Hastur Lord d-23

by Marion Zimmer Bradley

  “In matters of faith, I believe change comes slowly,” Danilo said in an encouraging tone. “People tend to stay with what they were taught as children.”

  Rinaldo’s face tightened again. “I cannot wait a generation! Who knows how many souls may be lost? This prejudice against the true faith is intolerable!”

  “There are more chapels in Thendara than ever before,” Danilo reminded him. “Surely, given time, the people will come to accept—”

  “The common people, but not the Comyn! My own caste, the very men who should be leading this glorious battle, cling to the accursed superstitions of the past! What will it take to make them see that idolatrous worship of Aldones and the rest leads to damnation?”

  Danilo flinched at Rinaldo’s ferocity. He could not believe that Regis or Lew Alton or any of the other Comyn who faithfully followed the practices of his ancestors, these decent, honorable men, must necessarily face eternal torture. Before he could think of a suitably nonconfrontational comment, he heard an angry voice outside the door, followed by a barrage of sharp raps.

  “Out of my way, lout! I will not be put off again!”

  The door flew open, and Valdir Ridenow strode in. He was richly attired in the green of his Domain trimmed in gold thread, and his face was flushed.

  Drawing his sword, Danilo stepped between Valdir and Rinaldo. The steel sang softly as it came free. A feral smile warmed his lips. Very few things would have pleased him more than an excuse to plunge the blade into Valdir’s heart.

  Valdir halted, quickly composing himself. Danilo held his position; it was for Rinaldo to command him to attack or to stand down.

  Rinaldo waited another moment before speaking. “Danilo, lower your sword. While I appreciate your enthusiasm, I hardly think such a worthy man as DomValdir has come here with the express intent to assault me.”

  “As you wish, vai dom.” Without taking his eyes off Valdir, Danilo replaced his blade in its scabbard. “I beg you to remember that Hasturs have been targets for assassins before this.”

  He had killed his share of them, defending Regis.

  “It seems,” Valdir said, attempting levity, “your tame paxman may not be so tame after all.”

  “I take my oath seriously.” Danilo met Valdir’s eyes.

  Valdir glared back, as if to say, You were my prisoner once, your life in my hands . . . and can become so again.

  “Enough of this!” Rinaldo’s irritation returned in full force. “What do you want, Valdir? I already told your man that I have no time for foolishness.”

  “The future of Darkover in the Federation is hardly foolishness. Now dismiss your paxman so we may discuss the matter freely.” Valdir moved toward the larger of the two chairs.

  “Sit down if you wish,” Rinaldo said tightly, “but I have no intention of wasting my time on affairs that do not immediately concern Darkover . . . with my paxman present or without him.”

  Valdir did not take a seat. He halted, poised on the balls of his feet. In that moment, he became far more dangerous. Any trained fighter, any experienced politician—in short, any Comyn—would have recognized the threat. Apparently Rinaldo did not, for he reached for the paper and began reading it again.

  “I cannot force the Hastur Domain to act,” Valdir began, in clear control of himself.

  “No,” Rinaldo glanced up, “you cannot. Unless you propose to overthrow your precious tradition and place another Domain in ascendancy or find someone to crown as king, you have no power.”

  “I do.”

  The man was not bluffing. Danilo had seen enough blustering to know the difference. So, apparently, had Rinaldo.

  Valdir let the moment stretch out. “I see we understand one another, Lord Hastur. I cannot remove you from the position I have placed you in, and I doubt that taking your lady wife under my . . . protectionwill make any difference to you. Oh, do not look so innocent! You know very well how such things are done—and so does he,” meaning Danilo.

  “You no longer have the power to advance your pet project,” Rinaldo sneered, “and hence must come begging to me like an abandoned cur. I told you before that membership in the Federation is of little consequence compared to the salvation—”

  “But these are not my only options. I can convene what is left of the Comyn Council. I can move that each Domain may act as an independent polity unfettered by any previous accord. If, for example, Ridenow wished to join the Federation, we would be free to do so.”

  Blood drained from Danilo’s face.

  “Go ahead, then!” Rinaldo snarled. “You cannot coerce me into acting against my conscience!”

  “Pardon my intrusion,” Danilo kept his face toward Rinaldo, whose ignorance of the implications was appalling. “My lord, how would the Federation respond if only someof the Domains applied for membership and others remained opposed?”

  “Why, they could do nothing,” was the reply, delivered in a careless tone. “How could the Federation accept only partof a planet? For that matter, even if all seven Domains wished it, should we exclude the Dry Towns?” Rinaldo snorted in ridicule. “Why not consult the trailmen, as well? Or the kyrri?” referring to two of the nonhuman races on Darkover. “Or the chieri,assuming any still exist?”

  Danilo pressed his lips together to keep from bursting out with the truth. The Federation would jump at the chance to declare the Darkovan government a failed state. They would send military forces to “restore order.” Lew Alton had reported on more than one such instance elsewhere, always when intervention was in the best economic interest of the Expansionist Party.

  The danger ran deeper than occupation by an interstellar army, dreadful as that might be. Without the Compact, the Council, and the ancient ties of interdependence, there was nothing to stop one Domain from declaring war on another. The armies of Aldaran had marched on Thendara within Danilo’s own memory. Every Comyn was taught from childhood about the horrors of the past, incessant warfare when laranweapons poisoned water and land, and clingfirerained from the skies.

  Did Valdir mean to bring about a second Age of Chaos?

  Danilo turned to face Valdir, praying his voice would not shake. “You are an educated man, my lord, well versed in history. Do you recall what happened the last time Hastur and Ridenow went to war?”

  Valdir paled minutely. If Rinaldo did not appreciate the lessons from that terrible conflict, then Valdir certainly did.

  Something shifted in Valdir’s demeanor. There was no lessening of determination, only a drawing back from words that could not be unsaid . . . and a tinge of consternation. Was he now regretting his alliance with the man he once considered a pliant and useful tool?

  “I have taken up enough of your valuable time, Lord Hastur.” Valdir bowed, his features carefully masked. “Perhaps we might continue this conversation at a time when you are more disposed to give it your full consideration.”

  “Perhaps,” Rinaldo murmured, “although I cannot tell when that might be.”

  Valdir bowed again and retreated through the door.

  Shaking his head, Rinaldo let out an aggrieved sigh. “Valdir Ridenow is a worthy man in many respects, but he is no better than his fellow idol-worshipers. He thinks only of the worldly advantages of the Federation. I fear his soul will be in grave peril unless he can be brought to see the truth.”

  He sighed again and picked up the paper. “Meanwhile, I must attend as best I can to those already among the faithful. This—this cannot be allowed to continue!”

  “Do you wish to give me any details, my lord?”

  “Oh, you will know soon enough. You are well aware that DomnaLawton has been among our staunchest allies in bringing God’s true word to the people.”

  “She helped you establish the Chapel of All Worlds,” Danilo said neutrally.

  “Initially, I was glad of her aid in that enterprise, as well as her counsel in other matters. But she is so much more . . . I believe she is a true prophet, even a saint. Until I met her, I had no id
ea the Holy One might speak so clearly to one not of our world. Now I am sure it is true.”

  Rinaldo gestured for Danilo to take the nearest chair. “Did you see the rapture that seized Lady Lawton at my wedding?”

  Everyone in the room had noticed Tiphani Lawton’s odd behavior. In Danilo’s opinion, most of the guests thought it a bizarre off-world tradition for an unrelated woman to pray so dramatically over the head of the bride.

  “Until last night, I dared not hope that the Bearer of Burdens might bless me with a sign of divine favor,” Rinaldo said, his voice resonant with ardor. “I was taught that miracles come only to those who believe without reservation. No matter how I strove for perfection, I always fell short. I could not rid myself of impure—ah, impious thoughts. Now, surrounded by every worldly temptation, I received an unexpected grace . . .”

  He paused, perhaps on the brink of announcing that something amazing and miraculous had happened to him.

  “Lady Lawton writes to me now. Oh, that such an affront should come to any of the faithful, but that it should be one blessed with mystical sight! It is insupportable!”

  “Why, has some trouble befallen the lady?” Danilo asked.

  “Her husband, that Terranan! Hehas befallen her! He has accused her—he suspects—it is too outrageous to contemplate!” Throwing down the letter, Rinaldo jumped to his feet and began pacing, kicking chairs as he passed.

  “My lord?”

  “Read it for yourself!”

  Danilo picked up the letter. The paper was Terran manufacture, with the peculiar smoothness that no Darkovan mill could produce. The handwriting was atrocious by Nevarsin standards, as if each letter had been formed by a different child.

  The letter was from Tiphani Lawton.

  Through the misspellings and incorrectly formed letters, Danilo made out its substance. Dan Lawton had come to the conclusion that his wife’s visions were not divinely inspired, as she and Rinaldo knew to be the case, but represented a form of irrational behavior. Although she did not use the word insanity, Danilo could read between the lines. Dan wanted her to seek medical care, as if she were ill instead of blessed. She feared what the Terran doctors would do: force her to take drugs that would derange her mind and deprive her of divine guidance. She concluded with an appeal for help that was so overwrought as to be almost incoherent.

  Irrational behavior,indeed. Danilo lowered the letter. Even if he had not witnessed her performance at Rinaldo’s wedding, her mental instability would have been clear from the letter. Meanwhile, what was he to do? What could he possibly say to make Rinaldo see sense? With Regis, he would have had no hesitation speaking his mind. But Regis would have seen through Tiphani in an instant.

  “You see! You see!” Rinaldo snatched the letter from Danilo’s hands. “This is why I cannot listen to Valdir! He is in love with the Terranan, but I know them for what they are—idolaters who would suppress the truth!”

  “Surely a reasoned answer is the best way to lull their suspicions,” Danilo suggested, certain that to storm into Terran Federation HQ and carry away the wife of the Legate, even with her willing cooperation, would be seen as a hostile act, one the Federation forces were fully empowered to answer.

  “Yes, yes, of course. I must consider how to proceed.”

  Calmer now after venting his feelings, Rinaldo lowered himself back into the chair. He placed his elbows on the polished surface of the desk and brought his fingertips together, echoing an attitude of prayer. He seemed so deep in thought, Danilo dared not interrupt him.

  Then Rinaldo’s face brightened. “I cannot, I will notabandon her!”

  “My lord . . .”

  “Do not fear, I will not ask anything of you that is contrary to your honor.” Rinaldo inflected the word to sound like an insult. “The moment must be right . . . You will speak to no one about this. No one.”

  “Su serva, vai dom.”Danilo bowed, a shade lower than necessary. Besides, who would he tell that the Head of Hastur and the wife of the Terran Federation Legate were caught up in a shared religious frenzy? Who would believe him?

  Winter settled its grip on the city. Each day seemed shorter, bleaker and darker, as if the season hurried to its own death. The storms of autumn gave way to unrelenting cold. Temperatures plummeted, and layers of compacted snow blanketed streets and roof tops. A blizzard, the strongest anyone could recall, blew down from the Hellers. It swept through the Venza Hills to descend upon the city. Streets became impassable, even though crews of men struggled to clear the snow.

  The walls of Comyn Castle kept out the worst gales, but the rest of Thendara was not so fortunate. Traffic through the city gates dwindled to a few desperate travelers. Those who reached Thendara brought reports of attacks on human habitations by starving wolves, human and animal, throughout the Kilghard Hills. Giant carnivorous banshees stalked the Hellers passes, venturing down from their usual territories in search of prey. In the city, many muttered that it was the worst winter in memory.

  Marriage had not changed Rinaldo’s life in any way Danilo could detect. Occasionally, Rinaldo dined with his wife, but more often with Javanne and Gabriel. Javanne looked uneasy, as if she feared Danilo would think her a traitor to Regis by sharing a meal with his usurper. She was in an awkward position as Rinaldo’s sister and in her role as Castle chatelaine as well as the wife of the Guards Commander, who served at the pleasure of the Hastur Lord. As far as Danilo knew, Rinaldo had never spoken with Regis after the obligatory visit to admire the baby.

  Rinaldo seemed immune to the weather. The monks at St. Valentine’s were said to be impervious to the cold, able to sleep on the glacial ice in their sandals and robes. Whether this was myth or a discipline of bodily control, Danilo did not know. Certainly, the monks did not mind the freezing temperatures as the novices and students did.

  On all but the bitterest days, Rinaldo went into the city, wearing layers of fur and wool and stout lined boots. He did not insist that Danilo accompany him, but Danilo took pity on the poor Guardsman who would otherwise have had that duty and braved the icy streets himself.

  Together they made a circuit of the new cristoforoshrines. Now that Rinaldo controlled the Hastur assets, he financed soup kitchens as an act of charity. Exultantly, he pointed out to Danilo how attendance at services had increased. Danilo privately thought these poor wretches were so desperate, they would sit through sermons from Zandru himself for a hot meal.

  The days ran on, each darker than the one before, until Midwinter Night drew near. This time was also a great cristoforoholiday—the birth-date, they said, of the Bearer of Burdens.

  Rinaldo would not permit any of the usual Midwinter celebrations, dismissing them as heretical. Instead, he invited Regis and Linnea as well as Javanne and Gabriel to a late-evening family party. The largest of the parlors had been decorated with strings of dried berries representing the droplets of blood shed by the holy saints, rather than the usual garlands of fir boughs. A generous fire warmed the air, and banks of beeswax candles gave off a gentle, honey-sweet perfume.

  Regis arrived early to participate in the customary giving of gifts to the servants. At first glimpse, a fever raced through Danilo. All the things he wanted to say boiled over the cauldron of his mind so that for a moment, he could not even breathe. For a heart-stopping moment, Regis met his gaze.

  Rinaldo was watching both of them intently, waiting like a hunter for the slightest lapse. Desperate to do nothing that might betray the depths of his emotions, Danilo threw all his concentration into barricading his mind. Regis answered him with an expression of unconcerned calm.

  After the servants went off to their own holiday dinner, the rest of the family came in. Mikhail was not present, having remained at Ardais with Kennard-Dyan. Linnea entered a few minutes later, accompanied by one of the young Castamir ladies. As she and Danilo greeted one another, their eyes met in recognition. A heat rose from her skin, a scent more sensed than felt; she had been nursing little Danilo.

&nbs
p; Javanne greeted everyone graciously. Thinner than usual, she wore a holiday gown elegant with lace and silver- thread embroidery but no jewels, as if she had been unable to determine the exact degree of formality of the occasion. Gabriel looked proper and formal in his uniform, with never a word or gesture out of place.

  He’s angry . . . or afraid.Danilo had known Gabriel since his days as a cadet and could not imagine what would cause fear in the older man. Caution, certainly, for Gabriel’s position as brother-in-law to Regis must make his every action suspect.

  Servants brought in bowls of mulled berry wine and platters of little seed-cakes that, if not strictly traditional, created an atmosphere of festivity. Rinaldo, playing the generous host, made sure everyone had a full goblet.

  “It is time for your gift, my brother.” Rinaldo lifted his goblet to Regis. Danilo noticed the hectic, almost feverish light in Rinaldo’s eyes.

  “I have brought nothing for you,” Regis said, “save for my wishes for a peaceful season.”

  A note in his voice tore at Danilo’s heart, a cold whisper slicing through the bright jollity. Danilo had none of the Aldaran Gift of precognition, but he sensed that whatever happened next would change the world forever.

  Rinaldo smiled, saying, “Do not distress yourself. I am so happy tonight that nothing can displease me.”

  The door swung open, and Bettany entered with two ladies in attendance. Her gown, an edifice of brocade and satin, rustled as she moved. A small fortune in Ardcarran rubies set in copper filigree lay upon her exposed bosom and dangled from her ears.

  To Danilo’s surprise, one of the attendants was Tiphani Lawton. He did not recognize her at first glance, for she wore the long belted tunic over full skirts of an ordinary Darkovan woman. Her hair was caught back in a coil on her neck and covered with a demure coif. But she did not comport herself as a Darkovan woman. Her gaze was bold and direct, and her eyes glowed with brittle fire.