will deal with
the king!"

Mikael spun
around, facing Maigrey, beam rifle aimed, ready to fire.

The Warlord
sprang, stabbed swiftly, skillfully, driving the small blade of the
priest's dagger into the mind-dead's neck, severing the spinal cord.

Mikael dropped
without a cry.

"You're
finished, mind-seizer!" Sagan shouted. "Give up!"

Abdiel, swinging
the scythe, advanced on Dion.

The young man
looked up at the fragile crystal scythe. It seemed he couldn't
believe he was being seriously attacked with such a weapon.

"Don't let
the blade touch you!" Maigrey cried, climbing over the bier,
trying desperately to reach him.

Startled,
obeying, if not understanding, Dion dodged, just as Abdiel swung the
scythe. The serpent's tooth whistled past the young man's chest.

Dion managed to
drive the needles of the bloodsword into his hand. He raised the
weapon against the mind-seizer.

The bloodsword
wouldn't activate.

Dion stared at
it in dismay, shook it.

Abdiel struck
again. Dion blocked the scythe's blow with the bloodsword's hilt.

"What's
wrong with it?" he shouted.

"He's
drained the power!" Maigrey caught her breath in terror, but the
hand-guard on the bloodsword protected the young man's flesh from the
tooth's dreadful bite.

Dion turned the
blow, fell back before the old man's frantic attack.

Maigrey made a
lunge for the mind-seizer, hoping to grasp the wrist of his knife
hand, break it. Abdiel was aware of her, aware of her intent.
Whirling, he slashed out at her with the crystal blade.

"Keep your
distance," he warned.

Maigrey halted.

"Mind-seizer!"
The Warlord sprang on top of the bier. The small dagger in his hand,
he jumped to the ground behind Abdiel. "You can't fight all
three of us!"