Zandru's Forge

by Marion Zimmer Bradley

  Eduin visualized each air sac, each blood vessel, like motes of palest rose enclosed in a webwork of membranes. Everywhere he looked, burgeoning clusters of microbes fed upon the dying tissues. The fever generated by the body in an attempt to save itself was already falling, the battle lost.

  His heart quailed within him. He had not realized how extensive the damage was, how far-reaching the infection. His father’s illness was hopeless by any standard he knew. In the cases of pneumonia he had assisted in, the patients’ bodies had been strong enough to fight it off, given the chance. Moment by moment, he watched his father’s immune system falter.

  Denial shocked through Eduin. He had not ridden all those leagues to have his hopes fulfilled and shattered, to find his father still alive and then to lose him, not if it were within his power to save him.

  Heedless of caution, he threw himself into the task. He shaped his will like a spear point, like a bolt of fire. Before his onslaught, pockets of infection withered. Sodden, swollen tissues shrank to normal size. He sensed the rush of air into clogged passages and the minute rise in life energy.

  The process was too slow, moving layer by layer through the lungs. His father was failing too fast. If Fidelis had been there, or even Cerriana, one of them could have supported the old man’s systems while the other dealt with the infection.

  He could not do it alone, and for this his father must die.

  Eduin raged in soundless frustration at the gods who would let this happen. He had been sent away so young, had spent his entire life in obedience to his father’s dream, setting aside friendship and even honor. He had betrayed Carolin, whom he loved as a sworn brother. And now to lose his father, without even a chance to say farewell, to make some sense of his sacrifice ...

  Eduin’s mental vision blurred. His concentration shredded. The arrangement of tissues, the flow and ebb of blood and lymph, faded in his inner sight. As he struggled to regain his focus, he noticed something he had not seen before. Energy patterns overlaid the physical structures. Shifting his mental vision, Eduin saw them as streams and nodes of color. Excitement rose in him as he recognized laran channels.

  How could he have forgotten that his father was Rumail of Neskaya, once the mightiest laranzu of his age? He, Eduin, was not alone. If he could but reach his father’s mind, together they could cleanse his physical body.

  Father! He called with all the power of his skill and love. Then, thinking that perhaps the old man’s cognitive functions might be impaired by the fever, he added, Rumail! Rumail!

  A whispered mental voice, reedy as if long disused, answered him. Who is it—who calls—Rumail Deslucido?

  Eduin, your son.

  A pause, then the reply, weak and distant: My Eduin? I sent him away, into the hands of the enemy. Ah, my Eduin! Are you dead, too, and do you call me now from the Overworld?

  “No, Father,” he said aloud, for the spoken words would help anchor the old man’s spirit in his body. “I am here, beside you. I did not come too late.”

  Eduin shifted once more into telepathic speech. We must heal your lungs. Together, I know we can do this.

  Ah no. My time has passed. I am weary—so weary—

  NO! Eduin cried. You cannot die, not now!

  For a heartrending moment, there was no answer. Had he truly come too late? Had his father’s spirit gone so far into the Overworld that he could not turn back?

  Don’t leave me! tore from the depths of his soul.

  Silence answered him.

  Was this all the reunion he was to have—a fleeting moment of contact? Nothing more?

  In a flood of anguish, Eduin saw his own life fade as if it had never happened. Again, he was a child in this very room. Together with the cottage garden, it was all the world he had ever known. His father was as tall and stern as a god. He was his father’s pride, his hope. He knew nothing of justice or revenge.

  A hundred times, he had set aside his liking for Carolin Hastur, his own desires, the path his laran Gifts would have taken him, all for the promise he had given. The one thought he clung to when it seemed he must give up all else was returning here to see his father smile, to hear the words that he had done well, that all was made right, that he had not failed.

  But he had failed. Carolin Hastur lived and prospered. Nor had he discovered so much as the name of the second child of Taniquel Hastur-Acosta.

  He had thought he still had time to accomplish his quest and return triumphantly to his father.

  It can’t be too late! Father, please!

  Even as he pleaded, Eduin felt his father’s mind sink deeper into oblivion.

  Fight! You must fight to live!

  Like a last breath, bleak surrender answered him.

  In desperation, Eduin searched for a reason—any reason—compelling enough to reach his father’s fading consciousness. If not for love, then perhaps for hatred—

  Father, no! You must live, if only to see yourself avenged upon the Hasturs!

  The answer came as a breath from his father’s lips. “Ye-e-s-s-s. Revenge.”

  Where once there had been only the gossamer remnant of consciousness, now Rumail’s mind flared. Laran pathways surged with power. Even dying, his talent shone.

  Eduin reached out to his father’s rising response, like two pairs of hands clasping, fingers lacing, strength wedded to skill.

  Rumail’s mind was powerful, but complex and strange. Eduin recognized the patterns of discipline and native talent. The basic training had been similar to his, but decades of bit temess had taken him in unexpected directions. Now Rumail seized Eduin’s mental energy as a Keeper might, to shape and use according to his own will.

  Eduin felt his laran energies being sucked out of him, faster with each passing heartbeat. Panic clawed at him. The more he fought, the sharper the pain. He struggled, but found himself held fast by invisible claws. Dimly, he felt his chest heave, his hands move. His heart hammered in his ears. An image came to him—the expression on Carolin’s face as his own fingers had closed around the starstone, the white as his eyes rolled up, the catch and stutter of his heart—

  Insolent boy, how dare you resist me? Submit, or I will take what I need. The words thundered through Eduin’s skull. Give over, or we both shall perish!

  Something inside Eduin broke, a bulwark collapsing, a wall of straw shattering in a whirlwind. He lost all sense of his separate self. There was no difference between he who took and he who gave. Two minds became one, swept up in a psychic maelstrom.

  Gradually, as the sky above the Hellers cleared after a winter storm, the tumult grew less chaotic. Order emerged under his father’s relentless control. Eduin could not tell what was being accomplished; at moments, he had the faint impression of fluids—lymph, plasma, blood—pulsing through tissues, of nodes of colors that surged and then subsided. But whether these things happened in his own body or another‘s, he could not tell. Once, he heard someone cry out. Another time, he felt a gust of cold air.

  There came a moment when Eduin sensed his father’s returning vigor as separate from his own. At first, he felt himself buoyed up by it, as if on a current of rising steam. The image shifted, darkening and growing more solid. Pressure, like a fist of granite, surrounded him. He struggled as it closed him in an ever-tightening grip. Pain, like lightning, jolted through him.

  Father, no! Please, help me!

  For what seemed an eon, he hung suspended between crushing agony and desperate hope. Suddenly, the sensation vanished. He was free—

  No, not free, for the terrible pressure was now inside him. Its relentless force laid bare every secret thought, every instant of self-doubt and shame.

  Memories flashed behind his eyes—Carotin’s warm smile—the delicious abandon of striding through a sun-warined field at the side of his friend—

  Carolin climbing the apple tree, stretching out with that unconscious grace—seeing the weakness in the branch, knowing he had but to nudge the wood fibers apart and Carolin’s weight w
ould do the rest ... and hesitating—Carolin’s face ashen as he lay unmoving—Varzil bending over him, radiating concern—the roil of guilt and love in his own belly—

  Carolin’s eyes wide in shock and confusion as Eduin’s fingers tore away the silk wrappings and closed around his starstone—his mind touching Carolin’s—

  Carolin’s thoughts like a flood of sunlight—Towers gleaming against crystalline skies, fields golden under the wind, a woman’s laughter, a black horse galloping, wine goblets raised, men singing—fading now in the white electric overload—his own body wrenching away—

  Praying: No, let it not be too late!

  Carolin’s eyes opening—his own relief and shame—

  The dozen other times he had seen an opportunity too late because he had been distracted by the simple pleasures of Tower fellowship, the growing pride in his work—

  Like dried leaves in a wintry blast, the images shredded into dust. Pressure condensed into wrath.

  You failed me! You gave your oath and then betrayed it—you betrayed all of us—

  No, Father, please! Give me another chance. I’ll do better, I swear I will! I won’t let you down again!

  You will not.

  Something in Eduin’s innermost core twisted, as if a gigantic fist had reached inside him, wrenched his heart free from its moorings and replaced it with ice. Eduin had neither the power nor the will to resist. He could only watch in sick horror as the new heart began beating, as its chill, bitter blood flowed into every part of his being.

  And then, he felt nothing, no pang of loss, no shadowed guilt, no torment, no joy. Nothing but emptiness and purpose.

  Eduin came back into his own body slowly, as if he had been absent for a long time. He was sitting hunched over, his head almost resting upon his knees. His spine creaked as he lifted his head. His brother Gwynn stood in the doorway.

  From the bed, his father gazed back at him. A healthy flush replaced his former pallor. His eyes were calm and alert. He lifted one hand to Eduin.

  “Now I have both my remaining sons with me. Now we cannot fail.”

  Gwynn brought soup, thick with stewed minced jerky, rye groats, and shredded cabbage. It wasn’t the concentrated food Eduin had become used to following intense laran work, but it warmed his belly. Rumail laid his bowl aside and slipped back into sleep.

  One glance told Eduin that this was nothing to fear, but healing rest. He himself staggered as he got to his feet. Though he could remember little of what happened, his father was well. That was all that mattered. He felt more drained than he had after the most exhausting circle work. Auster had never asked so much for so long.

  Auster, he reminded himself, was a weakling and a pawn of the Hasturs.

  Two days later, Rumail had recovered sufficiently to leave his bed for short periods of time. Eduin, after sleeping through the rest of that day and the following night, helped Gwynn with the continuing repairs. Working side by side, he became a little better acquainted with his older brother, whom he barely remembered.

  Gwynn had been in his teens, older than Eduin, when he was sent away. He had laran, but not enough to win him a place at a Tower. Therefore, he set about learning fighting skills, working his way up the ranks. On the way to Thendara, he had killed a man in a drunken brawl, and now there was a price on his head in the lowlands.

  “It seems that none of us has succeeded,” Eduin lamented as he and Gwynn lifted a new split-rail into place around the livestock pen. The very thought brought a pain like burning ice deep in his guts.

  “‘Tis true enough we’re not yet done with the filthy Hastur brood,” Gwynn replied. “But the cause is not lost, not while there’s strength in my arms or magic in your head. The easy part’s been done; best be patient for the harder.”

  “Done? What do you mean?” Eduin paused in wrapping the rail to the post.

  “You’d be too young to remember, and the Hasturs sure enough kept it quiet.” Gwynn’s blue eyes glowed in his dark-bearded face. “Did you never wonder how the throne came to Old Felix, when it was King Rafael who ordered Uncle Damian’s execution?”

  Eduin shrugged. Rafael II had died childless although he had not heard why, and so the throne had passed to the collateral branch, bringing Carolin into the line of succession. “You mean—you—

  Gwynn shook his head. “Not that I wouldn’t. But Karlis, who was better than I’ll ever be, as wily as an Aldaran assassin—aye, that was his doing, his triumph, for all he was caught and killed for it. Which leaves the rest—” he grunted as he lifted the last rail by himself, “—to you and me, baby brother.”

  After a time of concentration on the work, Eduin asked, “Did you ever think—what it will be like when we get them all? The royal line, the children of Queen Taniquel? What then?”

  “To see the world made right, justice finally done? Karlis and Ewen avenged? Father free to die in peace? Lad, I would give my right arm, no—I would give my life—to see that day.”

  Eduin, seeing himself reflected in the fierce blue light of his brother’s eyes, looked away. It was a long time before he could speak again.

  Rumail listened gravely as Gwynn told his story, all three of them sitting in front of the fire in the main room. The scowl lines in the old man’s face deepened further with Eduin’s news.

  Eduin braced himself for Romail’s censure, but the old man only nodded and said, “I dared not hope it would be that easy. They are more devious than thieves, these Hasturs, and have good reason to fear the slightest shadow. Their evil deeds pursue them everywhere.”

  “Father, what would you have us do?” Gwynn said.

  “Do not berate yourselves. You, Gwynn, have survived where your brothers have not and now are a skilled swords-man and tracker. You, Eduin, have done far more than I ever dreamed possible. To have advanced so far, and at Arilinn!”

  “Yes, Father,” Eduin burst out, “but they have not chosen me for a Keeper, nor are they likely to.”

  “Better men than you have been denied that training,” Rumail said. “You have bought me something more valuable.”

  “What is that?” Eduin blinked.

  “You cannot guess?” Rumail’s grimace spread into a mirthless grin. “You have been the bosom friend to Carolin Hastur. You have held his starstone in your hand—”

  Instantly, Eduin understood his father’s intent. “I have even more!” he cried, and hurried to bring his saddlebags. He drew out a comb of tortoiseshell and silver filigree. It had been Carolin’s Midwinter gift to him.

  Rumail held the comb between his clasped hands and closed his eyes. Eduin felt his father’s concentration like a shimmering in the air. “Yes,” Rumail murmured. “Carolin, this Prince of Hasturs, has handled this more than once. There—in the metal, the imprint of his thoughts.”

  The old man took a deep breath. His lips moved silently, as if giving thanks. “With this, I can construct a weapon designed exactly to his mind. I will have to send to the Nest at Temora for the housing, but it can be done. Oh, yes—it can be done. And you, Gwynn, who can shadow a man without rousing the least suspicion, you shall be the archer to loose this lethal arrow.”

  So that would be the end of Carolin Hastur. A trap-matrix, keyed to Carolin’s mental signature, was as deadly as it was illegal.

  “But what of the children of Queen Taniquel? Carolin is a Hastur, true, and the next King when old Felix finally passes to his well-deserved grave.”

  “You speak rightly, Eduin. I mean to destroy the Hasturs, most especially the spawn of that hell-bitch. So far as we know, she had but two, and the older one, a boy, died of threshold sickness thereby saving us the trouble of snuffing him out. Yet we must not spread ourselves too thin in our search. Gwynn will dispatch the young Hastur, and you will return to the Tower work for which you are so well suited. The genealogy archives are kept at Hali. From there, you must discover the fate of the second child. It was a daughter, I believe, though that makes no difference. Her sex cannot mitigate the gu
ilt of her blood.”

  Hali! Dyannis ...

  “And perhaps I will have another chance with Carolin’s cousins,” Eduin said.

  “Do nothing to endanger your position,” Rumail said, his voice suddenly stern. “But in case you do fall under suspicion, you must have the full benefit of the Deslucido Gift. Of all my sons, you are the only one with sufficient laran.”

  Rumail communicated directly to Eduin’s mind, fully aware that Gwynn could have only the sketchiest idea of what followed.

  Now that I am completely sure of your loyalty, I will teach you how to defeat truthspell. You will be able to swear to whatever serves our higher purpose, and no laranzu on Darkover will be able to tell the difference.

  23

  Varzil started awake to the sound of gentle tapping on his door. The milky haze of the stars suffused his room. He’d forgotten to draw the shutters and the night, on the crisp edge of autumn, was preternaturally clear. He had been asleep for only a few hours.

  The tapping came again, soft but insistent. Felicia stood outside his door wearing a long, thick shawl over her usual woolen robe. Light from her candle fell across her face. Aside from the redness of her eyes, her appearance was tidy and proper, from the felt boots on her feet to the shawl wrapped around her shoulders.

  “I am sorry to disturb you,” she said.

  He stepped back to invite her to enter. She went to the fireplace where last night’s embers still glowed softly. Varzil bent to add another log to the pile.

  Feeling a little self-conscious, he bade her sit and drew up the second chair. At Arilinn, men and women visited each other’s quarters freely. Work in the circles enforced periodic celibacy for both sexes, and it was assumed that every adult was capable of managing his or her own affairs. But sitting here in his night shirt with Felicia, with her erect posture and serious demeanor, hands folded neatly on her lap, he felt awkward. With a rueful inner smile, he wondered if they ought to have a chaperon.