King's Sacrifice Read Online Free PDF Page A

lives on Defiant ?"
    "I know, I
know. Lay off, Nola—"
    "It's why
the Starlady made you his Guardian, Tusk—"
    "Yeah, then
what does she do? Walks off. Drops outta sight. Leaves us to take the
flak—"
    "That's not
fair. You can't judge her, Tusk. You don't understand."
    "Damn
right, I don't understand! I don't understand anything except I'm the one who's always around. I'm the one who watched them
stick a crown on that kid's head, then start driving nails into him."
    "He put the
crown on his own head. It was his choice."
    "After they
held it up and showed him how bright and fancy it was and let him try
it on and told him how great he looked in it and how well it fit and
groveled at his feet and messed with his mind. Who knows what ideas
that evil old man gave him, sticking needles into him—"
    "Don't,
Tusk." Nola paled, swallowed. "Don't talk about that time."
    "Sorry,
sweetheart." Tusk sighed, put his arm around her and hugged her
close. "Sorry. I didn't mean to bring up bad memories." He
was silent a moment. "I'm scared for him, Nola."
    "I know,
dear."
    "That's why
I want to run sometimes. I don't see anything good coming outta this.
Like sittin' in a theater, watching a vid, and knowing how it's going
to end—"
    "You don't know how it's going to end."
    "I've got a
pretty good idea," Tusk said gloomily. "I know the
director, and he doesn't believe in happily ever after. Speaking of
Sagan, I guess I'd better go see if I can deflect the latest hammer
blows. Where'll you be?"
    "I'm going
to soak in a hot shower and wash my hair. Meet you in the bar?"
    "Yeah.
Order me a double and have it waiting. I'll need it," Tusk
predicted grimly and stalked off, down the corridor, away from the
lift and the flight deck and his spaceplane and freedom.
    Nola watched
after him, sighed. "Oh, Tusk, I wish you understood. Those nails
are passing right through Dion. You're the only one they're
hurting."
    Afraid of being
late, Tusk beat it to the comm at a dead run, only to discover on
arrival, hot and out of breath, that John Dixter was the sole
person—besides the men on duty— present.
    Tusk glanced
nervously about the room, its hundreds of blinking glass eyes staring
outward, reflecting back what they saw, keeping watch on people and
events around the galaxy. Operators sat at their posts, monitoring,
transmitting, speaking in myriad languages, listening to myriad more.
The different images on the various screens shifted rapidly; it made
Tusk dizzy to watch, reminded him uncomfortably of the fact that time
and events were rocketing forward, out of control, like a spaceplane
with a malfunctioning hyperdrive.
    "Is it
over?" he demanded. Despite his rebellious talk, he couldn't
help but feel queasy at the thought of missing one of the Warlord's
summons.
    "No, no,"
said Dixter in a soothing tone. He smiled slightly, sympathetic.
"Hasn't started yet."
    "But
Bennett—"
    "I sent him
after Dion early. Give His Majesty a chance to change his clothes,
freshen up . . ."
    "Arm
himself."
    "Yes, that,
too," Dixter replied quietly.
    Tusk sighed,
mopped his forehead with the sleeve of his uniform, completely
forgetting to use the standard regulation-issue handkerchief tucked
neatly, according to regulations, into his cuff. He saw Dixter's
eyebrow raise, saw him glance at the stain on Tusk's sleeve, and it
occurred to the former mercenary, belatedly, that he, too, would
shortly be in the Warlord's presence.
    Tusk groaned and
began to try to twitch his uniform coat into place, brush off his
trousers. He gave his black boots a quick shine by rubbing them
against the backs of his pant legs. This did nothing for the
appearance of his uniform, seen from behind, but he wasn't likely to
be presenting his posterior to the Warlord.
    Not that it
wasn't a temptation. Tusk couldn't help grinning at the thought.
Looking up, he saw Dixter watching the proceedings with amusement.
    Tusk felt his
skin grow warm.
    "XJ would
be proud