Authors: Marion Zimmer Bradley
Danilo started to make a flippant answer; then withheld it, and the old sympathy began to weave between them again, a touch closer than words; the telepathic touch of
laran
, of sworn brotherhood and more.
Well, you are Heir to Hastur, Regis; it is part of the burden of being what you are. I would lighten it if I
could, but no one alive can do that. And you would not have it otherwise.
You lighten it by understanding; and now that you are here I am not altogether alone…
No spoken words were necessary. After a time Danilo said lightly, “There is the tavern where the Guard officers go; they at least have grown used to Comyn and do not think we are all freaks or monsters, or that we walk without touching the ground like some heroes from old legends. We could have a drink there without anyone staring.”
The Castle Guard of Thendara at least know that we are human, with all the human faults and failings,
and sometimes more
… Regis was not entirely sure whether the thought was his own, or whether he picked it up from Danilo. They went down through the great labyrinth of the Comyn Castle, and out into the crowded streets of the first night of Festival.
“Sometimes, at Festival, I come here masked,” Regis said.
Danilo grinned. “What—and deprive every girl in the city of the joys of hopeless love?”
Regis made a nervous gesture—the gesture of a fencer who concedes a hit. Danilo knew he had struck too close to the nerve, but did not make it worse with an apology. Regis picked up the thought anyway;
The Regent is pressuring him to marry again, damned old tyrant! At least my foster-father understands
why I do not
. Then Danilo managed to shield his thoughts; they went into the tavern near the gates of the Guard Hall.
The front room was crowded with young cadets. A few of the boys saluted Regis and he had to speak a word or two to them, but they finally got through to the quieter back room, where the older officers were drinking. The room was semi-dark even at this hour, and some of the men nodded in a friendly fashion to Regis and his companion, but immediately turned back to their own affairs; not
unfriendliness but a way of giving the Hastur Heir the only privacy and anonymity he ever could have these days. Unlike the boys in the outer room, who enjoyed the knowledge that even the powerful Hastur-lord was required by law and custom to return their salutes and acknowledge their existence, these officers knew a little of Regis’s burden and were willing to let him alone if he wished.
The tavernkeeper, who knew him too, brought his usual wine without asking. “What would you like, Dani?”
Danilo shrugged. “Whatever he’s brought.”
Regis began to protest, then laughed and poured the wine; the drinking was only an excuse, anyway. He raised his rough mug, sipped and said, “Now tell me everything that’s been happening while you were away. I’m sorry about your father, Dani; I liked him and hoped to bring him to court someday. Did you spend all that time in the Hellers?”
Hours slipped away while they talked, the wine half forgotten between them. At last they heard the drum-roll of “Early Quarters” beat out from the Guard Hall, and Regis started, half rising, then laughed, remembering that he was no longer obliged to answer to it. He sat down again.
“What a soldier you’ve become!” Danilo teased.
“I liked it,” Regis said, after a moment. “I always knew exactly what was expected of me, and who expected it, and what to do about it. If there were war, it would have been a different thing. But the worst trouble I ever had was in breaking up street riots, or escorting drunks to the lockup if they were making a nuisance of themselves, or investigating when a house was robbed, or making somebody tie up a troublesome dog. Last year there was a riot in the marketplace—no, this one is funny, Dani; a cattle-drover’s wife had left him because, she said, she had caught him in her
own
bed with her
own
cousin! So she slipped into his stall, and stampeded the animals he’d brought to sell! There were upset stalls and broken crockery all over the place… I happened to be officer of the day, so I caught it! One of the cadets complained that he’d left home so he
wouldn’t
have to chase dairy animals all day long!
Well, we finally got them all rounded up again, and I had to go and testify before the city magistrate. So the
cortes
fined the woman twelve
reis
for all the damage the beasts had caused, and it was the husband who had to pay the fine! He protested that he had been the victim, and it was his wife who let the animals loose, and the magistrate—she was a Renunciate—said that it would teach him to conduct his love affairs in decent privacy, in a way that didn’t insult or humiliate his wife!”
Danilo laughed, more at the reminiscent amusement in Regis’s face, than at the story. Out in the other room, he heard the cadets jostling each other and bickering as they paid their accounts and went back to barracks. “Did I see one of your sister’s sons among the cadets out there? They must be great boys now.”
“Not yet this year,” said Regis. “Rafael is only twelve, and young Gabriel only eleven… I suppose Rafael might have been just old enough, but with his father the Commander of the Guard, I suppose he felt it was early for that. Or my sister did, which is the same thing.”
Danilo looked startled. “Gabriel Lanart-Hastur is Commander of the Guards? How did that happen?
Has Kennard Alton not returned?”
“There’s been no word from him; not even whether he is dead or alive, my grandfather said.”
“But the Command of Castle Guard is an Alton post,” Danilo protested. “How comes it into Hastur hands?”
“Gabriel is one of the nearest kin to the Altons of Armida. With Kennard and his Heir both offworld, what else could they do?”
“But surely there are Altons nearer of kin than your brother-in-law,” protested Danilo. “Kennard’s other son, Marius—he must be fifteen or sixteen now.”
“Even if he were acknowledged Heir to Alton,” Regis said, “he would hardly be old enough to
command the Guard. And Kennard’s elder brother had a son, the one they found on Terra… but he’s chief technician at Arilinn Tower, and knows no more of commanding soldiers than I know of
embroidery stitches! Anyway, his Terran education’s a handicap—it doesn’t hurt him out there at Arilinn, but they don’t want him in Thendara to remind them that there are Terrans in the very heart of Comyn Council!” His voice sounded bitter. “After all, they managed to get rid of Lew Alton, and the Council refused again last year to give Marius any of the rights—or duties—of a Comyn son. My
grandfather told me—” his smile only stretched his mouth a little— “that they had made that mistake with Lew, and they’re not going to make it again, they said. Terran blood, bad blood, treachery.”
“Lew deserves better of them than that,” said Danilo quietly. “And if he does not, Kennard at least is guiltless of any treachery and should be consulted.”
“Do you think I did not say that? I am old enough to sit in Council and listen to my elders, Dani, but do you think they listen to me when I speak? My grandfather said that he knew Lew and I had been
bredin
when I was a child—implying that would warp my judgment. If Kennard were
here
to be consulted, they might listen to him. Most people do. But they are not neglecting Marius, even though they have not allowed him status as Alton of Armida; they appointed Gabriel as his Guardian, and he has been sent to the Terran Headquarters for a proper Terran education. He’s better educated than either you or I, Dani, and what he has learned there probably makes more sense in this day of Empire and star-travel than
this
—” He gestured around the tavern, at the Guardsmen wearing swords. Regis fully agreed with the Darkovan Compact, which forbade use of any weapon beyond arm’s reach of the man using it,
insisting that he who would kill must take his own chance with death. Still, swords were not weapons alone, but tokens of a way of life which seemed to make little sense in the presence of an interstellar Empire. Danilo followed his thoughts, but shook his head stubbornly.
“I don’t agree with you, Regis. Marius deserves better of the Council than a Terran education. I don’t think Kennard should have gone offworld, and certainly he should not have stayed this long. Hastur should recall him at once—unless your grandfather is greedy for another Domain to pass under the rule of the Hasturs. Already, it seems, he has taken over the Elhalyn Domain—or why is Derik not yet crowned, at eighteen?”
Regis made a wry face. “You do not know our Prince. He may be eighteen, but he is a child of ten—or might as well be. My grandsire wants nothing more than to be free of the burden of the Regency of Thendara—”
Danilo raised a skeptical eyebrow but said nothing. Regis repeated, “Derik is not yet ready to rule. The Council has deferred his crowning till he is twenty-five. There is precedent for that, and if Derik is simply slow to reach manhood and wisdom, well, that will give him time. If not—well, we will fly that falcon when his pinions are grown.”
“And what if Derik, in Hastur’s opinion, is never fit to rule?” Danilo asked. “There was a time when the Hasturs ruled all these Domains, and the rebellion against their tyranny split the Domains into a hundred little kingdoms!”
“And it was the Hasturs who united them all again, in the days of King Carolin,” said Regis. “I have read history, too. In Aldones’s name, Dani, do you think my grandsire is anxious to be King over all this country? Or do I look to you like a tyrant?”
Danilo said, “Certainly not. But in principle, each of the Domains should be strong—and independent.
If Lord Hastur cannot crown Derik—and from what little I have seen of him, he looks not much like a King—he should look elsewhere for an Heir to Elhalyn. Forgive me, Regis, but I like it not, to see so much power in Hastur hands; first the Regency which controls the Heir to the Crown, and now the Altons under Hastur rule too. And the Alton Domain carries with it the command of Castle Guard.
Where will Hastur turn next? Lady Callina of Valeron is unmarried; will he marry her, perhaps, to you, and bring the Aillard Domain as well under the Hasturs?”
“I am old enough to be consulted about my marriage,” said Regis dryly. “And I assure you that if he has any such plan, he has not spoken of it to me. Do you think my grandfather is a spider at the center of such a web as that?”
“Regis, I am not trying to pick a quarrel with you.” Danilo raised the wine pitcher; Regis shook his head, but Danilo poured it anyway, raised the rough mug to his lips and set it down untasted. “I know your grandsire is a good man, and as for you—well, you know well what I think,
bredhyu
.” He used the intimate inflection, and Regis smiled, but Danilo went on earnestly, “All this sets a dangerous precedent. After you, Hasturs may reign who are really not fit for such power. A day could come when all the Domains would be Hastur vassals.”
“Zandru’s hells, Dani!” said Regis impatiently. “Do you really think Darkover will remain independent of the Empire that long, or that the Comyn will rule over the Domains when that day comes? I think Marius Alton is the only one of us who will be properly prepared for the direction in which Darkover will go.”
“That day will come,” Danilo told him quietly, “over the dead bodies of the Ardais Domain.”
“No doubt, on that day, there will be Hastur bodies lying dead too, but it will come for all that. Listen, Dani,” he said urgently, “do you
really
understand the situation? A few generations ago, when the Terrans came here, it was because we happened to be in the wrong place at the right time—a planet located between the upper and lower spiral arms of the Galaxy, exactly where they needed to set up a spaceport as a crossroads and transit point for Empire traffic. They’d have preferred an uninhabited planet, and I’m sure they debated making us into one. Then they discovered that we were a lost Terran colony—”
“And Saint-Valentine-of-the-Snows lies buried in Nevarsin,” Danilo said, exasperated. “I heard all that when we were prisoners in Aldaran three years ago, Regis!”
“No, listen—the Terrans found us, speaking languages long dead on Terra itself; but we were a
primitive world, which had lost its technology, or so they thought. They gave us Closed World status, so that we would not be disturbed by too-rapid social upheavals—they do that with all primitive societies, so that they can evolve at their own rate. Then they found out that we were not so primitive a planet after all, and they found out about our
laran
, our matrix technology. They found that the linked minds in the Tower circles could mine metals, power aircraft, all those other things—well, they wanted matrix technology, and they tried all sorts of things to get some of it.”
“Regis, I know all that, but—”
“Will you
listen
? You know as well as I; some Darkovans wanted, and still want, the advantages of Terran technology, a place in the Empire, status for Darkover as a colony with political strength, representation in the Empire Senate—all those things. Others, especially in the Comyn, felt that Empire citizenship would destroy our world and our people. That we’d become just another colony like a dozen others, dependent on Terran trade, offworld metals and luxuries, tourists— They’ve had their way so far. I can see that there will have to be changes on Darkover. But I want them to come at a rate we can assimilate.”
“And I don’t want them to come at all,” Danilo said.
“Who would? But the Terrans are
here
, like it or not. And I will not be accused of trying to keep our people primitives, barbarians, so that my family and I can maintain our superstitious powers over them!”
He had spoken more forcefully than he realized, forgetting where they were. A languid voice said,
“Bravo! The Heir to Hastur has come of age and learned that Terrans are a reality, not a crew of bogeymen to frighten little children!”
Regis started. He had forgotten they were not alone. He turned to see a tall thin man, fair-haired, with the stamp of the Comyn on his angular features; elegantly dressed in foppish Darkovan clothing, but with rich alien furs adorning his cloak. Regis bowed, his face set in rigid politeness.