The Lost King (50 page)

"I know about the
risk, my lord. I want to take it."

"Good." Lord
Sagan's cool smile was hidden by the shadows of the helm. "I
thought you would."

Maigrey sat in the bar,
watching the light reflect off the bottles. She was glad they'd kept
the bottles. There were more modern, convenient means of dispensing
liquor available. Hell, almost any two-byte computer could mix an
old-fashioned. But there was something about the bottles and about
the bartender mixing his magic from the bottles that was comforting
to her. Rather, Maigrey supposed, like the wizard from ages past,
working in his laboratory, mixing the weird and the wonderful to
weave his spells.

"Another?"
the bartender asked, whisking away the soggy cocktail napkin, his
hand hovering over the glass.

"Yes. But don't
take that yet. One more swallow."

Maigrey drank it,
returned the glass to the bar. The empty disappeared, a full one took
its place. Magic. She stirred the ice cubes around and around,
admiring the various colors of the liquors in the bottles—amber,
bright green, gold, clear; the different shapes of the bottles . . .

Out of the corner of
her eye, she saw flaming red-golden hair, the face white in the
indistinct bluish, purplish lighting of the bar. She saw what he wore
around his waist. He walked with self-conscious pride, somewhat
awkwardly, his hand holding the scabbard as he moved through the
lounge in an effort to keep it from banging into tables. Maigrey
stared back into her glass and continued stirring the ice around and
around.

"I've been looking
all over for you, Lady Maigrey." The boy's voice was accusing.

"I knew where I
was."

The young man was
silent a moment, probably trying to figure out what she meant, most
certainly trying to decide how to respond. "Lord Sagan's guards
told me you were here."

"See?
We
knew where I was, then."

From his expression,
Dion didn't see, not in the least. Maigrey smiled faintly. There was
another pause, the young man waiting for her to say something.

"What are you
drinking?" he asked finally, when she didn't.

"Vodka martini.
Very dry. On the rocks. With olives. You've got to mention the olives
specifically. If you don't, they stick a piece of lemon in it."

"Lord Sagan
doesn't drink." Accusation had become reproof. The boy was
sanctimonious as only youth can be when descrying the faults of their
elders.

"I know. I do it
for both of us. " Maigrey swallowed vodka. Holding the glass in
her hand, she shook it gently, to hear the ice cubes clink against
the sides. "Where'd you get the bloodsword?"

"Lord Sagan gave
it to me." Dion flushed with pride. His right hand touched the
hilt, somewhat gingerly.

Maigrey glanced at it,
looked back into her drink. "It's Platus's, you know. I wish I
could say he'd have wanted you to have it."

She heard the swift
intake of breath. When she lifted her eyes and looked at the boy, she
saw that he had gone white to the lips. Dion stared at her, his
brilliant blue eyes, surrounded by white rims, glistening with the
shock.

"I'm sorry,"
Maigrey said, shrugging. Fishing the olive from her glass, she ate
it, then carefully placed the toothpick on the bar in front of her.
"I thought you knew."

"Damn it! How
could I know? I never saw it, except for that . . . that night!"
Dion's hands fumbled with the beckle of the sword belt. His fingers
were numb and shaking and he couldn't unfasten it. Maigrey's fingers
closed over his, suddenly, and he shivered at the chill touch.

"Don't take it
off. I'm sorry, truly sorry." She looked at him earnestly. "It's
right you should have it, right you should know how to use it. Only,
remember what I said about the mind control. Be careful."
Keeping hold of his right hand, she turned it palm up. Five puncture
marks marred the skin. Swelling, they were beginning to turn an
angry, fiery red. "He's using you, you know, Dion. He'll use you
to gain what he wants, then he'll throw you away like so much
rubbish. "

Dion snatched his hand
away from her grasp. The boy's voice was hard and brittle. "It's
a game two can play at, my lady. Or maybe three."

He glowered at her from
beneath lowered brows. She'd hurt him, hurt him badly, and he had to
strike back.

"Your arm ache?"
Maigrey asked.

"No."

"It'll feel numb
for several days, but the sensation won't be permanent. Next time you
use the sword, it'll be easier."

"I know that. Lord
Sagan told me."

"Ah, yes."
Maigrey took a drink and swallowed. "'Satan was Christ's elder
brother."'

"What?" Dion
only half heard her.

"'Satan was
Christ's elder brother.' Robertson P. Davies,
Fifth Business
.
Twentieth century author."

The young man didn't
understand. "How many of those have you had?"

"'How many of
those have you had, my lady?'" Maigrey corrected reprovingly,
lifting her chin, fixing him with an imperious gaze.

Her eyes were clear,
Dion saw, and focused, though shadowed with indescribable sadness.
The young man had the grace to be ashamed. "I'm sorry," he
mumbled, ducking his head and flexing his hand. It hurt abominably.
"My lady."

"It seems all
we're doing is apologizing to each other. Forget what I said, Dion.
I'm tired. I couldn't sleep. I keep seeing . . . them. The Corasians.
And I don't know if I'm seeing them from the past or if I'm seeing
them from now. Either way, it's awful." She shivered and shoved
her empty glass forward "How many toothpicks do I have in front
of me?"

"Four, my lady."

"Then I ve drunk
four drinks, unless the toothpicks're breeding. Do you know, in
thousands of years of progress, we've never been able to improve on
the toothpick? I suppose when man was slogging his way through the
swamps, beating his dinner over the head with clubs, he picked up a
stick and poked what was left out of his teeth. And here we are
today, traveling beyond the speed of light, proving Einstein wrong,
and scattering toothpicks throughout the universe. A marvelous
creation, man."

Dion glanced around the
bar, hunched closer to her. "Lady Maigrey," he said in low
tones, "can I ask you a question about that initiation?"

"Shhhh," she
warned, and he leaned nearer.

"During the rite,
I kept that . . . ball ... in the air. I willed it with my mind to
stay floating above my hands."

"Yes?" she
said, arranging the toothpicks in a square on the bar.

"I've been trying
it, in my room. I can't even keep a paper cup up in the air!"

Maigrey folded in one
side of the square. "You did what you did out of desperation,
duress, adrenaline. It takes years of study and training to learn to
break the laws."

"Break the law?
But I don't want—"

"Physical laws.
The laws of the universe."

"Can you do it?
Break the laws?" he asked in almost a whisper.

Maigrey smiled,
rearranged the toothpicks into an M.

"What could you
do, if you wanted, my lady?"

"What could I do?"
Her voice, her smile, were soft. "I could split the bulkheads
open. I could short out all the electrical systems. I could make each
man in this bar rise up and slay himself."

Dion stared at her,
skeptical, dubious. "If you could do all that, you could have
escaped, any time you wanted!"

"Yes, I suppose I
could have," Maigrey said, reversing the toothpicks, forming a
W.

"Then why—"
he paused, licking his lips. "Me, isn't it?"

Maigrey nodded, reached
for her glass, and took a drink. "Yes, you, Dion Starfire. I am
a Guardian, after all."

"You want
something, kid?" The bartender came over.

"What? Oh, no,
thank you." Dion waited until the man left. "This power—can
you teach me to use it?"

"No."

"No?" Dion
was disappointed, angry. "Then Lord Sagan will."

"I don't think so.
You see, that was the message of the rite, Dion. One of the messages,
at any rate. You have the power, but you are destined never to be
able to make use of it."

"Why? How do you
know?"

The gray eyes fixed on
him, their gaze cool, dispassionate. "Because it turned on you.
Because it damn near killed you!"

"But that's not
right, not fair! It's a . . . waste!"

Maigrey's gaze went
back to the glass in her hands. "Yes, a waste. All such a
waste." Rousing herself, she sighed and said, "It's almost
time for the meeting." She slid off the barstool.

"Wait a moment."
Dion, rising, blocked her way. "If you have these wonderful
powers, why don't you use them? Like"—he gestured angrily,
frustrated—"to pick up that glass or open doors—"

"We can't live
without order in our lives. One group of the Blood Royal tried it.
They became outlaws, running—not from the laws of man—but
from the laws of the universe. They plunged into chaos and never
managed to find their way out."

"Who were they?"

"They called
themselves the Order of Dark Lightning, a mockery of the priests'
Order of Adamant. They were 'mind-seizers.' Their order was destroyed
during the revolution. I suppose you could say, after all, some good
came out of evil." Maigrey waved to the bartender, who bowed in
return. "Thanks, Merlin."

"Is that his
name?" Dion turned to stare.

"God, I hope not."

She walked out of the
bar. Dion was amazed to see every man rise to his feet as she passed.
He imagined her standing in the midst of them, her long, pale hair
flowing over her shoulders, her arms raised to the heavens,
commanding, "Die. Die for me. Die for me now!"

Dion saw the
expressions on the faces of the men, heard the murmured words of
respect and admiration that fell at her feet like rose petals, and he
began to believe in her. His belief shook him to the core of his
being.

"You've fought the
Corasians before, haven't you?" Dion said, hastening after the
woman, who was traversing the corridors at an incredible rate of
speed. Men cleared her path, but they didn't clear Dion's, and he was
continually caroming off people and muttering apologies.

"Yes,"
Maigrey answered, glancing over her right shoulder. Not finding him
there, she looked over her left, saw him attempting to dodge a
servicebot, and slowed her pace to allow him to catch up. "The
Corasians used to raid the galaxy on a regular basis, hitting the
planets on the outer fringes, mostly. They're desperate for new
technology. They're an intelligent species, but they haven't a
creative bone in their bodies. In fact, they haven't any bones in
their bodies."

Maigrey stopped and
peered around the maze of corridors. "Where's the conference
room?"

"This way."
Dion steered her down a passageway to their left. "What are
they, then?"

"Creator only
knows. To me, they look like something a volcano spit up. Some sort
of intelligent form of energy, kind of like a flaming amoeba. That
sounds like a drink, doesn't it? A flaming amoeba. We made the
Corasians what they are today, you know."

"We did? How? We
take this elevator to level nine."

"My, those doors
shut fast, don't they? What level's the flight deck on?"

"Level sixteen.
Why?"

"No particular
reason. Just handy to know these things. Where was I? Oh, yes.
Bringing the Corasians into the twenty-second century. It happened
around the middle of the twenty-first, when hyperdrive had been
perfected and humans were happily zipping all over the universe,
spreading toothpicks. A bunch of priests— That sounds funny,
doesn't it? A bunch of priests. Perhaps it should be a flock.

"Anyway, these
priests were sent off to bring not only toothpicks but the Word of
God to the poor benighted souls in the galaxy next door who'd never
heard it. Discovering intelligent minds on the planet of Corasia, the
priests promptly landed and realized almost at once that they had
made one of history's all-time great mistakes. Sort of like the
enterprising life insurance salesman who sold policies to the men of
the Seventh Cavalry right before the Battle of Little Big Horn.

"The Corasians
were delighted to see the priests. So delighted that they refused to
let them go."

The elevator came to a
halt. The doors opened.

"The Corasians
kept the priests prisoner until the day they died and, from what we
have gathered, the good fathers must have prayed daily for death. You
see, at that time, the Corasians were just molten blobs, roaming
around their planet, sucking up the energy they needed to live.
They'd just about depleted the sources. The priests were—no pun
intended—a godsend."

"This is the
level," Dion said. Maigrey hadn't moved. He looked at his watch.
"We should hurry, my lady."

"Yes, I guess we
should." She walked out of the elevator, took a wrong turn. Dion
drew her back. "The first thing the Corasians did was to take
over the priests' robots. The Corasians discovered that they could
fit their bodies inside these machines and use them for the hands and
arms that they lacked. Their own energy powered the bots, they
supplied the intelligence. Once they'd done this, they had the
ability to take apart the robots, figure out how they were built, and
start building their own.

"By
'interrogating' the priests, the Corasians learned about our galaxy
and the marvels of technology we'd created that were just sitting
around, waiting to be picked up. Using the priests' taped voices, the
Corasians sent out distress signals and trapped ships that came to
their rescue. Once they had these ships, they were able to scavenge
more equipment, build more robots. Eventually they sailed forth and
attacked other ships, which led them to the human and alien colonies
that were springing up on the fringes of their own galaxy.