Hastur Lord

by Marion Zimmer Bradley

  Rinaldo considered this. “From what I know of our grandsire, he was a formidable opponent and not a man to bend to circumstance. He would have raised half the Domains against us.”

  Regis let the comment stand. “He certainly would have made his disapproval known. Who then would have listened to the truth of the holy saint’s teachings?”

  For a long moment, Rinaldo did not respond. There was no real answer to the question, and to press the point would surely lose any sympathy Regis had thus far achieved. Moving slowly, as if his joints pained him, Rinaldo crossed to the fireplace. He laid one arm along the mantle. The gentle orange glow from the hearth warmed his features.

  “I can’t give up now, and yet I can’t go on. I hoped we could begin a new generation, one dedicated to truth and virtue. Free from the idolatrous traditions of their elders. But it is not so easy, is it? When I think of how I might feel if my own son had been taken from me and taught—” he broke off, his breath catching in his throat. “Can these others, Javanne and the rest, feel any less?”

  He turned back to Regis. A fire burned behind his eyes, but perhaps that was only the reflection of the hearth. “What am I to do? How can I keep faith with my calling? How can I reconcile the cloister and the crown?”

  Regis stood up and moved into the heat of the fire. They were of a height, Rinaldo and himself, so that their gazes met levelly. On impulse, he placed his hands on Rinaldo’s shoulders, almost a brother’s embrace. The physical contact brought no hint of laran communication, yet Regis felt a deep emotion resonate through Rinaldo’s spare frame.

  “Be generous of spirit, as I know you are. Send the children back to their families. By all means, keep the schools open, but offer the teaching freely to any who desire it. Then . . . when your son is born, become an example and inspiration to others.”

  Regis saw the hardness lift from Rinaldo’s eyes. The brother he had longed for emerged from the mask of despotic fervor.

  The moment could not endure. Rinaldo sighed. “I will have to explain this change in policy to Luminosa. It was at her urging that I took this step. She was convinced it was Divine Will. I see now that cannot be, for the Holy Bearer of Burdens would never add so greatly to the pain of the world.”

  Regis restrained himself from pointing out that Rinaldo, not the wife of the Terran Legate, was the king. “It might be better to create an advisory council so that in the future, no one person can unduly influence your decisions.”

  “Yes, yes, I had thought of that. But she has always seemed so sure, her vision so clear.”

  “I’m certain it is . . . to her.”

  Rinaldo nodded. “I see your point. You have saved me from a grievous misstep this day. I have missed your counsel recently. You will not fail me again?”

  Regis shied away from the reassurance his brother so clearly wanted. “If you will heed my own recommendation, seek out people of wisdom and experience, even if—or especially if—their beliefs and opinions differ from your own. That way, you will be able to choose among the different arguments the one that seems most wise and just.”

  Rinaldo agreed this was a good plan, and the brothers parted amicably.

  31

  Regis could not leave the Castle without reassuring Javanne of the results of his discussion with Rinaldo. He wound his way through the maze of stairs and corridors, passing from one era to another as the architectural styles changed. Once or twice, he was stopped by Castle Guards and asked his business. No one challenged his right to visit his own family. Other than the Guardsmen and a few servants, the halls were empty.

  There are too few of us Comyn to lose even a single one.

  When Regis arrived at the apartments where Javanne and Gabriel had set up their housekeeping, he found Gabriel sprawled in a chair, staring at nothing in particular. Regis felt a spasm of sadness to see him thus, a man of action forced into idleness.

  “Regis!” Astonishment lit Gabriel’s face, immediately coalescing into a frown.

  “I heard about Bertram Monterey,” Regis said. “I’m sorry.”

  “Regis! Lord of Light, you just disappeared! With no word, nothing! Where in the Nine Hells have you been?”

  Regis cast about for an acceptable explanation and failed miserably. “I’m here now.”

  “We would have suspected Rinaldo had you killed if Linnea hadn’t been so calm about it. Javanne’s ready to wring your neck the next time she sees you. She went to you for help, and you just left—D o you have any idea what’s been going on? Ariel—”

  “Yes, Javanne told me. I’m sorry I couldn’t do anything sooner. Is she about? I have good news.”

  “She’s hiding in the linen closet, counting kitchen towels,” Gabriel growled. “That Terranan woman is everywhere, bossing everyone about. Not that Javanne has the heart to run the Castle now.” Regis had never heard his brother-in-law so downcast.

  “As for Bertram Monterey, that rabbithorn!” Gabriel went on. “Rumor has it that he’s placed cristoforo agents in key positions. You don’t know whom to trust.”

  He paused, his expression hardening. “I never thought to say this, Regis, but I’d be happy to leave Thendara. I was proud of my work here and even prouder of the cadets I’d trained and the Guardsmen I led. Now that’s all gone. There’s no more honor, not in the Comyn, not anywhere in the city. I’d take Javanne away to Armida tomorrow if we could get Ariel back.”

  “It’s not like you to run away from a fight,” Regis said. “If things are as bad as you say, we need all the sane men we have. I need you—your experience, your strength. Since Rinaldo has taken Danilo, would you consider acting as my paxman?”

  A series of emotions passed over Gabriel’s features. He turned away. “I have no desire to abandon everything the Comyn have stood for, the old ways of respect and decency, but I have my family to protect.”

  “As do I.” Regis grasped Gabriel’s shoulder. “My brother is my family, too. Rinaldo is easily led astray by others, but he still listens to me. I can reason with him. We’ll sort this out. Meanwhile, I need a strong man to guard my back, someone I can trust—”

  Suddenly the door flew open. Javanne rushed into the room. She wore a gown that had once been green but had faded to gray, covered by a dust-streaked apron. Her hair was tucked beneath a pleated cap. The muscles around her eyes seemed too tight.

  “There you are! I heard—” She swung from Regis to confront her husband. “Regis is here and you didn’t send word to me!”

  “I came directly from speaking with Rinaldo, and he has agreed to release the children,” Regis broke in.

  “Just like that?” Javanne demanded. “When will this miraculous event take place?”

  “You doubt my word?”

  “Not at all. But I have more than enough reason to doubt Rinaldo’s.”

  “Regis, do you know where they are?” Gabriel said. “Somewhere in the Castle? One of those temples? A hovel in the city, one of those areas no sane man walks unarmed? Spirited away to Nevarsin?”

  “They could be anywhere!” Javanne threw herself at Regis, hands raised as if she would tear his eyes out. “If it had been Mikhail, your precious Heir, instead of my daughter, you would have saved him! Why are you doing this to me? I hate you! I hate both of you!”

  Gabriel caught Javanne in his arms, holding her with surprising gentleness. “Hush, love, you don’t mean that.”

  “It’s not fair!” She allowed herself to be led to the divan, where she collapsed, burying her face in her hands. “She is lost, lost! And all you men do is talk! What good is that to my sweet girl?”

  Javanne spoke truly. What was Rinaldo’s agreement but empty words?

  Regis knelt, but she would not look at him. “Breda, I swear to you, I will restore your daughter. She is my kin as well.”

  “I wish you’d left Rinaldo at Nevarsin!” Javanne wavered on the edge of hysterical tears. “I wish he’d never been born!”

  Gabriel rested his hands comfortingly on his wife
’s shoulders and said to Regis, “Or that you never had the notion to hand so much power over to someone not trained to handle it.”

  “Trained?” Regis shot back. “As Grandfather trained me? I would not wish that on my dearest enemy, let alone my only brother.”

  “Who has run amok—”

  “Yes, but under the influence of men like Valdir Ridenow!” Regis said. “I admit I failed to prepare him. What else should I have done? Become king myself? That’s absurd!”

  “As absurd as Rinaldo doing the same, with far less ability or rightful claim?” Gabriel rumbled. “Gods, Regis! When good men fail to do their duty, tyrants step into the breach. You failed all of us, and now it’s our children who suffer.”

  “I told you. I handled that,” Regis protested.

  Gabriel stared at him. “I’ll believe it when Ariel is home again.”

  Regis repeated, “Rinaldo gave me his word.”

  Javanne lifted her tear-streaked face. Her voice, although hoarse, was steady. “And what is that worth without honor?”

  “Regis,” Gabriel said, his voice now shading into weariness, “I have always thought well of you. I know you’ve faced down things I can’t imagine. If you can restrain that tyrant of a brother who dares to warm the throne with his backside, so much the better. But you place too much faith in Rinaldo’s willingness to be guided. You think he is without ambition? That is your own modesty speaking. Open your eyes and see what he really is.”

  “Grandfather was right: You have never taken this business of governing seriously.” Javanne’s voice regained its former edge. “As a member of the Comyn, you have a responsibility to our people. But it’s not my business to lecture you on your duties.”

  “Please do not do so,” Regis said tightly. “Grandfather did nothing else for most of my life.”

  “But never in a way that you heeded!” she cried.

  “I have done what I can! I am not a god, no matter what the legends say.”

  “No,” Gabriel said quietly, “but you are a Hastur lord, which is close enough for most people. Take care to watch your back.”

  “That,” Regis said with a meaningful look, “is why I need you.” Gabriel sighed, and for a moment, Regis felt sympathy for the older man’s position. With a wife as sharp-tongued as Javanne, and Javanne at her distraught worst, the decision could not be an easy one.

  “You have my voice and my sword,” Gabriel said. “I will not make any formal vows—” meaning those of a paxman, “—but I will help you as best I can.”

  Regis reached out to clasp Gabriel’s forearms, a soldierly embrace. Javanne leaned forward to kiss Regis on the cheek. Although she held herself with composure, her body felt as brittle as eggshells.

  Regis halted beneath an arched doorway. Before him, a narrow stairway led into shadows, and a corridor angled away to the left. He did not recognize the passageway. What a fine situation for a grown man, Comyn and Hastur, to become lost in his own Castle!

  He sat down on the lowest stair and considered what he must do next. His thoughts vacillated between optimism and self-doubt. He tried to cheer himself up, reassuring himself that the fears of his sister and brother-in-law were misplaced. He was making progress with Rinaldo. Soon he would be able to bring Kierestelli home, and all would be well.

  All would be well. How many times had he thought that and been wrong?

  Gabriel was right, Rinaldo’s excesses were the responsibility of the man who put him into power. It was up to Regis to deal with the results.

  Desperately, Regis missed the friendship of men of his own caste. Lew Alton was off-world, along with his only child, Gabriel had turned distant, almost hostile, and Dyan Ardais was dead. Some things he could not say to Linnea, and Danilo . . .

  Regis had become accustomed to the aching emptiness in his life. Danilo did not always agree with him, but his advice and the inexpressible comfort of his support had always been there.

  He glanced up and knew where he was. All his temporizing and self-justification fell away. He and none other had put Rinaldo into a position of unbridled power. He had closed his eyes to Rinaldo’s obsessions. He had lulled his own conscience with false reassurances. Why should Rinaldo heed anything he, Regis, said?

  More than that, he had left his sister’s child and the children of others in the clutches of unscrupulous men while he spirited his own daughter to safety. For too long, he had delayed and made excuses for Rinaldo. He must rescue the children himself.

  Only a few moments ago, he had been alone in the endlessly twisting Castle corridors. Now he emerged into the more populated public areas. At every corner, he encountered more courtiers. Some—an Eldrin cousin here, a Castamir or MacNoire there—he knew slightly, but none well enough to trust. All of them wanted some favor, some influence with the king.

  Regis strode through the knots of sycophants, ignoring their greetings, and out the Castle gates. As Gabriel had pointed out, the children could be anywhere in the city. Barring interrogating every Guardsman loyal to Rinaldo, there was only one way to find them.

  He needed Linnea’s help.

  With a sigh, Linnea broke the psychic rapport. Regis blinked, his vision clearing. They had been sitting together, a circle of two, their starstones glittering on the table between them, for what seemed like days. He arched his back, feeling the stiffness in the joints. How did Tower workers concentrate their laran for hours at a time?

  “For one thing, a circle has a monitor to safeguard their well-being,” Linnea said, yawning. Shadows bruised the delicate skin around her eyes.

  Regis rubbed the bridge of his nose to ease the ache behind his eye sockets. “Did you sense anything?” Or was this a waste of time?

  “Mmmm.” She went to the sideboard and carried back the platter of food she had placed there before they began. Regis had chafed silently at her preparations. Now the smell of nuts dusted with powdered crystallized honey made his mouth water. Linnea was already tearing apart a spiral bun and devouring the morsels. She paused long enough to take a draft of the honeyed wine.

  “That’s better,” she said. “Now I can talk without falling over.” Within moments, the worst of the headache eased as the food and sweetened drink replaced the energy Regis had expended.

  “To answer your question, I did get a flicker. A taste, as it were. It would have been easier if Ariel’s laran had awakened, assuming she has any. Her twin sister is already studying at Neskaya?”

  “Yes, that would be Liriel.”

  Linnea’s brow furrowed. “Odd that one would have so much talent and the other none. I suppose some twins are no more similar than any other siblings. Ariel is still here in the city, I’m sure of that much. She’s not in the Castle or the Old Town. Somewhere in the Trade City, I think.” She wiped her fingertips on a napkin and peered anxiously at Regis. “I wish I knew more, dearest. I’m guessing as it is.”

  He touched the back of her wrist lightly and felt the pulse of warmth in her wordless response. “It is more than I had before.” He tried to stand up, found his knees had turned to jelly, and sat down again.

  Linnea kept her face grave as she instructed him to rest. “Laran work burns tremendous amounts of energy.” Pointedly she looked at the crumbs remaining on the platter. “You’ll be better shortly, but not if you don’t give your body time to recover. An hour now—lying down, if you can—may well spare you the inconvenience of fainting later.”

  Although he wanted to begin the search right away, Regis saw the wisdom in Linnea’s argument. He lay down on his own bed. Minutes crept by, and then he sat up with a jerk and realized he’d been sleeping.

  Regis pulled on the clothing he had worn for the ride to the Yellow Forest. The shirt and pants were travel-stained despite the best efforts of Merilys to clean them. He slipped on his oldest boots. Their quality was out of keeping with the clothing, but he was not willing to sacrifice comfort, not to mention sure footing, when he had no idea what he might encounter.

  We
apons? Regis frowned. All his training urged him to go armed, if only with a dagger. A sword would be better. Would carrying one create more of a risk—of discovery, of unnecessary violence—than a benefit?

  Perhaps the Terrans are right and we are savages who resolve our differences by sticking each other with bits of pointed metal.

  The world went as it would, and not as men would have it. He could not risk coming up against an armed assailant without a weapon, but he needed freedom of movement. He settled for a dagger, easily concealed beneath his cloak, and a boot knife.

  With the hood of his cloak covering his distinctive hair, Regis slipped out the servants’ entrance and down the street. Within a short time, he left the wealthier district. The foot traffic was heavier here, people going about their business in the fair spring weather. No one took any particular notice of him, not even the Guardsmen watching the intersections.

  As Regis entered the Trade City, searching for a building that might serve as a “school,” Javanne’s accusation returned with all its sting. He had never taken the time to get to know any of her children except Mikhail. The older sons, Gabriel after his father, and Rafael, he knew only slightly. Both had trained as cadets. He wasn’t sure he would recognize Liriel, the girl who had gone to Neskaya Tower.

  As for Ariel herself, he knew what she looked like, a shy, pretty child. But did he really know anything about her?

  Ariel . . .

  Small shops offered an array of Terran imports, Valeron pottery, and clothing. The area was an uneasy amalgam of the two cultures.

  He couldn’t very well knock on doors, asking if anyone had seen a parade of kidnapped children. There was no help for it but to continue up one street and down the next, through the maze of byways and alleys, hoping for a clue. The search would be tedious and methodical, but it was all he could do.

  His route took him deeper into the Trade City, past the Street of Four Shadows, where the few licensed matrix mechanics did their business. Here and there, Regis spotted an ale shop, and once he noticed a pair of men, Terranan by their coloring and dress, enter a discreetly marked brothel. He did not like to think of his niece, or any child, in this place.