The street Regis had been following, little more than an alley, twisted and doubled back, paralleling the way he had come. He spotted a broader avenue ahead, and the lacy pattern of trees. Perhaps it led to a residential area.
As Regis neared the opening of the alley, a familiar figure passed by on the intersecting avenue. He drew back, flattening himself against the stone wall, but there was no alarm. He had not been seen. Anxious to not lose his quarry, he crept forward. There she was, walking with a firm stride, her head high.
Tiphani Lawton. Even without her imperious bearing, there could be no mistaking that outlandish costume.
Regis dared not follow too closely. Only a few people were abroad, not enough to hide his presence should she glance back. He tried to move in a casual way, as if he were in no hurry.
A short distance along, Tiphani veered toward a two-storey building. Regis halted a half-block away. From his vantage, the structure looked old but well kept, with a few windows set high in the dark stone walls. The wooden double doors were bound in brass, a luxury for metal-poor Darkover.
Tiphani stopped on the threshold and raised one hand to knock. The door swung open.
Haldred Ridenow stood there.
Tiphani stepped inside. Haldred glanced up and down the street, then shut the door.
Regis proceeded along the street, examining the house as closely as he could without being obvious. He discovered a narrow lane running along the back and far side of the house. While broader than the usual alleys, the lane was hidden from easy view of the street. Even more fortunately, the back wall had not been smooth-finished. Irregularities studded the stone blocks, forming holds for feet and fingers.
A balcony ran along the center third of the building. It looked disused, in poor repair, as did the door to one side and the clouded window. Regis peered up, calculating a route. He had done some mountain-climbing as a youth, but always with ropes and a guide. It occurred to him that he had considerably more experience getting out of tightly locked places than in breaking into them.
About half an hour later, Tiphani Lawton left the building in the direction of Comyn Castle. Regis slipped back into the side passage. He had identified only three ways into the house: the front door, guarded by Haldred, the servants’ entrance, hazards unknown, or the balcony. He might not get a better chance, and any choice was better than standing here like a scarecrow. He folded his cloak over his shoulders to free his arms, grasped the upper edge of a head- high stone, set one foot on the nearest rough patch, and hauled himself upward.
Inch by painful inch, Regis climbed. He moved one hand, digging his fingers into the crevices of the rock. His feet found tiny, almost invisible ledges. He forced himself to test each hold before committing his weight to it. A fall would—no, he must not even think of it. Within a few heartbeats, he was sweating. Silently he cursed himself for not keeping more fit. His shoulders throbbed, and his hands were already scraped raw in half a dozen places.
Halfway up the wall, Regis froze at the muted sound of men’s voices below him. The words were indistinct, yet they seemed to be coming closer. He felt naked, vulnerable, his hold on the wall fragile. One glance would brand him as would-be thief, suspended halfway up the back of a residence, where no honest man had any business. He was now too high to jump down without injury.
A moment later, the voices receded. The walls of the lane had carried and amplified the sound. Regis took a trembling breath and continued upward.
The final part of the climb lasted only a few minutes, but it felt like an eon before Regis reached the balcony. Wooden slats, many of them weathered into splinters, made up the floor. With difficulty, he shuffled to the side where the framing looked more sound. As he grasped the likeliest of the beams, the foot bearing most of his weight lost traction. Boot leather skidded over stone, the noise alarmingly loud.
Suddenly his entire weight hung from one hand. Fire shot through his shoulder as ligaments and muscles stretched under the shock. Somehow he held on.
Panting, Regis grabbed the beam with his free hand. His feet, which had been flailing wildly, slammed into solid wall and held. He inhaled sharply, then pushed with his legs as he pulled with his arms. He might not be as fit as he’d been as a cadet, but he didn’t weigh much more.
The burst of effort raised his body enough so that he could hook one elbow over the edge of the beam. From there, he dragged himself up.
The balcony was in even worse shape than he’d feared. It was by Zandru’s own luck that it hadn’t collapsed, plummeting him to the ground. As it was, he found several splinters among the abrasions on his palms.
“Who? Who’s there?” The words in halting casta came from inside the door. The voice was a child’s.
“It’s all right,” Regis said, keeping his voice low and soothing. “I won’t hurt you.”
“Have you come to take me home?”
Regis smiled, although the child, a boy he thought, could not see. “Yes. Now stand back from the door.”
Bracing himself, Regis inspected the door. It was weathered, although still sound enough to keep out the elements. The lock was cheap, but it held when he leaned his weight into the door. The frame, however, was warped, spongy in places. The wood was not only weakened by the elements but most likely rotted as well. Regis studied the door frame and the beam on which he perched. He might choose wrongly and go crashing down or attract attention from within the house, but he must take that chance.
He selected his target, just below the level of the latch, braced himself on the soundest part of the railing, and landed a hard, percussive kick. From inside came a smothered shriek. The door flexed under the blow, but the frame fractured in places into powdery fragments. Regis closed his eyes and delivered a silent prayer to whatever god looked out for chivalric fools. Then he reached inside. His fingers found the lock.
“You can’t open it that way,” said the boy. “I’ve tried.”
Of course, the door would be locked to prevent escape, not entry. A second kick, although not as well-placed as the first, weakened the door frame further. The third landed dead-on with all the power he could muster. The door tilted open, hanging on its hinges.
Regis pushed his way through the opening. The room beyond was comfortless and chill, the meager fireplace bare, the only furnishings two narrow beds and a chair.
On one of those beds, with its stained straw pallet, Felix Lawton sat bolt upright.
32
With an inarticulate cry, Felix Lawton rushed forward. Regis caught him and held him close. Silent, barely suppressed sobs racked the boy’s body. Felix was thinner than Regis remembered, his muscles taut. He was trembling too badly to form coherent words. For a moment, Regis feared the boy’s starstone had been taken from him, but the boy’s laran, although turbulent with terror and relief, was steady.
Regis stroked the boy’s hair, lank with grime. Felix’s cheek was clammy, as if he were on the verge of shock.
This could be any child. This could be my child.
I’m here, Regis sent a pulse of mental reassurance. It’s all right. You’re not alone.
Felix looked up, his eyes red- rimmed but dry. “I didn’t think anyone knew where I was.”
Or, Regis caught the boy’s thought, that anyone would look for me.
Felix added, “I was an idiot to believe my mother when she said she had a surprise for me. I thought maybe she missed me—she’s been over at the Castle every moment she isn’t fighting with Father. I never thought she’d—she’d—”
“How long have you been here? The others—there are other children here, aren’t there? Have you seen them?”
Felix lowered himself to the bed. “It’s been a couple of days, but I can’t be sure. She made me drink this awful stuff. Drugged, of course.” He let out a bitter cough of a laugh. “I—I heard voices, and someone crying. A girl. I don’t think I imagined it.” He paused and they both listened. “What happens now?”
“Now,” Regis answ
ered with a ghost of a smile, “we get you out of here.”
Felix glanced toward the splintered wooden debris where Regis had wrenched the door aside.
Regis shook his head. “I don’t think we can manage that way. Not without a rope.” Felix’s captors had left him neither blanket nor anything else that might be used to escape, except his own clothing. “Besides,” Regis added, “I’ll need your help with the others. Are you with me?”
Felix straightened his shoulders and nodded.
“Come on, then.”
As Regis had expected, the latch had no lock. Darkovans did not lock their doors within their own homes. Instead, a bar had been installed on the outside. Regis took out his dagger and maneuvered the slender blade through the gap between the door and its framing. It took several attempts to lever the bar free. When he succeeded, the bar clattered to the floor outside.
Regis and Felix held still, barely breathing, listening for sounds of alarm. The last echoes of the bar falling died into silence. Gesturing for Felix to stay back, Regis lifted the latch. The door opened with a creak.
A corridor ran the length of the house, lined on either side with closed doors. Each door, like Felix’s, had been fitted on the outside with a bar. A window of cloudy, poor-quality glass admitted a diffuse light at the far end. The floor was bare wood. Once, it must have been very fine, but age and lack of care had dulled its luster. An arched opening midway along one wall led to a staircase going down.
Regis moved silently to the nearest door. There was no response when he tapped. The bar slipped easily from its brackets. The room, very much like Felix’s with bare pallets on simple frame beds, a single rickety chair and little else, was empty. There was no sign of food or water. When Regis asked Felix how long it had been since he’d eaten, Felix shrugged.
The next two rooms were empty but in use, from the rumpled ticking on the pallets. A sense of urgency grew in Regis. The longer they delayed, the greater the chance of discovery. Tiphani might have gone, but Haldred was still in the house.
“Downstairs, maybe?” Felix whispered.
“Let’s go, then. Stay behind me. We don’t know what’s down there, but in case it’s trouble . . .” Regis touched the hilt of his dagger.
Felix flashed Regis a crooked grin. Clearly, having a course of action steadied the youngster.
Keeping to one wall, Regis led the way down the stairs. As they stepped on to the landing and changed directions, muffled sounds wafted upwards. Children’s voices rose and fell in unison, although Regis could not make out their words.
They descended another few stairs. The ground floor came into view. There were no bedrooms here, only a wide hall tiled in faded mosaics, a smaller door that must lead to a parlor or formal dining room, and there, at the far end, a set of double exterior doors. Carvings swirled across the dark wood like frozen shadows.
Regis slipped his dagger free. There was no sign of Haldred or anyone else, but he could not tell how long their luck would hold. He glanced back at Felix and lifted one finger of his free hand to his lips. Felix nodded, eyes huge and somber.
With only a whisper of footsteps, they crept down the remaining stairs. Felix might not have had cadet training, but he carried himself well.
The sounds of the children grew louder, then stopped. Regis froze. A man’s voice took over, in that same rhythmic cadence. Regis recognized a devotional chant from Nevarsin.
The hallway was still clear, but they were exposed, with nowhere to hide or run. Regis motioned Felix to stay close as he hurried across the mosaic floor. Before he could reach the double doors, however, the side door opened. Regis spun around just as a man, dour-faced and broad of shoulder, entered the hall.
Haldred Ridenow.
Haldred hesitated, caught momentarily off-guard. Dagger in hand, Regis moved into the lapse. Haldred was already reaching for his sword when Regis closed with him, dagger aimed for his throat. Haldred yelped, his voice echoing in the near-empty hall, and jumped back.
Regis followed closely, circling. With his free hand, he grabbed Haldred’s wrist and twisted hard. In a fluid, circular movement, Regis spun Haldred around. Haldred staggered, but Regis held his arm twisted behind his back so tightly that their joined hands were almost at the level of Haldred’s shoulder blades. Regis knew from experience that even a little more leverage would produce excruciating pain. He laid the edge of the dagger, less sharp than its point but effective nonetheless, against Haldred’s neck.
Gasping, Haldred managed to hold still. “What—what are you doing here?” he muttered through clenched teeth.
“Rescuing the Legate’s son. My niece. A few others. You’ll know them, I expect.” Regis nudged Haldred toward the double doors. “In there, are they?”
“You’ll never get away with this!”
“Who taught you to talk like that? Valdir?”
“That weakling!” Haldred struggled, then gasped in pain.
“Do that again, and I’ll slice your throat,” Regis hissed. “Felix, can you open the doors? Good. Then you and I, Haldred, are going through them slowly. Do you understand me?”
Haldred gulped noisily. Regis took the movement for assent.
Felix shoved the doors open. Regis half prodded, half dragged Haldred through the opening. The room was spacious and bright, its windows of unblemished glass. A fireplace of chalky stone held a small fire. The chamber had been designed for elegance as well as comfort and might have once been used for dances. Now rows of benches filled the center, all facing a freestanding altar.
A man in sandals and a brown cristoforo robe stood with his back to the blaze, absorbing its warmth. He was short and balding, well-padded around the middle.
A handful of children in sacks of brown cloth huddled on the benches. Their feet were bare and their eyes dull. Regis spotted Ariel among them. Several had the bright red hair of the Comyn.
“Savage!” the priest screamed. “How dare you disturb us—or carry weapons into this place of holy learning! Sacrilege, I say!”
Regis had neither the time nor the temper to answer. “All of you,” he called to the children, “we’re taking you home! Felix, get them together—”
His next words were cut off by the clamor of men’s voices and booted feet over tile. Two men armed with swords pelted down the hallway. From his vantage, Regis could not see if they had come from outside or elsewhere in the house. One or two of the children shrieked. The others whimpered and clung to one another.
Regis whirled Haldred around so that the newcomers could see the dagger. “Stop there or he dies!”
One of the men scowled, ready for a fight. Regis wasn’t sure he could carry through his threat, or what he might do against three swordsmen with just his dagger. He couldn’t risk Felix, and the children on the benches looked too intimidated to move on their own.
The second man raised his hands well away from his weapon. “It’s Lord Regis . . .”
“Get back, both of you!” Regis barked.
“You men, why are you standing there?” the priest demanded. “Do your duty! Seize the intruder!”
Regis ignored him, keeping his eyes on the two swordsmen. “We’re going to move very carefully toward the street. All of us. Do you understand?”
Both men nodded, the first more reluctantly. The priest made incoherent mutters of protest. From his peripheral vision, Regis caught the expression on Felix’s face and it heartened him.
“Good,” he said. “Then you’ll oblige me by taking off your sword belts and laying them on the floor.” They did so and backed away at his command.
“Stop!” yelled the priest. “Where are you going with those students?”
“I’m taking them back to their families.”
Felix helped the smaller children to their feet and ushered them toward the hallway. A few went willingly, but others cowered on their benches. Ariel was one of those too frightened to move or apparently to comprehend what was happening. The priest took a step to block
their passage, but Regis warned him back.
Half the children had crossed the hallway when the outer doors flew open.
“Spaceforce! Freeze!” The words blared out in accented, mechanically amplified casta.
The next instant, half a dozen men in the black leather uniforms of the Terranan police rushed through the doors. They moved like hunters closing on the kill, swift and powerful, focused.
They all carried blasters.
Stung beyond reason by this blatant violation of the Compact, Regis cursed aloud.
Haldred took advantage of the momentary lapse and wrenched free. He stumbled, fell, and caught himself on hands and one knee.
Pandemonium erupted in the hallway. Black-clad Terrans seemed to be everywhere. Their shouts reverberated, distorted by echoes. The children who were already in the hall panicked and darted this way and that. One of the girls started screaming like a banshee.
Haldred lurched to his feet. He shouted out orders to the two swordsmen. For the first time, Regis saw the blood smearing Haldred’s throat. The wound did not look deep, but there was enough blood to terrify the children. It must have happened when Haldred struggled free.
One of the guards, the one who had recognized Regis, reached for his dropped sword. Blaster fire, silent and swift, caught him. He screamed and toppled over. Steel rattled over tile as the sword fell from his hand.
Yelling, the priest tried to herd the children back into the school room.
The second Darkovan guard snatched up his weapon. Wild-eyed, he lunged at the nearest Spaceforce man. Too late, the Terran’s head whipped around. The sword edge cut through leather, then snagged on bone. The Terran’s knees folded under him.
The Darkovan rushed in, jerking his sword free for a killing stroke. A blast beam sliced across his belly. He stiffened, head thrown back, mouth gaping, and toppled to the floor. The stench of charred flesh filled the air.
“Enough!” Regis bellowed. “Stop!”
Hastur Lord Page 39
