to—" name
of local police chief.
The cam lingered
for a close-up of the hideous face, traveled casually over the upper
part of the body, moved down the right arm to focus on the victim's
right hand.
"No
tattoos. No moles or birthmarks," the coroner continued. "The
only wounds found on the body were discovered on palm of the right
hand."
White flesh
filled the screen—white flesh crisscrossed with the lines used
by fortune tellers to trace a human's destiny, white flesh marred by
five small puncture marks arranged in a peculiar pattern.
Dion let go his
inheld breath. Balls of yellow burst before his eyes, he was suddenly
sick and dizzy. Dazed, he lifted his right hand, stared down at his
palm. Five scars, five puncture marks, arranged in the same pattern.
Draw a line between them, connect the dots, and they'd form a
five-pointed star.
Sagan ordered
the computer to freeze the frame. It did so, leaving the image of the
dead girl's hand on the screen.
"By her
report, the coroner had a difficult time determining what these marks
were," the Warlord stated, regarding the photo with cool,
frowning detachment. "She concluded that they were made by five
metal needles, driven into the skin. But for what reason or purpose,
she couldn't fathom She surmised it was some type of drug use, though
she couldn't find any trace of drugs in the body. Admittedly, she
didn't spend much time investigating. The young woman had obviously
died by drowning, obviously finally succeeded in doing what she'd
attempted to do several times before. We know differently, however,
don't we, my liege? We know it wasn't suicide. It was murder,
cold-blooded, calculating murder."
Dion found a
chair and sat down before he fell.
"Abdiel."
He spoke softly. The name conjured up bitter memory. He stared at his
hand, curled the fingers over the palm, hiding the marks.
"Abdiel,"
Sagan repeated.
"You knew
... all along."
"I didn't
know. I suspected. When I received news of the girl's suicide, I sent
Dr. Giesk to examine the body, obtain the coroner's report. He
recognized immediately the true cause of death."
"But she
drowned! It was suicide, the coroner said so." Dion clung
to his fragment of hope.
"Yes, death
was by drowning. No one actually saw her jump, but, as you heard, no
marks were found on the body. There were no indications of a
struggle. I have no doubt she took her own life. But did she do so of
her own volition?" Sagan shook his head. "You know yourself
how Abdiel can manipulate the mind, especially those with whom he has
bonded."
Dion shuddered,
grasped his right wrist, nursed his hand as if it pained him. "But
she wasn't mind-dead. I would have recognized one of his disciples."
"Exactly.
Abdiel would know that, of course. The girl was probably a new
acquisition, one recently obtained. The effects of bonding with the
mind-seizer, such as the lifeless look in the eyes, come only after a
period of time."
Dion laughed
suddenly, mirthlessly. "What would Abdiel have done if I had healed her?"
"He had
little cause to fear that. Through your bloodsword, he sees inside
you."
The young man
flushed, frowned, made no response.
Sagan followed
up his advantage. "He sees your doubt, your lack of faith. He
can use it all against you. And against me."
Dion opened his
mouth to argue, closed it again. The dead hand on the screen seemed
raised against him, raised in wrath and vengeful accusation.
"Due to the
swift action of the guard in destroying that remote reporter 'droid,
the damage that could have been caused by this incident was
minimized. If that young woman's plea for healing had been made
public, you would have been finished. As it was, we were able to put
out the story that she accosted you, attempted to kill you. After
which, filled with remorse, she killed herself."
"But that's
a lie!"
"Would you
prefer us to broadcast the truth, Your Majesty?"
Dion sat silent,
thoughtful, unhappy. He looked away from the screen, away from the
hand,
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