The man looked shocked and offended. “What have I done to merit this insult, via dom? You have lent grace to me and to my shop; I cannot accept payment!”
“Oh, look here,” Kerwin protested. “You mustn’t do that—”
“I have told you these poor things are not worthy of your attention, vai dom, but if the High-lord would venture to accept from me a pair truly worthy of his notice—”
“Hells’s bells,” muttered Kerwin, wondering what was going on and what Darkovan taboo he’d blundered into, unknowing, this time.
The man gave Kerwin a sharp look, then said, “Forgive my presumption, vai dom, but you are the high-lord Comyn Kerwin-Aillard, are you not?”
Recalling the custom that gave a Darkovan child the name and rank of the highest-ranking parent, Kerwin admitted it, and the man said, firmly and respectfully, but rather as if he were instructing a retarded child in suitable manners, “It is not the custom to accept payment for anything that a Comyn high-lord condescends to accept, sir.”
Kerwin gave in gracefully, not wanting to make a scene, but he felt embarrassed. How the devil could he get the other things he wanted? Just go and ask for them? The Comyn seemed to have a nice little racket going, but he wasn’t larcenous enough to enjoy it. He was used to working for what he wanted, and paying for it.
He tucked the package under his arm, and walked along the street. It felt curiously different and pleasant, to walk through a Darkovan city as a citizen, not an outsider, not an interloper. He thought briefly of Johnny Ellers, but that was another life, and the years he had spent with the Terran Empire were like a dream.
“Kerwin?”
He looked up to see Auster, clad in green and scarlet, standing before him. Auster said, pleasantly for him, “It occurred to me that you might get lost. I had business in the city and I thought perhaps I might find you in the marketplace.”
“Thanks,” Kerwin said. “I wasn’t lost yet, but the streets are a little confusing. Good of you to come after me.” He was startled at the friendly gesture; Auster alone, of all the circle, had been persistently unfriendly.
Auster shrugged, and suddenly, as clearly as if Auster had spoken, Kerwin sensed it, clear patterned:
He’s lying. He said that so I wouldn’t ask his business down here. He didn’t come to meet me and he’s sore about it. But he shrugged the thought aside. What the hell, he wasn’t Auster’s keeper. Maybe the man had a girl down here, or a friend, or something. His affairs were none of Kerwin’s business.
But why did he think he had to explain to me why he was in the city?
They had fallen into step together, turning their steps back in the direction of the Tower, which lay like a long arm of shadow over the marketplace. Auster paused.
“Care to stop somewhere and have a drink before we get back?”
Although he appreciated the friendly offer, Kerwin shook his head. “Thanks. I’ve been stared at enough for one day. I’m not much of a drinker, anyhow. Thanks all the same. Another time, maybe.”
Auster gave him a quick look, not friendly, but understanding. He said, “You’ll get used to being stared at—on one level. On another, it keeps getting worse. The more you’re isolated with—with your own kind—the less you’re able to tolerate outsiders.”
They walked for a moment, shoulder to shoulder. Behind him, then, Kerwin heard a sudden yell. Auster whirled, giving Kerwin a hard, violent shove; Kerwin lost his footing, taken off balance, slipped and fell sprawling as something hurtled past and struck the wall behind him. A flake of stone ricocheted off, striking Kerwin’s cheek, and laid it open to the bone.
Auster had slid off balance and fallen to his knees; he hauled himself to his feet, looking warily around, picked up the heavy paving-stone someone had hurled with what could have been a deadly accuracy.
Kerwin said, “What the hell!” He picked himself up, staring at Auster.
Auster said stiffly, “I apologize—”
Kerwin cut him short. “Forget it. You saved me a nasty bruise. If that thing had hit me amidships, I could have been killed.” He touched his cheek with careful fingers. “Who threw that damn thing?”
“Some malcontent,” Auster said, and looked round, unquiet. “Strange things are abroad in Arilinn these days. Kerwin, do me a favor?”
“I guess I owe you one at that.”
“Don’t mention this to the women—or to Kennard. We have enough to worry about now.”
Kerwin frowned; but finally nodded. Silently, side by side, they walked up toward the Tower. It was surprising how much at ease he felt with Auster, in spite of the fact that Auster obviously disliked him. It was as if they’d known each other all their lives. Being isolated with your own kind, Auster had said. Was Auster his own kind?
He had two facts to chew on. One, Auster, who didn’t like him, had moved—automatically, by instinct—to shield him from a thrown rock; by standing still, he could have let Kerwin be hurt and saved himself some aggravation and trouble. But even more than Auster’s strange behavior, was the surprising event of the rock. Despite all the deference shown the Comyn by the people of Arilinn, there was somebody in Arilinn who would like to see one of them dead.
Or was it the half-Terran interloper who was supposed to be killed? Kerwin suddenly wished he had not given Auster his promise. He’d have liked to talk it over with Kennard.
When they joined the others in the hall that night, Kennard looked strangely at his bandaged cheek, and if Kennard had then asked a point-blank question, Kerwin might have answered—he had not promised Auster to lie about it—but Kennard said nothing, and so Kerwin only told him about the shopkeeper and the boots, mentioning his own disquiet at the custom. The older man threw back his head and guffawed.
“My dear boy, you’ve given the man prestige—I suppose a Terran would say, free publicity—that will last for years! The fact that a Comyn of Arilinn, even one who’s not very important, came into his shop and actually bargained with him—”
“Nice racket,” said Kerwin sourly. He wasn’t amused.
“Actually, Jeff, it makes excellent good sense. We give a good slice of our lives to the people, we can do things nobody else can do. They wouldn’t think of letting us have a good excuse to do anything else. I spent some time as an officer in the Guards; my father is the hereditary Commander, it’s an Alton post; and when he dies, I shall have to command it. I should be at his side, learning; but Arilinn was short-handed, so I came back. If my brother Lewis had lived—but he died, leaving me Heir to Alton, and with that, the command of the Guards.” Kennard sighed. His eyes strayed into the distance. Then he said, abruptly recalling what he had been saying to Kerwin:
“In a sense, it’s a way of keeping us prisoner here; a bribe. Anything we happen to want—any of us—we’re given, so we have no shadow of excuse to leave the Tower on the grounds that there could be more for us elsewhere.” He looked at the boots and frowned: “—and poor enough merchandise he gave you! The man should be ashamed; it speaks ill of him and his shop!”
Kerwin laughed. No wonder the man had tried so hard to steer him to a better pair! He said so, and Kennard nodded.
“Seriously, it would please the man if you went back when you next visit the town, and accepted the best pair in his shop. Or better yet, commission him to make a pair for you specially, from some design you happen to fancy! And while you’re at it, let some clothingmaker fit you out with proper clothing for this climate, why don’t you? The Terrans believe in heating their houses, not their bodies; I nearly suffocated when I was there. ...”
Kerwin accepted the change of subject, but he still did not wholly understand what the Towers did that was so important. Messages, yes. He supposed the relays were simpler and less troublesome than a system of telephones or wireless radio communication. But if that was all they wanted, a radio system would be simpler. As for the other things, he hadn’t yet connected the simpler tricks with crystal to the overwhelming importance that the Comyn telep
aths seemed to have on Darkover.
And now there was another piece of the puzzle that did not fit; a rock, thrown in broad daylight, at two of the revered Tower telepaths. Not accident. Not mistaken aim on the fringes of a riot somewhere. A rock thrown deliberately, to disable or kill—and it had come near enough to doing it. It didn’t fit, and he cursed having given his promise Auster.
He got the answer to one of his questions a couple of tendays later. In one of the insulated rooms, supervised by Rannirl, Kerwin was working on elementary mechanics, practicing simple force-emission techniques, not unlike the glass-melting tricks Ragan had shown him. They had been at it for over an hour, and Jeff’s head was beginning to throb, when Rannirl said abruptly, “Enough for now; something’s going on.”
They came out on the landing just as Taniquel darted up the stairs; she almost ran into them, and Rannirl reached out and steadied her.
“Careful, chiya! What’s happening?”
“I’m not sure,” she said. “But Neyrissa has had a message from Thendara; the Lord Hastur is coming to Arilinn.”
“So soon,” Rannirl murmured. “I’d hoped we’d have more time!” He looked at Kerwin and frowned. “You’re not ready.”
Kennard limped up the steps toward them, holding heavily to the rail. Kerwin asked, “Has this something to do with me?”
“We’re not sure yet,” Kennard said. “It might be. It was Hastur who gave his consent to bringing you here, you know—though we accepted responsibility.”
Kerwin felt sudden fear constricting his throat. Had he been traced here? Were the Terrans going to enforce their deportation order? He did not want to leave Darkover, felt he could not bear, not now, to leave Arilinn. He belonged here; these were his people....
Kennard followed his thoughts and smiled kindly to him.
“They have no authority to deport you, Jeff. By Darkovan law, citizenship follows the parent of higher rank; which means you are Darkovan by blood-right, and Comyn Aillard . No doubt, when Council season comes again, Lord Hastur will confirm you as Heir to Aillard, since there is no female heir to that line; Cleindori had no daughters, and she was herself nedestro.” But he still looked troubled, and as he went up toward his room he looked over his shoulder, edgily, saying, “But, damn it, wear Darkovan clothes!”
Kerwin had had himself outfitted in the city; as he got into the somber blue-and-grey outfit he had chosen from the best tailor he could find, he thought, looking at himself in the mirror, that at least he looked Darkovan. He felt like one—most of the time, anyway. But he still had the sense of being on trial. Did Arilinn, or for that matter Comyn Council, really have the power to defy the Terran Empire?
That, Jeff decided, was a damn god question. The only problem was that he didn’t know the answer, and couldn’t even guess.
They gathered, not in the big hall they used evenings, but in a smaller, more formally arranged chamber high in the Tower, which Kerwin had heard called the Keeper’s audience-chamber. The room was brightly lit with prisms suspended from silver chains; the seats were old, carved from some dark wood, and in their midst was a low table inlaid with patterns in pearl and nacre, a many-pointed star at the center. Neither Kennard nor Elorie was in the room; Kennard, he knew, had gone to the airfield to welcome the distinguished guest. Kerwin, taking one of the low seats around the table, noticed that one chair was higher and more imposing than the rest; he supposed that this was reserved for the Lord Hastur.
A curtain was drawn back by one of the nonhumans; Kennard hobbled in and took his seat. Behind him came a tall, dark, commanding man, slightly built, but with a soldierly air of presence. He said ceremoniously, “Danvan Hastur of Hastur, Warden of Hastur, Regent of the Seven Domains, Lord of Thendara and Carcosa—”
“And so forth and so forth,“ said a gentle, resonant voice. “You lend me grace, Valdir, but I beg of you, spare me all these ceremonies.” And the Lord Hastur came into the room.
Danvan Hastur of Hastur was not a tall man. Simply clad in grey, with a blue cloak lined in silvery fur, he seemed at first just a scholarly, quiet man, edging past middle age; his hair was fair, silvering at the temples, and his manner was courteous and unassuming. But something—the stately straightness of his slim body, the firm line of his mouth, the swift, incisive look with which he summed up the room of people—made Kerwin aware that this was no elderly nonentity; this was a man of tremendous presence, a man accustomed to command and to be obeyed; a man absolutely secure in his own position and power, so secure that he did not even need arrogance.
Somehow, he seemed to take up more space in the room than he physically occupied. His voice filled it to the corners, without being loud.
“You lend me grace, children. I am glad to return to Arilinn.”
The clear blue eyes fixed on Kerwin, and the man moved toward him. So compelling was that presence that Kerwin rose to his feet in automatic deference.
“Vai dom,” he said. “I am here at your service.”
“You are Cleindori’s child, then, the one they sent to Terra,” Danvan Hastur said. He spoke the Thendara dialect of Kerwin’s own childhood. Somehow, not knowing precisely how he sensed it, Kerwin knew Hastur was not a telepath. “What name did they give you then, son of Aillard?”
Kerwin told the man his name; Hastur nodded thoughtfully.
“Well enough; although Jeff has an unnecessarily barbarian sound. You might well consider adopting one of the names of your clan; your mother would certainly have given you one of her family names, Arnad or Damon or Valentine. Had you thought about it? When you are presented before Council, surely, you should wear a name befitting an Aillard noble.”
Kerwin said tightly, resisting the man’s charm, “I’m not ashamed of wearing my father’s name, sir.”
“Well, please yourself,” Hastur said. “I assure you I meant no offense, kinsman; and I had no intention of suggesting that you deny your Terran heritage. But you look Comyn. I wanted to see you myself and be sure of you.”
Kennard said dryly, “You did not trust my word, Lord Danvan? Or—” He glanced at the dark sallow man he had called Valdir. “Or was it you who could not accept my word, my father?” A look half hostile, half affectionate passed between them, before he said formally to Kerwin, “My father, Valdir-Lewis Lanart of Alton, Lord of Armida.”
Kerwin bowed, startled; Kennard’s father?
Valdir said, “It did not occur to us that you would attempt to deceive us, Kennard, even if you could. But Lord Hastur wished to be certain that the Terrans had not duped you all into accepting an imposter.” His sharp eyes studied Kerwin briefly, then he sighed and said, “But I can see that it is true.” He added directly to Kerwin, “You have your mother’s eyes, my boy; you are very like her. I was her foster-father; will you embrace me as a kinsman, nephew?” He stepped forward, embracing Jeff formally, pressing his cheeks to each of Kerwin’s in turn. Kerwin, sensing—correctly—that this was a very meaningful act of personal recognition, bowed his head.
Hastur said, frowning a little, “These are strange days. I never thought I would welcome the son of a Terran to the Council. Yet if we must, we must.” He sighed and said to Kerwin, “Be it so then; I recognize you.” His smile was wry. “And since we have accepted the son of a Terran father, we must, I suppose, accept the son of a Terran mother. Bring Lewis-Kennard to Council, then, if you must, Kennard. How old is he now—eleven?”
“Ten, sir,” Kennard said and Hastur nodded. “I cannot speak for what the Council will do. If the boy has laran—but then, he is too young to tell, and the Council may refuse to recognize him; but I, at least, will not fight you any further, Ken.”
“Vai dom, you are too kind,” said Kennard, in a voice heavily overlaid with sarcasm. Valdir said sharply, “Enough. We will fly that falcon when her pinions are grown. For the moment—well, Hastur, young Kerwin here would not be the first of Terran blood to stand before Comyn Council by marriage-right. Nor even the first to build a bridge between our
two worlds, to the betterment of both.”
Hastur sighed. “I know your views on that, Valdir; my father shared them, and it was by his will that Kennard was sent to Terra when he was no more than a boy. I do not know if he was right or wrong; only time will tell. For the moment, we are confronted with the consequences of that choice, and we must deal with them, will we nil we.”
“Strange words for the Regent of Comyn,” Auster said from his place, and Hastur gave him a fierce hawk-blue stare, saying, “I deal in realities, Auster. You live here isolated with your brothers and sisters of Comyn blood; I, at the very edge of the Terran Zone. I cannot pretend that the ancient days of Arilinn are still with us, or that the Forbidden Tower has never cast a shadow over every Tower in the Domains. If King Stephen—but he is dead, sound may he sleep, and I rule as Regent for a child of nine, and not a very clever or sound one; one day, if we are all fortunate, Prince
Derek will rule, but until that day comes, I do what I must in his place.” He turned with a gesture of finality that silenced Auster, and took his seat—not, Kerwin noticed with astonishment, the high seat, but one of the ordinary seats around the table. Valdir did not seat himself but remained standing by the door. Although he wore no weapon, Kerwin somehow thought of a man with a hand on the hilt of his sword.
“Now, tell me, my children, how does it go with you in Arilinn?”
Kerwin, watching Lord Hastur, thought: I wish I could tell that old fellow about the heaved rock! There’s no nonsense to Lord Hastur; he’d know what to make of it, and no mistake!
The curtains at the entrance moved. Valdir said ceremoniously, “The Lady Elorie, Keeper of Arilinn.”
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