Hastur Lord

by Marion Zimmer Bradley

  And Linnea herself, Regis thought with a frisson of panic. What if Valdir decides his hold on me is not sufficient and goes after her? If she were still a Keeper, she might defy him, but as she is . . . carrying our son . . .

  He thrust the idea from his mind, praying she had not sensed his fear.

  Meanwhile, Javanne had gotten to her feet, rearranged her hair and skirts, and set about putting the room to rights. Work would steady her, Regis thought.

  Regis departed to make his own preparations for his move back to the townhouse. He dared not ask Linnea to come with him. Her best hope lay in the illusion that he no longer cared for her. How long that deception would hold, he did not know.

  18

  The Crystal Chamber was the last place Regis wanted to be, and he thought it ironically fitting that Valdir Ridenow had chosen it for the abdication speech. The chamber had been the meeting place of the Comyn Council from time out of memory, and it struck Regis as nothing short of pretentious for the small remnants to gather as if they were still the ruling faction in the Domains. True, the Telepath Council had not lived up to his hopes of a broadly inclusive fellowship of those with psychic talent, and true, its internal bickering and inertia, its inability to unite in common cause, had paralyzed any hope of effective leadership. As he waited in the private entrance to the Hastur section, Regis wondered if a smaller, unified Comyn Council might be able to accomplish something. But was that a good thing or an invitation to tyranny?

  Beyond the dusty curtain that once shielded Hastur women from public view, Regis heard the sounds of people entering and taking their places in the sections reserved for their Domains. Footfalls echoed, for the chamber held only a fraction of the assembly for which it had been designed. If he closed his eyes and reached out with his laran, he could feel the ghosts of the great Comyn lords and ladies, Keepers, and leroni whose lives had been given meaning in this place. Were they watching him now, waiting to see how he would conduct himself?

  Did the spirit of his grandfather watch him as well? For an instant, Regis almost believed it.

  He felt the assembly waiting—Gabriel by the massive double doors, Javanne boldly in the front of the Hastur section, Linnea—ah! Linnea!—in the dim recesses under the Alton banner, Valdir like a glowing ember across the room. The others were phantoms with less substance than the echoes of the great men and powerful Keepers of the past.

  The telepathic dampers hummed into life, and he sensed nothing beyond the sickness in the pit of his own belly. Although the waiting was a torment in itself, he held himself still until he heard a booming male voice, one of Gabriel’s lieutenants, rolling out his many names and titles. At any other time, he would have shrunk from such ostentation.

  “Regis-R afael Felix Alar Hastur y Elhalyn . . . Warden of Hastur . . .”

  Regis had never wanted spectacle and mythic adoration, and yet these were what his Grandfather had drilled into him, what the people on the street expected. So many times he had longed to be free of it, and now that his wish was granted, he felt nothing.

  He pushed aside the curtain and took his seat in the front row of the Hastur enclosure, the same seat his Grandfather had used. Rinaldo would enter later, on Valdir’s summons.

  Regis took a moment to survey the Crystal Chamber and the faces washed by the pastel rainbow light from the prismed ceiling. Some looked grave, others confused, a few desolate. He glanced toward the Ridenow area long enough to notice Mikhail there, sitting between two burly men. The boy looked shaken but well enough to stand on his own. Valdir had kept his word.

  “Kinsmen, nobles, Comynarii,” Regis began, “I welcome you to Council.” These were the same words his Grandfather had used. He could think of no more fitting farewell.

  After he finished the formal greeting and the roll call of the Domains, such as it was, Regis drew out the paper bearing the speech he was to deliver. He had not written it; Valdir had, and Regis saw no reason to pretend otherwise. He would read it word for word, giving his enemies no cause to charge him with equivocation. If this was what they required as the price of Danilo’s life and Mikhail’s freedom, then they would have it.

  The words came awkwardly to his tongue. Valdir was not much of a writer, although the legalistic language was inescapable. There was nothing that could be misinterpreted, no vague stipulations, no euphemisms. All intention was made clear, even as Valdir had commanded.

  In his misery, Regis had given no thought to how deeply the silence, the horrified listening, would affect him. Not a hand twitched or a murmur breathed during the entire speech.

  At last, it was over. The speech had not been a long one. Sweat dampened his neck. He was glad he had not eaten. Then the same officer shouted out Rinaldo’s name, the great double doors parted with a distant booming sound, and Rinaldo entered.

  To his credit, Rinaldo carried himself well. Instead of ornate courtly dress, he wore a long belted robe in the Hastur colors, of costly materials but simply cut, subtly evoking the life he was now to leave behind forever. The fabric flowed with his stately strides. He came to a halt under the central prism, facing the Hastur section.

  Now came the most difficult part of the ceremony. To Regis, it was enough that he state in public the validity of his older brother’s claim. But Valdir insisted on a more powerful symbol of the transfer of power.

  Regis opened the railing gate, crossed the polished floor and stood before his brother. Then, with numbed dignity, he knelt.

  The only saving grace was that Danilo was not here to see it. Or Grandfather or Lew, or even Dyan Ardais.

  He heard a sob, muffled and indistinct, from somewhere in the Chamber.

  The formal oath of fealty was brief. Regis had heard it a hundred times, mostly when it was offered to himself. His throat went dry and his voice felt like parchment over stone, but he held steady. He would not disgrace those for whom he did this thing. His own vanity meant nothing and if Valdir thought to humble him, the man did not know him at all. There was no false pride in him to mortify, no humiliation to inflict. The only honor of the moment, the only true honor in his life, was in service to those he loved.

  Rinaldo stood like a man of ice. Regis blessed the laran-smothering dampers as well as his brother’s lack of psychic Gifts. He very much did not want to know what Rinaldo was feeling at this moment. Mercifully brief was the moment when Rinaldo placed his hands in the correct position, one brother’s flesh pressing the other’s.

  Regis finished, “The gods witness it, and the holy things at Hali.”

  Rinaldo responded, not with the traditional formula, but with, “May the one true God bless you for this selfless act and keep you on the path of virtue, my brother.”

  Rinaldo lifted Regis to his feet and kissed him on either cheek. “I want everyone to know you are an honorable man. Blessings beyond measure will spring from your sacrifice.”

  “I pray it may be so,” Regis replied.

  Regis followed Rinaldo back to the Hastur enclosure, where Rinaldo now took the place of honor. Rinaldo seemed at ease in the enormous chair. No one protested that a cristoforo monk could not be Head of his Domain, for Valdir had made it widely known that Rinaldo had been released from his vows. The issue of whether he could produce an heir must eventually be addressed. Doubtless that was Valdir’s intent in suggesting a Ridenow bride. For the time being, Hastur still had an heir in Mikhail.

  The assembly then proceeded to the formal recognition of Rinaldo as the new Lord of Hastur. One of those permitted to come forth was Mikhail, unfettered and unaccompanied. He bowed to his uncle. Rinaldo responded courteously with an invitation to join him in the enclosure. Javanne gave no response as Mikhail moved past her to one of the lesser places in the back.

  By the time Rinaldo dismissed the Council, his first act as the Head of Hastur, Regis was so wrung- out it took an effort to stand. He managed to get to his feet and wait, his face frozen in polite attention, as one and then another of the lords approached him with carefully p
hrased greetings.

  Valdir hung back, his expression hooded, as Rinaldo dismissed the last of the well-wishers.

  Rinaldo said to Regis, “I return you now to the life you desired for so long, a private life. May the Holy Bearer of Burdens look into your heart and lift your sorrows in proportion to your penance.”

  Before Regis could summon a response, Rinaldo added, “We must speak soon, you and I, in private. There is much to be done, much good to be accomplished. I would seek your counsel in many things. I must also consult with Mestra Lawton. And . . .” grasping Regis by the forearms with a sudden, fierce gaze, “I have not forgotten your paxman. He will not languish in captivity one day longer than I have the power to free him. I promise you!”

  With that, the stunned calm inside Regis gave way like a broken floodgate. A dozen jumbled emotions sluiced through him. He could not speak.

  Valdir and his men swept Rinaldo from the chamber. Regis could not see Linnea, for the Alton enclosure was empty. The next instant, Gabriel rushed across the room and caught Mikhail in a wordless embrace, pounding the boy’s back.

  “Let’s get away from this place,” Javanne said to her husband, “before anyone changes his mind.”

  Regis could not have agreed more.

  19

  Before Regis left the Crystal Chamber, Valdir took him aside and informed him that he might choose to remain in the Castle under guard or to move to another location. Either way, he would not be permitted free movement in the city or private access with those who might plot against the new order. Regis listened politely and expressed his desire to retire to a secluded life in his own residence. He asked if he might be allowed to visit his family, but he did not mention Danilo. He was afraid that any inquiry might sound too much like begging. Valdir admitted the rationale for coordination with Javanne as Castle chatelaine but waved away the subject of Rinaldo. That meeting would not happen, Regis thought as he took his leave, until Valdir had the new Hastur Lord securely under his influence.

  The next tenday went by in a blur. Regis was glad of an excuse to decline invitations to the usual summer festivities. He had no intention of sitting idly by while Valdir consolidated his position, but he must move carefully while lulling the Ridenow into thinking he had given in.

  Regis formulated a plan to bring charges against Valdir in the Cortes. The matter should properly have been heard by the Comyn Council, since it involved the kidnapping of two of its members as well as extortion and possibly treason, but the Council was not yet reinstated. Valdir would most likely refuse to cooperate in a civil suit, but the hearings and resulting scandal would cripple his position as Rinaldo’s councillor. The Cortes might even order Valdir confined to his city mansion or, if he refused, which was likely, freeze his assets and threaten his guards as co-conspirators with fines or imprisonment. The first step was to find a judge with the courage and integrity to investigate a member of the Comyn.

  Regis began removing his household to the townhouse. One of Gabriel’s officers, an earnest young man named Brunin Sandoval, contrived to encounter Regis during one of his many trips back and forth. Regis was able to communicate his plan and the officer agreed to make discreet contact with a judge who had a staunch reputation for upholding justice.

  Meanwhile, Gabriel was quietly continuing the search for Danilo’s location. None of his attempts had been successful, nor had he been able to escape the surveillance of Valdir’s men long enough to speak with Dan Lawton.

  The coridom had kept the town house tidy and in good repair. He had tracked down those servants who had been let go or sent to the estate at Carcosa when Regis moved into the Castle. Soon the house was made comfortable, far more than the drafty, gloomy chambers in the Castle.

  Set in its walled garden, now jewel- bright with summer blossoms, the townhouse exuded the aura of safety. The dangers, and there were many, would come from without. Here Regis felt no fear of betrayal. He breathed more easily and slept more deeply between his own sheets, on which lingered the faint, musky scent of love.

  Once, in a spasm of masochistic longing, Regis wandered into the room Danilo had used. The air was shrouded in ghosts. A trick of light created the appearance of a fine layer of dust on fabric and wood, although the coridom would never have sanctioned such careless housekeeping.

  In the corner beyond the narrow, little-used bed, Danilo’s cadet chest huddled as if in grief. Regis smoothed his fingers over the worn lid and lifted it. He would never have dared even so slight an invasion if Danilo had been here. In that moment of half-crazed heartache, his hands moved of their own accord. If this was all he had of Danilo, it must suffice. He recognized most of the contents, threadbare handed-down clothing and mementos from Syrtis.

  There, wrapped in shimmering spidersilk, was the dagger Regis had given Danilo when they first swore themselves to one another. Why had Danilo left it? It had not been so much buried as thrust into hiding. Holding the slender blade and knowing it would never fall into Valdir’s hands brought a surge of irrational joy.

  “In your service alone do I bear this,” Danilo had said as he accepted the blade. Then he had pressed his lips against the naked steel. Regis echoed the gesture, tasting the imprint of that long-ago kiss. The instant of pleasure fled, leaving only cold metal and the slow, churning fear in his heart.

  With the exception of the Terran Zone, from which he was strictly banned, Regis was still able to come and go. He was always escorted, not by the usual City Guardsmen, but by men assigned to him by Valdir, men whose accents and gold-tinted hair bespoke their Ridenow lineage.

  The loss of contact with Dan Lawton and Dr. Jay Allison was bad enough, but it also meant Regis could not speak with Lew or send him a message. He had no way of knowing how the transfer of the Hastur Lordship had been portrayed. What possible explanation could Valdir have offered?

  More than that, Regis missed the counsel and longstanding rapport with his oldest friend. Never before had he been so painfully aware of how few friends he had; his rank and lineage had kept most of his contemporaries at arm’s length. Of those who had found their way through the convoluted politics, too many were dead, off-world . . . or beyond his reach.

  Regis tried several times to speak with the Legate, only to find the Terran sector barred to him. The Ridenow guards, who had until then resembled silent shadows, closed briskly with him, leaving little doubt that any attempt would be met with instant failure.

  Within the Castle, the guards would not allow Regis to enter the corridors leading to the Ridenow section or, for that matter, the environs of their mansion in the city. From this, Regis deduced that Valdir had moved his quarters to the Castle, but he could not be sure. He received no inkling of where Danilo was kept. As for Rinaldo, Regis was told repeatedly that his brother was occupied at the moment and would send word when he desired an interview.

  Regis often had business in the Castle during this time of shifting residences and preparing the quarters that would now belong to Rinaldo. When at last he had removed all traces of his own occupancy, he lingered in the study. It had never felt as though it belonged to anyone except his grandfather. Danvan Hastur had served the Comyn for longer than most men now alive could recall, and his presence whispered through every scroll and ledger. Now the man who would sit at this ancient desk and handle these pens might be kin, but he had never known the person behind the legend.

  The thought had come to Regis that he ought to take the more sensitive items with him for safekeeping, for instance his grandfather’s personal records.

  He was Rinaldo’s grandfather, too, he reminded himself. Moreover, Rinaldo was a man of learning, a scholar. He would not damage or misplace any documents, no matter how strenuously he disagreed with their contents.

  On this occasion, Haldred Ridenow had accompanied Regis, remaining at a watchful distance. Regis handed him the keys to the desk and the locked cabinets and closed the door behind him. He paused, weighing his next move.

  He had seen noth
ing of Linnea since that awful spectacle at the Crystal Chamber. There was nothing he could do to protect her, he knew that. Although he felt sure his laran would have alerted him if anything had happened to her, he wanted to see her with his own eyes.

  “Now that I have no further reason to come to the Castle except to visit my sister,” Regis began, facing Haldred with an expression of innocence. It rankled to subordinate himself to such an arrogant bootlick. “I would take my leave of an old acquaintance. A lady of the Storns and hence a distant relation of the Altons. Is this permissible?”

  Haldred shrugged, bowed, and left Regis to the care of his usual escort.

  The central hall of the Alton quarters had always struck Regis as dreary and sepulchral, even when old Kennard had still been alive. The lights in this part of the Castle were very old, chunks of luminous rock hacked from deep caves; charged with daylight, they gave off a cold radiance for hours into the evening. Regis preferred the warmer light of flame or torch or even the yellow incandescence of the Terran buildings.

  Linnea had avoided the main chambers for the smaller, more intimate rooms once used by Lew Alton. After the chill of the corridors, the small bright fire filled the parlor with cheer. The furniture was heavy and masculine. Linnea had added little except her own presence. Except for the herbal scent and the honey-tinge of beeswax, she might have been only a passing guest.

  After exchanging awkward pleasantries with her, Regis put forth his offer. “I cannot guarantee your safety or Kierestelli’s. Here in the Castle, anything can happen. Mikhail was seized in his family’s own quarters. At least, in the townhouse, I know every face.”

  Linnea set down her cup of the spiced pear cider she had served. “Regis, if I move in with you, I will destroy what is left of my reputation—and hence, my position of respect—and have it cried from every street corner that I am Regis Hastur’s barragana.”