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burning like flame. "Who will
be the ultimate winner?"
    "Who do you
suppose?" Rykilth asked dryly.
    "Bet?"
Olefsky raised his gigantic hand.
    "What
stakes?" DiLuna demanded.
    "One
hundred golden eagles."
    "Terms?"
    "That
before we leave this ship, the crown will not rest on two heads, but
one. The laddie's."
    "Ha!"
Rykilth gave a snort that sent the fog billowing and nearly blew out
his translator. "You might as well hand over your money now,
Olefsky. By the time we leave this ship, the laddie' will be lucky to
retain his head, much less the crown."
    "A bet,
then?" Olefsky asked coolly, extending his huge hand.
    "A bet."
Rykilth's small, gloved, three-fingered hand closed over as many of
Olefsky's fingers as the vapor-breather could manage.
    DiLuna scoffed.
"None of the three of us ever defeated Sagan. You're saying this
'boy' will do what we couldn't?"
    "I am,"
the Bear replied imperturbably. "None of us were Blood Royal."
    "All thanks
to the Goddess for that! It will be a pleasure taking your money, my
friend." DiLuna's hand gripped the big man's firmly.
    Laughing, the
three shifted their conversation to more important topics.
    The double
doors, decorated with the phoenix, closed and sealed. Sagan removed
his helm, placed it carefully upon its stand. His hands clasped
behind his back, beneath the flowing red cape, he took a turn about
the spacious area of his living quarters, glanced out the viewscreen
at the other ships in his fleet, looked to see if there were any
messages on his computer screen, then turned to face his king.
    "What is it
you have to say, Your Majesty?" Sagan asked coldly.
    Dion's anger was
at hand, sharp and shining with the righteousness of his cause.
    "The girl
died, the one I could have healed! She drowned herself, and it was my
fault. Never again. Never again will I listen to you or take your
advice. You don't want me to discover my true powers because you're
afraid of me. I am king and I will be king!"
    The Warlord said
nothing, did nothing.
    "I came to
tell you that. I will be in my quarters, should you decide to
respond." Dion tinned to leave.
    "I have a
vid I think Your Majesty should see," came Sagan's voice behind
him.
    Dion stopped,
glanced around, eyes narrowed, immediately suspicious.
    "I am
extremely tired, my lord. It can wait until morning."
    The Warlord
depressed a button on a console. A vidscreen slid into view. "No,
Your Majesty, it cannot. Computer, bring up exhibit number B-221."
    A vid appeared
on the screen. Blurred at first, it sharpened as the computer
adjusted the focus and brought into view the corpse of a teenage
girl, her face hideously deformed, laid out upon a steel table. The
girl's body was naked, her hair wet, bedraggled. The feet and hands
were blue, a numbered tag was wrapped around one toe.
    Dion made a
strangled sound, shock and fury robbed him of his voice. He continued
walking toward the double doors.
    "Look at
her, Your Majesty!" Sagan's voice grated. "If you
have the nerve. Her death was, as you say, your fault. Your
responsibility, though perhaps not the way you imagine."
    Slowly, hands
clenching to fists, Dion faced the horrible image on the vidscreen,
faced the impassive, shadowed visage of the Warlord.
    "You are
right, my lord." Dion swallowed, his throat muscles constricting
in his neck. "I must accept the burden of this young woman's
self-destruction. I have much to learn. I thank your lordship for
teaching me."
    "You have
much to learn, all right!" Sagan snapped.
    The cam zoomed
in on the body, bringing it closer, closer, studying it from every
angle. Dion drew a deep breath, held himself steady.
    "Body of
Jane Doe," came a voice over the audio, a woman's voice,
sounding calm and bored. "Vid taken prior to autopsy for
purposes of identification." The coroner gave the planet's date
and time, also Standard Military date and time, her own name and
official title, adding, "Anyone having information regarding the
identity of subject Jane Doe is asked to report