Heritage and Exile

by Marion Zimmer Bradley

  “If I receive orders to that effect, Lord Hastur, you may be assured that I will enforce them absolutely. And permit me to say, Lord Hastur, that it would in no way displease me to receive such orders.”

  A few more words were exchanged, mostly formal courtesies. But the meeting was over, and I had to gather my scattered thoughts and reassemble the honor guard, conduct the Council members formally out of the headquarters building and the spaceport and through the streets of Thendara. I could sense my father’s thoughts, as I always could when we were in each other’s presence.

  He was thinking that no doubt it would be left to him to go to Aldaran. Kermiac would have to receive him, if only as my mother’s kinsman. And I felt the utter weariness, like pain, in the thought. That journey into the Hellers was terrible, even in high summer; and summer was fast waning. Father was thinking that he could not shirk it. Hastur was too old. Dyan was no diplomat, he’d want to settle it by challenging Kermiac to a duel. But who else was there? The Ridenow lads were too young. . . .

  It seemed to me, as I followed my father through the streets of Thendara, that in fact almost everyone in Comyn was either too old or too young. What was to become of the Domains?

  It would have been easier if I could have been wholly convinced that the Terrans were all evil and must be resisted. Yet against my will I had found much that was wise in what Ramsay said. Firm laws, and never too much power concentrated in one pair of hands, seemed to me a strong barrier to the kind of corruption we now faced. And a certain basic law to fall back on when the men could not be trusted. Men, as I had found out when Dyan was placed at the head of the cadets, were all too often fallible, acting from expedience rather than the honor they talked so much about. Ramsay might hesitate to act without orders, but at least he acted on the responsibility of men and laws he could trust to be wiser than himself. And there was a check on his power too, for he knew that if he acted on his own responsibility against the will of wiser heads, he would be removed before he could do too much damage. But who would be a check on Dyan’s power? Or my father’s? They had the power to act, and therefore the right to do it.

  And who could question their motives, or call a halt to their acts?

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The day remained clear and cloudless. At sunset Regis stood on the high balcony which looked out over the city and the spaceport. The dying sunlight turned the city at his feet to a gleaming pattern of red walls and faceted windows. Danilo said, “It looks like the magical city in the fairy tale.”

  “There’s nothing much magical about it,” Regis said. “We learned that this morning on honor guard. Look, there’s the ship that takes off every night about this time. It’s too small to be an interstellar ship. I wonder where it’s going?”

  “Port Chicago, perhaps, or Caer Donn. It must be strange to have to send messages to other people by writing them, instead of by using linked minds as we do through the towers,” Danilo said. “And it must feel very, very strange never to know what other people are thinking.”

  Of course, Regis thought. Dani was a telepath. Suddenly he realized that he’d been in contact with him again and again, and it had seemed so normal that neither had recognized it as telepathy. Today at the Council had been different, terribly different. He must have laran after all—but how and when, after Lew had failed?

  And then the questions and the doubts came back. There had been so many telepaths there, spreading laran everywhere, even a nontelepath might have picked it up. It did not necessarily mean anything. He felt wrung, half desperately hoping that he was not cut off anymore and half fearing.

  He went on looking at the city spread out below. This was the hour off-duty, when if a cadet had incurred no demerit or punishment detail, he might go where he chose. Morning and early afternoon were spent in training, swordplay and unarmed combat, the various military and command skills they would need later as Guards in the city and in the field. Later in the afternoon, each cadet was assigned to special duties. Danilo, who wrote the clearest hand among the cadets, had been assigned to assist the supply-officer. Regis had the relatively menial task of walking patrol in the city with a seasoned veteran or two, keeping order in the streets, preventing brawls, discouraging sneak-thieves and footpads. He found that he liked it, liked the very idea of keeping order in the city of Comyn.

  Life in the cadet corps was not intolerable, as he had feared. He did not mind the hard beds, the coarse food, the continual demands on his time. He had been even more strictly disciplined at Nevarsin, and life in the barracks was easy by contrast. What troubled him most was always being surrounded by others and yet still being lonely, isolated from the others by a gulf he could not bridge.

  From their first day, he and Danilo had drifted together, at first by chance, because their beds were side by side and neither of them had another close friend in the barracks. The officers soon began to pair them off for details needing partners like barrack room cleaning, which the cadets took in turns; and because Regis and Danilo were about the same size and weight, for unarmed-combat training and practice. Within the first-year group they were good-naturedly, if derisively, known as “the cloistered brethren” because, like the Nevarsin brothers, they spoke casta by choice, rather than cahuenga.

  At first they spent much of their free time together too. Presently Regis noticed that Danilo sought his company less, and wondered if he had done something to offend the other boy. Then by chance he heard a second-year cadet jeeringly congratulating Danilo about his cleverness in choosing a friend. Something in Danilo’s face told him it was not the first time this taunt had been made. Regis had wanted to reveal himself and do something, defend Danilo, strike the older cadet, anything. On second thought he knew this would embarrass Danilo more and give a completely false impression. No taunt, he realized, could have hurt Danilo more. He was poor, indeed, but the Syrtis were an old and honorable family who had never needed to curry favor or patronage. From that day Regis began to make the overtures himself—not an easy thing to do, as he was diffident and agonizingly afraid of a rebuff. He tried to make it clear, at least to Danilo, that it was he who sought out Dani’s company, welcomed it and missed it when it was not offered. Today it was he who had suggested the balcony, high atop Comyn castle, where they could see the city and the spaceport.

  The sun was sinking now, and the swift twilight began to race across the sky. Danilo said, “We’d better get back to barracks.” Regis was reluctant to leave the silence here, the sense of being at peace, but he knew Danilo was right. On a sudden impulse to confide, he said, “Dani, I want to tell you something. When I’ve spent my three years in the Guards—I must, I promised—I’m planning to go offworld. Into space. Into the Empire.”

  Dani stared in surprise and wonder. “Why?”

  Regis opened his mouth to pour out his reasons, and found himself suddenly at a loss for words. Why? He hardly knew. Except that it was a strange and different world, with the excitement of the unknown. A world that would not remind him at every turn that he had been born defrauded of his heritage, without laran. Yet, after today . . .

  The thought was curiously disturbing. If in truth he had laran, then he had no more reasons. But he still didn’t want to give up his dream. He couldn’t say it in words, but evidently Danilo did not expect any. He said, “You’re Hastur. Will they let you?”

  “I have my grandfather’s pledge that after three years, if I still want to go, he will not oppose it.” He found himself thinking, with a stab of pain, that if he had laran they certainly would never let him go. The old breathless excitement of the unknown gripped him again; he shivered as he decided not to let them know.

  Danilo smiled shyly and said, “I almost envy you. If my father weren’t so old, or if he had another son to look after him, I’d want to come with you. I wish we could go together.”

  Regis smiled at him. He couldn’t find words to answer the warmth that gave him. But Danilo said regretfully, “He does need me, though
. I can’t leave him while he’s alive. And anyway”—he laughed just a little—“from everything I’ve heard, our world is better than theirs.”

  “Still, there must be things we can learn from them. Kennard Alton went to Terra and spent years there.”

  “Yes,” Dani said thoughtfully, “but even after that, I notice, he came back.” He glanced at the sun and said, “We’re going to be late. I don’t want to get any demerits; we’d better hurry!”

  It was dim in the stairwell that led down between the towers of the castle and neither of them saw a tall man coming down another staircase at an angle to this one, until they all collided, rather sharply, at its foot. The other man recovered first, reached out and took Regis firmly by the elbow, giving his arm a very faint twist. It was too dark to see, but Regis felt, through the touch, the feel and presence of Lew Alton. The experience was such a new thing, such a shock, that he blinked and could not move for a moment.

  Lew said good-naturedly, “And now, if we were in the Guard hall, I’d dump you on the floor, just to teach you what to do when you’re surprised in the dark. Well, Regis, you do know you’re supposed to be alert even when you’re off duty, don’t you?”

  Regis was still too shaken and surprised to speak. Lew let go his arm and said in sudden dismay, “Regis, did I really hurt you?”

  “No—it’s just—” He found himself almost unable to speak because of his agitation. He had not seen Lew. He had not heard his voice. He had simply touched him, in the dark, and it was clearer than seeing and hearing. For some reason it filled him with an almost intolerable anxiety he did not understand.

  Lew evidently sensed the distress he was feeling. He let him go and turned to Danilo, saying amiably, “Well, Dani, are you learning to walk with an eye to being surprised and thrown from behind?”

  “Am I ever,” Danilo said, laughing. “Gabriel—Captain Lanart-Hastur—caught up with me yesterday. This time, though, I managed to block him, so he didn’t throw me. He just showed me the hold he’d used.”

  Lew chuckled. “Gabriel is the best wrestler in the Guards,” he said. “I had to learn the hard way. I had bruises everywhere. Every one of the officers had me marked down as the easiest to throw. After my arm had been dislocated by—by accident,” he said, but Regis felt he had started to say something else, “Gabriel finally took pity on me and taught me a few of his secrets. Mostly, though, I relied on keeping out of the officers’ reach. At fourteen I was smaller than you, Dani.”

  Regis’ distress was subsiding a little. He said, “It’s not so easy to keep out of the way, though.”

  Lew said quietly, “I know. I suppose they have their reasons. It is good training, to keep your wits about you and be on the alert all the time; I was grateful for it later when I was on patrol and had to handle hefty drunks and brawlers twice my size. But I didn’t enjoy the learning, believe me. I remember Father saying to me once that it was better to be hurt a little by a friend than seriously hurt, some day, by an enemy.”

  “I don’t mind being hurt,” said Danilo, and with that new and unendurable awareness, Regis realized his voice was trembling as if he was about to cry. “I was bruised all over when I was learning to ride. I can stand the bruises. What I do mind is when—when someone thinks it’s funny to see me take a fall. I didn’t mind it when Lerrys Ridenow caught me and threw me halfway down the stairs yesterday, because he said that was always the most dangerous place to be attacked and I should always be on guard in such a spot. I don’t mind when they’re trying to teach me something. That’s what I’m here for. But now and then someone seems to—to enjoy hurting me, or frightening me.”

  They had come away from the stairs now and were walking along an open collonade; Regis could see Lew’s face, and it was grim. He said, “I know that happens. I don’t understand it either. And I’ve never understood why some people seem to feel that making a boy into a man seems to mean making him into a brute. If we’d all been in the Guard hall, I’d have felt compelled to throw Regis ten feet, and I don’t suppose I’d have been any gentler than any other officer. But I don’t like hurting people when there’s no need either. I suppose your cadet-master would think me shamefully remiss in my duty. Don’t tell him, will you?” He grinned suddenly and his hand fell briefly on Danilo’s shoulder, giving him a little shake. “Now you two had better hurry along; you’ll be late.” He turned a corridor at right angles to their own and strode away.

  The two cadets hurried down their own way. Regis was thinking that he had never known Lew felt like that. They must have been hard on him, especially Dyan. But how did he know that?

  Danilo said, “I wish all the officers were like Lew. I wish he were the cadet-master, don’t you?”

  Regis nodded. “I don’t think Lew would want to be cadet-master, though. And from what I’ve heard, Dyan is very serious about honor and responsibility. You heard him speak at Council.”

  Danilo’s mouth twisted. “Anyhow, you don’t have to worry. Lord Dyan likes you. Everybody knows that!”

  “Jealous?” Regis retorted good-naturedly.

  “You’re Comyn,” Danilo said, “you get special treatment.”

  The words were a sudden painful reminder of the distance between them, a distance Regis had almost ceased to feel. It hurt. He said, “Dani, don’t be a fool! You mean the fact that he uses me for a partner at sword practice? That’s an honor I’d gladly change with you! If you think it’s love-pats I’m getting from him, take a look at me naked some day—you’re welcome and more than welcome to Dyan’s love-pats!”

  He was completely unprepared for the dark crimson flush that flooded Danilo’s face, the sudden fierce anger as he swung around to face Regis. “What the hell do you mean by that remark?”

  Regis stared at him in dismay. “Why, only that sword-practice with Lord Dyan is an honor I’d gladly do without. He’s much stricter than the arms-master and he hits harder! Look at my ribs, you’ll see that I’m black and blue from shoulder to knee! What did you think I meant?”

  Danilo turned away and didn’t answer directly. He only said, “We’re going to be late. We’d better run.”

  Regis spent the early evening hours on street-patrol in the city with Hjalmar, the giant young Guardsman who had first tested him for swordplay. They broke up two budding brawls, hauled an obstreperous drunk to the brig, directed half a dozen lost country bumpkins to the inn where they had left their horses and gently reminded a few wandering women that harlots were restricted by law to certain districts in the city. A quiet evening in Thendara. When they returned to the Guard hall to go off duty, they fell in with Gabriel Lanart and half a dozen officers who were planning to visit a small tavern near the gates. Regis was about to withdraw when Gabriel stopped him.

  “Come along with us, brother. You should see more of the city than you can from the barracks window!”

  Thus urged, Regis went with the older men. The tavern was small and smoky, filled with off-duty Guardsmen. Regis sat next to Gabriel, who took the trouble to teach him the card game they were playing. It was the first time he had been in the company of older officers. Most of the time he was quiet, listening much more than he talked, but it was good to be one of the company and accepted.

  It reminded him, just a little, of the summers he’d spent at Armida. It would never have occurred to Kennard or Lew or old Andres to treat the solemn and precocious boy as a child. That early acceptance among men had put him out of step, probably forever, he realized with a remote sadness, with lads his own age. Now though, and the knowledge felt as if a weight had fallen from him, he knew that he did feel at home among men. He felt as if he was drawing the first really free breaths he had drawn since his grandfather pushed him, with only a few minutes to prepare for it, into the cadets.

  “You’re quiet, kinsman,” Gabriel said as they walked back together. “Have you had too much to drink? You’d better go and get some sleep. You’ll be all right tomorrow.” He said a good-natured good night and went off t
o his own quarters.

  The night officer patrolling the court said, “You’re a few minutes late, cadet. It’s your first offense, so I won’t put you on report this time. Just don’t do it again. Lights are out in the first-year barracks; you’ll have to undress in the dark.”

  Regis made his way, a little unsteadily, into the barracks. Gabriel was right, he thought, surprised and not altogether displeased, he had had too much to drink. He was not used to drinking at all, and tonight he had drunk several cups of wine. He realized, as he hauled off his clothes by the moonlight, that he felt confused and unfocused. It had, he thought with a strange fuzziness, been a meaningful day, but he didn’t know yet what it all meant. The Council. The somehow shocking realization that he had reached his grandfather’s mind, recognized Lew by touch without seeing or hearing him. The odd half-quarrel with Danilo. It added to the confusion he felt, which was more than just drunkenness. He wondered if they had put kirian in his wine, heard himself giggle aloud at the thought, then fell rapidly into an edgy, nightmare-ridden half-sleep.

  . . . He was back in Nevarsin, in the cold student dormitory where, in winter, snow drifted through the wooden shutters and lay in heaps on the novices’ beds. In his dream, as had actually happened once or twice, two or three of the students had climbed into bed together, sharing blankets and body warmth against the bitter cold, to be discovered in the morning and severely scolded for breaking this inflexible rule. This dream kept recurring; each time, he would discover some strange naked body in his arms and, deeply disturbed, he would wake up with an admixture of fear and guilt. Each time he woke from this repeated dream he was more deeply upset and troubled by it, until he finally escaped into a deeper, darker realm of sleep. Now it seemed that he was his own father, crouched on a bare hillside in darkness, with strange fires exploding around him. He was shuddering with fright as men dropped dead around him, closer and closer, knowing that within moments he too would be blasted into fragments by one of the erupting fires. Then he felt someone close to him in the dark, holding him, sheltering his body with his own. Regis started awake again, shaking. He rubbed his eyes and looked around him at the quiet barracks room, dimly lit with moonlight, seeing the dim forms of the other cadets, snoring or muttering in their sleep. None of it was real, he thought, and slid down again on his hard mattress.