Ghost Legion (33 page)

"Your Majesty .. ." Dixter said, concerned. "I'm all
right," Dion replied. Drawing in a deep breath, he turned,
walked back to his desk, resumed his seat. "Do you know what she
wrote, sir? Did she show you the letter?"

"No, son, of course not. But I have a pretty good idea. She told
me everything. She seemed to need someone to talk to. She's very
lonely, Dion."

"I know. Damn it, I know! Everything she said was true. And
more. A lot more. She had the grace to spare me the worst." He
hesitated, then said, "I
have
been having an affair."
"Olefsky's daughter," Dixter said quietly.

Dion started up out of his chair, alarmed, amazed. "How could
you know? Did she know, say anything—"

Dixter flushed. "I'm sorry. 7 shouldn't have said anything. It
was just a guess on my part, Dion. Nola told me all about your
relationship, years ago, when she heard you were going to be married
to someone else. She was worried about you, wanted me to keep an eye
on you. Your secret's safe with me."

"Safe with you. Safe with D'argent, safe with Cato, safe with
his men, safe with Olefsky and his wife . . ."

"Not one of these people would betray you, son."

"No," said Dion, "but what must they think of me? I am
their king. I'm supposed to be the example—"

"You're also human, Dion," said Dixter with a gentle smile.

"And how can one be both?" Dion walked away from his desk,
returned to the window. "Strange, that this should come right on
the heels of the other. An object lesson from God, Sagan would say."

"Sagan." Hearing the name, Dixter leaned forward. "You
heard from the archbishop?"

"I heard from Sagan, spoke to him."

"He
is
alive," Dixter murmured.

"Very much," said Dion dryly. "More than he wants to
be, I think. He had an interesting tale to tell. As if I don't have
problems enough. Apparently I'm not the only reprobate in the
family."

Dion related the doctor's confession. John Dixter listened in
attentive silence and if he was shocked or repulsed, he kept his
feelings concealed. At the conclusion, he only shook his head.

"It's hard to believe. And yet, it isn't. Many of the Blood
Royal came to think that they were above the laws which governed
ordinary men. Your uncle, the king, for one. Sagan, for another."

"Me—for a third?" Dion said, glancing at Dixter. "And
yet, if I were an ordinary man, I would not be in this situation. I
would be married to Kamil. ..."

"You made the choice. Your Majesty."

"Yes. I made the choice. But now we have additional worries,"
he said briskly. He reported Sagan's speculations and deductions
concerning Pantha, the child, Vallombrosa.

Dixter frowned, shook his head again when Dion told him of the
Warlord's advice to destroy the planet outright. The admiral nodded,
appeared to agree with Dion's refusal to accept the starjewel, arm
the space-rotation bomb. Yet nevertheless, at the end of the king's
report, Dixter again rubbed his chin, sighed.

"And now we can do nothing but wait."

"And trust in Sagan," Dion said.

John Dixter heard the ironic tone, shook his head. "That's the
part I don't like. What did you think of him?"

"Dangerous. Maybe more dangerous now than he ever was. Then he
had a purpose, a mission, a divine calling. Now he has nothing,
consequently nothing to lose. He thinks even God has abandoned him."

"And yet you
do
trust him." It was a statement,
calmly made.

"Yes," said Dion, after a thoughtful pause. "I trust
him. I can't tell you why. Maybe because ... what other choice do I
have?"

"Several." Dixter shrugged. "Not the least of which is
the one he made you himself. Oh, maybe not explode the bomb on them,
but we could send in warships, a show of force—"

"Against an uninhabited planet? Send the fleet into a dead part
of space? We'd look like fools."

"Call it a training exercise, maneuvers—"

"The media would jump on it like starving hounds. They'd be
bound to uncover something—this Ghost Legion, if nothing else.
We'll let Sagan confront my cousin, find out what he wants. Find out
if he even exists. Then, when we know the facts, we can deal with the
matter."

"And then Sagan can make
his
choice," Dixter said
softly.

"What did you say?" Dion looked up. "I'm sorry, sir,
I'm afraid I was thinking about something else."

"Nothing." Dixter waved a deprecating hand. "Just
talking to myself. A bad habit. Comes with getting old. With Your
Majesty's permission . . ."

"Certainly, my lord." Dion stood up. The interview was at
an end.

Dixter rose to his feet. "I'll double the guard around the
space-rotation bomb. And I'll post a few ships in the general
vicinity of Vallombrosa. The worsening situation on Maluvura will
give us a good excuse. It's near there."

But John Dixter didn't leave. He stood gazing thoughtfully at the
king. He was obviously wanting to add something, say something
further.

If I were an ordinary man, Dion said to himself, if I were Tusk, for
example, Dixter would rest his hand on my shoulder; offer some bit of
wise advice. He wouldn't expect me to take it, not really. He'd just
be saying it to let me know he cares. That he understands.

But he can't understand. He knows that; he is coming to realize it
now. And so he won't say anything. What man dares offer sympathy to
his king?

What king dare accept it?

"Good-bye, sir," said Dion. "Thank you for coming. As
I said before, I am sorry you were involved."

After Dixter had gone, Dion stood a moment in silent thought; then,
sighing softly, he summoned his secretary.

"Establish communication with the planet Ceres," he told
D'argent. "I want to speak to . . . my wife."

Giving honor unto the wife, as unto the weaker vessel.

The Bible,
1 Peter 3:7

Dion sat at his desk, studying—or trying to study—the
latest proposals for a peaceful settlement on Muruva. He was
wondering, in reality, what was taking D'argent so long to reach
Astarte, had placed his hand on the commlink twice to find out and,
twice, had withdrawn it. His secretary knew quite well what he was
doing, how to manage it discreetly. Better than Dion, who—now
that he thought about it—had very little idea where Astarte
was, how she could be reached.

Almost an hour passed.

Something's wrong, Dion realized, giving up all pretense at working.
He was on his way to find out what, when the door opened and D'argent
entered.

The secretary's cheeks were flushed, the quiet, calm demeanor
disturbed.

"Forgive the delay, sir. I am unable to reach Her Majesty."

"Yes, and ..."

D'argent's lips tightened. It was the first time Dion could recall
having seen his secretary angry. "The Baroness DiLuna wishes to
speak to you, sir."

"So much for keeping this between ourselves," Dion
muttered, speaking before he thought. "Her Majesty ran home to
her mother!"

"Not precisely, sir," D'argent replied, his expression
softening somewhat. He had always liked the queen. "According to
my contacts on Ceres, Her Majesty has returned to the Temple of the
Goddess, which, although it is located in the central city-state of
Ceres, is high in the mountains. It is isolated, at some distance
from the palace. Her Majesty was raised in the temple, sir. She is
High Priestess. It would be natural for her to go there, rather than
to the palace of her mother. The two of them have never been
particularly close. As you might guess. Her Majesty is not the type
of daughter the baroness would be proud to have 'sired,' so to
speak."

Dion knew the relationship between mother and daughter was tense. The
baroness visited infrequently, and when she did, Astarte was quiet
and reserved, seemed to retreat into herself. Dion—who had
always been on friendly terms with the baroness, as long as he didn't
have to be around her a great deal of the time—recalled that he
had noticed his wife's unhappiness during one of her mother's visits,
but had never bothered to discuss it with her, never cared enough to
find out the reason.

"I assume you attempted to reach Her Majesty at the temple. If
that's possible ... It's not closed to outside communication, is it?"

"Oh, no, sir. It is quite large, as large as a city itself, and
they have an extremely sophisticated communications network. They are
the central authority for a religion that has a vast number of
followers, not only on their home planet, but throughout their
system, as well as several systems nearby. Mostly due to the efforts
of Her Majesty, the religion is spreading. Her Majesty is quite
popular with the people, sir."

Is that meant as a subtle rebuke? Dion wondered, eyeing his secretary
with a momentary flicker of displeasure. Well, what if it is? he
asked himself. I have earned it.

"You can't get through to her there, I take it."

"No, sir. All channels to the temple and vicinity are closed.
The excuse is some sort of solar disturbance, but I am convinced that
they are being jammed."

"The baroness."

"Undoubtedly, sir. Her Majesty may have no idea that this is
happening."

"How would DiLuna find out, then?" Dion asked, still
suspicious.

"Her Majesty's guards, sir, are far more loyal to the baroness
than they are to Her Majesty."

"I see." Dion pondered.

Something else he hadn't known. He had always assumed that his wife
and the warrior women who dogged her every step were all part of the
same sisterhood. Now he was being forced to take a different view of
the matter.

She's lonely
, Dixter had said. Dion had wondered at the time
how that could be possible. He was beginning to understand.

"I'll talk to the baroness," he said, heading for the room
ad-joining his office, his own personal and private communications
center.

"It won't be pleasant, sir," predicted D'argent ominously,
leaving to make the necessary arrangements.

No, thought Dion, but then I've asked for this, too. He was not
extremely apprehensive, however. He had earned the warrior woman's
respect by piloting a spaceplane during the Battle of the Void, as
their flight from Corasia had come to be called. As commander he
could have remained in relative safety on the bridge of
Phoenix
,
but he had chosen to lead his troops into battle. DiLuna gloried in
combat and figured that, because he had chosen to fight, he felt the
same.

Dion had never disillusioned her, never told her—or anyone—that
he'd been testing himself. The first time he'd flown combat against
the Corasians, he'd panicked, been captured, taken prisoner. Maigrey
and Sagan had been forced to risk their lives to rescue him. A hot
rush of shame suffused his body whenever he recalled that incident.
He was determined, the first chance he had, to prove himself to them.

But by then Maigrey was dead, had given her life to save his. Sagan
had vanished. Dion had been left to prove himself to himself. He'd
done it. He had overcome his fear, fought well—as both Sagan
and Tusk had taught him.

If he hadn't, he would not have been king. He'd made up his mind to
that. It was the least he owed them.

Ever since that time, DiLuna had thought quite highly of her
son-in-law; more highly of him than of her daughter, apparently.

"Baroness DiLuna," he said, and added the formal greeting
in her own language, when her image came on the vidscreen. "It
is a pleasure to see you again."

She was an imposing woman. Oyer sixty years old, she had borne
daughters who had themselves borne daughters, who were nearly of an
age to bear daughters themselves. Her scalplock was pure white, no
longer jet-black, but her black eyes were as fierce and proud as they
had been in her youth. Tall, strong, well-muscled, she still trained
her warriors—men as well as women—in hand-to-hand combat
herself, offering a purse of golden eagles to anyone who could best
her. Few had been known to win and those few were immediately
promoted to either her own personal guard (the women) or her bed (the
men).

"My liege lord." She acknowledged Dion with an abrupt jerk
of her head that set her gunmetal earrings to jangling discordantly.

No bow, no formal greeting in return. The expression on her leathery,
heavily lined, and battle-scarred face was unreadable. Dion could
make nothing of it except for, perhaps, a faint hint of elation,
triumph.

That boded ill, and he was on his guard.

"It is a pleasure, as always, to speak with you, Baroness,"
he said, using her formal title in her own language, of which the
common Standard Military term of "baroness" was, in
reality, only a crude translation, "but I am endeavoring to
reach Her Majesty. She is, I believe, residing in the Temple of the
Goddess. How long do you anticipate these solar interferences to
last?"

"A long time," said DiLuna, black eyes glinting. "Perhaps
indefinitely. Who can say? Our sun is unstable. Such manifestations
often occur when the Goddess is displeased."

Dion stirred in silent anger. Ceres' sun was as placid as was
possible for a burning mass of gases and molten rock to be. But he
maintained his calm, refusing to let DiLuna provoke him to anger—one
method she often used to defeat an unwary opponent.

"This is most inconvenient. Naturally, I am concerned about my
queen's safety and well-being—"

"Since when?" DiLuna's lip curled.

Dion was hit. She'd drawn first blood, while he'd been standing
flat-footed. So this was how Astarte kept her promise to keep this
quarrel between themselves. Dion could do nothing, however, but
pretend he had not been wounded, hope the bloodstain wouldn't show.

"Truly, this interference is most annoying," Dion said
coolly. "I was unable to hear your last remarks, Baroness
DiLuna. I have enjoyed speaking with you, but I am hoping to speak to
Her Majesty. Perhaps she could come to the palace, since it appears
that
your
communications channels are not affected—"