King's Test (42 page)

Or maybe not. If
she was lucky, she'd be dead.

The fires blazed
out of control. Smoke and darkness made it difficult to see and to
breathe. Maigrey had moved so swiftly, she had left the rest of her
squadron behind. She halted, waiting for them to catch up, knowing
she couldn't manage alone. The bloodsword shielded her from laser
blasts. When her squadron joined her, she started toward the door and
had nearly reached the exit in safety when a voice whispered inside
her head.

Stop her!
Stop her, Derek Sagan. She has betrayed you!

Turning,
reluctantly, involuntarily, halted by a force she could not control,
Maigrey looked around, saw Abdiel pointing at her.

"Maigrey!"
Sagan's outraged voice rose over the tumult.

She was empty of
all feeling, all emotion, even that of fear. Like her king, she was
dead before she had died.

Turning on her
heel, she ran, left Sagan behind.

Mount, mount, my
soul, thy seat is up on high . . .

William
Shakespeare,
Richard II,
Act V, Scene 5

The
revolutionary army had degenerated into a mob, roaming the palace,
looting, burning, killing. Most were drunk, either with liquor or
power, and were completely out of their officers' control. The
Guardians cut their way through these with ease, most of the soldiers
reluctant to tackle victims that had the skill and means to fight
back. It was far easier and more fun to catch some soft lord in his
chambers, butcher him, and then have a little sport with his lady
wife.

Maigrey kept her
purpose clear in her mind, its light guiding her through the dreadful
darkness, shining like the starjewel on her breast. She hoped the
soldiers had not yet reached the upper levels of the palace. She and
her squad would be able to rescue the crown prince—now king—and
Semele.

The palace was a
maze of secret passages, built mainly for the fun and amusement of
the royal family and their guests. But some of the secret passages
had practical uses, such as the one that led from the upper levels of
the palace to an underground spaceport. These provided escape for the
royal family from the glare of vidcam lights and the constant
hounding of reporters. Of course, the secret passages weren't really
all that secret; everyone in the palace knew about them. Including
Sagan. Maigrey hoped he would be too preoccupied with his massacre to
remember them.

Occasionally,
the Guardians ran into the men under Sagan's command, soldiers of his
new army. The Guardians avoided these. Sagan's centurions were sober,
well disciplined, dangerous. They had already taken control of the
palace computer center and were rapidly spreading out to seize and
hold other areas of strategic importance.

Too late, too
late, too late, was the whispered message of Maigrey's heart.
Resolutely, she ignored it.

Reaching the
elevators to the upper levels, the Guardians slowed, advanced
cautiously. This area of the palace was quiet, and they had come to
learn that quiet and order generally meant Sagan's troops were in
control. The hallway was brightly lit. Either power had been restored
to this area of the palace or it had never been lost. Stavros,
pressing flat against a wall, risked a look down the hallway where
stood the bank of elevators leading to the upper levels. He pulled
back swiftly, his face grim.

"Sagan's
soldiers, all right. Two of them guarding each lift. There must be
twenty of them, at least."

"There's
always the stairs," Danha suggested.

"Thirty
flights!" Maigrey shook her head. "We don't have time!"

"Maigrey,"
Platus began reluctantly, "if they've captured the elevators,
then they must have gained the upper—"

"Shut up!"
she snapped at him. "Shut up and let me think!"

The three men
exchanged glances, said nothing. Danha was covered head to toe in
blood; his blue robes were sodden with it. He had acquired a lasgun,
using it in his left hand. Platus looked gray and ill, held only his
sword. He had fought when he'd been forced to, not so much to save
his own life as to protect that of his comrades. Mostly he had
attempted to keep the enraged Danha from venting his anger in
mindless, savage slaughter. Stavros, wielding his sword and another
captured lasgun, had been efficient, effective.

"We can
fight twenty men," Danha pronounced, the blood-lust burning in
his eyes.

"We could,
but we couldn't win," Maigrey said. "The swords are
draining our bodies' energy and we're probably going to need what we
have left when we reach His Majesty. I have an idea. Follow me."

She switched off
the bloodsword, though she continued to hold it in her hand, and
marched coolly out into the hallway, into the open, in plain view of
Sagan's troops. Danha, Stavros, and her brother dashed swiftly after,
her plan communicating itself to them through the linkage of the
swords.

The centurions
appeared slightly startled at the sight of the four Guardians,
weapons in hand, blue robes stained black with blood, walking calmly
down the hallway. A captain stepped forward, eyes narrowed in
suspicion.

"Citizen
Maigrey Morianna," Maigrey stated crisply, thanking the Creator
she'd remembered at the last moment to change her title, "member
of the Golden Squadron. I'm sure you recognize me?"

That was taking
a lot for granted, considering how she looked on the vidscreen and
what she looked like now. But somewhere beneath the blood and soot
and ashes the captain must have seen the woman known to be number two
in command of the famed squadron. He saluted, fist over his heart.
Maigrey returned the salute, somewhat awkwardly, thinking bitterly to
herself that it was like Sagan to have usurped Caesar's homage.

"Commander
S-Sagan"—she found it difficult to speak his name, angrily
forced herself to repeat it clearly—"Commander Sagan has
ordered us to place under arrest Augustus Starfire, formerly known as
crown prince. I assume that the elevators have been secured and are
safe to use?"

"Yes,
citizen." The captain spoke with respect, but he made no move to
stand aside. He was looking at their gore-spattered clothing.

"The
Guardians in the hall resisted arrest," Danha growled, glowering
at the man. "Haven't you heard?"

"We did
hear a rumor to that effect," the captain answered. His last
doubts appeared to have been erased. He saluted once again and
pointed to one of the elevators. "Take that one, citizens."

Maigrey, forcing
herself to move slowly and calmly, stepped into the ornate gilded and
mirrored lift. Danha, Stavros, and Platus crowded in after her. The
captain held the doors open a moment.

"We heard
someone killed the king. Is that true? Is the old man dead?"

Maigrey felt
Danha, standing beside her, stiffen. She dug her fingernails into his
arm. "Yes, the king is dead. Mores the pity. We hoped he would
stand trial before the people. That's why we are being sent to ensure
the safety of the crown prince."

"Good
luck," the captain said, releasing the doors. "Though I
think you'll find someone's beat you to it."

The doors slid
shut. Maigrey gave the lift the floor number—a floor beneath
the one on which the private rooms of the royal family were located.
The elevator soared upward on jets of air. The four stared at each
other in grim silence, tense, alert.

"I wonder
what he meant by that?" Stavros asked.

"It doesn't
matter," Danha said. "We do the same up there we did down
below. That was a brilliant idea, Maigrey, and it will work again.
We'll just walk in and, in the name of Derek Sagan, carry our king to
safety!"

Maigrey leaned
back against the cold glass walls. She didn't feel brilliant. She
felt cold and hollow. And it hadn't been brilliance or courage that
sent her marching down that hallway under the guns of twenty of the
enemy. It had been panic, desperation. Augustus, with his silly
giggle, Semele, her baby ... if it had been born. They were suddenly
all Maigrey had, all she was living for.

The elevator
slowed. The doors opened. The four pressed back against the walls,
weapons ready. The hallway was dark and empty, deserted. Breathing
easier, they slipped out.

On this floor
were guest rooms, reserved for visiting dignitaries, ambassadors,
members of the Blood Royal, most of whom were down below, trapped in
the hall. Sagan's guards on the elevators were keeping the looters
out—at least until the looters discovered the stairs and
decided that whatever wealth was at the top was worth a climb of
thirty flights.

"There are
passages that lead from this floor to the ones above, aren't there?"
Maigrey asked her brother in hushed tones.

"Yes. To
almost every room."

Near the same
age as Augustus, Platus had spent school holidays in the palace,
since he wasn't wanted at home. The two boys had found the secret
passages to be great fun and had played in them extensively until
complaints from numerous startled and not terribly amused guests had
brought the games to a halt. He knew the passages better than any of
them. "Where do you want to go?"

Maigrey thought.
"Somewhere near the entrance to the royal chambers. We'll have
to deal with any guards posted there, and well stand a better chance
if we can take them by surprise."

"I know of
one passage—it's in the Red Chamber, and it comes out in the
alcove where that marble statue of the king stands. You know, the one
where he's dressed in costume for the royal hunt?"

Yes. Maigrey
remembered. That would be perfect. The life-sized marble statue stood
on a broad base complete with boar hound. It was huge and would
provide cover; about time the silly-looking thing served some useful
purpose.

They advanced
swiftly but cautiously—two moving, two covering. A blow of
Danha's large hand split the door to the Red Chamber. They hastened
through the sumptuously furnished rooms, following Platus's lead, and
came to a huge walk-in closet. Maigrey shoved aside silken gowns
belonging to whoever was currently occupying the rooms—gowns
that probably would never be worn again unless it was by the
girlfriend of some looter—and found a blank cedar-paneled wall.

Platus studied
the panels for only a second, confidently placed his thumb and the
little finger of his right hand on two knots in the wood. The wall
slid aside, revealing a narrow, winding staircase lit at intervals by
electric torches in medieval-style sconces.

Maigrey started
to gather up the blue skirts of her robe to climb the stairs.
Thinking better of it, she swiftly trimmed the hem of the gown with
the bloodsword. The fabric, she noticed, was wet with blood. She paid
no attention to it, but hurried after her brother. Danha, bringing up
the rear, smashed the plastic torches as he passed them, so that no
light would shine out when they emerged.

A short climb
took them to a door marked with the royal insignia. Platus, standing
above Maigrey, looked around for instructions.

Ready?
he
mouthed.

Gripping her
bloodsword, she nodded, and he put his index finger on the lion's
head. Danha broke the last torch, plunging them into darkness. The
door slid open silently, for which blessing Maigrey thanked God and
the building maintenance crew. Light streamed in from the hallway
beyond. Her brother crept out to reconnoiter.

Leaning back
against the wall, conscious of Stavros right beside her—one
step down—and Danha below him, Maigrey thought of times past
when she had been in similar situations. Heart beating rapidly, blood
pulsing, excitement mixed with adrenaline had always affected her
like strong wine. But the wine was now laced with poison. Fear
twisted inside her, the blood flowed sluggishly, she shook with
chills.

Platus was gone
only a short time. Then he reappeared, hurrying back down the stairs,
speaking to them silently through the bloodsword linkage. His face,
dimly seen in the light coming from the hallway, was grim. They could
hear, in the distance, a baby's wail.

What's the
matter?
Maigrey grabbed him, dug her nails into his arm.
What's
wrong?

The mind-dead
are here. They've killed the royal guard; bodies are lying all over
the hallway. They've got Augustus—I could see him—and
what looks like a doctor—

The one
tending Semele,
Maigrey inserted.

They've sent
people to bring her and the baby, apparently. They're talking about
removing them from the palace to a place that is safer—

"A prison,"
Danha growled aloud.

Maigrey shot him
a glance, warned him to be quiet.

How many?
she asked her brother.

There were
about twenty that I could see. Fifteen just marched off down the
hall. Their leader told Augustus they were going ahead to secure the
area. That leaves five in the hall, but I don't know how many are
inside the royal living quarters.

Their backs
are to us?

"Yes, but,
Maigrey," Platus said softly, urgency giving voice to his words,
"they have the royal family with them! We can't use the lasguns
without risking hitting the king and queen!"

"Set for
stun," Stavros suggested.

"A stun
setting that would stop an adult would kill a baby. We'll use the
bloodswords," Maigrey said. "They're accurate, precise.
Stab the guards from behind. They'll never know what hit them. We can
take out four immediately. Platus, you and Stavros grab the king and
queen and hustle them into the passages. Danha and I will deal with
whoever's left, then we'll catch up—"

Maigrey stopped,
her breath snatched away. She clutched at her throat, almost
strangling.