Sharra's Exile (15 page)

He felt the most terrible revulsion against touching that horror; but he reached out, steadying his mind by gripping the matrix around his neck, and tried to make a light contact with Rafe’s mind. At the strange touch, Rafe convulsed all over, as if in the grip of horror again, and cried out, “No! No, Thyra!

Sister, don’t—”

For just a fraction of a second Regis saw and recognized the picture in Rafe’s mind, a woman, not the flame-haired horror that was Sharra, but a woman, red-haired, red-lipped, with eyes of a curious golden color…

And then Rafe blinked and in the twinkling of an eye it was gone and he looked at Regis with

intelligence in his eyes. Regis noted, with mild surprise, that his eyes too were golden, like the woman he had seen. Rafe said, “What’s the matter, why are you staring at me? What are you doing here—” He blinked again and looked round him wildly. “Marius, what happened?”

“You tell
me
that,” said Marius angrily. “All I know is that you wakened the whole house screaming and raving of—of—” Again the hesitation and Rafe finally, matter-of-factly, supplied the word. He said

“Sharra,” and Regis was relieved, obscurely, as if a deadlock had been broken.

Marius said, “I couldn’t make you hear me; you didn’t know me.”

Rafe frowned and said, “I’m sorry for having disturbed you—in hell’s name, did you go and fetch the Hastur out of bed at this hour of the night?” He looked at Regis in apology and dismay. “I’m sorry. It must have been a bad dream, no more.”

Outside the dawn was graying into pale light. Marius said, embarrassed, “Will you honor my house, Lord Regis, and take some breakfast here? It is a poor apology for disturbing your rest—”

“It will be my pleasure, cousin,” Regis said, using the word just a trace more intimate than the formal
kinsman
, not quite as intimate as
foster-brother
. His grandfather would be very angry when he heard; but all the smiths in Zandru’s forges can’t mend a broken egg, and done was done. Marius gave orders to Andres, and Regis added, “Ask the servants to feed my Guardsman in the kitchens, will you?”

When the servants were gone, Marius said, “What happened, Rafe? Or don’t you really know?”

Rafe shook his head. “I don’t think it was a dream,” he said. “I saw my sister Thyra, and she—she turned into Sharra again. I was afraid—”

Regis demanded, “But why should it happen now, of all times, when nothing like it has happened for six years?”

Rafe said, “I’m almost afraid to find out. I thought Sharra was gone—dormant, at least here on Darkover—”

“But it isn’t here on Darkover,” Regis said, “The Altons took it offworld; perhaps to Terra. I’ve never known why—”

“Perhaps,” Rafe said, “because, here on Darkover, it could never be controlled and might do more harm

—” and he was silent, but Regis, seeing the picture in his mind, remembered that the old Terran spaceport at Caer Dorm, in the mountains, had gone up in flames. “If it had been here, Kadarin might have gotten it back.”

“I didn’t know he was still alive,” said Regis.

Rafe sighed. “Yes. Though I haven’t seen either of them for years. They were—in hiding for a long time.” He seemed about to say something more, then shrugged and said, “Under ordinary

circumstances, I would have been glad to know that Thyra was still alive, but now—”

With shaking fingers he fumbled at the matrix around his neck. “I was only a child when the Sharra circle was broken, and then I—I was in shock. I was ill for a long time. When I recovered, they told me Marjorie was dead, that Lew had taken the matrix offworld and would never return, and I—I found I could not use my starstone; I had been part of it, and when the link with the Sharra matrix was broken, my own starstone was—was burned out, I thought. But now I am not sure—”

He unwrapped the stone. It was, Regis thought dispassionately, a very small one, a blue jewel, faceted, flawed. He bent his eyes on it; it flamed crimson within, so clearly that even Regis and Marius could see the form of fire. He put the stone away, with fingers that wobbled as he tried to draw the strings of the little leather pouch.

“What does it mean?” he asked in a whisper.

“There’s only one thing it can mean,” Regis said. “It means that Kennard has come home. Or Lew. Or both. And that, for some reason or other, they have brought the Sharra matrix home with them.”

On the first day of Council season, Regis Hastur came early to the Crystal Chamber. He debated, for a moment, going in through the Hastur entrance—in the hallway around the Chamber, there was a private entrance for each Domain, and a small antechamber to each railed-off segment, so that the members of the Domain might meet privately for a moment before making formal appearance in Council—but then shrugged, and, pausing for a friendly word with the Guardsman at the door, went into the main

entrance.

Outside it was a day of brilliant sun, and the light streamed through the prisms in the ceiling which gave the chamber its name; it was like standing at the multicolored heart of a rainbow. The Crystal Chamber was eight-sided, and spacious—at least, Regis thought, it seemed spacious now; at the height of Comyn powers it must have seemed small for all those who had Domain-right in the Comyn. Where Regis stood was a central dais, the wide double doors at the back protected by trusty Guardsmen; the other seven sides were allotted, each to one of the Domains, and each was a section divided off by wooden railings and lined with benches, boxes, and a few curtained-off enclosures so that the lords and ladies of each Domain might watch unseen or maintain their privacy until the time came fur the full Council session. One segment was empty, and had been empty since Regis, or any of his living

relatives, could remember; and he remembered that his grandfather had told him once, when he was a boy, that the Domain of Aldaran had been untenanted since
he
, or any of
his
relatives, could remember.

The old Seventh Domain, Aldaran, had been exiled from the Comyn for so long that no one could

remember why; the reasons, if indeed there were reasons, had been lost in the Ages of Chaos. He had seen it every year since he was old enough to attend Council; empty, dusty benches and seats, a bare space on the wall where once the double-eagle banner of Aldaran had hung.

The curtains were drawn around the Alton Domain’s enclosure too. It had been empty for the last five seasons; now, at the beginning of the sixth, Regis supposed that either Lew or Kennard or both would be there, to head off the threatened action—to declare the Alton Domain vacant and place it formally in the hands of Gabriel Lanart-Hastur as Warden of the Domain. But had either of them returned? He could not believe that Kennard would return without paying at least a courtesy call on Lord Hastur, and there had been no such call. On the other hand, if Lew had returned, Regis found it unlikely that he would not have sent some word to Regis himself.

We were friends. I think Lew would have let me know.

But there had been no word, and Regis was beginning to be troubled. Perhaps Lew and Kennard had decided to let the Domain go by default. In the days that were inevitable, a feudal lordship over an enormous Domain might have no meaning. Marius was well-to-do; Kennard owned a good deal of

property aside from the Great House at Armida. Perhaps, Regis thought, he was better spared that kind of feudal Wardenship of the ancient Domain, as Regis himself would as soon have been spared the changes that were certainly coming in Darkovan society; let Gabriel have the thankless task of dealing with them.

He looked around the Chamber. He could see someone stirring behind the partially closed curtains of the Ridenow enclosure; perhaps Lord Edric’s wife or any of her grown daughters. Well, there were enough Ridenow sons and daughters; they were not, apparently, cursed by the barrenness which

plagued some of the older Domains. The direct line of the Aillard was extinct; a collateral line, the Lindir-Aillard family, ruled that house, with Lady Callina as formal head of the Domain; she had a younger sister Linnell, who had been another of Kennard’s fosterlings, and a brother who was one of Dyan Ardais’s circle, though Regis was not sure (and did not care) whether the boy was Dyan’s lover and favorite, or simply a hanger-on. Latterly, Merryl Lindir-Aillard had been seen more often in the company of young Prince Derik Elhalyn. On one occasion Regis’s grandfather, Danvan, Lord Hastur, had expressed some distress at the company the prince kept.

“I don’t think you need to worry, sir,” Regis had said, a little wryly. “No matter what Merryl is, Derik’s a lover of women. Merryl flatters him, that’s all.”

And because of what he was, telepath—and, although there were telepathic dampers all around the Crystal Chamber, they had not yet been set or adjusted—Regis was not surprised to hear the

Guardsman at the door, his voice changed from the friendly, though respectful tone he had used with Regis to a flat deference.

“No,
vai dom
, you have come early; there is no one here but the Lord Regis Hastur.”

“Oh, good,” said the high voice of the young prince. “I haven’t seen Regis since last season,” and Regis turned and bowed to Derik Elhalyn. But Derik disregarded that and came to give Regis a kinsman’s embrace.

“Why have you come so early, cousin?”

Regis smiled and said, “I might ask the same of you, my lord. I wasn’t aware I was all that early—I hadn’t expected to be the first one here.” There were one or two, even in the Comyn, to whom he might have said, forthrightly,
Grandfather was badgering me again about letting my marriage be arranged
this season, and I walked out because I didn’t want to quarrel with him again
. But, although Derik was three years older than Regis himself, tall and good-looking, such adult affairs seemed out of place when talking to Derik.

The Domain of Elhalyn had once been a Hastur sept—although, in fact, all the Domains had once been descended from the legendary Hastur and Cassilda, the Elhalyn had retained their kinship to Hastur longer than the rest. A few hundred years ago, the Hastur kings had ceded their ceremonial functions, and the throne itself, to the Hasturs of Elhalyn. Regis’s mother had been a sister of King Stephen, and so the “cousin” was not courtesy alone. Regis had known Derik since they were little children; but by the time Regis was nine years old, it was already apparent that Regis was quicker and more intelligent, and he had begun to treat Derik almost as a younger brother. The adult Regis wondered sometimes if that was why they had separated them and sent Regis to be fostered at Armida, so that the young prince might not feel his inferiority too much. As they all grew older, it had become painfully obvious that Derik was dull-witted and slow. He might have been crowned at fifteen, the age at which a boy was legally a man; at that age, Regis had been declared Heir to Hastur, and given all the responsibilities that went with that position; but Derik’s crowning had been delayed, first until he was nineteen, then till he should reach twenty-five.

And what then
, Regis wondered.
What will my grandfather do when it becomes painfully obvious that
Derik is no readier to rule at five-and-twenty than he was at fifteen
? Most likely he would crown the youngster, retaining the unofficial Regency in the eyes of all Darkover, as many Hasturs had done over the centuries.

“We should have a new banner when I am crowned,” said Derik, standing outside the rails of the Elhalyn enclosure. “The old one is threadbare.”

Merryl Lindir-Aillard, standing behind him, said softly, “But the old one has seen the crowning of a hundred Elhalyn kings, sir. It holds all the tradition of the past.”

“Well, it’s time we had some new traditions around here,” said Derik. “Why aren’t you in uniform, Regis? Aren’t you in the Guards anymore?”

Regis shook his head. “My grandfather needs me in the
cortes
.”

“I don’t think it was fair that they never let me serve in the cadets as all the Comyn sons do,” said Derik. “There are so many things they don’t let me do! Do they think I haven’t the wit for them?”

That, of course, was exactly what they thought; but Regis had not the heart to say so. He said, “My grandfather told me once that he was cadet-master for a few seasons, but they had to replace him because all the young cadets were too much in awe of him as a Hastur.”

“I’d have liked to wear a cadet uniform, though,” said Derik, still sulky, and Merryl said smoothly,

“You
wouldn’t
have liked it, my prince. The cadets resent having Comyn among them—they made your life miserable, didn’t they, Dom Regis?”

Regis started to say,
only during the first year, only until they knew I wasn’t trying to use the privileges
of rank to get special favors I hadn’t worked for
. But he supposed that was beyond Derik’s understanding. He said, “They certainly gave me a lot of trouble,” and left it at that.

“Even if they’ve delayed my crowning, they won’t delay my marriage again,” said Derik. “Lord Hastur said that he would speak to Lady Callina about announcing the betrothal with Linnell at this Council. I think I should ask
you
instead, Merryl.
You
are her guardian—aren’t you?”

Merryl said, “As the Comyn is now arranged, sir, the Aillard line is ruled by the female line. But Lady Callina is very busy with her work in the Towers; perhaps it can be arranged so that the lady need not be troubled with such minor matters as this.”

Regis asked, “Is Callina still Keeper at Neskaya—no— Arilinn,
Dom
Merryl?” He used the formal address, annoyed by the way in which the youngster was planting the thought in Derik’s mind that perhaps he, Merryl, should be consulted before the rightful Warden of the Domain. Merryl scowled and said, “No, I believe she has been brought here to serve as Keeper to work with the Mother Ashara.”

“Merciful Avarra, is old Ashara still alive?” Derik asked. “She was a bogey for my nurse to frighten me with when I was six years old! Anyway, Callina won’t be there long, will she, Merryl?” He smiled at his friend, and Regis thought there was some secret understanding there. “But I’ve never seen Ashara, and I don’t think anyone else has—my great-aunt Margwenn was under-Keeper for her a long time ago, before I was born; she said
she
had hardly seen her. Ashara must be as old as Zandru’s grandmother!”