King's Sacrifice by Margaret Weis Read Free Book Online Page B

exercise routines that had
once been enjoyable, had once been performed for relaxation, were now
done in grim earnest, as if he could outrun time . . . and destiny.
    "My
lord"—Aks tread delicately—"why not allow young
Starfire the chance to test his healing power? We could set up a
controlled experiment. Dr. Giesk has suggested how it could be done."
    "Bah!"
The Warlord's calm had returned, at least on the surface. '"God
works in mysterious ways,' not through the mechanical fingers of
Giesk's medicbots."
    "But if we
could prove to His Majesty one way or the other—"
    Sagan broke in
irritably. "The fact that he needs proof that be can perform
miracles. Admiral is the surest possible sign that he can't. And
according to the rite, to the ritual of initiation, God has granted
him the powers of the Blood Royal but not the ability to use them.
The ultimate sacrifice. Although"—the Warlord's voice grew
bitter again—"I could be wrong about what God intends.
I've been wrong about His plans before now."
    Aks backed off,
detoured around this path in haste. Loyal as he was to Sagan, the
admiral refused to follow his lord into the deep, dark, and tangled
bog of religion.
    "Your
orders, my lord?"
    "Maintain
our current position, Admiral. And prepare for guests. Open up the
diplomatic suites."
    "Very good,
my lord. May I inquire the names?" Aks was trying to remain
nonchalant, but he had the feeling he knew what was coming.
    The Warlord
glanced at his admiral, smiled the rare, dark smile so few ever saw.
"You know them, Aks. Olefsky, Rykilth, Baroness DiLuna ..."
    "It's war,
then." Aks rubbed his hands together with pleasure. If anything
could blow away the clouds hanging over his lord, it would be the
winds of war.
    "We have no
choice. President Robes—or whoever's behind him, advising
him—is good." Sagan's brow furrowed. "Very good. We
came near losing without a shot being fired. I dare not take the
chance any longer."
    The Warlord's
darkness threw a shadow over Aks. The admiral was ready for
aggressive action. In his mind, war was long overdue. But he scented
the gangrenous whiff of fear and desperation, and that unnerved him.
What did his lord mean by the statement Robes—or whoever's
behind him?
    Derek Sagan was
afraid. The sudden realization appalled Aks, alarmed him beyond the
power of speech. He had never known his lord to fear anything. Sagan
had faced down Death so many times the two must be bored by the sight
of each other by now. What had really happened that night at Snaga
Ohme's? What were these "certain circumstances"?
    "Aks?"
An impatient snap.
    The admiral
started guiltily. "My lord?"
    "Did you
hear what I just said?"
    "I—I'm
afraid, not, my lord. I was thinking of . . . arrangements—"
    "I realize
that thinking does require an extraordinary amount of effort for you,
Aks. Perhaps you could pay attention to me now and think later."
    "Yes, my
lord," replied the admiral gravely.
    "I was
saying that we should start making preparations fin-war, although
these need not be mentioned to His Majesty. The king will believe
himself to be in command, of course."
    "Will His
Majesty go along with it?"
    "He will,"
Sagan said, his tone ominous, "when I fully explain the
circumstances. That is all, Admiral. You have leave to return to your
duties."
    Aks bowed
silently, crossed the room, was near the door, when he paused,
turned, and noiselessly crossed the thick heavy carpet that covered
the deck in the Warlord's sparsely furnished, Spartan quarters.
    Sagan, thinking
he was alone, had relaxed his rigid posture. His shoulders slumped in
weariness, he ran his hand through sweat-dampened hair.
    The admiral was
not a brilliant man. He knew this feet about himself, the knowledge
had never bothered him. He knew his value to Sagan, knew himself to
be an ally who was trusted because he wasn't cunning enough to be
feared. Older than Sagan, Aks had known the Warlord over twenty
years.