Hastur Lord

by Marion Zimmer Bradley

  They went along a corridor, then up several flights of stairs. Haldred was surprisingly solicitous, warning Danilo of the changes in flooring and supporting him when he stumbled.

  Danilo surmised that he had been held somewhere beneath Comyn Castle, possibly in one of the old abandoned dungeons. The Castle itself was a warren with so many disused or forgotten sections that a prisoner could easily have been hidden without the inhabitants knowing. Regis—was Regis searching for him, even now? Or was Regis waiting for him, having brought about his release?

  The dank chill of the air lessened along with the fetor. They paused while Haldred opened and then locked doors behind them. Underfoot, bare stone gave way to carpet. At last, Haldred halted.

  The next moment, the blindfold fell away. Danilo blinked in the sudden brightness. He had been shut away from the light for so long, he had almost forgotten what it looked like. In the center of the room was a freestanding tub filled with steaming herb-scented water. A pile of towels and a basket containing brushes, a pot of scouring sand, and several chunks of yellow soap sat within easy reach. Danilo almost wept at the sight.

  A strange expression flickered over Haldred’s face, a mixture of shame and pity. “I remind you of your promise, Lord Syrtis, and leave you to your ablutions. Ring the bell when you have finished, and I will return with a barber.” Meaning word of honor or not, he would not trust Danilo with anything as lethal as a razor.

  The door latch locked behind Haldred with a click. Danilo turned away, closing his eyes to focus his thoughts. His mind still felt half-deadened, as if his skull had been stuffed with banshee feathers, but he had to try while he had a moment’s chance away from that cursed damper.

  Regis . . . he called out silently.

  For an instant, he caught a response. Then it was gone, and he could not be sure if he had imagined it.

  Danilo pulled off his grimy clothes and eased himself into the tub. The water was surprisingly hot. He rested the back of his head against the rounded edge. He had not realized how many sore muscles one body could have. Sighing, he closed his eyes for a moment. Despite the seductive warmth and the soothing herbal aromas arising with the steam, he was not safe. He must assume these temptations were intended to lull him into a false sense of well-being.

  Picking up a brush and chunk of soap, he attacked his hair and as much of his skin as he could reach. Cuts and scrapes stung under this treatment, but he welcomed the pain as an aid to alertness.

  Once he was as clean as a single scrubbing could make him, Danilo stepped from the bath. He dried himself and wrapped the towel around his waist. Moving carefully, he made a circuit of the room, inspecting windows, searching each piece of furniture and each fold of drapery for anything that might be used as a weapon at such time as he might release himself from his promise.

  He found nothing.

  Unreasonably irritated, he folded the towel, draped it over the edge where it would cushion his neck, got back into the bath, and reached for the bell. A Comyn lord, even a prisoner, would not dress himself after a bath, and there was no point in providing him a bath without clean clothing.

  A moment or two later, Haldred returned, along with two guards and an older man in the robes of a cristoforo monk. The monk carried a handful of garments of somber dark gray and a basket containing shaving and grooming equipment. He kept his eyes carefully averted as Danilo dried himself on a fresh towel. The shirt was fine-woven linex without ornamentation but expensive, as were the stylishly cut jacket and trousers. The matching boots were a little too large but manageable. Danilo wondered at the finery; this was not ordinary garb, not even for a Comyn, yet it lacked any Domain insignia or even a personality. The man who wore it might as well be a shadow.

  A shave and haircut were soon accomplished, the monk being skillful in his duties. No one spoke except for a few necessary instructions.

  Haldred inspected the results. “You’ll do very well.”

  “Do for what?”

  Haldred’s mouth tightened into a straight line. “It is not my place to answer that. Come with me, and all will be explained. Remember your promise.”

  Despite his determination to take nothing at face value, Danilo’s spirits rose as he followed Haldred from the suite of rooms. He recognized where he was. Beneath his feet, Javanne’s leaf-patterned carpet welcomed him like a friend.

  Two Castle guards stood watch outside the door leading to Danvan Hastur’s old chambers. No, Danilo corrected himself, they belonged to Regis now.

  One of the guards opened the door. With a brief nod, Haldred departed. So, Danilo thought, Haldred had been nothing more than an errand boy. He forced himself to walk calmly between the two guards, through the outer chamber and into the library.

  But the man sitting in Danvan Hastur’s enormous carved chair, studying an unfurled scroll held down by paperweights, was not Regis. It was Rinaldo.

  For an instant, Danilo stared at his bredhyu’s brother, not quite understanding but sensing that some fundamental change had taken place. Rinaldo was dressed in Hastur colors and heavy silver jewelry. He seemed at home and not at all as if he were snooping into someone else’s private papers.

  More than that and worse, far worse, was the absence of any lingering mental trace of Regis in the room. It was as if he had disappeared from the face of Darkover.

  Danilo’s chest tightened, but he forced himself to stand still. The situation would be made clear soon enough.

  “Ah, there you are!” Rinaldo’s mouth spread in a smile, but Danilo put no credence in it. Rinaldo did not rise, nor did he motion for Danilo to sit. “You were not too badly treated, I hope? Nothing that will not heal in time?”

  “I am well enough,” Danilo replied politely, adding with a trace of reluctance, “vai dom. But I don’t understand why I was held prisoner or what I am doing here now.”

  He was not so disingenuous as to pretend he did not know it was the Ridenow who had seized him, but he truly did not understand their relationship with Rinaldo.

  “I have managed to secure your release under terms that I hope you will not be so foolish as to refuse,” Rinaldo said, again with that smile that was not a smile. “My brother has already seen their wisdom.” Rinaldo’s gaze wavered minutely, flickering around the room as if to indicate the significance of his own presence here. “I am Lord Hastur now, as is my right.”

  Regis! O sweet Bearer of Burdens, has something happened—

  The rush of horror and dismay must have been evident on Danilo’s face, for Rinaldo hastened to say, “No, no, my brother has come to no harm. In fact, he has freely consented to the transfer of power. I suspect he was relieved to lay down a burden he never sought. Now he has retired to a private life and family, occasionally lending me the benefit of his advice. You will see him shortly.”

  Regis, free to live his own life? Danilo’s thoughts went spinning. Then Regis must have come to some arrangement with Valdir, resulting in Danilo’s freedom—but no, that was not what Rinaldo had said. Rinaldo had claimed the credit.

  “Will you not show a morsel of gratitude to me for having gotten you out of that filthy hole?” Rinaldo said.

  “I—I thank you, vai dom.”

  Rinaldo’s expression softened, gracious now. “It is no more than I should do for any man who has served my brother so loyally.”

  Danilo felt the blood drain from his face. Has served?

  “Vai dom, please do not toy with me. I am sworn paxman to Regis Hastur.”

  “And now he intends to transfer that service to me.” Rinaldo’s eyes glinted like steel. “I have need of assistance, and it is better for everyone that the two of you are no longer so . . . intimate as you were. As I said, Regis himself agreed to this. I do not require your approval, only your obedience.”

  The muscles between Danilo’s shoulder blades tightened, as if holding back from striking an opponent. “I made my oath to Regis. I will do what he commands.”

  “That is sufficient for the m
oment. I am sorry for your distress, but I did not wish you to go forward unprepared. In time, we will come to understand one another.” Rinaldo looked as if he would say more, but just then one of the Castle Guards, a different man from before, knocked and announced it was time.

  “Attend me.” Rinaldo swept past Danilo. Four armed Guardsmen followed them both.

  It could not be true, Danilo thought desperately. No matter what Rinaldo said, Regis would never consent.

  They had not gone very far when Danilo realized their destination was the Crystal Chamber. Their entrance, through the massive double doors, reminded Danilo of the many times he had accompanied Regis in just such a procession. A herald cried out, “Lord Hastur!” and a string of familiar titles, but the name was Rinaldo’s.

  Danilo hardly dared to glance around the chamber. He kept his focus on Rinaldo’s back, the fur-trimmed blue velvet, the silver links around his neck. Through the hum of the telepathic dampers, he became aware of the waiting audience. His vision wavered in the diffuse polychromatic light. Peripherally, he caught flashes of color, brilliantly hued court dress, jeweled headdresses, chains of copper and silver. The empty spaces were a poignant reminder of the decline of the Comyn.

  With surprise Danilo noted a woman, richly dressed but veiled, at the back of the Alton section. He had thought all the Altons gone, all off-world.

  One face stood out from the jumble of color and confusion: Valdir Ridenow, his eyes fierce, intent. Gloating.

  As Rinaldo’s procession approached the Hastur enclosure, Danilo spotted Regis, sitting not in his usual place but on a bench toward the rear, in the shadows. The silver-thread lace on cuff and ruffled jabot gleamed, but his eyes, his face, remained hidden.

  Rinaldo settled into the great chair and Danilo took the position indicated, standing half a pace behind and to the right side. Danilo remembered when he had attended Council meetings as Warden of Ardais, Comyn in his own right. Gladly had he laid down that responsibility and resumed the place where he truly belonged.

  Beside Regis . . .

  But he dared not even turn his head, not until he knew what Rinaldo was really up to. He would not give Rinaldo a moment’s weakness to hold over him.

  Rinaldo welcomed the assembly, using the familiar traditional phrases. Danilo paid them little heed; this was a formality only, the opening sally.

  The introductory remarks concluded, Ruyven Di Asturien proceeded to the roll call of the Domains. What an archaic waste of time, Danilo thought, an empty honor. Then he realized that not so long ago, Di Asturien’s daughter had been put forth as a suitable bride for Regis. From where he stood, he could see her without obviously staring. She was sitting between two older female relatives, all of them gorgeously appareled.

  A sick feeling crawled up the back of Danilo’s throat, fueled by the certainty that more was planned today than Rinaldo had told him. The elegance of dress, the ritual roll call, Rinaldo’s ceremonial entrance, all indicated a matter that once would have required the sanction of the Comyn Council.

  Crystal Di Asturien— No, Regis would never marry a girl who had made no secret of her desire to supplant Danilo in his affections!

  In the moment of inner turmoil, Danilo missed the rest of Di Asturien’s remarks, something about how unusual times called for unusual procedures. Then Rinaldo rose, signaling for Regis and Danilo to follow him to the center of the floor.

  Rinaldo hung back, leaving Danilo and Regis to face one another. Danilo could not sense anything through the telepathic damping fields. Nor could he read anything in the way Regis held himself or the tautly masked expression on his face.

  In a monotone, as if reciting a prepared speech, Regis stated his desire to transfer the allegiance of his paxman to his brother, Lord Hastur, until such time as Rinaldo released Danilo.

  Regis! Beloved—b redhyu—w hy are you doing this?

  Rinaldo solemnly stated his willingness to assume the obligations of liege lord. Apparently Danilo had no say in the matter. Even if he had wanted to protest, he was too stunned at the moment.

  Regis passed a sword to Rinaldo. Rinaldo handled it awkwardly, clearly not a swordsman. Triumph hovered over the corners of Rinaldo’s mouth.

  Puzzlement stirred in Danilo as he focused on the blade. It was not the dagger he and Regis had used to exchange their first oaths or the sword that had replaced it. Yet Rinaldo acted as if, in accepting this blade, he had severed the bond between them.

  Had Regis deliberately chosen an anonymous sword, one that held no emotional significance to either of them? Was Regis trying to tell him that the ceremony was a sham, that he had been forced into it? That in his heart nothing had changed?

  Danilo clung to that hope as one of the Guardsmen brought out a second sword, this one tied into its scabbard with stout leather thongs in such a way it could not be drawn.

  Rinaldo held out the second sword. “Bear this in my service.”

  Trembling took hold of Danilo’s muscles. He knew he must not falter but stand firm, head up, spine straight, face composed. He had not felt like this since that horrendous time when he had been a cadet. Driven to desperation, he had struck Dyan Ardais, an officer and his Cadet Master. For that offense, he had been dismissed, stripped of rank, and sent home in disgrace. They had taken his sword—not the heirloom his father had given him but a plain Guardsman’s sword—and shattered it. In his mind, that terrible breaking- glass sound still echoed, a nightmare that not even Dyan’s amends and the subsequent years of privilege could erase.

  “In your service do I bear it.” The words should have been in your service alone, but Danilo could not bring himself to say them. He might accept the necessity of attending Rinaldo, but he would never, as long as he drew breath, take back his promise to Regis.

  His hands closed around the scabbard. Half-blind, praying he would not stumble, Danilo followed Rinaldo to the Hastur box.

  Regis remained in the middle of the floor.

  Danilo glanced back as he passed through the gate. Rinaldo sat down, his anticipation evident.

  “You may sit,” Rinaldo told Danilo, although he meant it as a command.

  The buzz of conversation swelled in the chamber, with more than one curious glance directed first at Regis and then at Danilo. Di Asturien walked with stately pace to stand before Regis. A moment later, Gabriel and Javanne, her gown as resplendent as if she were attending a ball, joined them. Two younger women, Lindirs Danilo knew only slightly, came forward as well. They wore matching gowns of pink silk, and one carried a casket ornamented with copper filigree. The chamber fell still. Even the hum of the telepathic damper seemed muted.

  The woman at the back of the Alton enclosure rose. The room was so quiet, Danilo heard the rustle of her skirts as she passed the railing. A veil of silky gossamer edged with gold lace draped her head and shoulders. She wore a formal gown of iridescent silver, cut high and loose in the waist.

  Walking with almost painful dignity, Linnea Storn came to a halt facing Regis, between the two young women.

  Danilo closed his eyes, wishing he were anywhere else, wishing he were raving mad and that the ceremony about to begin were no more than a fever dream.

  Wishing he were dead, rather than witness this moment.

  Now Di Asturien was speaking the formal words that had come down, barely altered, from the Ages of Chaos . . . the young woman holding the casket was opening it, and Di Asturien removed the two copper catenas bracelets.

  Shackles, more like. Unbreakable, eternal.

  “. . . and with these bracelets, which symbolize the unseen chains that bind you in wedlock, let the bond be sealed,” Di Asturien intoned as he fastened the bracelets around the wrists of the couple, first Regis and then Linnea. The clasps clicked shut, echoing loudly in the chamber.

  Look at me! Danilo pleaded silently. Give me a sign you still keep faith with me!

  Regis made no sign he had heard or cared. How could he sense Danilo’s desolation through the layers of ancient
ritual and the dampers that shut their minds away? How should he care with such a radiant bride beside him—a woman he had always wanted—a woman who had borne him a child and now carried another, a woman he had sought in marriage without even mentioning it to Danilo?

  Danvan Hastur was right. The cristoforo brothers were right. What we had together—w hat I thought we had—w as nothing more than youthful folly. Nothing more.

  This union, this pledging now drawing to its conclusion before him, this was the true destiny of men.

  “Parted in fact,” Di Asturien concluded as he unlocked the clasp between the bracelets, “may you be joined in heart as well as law.”

  Regis leaned forward to kiss Linnea. She lifted her face to his. Danilo thought his own heart would shatter.

  “May you be forever one!” Di Asturien cried.

  Beaming, Javanne and Gabriel leaned toward one another in remembrance of their own binding, and throughout the chamber, married couples did the same.

  Through Danilo’s confusion and pain, betrayal gave way to utter loss.

  Forever one . . . joined in heart as well as law . . .

  A cheer went up. It was over. Regis and Linnea were husband and wife under the laws of the Comyn.

  Holy Bearer of Burdens, help me! How can I endure this?

  As if in answer, a sense of stillness, or an exhaustion of the spirit, crept over Danilo. He had been in enough battles to recognize the absence of pain as numbness due to shock. A man might fight on in such a state, unaware of his injuries, until he dropped. Danilo’s heart was wounded, gravely wounded, and yet he felt nothing. How could he fight on?

  For a single moment, Regis looked directly at him. No trace of emotion showed on his face, but his eyes betrayed him. They glowed with urgency, with agony.

  Danilo wrenched his gaze away. So, Regis might have regrets about abandoning everything they had shared. But Regis had set his feelings aside; he had gone through with the ceremony in full knowledge that it could never be undone. He had chosen.