The Lost King Read Online Free PDF Page B

light.'"
    Catching hold of the
boy's sleeve, Tusk pulled him into the shadows. He could feel the
boy's body tense like a cat's, coiled, ready to spring.
    "So, Dion,"
Tusk continued, feeling jittery. "You got a last name?"
    It seemed a natural
enough question, but the boy went stiff and rigid as if he'd been
stabbed. Dion turned to confront Platus. The blue eyes caught the
light, glittered cold and clear as the starjewel. Platus shook his
head. The expression on his face was faintly apologetic, faintly
stern, wholly uncomfortable. Dion smiled a thin, bitter smile and
turned his back on them, folding his arms across his chest.
    What the hell was that
all about? Tusk wondered irritably, liking this less and less.
    "Right, skip it.
Most places I go, I don't use a last name either. Everyone calls me
Tusk." He held out his hand.
    The boy turned, his
face a struggle, seeking self-control. He achieved it, after a
moment; his handshake was strong and firm. Tusk saw a brief, strained
smile and a flicker of warmth in the eyes—gratitude, he knew,
for not asking any more questions.
    After the introduction,
the three stood staring at one another in the dark shadows of the
warehouse.
    Tusk fidgeted. It was
an awkward moment. Should he leave the two alone for a last good-bye,
or would it be easier on everyone to just get the kid out of here? He
had a decided preference for the latter. He'd left XJ in charge of
the repairs while he came to pick up the kid and, though Tusk knew
the computer could do a better job than he could of rewiring the
complex electrical circuitry that had been damaged in the battle on
Rinos, he still felt better keeping an eye on things.
    The silence was
deafening. Tusk could hear it roar in his ears, and he started to say
something that would probably be wrong but would at least get
everyone moving when Platus stepped up to Dion. Reaching out, the man
laid his hands on the boy's shoulders, holding him at arm's length.
    "You have given me
so much. And I have given so very little in return. I cannot even
give you a name, and you may never understand why. But, oh, Dion, I
have loved you!" Platus drew the boy near.
    Dion's lips tightened,
his blue eyes flashed, and he seemed about to break free of the man's
hold. Suddenly the boy crumbled. His head sank down, his shoulders
slumped. Platus gathered Dion into his arms, embracing him tightly.
The young man threw his arms around Platus and buried his face in the
man's shoulder with a sob.
    Tusk, watching, turned
away. It wasn't the sight of the boy's tears that brought the sudden,
bitter taste to his mouth. It was the sight of Platus's face—a
pale mask in the reflected light.
    On that face, Tusk saw
death.
    The mercenary had seen
that look before. He had known those who had a premonition or
whatever it was that they were going to die. And they'd gone into
battle . . . and they'd died.
    Tusk felt an urgent
need to get off this planet. He touched the boy on the shoulder.
    "Uh, kid. We
better get moving. I still got a lot of work to do on the plane
before morning."
    "Yes. He's right,
Dion. You must go."
    Platus ran his hand
lovingly through the boy's mane of red-gold hair, then pushed Dion
away from him. Leaning down, he picked up a large duffel bag and
silently handed it to the young man. Tusk walked over to the
warehouse door, pretending to check around outside. In reality he was
giving the kid time to wipe his eyes, blow his nose, and pull himself
together.
    "Here are your
clothes, some books—your favorites, plus a few you will need to
continue your studies. I've included several lesson plans so that you
can keep on as if I were—" Platus's voice sank, nearly
failing him. "Your syntharp and your music is in there as well,"
he added with a tremendous effort of will.
    "I'll continue my
work. And I'll let you know where I am, how I'm doing." Dion
must have seen the look on Platus's face, too, though probably he
didn't understand it. "You'll be all