Heritage and Exile

by Marion Zimmer Bradley

  “I am at your orders, sir,” said Danilo with a slight bow.

  “Will you join us, cousin?” Lerrys asked, and Dyan shrugged. “One drink, perhaps.”

  Lerrys slid along the bench to make room for Dyan and for his young companion; Regis did not recognize the younger man, and Lerrys, too, looked questioningly at Dyan.

  “Don’t you know one another? Merryl Lindir-Aillard.”

  Dom Merryl was, Regis thought, about twenty; slender, red-haired, freckled, good-looking in a boyish way. With a mental shrug—Dyan’s friends and favorites were no business of his, Aldones be praised—he bowed courteously to young Merryl. “Are you kin to Domna Callina, vai dom? I do not think we have met.”

  “Her step-brother, sir,” Merryl said, and Regis could hear in the other young man’s mind, like an echo, the question he was too diffident to ask: Lord Dyan called him Regis, is this the Regent’s grandson, the Hastur Heir, what is he doing here just like anyone else, like an ordinary person. . . . It was the usual mental jangle, wearying to live with.

  “Are you to sit in Council this year, then?”

  “I have that honor; I am to represent her in Council while she is held at Arilinn by her duties as Keeper there,” he said, and the annoying telepathic jangle went on: in any other Domain it would be my Council seat, but in this one, damn all the Council, rank passes in the female line and it is my damned bitch of a half-sister, like all women, coming the mistress over us all. . . .

  Regis made a strong effort to barricade himself and the trickle of telepathic leakage quieted. He said politely, “Then I welcome you to Thendara, kinsman.”

  The dark, slender youngster sitting between Lerrys and Rafe Scott said shyly, “You are Callina’s brother, dom Merryl? Why, then, I shall welcome you as kinsman too; Callina’s half-sister Linnell was fostered with me at Armida, and I call her breda. She has spoken of you, kinsman.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t know all of Domna Callina’s relatives,” Merryl returned, in the most indifferent formal mode. Regis winced at the direct snub he had given the boy, and suddenly knew who the other must be; Kennard’s younger son, Marius, never acknowledged by the Council, and educated among the Terrans. Regis hadn’t recognized Marius, but that wasn’t surprising; they moved in different orbits and he had not seen the boy since he was the merest child. Now he must be all of fifteen. He seemed indifferent to Merryl’s snub; was he merely so accustomed to insults that he had truly learned to ignore them, or had he only learned not to seem to care? With a little extra courtesy, Regis said, “Dom Marius; I did not recognize you, cousin.”

  Marius smiled. His eyes were dark, like a Terran’s. “Don’t apologize, Lord Regis; there aren’t many in Council who do.” And again Regis heard the unspoken part of that, or would admit it if they did. Lerrys covered the small, awkward silence by pouring wine, passing it to Dyan with some offhand comment about the quality of wine here not being the best.

  “But as a Guardsman, cousin, no doubt you’ve learned to ignore that.”

  “One would never think, now, that you had worn a Guardsman’s uniform, Lerrys,” Dyan returned, affably enough.

  “Well, I did my share of it for a Comyn son,” Lerrys said, with a grin, “as did we all. Though I do not remember seeing you among the cadets, Merryl.”

  Merryl Lindir-Aillard said with a grimace, “Oh, I caught one of the fevers about the time I should have done service in the cadets, and my mother was a timid woman, she thought I’d melt in the summer rains . . . and later, when my father died, she said I was needed at home.” His voice was bitter. Danilo said, smiling, “My father felt so too; and he was old and feeble. He let me go, willingly enough, knowing I should better myself there; but he was glad to have me home again. It’s not easy to judge where one is needed most, kinsman.”

  “I think we have all had experience of that,” said Dyan.

  “You didn’t miss anything,” said Lerrys. “Zandru’s hells, kinsman, who needs sword practice and training at knife play in this day and age? The Cadets—saving your presence, Lord Regis—are an anachronism in this time, and the sooner we admit it, and call them an honor guard in fancy dress, the better off we’ll be. The Guardsmen police the city, but we ought to take advantage of the Terran offer to send Spaceforce to teach them modern police techniques. I know you must feel as if you missed what every Comyn kinsman should have, Merryl, but I spent three years in the Cadets and two more as an officer, and I could have done as well without it. As long as you look handsome in a Guardsman’s cloak—and I can see by looking at you that you’ll have no trouble with that—you already know all you’ll need for that. As I’m sure Dyan’s told you.”

  “There’s no need to be offensive, Lerrys,” Dyan said stiffly. “But I might have expected it of you—you spend more time on Vainwal exploring alien pleasures than here in Thendara doing your duty as a Comyn lord! It seems to be the climate of the day. I can’t blame you; when the Altons neglect their duty, what can one expect of a Ridenow?”

  “Are you jealous?” Lerrys asked. “On Vainwal, at least I need not conceal my preferences, and if the Altons can spend their time idling throughout the Empire, by what right do you criticize me?”

  “I criticize them no less—” Dyan began hotly.

  “Lord Dyan,” said Marius Alton angrily. “I thought you at least were my father’s friend—or friend enough not to judge his motives!”

  Dyan looked him straight in the eye and drawled, “Who the hell are you?”

  “You know who I am,” Marius retorted, “even if it amuses you to pretend you do not! I am Marius Montray-Lanart of Alton—”

  “Oh, the Montray woman’s son,” Dyan said, in the derogatory mode implying brat or foundling.

  Marius drew a deep breath and clenched his fists. “If Kennard, Lord Alton, acknowledges me his son, it matters nothing to me who else does not!”

  “Wait a minute—” Lerrys began, but Merryl Lindir said, “Must we listen to this even here in Thendara? I did not come here to drink with Terran bastards—and with Terran spies!”

  Marius sprang angrily to his feet. “Terran spies? Captain Scott is my guest!”

  “As I said, Terran spies and toadies—I did not come here for that!”

  “No,” retorted Marius, “it seems you came here for a lesson in manners—and I am ready to give you one!” He kicked the chair back, came around the table, his hand on his knife. “Lesson one: you do not criticize the invited guest of anyone—and I am here as the guest of the Lord Lerrys, and Captain Scott as mine. Lesson two: you do not come into Thendara and cast aspersions on any man’s lineage. You will apologize to Captain Scott, and retract what you said about my father—and my mother! And you too, Lord Dyan, or I shall call you to account as well!”

  Good for him, Regis thought, looking at the angry youngster, knife in hand, crouched into a stance of readiness for a fight. Meryl blinked; then whipped out his knife and backed away, giving himself room to move. He said, “It will be a pleasure, Alton bastard—”

  Lerrys tried to move toward them, laid a hand on Marius’s wrist. “Wait a minute—”

  “Keep out of this, sir,” Marius said, between gritted teeth.

  Good, the boy has courage! Good-looking, too, in his own way! Zandru’s hells, why didn’t Kennard— For a moment Regis could not identify the source of the thought, then Dyan said aloud, “Put your knife up, Merryl! Damn it, that’s an order! You too, Marius, lad. Council never acknowledged your father’s marriage, but it’s not hard to see you’re your father’s son.”

  Marius hesitated, then lowered the knife in his hand. Merryl Lindir-Aillard snarled, “Damn you, are you afraid to fight me, then, like all you coward Terrans—ready to kill with your coward’s weapons and guns from a distance, but frightened of bare steel?”

  Lerrys stepped between them, saying, “This is no place for a brawl! In Zandru’s name—”

  Regis saw that the others in the tavern had drawn back, making something like a ring of s
pectators. When kinsmen quarrel, enemies step in to widen the gap! Does it give them pleasure to see Comyn at odds? “Stop it, both of you! This is not a house of bandits!”

  “Get back, both of you,” said a new, authoritarian voice, and Gabriel Lanart-Hastur, Commander of the Guard, stepped forward. “If you want to fight, make it a formal challenge, and let’s not have any stupid brawls here! Are you both drunk? Lerrys, you are an officer, you know no challenge is valid unless both challengers are sober! Marius—”

  Marius said, fists clenched, “He insulted my father and mother, kinsman! For the honor of the Alton Domain—”

  Gabriel said quietly, “Leave the honor of the Domain in my hands until you are older, Marius.”

  “I am sober enough to challenge him!” Marius said, angrily, “and here I call challenge—”

  “Merryl, you damned fool—” Dyan said urgently, laying a hand on his shoulder, “this is serious—”

  “I’m damned if I’ll fight a Terran bastard with honor,” shouted Merryl, enraged, and rounded on Gabriel Lanart-Hastur. He said, “I’ll fight you, or your whole damned Domain—if I can get any of them back here on Darkover where they belong! But your Lord Alton is no better than any of his bastards, off gallivanting all over the Empire when they’re needed in Council—”

  Gabriel took a step forward, but there was a glare of blue fire and Merryl went reeling back staggering. The telepathic slap was like a thunder in the minds of everyone there.

  BRIDLE YOUR STUPID TONGUE, LACK-WIT! I HAVE LONG SUSPECTED THAT DOMNA CALLINA IS TRULY THE MAN OF YOUR HOUSEHOLD, BUT MUST YOU PROVE IT HERE IN PUBLIC LIKE THIS? ARE YOUR BRAINS ALL WHERE YOU CAN SIT UPON THEM? It was followed by an obscene image; Regis saw Merryl cringe. He felt it in Danilo’s mind too; Danilo had known what it was to be abused by Dyan, mercilessly, with sadistic strength, until Danilo had cracked and drawn a knife on him. . . . Regis, feeling Danilo cower, felt his friend’s agony and stepped back, blindly, to stand close to him. Merryl was dead white; for a moment Regis thought he would weep, there before them all.

  Then Dyan said aloud, coldly, “Lord Regis, Danilo, I believe we have an engagement to dine. Dom Lerrys, I thank you for the drink.” He nodded to Regis, then turned away from them all. There was nothing Regis or Danilo could do but follow him. Merryl was still numbly holding the knife; he slid it into his sheath and went after them. With a swift look backward, Regis saw the tension had evaporated; Gabriel was talking in an urgent undertone to Marius, but that was all right; there was no malice, Regis knew, in his brother-in-law; and after all, in Kennard’s absence, Gabriel was Marius’s guardian.

  Outside, Dyan frowned repressively at Merryl. “I had intended to ask you to join us; I want you and Regis to know one another. But you’d better stay away until you learn how to behave in the city, boy! The first time I take you into the company of the Comyn, you get yourself into a stupid brawl!”

  Neither tone nor words need have been changed a fraction if he had been speaking to a boy of eight or nine who had bloodied his nose in a dispute over a game of marbles. Inexcusable as Merryl’s behavior had been, Regis felt sorry for the youngster, who stood, crimson, accepting Dyan’s tongue-lashing without a word. Well, he deserved it. Merryl said, swallowing, “Was I to stand there and be insulted by Terrans and half-Terrans, kinsman?” He used the word in the intimate mode which could mean Uncle, and Dyan did not reprove him; he reached out and slapped him very lightly on the cheek.

  “I think you did the insulting. And there’s a right way and a wrong way to do these things, kiyu. Go think about the right way. I’ll see you later.”

  Merryl went, but he no longer looked quite so much like a puppy that had been kicked. Regis, acutely uncomfortable, followed Dyan through the street. The Comyn lord turned into the doorway of what looked like a small, discreet tavern. Inside, he recognized the place for what it was, but Dyan shrugged and said, “We’ll meet no other Comyn here, and I can endure to be spared the company of any more like the last!” The flicker of unspoken thought again, if you value your privacy, lad, you might as well get used to places like this one, was so indifferent that Regis could ignore it if he chose.

  “As you wish, kinsman.”

  “The food’s quite good,” Dyan said, “and I have ordered dinner. You needn’t see anything else of the place, if you prefer not to.” He followed a bowing servant into a room hung with crimson and gilt, and talked commonplaces—about the decorations, about the soft stringed music playing—while young waiters came and brought all kinds of food.

  “The music is from the hills; they are a famous group of four brothers,” said Dyan. “I heard them while they were still in Nevarsin, and it was I who urged them to come to Thendara.”

  “A beautiful voice,” said Regis, listening to the clear treble of the youngest musician.

  “Mine was better, once,” said Dyan, and Regis, hearing the indifference of the voice, knew it covered grief. “There are many things you do not know about me; that is one. I have done no singing since my voice broke, though when I was in the monastery for a time last winter, I sang a little with the choir. It was peaceful in the monastery, though I am not a cristoforo and will never be so; their religion is too narrow for me. I hope a day will come when you will find it so, Danilo.”

  “I am not a good cristoforo,” Danilo said, “but it was my father’s faith and will be mine, I suppose, till I find a better.”

  Dyan smiled. He said, “Religion is an entertainment for idle minds, and yours is not idle enough for that. But it does a man in public life no harm to conform a little to the religion of the people, if the conformity is on the surface and does not contaminate his serious thinking. I hold with those who say, even in Nevarsin, There is no religion higher than the truth. And that is not blasphemy either, foster-son; I heard it from the lips of the Father Master. But enough of this—I had something to say to you, Danilo, and I thought to save you the trouble of running at once to pour it into Regis’s ears. In a word; I am a man of impulse, as you have known for a long time. Last year I dwelt for a time at Aillard, and Merryl’s twin sister bore me a son ten days since. Among other business of the Comyn, I am here to have him legitimated.”

  Danilo said correctly, “My congratulations, foster-father.”

  Regis said a polite phrase also, but he was puzzled.

  “You are surprised, Regis? I am a bit surprised myself. In general, even for diversion, I am no lover of women—but as I say, I am . . . a creature of impulse. Marilla Lindir is not a fool; the Aillard women are cleverer than the men, as I have reason to know. I think it pleased her to give Ardais a son, since sons to Aillard have no chance of inheriting that Domain. I suppose you know how these things can happen—or are you both too young for that?” he asked with a lift of the eyebrows, and a touch of malice. “Well, so it went—when I found she was pregnant, I said nothing. It might have been a daughter for Aillard, rather than an Ardais son—but I took the trouble to have her monitored and to be sure the child was mine. I did not speak of it when we met at Midwinter, Danilo, because anything might have befallen; even though I knew she bore a son, she might have miscarried, the child might have been stillborn or defective—the Lindirs have Elhalyn blood. But he is healthy and well.”

  “Congratulations again, then,” said Danilo.

  “Do not think this will change anything for you,” said Dyan. “The lives of children are—uncertain. If he should come to misfortune before he is grown, nothing will change; and should I die before he is come to manhood, I should hope you will be married by then and be named Regent for him. Even so, when he leaves his mother’s care, I am no man to raise a child, nor would I care, at my age, to undertake it; I should prefer it if you would foster him. I will soon apply myself to finding you a suitable marriage—Linnell Lindir-Aillard is pledged to Prince Derik, but there are other Lindirs, and there is Diotima Ridenow, who is fifteen or sixteen now, and—well, there is time enough to decide; I do not suppose you are in any too great a hurr
y to be wedded,” he added ironically.

  “You know I am not, foster-father.”

  Dyan shrugged. “Then any girl will do, since I have saved you the trouble of providing an Heir to Ardais; we can choose one who is amiable, and content to keep your house and run your estate,” he said. “A legal fiction, if you wish.” He turned his eyes to Regis, and added, “And while I am about it, my congratulations are due to you, too; your grandfather told me about the Di Asturien girl, and your son—will he be born this tenday, do you suppose? Is there a marriage in the offing?”

  Shock and anger flooded through Regis. He had intended to tell Danilo this in his own time. He said stiffly, “I have no intention of marrying at this time, kinsman. No more than you.”

  Dyan’s eyes glinted with amused malice. He said, “Why, have I said the wrong thing? I’ll leave you to make your peace with my foster-son, then, Regis.” He rose and bowed to them with great courtesy. “Pray command anything here you wish, wine or food or—entertainment; you are my guests this evening.” He bowed again and left them, taking up his great fur-lined cloak, which flowed behind him over his arm like a living thing.

  After a minute Danilo said, and his voice sounded numb, “Don’t mind, Regis. He envies our friendship, no more than that, and he is striking out. And, I suppose, he feels foolish; to father a bastard son at his age.”

  “I swear I meant to tell you,” Regis said miserably, “I was waiting for the right time. I wanted to tell you before you heard it somewhere as gossip.”

  “Why, Regis, what is it to do with me, if you have love affairs with women?”

  “You know the answer to that,” said Regis, low and savage, “I have no love affairs with women. You know that things like this must happen, while I am Heir to Hastur. Comyn Heirs at stud in the Domains—that’s what it amounts to! Dyan doesn’t like it any better than you do, but even so, he spoke of getting you married off. And I am damned if I’ll marry someone they choose for me, as if I were a stud horse! That’s what it was, and that is all it was. Crystal di Asturien is a very nice young woman; I danced with her at half a dozen of the public dances, I found her friendly and pleasant to talk to, and—” He shrugged. “What can I say to you? She wanted to bear a Hastur son. She’s not the only one. Do I have to apologize for what I must do, or would you rather I did not enjoy it?”