The Lost King (69 page)

Or it had been, once.

"Emergency
distress signal sent, sir."

A docking bay door
yawned wide to receive them. Maigrey could see a flurry of activity
inside. They wouldn't know the nature of the emergency and there'd be
medics and crash squads and fire details. Chaos. Confusion. And
Phoenix
had undergone heavy shelling, had doubtless sustained
serious damage. The Warlord's full attention would be claimed the
moment he set foot on deck.

No, it wouldn't.

Maigrey closed her
eyes.

I'll have to kill him
this time.

The end is where we
start from.

T. S. Eliot, "Little
Gidding"

Emergency personnel in
their ungainly, protective suits swarmed over the plane when it was
safely down. The Warlord lifted the top hatch, and men peered into
the cockpit. Their faces, dimly seen through the panels of the huge
helmets they wore, registered extreme astonishment at the sight of
their Warlord seated in the prototype Scimitar.

"Get that thing
out of my face!" Sagan snarled, shoving aside a man waving a
radiation detector at him. The Warlord rose from his seat, obviously
glad to stretch to his full height.

"Admiral Aks!"
A lieutenant was shouting into a commlink. "Lord Sagan's arrived
safely, sir! Yes, sir. Docking bay sixteen. Yes. sir. I ll relay the
message, sir."

The emergency crews
were scattering, disappearing to attend to some other pressing duty.
Red lights were flashing, Maigrey could hear the distant sound of
drums.

The lieutenant's head
popped up in the viewport. "My lord, Admiral Aks requests your
presence on the bridge. As quickly as possible, my lord."

Sagan released the side
hatch and started to exit. "I'm on my way First, send this
message to
Defiant
—"

The harsh sound of
weeping interrupted him. Maigrey turned, the Warlord glanced around.
Dion was bent double, head buried in his arms, sobbing. His body
shook; he could scarcely draw a breath.

Disgust darkened
Sagan's face. His lips twisted in a sneer. "He seems to have
inherited your weakness for tears, my lady. Lieutenant, send for Dr.
Giesk."

"Ill stay here
with him until help comes," Maigrey offered. She tasted despair
like gall in her mouth.

The Warlord paused and
looked at her, intently, steadily, and Maigrey could have sworn, in
that instant, that he knew everything. If so, he must be triumphant,
she thought and couldn't help but avert her gaze, biting her lip to
keep from screaming in frustration.

He turned without a
word. When she was able to risk looking after him, she saw him
striding across the hangar deck.

"Is he gone?"
came a clear, cool voice.

Astonished, Maigrey
whirled around. Dion lifted himself up out of his seat. There wasn't
a trace of a tear on his face.

"You're all
right?" Maigrey gasped.

"No, but I notice
that doesn't seem to stop anybody around here." Dion drew a deep
breath. "I'll fly this plane to
Defiant
."

"My God, child,
I'm glad you're . . . you're not ordinary!" It was all she could
think of to say. "You'll have to leave quickly, while there's no
one in the hangar. Give John my . . . my love"—Dixter
would understand, he always understood—"and godspeed,
young man!" She added fervently. "Godspeed!"

Dion caught hold of
her. "Come with me! Give John Dixter your love yourself! We've
tricked the Warlord. We'll be away from here before he knows we're
gone!"

Maigrey recalled the
look Sagan'd given her before he left.

"He'll know,"
she said.

"Lady, please—"

"You have your
duty, Your Majesty, and I have mine. Yours is to your people. Mine is
to you."

Dion's blue eyes flared
beneath the flaming hair, the reddish brows creased, the underlip
thrust out. He was a Starfire, and they were accustomed to having
everything they wanted. He was afraid, too. The fear must twist
inside him. He didn't want to go by himself.

"Our duty isn't
easy sometimes, Dion, but it must be done. Its what we were born to
do." Maigrey clasped his hand and held it fast. "You won't
be alone, Dion."

The struggle was brief
and bitter. When it ended, the boy's hps had tightened into a
straight, dark line.

"I be alone. I'll
always be alone. It's what I was born to." Dion released her
hand. "God be with
you
, at least, Guardian. If that's
what you want."

Maigrey backed away.

Dion sealed shut the
hatch and did not look at her again. Through the viewscreen she could
see him—face set and rigid, the blue eyes a sheet of ice, jaw
hard and clenched. The red-golden hair burned like living flame. Dion
was a Starfire, and they were kings.

I would like to thank
my excellent friend and science adviser, Gary Pack, for his creation
of the bloodsword and the really horrible and terrifying new weapon
featured in the next book.

I would like to thank
Janet Pack for moral support, even if she didn't know who wrote "I
love my truck"!

I would like to thank
Patrick Price and his mother, Camille Chasteen, for their translation
of the French language in this text and John Hefter for the
translation of the Latin.

I would like to thank
my wonderful friend and co-author (on most everything except this),
Tracy Hickman, for his overall help and inspiration.