King's Test (41 page)

Amodius Starfire
stirred in his seat. His back straightened; his head lifted. For the
first time in his life, Maigrey thought, watching him through dry,
burning eyes, he truly looked a king.

"We hold
our rulership through the divine authority of God, Lord Sagan. We
cannot give away that which is not ours to give."

No one cheered,
applauded, or spoke. Those who heard him were too moved for speech.
But, one by one, they shoved back their chairs and rose to their feet
in a silent show of respect and support more convincing than noisy
clamor.

Support. None of
them armed. Trapped . . . like rats.

Slowly,
surreptitiously, her movements concealed behind the body of the king,
Maigrey inserted the needles of the bloodsword into the palm of her
hand. Danha and Stavros did the same. And so, she saw, looking down
the length of the table, did her peace-loving brother, his face
wincing at the unaccustomed pain.

"I told you
he would be stubborn, Commander Sagan."

The voice came
from the doorway at the end of the aisle. A man, dressed in a casual
business suit, surrounded by numerous armed bodyguards, entered the
hall. "I am Peter Robes, Your Majesty, President of the newly
formed Galactic Democratic Republic. Interim President, of course,
until we hold free elections."

"We have
captured the vid station," reported another man, who had
apparently entered behind Peter Robes. Due to his short, stooped
stature, this second man wasn't visible behind the bodyguards
surrounding the President. The guards, whose strange calm and dead
eyes caught Maigrey's attention, stepped aside, allowed the man to
pass between them. He was clad in magenta robes. Large nodes swelled
from the back of a head that appeared too large for his thin body.

"Abdiel!"
Maigrey whispered, the sight of the priest striking her an almost
physical blow.

"The news
has gone out to the planets in the galaxy," Abdiel announced.
"The monarchy is crushed. A new order is rising out of the ashes
of the old. If you do not want that report to have a literal meaning,
Amodius Starfire, I suggest you do as the people require."

"Abdiel!"
Maigrey whispered again.

Several years
ago, the Order of Dark Lightning had abducted and imprisoned both her
and Sagan in an attempt to study the mind-link. The two escaped the
priests, finally, but Abdiel—their leader—had succeeded
to a certain extent, having forcibly and horribly linked himself to
each through the needles he'd had implanted in his own body. Like it
or not, a part of each of them belonged to Abdiel, a part of him was
within each of them.

Maigrey's eyes,
involuntarily, sought Sagan’s and his met hers. She knew, in
that glance, that he was as surprised as she was to see Abdiel . . .
and far more angry.

Peter Robes and
the mind-seizer, accompanied by several of the oddly somnambulant
guards, proceeded down the aisle toward the head table. Platus
hurried to stand beside his sister. He was eyeing the soldiers
worriedly, his expression awed and tinged with horror.

"Maigrey-—"

"Shhh!"
she hushed him.

Sagan had
glanced behind him at the approaching group. His face dark, he took a
hasty step nearer the king, pitched his voice low. "Your
Majesty, do as they ask. If you are reasonable about this, you and
your family will come to no harm." His hand clenched in his
earnestness. "I pledge vou this with my life!"

"We have
the feeling you are risking that life in making us this offer, Lord
Sagan," the king said with a soft, sad smile. "And we are
glad to think you have some regard for the oath of allegiance you
took, to know that you are not wholly lost to evil. But we must
refuse. We will not submit to the mockery of a trial. As king by
divine right, we have only one Judge and it is to Him and Him alone
we will answer."

The struggle in
Sagan’s soul was not reflected in his face, beyond a further
darkening of the eyes, a tremor in the muscles of his clenched jaw.
Maigrey, who saw within him, was witness to the war, and it was more
fierce, more desperate than any other life-and-death encounter she
had ever seen. She had been at his side in many another deadly
contest; this one he chose to fight alone. The battle came swiftly to
an end.

"Then I
cannot save you, Your Majesty." Sagan's voice was soft and
bitter.

The king nodded
calmly. "There is only One who can save me, Lord Sagan, and it
is into His hands that I commend my soul."

"May He
have mercy on that soul, Your Majesty," Sagan said coldly.

The soldiers,
with their strange, dead eyes, were taking up positions around the
room. They were human, male and female. Each differed from his or her
comrades in height, weight, color of hair, skin, eyes. But they all,
somehow, managed to look as much alike as if they'd been born of the
same parents. It was the expression on their faces, Maigrey decided
at last, studying them carefully, as her commander had taught.

Know your
enemy.

"Maigrey!"
Platus said urgently. "Do you know what those people are?"

"Androids,"
she answered, then frowned and shook her head. "No, droids have
more life. ..."

"They're
alive, Maigrey," her brother continued in a hollow voice. "At
least they were. Their minds are no longer their own. They belong to
him!"

The horrible
enormity of the situation appalled her. What had she said about an
ordinary army?

Others in the
hall must have arrived at the same conclusion. Abdiel whirled
suddenly, confronted a member of the Blood Royal seated in a chair
near the aisle.

"It didn't
work, did it, Duchess?" the mind-seizer said in the pleasantest
possible voice. "Your little mind-games won't work with my
people. You cannot seduce them. You cannot captivate them with your
charismatic charm. You cannot hypnotize them. You cannot implant
subliminal suggestions. You cannot penetrate their subconscious. Why?
Because they have no subconscious. Their minds are one, and that one
mind is mine."

Abdiel placed
his left hand caressingly, palm down, upon the woman's shoulder. The
left hand jerked, pressing hard against the woman. The duchess
screamed, a high-pitched note of agony, limbs convulsing, nerve
impulses disrupted, gone wild. Abdiel removed his hand; the bright
light gleamed for an instant on the five needles protruding from his
palm. The woman slumped forward on the table, unconscious.

"Anyone
else want to experiment on my people?" Abdiel glanced around. "I
welcome all challenges."

Sagan advanced a
step to stand beside Peter Robes. Maigrey could hear their
conversation. Derek was not bothering to keep his thoughts from her
now.

"Why did
you allow him to come?" Sagan was demanding. "This wasn't
part of the plan!"

"But quite
an improvement, don't you think, Derek?" Peter Robes asked, with
a cool smile. "You yourself were concerned with the possibility
the Guardians would resist—"

"Let them!"
Sagan was pale with fury. "The palace is surrounded by my troops
and those of the revolutionary army. The Guardians can resist all
they want, but they have nowhere to go! Minas Tares is completely cut
off—"

So he has
troops, Maigrey realized, the dull, throbbing ache in her heart
spreading throughout her body. The palace surrounded, under siege. It
will become our prison . . .

Or our tomb.

Sagan turned on
his heel, made a gesture with his hand. A soldier, wearing the
insignia of a phoenix rising from flames, entered the room through a
side door. He saluted Derek Sagan, awaiting orders.

Sagan said
something to him in a low voice. The commander saluted and stood to
one side.

The
self-proclaimed President and his entourage had reached the royal
table by now. Sagan turned to face Robes and Robes alone. Sagan's
glance flicked over Abdiel, did not acknowledge the mind-seizer's
presence. To do so would have been dangerous, would have given Abdiel
power over him that, even now, Sagan was perhaps struggling to evade.
Maigrey didn't know. She could no longer penetrate the shadows.

"Your
Majesty," Derek Sagan said, dark eyes now intent upon his king,
"will you step down?"

Maigrey stood
behind the king, waiting for his answer, knowing what it must be,
part of her applauding him, part of her wishing it otherwise.

It all seemed
unreal to her, reminded her of a time she had attended a performance
of
Julius Caesar.
She knew the story before she entered the
theater, knew the plot, the tragic outcome. Yet she had
wanted—against all common sense and reason—the play to
end happily.

"Listen
to the soothsayer!" she cried silently.
"Don't go
to
the Senate."

But Caesar had
gone and would go, every time, because he was Caesar.

"We will
not treat with usurpers," Amodius Starfire said with perhaps
more dignity than he had ever spoken in his life, "and we order
you to leave our court on pain of death."

The Guardians
cheered in defiance. The mind-dead, who had posted themselves among
the tables and lined the walls, raised their weapons and brought them
to bear upon the crowd. Silence fell, suddenly, ominously.

Abdiel glided to
the President's side. "I believe it is time, Mr. President, for
you to speak to the galaxy's citizens. An escort is waiting to convey
you to the vid station."

Peter Robes
turned his head slowly, looked about the hall. The Guardians—men
and women, human and alien, some young, some old, some wise, some
fools, some honest, some corrupt—all, at the moment, knew what
was coming and faced it with quiet courage. Robes's own must have
failed him, then. Maigrey saw the face, with its plastic good looks,
quiver; the strong line of the jaw began to melt and sag.

"The
king—that is, Citizen Starfire and . . . and the Guardians—are
all to be imprisoned," Robes said, clearing his throat. "Those
are my specific orders, Abdiel. Specific orders. I will convene a
tribunal—

"Of course,
Mr. President." Abdiel bowed solemnly, scratching at his hand,
with its decaying patches of skin.

"Remain
here to see those orders carried out, Mr. President," Derek
Sagan challenged him. "The citizens have waited this long. They
can wait a moment or two longer to know that the former king and his
court are safely imprisoned."

Robes stood,
glancing from one to the other, undecided, irresolute. His jaw
worked, but no words came. Sweat beaded on his forehead, trickled
down his cheek. The plastic mold was beginning to melt.

The attention of
the three traitors was focused on each other. Maigrey took advantage
of the opportunity to exchange covert, meaningful glances with her
squadron. She and Danha drew near His Majesty. If they could convey
him safely out of this room, take him to the royal chambers, they
could barricade themselves, withstand a siege. . . .

The powerful
Danha Tusca was detaching the bloodsword, leaving his hands free to
guide and support his feeble king.

A
doddering
old fool, you called him,
Maigrey said to Danha through the
linkage of the sword.
And you'll probably give your life to try to
save him.

He
is
my king!
returned Danha with fierce pride.

The air
crackled. The Guardians were striking, using the strength of their
combined mental powers to disrupt the electricity. Maigrey had a
fleeting impression of a blue aura surrounding her, surrounding the
courtiers. The lights of the chandeliers flared, then went out,
plunging the room into darkness.

All hell broke
loose.

Laser fire
flashed; Abdiel's mind-dead began shooting indiscriminately into the
crowd. The Guardians were on their feet, overturning tables, erecting
their own barricades. Some tried to run for the exits, others spoke
into commlinks, calling for bodyguards that would never answer their
masters' call or any other save that of their Creator.

Maigrey had only
an indistinct impression of what was happening in the hall. She and
Danha moved swiftly to the king, Stravros and Platus standing guard
behind them. The mind-dead had switched on nuke lamps. The harsh,
white beams searched through the darkness, seeking out their prey.

"Your
Majesty," Maigrey said urgently. "Hurry! We must take you
out of here!"

Starfire did not
move. He was staring out at the chaos with eyes that were fixed,
glazed. His body had gone strangely stiff and rigid; saliva drooled
from a corner of ashen lips.

Maigrey and
Danha looked at each other helplessly. They dared not lay rough hands
on their sovereign, but this was an emergency and it was obvious that
their king was ill. Maigrey heard Sagan shouting orders. Fires were
springing up throughout the hall. Smoke hung in the air.

"Your
Majesty!" She made one more try. Danha was ready, strong arms
flexing.

A nuke lamp's
light caught them, found them. Laser fire flashed past her, the heat
burning the hand that lay upon the shoulder of her king.

The beam seared
a hole through the golden crown, penetrated cleanly out the back of
the skull. The king didn't make a sound; the expression on his face
never changed.

By the light of
the nuke, Maigrey saw Abdiel watching with satisfaction. He thought
his mind-dead had killed the king. Maigrey, removing her trembling
hand from the rigid shoulder, knew differently. She had seen his
face. Amodius Starfire had been dead before the beam struck him.

"The king
is dead. Long live the king!" Danha's voice roared in her ears.

King. Augustus.
Semele . . .

"Semele!"
Maigrey activated her bloodsword, jumped off the dais, and started
running for the side door. Her left hand was badly burned, but she
didn't feel any pain. Just as she didn't feel any pain her heart. She
was numb now, and she concentrated on staying that way. The moment
would come when she would feel . . .