“I refuse the challenge,” Dyan said steadily.
Unprecedented as the challenge itself had been, the refusal was even more unprecedented. Hastur leaned forward and said, “You must state your grounds for refusing a formal challenge, Lord Dyan.”
“I do so,” Dyan said, “on the grounds that the charge is justified.”
An audible gasp went around the room. A Comyn lord did not admit that sort of thing! Everyone in that room, Regis believed, must know the charge was justified. But everyone also knew that Dyan’s next act was to accept the challenge, quickly kill the old man and go on from there.
Dyan had paused only briefly. “The charge is just,” he repeated, “and there is no honor to be gained from the legal murder of an old man. And murder it would be. Whether his cause is just or unjust, a man of Dom Felix’ years would have no equitable chance to prove it against my swordsmanship. And finally I state that it is not for him to challenge me. The son on whose behalf he makes this challenge is a man, not a minor child, and it is he, not his father, who should rightly challenge me in this cause. Does he stand ready to do it?” And he swung around to face Danilo where he sat beside Regis.
Regis heard himself gasp aloud.
Gabriel, too, looked shaken. But, as protocol demanded, he had to ask:
“Dom Danilo Syrtis. Do you stand ready to challenge Lord Dyan Ardais in this cause?”
Dom Felix said harshly, “He does or I will disown him!”
Gabriel rebuked gently, “Your son is a man, Dom Felix, not a child in your keeping. He must answer for himself.”
Danilo stepped into the center of the room. He said, “I am sworn paxman to Lord Regis Hastur. My Lord, have I your leave to make the challenge?” He was as white as a sheet. Regis thought desperately that the damned fool was no match for Dyan. He couldn’t just sit there and watch Dyan murder him to settle this grudge once and for all.
All his love for Danilo rebelled against this, but before his friend’s leveled eyes he knew he had no choice. He could not protect Dani. He said, “You have my leave to do whatever honor demands of you, kinsman. But there is no compulsion to do so. You are sworn to my service and by law that service takes precedence, so you have also my leave to refuse the challenge with no stain upon your honor.”
Regis was giving Dani an honorable escape if he wanted it. He could not, by Comyn immunity, fight Dyan in his place. But he could do this much.
Danilo made Regis a formal bow. He avoided his eyes. He went directly to Dyan, faced him and said, “I call challenge upon you, Lord Dyan.”
Dyan drew a deep breath. He was as pale as Danilo himself. He said, “I accept the challenge. But by law, a challenge of this nature may be resolved, at the option of the one challenged, by the offer of honorable amends. Is that not so, my lord Hastur?”
Regis could feel his grandfather’s confusion like his own, as the old Regent said slowly, “The law does indeed give you this option, Lord Dyan.”
Regis, watching him closely, could see the almost-involuntary motion of Dyan’s hand toward the hilt of his sword. This was the way Dyan had always settled all challenges before. But he steadied his hands, clasping them quietly before him. Regis could feel, like a bitter pain, Dyan’s grief and humiliation, but the older man said, in a harsh, steady voice, “Then, Danilo-Felix Syrtis, I offer you here before my peers and my kinsmen a public apology for the wrong done you, in that I did unjustly and wrongfully contrive your disgrace, by provoking you willfully into a breach of cadet rules and by a misuse of laran; and I offer you any honorable amends in my power. Will this settle the challenge and the blood-feud, sir?”
Danilo stood as if turned to stone. His face looked completely stunned.
Why did Dyan do it? Regis wondered. Dyan could have killed him now with impunity, legally, and the matter could never be raised against him again!
And suddenly, whether or not he received the answer directly from Dyan, or his own intuition, he knew: they had all had a lesson in what could happen when Comyn misused their powers. There was disaffection among the subjects and even among themselves, in their own ranks, their own sons turned against them. It was not only to their subjects that they must restore public trust in the integrity of the Comyn. If their own kinsmen lost faith in them they had lost all. And then, as for an instant Dyan looked directly at him, Regis knew the rest, right from Dyan’s mind:
I have no son. I thought it did not matter, then, whether I passed on an unsullied name. My father did not care what his son thought of him and I had no son to care.
Danilo was still standing motionless and Regis could feel his thoughts, too, troubled, uncertain: I have wanted for so long to kill him. It would be worth dying. But I am sworn to Regis Hastur, and sworn through him to the good of the Comyn. Dani drew a long breath and wet his lips before he could speak. Then he said, “I accept your honorable amends, Lord Dyan. And for myself and my house, I declare no feud remains and the challenge withdrawn—” Quickly he corrected himself: “The challenge settled.”
Dyan’s pallor was gradually replaced by a deep, crimson flush. He spoke almost breathlessly. “What amends will you ask, sir? Is it necessary to explain here, before all men, the nature of the injustice and the apology? It is your right . . .”
Regis thought that Dani could make him crawl. He could have his revenge, after all.
Danilo said quietly, “It is not necessary, Lord Ardais. I have accepted your apology; I leave the amends to your honor.”
He turned quietly and returned to his place beside Regis. His hands were shaking. More advantages to the custom of formality, Regis thought wryly. Everyone knew, or guessed, and most of them probably guessed wrong. But now it need never be spoken.
Hastur spoke the formal words which confirmed Dyan’s legal status as Lord Ardais and warder of the Ardais Domain. He added: “It is required, Lord Ardais, that you designate an heir. Have you a son?”
Regis could feel, through the very air, his grandfather’s regret at the inflexibility of this ritual, which must only inflict more pain on Dyan. Dyan’s grief and pain, too, was a knife-edge to everyone there with laran. He said harshly, “The only son of my body, my legitimate heir, was killed four years ago in a rockslide at Nevarsin.”
“By the laws of the Comyn,” Hastur instructed him needlessly, “You must then name your choice of near kinsmen as heir-designate. If you later father a son, that choice may be amended.”
Regis was remembering their long talk in the tavern and Dyan’s flippancy about his lack of an heir. He was not flippant now. His face had paled to its former impassivity. He said, “My nearest kinsman sits among the Terrans. I must first ask if he is prepared to renounce that allegiance. Daniel Lawton, you are the only son of the eldest of my father’s nedestro daughters, Rayna di Asturien, who married the Terran David Daniel Lawton. Are you prepared to renounce your Empire citizenship and swear allegiance to Comyn?”
Dan Lawton blinked in amazement. He did not answer immediately, but Regis sensed—and knew, when he spoke a minute later—that the hesitation had been only a form of courtesy. “No, Lord Ardais,” he said in casta, “I have given my loyalty and will not now renounce it. Nor would you wish it so; the man who is false to his first allegiance will be false to his second.”
Dyan bowed and said, with a note of respect, “I honor your choice, kinsman. I ask the Council to bear witness that my nearest kinsman has renounced all claim upon me and mine.”
There was a brief murmur of assent.
“Then I turn to my privileged choice,” Dyan said. His voice was hard and unyielding. “Second among my near kinsmen was another nedestro daughter of my father; her son has been confirmed by the Keeper at Neskaya to be one who holds the Ardais gift. His mother was Melora Castamir and his father Felix-Rafael Syrtis, who is of Alton blood. Danilo-Felix Syrtis,” Dyan said, “upon the grounds of Comyn blood and Ardais gift, I call upon you to swear allegiance to Comyn as heir to the Ardais Domain; and I am prepared to defend my choice
against any man who cares to challenge me.” His eyes moved defiantly against them all.
It was like a thunderclap. So these were Dyan’s honorable amends! Regis could not tell whether the thought was his own or Danilo’s, as Danilo, dazed, moved toward Dyan.
Regis remembered how he’d thought Dani should have a seat on Comyn Council! But like this? Did Kennard engineer this?
Dyan said formally, “Do you accept the claim, Danilo?”
Danilo was shaking, though he tried to control his voice. “It is . . . my duty to accept it, Lord Ardais.”
“Then kneel, Danilo, and answer me. Will you swear allegiance to Comyn and this Council, and pledge your life to serve it? Will you swear to defend the honor of Comyn in all just causes, and to amend all evil ones?” Dyan’s speaking voice was rich, strong and musical, but now he hesitated, his voice breaking. “Will you grant to me . . . a son’s duty . . . until such time as a son of my body may replace you?”
Regis thought, suddenly wrung by Dyan’s torment, who has taken revenge on whom? He could see that Danilo was crying silently as Dyan’s wavering voice went out: “Will you swear to be a . . . a loyal son to me, until such time as I yield my Domain through age, unfitness or infirmity, and then serve as my regent under this Council?”
Dani was silent for a moment and Regis, close in rapport with him, knew he was trying to steady his voice. At last, shaking, his voice almost inaudible, he whispered, “I will swear it.”
Dyan bent and raised him to his feet. He said steadily, “Bear witness that this is my nedestro heir; that none shall take precedence from him; and that this claim”—his voice broke again—“may never be renounced by me nor in my name by any of my descendants.”
Briefly, and with extreme formality, he embraced him. He said quietly, but Regis heard, “You may return for the time to your sworn service, my son. Only in my absence or illness need you take a place among the Ardais. You must attend this Council and all its affairs must be known to you, however, since you may need to assume my place unexpectedly.”
As if he were walking in his sleep, Danilo returned to his place beside Regis. Bearing himself with steady pride, he slid into the seat beside him. Then he broke and laid his head on the table before them, his head in his arms, crying. Regis reached his hand to Danilo, clasped his arm above the elbow, but he did not speak or reach out with his thoughts. Some things were too painful even for a sworn brother’s touch. He did think, with a curious pain, that Dyan had made them equals. Dani was heir to a Domain; he need be no man’s paxman nor vassal, nor seek Regis’ protection now. And no one could ever again speak of disgrace or dishonor.
He knew he should rejoice for Danilo, he did rejoice for him. But his friend was no longer dependent on him and he felt unsure and strange.
“Regis-Rafael Hastur, Regent-heir of Hastur,” Danvan Hastur said. In the shock of Dyan’s act, Regis had wholly forgotten that he, too, was to speak before the Council. Danilo lifted his head, nudged him gently and whispered, in a voice that could be heard two feet away, “That’s you, blockhead!”
For a moment Regis thought he would break into hysterical giggles at this reminder. Lord of Light, he could not! Not at a formal ceremony! He bit his lip hard and would not meet Danilo’s eyes, but as he rose and went forward he was no longer worried about what their relationship might become after this. He had been a fool to worry at all.
“Regis-Rafael,” his grandfather said, “vows were made in your name when you were six months old, as heir-designate of Hastur. Now that you have reached the age of manhood, it is for you to affirm them or reject them, in full knowledge of what they entail. You have been affirmed by the Keeper of Neskaya Tower as possessing full laran, and you are therefore capable of receiving the Hastur gift at the proper time. Have you an heir?” He hesitated, then said kindly, “The law provides that until your twenty-fourth year you need not repeat formal vows of allegiance nor name an heir-designate. And you cannot be legally compelled to marry until that time.”
He said quietly, “I have a designated heir.” He beckoned to Gabriel Lanart-Hastur, who stepped into the hallway, taking from a nurse’s arms the small plump body of Mikhail. Gabriel carried him to Regis, and Regis set the child down in the center of the rainbow lights. He said, “Bear witness that this is my nedestro heir, a child of Hastur blood, known to me. He is the son of my sister Javanne Hastur, who is the daughter of my mother and of my father, and of her lawful consort di catenas, Gabriel Lanart-Hastur. I have given him the name of Danilo Lanart Hastur. Because of his tender years, it is not yet lawful to ask him for any formal oath. I will ask him only, as it is my duty to do: Danilo Lanart Hastur, will you be a good son to me?”
The child had been carefully coached for the ceremony but for a moment he did not answer and Regis wondered if he had forgotten. Then he smiled and said, “Yes, I promise.”
Regis lifted him and kissed his chubby cheek; the little boy flung his arms around Regis’ neck and kissed him heartily. Regis could not help smiling as he handed him back to his father, saying quietly, “Gabriel, will you pledge to foster and rear him as my son and not your own?”
Gabriel’s face was solemn. He said, “I swear it on my life and my honor, kinsman.”
“Then take him, and rear him as befits the heir to Hastur, and the Gods deal with you as you with my son.”
He watched Gabriel carry the child away, thinking soberly that his own life would have been happier if his grandfather had given him entirely up to Kennard to foster, or to some other kinsman with sons and daughters. Regis vowed not to make that mistake with Mikhail.
And yet he knew his grandfather’s distant affection, and the harsh discipline at Nevarsin, too, had contributed to what he had become. Kennard was fond of saying, “The world will go as it will, not as you or I would have it.” And for all Regis’ struggles to escape from the road laid out before birth for the Hastur heir, it had brought him here, at the appointed time. He turned to the Regent, thinking with pain that he did not have to do this. He was still free. He had promised three years. But after this he would never again be wholly free.
He met Danilo’s eyes, felt that somehow their steady, affectionate gaze gave him strength.
He said, “I am ready to repeat my oath, Lord Hastur.”
Hastur’s old face was drawn, tense with emotion. Regis felt his thoughts, unbarriered, but Hastur said, with the control of fifty years in public life, “You have arrived at years of manhood; if it is your free choice, none can deny you that right.”
“It is my free choice,” Regis said.
Not his wish. But his will, his choice. His fate.
The old Regent left his place, then, came to the center of the prismed lights. “Kneel, then Regis-Rafael.”
Regis knelt. He knew he was shaking.
“Regis-Rafael Hastur, will you swear allegiance to Comyn and this council, pledge your life to serve it? Will you . . .” He went on. Regis heard the words through a wavering mist of pain: never to be free. Never to look at the great ships bound outward to the stars and know that one day he would follow them to those distant worlds.
Never to dream again. . . .
“. . . pledge yourself to be a loyal son to me until I yield my place through age, unfitness or infirmity, and then to serve as Regent-heir subject to the will of this Council?”
Regis thought, for a moment, that he would break into weeping as Danilo had done. He waited, summoning all his control, until he could lift his head and say, in a clear, ringing voice, “I swear it on my life and honor.”
The old man bent, raised Regis, clasped him in his arms and kissed him on either cheek. His hands were trembling with emotion, his eyes filled with tears that ran, unheeded, down his face. And Regis knew that for the first time in his life, his grandfather saw him, him alone. No ghost, no shadow of his dead son, stood between them. Not Rafael. Regis, himself.
He felt suddenly, immensely lonely. He wished this council were over. He walked back to his sea
t. Danilo respected his silence and did not speak or look at him. But he knew Danilo was there and it warmed, a little, the cold shaking loneliness inside him.
Hastur had mastered his emotion. He said, “Kennard, Lord Alton.”
Kennard still limped heavily, and he looked weary and worn, but Regis was glad to see him on his feet again. He said, “My lords, I bring you news from Arilinn. It has been determined there that the Sharra matrix can neither be monitored nor destroyed at present. Until such time as a means of completely inactivating it can be devised, it has been decided to send it offworld, where it cannot fall into the wrong hands and cannot raise again its own specific dangers.”
Dyan said, “Isn’t that dangerous, too, Kennard? If the power of Sharra is raised elsewhere—”
“After long discussion, we have determined that this is the safest course. It is our opinion that there are no telepaths anywhere in the Empire who are capable of using it. And at interstellar distances, it cannot draw upon the activated spots near Aldaran, which is always a risk while it remains on Darkover. Even the forge-folk could not hold it inactive now. Offworld, it will probably be dormant until a means of destroying it can be devised.”
“It’s a risk,” Dyan said.
“Everything is a risk, while anything of such power remains active in the universe anywhere,” Kennard said. “We can only do the best we can with the tools and techniques we have.”
Hastur said, “You are going to take it offworld yourself, then? What of your son? He was at least partly responsible for its use—”
“No,” said Danilo suddenly, and Regis realized that Danilo now had as much right as anyone there to speak in Council, “he refused to have any part in its misuse, and endured torture to try to prevent it!”
“And,” Kennard said, “he risked his life and came near to losing it, to bring it to Arilinn and break the circle of destruction. If he and his wife had not risked their lives—and if the girl had not sacrificed her own—Sharra would still be raging in the hills and none of us would sit here peacefully deciding who is to sit in Council after us!” Suddenly the Alton rage flared out, lashing them all. “Do you know the price he paid for you Comyn, who had despised him and treated him with contempt, and not one of you, not a damned one of you, have so much as asked whether he will live or die?”
Heritage and Exile Page 44