Orson Card - Songmaster

But the Chamberlain had not stopped. He said quickly, almost urgently, Why did you do that? I have another bottle. Sweet Songbird, let Mikal drink deeply!

The words hammered into Ansset's brain, and by reflex he whirled and faced Mikal. He knew what was happening, knew and screamed against it in his mind. But his hands came up against his will, his legs bent, he compressed to spring, all so quickly that he couldn't stop himself. He knew that in less than a second his hand would be buried in Mikal's face, Mikal's beloved face, Mikal's smiling face-

Mikal was smiling at him, kindly and without fear. For years Control had come to Ansset to contain emotion. Now it came to express it. He could not, could not, could not hurt Mikal, and yet he was driven to it, he leaped, his hand struck out-

But it did not sink into Mikal's face. Instead it plunged into the floor, breaking the surface and becoming immersed in the gel that erupted from the floor. The impact broke the skin in Ansset's arm; the gel made the pain agonizing; the bone ached with the force of the blow. But Ansset did not feel that pain. All he felt was the pain in his mind as he struggled against the compulsion that still drove at him, to kill Mikal, to kill Mikal.

His body heaved upward, his hand flew through the air, and the back of Mikal's chair shattered and splashed at the impact. The chair shuddered, then sealed itself. But Ansset's hand was bleeding; the blood spurted and splashed and skitted across the surface of the gel spreading across the now-lax floor. But it was his own blood, not Mikal's, and Ansset cried out in joy. It sounded like a scream of agony.

In the distance he heard Mikal's voice saying, Don't shoot him. And, as suddenly as it had come, the compulsion ceased. His mind spun as he heard the Chamberlain's words fading away: Songbird, what have you done! Those were the words that had set him free. Exhausted and bleeding, Ansset lay on the floor, his right arm covered with blood. The pain reached him now, and he groaned, though his song was as much a song of triumph as of pain. Somehow Ansset had had strength enough, had withstood it long enough that he had not killed Father Mikal.

Finally he rolled over and sat up, nursing his arm. The bleeding had settled to a slow trickle.

Mikal was still sitting in the chair, which had healed itself. The Chamberlain stood where he had stood ten seconds before, at the beginning of Ansset's ordeal, the goblet looking ridiculous in his hand. Riktors's laser was aimed at the Chamberlain.

Call the guards, Captain, Mikal said. I already have, Riktors answered. The button on his belt was glowing. Guards came quickly into the room. Take the Chamberlain to a cell, Riktors ordered them. If any harm comes to him, all of you will die, and your families, too. Do you understand? The guards understood. They were Riktors's men, not the Chamberlain's. There was no love there.

Ansset held his arm. Mikal and Riktors Ashen waited while a doctor came and treated it. The pain subsided. The doctor left.

Riktors spoke first, Of course you knew it was the Chamberlain, my Lord. Mikal smiled faintly.

That was why you let him persuade you to call Ansset back here. To let him show his hand. Mikal's smile grew broader.

But, my Lord, only you could have known that the Songbird would be strong enough to resist a compulsion that was five months in the making.

Mikal laughed. And this time Ansset heard real mirth in the laughter.

Riktors Ashen, Mikal said. Will they call you Riktors the Great? Or Riktors the Usurper?

It took Riktors a moment to realize what had been said. Only a moment. But before his hand could reach his laser, which was back in his belt, Mikal's hand held a laser that was pointed at Riktors's heart.

Ansset, my Son, will you take the Captain's laser from him?

Ansset got up and took the Captain's laser from him, He could hear the song of triumph in Mikal's voice. But Ansset did not understand. What had Riktors done? This was the man that Esste had told him was as much like Mikal as any man alive-

And Mikal had conquered the galaxy. Oh, Esste had warned him, and he had taken only reassurance from it! Only one mistake, Riktors Ashen, Mikal said. Otherwise brilliantly done. And I really don't see how you could have avoided that mistake either.

You mean Ansset's strength? Riktors asked, his voice still trying to be calm and succeeding amazingly well.

Not even I counted on that. I was prepared to kill him, if I needed to. The words did not hurt Ansset, He would rather have died than hurt Mikal, and he knew that Mikal knew that.

Then I made no mistakes, Riktors said. How did you know?

Because my Chamberlain, unless he were under some sort of compulsion, would never have had the courage to argue with me, to insist on taking Ansset on his stupid military expedition, to dare to suggest your name when I asked him who ought to become the new Captain of the guard. But you had to have him suggest you, didn't you, because unless you were Captain you wouldn't have been in a position to take control when I was dead. The Chamberlain would be the obvious guilty one, while you would be the hero who stepped in and held the empire together. The best possible start to your reign. No taint of assassination would have touched you. Of course, half the empire would have rebelled immediately. But you're a good tactician and a better strategist and you're popular with the fleet and a lot of citizens. I'd have given you one chance in four of making it. And that's better odds than any other man in the empire.

I gave myself even odds, Riktors said, but now Ansset could clearly hear the fear singing through the back of his brave words. Well, why not? Death was certain now, and Ansset knew of no one, except perhaps an old man like Mikal, who could look at death, especially death that also meant failure, without some fear.

But Mikal did not push the button on the laser. Nor did he summon the guards.

Kill me now and finish it, Riktors said, pleading for an honorable death, though he knew he did not deserve it.

Mikal tossed the laser away. With this? It has no charge. The Chamberlain installed a charge detector at every door to my chambers over fifteen years ago. He would have known if I was armed.

Immediately Riktors took a step forward, the beginning of a rush toward the emperor. Just as quickly Ansset was on his feet, despite the bandaged arm, ready to kill with the other hand, with his feet, with his teeth. Riktors stopped cold.

Ah, Mikal said. You never had time to learn from the man who taught Ansset? What a bodyguard you gave me, Riktors.

Ansset hardly heard him. All he heard was Mikal's voice saying, It has no charge." Mikal had trusted him. Mikal had staked his life on Ansset's ability to resist .the compulsion. Ansset wanted to weep in gratitude for such trust, in fear at such terrible danger only barely averted. Instead he stood still with iron Control and watched Riktors for any sign of movement,

Riktors, Mikal went on, your mistakes were very slight. I hope you've learned from them. So that when an assassin as bright as you are tries to take your life, you'll know all the enemies you have and all the allies you can call on and exactly what you can expect from each.

Ansset looked at Riktors's face and remembered how glad he had been when the tall soldier had been made Captain. Let me kill him now, Ansset said.

Mikal sighed. Don't kill for pleasure, my Son. If you ever kill for pleasure, you'll come to hate yourself. Besides, weren't you listening? I'm going to adopt Riktors Ashen as my heir.

I don't believe you, Riktors said, but Ansset heard hope in his voice.

I'll call in my sons-they stay around court, hoping to be closest to the palace when I die, Mikal said. Ill make them sign an oath to respect you as my heir. Of course they'll sign it, and of course they'll all break it, and of course you'll have them all killed the first moment you can after you take the throne. If any of them is smart at all, he'll be at the other end of the galaxy by then. But I doubt there'll be any that bright. When shall we have you crowned? Three weeks from tomorrow is enough time to wait. I'll abdicate in your favor, sign all the papers, it'll make the headlines on the newspapers for days. I can just see all the potential rebels tearing their hair with rage. It's a pleasant picture to retire on.