Star Wars_ Planet of Twilight - Barbara Hambly [67]
From the doorway a deep, very quiet voice said, “At least he never sold one of his slaves to Dzym.”
Beldorion swung around, hissing; Leia sprang back and pulled her gaze away. Liegeus stood in the doorway, graying hair hanging down in his eyes, broken out of his fear, thought Leia, by anger. For a moment he only stood there, looking at the two of them, then he stepped lightly down and crossed to the dais.
Softly, Beldorion said, “Have a care, philosopher.” The whole terrible length of him twitched, the great seven-foot tail creeping back and forth like a separate, angry being as his red eyes narrowed. “Upon another occasion I told you I do not brook interference.”
Liegeus hesitated for a moment, his dark eyes widening with some evil memory. Then he came forward again and took Leia by the hand. “What did he offer you, my dear?” His voice was steady, but she felt his fingertips cold, and shaking a little in hers. “Partnership in ruling this planet? Or just that he’d let you go free if you’d put him back in charge?”
He raised Leia to her feet and led her back to the door. Beldorion made no move to stop them, but as Liegeus reached to touch the opener plate Leia saw the Hutt gesture pettishly in his direction. Liegeus gasped as if struck, half-doubled over in agony, his free hand going to his temple. He was ashen with shock and pain as Leia slapped the opener plate with the backs of her fingers. The door sliced open, and she led him through, stumbling blind and clinging to the wall for support.
They were halfway down the corridor, opposite the blast doors that led into the docking bay, before Liegeus straightened up and drew a shaky breath. “Migraine,” he managed to say through lips drained of color and blood. “He does that—sometimes—when I beat him at hologames, too. Sometimes—worse than that.”
He shook his head, his hand stealing to his throat, cast a quick glance at the open blast doors, and putting a hand behind her elbow led her rather rapidly toward the stairs. “Did he try to influence your mind? Don’t trust him, my dear.”
“And I suppose I should trust Ashgad?”
Liegeus looked away.
They mounted the stairs in silence, passed down the corridor toward the doors of her room. He had punched in the code—carefully keeping his body between her and the pad—before he said, “He doesn’t keep his promises. Even should he do so, he couldn’t protect you from Dzym, and he could not defeat Ashgad. Even years ago, when Ashgad first reached this planet, Beldorion was no match for him.”
Leia looked up, startled. “But the original Ashgad …” she began, and their eyes met. Liegeus looked away, and she could see by the flinch of his mouth that, still disoriented from the migraine, he’d said more than he meant. He ushered her gently into her room and, stepping quickly out, closed the door between them.
Leia groped blindly for the head of her bed, sat down, weak in the knees. She felt light-headed from thirst and a little ill from the struggle with Beldorion; glancing in the direction of the water pitcher, she got to her feet, carried it outside to the terrace, and dumped all the remaining water over the railing. Right now her thirst was too great, and she might forget later that she should not drink.
She needed her mind clear. Is it because of the sweetblossom? she wondered. Did Liegeus mean something else, and I’m reading this into it because I’m drugged? Is there some other real explanation?
But the only one she could think of for Liegeus’s words—the only conclusion she could draw—was that the man who had proclaimed himself the son of Seti Ashgad, the Emperor Palpatine’s old rival for Senatorial power, was in fact the man himself.
“Okay, what have we got?” Han Solo swung himself down the ladder from the observation port, crossed in two strides to Lando Calrissian