HM02 House of Moons (2 page)

On Diren’s right, Lord Rald bent his silver-haired head and spoke softly to Lord Killian on his other side. “You shouldn’t have let that girl get away, Aaren. You could have insisted she honor the marriage contract. We would have backed your claim.”

The other man’s eyes glittered like amber ice. “I pride myself on knowing trouble when I see it, and that baggage is considerably more trouble than even an estate like Tal’ayn is worth.”

Rald smiled back, but Diren could see the older man did not entirely agree. Neither did he. Haemas Sennay Tal represented much that even an unambitious Kashi man might want.

She was a Sennay granddaughter, as denoted by her middle name, and had grown into the regal height of that ancient line. And she had inherited, from her mother’s maternal line, the rare Killian coloring of white-gold hair and eyes that cropped up only once in every few generations. She was exotic, and, although too pale for popular taste, she drew him like a lightwing to the flame. This, combined with the Tal bearing and an unusually strong Talent to pass on to her children, made her desirable beyond words—not to mention the fact that the old Tal had no surviving heirs closer than maternal cousins, not even a niece or nephew. In the fullness of time, Tal’ayn would come to his daughter, whether she desired it or not.

Diren had never bothered to approach her. Chee’ayn had been impoverished before his father’s father had been born. He had nothing to offer but a nit-eaten house filled with half-rotted draperies and ramshackle furniture. He didn’t even dare leave the portal in operation when he was home, lest someone decide to drop in unannounced. At any rate, it was widely repeated in the Highest circles that Haemas Tal had sworn never to marry, and that mud-face, Monmart, was always hanging around her in public so that it was difficult to get even the slightest moment of privacy.

He’d seen how women operated, though. As soon as the old Tal died, she’d be quick enough to move into Tal’ayn all right. No doubt Monmart was counting on being the one to live there with her.

At the center of the table, Tal cleared his throat. “As to Master Ellirt’s successor, we must remember that the future of the Kashi is dependent upon the education of our young.” He gazed around the circular chamber, as if daring someone to disagree. “We have always been few, while the unTalented chierra are many, but as long as we maintain our proficiency in the mindarts, we will hold our ascendancy over the chierra multitudes of this world. The day we forget that basic truth will be the beginning of the end for our way of life.”

The golden heads were nodding now. Diren smiled faintly at Tal’s shameless play on their notions of superiority. It was an old topic, but one of which the Kashi’an, the People of the Light, never grew tired: their rule over the dark-haired chierra peoples of Desalaya.

“As you may know, Master Ellirt did suggest a successor.” Tal’s fierce golden eyes fixed Kevisson Monmart for a long moment. “Yet it was nothing more than that, a suggestion, and I am sure he never meant us to accept it without careful consideration as to what would be the best thing for Shael’donn.”

Already bored, Diren shifted in his lumpy seat. Everyone knew that Monmart, who looked like a damned chierra and had no close ties to any of the great Houses, would never get the appointment. At this very second, each High House was maneuvering for influence. The High Mastership of Shael’donn was far too rich a fruit to be wasted on a nobody Lowlander.

Diren stood up, drawing the hundreds of pairs of golden eyes in the room to him. “Esteemed Head.”

Tal’s lined face looked down the table at him. “Yes?”

“As Talented as Lord Monmart obviously is, he is also the sole heir to Monmart’ayn, a position that I am certain will take up more of his time as the years wear on.” Diren sank back into his seat, enjoying the tightening of Monmart’s face.

“A valid point.” Lord Rald nodded his white-haired head. “We should perhaps select someone without serious obligations to divide his attention.”

Diren leaned back and laced his hands together. It was like throwing a bloody scrap before a flock of scavenging lraels. Except for Chee’ayn and Tal’ayn, he couldn’t think of a High House that didn’t have its share of younger brothers, nephews, cousins, and sons to be put to some sort of gainful occupation. He could hear mental muttering as the greedy Lords squared off over the Shael’donn Mastership, none of them even remembering now that Kniel Ellirt had ever existed or left his preference.

A low clear voice rang out over the babble of voices. “Esteemed Council Head.” The eyes in the circular chamber turned to Haemas Tal standing tall and straight in her ankle length tunic and flowing pants, the chispa-fire along the outer rim of the chamber playing on the white-gold of her braided hair. “I knew Master Ellirt better than many here today, and I say we should not discard the carefully thought out decision he left us. He had many valid reasons for naming Lord Monmart as his successor.”

“Perhaps ...” Speaking from his seat, Diren let his voice trail off, as if he hesitated to bring up something unpleasant. “Perhaps it was most important to Master Ellirt that Shael’donn is situated so closely to the House of Moons. Perhaps he couldn’t bear the thought of having the two of you parted.” A muffled titter filtered through the room.

Red flushed her high cheekbones. “I will not dignify that insinuation with an answer, Lord Chee. Master Ellirt selected Kevisson Monmart because he is the most experienced, the most Talented, and the most qualified Master currently in residence at Shael’donn. If the Council selects anyone else today, we will all know the appointment had little to do with any of those qualities.” Without looking at Monmart, she settled back into her seat.

Even from across the chamber, Diren could feel the blaze of Monmart’s tight-lipped anger. He had told her not to interfere, Diren realized. Monmart wanted to handle this on his own.

Dervlin Tal bathed his daughter with a burning look. “Your opinion in this matter can hardly be considered unbiased.” Tal spread the sheets of parchment before him. “The chair is open for alternate nominations.”

Monmart stood, his back ramrod straight. “I wish to withdraw my name from the nominations.”

“You can’t.” Tal held up a sheet of parchment. “Master Ellirt nominated you and your name must be considered.”

“Suit yourselves, then.” His face tight with anger, Monmart strode toward the carved doors of Old oak that stood twice as high as a man. “I’m sure you will anyway and I have no wish to be a part of this farce.” A chierra servant darted forward to open the door.

Diren glanced at Haemas Tal, sitting white-faced between the empty seat on one side and that meddling old nit, Enissa Saxbury, who fancied herself a
female
healer. He snorted. A woman healer, as if there could ever really be such a thing.

She had been Lady of Sithnal’ayn, wife to one of the High Lords and welcome in the Highest of circles—but after his death, she had abandoned her title and helped found the House of Moons, evidently content to be only a Saxbury.

A jumble of names was thrown out, mostly from the High Lords seated at the Council table. Having no idle male relatives of his own of which to dispose, Diren lounged back in his chair and monitored the list, listening for one who would suit his purposes. He hadn’t gone to all this trouble to eliminate Kniel Ellirt just to watch another Lord High Master installed at Shael’donn who was clever or strongly Talented or both.

His interest was piqued when Lord Seffram Senn brought up the name of Riklin Dynd Senn, one of the younger Senn nephews, who was a Master at Shael’donn. Diren had known Riklin during his own days as a student there. They had not only been in the same form, but had roomed on the same floor. Riklin had been a stocky, slow-moving youth, quick to resent injuries and quicker yet to redress them. As far as Diren could remember, although Riklin had been competent at the mindarts, he’d never had an original thought in his entire life—the perfect picture of a man who would never notice a latteh being wielded right under his nose.

Diren studied the gallery, picking out Riklin’s blunt features and curly mop of dusky-gold hair in the back. Rising, he stretched a beguiling smile across his face. “Esteemed Head,” he said smoothly, “I can speak in favor of one of the candidates mentioned, a man whom I have known for many years to be honorable and Talented, a man who should serve us all exceptionally well.”

Or at least as well as you deserve to be served, he thought, keeping a close watch on his shields. All around him then, he felt alliances crumbling and reforming in a swirl of new patterns as the High Houses scrambled for position.

At the end of the first ballot, Riklin Senn’s name ranked third, following Leric Rald, one of the older Rald’ayn cousins who had trained at Shael’donn for many years, but was of little real account, and Alban Killian, a Killian son who had left Shael’donn several years ago. Rald was far too old, Diren thought, and Killian was a shallow womanizer with at least three bastards to his name already, a predilection at odds with the males-only environment of Shael’donn. Diren adjusted his sleeves. With a little help, even a brute like Riklin Senn might win over that pair.

Another ballot was marked, and then a third. Killian was finally eliminated, but neither Rald nor Senn could win a clear majority. The Council broke to take refreshments spread by a brace of Tal’ayn servants, and Diren worked his way through the muttering press of bodies to Seffram Senn’s side.

I would like to see Riklin win this,
he said in a tightly broadcast thought.

For old times’ sake?
Senn’s lip curled disdainfully.
Don’t make me laugh. Besides, Rald doesn’t give a damn what you think.

I have a few favors I can call in.
Diren chewed thoughtfully on a slice of mellow cheese.
Promise me a starter flock of Old sheep, at least ten, including a good ram. And feed to last the winter.

Senn stared stonily ahead, his eyes narrow.

They say Rald’s cousin is a hard worker, although I hear that he has a quick temper,
Diren continued.
I would hate to be responsible for letting him at all those young impressionable boys.
He brushed the crumbs from his hands.

All right!
Senn plunged back into the milling throng from the gallery.
But he had better receive a clear majority or the deal is off!

Drawing on his gloves, Diren drifted over to the wall, then pulled the dull-green latteh crystal out of his pocket, shielding it by turning his back. He ran a finger over the irregular facets, still amazed every time he saw it. It was, of course, illegal and forbidden, and all those other things that people always said when someone had a good idea and didn’t want to share it. It was also the road back to wealth and prestige that had been stolen from Chee’ayn generations before he and his older sister, Axia, had been born. It had taken him months to locate, once he’d found descriptions of it in his father’s papers, and then several more months to be able to use it. And even now, he was aware that he had barely grasped the fundamentals of the ancient art of using a latteh to control another’s mind.

Opening his shields, he teased at the energy lattices within the crystal, forcing them into the pattern he had found as much through guesswork as by following directions. When it was buzzing inside his glove-protected hand, he closed his fist around it and edged toward Himret Rald, Lord of Rald’ayn, who was standing by the doors, speaking quietly with his candidate, Leric.

“Lord Rald?” Diren caught the older man’s eye. “Might I have a word with you?” Diren locked his hands behind his back, caressing the latteh with his gloved thumb. “I will only need a moment and it might save us all a lot of time.”

Almost imperceptibly, Rald nodded his gray-haired head, although the man’s wary eyes said plainly he wanted nothing to do with him. Used to that sort of reaction, Diren smiled again. The Chee temperament had earned rather a bad reputation down through the years, but that had been his father’s and grandfather’s doing. It had nothing to do with him.

Rald nibbled at a chunk of pickled whiteroot. “Make it fast, Chee.”

Diren brought his closed hand around. “I have something that might persuade you to change your mind.”

Rald stared down at the black-gloved fist, then put his hand out as though Diren were going to offer him gold or a valuable bauble. With his free hand, Diren pressed the latteh crystal against the bare skin of the other man’s palm.

Rald’s face went slack, his eyes widening in shock, then rolling back.
Stand up!
Diren hissed into his mind.
In a second I will take the latteh away, after which you will announce to everyone that Leric feels unworthy of such a high honor and begs to be excused.

He watched Rald’s eyes for a moment, seeing the pupils contract to pinpoints even though he had set the latteh at only a moderate level of power.
And you will remember nothing of this. Say it!

“I will remember nothing,” Rald repeated tonelessly.

Diren pulled the crystal away, then, pocketing it with a smooth motion, reached out to Rald with the other hand. “My Lord, are you all right?”

Rald blinked, then looked about him, his lined face suddenly ashen. “I—I don’t ...”

“Come and sit down.” Diren put one hand under the older man’s elbow. “Perhaps something to drink—”

“No!” Rald flinched back from him and Diren felt his heart stop. “No,” the other man said again, but less forcefully. “I—” He looked around. “Leric? Where’s Leric?”

“Here, Himret.” Leric Rald forced his way between the curious onlookers.

Rald grasped Leric’s tunic with iron fingers.

“With—withdraw, Leric. It doesn’t mean a damn thing anyway.”

“But—!” Leric’s old face sagged in surprise.

Rald’s fingers tightened. “Withdraw!”

Leric turned to the Head of the Council, old Tal, and nodded stiffly, as if the motion pained him.

Tal scowled. “Let it be so, then. By default, the High Mastership of Shael’donn goes to Riklin Dynd Senn.” He glared around the restless, whispering crowd for a moment. “Council is dismissed.”