Hastur Lord

by Marion Zimmer Bradley

  Danilo and his party arrived during a snow flurry, so he caught only glimpses of the great house. As he passed through the outer gates, he received the impression of a fortress, not a home. As they entered the courtyard, servants and horseboys came running to take charge of animals and baggage. Danilo was accustomed to caring for his own mount on the trail, as were the Renunciates. One of the servants, an understeward, urged them all to come inside the great house, but Darilyn declined, saying she and her women would sleep in the stables. Danilo wished he might join them, for an evening of quiet fellowship sounded much preferable to ostentatious luxury amid uncertainty and tension.

  Danilo was shown to quarters sumptuous with off-world luxuries. This was not surprising, for Lerrys and Geremy Ridenow, brothers to Lew’s second wife, Diotima, had been in the forefront of the craze for all things Terran. Moving about the room, touching the costly, exotic ornaments, Danilo wondered at Valdir’s rise to power. How very convenient that every other male claimant to the Domain had chosen exile or died, either by assassination, like Lord Edric, or from mysterious causes.

  Regis would have had something to say about that.

  Danilo paused in his preparations for dinner. He had been so caught up in feeling abandoned, he had not considered all the aspects of his relationship with Regis. They had been lovers, but that had come later. First they had been fellow cadets. Then, very quickly and under terrible stress, they had pledged themselves as lord and paxman. When had his heart truly opened to Regis? Did it matter? Over the following years, they had defended one another, argued, debated, confided, advised, consoled . . . If it was true that he would have given his life to save Regis, it was also true that Regis would have done the same for him.

  They had been friends in the deepest and truest sense.

  Danilo shivered, as if the season had just turned inside out. Was he willing to throw all that away because current circumstances divided them? Was he so insecure that he still feared being displaced by a woman? Should a man like Regis, bearing as he did so much responsibility, making so many sacrifices, being so set apart, have only one friend, one councillor, one person who loved him for himself?

  Sitting in the shadows of the elaborate hangings, Danilo forced himself to acknowledge the truth. He had never been pleased with any of the women Regis had slept with over the years, but he had been able to set his anxieties aside and believe that Regis did not “have love affairs” with them.

  But Linnea . . . Linnea was different.

  I have done them—a nd myself—n o honor in this.

  Had the world gone otherwise, had Regis not been born Heir to Hastur and therefore under constant pressure to produce sons, would things have been different? Even then, Danilo told himself savagely, there would have been other people who loved Regis. How could they not?

  But not as I have. Not as I do.

  Not as he loves me.

  Was it too late? Had he lost everything they shared because of one difficulty?

  A tap at the door roused him. A servant came to summon him for dinner. Danilo finished making himself presentable.

  A small group of men and women, most with the flaxen hair and distinctive features of the Ridenow, stood talking in the near end of the hall. Dom Valdir was not in attendance, being back at Thendara, but Francisco came forward to greet Danilo. Francisco, although more confident in his own home, looked younger and less arrogant. Danilo wondered how much of what he had seen in Thendara had been Valdir’s influence.

  “Dom Danilo Syrtis-Ardais,” Francisco said, with a friendly smile, “allow me to present my cousin, Damisela Bettany Sabrina-Ysabet Ridenow.”

  A young woman stepped forward and curtsied. In her brocade gown, her flaxen hair arranged in ringlets over her shoulders, she looked very young. A second glance showed her to be well grown but excessively thin. The vacuous expression in her eyes contrasted with a hint of stubbornness in her mouth and chin.

  “S’dia shaya,” she said, her eyes lowered.

  Danilo bowed and returned the appropriate greeting. She hesitated as if unsure what to do next. He said, meaning only kindness, “I am paxman to Lord Hastur, and he has sent me here to escort you to Thendara for your wedding and to prepare you as best I can for your new life.”

  “But why did he not come for me himself?”

  Francisco looked aghast. “We have explained that to you, chiya. Please excuse my cousin, Dom Danilo, she is—this is all very new to her.”

  “So I see,” Danilo replied dryly. Poor Rinaldo, he couldn’t help thinking as Francisco led her away to the table. Was the girl simple or merely ignorant and ill-mannered?

  The dinner itself was small for the occasion, for the Ridenow, like other great houses of the Comyn, were much reduced in numbers. About a third of the guests were neighbors, holders of small estates, and clearly excited to be invited.

  As the meal progressed, Danilo noted traces of economy. Despite the costly imported goods in his own chamber, the carpets were worn almost through, the wine was not the best, the room was almost too cold for comfort, and there were not enough servants for the number of diners. Another guest might not have noticed, but Regis had taught Danilo to observe details. Lerrys and Geremy had lived richly among the stars without thought to the welfare of their own Domain.

  Danilo had been placed some distance from Bettany, making any conversation between them awkward. Instead, he talked with the other men, the women being meek and, for the most part, silent. If this was the way Bettany had been brought up, no wonder she was graceless and inexperienced. She seemed not to have any immediate family present, certainly no female relatives. Throughout the meal, she picked at her food, played with her napkin, and drank more wine than was proper for a young woman.

  The talk ranged from the unusually cold weather to the social season in Thendara to oblique questions about how the new Lord Hastur fared and then back to predictions of a bad winter.

  After the meal, any hopes Danilo had of a word with Bettany disappeared as an older woman in the plain clothing of a nurse took the girl in charge and swept her from the hall.

  “I am sorry to deprive you all of further entertaining news,” Danilo said, bowing to the other men, “but I must see to my horses and my trail guides.”

  The Renunciates had set up their camp in the stables. Even without a fire, it was quite snug, warmed by the body heat of the animals and out of the wind and snow. He felt their instant alertness as he entered and asked if they needed anything.

  Darilyn stood up. “The horses are resting comfortably. The head groom did his best for them with hot mashes and blankets. The hay is not the best, but there is plenty of it. We have not had to dip into our supply of grain.”

  “I am glad of it,” Danilo said. “Is there any reason why we cannot leave for Thendara in the morning?”

  The Renunciate offered a small smile. They understood one another. The weather was not bad enough to pin them down here, and the risk of worse would increase every day.

  When Danilo returned to main hall, he found Francisco and a few of the men still in conversation. “Dom Francisco, I trust the damisela will be ready to leave at dawn.”

  Francisco hesitated, and Danilo saw in that moment of panic that the young Ridenow did not have much influence over his cousin’s behavior. Danilo would not have been surprised to learn that Bettany was accustomed to sleeping as late as she liked. It was better to make expectations clear now than to wait until tomorrow morning. Being awakened and dressed at a decent hour, with or without breakfast, would be good for her. He smiled as he headed for his own chamber.

  The next morning, the Bloody Sun rose on a cloudless sky. Danilo woke well before dawn, arranged for hot porridge and jaco to be sent to the women in the stables, took his own breakfast in the kitchen, and went about supervising replenishment of trail provisions and the loading of the bride’s dowry as well as her personal possessions. No one questioned his orders. The house steward, an older man whose mouth seemed permanent
ly set in an expression of disapproval, responded with quiet efficiency. Danilo suspected the man was relieved to be rid of the girl and reassured that she would arrive at her destination with no blemish upon her former dwelling. Apparently Bettany was being sent away without a proper chaperone, since the Renunciates provided the necessary female company.

  Just as Danilo was finishing his own work and beginning to wonder what he would do if Bettany did not appear, whether he had license to drag her from her bedchamber and throw her over the back of a horse in her nightgown, she rushed into the stable yard. Her nurse and two other women trailed behind. Danilo bade her a good morning but received only a sullen nod. At least her traveling dress had split skirts for riding astride and stout boots housed her feet. A fur-lined cloak completed her ensemble. Sniffling, her nurse thrust a pair of mittens and matching scarf, obviously knitted with care, into her hands.

  “Pah! I don’t want those,” Bettany pouted. “They’re for babies!”

  “You will want them before the hour is gone, I assure you.” Darilyn looked up from checking the harness on one of the pack animals. With a friendly smile, she took the items and slipped them into the saddlebag of Bettany’s pretty white mare. “Here, let me show you how to check the girths and under the saddle cloth to make sure your horse is comfortable for a long ride.”

  Bettany shook her head. “I am a lady and soon to be the wife of a great lord. Such tasks are for servants.”

  Danilo expected Darilyn to object, but the Renunciate shrugged. “As you wish. If your saddle slips on the trail or your horse bucks because a wrinkle in her blanket has worn a sore on her back, it is your head you will fall upon, not that of a horsegroom.”

  Darilyn arranged the riders, taking the lead herself and placing Danilo beside Bettany. They set off through the gates at a brisk walk to warm the horses up.

  “Why do you suffer this indignity?” Bettany asked him. “Surely, you should ride in the position of honor. You are the only man among us, and a Comyn lord. It’s demeaning for you to take orders from a hired servant!”

  Danilo restrained the retort that rose to his tongue. “Darilyn is our trail guide. Your promised husband has paid for her advice on how to get us to Thendara as safely and comfortably as possible. This is her business, after all. Do you not think we should take her advice?”

  Bettany said nothing, only stared ahead. Within a quarter an hour, however, she began complaining. She had a headache, her saddle was too hard, she was cold, she was hot, she was hungry, she was bored. Danilo, who had almost no experience with children, tried at first to encourage her. Nothing he said lessened her distress. Clearly, she had no conception of the distance to Thendara or the importance of taking advantage of every hour of good weather. Very shortly, he was reduced to staring straight ahead, teeth clenched, and doing his best to ignore her.

  Finally he burst out, “This incessant whining is making matters difficult for the very people who are trying to help you. Lord Hastur has charged me with your education in the cristoforo faith and anything else you might need to know as wife to a great lord. The lessons will begin now. A lady does not complain at every little discomfort! Nor does she sulk and pout like a spoiled brat.”

  “I’m not spoiled! I can’t help being hungry—you would be, too, if you hadn’t eaten since yesterday! I’m not used to this!” Bettany burst into tears. “I want to go home!”

  Darilyn, who had been riding on a circuit of the caravan, reined her sturdy piebald gelding beside the distraught girl. “What is this? Did you not eat breakfast before we set out?”

  “What do you care?” Bettany glared at the Renunciate and stuck out her lower lip.

  “I am responsible for the well-being of every person in my charge, little lady. If you are merely uncomfortable, that is something you must bear in good temper. But if you are not properly nourished, you cannot withstand the rigors of travel. If you become ill and we must stop, we risk becoming snowed in without shelter. You put all our lives in jeopardy. Do you see how your actions affect more than yourself ?”

  “Oh . . .” Bettany said in a small, contrite voice. “I would not want anyone to die because of me.”

  “Then I will ride beside you and show you how we Free Amazons eat while on a long trail. Dom Danilo, would you be so good as to ride point?”

  Grateful for the escape, Danilo nudged his horse into a trot until he came to the front of the caravan. Darilyn’s kindliness toward Bettany surprised him;. He had thought Darilyn—and all such women, who lived by their own labor and renounced the protection of men—hard and unmotherly. Within a few minutes, Darilyn and Bettany were laughing together. Bettany’s chronic petulance disappeared, revealing her to be surprisingly pretty. What her natural temperament might be, Danilo could not tell. She had been taught neither manners nor self-discipline, but there was something more in her that troubled him, an oddness. He could not puzzle it out.

  He could not see any man of sense being content with such a wife. He thought of Linnea, with her keen mind and trained laran, and more than that, her generosity, her sensitivity . . . all the things he had not wanted to admit but that made her the ideal consort for Regis. In fact, he could think of no other woman who posed less of a threat to his relationship with Regis.

  Darilyn persuaded Bettany that it was fun to nibble on trail food as they rode along, and the party made good progress. The women set a pace that was not too draining for the animals but took advantage of the fine weather. As afternoon waned, they pressed on, arriving at a good-sized village at a crossroads.

  The inn there was run by two Renunciates, friends of Darilyn. One took charge of the horses, patting their necks and speaking to them with such affection that Danilo had no doubt they would be pampered and fed with as much care as their riders.

  The common room of the inn was clean and warm, if plainly furnished. By this time, Bettany had passed from her earlier cheer to peevishness and then to sullen silence. She had given up complaining how tired and hungry and cold she was and sat where she had been placed before the fire. The second innkeeper set about providing hot drinks for them all while dinner was prepared and baggage brought up to their rooms.

  Danilo carried a cup of jaco to Bettany and pulled up a stool beside her. “Here, drink this. It will warm you.” He took a packet of honeyed nuts from his jacket pocket and held it out. “Eat these as well. I always carry them on the trail for times such as this. Dinner will be soon, but it is best to have something to tide you over.”

  Like an obedient child, she sipped the stimulant drink and nibbled on the nuts. Within minutes, her face, which had been very pale, brightened. “These are good. Th-thank you.”

  “It has been a long, hard day for someone unaccustomed to travel. This must all seem very strange.”

  “Oh! As to that—” Her eyes turned glassy, then she gathered herself. “I see you mean to help me. Tell me, what sort of man is my new lord? Is it true he is . . . not as other men?”

  Danilo sat back, momentarily at a loss as to how to answer. “I am sure he will be a good husband to you.”

  Temper flashed in her eyes. “Do not treat me like a child to be cozened with pretty promises! I have heard . . .” she lowered her voice to a whisper, “he is deformed. As a man.”

  Deformed? Danilo felt a rush of outrage. He mistrusted Rinaldo for many reasons, but the poor man’s birth was not among them, nor should it be.

  “I believe you mean he is emmasca,” Danilo said firmly. “It is not a perversion, but the way he is made.”

  He paused, surprised at his own vehemence. What he had just asserted was as true for Regis and himself as for Rinaldo. The way each of us is made. He did not know the particulars of Rinaldo’s anatomy and inclinations, nor did he want to. He knew how difficult it was to reconcile one’s nature with incompatible demands. Had Rinaldo undergone a similar struggle, or had he found acceptance in the cristoforo community? If the doctrine was harsh in some areas, it could be compassionate in others.
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  From what Rinaldo had said, he responded sexually to women, at least in theory. He was not ignorant of what passed between husbands and wives. He must have had good reason to think he could perform the role of husband.

  Danilo said as much to Bettany, adding, “The marriage bed is not the only test of a man’s ability. There are certain normal functions that occur even in young unmarried men—”

  “I know—I—” Blushing furiously, the girl looked down.

  Danilo took the cup from her and set it down on the hearth. “Chiya, I am sorry! I should not have spoken so crudely to you.”

  Bettany twisted her hands together as tears streamed down her cheeks. Danilo laid one of his hands on hers to comfort her. Her fingers were like ice, but the physical contact brought an unexpected psychic link. He himself was not a strong telepath, but he had always been able to sense the emotions of others. Now he felt her fatigue, her irritability, her fear, her self-absorption. He also sensed a memory so distorted and bizarre that it colored everything else in her mind. In reflex, he pulled his hands away and slammed his laran barriers tight.

  Brief as the rapport had been, he knew what he had touched. This poor young woman, this difficult child, had been caught up in a Ghost Wind. She must have been away from home at the time, for the plants producing the highly psychedelic pollen grew only at high altitudes. Under the influence of the airborne particles, men were known to have gone berserk. Bettany was lucky to be alive and with any portion of her mind intact.

  She had calmed and was staring at him with the glassy expression he now understood. He did not want to touch her again.

  “Whatever else he may be,” Danilo said, “Lord Hastur is a good man. He has spent most of his life as a cristoforo monk, dedicated to a virtuous life. Did they tell you that, as well?”

  She shook her head, and he wondered if she had indeed been told but had not understood. He explained, in the broadest terms, the principles of that faith. Rinaldo’s constant reminders and regular chapel attendance had sharpened his memory.