King's Test (39 page)

Maigrey walked
the corridors of the palace, worried, preoccupied, hardly knowing
where she was going, moving by instinct more than design. Semele . .
. Sagan. Whenever she left off worrying about one, it was only to
wonder about the other.

She came to
herself to discover that she was in the wrong part of the palace,
near the chapel. The banquet hall was over in another wing of the
gigantic building. The hallways were deserted; no one would be around
here tonight. Then why had she come? It wasn't like her to wander
about aimlessly, even when her mind was distracted. Maigrey was about
to turn and retrace her steps, fearing she would be late for the
banquet, when someone emerged from the incense-scented darkness.

"Sagan!"

"Maigrey."
He didn't appear surprised to see her, and seemed somewhat astonished
that she was surprised to see him.

"When did
you return?"

"Just a few
moments ago. I sent for you. Didn't you hear me?"

Maigrey put her
hand confusedly to her temple. "Yes . . . I guess so." She
glanced around. "I guess that's why I'm here. But ... so much
else was on my mind. So much else. ..."

"Really?"
Sagan's voice was smooth, carefully controlled. "What?"

Maigrey looked
at him closely. Sagan detested functions of state. He attended only
because it was a responsibility that went with his rank. He submitted
to the proceedings with an ill grace, however, and was impatient,
irascible, and in a foul temper for the entire evening. Yet not now.
Not tonight. He was tense, taut, eager, and—as always before
battle—cool and restrained. His thoughts were completely
shielded from her.

She might as
well try to penetrate null-grav fused steel. And he was wearing his
battle armor, not the ceremonial robes of state.

"I—I'm
not sure," she faltered. "Derek, what's happening?"

He took a step
near her, caught hold of her hands in his. "What have you seen,
Maigrey? The gift of vision. What has it shown you?"

Her eyes shifted
from him to a point far beyond him, trying desperately to pierce the
mists. "Danger, but I can't see it. Do you remember the time we
boarded the vapor-breather's ship? I knew they were lying in wait for
us . . . but I'm surrounded by dense fog. I can't see! I can't see!"

"Your hands
are cold." Sagan brought her back from her vision. Holding both
her hands in his, he massaged them gently. "Maigrey, do you
trust me?"

She looked up at
him. "You've been with Peter Robes. I know. I've seen you, I've
felt you with him."

Maigrey,"
Sagan repeated softly, drawing her hands to his lips. "Do you
trust me?"

"Yes,"
she said without hesitation. "You are my commander. "

"Good."
He smiled, a smile that was dark and shadowed, kissed her hands, and
released her from his grasp. "Then give me your sword."

Maigrey
unbuckled the swordbelt, handed it to him. Deftly, he wrapped the
belt around the hilt and thrust her sword into his belt, his flowing
cape concealing it. "Is it charged?"

"Yes, of
course. Why—-"

Sagan stopped
her, his hand on her mouth. "My lady, if the Creator wanted you
to see, don't you think He would part the mists?"

Maigrey moved
away from his touch, lowered her eyes, rubbed her chill hands
together. "I'm frightened. Suddenly I'm so frightened. ..."

Sagan took her
in his arms, pressed her body close to his. His hand stroked the
fine, pale hair sweeping over the blue velvet. She relaxed in his
embrace, listened to his heartbeat quicken in his chest.

"I think of
that night," she said to him. "I remember that night. ..."
Her arms were strong for a woman's; she tightened her embrace, felt
his lips touch the crown of her head.

"There will
be many nights for us, my lady," he said softly. "What is
space travel, but one long endless night?"

What is death
. . . ?
The thought came to her unbidden, terrified her.

He removed his
arms from around her, returned to the strict and stern commander.

"How is Her
Royal Highness?" he asked briskly, pulling on a pair of soft,
supple leather gloves.

"You mean
Semele?" Maigrey had never before known him to refer to the
princess by her formal title. They had, after all, gone to school
together. "I'm worried about her. She's started into labor. "

"Then the
baby will be born tonight." Sagan paused in the act of putting
on the right glove, a tiny frown line creasing his brow.

"The
doctor's not sure. No one can predict . . . with babies. ..."
Maigrey shrugged, flushed, feeling suddenly uncomfortable discussing
this subject with him.

Sagan seemed
about to say something, seemed about to tell her, to part the mists
himself. He regarded her earnestly, intently, as if measuring her.

Somehow, some
way, she knew by his expression she came up short.

"Watch for
my signal at the banquet tonight," he said. "When you see
it, you and the others come to me. Be swift and be brave, my lady.
The lives of those you love and have sworn to protect will depend
upon it."

Maigrey was
disappointed. "Yes, we'll be ready. But why can't you tell me—"

"I have my
reasons." Sagan bent down, brushed her right cheek with his
lips. "I'll be counting on you, Maigrey."

And he was gone,
his long strides taking him rapidly into the deepening darkness.

. . . with the
eyes of heavy mind I see thy glory like a shooting star Fall to the
base earth from the firmament.

William
Shakespeare,
Richard II,
Act II, Scene 4

An android
orchestra, classically programmed, was seated on a dais located at
the far end of the banquet hall, playing a medley of royal anthems
and marches gleaned from every part of the galaxy in honor of its
rulers. The Guardians, clad in their blue velvet robes, starjewels
their only adornment, filed into the vast chamber in order dictated
by custom and protocol. Their names, as each was announced and
presented to the assembled multitude, soared high above the music and
echoed in the lofty vaults of the ceiling.

Thus they might
echo in the lofty vaults of heaven, thought Maigrey, twisting her
hands together nervously.

"Someday,"
Stavros observed, "you're going to pull your fingers off."

Maigrey didn't
hear him, though she was standing right beside him. '"And as we
are to have the best of guardians for our city, must they not be
those who have most the character of guardians?'"

"No quoting
of Plato until I've had at least one drink," Stavros protested.
"The bar's packed. I'll never get near it. Still, we're the last
people to enter. It might be worth a try—"

"No
drinking." Maigrey grabbed hold of the sleeve of his robe,
pulled him back. "Do you realize," she said, lowering her
voice, "that if anything happened here tonight, almost every
planetary government in the galaxy would lose one or more of its
leaders?"

"Not even
one lousy Scotch and water?" Stavros pleaded. "Oh, c'mon,
Maigrey! Don't tell me you're taking these rumors seriously! What
could happen? This is the Blood Royal we're talking about! Why,
there's enough custom-designed, space-age-engineered, superior
genetic talent in that hall to blow the towers off this palace and
send them into orbit around the planet!"

"I don't
like this either," Danha Tusca stated.

"You never
like anything, so your opinion doesn't count!" Stavros snapped
peevishly. He was thirsty.

"Platus and
I have both heard strange rumblings from the military—"

"The
military's similar to your stomach—always rumbling. Think about
what you're saying, Danha! March an army in here and in five seconds,
with a casual wave of their hands, the Blood Royal would have the
soldiers turning their guns on themselves!"

"An
ordinary army, perhaps," Maigrey said.

"What other
kind is there?"

"I think
someone should speak to the king," she persisted.

"We tried
to tell His Majesty, Maigrey," growled the deep bass of Danha
Tusca. "He wouldn't listen."

"That's not
precisely true," Platus interjected, ignoring Danha's glower at
being contradicted. "His Majesty listened to us quite
courteously, thanked us for our concern quite courteously, then
dismissed us."

"Quite
courteously, I'll bet," Maigrey muttered.

"He didn't
listen!" Danha repeated obstinately. "Starfire's a
doddering old fool and I don't care who hears me say it! I'll say it
to his face, if he wants!" The large and formidable
ebony-skinned Guardian glared at a passing footman in such ire that
the wretched fellow stammered an apology for something he hadn't done
and disappeared in precipitous haste.

"Come now!"
Stavros was easygoing, good-natured, and hated the arguments Danha
relished. "Don't be hard on the old king. Look at it
realistically. How could His Majesty have called the banquet off?
This affair's the most publicized event of the past ten years! If he
canceled it, the press'd be climbing all over him, demanding to know
why. And if he told them, he'd be giving credence to the grumblings
of a bunch of malcontents."

"The Lord
is with him. The Lord will protect him. Hunh!" Danha grunted.

"The Lord
helps those who help themselves." Maigrey sighed. Her gaze was
fixed on the hall. She'd seen it countless times before, glittering
with the light of crystal chandeliers. Tonight, she seemed to see it
blazing with the light of devouring flames. "Trapped like rats.
Weaponless. No bodyguards. ..."

"Weaponless
indeed!" Danha said grimly. "Did you give your sword to
Sagan?"

"Yes, and I
promised to wait for his signal, but he didn't say what was up,"
Stavros said, shrugging.

Platus looked
grave. "Didn't you ask?"

"My dear
man, I was fighting with this confounded robe! I had it on once, saw
myself in the mirror, realized I was wearing the damn thing backside
foremost. Instead of taking it off, I thought I'd save time by just
wriggling out of it partway and then turning it around while it was
still on me. So there I was, half in and half out of this blasted
robe with my head caught in one of the sleeves when Sagan burst into
my room and demanded my sword. I wasn't exactly in the mood for a
chat."

"
I
asked him," Danha said, "and he wouldn't tell me. He said
there wasn't time. He had an audience with His Majesty."

"He did?"
Maigrey was astonished.

"No, he
didn't," Platus said, a shadow passing over his thin face. "His
Majesty refused to admit him."

"What was
that?" Danha glanced around. "Did you hear that? It sounded
like an explosion. ..."

Stavros shook
his head in exasperation. "Thunder. Must be a storm brewing.
Look, Maigrey, if Danha's going to carry on like this all night, I
insist on one drink, if for nothing else than to calm my shattered
nerves."

"The sky
was clear when I came in. That
was
an explosion and it came
from the direction of the base. I don't like this," Danha
repeated. "Perhaps one of us should go see—"

"Not a
chance." Maigrey caught hold of the sleeve of the big man's blue
robes and pulled him back. "Jeoffrey has his eye on us. You'd
never make it to the door. Besides—"

"Don't try
it, Danha," Stavros advised. "I attempted to escape one of
His Majesty's soirees. That piercing scream of Jeoffrey's still
echoes in my ears. Sometimes I wake at night and hear it and see him
running after me, waving that silk hanky. I swear, it's hours before
I can get back to sleep."

Besides,"
Maigrey continued, irritated at the interruption, "we should
wait here for Sagan ... in case he needs us."

"And where
is our commander, anyway?"

All
three—Stavros, Platus, Danha—looked to Maigrey.

"He'll be
here. And then everything will be all right. Whatever is happening,
Sagan knows about it, and he has everything under control."

"Sagan
knows
about it?" Platus repeated, the shadow on his face
deepening. "What do you mean, Maigrey?"

She hadn't meant
to say anything and shook her head.

"She means
she knows where he's been this past month," Danha guessed, with
the intuition of those who use the bloodsword. "And now so do I.
He was with his friend, the revolutionary!"

"Was he,
Maigrey? Was Sagan with Peter Robes?"

"Yes, he
was! Don't look at me like that, Platus!" Maigrey demanded,
growing angrier as she spoke. "And Danha— where would you
be if Sagan hadn't taken out that troillian who had you pinned up
against the bulkheads. And you, Stavros, you'd still be perched up on
that stupid statue if it wasn't for him! And Platus, that booby trap
you nearly walked into . . . All of us. We'd be dead right now, or in
a Corasian meat locker if it wasn't for Derek! You owe your lives to
him, every one of you! I refuse to stand here and listen to your
insinuations—"

"Sister,
calm down!" Platus smoothed Maigrey's pale hair with his hand,
as he might have smoothed the ruffled fur of a cat. "No one's
insinuating anything."

"Humpf!"
Danha snorted, rumbling deep in his chest, like an enraged bull.

The doors to the
hall slowly closed. The assembled dignitaries were taking their
places at the long rows of white-clothed, crystal-, gold-, and
silver-ornamented tables. The doors would open again for the guests
of honor . . . and for His Majesty the King.

"It's
almost time," Stavros said, in a more subdued tone than was
customary for him. "There's His Majesty and the royal
attendants."

"And
there's Jeoffrey, searching for us." Danha, towering head and
shoulders above most of the rest of the crowd, was able to see what
was transpiring.