Read Online The Lost King by Margaret Weis - Free Book Online Page A

was smashing down on his chest, and burning
pain seared his soul. Dion opened his eyes. He didn't recognize the
face of the mercenary inches away from his. Or if he did, it didn't
matter. Dion's muscles leapt, he struggled desperately to free
himself. He had to get inside the house! He had to get to Platus!
    "Shit, kid, that's
a Warlord in there!" hissed the voice, not an inch from his ear.
    The pressure on his
chest increased, the hand tightened over his mouth. Dion glared
furiously at the black face. Lit by the red and golden lights of the
shuttlecraft, it might have been a demon's face gazing at him from
the fires of hell. Beads of sweat stood on Tusk's forehead; the
shuttle's lights were tiny pinpoints of flame in his dark eyes.
    "Listen to me,
kid, and listen good!" Tusk shoved Dion's head back into the
dirt. "A man just gave up his life for you. Are you gonna make
that mean something?"
    Dion struggled, but it
was a struggle against fate, against the forces of destiny, and,
after a moment, he ceased. Closing his eyes, he relaxed and nodded.
    "Good," Tusk
muttered. Watching the boy warily, he let loose his hand from Dion's
mouth and lifted his knee from the young man's chest. "We're in
the bottom of some sort of ditch in back of your house," Tusk
breathed into Dion's ear. "The Warlord's still inside. Any
second this place is going to be lousy with marines. We've got to
make ourselves real scarce, real fast! You understand?"
    Dion nodded again, his
hand reaching to rub his head.
    "C'mon, kid!"
Tusk grunted, hauling him to his feet "I didn't hit you that
hard. Keep low."
    Dion stood up
cautiously, glancing around to get his bearings. They were in the
bottom of the deep ravine in back of the house, safely concealed for
the time being. But they wouldn't be hidden long; he could hear
voices coming from the house. One voice he recognized, the voice of
the man who had killed Platus. Dion made a move toward the
embankment.
    "Wrong way, kid!"
Tusk's hand closed over the boy's arm.
    Dion's hps pressed
together; his eyes burned with the ache in his heart. Jerking his arm
out of Tusk's grasp, the boy turned and began to run down the dry
creek bed, running as hard and fast as he could, running away from
the house, away from the red and golden lights, away from the blood,
spilling down silver armor. . . .
    Caught flat-footed by
Dion's sudden movement, the mercenary scrambled to keep up with the
boy. "Kid's a goddam jackrabbit!" Tusk stopped once to risk
a look back over his shoulder, but he could see nothing except the
lip of the embankment and the flaring lights of the shuttlecraft.
    "Just a matter of
time, though. Hey, kid!" He panted, catching up with Dion. "This
ditch . . . take us ... all the way . . . into town?"
    Dion shook his head,
his only answer. Tears blown back by the rushing wind in his face
made dirt streaks across his cheeks. He gestured abruptly and
obscurely, never slowing his pace over the uneven ground. Tusk had no
idea what the boy meant. The mercenary could only hope the kid knew
where he was going. Putting his head down, Tusk concentrated on
keeping his legs pumping, his breath coming.
    "Down!" Tusk
grabbed hold of Dion and pulled the boy into the shadow of a
sand-blasted sign that welcomed travelers to the port city, advised
them of the town's population, and issued invitations to buy real
estate.
    Hoverjeeps roared past,
their air blasts sending up choking clouds of sand that rolled around
the boy and the mercenary.
    "What is it?"
Dion asked, coughing. "What does it mean?"
    "The Warlord's
army." Tusk squinched his eyes shut against the stinging sand.
"He's declared martial law, gonna take over the town. Ten to one
he's lookin' for you, kid." The dust settled. He gazed
thoughtfully after the jeeps that were speeding toward the lights of
the port city.
    "What are you
smiling about, then?" Dion cast the mercenary a bitter glance.
"This means I'm finished—"
    "This means you've
got a chance," Tusk corrected,