The Heirs Of Hammerfe

by Marion Zimmer Bradley

  "I have had enough of dancing for one evening," he said. "When the moon has set, who cares to look at the stars?"

  "Come, come," Erminie said. "Your hostess has other duties."

  He said irritably, "Floria has already lectured me on that, Mother, do not you start."

  "Then she did well," Erminie said, but sensing that he had much to say to her, asked, "What is it, Alastair?"

 

  "I had an audience with the king, Mother-but I cannot say much of it here in public."

  "You wish to leave at once? As you wish," she said and beckoned to a servant. "Summon a chair for us, please."

  On the way, Alastair poured out all his emotions to his mother. "And, Mother, I asked Floria if she would look favorably on me when I was restored to my own-"

  "And what answer did she give you?"

  Alastair almost whispered, "She kissed me and said that day could not come too soon."

  "I am so glad for you; she is a lovely girl," Erminie said, wondering why, if all this were true, he looked so pensive.

  But, since Alastair was not a developed telepath, she read him wrong, thinking that perhaps Alastair had pressed the girl for an immediate pledge, or even immediate marriage and Floria had quite properly refused him.

  "Now tell me every word that His Grace said to you," she demanded, and settled down to hear him.

 

  8

  The village of Lowerhammer was not much more than a cluster of stone houses at the center of a dozen farms; a poor place, but it was harvest time, and the village's largest barn had been cleared and converted into a dance hall. It was crowded with raucous revelers and lit with a festive array of lanterns; pipers and harpers played a lively dance tune. All along one wall a row of trestles were spread with planks, and every mug and glass in the village was lined up there around jugs of cider and beer, along with benches for the elders, while at the center a ring of young men circled to the left around a ring of young girls stepping to the right.

  Conn was in the circle; when the music came to an end, as expected, he held out his hands to the girl with whom the circle had brought him face to face and led her toward the refreshment table. He filled her a mug, and another for himself.

 

  It was hot in the barn; beyond a rough wooden bulkhead there were still horses and dairy animals and four or five hearty young men were guarding these doors to make certain that no torches or candles were carried where there was hay or straw. The fear of fire always overshadowed country festivals, especially at this season before the fall rains had drenched the resin-trees.

  Conn sipped the rough cider, smiling woodenly at the girl he had partnered in the dance. Why at this moment did he see, as if through her, another woman-one he saw at almost every turning, one who was with him at work during the day, and in dreams at night-the stranger dressed in brilliant satins; a woman with fair hair, dressed elaborately in jeweled braids?

  "Conn," Lilla said, "what is it? You are a thousand leagues away; are you dancing on the green moon?"

  He laughed. "No, but I was daydreaming of a place far from here," he confessed. "I don't know why; there is no place better than here-especially at a harvest ball." But he knew he was lying; next to the woman in his dream, Lilla looked like the rough-handed farm girl that she was, and this place no more than a travesty of the brilliantly lighted palace of his daydream. Were these bright scenes he saw as if in dreams the reality, and these rustic festivities the dream? He felt confused, and rather than pursue the thought, turned to his cider.

  "Do you want to dance again?"

  "No, I am too hot," she said. "Let's sit here for a few minutes."

  They found a bench at the end of the barn, near the wooden bulkheads; behind them he could hear

 

  the soft stamping of the animals, everything near him was dear and familiar. The talk around him was of harvest and weather, the familiar realities of everyday life; but for some reason they now seemed alien, as if suddenly everyone were talking in a strange language. Only Lilla at his side seemed solid and real; he took her hand, and put his free arm around her waist. She leaned back against his shoulder; she had braided fresh field flowers into her hair and some crudely dyed red ribbons. Her hair was dark, curling coarsely around her red cheeks; she was plump and soft against him, and his hands strayed into the softness under her shawl. She did not protest, only sighing a little when he bent to kiss her, pulling her face around to his.

  He whispered to her, and she came compliantly into the darkness at the end of the long barn. Part of the game was to elude the young men who made sure that no fire was carried into the area of stored grain, but they wanted no lights. Surrounded by the fresh sweetness of the hay, with clover flowers adding to the scent, Conn held her tightly and kissed her again and again; after a little he murmured to her, and Lilla moved with him farther into the darkness. They were standing pressed together, his head -buried in her breasts, his hands fumbling blindly with the laces, when he heard someone call his name.

  "Conn?" It was Markos's voice; Conn turned angrily to see the old man, a fire-shielded lantern in his hand. He held it up to look into the girl's face. "Ah, Lilla; your mother wants ye, girl."

  Rebelliously, Lilla looked round; she could just see her mother, small and dark in a striped gown, gossiping with half a dozen other women. But Markos's

 

  scowl was too forbidding and she chose not to argue. Reluctantly she let go of Conn's hand, her own fingers quickly tightening the laces of her bodice.

  Conn said, "Don't go, Lilla; we'll dance again."

  "No such thing; ye're wanted, young master," Markos said deferentially but with a sternness Conn had never dared to resist. He followed Markos sullenly out of the barn and once outside, turned to demand, "Well, what is it?"

  "Look, the sky's dark; there will be rain before dawn," said Markos.

  "And for this you interrupted us? You overstep yourself, foster-father."

  "I think not; what's more important to a landlord than a farmer's weather?" Markos said. "Besides, it's my business to be sure ye remember who you are, Master Conn. Can ye deny that in another quarter hour, you'd have had the girl in the hay?"

  "And so what if I did, and what's that to you? I'm no gelding; do you expect-"

  "I expect you to do right by whoever you take," Markos said. "There's no harm in dancing, but as for more-you're Hammerfell; you couldn't marry the girl or even do what's right for her child if anything came of it."

  "Am I to live all my life womanless because of our family's ill luck?" Conn demanded.

  "By no means, lad; once Hammerfell's yours again, you can sue for any princess in the Hundred Kingdoms," Markos said, "but don't let some farm girl trap you now. You can do better for yourself than your cowman's daughter-and the girl deserves better of you than to be taken lightly at a festival," he added. "I've never heard but that she's a good girl

 

  and deserves a husband who can respect her, not to be tumbled by a young lord who has nothing more for her. Your family's always been honorable with women. Your father, may the Gods be good to his memory, was the soul of propriety. You wouldn't want it said that you were just a young lecher, good for nothing but to lure women into dark corners."

  Conn hung his head, knowing that everything Markos said was true, but still angry at the interruption and aching with frustration.

  "You talk like a cristoforo," he said sullenly.

  Markos shrugged. "You could do worse. At least wi' their creed you'd never have anything to regret."

  "Or to rejoice," Conn muttered. "You've disgraced me, Markos, hauling me away from a dance like a naughty boy to be sent home to bed."

  "No," said Markos. "Ye don't believe me now, boy, but I've kept you from disgrace. Look here-" he indicated the dancing farmers, who had struck up another tune; Conn's eyes followed Lilla, who had been swept into another dance. "Use your head, lad," Markos urged softly. "Every mother in the village kn
ows who you are; don't you suppose any one of them would be glad to lure you into her family, and not be above baiting the trap with her daughter?"

  "What a view you have of women!" said Conn in disgust. "Do you really think they are so scheming? You never said this to me before-"

  "Nay, I didna' " said Markos, exaggerating the rough country accent. "Till the other night, no one knew you as anyone but my son; now they know who you really are, and you are Duke of Hammerfell-"

  "And with that and a silver sekal, I can buy a cup o' cider," Conn said. "I see little benefit in that yet-"

 

  "Gi' yourself time, youngster; once there were armies at Hammerfell, and they haven't all turned in their swords for ploughs," Markos said. "They'll gather when the time comes again, and it won't be all that long now. Just have patience." They were moving gradually along the village street until they reached the small cottage where he lodged with Markos. An old man-a bent veteran with one arm-who had waited on them for much of his life, came and took Markos's cloak and Conn's and hung them up.

  "Will ye sup, masters?"

  "Nay, Rufus, we ate and drank at the festival," said Markos. "Get to bed, old friend. There's naught moving tonight."

  "Good thing, too," grunted old Rufus. "We had a watch on the pass, in case Storn had his greedy eye on Hammerfell harvests; but there's not so much as a bush-jumper stirring on the hills."

  "Good," Markos said, and went to the water bucket, dipping himself out a drink. "There'll be rain before dawn, I think; good it held off till the bluegrain harvest was stored." He bent to unlace his boots, saying, without looking at his foster-son, "I was sorry to tear you away so abruptly, but it seemed to me the time to take action. I should perhaps have spoken before; but while you were just a lad, it seemed unnecessary. Even so, honor demanded-"

  "I understand," said Conn roughly. "It doesn't matter. Just as well we got home before that-" And as he spoke, outside there was a great rush of wind and a sudden roaring as the heavens opened and violent heavy rain sluiced downward, blotting out all other sound.

  "Aye, the poor girls will have their harvest finery

 

  spoiled," said Markos. But Conn was not listening; the stone walls of the cottage had faded away, and a blaze of light drenched his eyes. The rough bench beneath him was a brocaded chair, and before him a small, white-haired man, elegantly dressed, with piercing gray eyes, looked straight at him and demanded, If I should give you men and arms to recover Hammerfell, would you then swear to be faithful vassal to the Hastur kings'? We need faithful men there beyond the Kadarin . . .

  "Conn!"

  It was Markos shaking his arm.

  "Where were you? Far from here, I could tell- was it your dream-maiden again?"

  Conn blinked at the sudden darkness of the crude lantern and firelight after the brilliance dazzling him.

  "Not this time," he said, "though I could tell she was near. No, Markos; I spoke with King-" he fumbled for the name, "King Aidan in Thendara, and he pledged me arms and men for Hammerfell-"

  "Merciful Avarra," muttered the old man, "what sort of dream-"

  "No dream, foster-father; it couldn't have been a dream. I saw him as I see you, but more clearly in the light, and I heard his voice. Oh, Markos, if only I knew if my laran is that of foretelling the future! For if it is so, I should go at once to Thendara, and seek out King Aidan-"

  "I know not," said Markos. "I know not what laran was in your mother's line-it might well be that."

  Markos watched Conn carefully, puzzled by this recurrence of the "dream." For the first time in many years, it crossed his mind: Was it possible that somehow the Duchess of Hammerfell had survived, and had kept alive the cause of Hammerfell in Thendara?

 

  Or even, perhaps, that Conn's brother had somehow survived that night of fire and disaster1? No, surely not; this could not account for Conn's visions; still Conn, he remembered, had always had an unusually strong link with his twin. . . .

  Conn urged, "Should I not go to Thendara and speak with King Aidan Hastur-?"

  "It's not so easy as that, to drop onto a king's doorstep," said Markos, "but your mother had Hastur kinsmen and for her sake no doubt they'd speak for you wi' the king."

  Should I tell him that I suspect his mother-or even his elder brother-might live"? Markos wondered. No; it wouldn't be fair to the boy, to let him wonder about that all the way to Thendara-there's enough on his mind-

  "Yes," he said with resignation. "It seems you must certainly go to Thendara, and find out what they know there of Hammerfell and what can be done to aid our people. It is also time we tried to approach your mother's kin for possible aid they could offer us themselves." He paused for a moment before continuing. "I must also add, my boy, that it is time you spoke with someone more knowing of the ways of laran-these 'episodes' are becoming too frequent, and I worry about your welfare."

  Conn could not help but agree.

  Conn rode southward through the soft rain, which blurred the outlines of the hills. As he passed through the southern reaches of the old realm of Hammerfell, and into the kingdom of Asturias, it seemed that all the Hundred Kingdoms were at his feet. There had once been a saying that many a smaller king in the Hundred Kingdoms could stand on a hill and see

 

  from border to border of his kingdom; and now as he passed from little kingdom to little kingdom, border after border, Conn could see that it was true. To the south, he had been told, lay the Hastur Domains, where during long wars in the past the brilliant King Regis IV had at last reunited many of these miniature Kingdoms under a single rule.

  He crossed the Kadarin River into the foothills, and came to Neskaya, said to be the oldest city in the world. There he spent the night, guesting with a lowland family for whom Markos had written him an introduction. They paid him honor and introduced him to all their sons and daughters; he was not too young and naive to understand that this homage was paid not to him but to his heritage and title; but it was still a heady drink for a boy of his age. He was given to understand that he would be welcome there almost indefinitely, but he kindly declined-his mission pressed him on.

  And on sunset of the third day he passed the cloud lake of Hali with its curious fish and the shining ruins of the great Tower which had once stood there and which would forever remain unrebuilt as a memorial to the great folly of waging war with laran. Conn was not sure he understood the reasoning behind this; if there was so powerful a weapon surely the most merciful thing to do in a time of war was to use it at once and bring the conflict to a quick end before there could be additional deaths, but he could see that if such a weapon fell into the hands of the wrong side, it would surely be disaster. And when he thought it over a little more, he realized that even the wisest might not be able to tell which cause was the most righteous.

 

  He slept that night in the shadow of the ruins, and if there were ghosts, they did not trouble his sleep.

  At a travel shelter that morning he washed, combed his red hair, and changed into the clean suit in his saddlebags. He ate the last of his food, but that did not trouble him; he had always hunted for provender, and now he was well supplied with money by his modest standards, and knew he would be soon getting into more populated areas where he could buy both food and drink. Like a child looking forward to a treat, he was eager to see the big city.

  Soon after midmorning he became aware that he was entering the environs of the city. The roads were wider and smoother, the buildings older and larger; most of them had a look of having been inhabited for a long time. He had been proud of his fine new suit; but although it was well sewn from sturdy cloth, by taking note of the other youths his age he saw in the streets he soon realized that in it he looked like a country bumpkin, for no one seemed to be wearing such clothing but a few elderly farmers, with mud on their boots.

  What do I care? I am not, after all, going to dance at the king's midsummer ball! But to himself he confessed
that he did care, after all. He had had no great wish to come to the city, but if the roads of his fate led him there, he would prefer to look like a gentleman.

  It was toward noon and the red sun high in the sky when he sighted from afar the walls of the old city of Thendara, and not more than an hour later, he rode into the city proper, dominated by the old castle of the Hastur-lords.

  At first he was content to ride through the streets looking around; later he found himself a meal in a

 

  cheap tavern. In the tavern someone came through and waved carelessly to him; Conn had never seen the man before and wondered if it was merely friendliness to a stranger or if the man had mistaken him for someone else.

  When he had finished his meal and paid his score, he inquired for the house of Valentine Hastur as Markos had advised, and was directed there. As he rode through the streets, he wondered again if he were being mistaken for someone else, as once or twice a man waved in a friendly fashion as one would to an acquaintance.

  He found Valentine Hastur's house easily enough from the instructions he had been given; but hesitated before he approached the door. At this hour of the day the lord might indeed be out and about his business. No, he reassured himself; the man was a great nobleman, not a farmer; he had no fields to plough nor flocks to tend, and anyone who had business with him would probably seek him at his house; he would be as likely to be home as not.

  He ascended the steps, and when a servant answered the door, he asked courteously if this were the home of the lord Valentine Hastur.

  "It is, if that's any of your business," the man said with a look of ill-concealed scorn at Conn's appearance and the country fashion of his clothing.

  "Say to Lord Valentine Hastur," Conn said firmly, "that the Duke of Hammerfell, a relation of his from the far Hellers, asks for audience with him."

  The man looked surprised-as well he might, thought Conn-but he ushered Conn into an anteroom and went to deliver the message, and after a time Conn heard a firm step approaching the room-

 

  obviously, he thought, the step of the master of the house.