And he enlisted, and used his talents to rise in the military until he was Mikal's most trusted lieutenant, Captain of the guard. All for nothing. All for nothing because of an ambitious civil servant who was having him die, not with honor, as he had dreamed, but in terrible disgrace.

I deserve that, too, he thought. Because I told her my name. All my fault, because I told her my name.

He had been dozing, because the sudden draft of cooler air startled him into wakefulness. Had they come for him? But no-they would have turned on a light. And there was no light, not even in the hall, if his impression was right and the door was open.

Who is it? he asked.

Shhh, came the answer. Captain?

Yes. The Captain struggled to remember the voice. Who are you?

You don't know me. I'm just a soldier. You don't know me. But I know you, Captain. I brought you something. And the Captain felt a hand grope along his body until it found his arm, his hand, and pressed into it a slap with a syringe mounted on it.

What is it?

Honor, said the soldier. The voice was very young.

Why?

You couldn't have betrayed Mikal. But they'll get you, I know it. And make you die-as a traitor. So if you want it-honor.

And then the touch of wind as the soldier left in the darkness; the gathering heat as the door closed and the breeze stopped. The Captain held death in his hand. But he hadn't much time. The soldier was brave and clever, but the prison security system would soon alert the guards -had probably already alerted them-that someone had broken in. Perhaps they were already coming for him.

What if I actually do prove my innocence, he wondered. Why die now, when I might be exonerated and live the rest of my life?

But he remembered what the Chamberlain's drugs and questions would uncover, and he could see only her black, black face in his mind as he slapped the stick on his stomach, hard, and the impact broke the seal and allowed the chemicals to open his skin to the poison in the syringe. Normally he would have been counting seconds, to take away the drug when the proper dose had been achieved, but this time the only proper dose was everything the syringe might contain.

He was still holding the slap to his stomach when the lights dazzled on and the door opened and guards rushed in, pulled the syringe off his stomach and out of his hand, and started picking him up to rush him out of the cell. Too late, he said weakly, but they carried him just the same, half-dragged him down a corridor. The Captain's limbs were completely dead; he recognized the poison and knew that this was a sign that death could not be delayed, no matter what the treatment. They passed through another door, and there he saw the back of a young soldier being forced by three others into an examination room. Thank you, the Captain tried to say to the boy, but he could not make enough sound to be heard over the footfalls and the rushing of uniforms through the halls.

They laid him on a table and the doctor leaned over him, shook his head, said it was too late.

Try anyway! cried a voice that the Captain dimly recognized as the Chamberlain's.

Chamberlain, the Captain whispered.

Yes, you bastard! said the Chamberlain, his voice a study in anguish.

Tell Mikal that my death frees more plotters than it kills.

Do you think he doesn't know it?

And tell him-tell him--

The Chamberlain leaned closer, but the Captain died not knowing if he had been able to give his last message to Mikal before he was silenced forever.

15

Ansset watched as Mikal raged at the Chamberlain. Ansset knew Mikal's voice well enough to know that he was lying somehow, that the rage was, at least partly, a sham. Did the Chamberlain know it? Ansset suspected that he did.

Only a fool would have killed that soldier! cried Mikal.

The Chamberlain, acting frightened, said, I tried everything-drugs, hypnosis, but he was blocked, he was too well blocked--

So you resorted to old-fashioned torture!

It was one of the penalties for treason. I thought that if I began it he'd confess to the rest of the conspiracy--

And so he died and now we have no hope of discovering--

He was blocked, I tell you, what could I do?

What could you do! Mikal turned away. Ansset heard a hint of pleasure in his voice. At what? It was a grim pleasure, certainly, nothing that Mikal could let himself openly rejoice about.

So he got poison to the Captain despite our best efforts.

At least it proves the Captain's guilt, the Chamberlain said.

At least it proves nothing! Mikal snarled, turning back to face down the Chamberlain's attempt at brightening the prospects. You betrayed my trust and failed your duty!

It was the start of a ritual. The Chamberlain obediently began the next step. My Lord Imperator, I was a fool. I deserve to die. I resign my position and ask you to have me killed.

Mikal followed the ritual, but angrily, gracelessly, as if to make sure the Chamberlain knew that he was pardoned but not forgiven. Damn right you're a fool. I grant you your life because of your infinitely valuable services to me in apprehending the traitor in the first place. Mikal cocked his head to one side. So, Chamberlain, who do you think I should make the next Captain of the guard?

Ansset was even more confused. The Chamberlain and Mikal were lying about something, withholding something from each other-and now Mikal was asking the Chamberlain for advice on a subject that was absolutely none of his business. And the Chamberlain was actually going to answer.

Riktors Ashen, of course, my Lord.

Of course? The attitude was impertinent, the very fact of giving advice downright dangerous. The Chamberlain did not do dangerous things. A safe answer would have been to say that he had never given the matter any thought and wouldn't presume to advise the emperor on such a vital matter. And here he had said of course.

Ordinarily, Ansset would have expected Mikal to grow cold, to dismiss the Chamberlain, to refuse to see him for days. But Mikal defied everything Ansset thought he knew about him and simply answered, with a smile, Why of course. Riktors Ashen is the obvious choice. Tell him in my name that he's appointed.

Even the Chamberlain, who had mastered the art of blandness at will, looked surprised for a moment. And the Chamberlain's surprise made the connection in Ansset's mind. The Chamberlain had named the one man he definitely did not want as Captain of the guard, sure that Mikal would immediately reject any man the Chamberlain suggested. Instead, Mikal had chosen him, knowing the man would be the one most independent of the Chamberlain's influence.

And Ansset couldn't help but be pleased. Riktors Ashen was a good choice-the fleet would approve, of course, because Riktors Ashen's reputation as a fighter was the best in years. And the empire would approve because Riktors Ashen had proved in the rebellion of Mantrynn that he could deal mercifully with people. Instead of retribution and destruction, Riktors had investigated the people's complaints against their rapacious planet manager, tried the fellow, and executed him. Along with the leaders of the rebellion, of course, but he had governed the planet himself for several months, rooting out corruption in the upper levels of the government and installing local people in high positions to continue the work after he was gone. There was not a more loyal planet in the galaxy than Mantrynn, and no name in the fleet better loved by the common people than that of Riktors Ashen.

But more than any of those good reasons for the appointment, Ansset was glad because he knew the man and liked him and trusted him. Esste herself had told him that Riktors Ashen was the man most like Mikal in the universe. And now that Ansset knew Mikal and loved him, that was the highest praise he could think of.