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Updated: June 7, 2025
Prince Simon Bentrik was silent for a moment, as though he realized, with reluctance, that the big decision was no longer avoidable. "He may be, at present, but he won't be when I get there. I will be." "But ... Your Highness, he's a fleet admiral; you're just a commodore." "I am not just a commodore. The King is a prisoner, and for all we know dead. The Crown Prince is dead.
The landing stages of the palace were crowded when he and Prince Bentrik landed, and, at a discreet distance, swarms of air-vehicles circled, creating a control problem for the police. Parting from Bentrik, he was escorted to the suite prepared for him; it was luxurious in the extreme but scarcely above Sword-World standards.
They found Makann on the Throne, the top of his head blown away, a pistol death-gripped in his hand, and the Great Crown lying on the floor, the velvet inner cap bullet-pierced and splattered with blood and brain tissue. Prince Bentrik picked it up and looked at it disgustedly. "We'll have to have something done about that," he said. "I really didn't think he'd do just this.
The Princess Myrna is a child. I am assuming the position of Regent and Prince-Protector of the Realm." There was a little difficulty on Gimli with Fleet Admiral Bargham. Commodores didn't give orders to fleet admirals. Well, maybe regents did, but who gave Prince Bentrik authority to call himself regent? Regents were elected by the Chamber of Delegates, on nomination of the Chancellor.
He met Prince Bentrik, a little in advance of the others, and managed to whisper to him hastily: "While you're talking to anybody here, always remember that Andray Dunnan is working with Zaspar Makann, and as soon as Makann consolidates his position he's sending an expedition against Tanith." "How in blazes did you find that out, here?" Bentrik demanded. "From the Gilgameshers?"
There were twelve spacecraft in line outside the Moon of Tanith, counting the three independents and the forcibly chartered Gilgamesher troop-transport; that was the biggest fleet Space Vikings had ever assembled in their history. Alvyn Karffard said as much while they were checking the formation by screen. "It isn't a Space Viking fleet," Prince Bentrik differed.
Then the first vehicles landed, the firing from the air stopped, and men fanned out as skirmishers, occasionally firing with small arms. Trask and Bentrik were in the armory off the vehicle-bay, putting on combat equipment, when the twelve-year-old Count of Ravary joined them and began rummaging for weapons and a helmet. "You're not going," his father told him.
They had news for you, and a couple of passengers." "Passengers?" "Yes. You'll see who they are when they come down. And don't let anybody with side-whiskers and buttoned-up coats see them," Ravallo said. "What those people know gets all over the place before long." The visitors were Lucile, Princess Bentrik, and her son, the young Count of Ravary.
"This order came from Makann?" "From the Admiral commanding. He isn't your friend Shefter; Shefter retired on account of quote ill-health unquote. He is now in a quote hospital unquote." "Where's Prince Bentrik?" "Nobody knows. Charges of high treason were brought against him, and he just vanished. Gone underground, or secretly arrested and executed; take your choice."
And if he were killed, I must be able to avenge him." "You talk like a Sword-Worlder; I told you that once before." He hesitated, then turned again to Princess Bentrik. "How is little Princess Myrna?" he asked, and then, trying to be casual, added, "and Lady Valerie?" She seemed so clearly real and present to him, blue eyes and space-black hair, more real than Elaine had been to him for years.
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