Sword of the Lamb (28 page)

A second later it hit.

He was spinning in emptiness, and yet he hadn’t moved. His muscles and flesh told him he was still sitting steadily in his chair, but his mind sent conflicting signals: the terrifying reality of falling.

Eladane
.

He lurched forward, his hands coming down hard on the table, the glass leaping out of his grasp, skipping across the surface. His field of vision was filled with explosions of color, every sound doubled itself, fading out first, then rushing in on him, a hideous cascade of cackling. He fought for control, some isolated bastion of reason in his mind deploying for a desperate, last-ditch battle. The pod shifted, upside down, whirling; the babbling-screaming-cackling beat at him, pulsing in agonizing bursts of orange and red, echoing with the moaning anguish from the fields of Alber.

And finally rage engulfed him, a white, molten rage burning through the smoke black fog of chaos. And with it came some measure of control. The dizziness was still there, his vision blurred, the sounds still distorted, but as he came to his feet, the babbling chorus was stopped at its source.

He steadied himself with one hand on the table, his eyes making a slow circuit of the suddenly fearful faces wavering grotesquely in the racked lens of his vision. Only Adrien’s face was clear.

Finally, he focused on Alton Robek, slack-jawed, stuttering, “Now—now, Alex—Holy God, loosen up! Just—just ride with it, or you’ll—”

Alexand moved suddenly, the timing and precision an agony of self-control. Left hand braced on the table, right hand lunging across to close on the crest medallion at Alton’s neck, a turn of the wrist, tightening the chain, jerking him forward. His spastic reaction sent glasses tumbling and called up shouts of alarm.

“A-Alex, look, it—it was only—
Alex
!”

His hand tightened on the chain, wrenching out that final cry. He stared down into Alton’s purpling face, and knew himself capable of tightening his hold until something broke, and knew it might be Alton’s neck.

“Alton, you foul-minded, arrogant fool! One last warning—from now on, stay out of my path!”

Abruptly, he released the chain, watching Alton fall backward in jerking slow motion. He felt himself swaying with the shifting of his own equilibrium and held on to his rage doggedly; it was the only way he could keep the drug at bay. He looked once at Adrien, but he was incapable of explaining or apologizing for leaving her. He only knew if he didn’t leave, he might lose control entirely.

“Julia!—” The rage burned hotter as he brought her startled, waxen face into focus. “I’m leaving. Are you coming with me?”

She hissed, “Leave me alone!” The words were slurred, as irrelevant as her attitude of pained indignation.

“Very well.” He looked around the pod, a savage irony in his tone. “My lords and my ladies, good night.”

“Alexand, wait! Don’t—”

Adrien came to her feet, but he had stepped out of the pod; she saw him fall slowly until he caught a guide-strand, then began working his way unsteadily toward the lift. She whirled around, black eyes flashing.

“Alton!”

He was fastidiously wiping some spilled liquor off his doublet; he looked up at her with a twisted half smile.

“Let him go, Adrien. He’ll get over it.”

“You’d better
hope
he gets over it! Holy God, you
are
a fool! Even if he isn’t sensitive to eladane, he’s in no condition to fly a ’car. How do you expect him—”

“That’s
his
problem.” Alton’s laugh was openly malicious. “Might be an interesting ride, though. Knowing ol’ Alexo, he won’t call for help.”

Adrien took a step toward him, her open palm meeting his cheek with a resounding crack. “You’re worse than a fool, Alton.
You
drugged him—you and this simpering bitch, Julia!”

“Why, you damned—” He surged to his feet, but stopped mid-sentence, silenced by the imperious, unflinching contempt in her eyes.

She said softly, “Alton, see Julia home. I’ll find my own way.”

She turned on her heel and stepped out of the pod.

Phillip Woolf had left the sounds of revelry behind, left his wife to smile and beguile the remaining guests in the ballroom and wonder what he had heard on his ’com to precipitate his abrupt departure. Now he strode down the silent corridor toward Alexand’s suite; he didn’t recognize the chill within him as fear, or count the accelerated beat of his pulse. He passed through the anteroom, his hand struck at the doorcon, and when the door slid open, he was five paces into the bedroom before he came to a stop.

It was a soft sound that was both laughter and weeping; an irrational sound, gone in a moment.

Alexand.

He lay staring blindly upward from his bed, his body half covered, naked. A biomonitor was strapped to one wrist, and Dr. Stel was studying the readings. Rich was at the bed, too. He turned now, the chair humming toward Woolf.

“I thought you should know about this, Father.”

“Rich, what happened?”

“He was drugged. Eladane.”

“
Eladane
!” Woolf stumbled to the bed. “The God help us. Alexand?”

There was no response. His eyes were dilated, nearly black, staring up out of his pale, gaunt face, reflecting a bleak despair that was numbing.

“My lord, I don’t think he can hear you.” Dr. Stel was watching Woolf from across the bed, his manner sober, but reassuring, as it always was.

Woolf straightened. “How serious is it, Marton?”

“At this point, there’s nothing to worry about.” The doctor glanced down at Alexand. “I’ve given him an antidote and a sedative. He’s reacting very well. He isn’t sensitive to the drug, fortunately. That would’ve have been apparent by now.”

It was typical, Woolf thought, that his parental anxiety turned to anger once it was assuaged. He tried to keep it in rein, tried not to think about Alber, but he’d had Alber thrown in his face with varying degrees of subtlety all evening.

The anger sagged out of him; it was so meaningless with his son’s unguarded, haunted face before him.

Alexand, if I could only understand
.

“How did this happen, Rich? Eladane, for the God’s sake.” He looked around at him. “Why?”

“Why
what
?” His steady, cognizant gaze made Woolf frown, and he didn’t attempt to reply. “Father, what are you thinking? That Alex took eladane voluntarily?”

“No. I . . . can’t believe that.”

Rich smiled. “I’m glad to hear that. Come—there’s someone waiting to talk to you. She has all the answers, and we shouldn’t detain her too long.” He turned the chair and moved toward the door into the salon off Alexand’s room.

Woolf felt confused and despised the feeling.
She
. Who was he talking about?

The salon was lighted with a single stabile shimmera on a small table near the windowall. Woolf was startled by the towering Bond standing beside the door; the man was vaguely familiar. But he was distracted from that enigma.

Adrien Camine Eliseer had been seated by the small table, and now she rose and stood waiting, caught in the shimmera’s light, ghostly and luminescent in a gown of white—no, a gown of pearls.

Woolf stopped, staring at her. At first, he thought it was only because her presence was so unexpected, but finally he realized it was because she called up a memory that was equally unexpected. He was remembering in the finest detail, as he hadn’t for years, the first time he saw Elise. She had been younger and in appearance very different from Adrien Eliseer, yet there was some elusive quality they held in common.

The hum of Rich’s chair roused him. Woolf followed him toward Adrien, smiling to put her at ease.

“My lady . . .”

She bowed her pearl-starred head, a restrained gesture that still conveyed the respect of a full curtsy.

“Good evening, my lord.” But the restraint faltered when she looked at Rich. “Rich, how . . . is he?”

“Still in limbo at the moment, but Dr. Stel has it under control. He’ll be all right, Adrien. Don’t worry.”

Her dark eyes closed, and her only response was a nod.

Rich turned to his father. “I know all this seems puzzling and even improper, but keep one thing in mind: after he was drugged, Alex—being unreasonably proud and in fact incapable of
being
reasonable—intended to make his way home unaided from the Outside in central Concordia. You can guess his chances of survival in his condition. Adrien probably saved his life tonight.” He paused, but Woolf stood in stunned silence. “Adrien will explain everything, Father. If you’ll both excuse me, I’ll go back to Alex.”

Woolf listened to the hum of the chair, heard the door open and close, and the room seemed oppressively quiet. He absently waved Adrien to her chair while he drew up another, watching her, hardly aware that he was doing so.

“My lord, I hope I can explain everything to your satisfaction.”

He nodded distractedly. “I hope so, too.” Then he glanced back over his shoulder at the huge Bond.

“I can ask Lectris to leave, my lord, but he’s already deeply involved in this out of necessity. He was at the float, or rather, waiting patiently outside. At home, they call Lectris my shadow; I seldom go anywhere without him, and I’ve found it . . . convenient to continue the practice when I’m with Alton. Lectris was on the landing roof, and I knew I could trust him, and so can you, my lord. He flew Alexand’s car for us.”

“He has a ’car permit?” That was unusual for a Bond; as unusual as the gun he carried.

She smiled obliquely. “I don’t like being surrounded by strangers. I have only two personal servants, both of whom I’ve known since childhood, and both Bonds. I know them and trust them. But Lectris and Mariet have to do multiple duty. Lectris is both my bodyguard and chauffeur. At any rate, when we reached the private landing roof here, Lectris had to help Lord Alexand to his suite. I’d ’commed Rich, and he made sure there were no guards at the entrance or in the halls. No one saw us bring him in, but his condition was such that Lectris’s assistance—and strong back—were absolutely necessary.”

Woolf frowned slightly; he wasn’t pleased at putting so much potentially damaging information in the hands of a Bond.

“My lady, perhaps you’d better tell me what happened at the float.”

“Of course, my lord.”

She calmly unfolded the story, a succinct account uncolored by emotion. That she despised Alton Robek and his friends couldn’t be doubted, yet she allowed herself no overt expression of her feelings, and Woolf was as shaken by her self-possession as by what she told him. He was reminded of Alexand; she had the same capacity for detached containment. He recognized it as something Alexand had learned from him, an exigency of survival for a First Lord, but in this lovely young woman it seemed sadly incongruous.

When at length she concluded her story, he rose and paced the floor, taking time to consider it. Finally, he stopped, facing the windowall. It looked north, away from the city; only a few clusters of lights dotted the blackness.

He was profoundly grateful for Adrien’s intervention; she probably
had
saved Alexand’s life. She’d also shown commendable discretion and averted a possible scandal: the first born of DeKoven Woolf, indirect heir to the Chairmanship, indulging in an illicit drug. Or so it would be told. He turned, studying Adrien, who still waited silently, unmoving and apparently unmoved.

“Adrien, are you quite sure it was Julia who put the eladane in Alex’s glass?”

She nodded, and for the first time a hint of emotion flashed in her eyes: a deep, chill contempt.

“Yes, my lord, I’m sure. Unfortunately I wasn’t sure—or, rather, I didn’t understand what I’d seen—until after the fact. There was a distraction, but I caught a movement out of the corner of my eye and an exchange—no words, only gestures—between Julia and Alton. It was his idea, of course, but she was closest to Lord Alexand.”

Woolf sighed and returned to his chair. In one sense Adrien had shown a dangerous
lack
of discretion. She’d left Alton, her sanctioned escort, to accompany Alexand—alone. Lectris wouldn’t be considered a suitable chaperon. The gossip-mongers could fabricate out of that a tale that would destroy her reputation, and no First Lord would consider her as a bride for his son; the Robek match would never take place, and that Directorate alliance was vital to Loren Eliseer.

“Adrien, don’t you realize that if any of this gets out
you’ll
suffer more than Alex. Most people will choose to believe he took the eladane voluntarily, and that will be damaging to him, especially coming on the the heels of—” He stopped, frowning. “But it will be far more damaging to you.”

Her chin came up, and her black eyes fixed unflinchingly on him. “And far more damaging to my House, my lord. I’m well aware of that. But when I followed Lord Alexand to the roof, he was in his ’car determined to take off, alone. I knew he wouldn’t call anyone to help him and that the risk of someone seeing and recognizing him, and recognizing his drugged state, would only increase if I tried to detain him there. I knew he was incapable of getting home safely by himself and, above all, I knew he needed a doctor. I
didn’t
know if he was sensitive to eladane. I had to weigh the risks to my reputation against the risks to his life.”

Woolf smiled ruefully at that calm declaration. “Please don’t misunderstand me. I’m deeply grateful to you, but I can’t understand why he wouldn’t call someone to help him.”

“Who would he call, my lord?”

Woolf shrugged uncomfortably. “I don’t know. Hilding—
someone
. It doesn’t matter who.”

“But it did to Alexand. You must remember he wasn’t thinking clearly; he couldn’t.”

“I suppose it’s unreasonable to expect him to think the problem out logically in his state, but I—” He paused, then came to his feet again. “Why didn’t he call
me
? Would that take so much logical consideration?”

She said quietly, “Perhaps he thought he’d already caused you embarrassment enough for one day.”

Woolf turned abruptly, stung by that. “I assume you’re referring to the Alber incident?”

“Yes.” The response was flat, uninflected.

He said coolly, “My lady, Alexand has never done anything to cause me embarrassment, and I will not waste so much as a moment’s thought on Karlis Selasis’s crude allegations.”

At that she smiled, an engaging smile that put him off balance.

“I’ve always known you to be an extraordinary man, my lord, and it’s borne out in the fact that you
aren’t
embarrassed. Only an extraordinary man could overlook the misunderstandings and gossip this has caused.”

Woolf replied tightly, “One can’t be bonded to public opinion, my lady.”

“But too many men in your position are. I’m pleased for Lord Alexand’s sake that you’re the exception. His behavior at Alber might seem foolish, and it was a hopelessly futile gesture, yet it showed great humanity and even courage. One might be proud of a son capable of that.”

“
Proud
?” The incredulous word slipped out, carrying a bitter emotional charge. He saw her ingenuous smile turn faintly ironic and realized he’d been deftly maneuvered into a revelation he hadn’t intended to make.

Will you bother to ask me why, Father
?

Woolf turned to the windowall, away from her probing gaze.

Of course, she couldn’t be expected to understand all the political ramifications of Alexand’s “futile gesture,” still . . . “Tell me, Adrien, are
you
proud of him?”

“I . . . would be proud of him, yes, even recognizing it as a foolish act, because it was a humane act, and . . . perhaps because I’ve always had an overactive imagination. So Mother tells me. Strange how people of little imagination fear it. I saw the newscasts this evening, my lord; the scenes from the Alber uprising. The ’casts show so little, but I could imagine what it was really like. Not the full scope of it—that would take more than imagination—but enough. Enough to understand why Alex . . .” Her dark eyes closed. “He’s not a soldier, my lord.”

Woolf moved toward her, covering the space between them so silently, she didn’t seem aware of him. He asked softly, “Adrien, does he still love
you
?”

She looked up at him, the contained calm shattered, as vulnerable as a child learning grief, as stunned as if he’d struck her.

“Oh, please, my lord . . .” She turned away, trembling, one hand pressed to her mouth, and Woolf couldn’t even ask her forgiveness; he didn’t trust his voice. This was the price of a political victory. Alexand was still paying it, too; it was only now that he understood this. Adrien’s grief revealed his.

The only bride for Alexand. It had been so right; everything about it had been right, until political expediency intervened, and now they would be bound for their lives in the chains of matrimony that were for the Elite unbreakable—part of the bitter price of power—bound to Alton Robek and Julia Fallor, who were arrogant and witless enough to play games with an illegal and potentially lethal drug like—

He stiffened. Holy God, what was wrong with him? Had he lost his capacity to
think
? Life-and-death games with an
illegal
drug, and he stood moaning and muddling. Selasis would never have wasted so much time, given this set of—

“My lord?” Adrien was looking up at him, her composure restored, but when he didn’t respond, she frowned uneasily. “My lord, forgive me if I’ve distressed you.”

“No, my lady.” He took her hands and gently pulled her to her feet. It’s for me to ask
your
forgiveness. Your parents will be worried about you. I’ll take you to the Robek Estate.” He pulled out his pocketcom as he started for the bedroom door. “I’ll have my ’car brought to the roof. Have you a face-screen?”

“I—why, yes, but you needn’t be concerned about me.”

He paused at the door and looked back at her. “Adrien, you may have saved my son’s life tonight, and I intend to do everything in my power to see that you don’t suffer for it. The first thing I must do is see you to the Robek Estate safely and explain the situation to your father. And while I’m there, I have something to say to Trevor Robek. Now, excuse me a moment. I must leave a message with Rich.”