Part 38 (1/2)

Xannasavin flinched minutely. ”Yes, my lord. In fact, I thought it might help me to ride beneath the night sky. Your court is so full of pleasurable distractions, and these are important times. I felt my mind should be clear so I might better serve you.”

”Come here,” Benigaris said.

The astrologer rose from his seat, smoothing the folds from his dark robe, then went to stand beside the duke at the garden railing.

”What do you see in the sky?”

Xannasavin squinted. ”Oh, many things, my lord. But if you wish me to read the stars aright, I should go back to my chamber and get my charts....”

”But the last time you were here, the sky was so full of good fortune! You needed no charts then!”

”I had studied them for long hours before coming up, my ...”

Benigaris put his arm around the astrologer's shoulder. ”And what of the great victories for the House of the Kingfisher?”

Xannasavin squirmed. ”They are coming, my lord. See, look there in the sky.” He pointed toward the north. ”Is that not as I foretold to you? Look, the Conqueror Star!”

Benigaris turned to follow Xannasavin's finger. ”That little red spot?”

”Soon it will fill the sky with flame, Duke Benigaris.”

”He did predict that it would rise, Benigaris,” Nessalanta called from her chair. She seemed disgruntled at being left out. ”I'm sure everything else he said will come true as well.”

”I'm certain it will.” Benigaris stared at the crimson pinhole in the evening sky. ”The death of empires. Great deeds for the Benidrivine House.”

”You remember, my lord!” Xannasavin smiled. ”These things that worry you are only temporary. Beneath the great wheel of heaven, they are only a moment of wind across the gra.s.s.”

”Perhaps.” The duke's arm was still draped companion-ably across the astrologer's shoulders. ”But I worry for you, Xannasavin.”

”My lord is too kind, to spare a thought for me in his time of trial. What is your worry, Duke Benigaris?”

”I think you have spent too much time looking up at the sky. You need to widen your view, look down at the earth as well.” The duke pointed to the lanterns burning in the streets below. ”When you stare at something too long, you lose sight of other things that are just as important. For instance, Xannasavin, the stars told you that glory would come to the Benidrivine House-but you did not listen closely enough to the marketplace gossip that Lord Camaris himself, my father's brother, leads the armies against Nabban. Or perhaps you did did listen to the gossip, and it helped you make your sudden decision to take up riding, hmm?” listen to the gossip, and it helped you make your sudden decision to take up riding, hmm?”

”M-my lord wrongs me.”

”Because, of course, Camaris is the oldest heir of the Benidrivine House. So the glory for the house that you spoke of might very well be his his victory, might it not?” victory, might it not?”

”Oh, my lord, I do not think so... !”

”Stop it, Benigaris,” Nessalanta said sharply. ”Stop bullying poor Xannasavin. Come sit by me and we will . have some wine.”

”I am trying to help him, Mother.” Benigaris turned back to the astrologer. The duke was smiling, but his face was flushed, his cheeks mottled. ”As I said, I think you have spent too much time staring at the sky, and not enough paying attention to more lowly things.”

”My lord ...”

”I will remedy that.” Benigaris abruptly stooped, dropping his arm down to Xannasavin's hip and wrapping his other arm around it. He straightened, grunting with the effort ; the astrologer swayed, his feet a cubit off the ground.

”No, Duke Benigaris, no... !”

”Stop that!” shrieked Nessalanta.

”Go to h.e.l.l.” Benigaris heaved. Xannasavin toppled over the railing, his arms grabbing at nothing, and plummeted out of sight. A long moment later a wet smack echoed up from the courtyard.

”How ... how dare you... ?!” Nessalanta stammered, her eyes wide with shock. Benigaris rounded on her, face contorted with rage. A thin stream of blood trickled down his forehead: the astrologer had pulled loose some of his hair.

”Shut your mouth,” he snarled. ”I ought to throw you over, too, you old she-wolf. We are losing this war-losing! You may not care now, but you are not so safe as you think. I doubt that whey-faced Josua will let his army rape women and kill prisoners, but the people who whisper in the market about what happened to Father know you are just as guilty as I am.” He wiped blood from his. face. ”No, I don't need to do you in myself. Likely there are more than a few peasants sharpening their knives right now, just waiting for Camaris and the rest to show up at the gates before they start the festival.” Benigaris laughed angrily. ”Do you think the palace guard is going to throw their lives away protecting you when it's plain that everything is lost? They're just like the peasants, Mother. They have lives to lead, and they don't care who sits on the throne here. You old fool.” He stared at her, his mouth working, fists trembling.

The dowager d.u.c.h.ess shrank back in her chair. ”What are you going to do?” she moaned.

Benigaris threw out his arms. ”I am going to fight, d.a.m.n you. I may be a murderer, but what I have I will keep-until they take it from my dead hands.” He stalked to the doorway, then turned. ”And I do not want to see you again, Mother. I don't care where you go or what you do ... but I do not want to see you.”

He pushed through the door and disappeared.

”Benigaris!” Nessalanta's voice rose to a scream. ”Benigaris! Come back!”

The silent monk had wrapped the fingers of one hand around Binabik's throat; even as he pressed down, his other hand brought the troll's own knife-hand up, forcing the blade closer and closer to Binabik's sweating face.

”Why ... are ... you... ?” The fingers cinched tighter, cutting off the little man's air and his words. The monk's pale, sweating face hung close; it gave off a feverish heat.

Binabik arched his back and heaved. For a moment he partially broke the monk's hold, and he used that sliver of freedom to kick himself off the edge of the stair, tumbling them both over so that when they rolled to a halt, Binabik was on top. The troll leaned forward, putting all his weight behind his knife, but Hengfisk held it away with one hand. Although he was thin, the monk was nearly twice the troll's size; only the odd jerkiness of his movements seemed to be keeping him from a swift victory.

Hengfisk's fingers slithered around the troll's neck once more. Frantic, Binabik tried to push the hand away with his jaw, but the monk's grip was too strong.

”Miriamele!” Binabik gasped. ”Miriamele!” There was no answering cry. The troll was choking now, fighting for breath. He could not force his blade closer to Hengfisk's relentlessly smiling face or dislodge the hand around his throat. The monk's knees rose and squeezed Binabik's ribs so that the little man' could not wriggle free.

Binabik turned his head and bit Hengfisk's wrist. For a moment the fingers at his neck clamped even more tightly, then skin and muscle parted beneath the troll's teeth; hot blood welled in his mouth and spilled down his chin.

Hengfisk did not cry out-his grin did not even slacken-but he abruptly twisted, using his legs to throw Binabik to one side. The troll's knife slipped from his hand and skittered free, but he was too occupied trying not to skid off the edge of the step and down into darkness to do anything about it. He came to a halt, palms flat on the stone, feet dangling beneath the bal.u.s.ter and past the brink, then pulled himself forward with hands and knees, desperate to recover his knife. It was lying only inches from Hengfisk, who crouched against the wall, protuberant eyes glaring at the troll, hand drizzling red onto the stair.

But his grin had vanished.

”Vad... ?” Hengfisk's voice was a hollow croak. He looked from side to side and up and down, as though he suddenly found himself somewhere unexpected. The expression he turned at last on Binabik was full of confused horror. ?” Hengfisk's voice was a hollow croak. He looked from side to side and up and down, as though he suddenly found himself somewhere unexpected. The expression he turned at last on Binabik was full of confused horror.

”Why are you attacking me?” Binabik rasped. Blood was smeared on his chin and cheeks. He could barely speak. ”We were not having friends.h.i.+p ... but ...” He broke off in a fit of coughing.

”Troll... ?” Hengfisk's face, which moments before had been stretched in glee, had gone slack. ”What... ? Ah, horrible, so horrible!”

Astonished by the change, Binabik stared.

”I cannot ...” The monk seemed overwhelmed with misery and bafflement. His fingers twitched. ”I cannot ... oh, merciful G.o.d, troll, it is so cold... cold... !” !”

”What has happened to you?” Binabik pulled himself a little nearer, keeping a watchful eye on the dagger, but though it lay only a short distance from Hengfisk's hand, the monk seemed oblivious.

”I cannot tell. I cannot speak it.” The monk began to weep. ”They have filled me ... with ... pushed me aside ... how could my G.o.d be so cruel... ?”

”Tell me. Is there some helping thing I can do?”