The woman wondered, in dread, Has he been seduced at the thought of all this power? What has happened to Donal? And she, too, was afraid for Dorilys, wondering what the use of that blasting force had done to the girl she loved.
An hour or two past noon, a messenger appeared on the road leading up to the castle, still washed-out and tunneled with water flooding from the heights, partially blocked with stones that had fallen when the tower collapsed. The message was relayed to Donal, who took it to Dom Mikhail at once.
“Father, your brother of Scathfell has sent a messenger asking if he may come to negotiate terms with you.”
Aldaran’s eyes glinted, fierce and bright, but he said calmly, “Tell my brother of Scathfell I will hear what he has to say.”
After a time, the leader of the opposing army came up the path, afoot, followed by his paxman and two guards. As he crossed the line of siege he said to the single man stationed there, “Wait till I return.” Donal, who had come to escort him into Aldaran’s presence, received the most contemptuous glare, but Scathfell looked beaten nevertheless, and they all knew he had come to surrender. There was too little left of his army, and nothing of Damon-Rafael’s weaponry. He had come, Donal knew, to try to save what little he could out of defeat.
Lord Aldaran had made ready to receive his brother in his presence-chamber, and he entered the room with Dorilys on his arm. Donal thought of the last time they had all been together in this room. Scathfell looked older, grimmer, aged by the crushing weight of defeat. He glared at Donal, and at Dorilys in her blue gown, and looked with grim appraisal at Allart when he was named. Even though Allart had been styled traitor and rebel, Scathfell still looked on him with the habitual respect, amounting to awe, of a younger son and minor noble before a Hastur lord.
“Well, my brother,” Aldaran said at last. “Much has passed between us since last you came into this hall. I had never thought to see you here again. Tell me—why have you asked for my presence? Have you come to surrender yourself and beg my pardon for your rebellion against my lawful demands?”
Scathfell swallowed heavily before he could speak. At last he said with great bitterness, “What other choice have I now? Your witch-daughter there has routed my armies and killed my men as she struck down my son and heir. No man living can stand against such sorcery. I have come to ask for compromise.”
“Why should I compromise with you, Rakhal? Why should I not strip you of your lands and honors, which you hold at my pleasure, and send you forth naked and yelping like a beaten hound, or hang you from my battlements to show all men how I shall deal henceforth with all rebels and traitors?”
“I do not stand alone,” Rakhal of Scathfell said. “I have an ally who is, perhaps, even more powerful than you and your witch-brat together. I am bidden to say that if I do not return before sunset, Damon-Rafael will gather his forces and shake apart this mountain beneath you, and Aldaran will fall over your head. You had a taste of that power this morning at sunrise, I think. Men and armies can be scattered and beaten, but if you wish this land to be rent in a dozen parts by sorcery, it will be your doing and not mine. However, he has no desire to destroy you now that you know his power. He asks only that he shall be allowed to speak with his brother, both unarmed, in the space between our armies, before sunset.”
“Allart Hastur is my guest,” Aldaran said. “Should I deliver him over to his brother’s sure treachery?”
“Treachery? Between brethren and Hasturs both?” asked Scathfell, and his face showed honest outrage. “He would make peace with his brother as I, Mikhail, would make peace with mine.” Clumsily, unaccustomed, he bowed to one knee.
“You have beaten me, Mikhail,” he said. “I will withdraw my armies. And, believe me, it was none of my doing that broke your tower. Truly, I spoke against it, but the lord Damon-Rafael wished to display his power before the north-lands.”
“I believe you.” Aldaran looked at his brother with a great sadness. “Go home, Rakhal,” he said. “Go in peace. I ask only that you take oath to honor the husband of my daughter as next heir after me, and never to raise hand or sword against him, openly or by stealth. If you will take this oath in the light of truthspell, you may enjoy Scathfell forevermore, without harassment from me or mine.”
Scathfell raised his head, rage and contempt vying on his face.
Donal, watching him, thought, My father should not have pressed this now! Did he think I could not hold Aldaran after him? Yet it seemed that Scathfell would capitulate.
“Call your leronis and set the truthspell,” he said, his face set and unsmiling. “Never did I think I would come to this at your hands, my brother, or that you would exact such humiliation from me.” He stood restless, as Margali was summoned, shifting from foot to foot. As the leronis came, he made as if to go to his knees before Donal and Dorilys. Then suddenly he cried, “No!” and bounded to his feet.
“Take oath never to contest the bastard of Rockraven, and that hell-brat of yours? Zandru take me first! Rather will I strike and rid the earth of their sorcery,” he cried, and suddenly there was a dagger in his hand. Donal cried out and flung himself in front of his sister, but there was a shrill shriek from Dorilys, an exploding blue flare of lightning in the room, searing the air white, and Scathfell fell, convulsing briefly into an agonized arch, then lay still, half his face blackened and burned away.
There was silence in the room, the silence of shock and sheer horror. Dorilys cried out, “He would have killed Donal! He would have killed us both! You saw the dagger,” and she covered her face with her hands. Donal, struggling to control his nausea, unfastened the cloak around his throat and cast it mercifully over the blackened body of Scathfell.
Mikhail of Aldaran said hoarsely, “It is no dishonor to kill a man forsworn, who seeks to do murder on the very ground of surrender. There is no shame to you, daughter.” But he left his high seat and came down into the room, kneeling by his brother’s body, pulling back the cloak from his face.
“Oh, my brother, my brother,” he mourned, and his eyes were blazing and tearless. “How did we come to this?” He bent, kissing the blackened brow; then gently drew the cloak over Scathfell’s face again.
“Bear him down to his men,” he said to Scathfell’s paxman. “You are witness that there was no treachery save his own, I will take no revenge; his son may hold Scathfell after him. Though it would be only fair if I gifted Donal with Scathfell for amends, and gave them only the farm at High Crags in its stead.”
The paxman, knowing that what Aldaran said was true, bowed silently.
“It shall be as you say, Lord. His eldest son Loran is turned seventeen and shall assume rule over Scathfell. But what am I to say to the lord Hastur?” He amended quickly, “To His Highness, Damon-Rafael, king over this land?”
Allart suddenly left his place. He said, “My brother’s quarrel is with me, Lord Aldaran. I will go down and meet him, unarmed, as he has asked.”
Cassandra cried out, “Allart, no! He means treachery!”
“Still, I must face him,” Allart said. It was his doing which had entangled the house of Aldaran in this Lowland war, when they had enough trouble of their own. Now, unless Allart went to him, Damon-Rafael would destroy Aldaran around their heads. “He said that he wished to compromise with his brother as Lord Scathfell wished to come to terms with you; and I think, at that moment, Scathfell spoke only truth. I do not think he moved against Donal by foresight but upon impulse, and he has paid for it. It may be that my brother wishes only to persuade me that he is indeed rightfully king over this land, and ask my support. It is true that before I knew what I did, I pledged to support him in this. He is right to call me traitor, perhaps. I must go down and speak with him.”
Cassandra came and clutched at him, holding him motionless.
“I will not let you go! I will not! He will kill you, and you know it!”
“He will not kill me, my wife,” said Allart, putting her away with more force than he had ever bef
ore used against her. “But I know what I must do, and I forbid you to hinder me.”
“You forbid me?” She stood away from him, angry now. “Do what you feel you must, my husband,” she said, her teeth set, “but say to Damon-Rafael that if he harms you, I shall raise every man, every woman, and every matrix in the Hellers against him!”
Yet as he went slowly down the mountainside, Cassandra's face seemed to go with him, and his laran spread pictures of disaster before him.
Damon-Rafael will almost certainly try to kill me. Yet I must kill him first, as I would kill a maddened beast, raging and ready to bite. If he becomes king over this land, then there will be ruin and disaster such as the Domains have never known.
I never wanted to rule. I never wanted power; I have no ambitions of that kind. I would have been content to dwell within the walls of Nevarsin, or within the Tower at Hali or Tramontana. Yet now that my laran has shown me what must come to pass if Damon-Rafael comes to the throne, I must somehow stop that from happening. Even if I must kill him!
The hand he had thrust into the fires of Hali throbbed, as if reminding him of the oath he had sworn and was now breaking.
I am forsworn. But I am a Hastur, descendant of the Hastur who was said to be son to a god; and I am responsible for the well-being of this land and its people. I will not loose Damon-Rafael upon them!
It was not long to the camp, but it seemed the distance to the world’s end, and his laran spread dissolving pictures before him, of things which might be, which would be, which could be if he did not take care, which would never be. In all too many of these futures he lay lifeless among the stones fallen from the tower, with Damon-Rafael’s knife in his throat, and Damon-Rafael went on to level the walls of Aldaran, to possess northlands and Domains, to reign in tyranny and power for many years, riding roughshod over all the remaining freedoms of men, razing their defenses with weapons ever more powerful, and at last invading even their very minds with his leroni, making them all obedient slaves to his will, their own wishes and enterprises burned away.
His heart cried out, as Mikhail of Aldaran had cried out a little while ago, Ah, my brother, my brother, how did we come to this?
Damon-Rafael was not an evil man. But he had pride, and a will to power, and he felt honestly that he knew what was best for all men.
He is not unlike Dom Mikhail… . But Allart shuddered away from that thought. He was lost again in terrifying vision, blotting out the present, of this land under the rule of the tyrant Damon-Rafael.
Yet my brother is not evil. Does he even know this?
At last he came to a stop, and he saw that he stood on a leveled place in the road, with fallen debris of the tower all around him. At the far end of the leveled space, his brother Damon-Rafael was standing and watching him.
Allart bowed, without speaking.
His laran was screaming, This is the place, then, of my death. But Damon-Rafael was alone, and seemed unarmed. Allart spread his hands to display that he was unweaponed, too, and the brothers advanced, step by step, toward one another.
Damon-Rafael said, “You have a loyal and a loving wife, Allart. It will grieve me to take her from you. Yet you were reluctant to wed her, and even more reluctant to bed her, so I suppose it will not trouble you much to give her up to me. The world and the kingdom are full of women, and I shall make sure you are wed to one you will like just as well. But Cassandra I must have; I need the support of the Aillards. And I have discovered that her genes were modified before puberty, so that she can bear me a son with the Hastur gift controlled by the Aillard.”
Allan cleared his throat and said, “Cassandra is my wife, Damon-Rafael. If you loved her, or if she were ambitious to be queen, I would step aside for you both. But I love her, and she loves me, and you care nothing for her, save as a pawn of political power. Therefore I will not yield her up to you. I will die first.”
Damon-Rafael shook his head. “I cannot afford to take her over your dead body. I would greatly prefer not to come to the throne over a brother’s death.”
Allart smiled fiercely. He said, “Then I can inconvenience you somewhat in coming to the throne, if only by my death!”
“I do not understand this,” Damon-Rafael said. “You asked me to spare you this marriage to the Aillard woman, and now you speak romantically of love. You swore to support me for the throne, and now you refuse your support and strive to hinder me! What has happened, Allart? Is that what love for a woman can do to a man? If so, I am glad I have never known such love!”
“When I pledged my support to you,” Allart said, “I did not know what would befall if you were to be king. Now I have pledged myself to support Prince Felix.”
“An emmasca cannot be king,” Damon-Rafael said. “That is one of our oldest laws.”
“If you were fit to be king,” Allart retorted, “you would not be on the road with an army, trying to extend your reign to the northlands! You would wait until the Council offered you the throne, and seek their advice.”
“How could I better serve my kingdom, than by extending its might and power across the Hellers as well?” Damon-Rafael said. “Come, Allart, there is no reason we should quarrel… Cassandra has a nedestro sister, as like to Cassandra as twin to twin. You shall have her for your wife, and be my chief councillor. I shall need someone with your foresight and strength. Bare is back without brother… that is what they say, and believe me, it is true. Let us amend our differences, embrace and be friends.”
Then it is hopeless, Allart thought. Even as Damon-Rafael held out his arms for the offered embrace, Allart was aware of the dagger concealed by stealth in his brother’s hand.
So he would not even face me openly, but would embrace me and stab me to the heart even while I went to his arms, he mourned. Oh, my brother. … As he moved into Damon-Rafael’s embrace, he reached out with his laran, trained and honed to skill in the Tower and at Nevarsin, and held Damon-Rafael motionless, the dagger revealed now in his hand.
Damon-Rafael struggled, held motionless, but Allart shook his head sadly.
“So you seek to embrace and stab at once, brother? Is this the kind of statecraft you think will make you king? No, Damon-Rafael,” he said sorrowfully, and reaching out into Damon-Rafael’s mind, made contact. “See what kind of king you would make, my brother who has renounced the tie of brotherhood.”
He felt his laran flooding the future through Damon-Rafael’s mind; conquest, blood and rapine, the relentless rise to power, laying waste the Domains to wilderness and a stunned conquest they called peace by default… men’s minds burned into blind obedience, the land shattered and torn with war waged with greater and greater weapons, all men bowing down before a king who had become not the just ruler and protector of his people, but their tyrant, despot, hated as no man had ever been hated within the realm…
“No, no,” Damon-Rafael whispered, struggling with the dagger in his hand. “Show me no more. I would not be like that.”
“No, my brother? You have the Hastur laran which sees all choices; see for yourself what manner of king you would be,” Allart said, releasing his hold on his brother’s mind but holding him motionless. “Face no man’s judgment but your own. Look within.”
He watched Damon-Rafael, saw the look of dread and horror spreading over his face, slow dawning of awareness, conviction. Then, with a maddened effort, Damon-Rafael freed himself from Allart’s hold and raised the dagger. Allart stood his ground, knowing that within a moment he might lie at his brother’s feet—or had Damon-Rafael seen himself clearly enough to take warning?
“I will not be such a king,” Damon-Rafael whispered, just loud enough for Allart to hear. “I tell you I will not,” and with one swift movement he raised the dagger and plunged it deep into his own breast.
He crumpled to the ground, whispered, “Even your foresight cannot see all ends, little brother,” and coughed out a stream of bright red blood. Allart felt his brother's dying mind fade into silence.
* * *
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
« ^ »
The armies in the valley below had departed, but thunder still rolled and crunched around the heights, and stray bolts of lightning ripped across the mountains. As she went into the lower hall of Castle Aldaran, Cassandra gave Allart a quick, frightened look.
“It has not stopped thundering—not once, not for a moment—since she struck Scathfell down. And you know she will not let Renata near her.”
Donal sat with Dorilys’s head in his lap; the girl looked ill and feverish. She held Donal’s hand tightly clasped in hers and would not release it. The blue eyes were closed, but she opened them, painfully, as Cassandra came to her side.
“The thunder hurts my head so,” she whispered. “I can’t make it stop. Can’t you help me turn off the lightning, Cassandra?”
Cassandra bent over her. “I will try. But I think it is only that you are overwearied, chiya.” She took the lax fingers in hers, fell back with a cry of pain, and Dorilys burst into violent crying.
“I didn’t mean to do that, I didn’t! It keeps happening and I cannot stop it! I hurt Margali; I did it to Kathya while she was dressing me. Oh, Cassandra, make it stop, make it stop! Can’t anybody make the thundering go away?”
Dom Mikhail came and bent over her. His face was drawn and troubled. “Hush, hush, my precious, no one is blaming you!” He turned a look of agony on Cassandra. “Can you help her? Donal, you have that kind of laran, too; can you do nothing for her?”
“I wish indeed that there was something I could do,” Donal said, cradling the girl in his arms. She relaxed against him, and Cassandra, steadying herself, braced and took the girl's hand in her own again. This time nothing happened, but she felt frightened, even while she tried to relax herself into the calm detachment of a monitor. She looked once at Renata, over Dorilys’s head, and Renata picked up her thought: I wish she would let you do this; you have so much more experience than I.
“I will give you something to make you sleep,” she said at last. “Perhaps all you need is rest, chiya.”
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