I confined myself to giving basic facts. After today there would be a full assembly and review every morning after breakfast. The cadets would be kept apart in their own barracks and given instructions until intense drill in basics had made them soldierly enough to take their place in formations and duties. Castle Guard would be set day and night and they would take it in turns from oldest to youngest, recalling that Castle Guard was not menial sentry duty but a privilege claimed by nobles from time out of mind, to guard the Sons of Hastur. And so on.
The final formality—I was glad to reach it, for it was hot in the crowded room by now and the youngest cadets were beginning to fidget—was a formal roll call of first-year cadets. Only Regis and Father’s young protégé Danilo were personally known to me, but some were the younger brothers or sons of men I knew in the Guards. The last name I called was Regis-Rafael, cadet Hastur.
There was a confused silence, just too long. Then down the line of cadets there was a small scuffle and an audible whispered “That’s you, blockhead!” as Danilo poked Regis in the ribs. Regis’ confused voice said “Oh—” Another pause. “Here.”
Damn Regis anyhow. I had begun to hope that this year we would get through call-over without having to play this particular humiliating charade. Some cadet, not always a first-year man, invariably forgot to answer properly to his name at call-over. There was a procedure for such occasions which probably went back three dozen generations. From the way in which the other Guardsmen, from veterans to older cadets, were waiting, expectant snickers breaking out, they’d all been waiting—yes, damn them all, and hoping—for this ritual hazing.
Left to myself, I’d have said harshly, “Next time, answer to your name, cadet,” and had a word with him later in private. But if I tried to cheat them all of their fun, they’d probably take it out on Regis anyway. He’d already made himself conspicuous by coming in late and dressed like a prince. I might as well get on with it. Regis would have to get used to worse things than this in the next few weeks.
“Cadet Hastur,” I said with a sigh, “suppose you step forward where we can get a good look at you. Then if you forget your name again, we can all be ready to remind you.”
Regis stepped forward, staring blankly. “You know my name.”
There was a chorus of snickers. Zandru’s bells, was he confused enough to make it worse? I kept my voice cold and even. “It’s my business to know it, cadet, and yours to answer any question put to you by an officer. What is your name, cadet?”
He said, rapid and furious, “Regis-Rafael Felix Alar Hastur-Elhalyn!”
“Well, Regis-Rafael This-that-and-the-other, your name in the Guard hall is cadet Hastur, and I suggest you memorize your name and the proper response to your name, unless you prefer to be addressed as That’s you, blockhead .” Danilo giggled; I glared at him and he subsided. “Cadet Hastur, nobody’s going to call you Lord Regis down here. How old are you, cadet Hastur?”
“Fifteen,” Regis said. Mentally, I swore again. If he had made the proper response this time—but how could he? No one had warned him—I could have dismissed him. Now I had to play out this farce to the very end. The look of hilarious expectancy on the faces around us infuriated me. But two hundred years of Guardsman tradition were behind it. “Fifteen what, cadet?”
“Fifteen years,” said Regis, biting on the old bait for the unwary. I sighed. Well, the other cadets had a right to their fun. Generations had conditioned them to demand it, and I gave it to them. I said wearily, “Suppose, men, you all tell cadet Hastur how old he is?”
“Fifteen, sir,” they chorused all together, at the top of their voices. The expected uproar of laughter finally broke loose. I signaled Regis to go back to his place. The murderous glance he sent me could have killed. I didn’t blame him. For days, in fact, until somebody else did something outstandingly stupid, he’d be the butt of the barracks. I knew. I remembered a day several years ago when the name of the unlucky cadet had been Lewis-Kennard, cadet Montray, and I had, perhaps, a better excuse—never having heard my name in that form before. I haven’t heard it since either, because my father had demanded I be allowed to bear his name, Montray-Alton. As usual, he got what he wanted. That was while they were still arguing about my legitimacy. But he used the argument that it was unseemly for a cadet to bear a Terran name in the Guard, even though a bastard legally uses his mother’s name.
Finally the ceremony was over. I should turn the cadets over to the cadet-master and let him take command. No, damn it, I couldn’t do it. Not until I had urged Father to reconsider. I hadn’t wanted to command the Guards, but he had insisted and now, for better or worse, all the Guards, from the youngest cadet to the oldest veteran, were in my care. I was bound to do my best for them and, damn it, my best didn’t include Dyan Ardais as cadet-master!
I beckoned to old Domenic di Asturien. He was an experienced officer, completely trustworthy, exactly the sort of man to be in charge of the young. He had retired from active duty years ago—he was certainly in his eighties—but no one could complain of him. His family was so old that the Comyn themselves were upstarts to him. There was a joke, told in whispers, that he had once spoken of the Hasturs as “the new nobility.”
“Master, the Commander met with an accident this morning, and he has not yet informed me about his choice for cadet-master.” I crushed the staff lists in my hand as if the old man could see Dyan’s name written there and give me the lie direct. “I respectfully request you to take charge of them until he makes his wishes known.”
As I returned to my place, Dyan started to his feet. “You damned young pup, didn’t Kennard tell—” He saw curious eyes on us and dropped his voice. “Why didn’t you speak to me privately about this?”
Damn it. He knew. And I recalled that he was said to be a strong telepath, though he had been refused entry to the towers for unknown reasons, so he knew that I knew. I blanked my mind to him. There are few who can read an Alton when he’s warned. It was a severe breach of courtesy and Comyn ethics that Dyan had done so uninvited. Or was it meant to convey that he didn’t think I deserved Comyn immunity? I said frigidly, trying to be civil, “After I have consulted the Commander, Captain Ardais, I shall make his wishes known to you.”
“Damn, you, the Commander has made his wishes known, and you know it,” Dyan said, his mouth hardening into a tight line. There was still time. I could pretend to discover his name on the lists. But eat dirt before the filthy he-whore from the Hellers? I turned away and said to di Asturien, “When you please, Master, you may dismiss your charges.”
“You insolent bastard, I’ll have your hide for this!”
“Bastard I may be,” I said, keeping my voice low, “but I consider it no edifying sight for two captains to quarrel in the hearing of cadets, Captain Ardais.” He swallowed that. He was soldier enough to know it was true. As I dismissed the men, I reflected on the powerful enemy I had made. Before this, he had disliked me, but he was my father’s friend and anything belonging to a friend he would tolerate, provided it stayed in its place. Now I had gone a long way beyond his rather narrow concept of that place and he would never forgive it.
Well, I could live without his approval. But I had better lose no time in talking to Father. Dyan wouldn’t.
I found him awake and restive, swathed in bandages, his lame leg propped up. He looked haggard and flushed, and I wished I need not trouble him.
“Did the call-over go well?”
“Well enough. Danilo made a good appearance,” I said, knowing he’d want to know.
“Regis was added at the last moment. Was he there?” I nodded, and Father asked, “Did Dyan turn up to take charge? He had a sleepless night too, but said he’d be there.”
I stared at him in outrage, finally bursting out, “Father! You can’t be serious! I thought it was a joke! Dyan, as cadet-master?”
“I don’t joke about the Guards,” Father said, his face hard, “and why not Dyan?”
I hesitated, then
said, “Must I spell it out for you in full? Have you forgotten last year and the Vallonde youngster?”
“Hysterics,” my father said with a shrug. “You took it more seriously than it deserved. When it came to the point, Octavien refused to undergo laran interrogation.”
“That only proves he was afraid of you,” I stormed, “nothing more! I’ve known grown men, hardened veterans, break down, accept any punishment, rather than face that ordeal! How many mature adults can undergo telepathic examination at the hands of an Alton? Octavien was fifteen!”
“You’re missing the point, Lew. The fact is, since he did not substantiate the charge, I am not officially required to take notice of it.”
“Did you happen to notice that Dyan never denied it either? He didn’t have the courage to face an Alton and lie, did he?”
Kennard sighed and tried to hoist himself up in bed. I said, “Let me help you,” but he waved me away. “Sit down, Lew, don’t stand over me like a statue of an avenging god! What makes you think he would stoop to lie, or that I have any right to ask for any details of his private life? Is your own life so pure and perfect—”
“Father, whatever I may have done for amusement before I was a grown man is completely beside the point,” I said. “I have never abused authority—”
He said coldly, “It seems you abused it when you ignored my written orders.” His voice hardened. “I told you to sit down! Lew, I don’t owe you any explanations, but since you seem to be upset about this, I’ll make it clear. The world is made as it’s made, not as you or I would like it. Dyan may not be the ideal cadet-master, but he’s asked for this post and I’m not going to refuse him.”
“Why not?” I was more outraged than ever. “Just because he is Lord Ardais, must he be allowed a free hand for any kind of debauchery, corruption, anything he pleases? I don’t care what he does, but does he have to have license to do it in the Guards?” I demanded. “Why?”
“Lew, listen to me. It’s easy to use hard words about anyone who’s less than perfect. They have one for you, or have you forgotten? I’ve listened to it for fifteen years, because I needed you. We need Lord Ardais on Council because he’s a strong man and a strong supporter of Hastur. Have you become so involved with your private world at Arilinn that you don’t remember the real political situation?” I grimaced, but he said, very patient now, “One faction on Council would like to plunge us into war with the Terrans. That’s so unthinkable I needn’t take it seriously, unless this small faction gains support. Another faction wants us to join the Terrans completely, give up our old ways and traditions, give up the Compact, become an Empire colony. That faction’s bigger, and a lot more dangerous to Comyn. I feel that Hastur’s solution, slow change, compromise, above all time, is the only reasonable answer. Dyan is one of the very few men who are willing to throw their weight behind Hastur. Why should we refuse him a position he wants, in return?”
“Then we’re filthy and corrupt,” I raged. “Just to get his support for your political ambitions, you’re willing to bribe a man like Dyan by putting him in charge of half-grown boys?”
My father’s quick rage flared. It had never been turned full on me before. “Do you honestly believe it’s my personal ambition I’m furthering? I ask you, which is more important—the personal ethics of the cadet-master or the future of Darkover and the very survival of the Comyn? No, damn it, you sit there and listen to me! When we need Dyan’s support so badly in Council do you think I’d quarrel with him over his private behavior?”
I flung back, equally furious, “I wouldn’t give a damn if it was his private behavior! But if there’s another scandal in the Guards, don’t you think the Comyn will suffer? I didn’t ask to command the Guards. I told you I’d rather not. But you wouldn’t listen to my refusal and now you refuse to listen to my best judgment! I tell you, I won’t have Dyan as cadetmaster! Not if I’m in command!”
“Oh, yes you will,” said my father in a low and vicious voice. “Do you think I am going to let you defy me?”
“Then, damn it, Father, get someone else to command the Guards! Offer Dyan the command—wouldn’t that satisfy his ambition?”
“But it wouldn’t satisfy me,” he said harshly. “I’ve worked for years to put you in this position. If you think I’m going to let you destroy the Domain of Alton by some childish scruples, you’re mistaken. I’m still lord of the Domain and you are oath-bound to take my orders without question! The post of cadet-master is powerful enough to satisfy Dyan, but I’m not going to endanger the rights of the Altons to command. I’m doing it for you, Lew.”
“I wish you’d save your trouble! I don’t want it!”
“You’re in no position to know what you want. Now do as I tell you: go and give Dyan his appointment as cadetmaster, or”—he struggled again, ignoring the pain—“I’ll get out of bed and do it myself.”
His anger I could face; his suffering was something else. I struggled between rage and a deadly misgiving. “Father, I have never disobeyed you. But I beg you, I beg you,” I repeated, “to reconsider. You know that no good will come of this.”
He was gentle again. “Lew, you’re still very young. Some day you’ll learn that we all have compromises to make, and we make them with the best grace we can. You have to do the best you can within a situation. You can’t eat nuts without cracking some shells.” He stretched out his hand to me. “You’re my main support, Lew. Don’t force me to fight you too. I need you at my side.”
I clasped his hand between my fingers; it felt swollen and feverish. How could I add to his troubles? He trusted me. What right had I to set up my judgment against his? He was my father, my commander, the lord of my Domain. My only duty was to obey.
Out of his sight, my rage flared again. Who would have believed Father would compromise the honor of the Guards? And how quickly he had maneuvered me again, like a puppet-master pulling strings of love, loyalty, ambition, my own need for his recognition!
I will probably never forget the interview with Dyan Ardais. Oh, he was civil enough. He even commended me on my caution. I kept myself barriered and was scrupulously polite, but I am sure he knew that I felt like a farmer who has just set a wolf to guard the fowl-house.
There was only one grain of comfort in the situation: I was no longer a cadet!
CHAPTER FIVE
As the cadets walked toward the barracks, Regis among them, he heard little of their chatter and horseplay. His face was burning. He could cheerfully have murdered Lew Alton.
Then a tardy fairness came back to him. Everybody there obviously knew what was going to happen, so it was evidently something that went on now and then. He was just the one who stumbled into it. It could have been anyone.
Suddenly he felt better. For the first time in his life he was being treated exactly like anybody else. No deference. No special treatment. He brightened and began to listen to what they were saying.
“Where the hell were you brought up, cadet, not to answer to your name?”
“I was educated at Nevarsin,” Regis said, provoking more jeers and laughter.
“Hey, we have a monk among us! Were you too busy at your prayers to hear your name?”
“No, it was the hour of Great Silence and the bell hadn’t rung for speech!”
Regis listened with an amiable and rather witless grin, which was the best thing he could possibly have done. A third-year cadet, superior and highly polished in his green and black uniform, conveyed them into a barracks room at the far end of the courtyard. “First-year men in here.”
“Hey,” someone asked, “what happened to the Commander?”
The junior officer in charge said, “Wash your ears next time. He broke some bones in a fall. We all heard.”
Someone said, carefully not loud enough for the officer to hear, “Are we going to be stuck with the bastard all season?”
“Shut up,” said Julian MacAran, “Lanart-Alton’s not a bad sort. He’s got a temper if you set him off, but nothin
g like the old man in a rage. Anyway, it could be worse,” he added, with a wary glance at the cadet who was out of range for the moment. “Lew’s fair and he keeps his hands to himself, which is more than you can say for some people.”
Danilo asked, “Who’s really going to be cadet-master? Di Asturien’s been retired for years. He served with my grandfather!”
Damon MacAnndra said with a careful look at the officer, “I heard it was going to be you-know-who. Captain Ardais.”
Julian said, “I hope you’re joking. Last night I was down in the armory and . . .” His voice fell to a whisper. Regis was too far away, but the lads crowded around him reacted with nervous, high-pitched giggles. Damon said, “That’s nothing. Listen, did you hear about my cousin Octavien Vallonde? Last year—”
“Chill it,” a strange cadet said, just loud enough for Regis to hear. “You know what happened to him for gossiping about a Comyn heir. Have you forgotten there’s one in the barracks now?”
Silence abruptly fell over the knot of cadets. They separated and began to drift around the barracks room. To Regis it was like a slap in the face. One minute they were laughing and joking, including him in their jokes; suddenly he was an outsider, a threat. It was worse because he had not really caught the drift of what they were saying.
He drifted toward Danilo, who was at least a familiar face. “What happens now?”
“I guess we wait for someone to tell us. I didn’t mean to attract attention and get you in trouble, Lord Regis.”
“You too, Dani?” That formal Lord Regis seemed a symbol of the distance they were all keeping. He managed to laugh. “Didn’t you just hear Lew Alton remind me very forcibly that nobody would call me Lord Regis down here?”
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