Sharra's Exile d-21

by Marion Zimmer Bradley

  She laughed; it was like a rainbow coming out through the cloud. “I thank you, my lord. Not necessary. I’ve walked unguarded in worse places than this!”

  “That’s right, you’ve been offworld,” Regis said, feeling again the old longing, the old envy; for all his suffering, Lew was freer than he was himself, with all the worlds of an interstellar Empire at his command. Oh, to go beyond the narrow skies of his own world, to see the stars…he knew now that he would never go. For better or for worse, his fate lay here, whatever it might be; an unwanted crown, the new laran which so weighed on him that he felt he would split asunder like a butterfly from its constricting cocoon. He was Hastur; the rest he should put aside, all his old dreams, like the brightly colored tops and balls of his childhood. He walked at Dio’s side, along the Street of Coppersmiths, turning at the corner to take the road to the Comyn Castle, and heard the whispers, saw the crowd draw before him in awe and astonishment.

  “Comyn…”

  “It’s the Lord Hastur himself… the prince…”

  “No, for sure not, what would the likes o’ he be doing here on the street and unguarded…”

  “It’s the Hastur prince, yes, I saw him on Festival Night…”

  He could not walk down a fairly narrow and unimportant street without collecting a crowd. Lew, a marked man and disfigured, one hand sacrificed to the fires of Sharra, was still more free than himself… If any man stared at Lew it was only with pity or curiosity, not this entire trust, that sense that whatever might come to Darkover, the Hastur-kin would protect them and shield them.

  Like my own laran, it is too much for me… too much for any mortal man less than a God!

  He drew a fold of his cloak over the concealment of his red hair, all unshielded to the mental leakage of the crowd, wonder, astonishment, curiosity—I cannot dance with a woman or walk with one down the street but my name is linked to hers…

  “I’m sorry, Dio,” he said, trying for lightness, “but I’m afraid they have you marked out for my Queen already; it is a pity that we must disappoint them. Now, I suppose, I will have to explain to my grandfather that I do not intend to marry you, either!”

  She gave him a small wry smile. “I have no wish to be a Queen,” she said, “and I fear, even if you wished to marry me, Lord Danvan would be scandalized…”

  I have cheapened myself with other men on Vainwal; and now I am sister to the traitor who has fled from Darkover into the Empire—

  He said, gently, “I did not know Lerrys was gone. But I do not blame him for running away, Dio. I wish I could.” After a moment he added, “And if you are a traitor’s sister, that does not make you traitor; but the more credit to you that you have remained when others have fled.”

  They were standing now before the gates of the Comyn Castle; he saw one of the Guardsmen stare at him, alone and unattended and with Lady Dio Ridenow, and although he was trying not to read the man’s mind, he could sense the man’s shock and amazement; Lord Regis, here and without even a bodyguard, and with a woman… and a secret pleasure at this morsel of gossip he could spread among his fellows. Well, everything Regis did created gossip, but he was heartily sick of it.

  He crossed the courtyard, wanting to say a polite word or two to Dio and dismiss her. He had too many troubles to share them with any woman, even if there was a woman alive with whom he could share anything except a brief moment of passion or pleasure. And, abruptly, looking at Dio, he was torn by her despair.

  “What is it, Dio?” he asked gently, and felt it flood through him.

  He was so sure he was going to die! All he sees is his own death…I would have gone to death, even that, beside him, but he can only see Callina…

  He was struck numb by the quality of her pain. No woman had ever loved him like that, none ever shown him that kind of loyalty and staunchness—

  He has gone to die, to hurl himself against death in finding the weapon against Sharra—

  Regis realized that he should have gone with Lew himself; or he should have taken his matrix, cleansed it as he had done to Rafe’s. What gave him this strange power, not over Sharra, but over the Form of Fire? Kadarin was somewhere, with the Sharra matrix, and Lew might fall into his hands—

  He should have gone with Lew, or cleansed Lew’s matrix. Or at least demanded that Callina take him to Ashara, so that the ancient Keeper of the Comyn could explain this new and monstrous Hastur Gift. Lew at least is Tower-trained, he knows what strengths he has… and what weaknesses; he faces death with full knowledge, not blinded as I am by ignorance! What was the good of being Hastur, and Lord of Comyn, if he could not even know what this new laran might bring him?

  Dio was trying to conceal her tears. Part of him wanted to reassure her, but he had no comfort for her and in any case Dio did not want facile lies; she was one of the sensitive Ridenow and she would see through them at once. He said quietly, “It may be that we are all going to die, Dio. But if I have a chance I would rather die to keep Sharra from destroying Darkover—Terran and Comyn alike. And so would Lew, I think; and he has the right to choose his own death… and to make amends…”

  “I suppose so.” Beneath the understanding, she turned to him, no longer trying to conceal her tears, and somehow he realized that this was a kind of acceptance. “It’s strange; I have seen so much of his—his weakness, his gentler side, I forget how strong he is. He would never run away to the Terrans because he was afraid; not even if they burned off his other hand first…”

  “No,” said Regis, suddenly feeling closer to her than to his own sister, “he wouldn’t.”

  “You wouldn’t either, would you?” she asked, smiling at him through the tears in her eyes.

  He is Hastur…and he will stand by Comyn… and then, even in Dio, the curious and inevitable question: I wonder why he has never married? Surely he could have any woman he wanted… surely it is not true that he is, like Lerrys, like Dyan, only a lover of men, he has had women, he has nedestrochildren—

  And then, Regis felt it, a return of her own despair and pain, our son, Lew’s and mine, that frightful thing, and I rebuffed him…it was only because I was so sick and weak, I did not hate him or blame him, and then Lerrys took me away, before I could tell him… Merciful Avarra, he has suffered so much, and I hurt him again, all that horror, when I had promised that he would never have to hide himself from me…

  … and he will die still thinking I had rebuffed him because of that horror—

  And suddenly Regis found himself envying Lew.

  How he has been loved! I have never known what it was to love a woman like that or to be loved… and I shall die never knowing if I am capable of that kind of love…

  Oh, yes, there had been women. He was capable of sudden flaring passion, of taking them with pleasure, given and received; but once the flare of mutual lust had burned out, sometimes even before the woman knew herself pregnant with his child, he had been all too aware of what it was they felt for him; pleasure at his physical beauty, pride that they had attracted the attention of a Hastur, greed for the status and privilege that would be theirs if they bore a Hastur child. Any one of the five or six would gladly have married him for that status; but he had never felt for any of them anything more than that brief flaring of passion and lust; the vague distaste and even revulsion, knowing that their feeling for him was based on greed or pride.

  But never this kind of disinterested love… will I die without ever knowing if I am capable of attracting that kind of love from a woman? No one has ever loved me thus unselfishly but Danilo, and that is different, the love of comrades, a shared companionship… and even that, all men seem to despise… a thing to be put aside with boyhood…is there no more than this? Why can Lew attract this kind of love, and not I?

  But with what was hanging over them, there was no time for this either. He turned to speak some word of recollection to Dio, when suddenly a shriek of wild terror surged through their minds, a wordless cry of despair and fright and utter panic
, pain and fear. A child, a child is crying in terror… Regis was not sure whether it was his thought or Dio’s, but all at once he knew what child it was who shrieked out in such agonized fright, and he pushed Dio before him and ran, ran like a possessed thing toward the Alton apartments.

  Marja! But who would so terrify a child?

  The great double doors to the Alton suite were standing ajar, swinging on one hinge. Old Andres was lying in a pool of his own blood, half over the threshold where he had been struck down.

  He guarded her with his life, as he had sworn… Regis felt dismay; he too had been befriended and fathered by the old coridom. Then he realized that Andres was still moving feebly, though he was long past speech. He knelt, tears swelling up in his own eyes for the faithful old man, and Andres, with his last strength, whispered, “Dom Regis… lad…”

  Regis knew that Andres did not see him; the dying eyes were already glazed, past sight. He saw only the boy of ten, Kennard’s fosterling, Lew’s sworn friend. And with his last strength Andres formed a picture in Regis’s mind…

  Then it was gone and there was nothing living in the room except himself. Regis stood up, stricken with pain. “Beltran! But how, in all of Zandru’s hells, did he manage to come here, when I left him safely imprisoned…”

  He did not even need to ask. He had left Beltran with Lord Dyan; and Dyan had agreed with Beltran that Sharra was the ultimate weapon against the Terrans… Lew was beyond their reach. But there remained an Alton child…

  There remained an Alton child; and one Gifted, even at five years old, with the laran of her house… and of her chieri blood. Regis felt sick; would anything human stoop to use a small child in Sharra? He had had reason to know that Dyan could be cruel, could be unscrupulous, but this?

  He realized that all through this, he had been hearing somewhere in his mind, ringing louder and wilder, the terrified shrieks of the child, the sudden flame and terror of the Form of Fire… and then it was gone, so suddenly that for a moment Regis was shocked, feeling that Marja must suddenly have died of terror, or been struck silent by a blow of terrifying cruelty…

  What madness was this? Around him was the silence of death in the Alton rooms, the horrified gasps of Dio who stood on the threshold, but somewhere he was hearing a voice he knew, or was it a telepathic touch rather than a voice?

  Fool, this is nothing for a girl-child! I have the strength and I am not squeamish…I am not one of your Tower-trained eunuchs, let me take that place rather than one you can never trust. . and then almost laughter, silent laughter in mockery. No, she’s not dead, she is beyond your reach, that is all…pick on someone your own size, Beltran!

  “Lord of Light!” Regis gasped in shock, knowing what had happened. Dyan had chosen Sharra, despite every warning, he had walked of his own free will into that horror which had cost Lew his hand and his sanity, which even now overpowered Regis with dread and terror…

  Does this mean Lew is free? No, never, never, he is still bound to Sharra…

  “Lord Hastur! Lord Regis—” a gasping servant, come in search of him, stopped in shock, staring at the dead body of the old coridom on the floor. “Good Gods, sir, what’s happened?”

  Regis said, clutching at calm and ordinary things, “This man died defending his master’s—his foster-son’s property and his child. He should have a funeral fit for a hero. Find someone who can see to it, can you?” He rose slowly, staring at the dead man and at the servants clustering in the doorway of the Alton suite. Then he saw the man who had come to look for him.

  “Sir, the Lord Hastur—your grandsire, sir—he has ordered—” again the man, confused, shifted ground, “he has asked if you will come and attend on him…”

  Regis sighed. He had been expecting that; what conflicting demands was his grandfather to make on him now? He saw Dio and knew she could not bear to be left out of what was happening now. Well, she had a right to know.

  “Come along,” he said, “Lew and I were bredin, once, and you have a claim on me, too.”

  He found his grandfather in the small presence-chamber of the Hastur apartments; Danvan Hastur said, “Aldones be thanked, I have found you! The Terran Legate has sent a message to you personally, Regis; something about a Captain Scott and permission to authorize Terran weapons—” he looked at his grandson, and tried to speak with the old authority, but only managed a shocking parody of his old strength. “I don’t know how you came to put yourself in a position where Terrans could bid you come and go, but I suppose you’ll have to deal with it—”

  He is old. I am the real power of Hastur now and we both know it; though he will never say so, Regis thought, and spoke to the unspoken part of his grandfather’s words, whatever the actual words had been.

  “Don’t trouble yourself, sir; I’ll go and deal with it.” He suddenly felt deep compassion for the old man, who had spent so many years holding the power of the Comyn, without even laran to sustain him.

  He has had all the troubles of a Hastur and none of the rewards, he thought, and then was startled and shocked at himself. Rewards? This monstrous laran which threatened, unwanted, to split him asunder, so that he walked with the terrible knowledge of a power whose forces he could not even imagine?

  Gift? The Hastur curse, rather! He felt as if his very arms and legs were too big for him, as if he walked halfway between earth and sky, his feet hardly touching the ground, and all without knowing why. Desperately, he wanted Danilo at his side. But there was not even time to send a message to his paxman, and in any case, if Dyan had flung himself recklessly into the danger and terror of Sharra, Danilo was Lord Ardais, for Dyan was as good as dead, and so were they all; let Danilo stay free of this if he could. He said brusquely to the Spaceforce man who had brought the message, “I’ll come at once.” Dio turned to follow him and he said, “No. Stay here.” He could not encumber himself with any woman now, certainly not when Danilo had been denied the privilege of attending him.

  “I will go,” she said wildly, “I am a Terran citizen; you cannot prevent me!”

  It wasn’t worth arguing. He signaled to the Spaceforce man to let her come, and together they clambered into the surface car. Regis had never ridden in a Terran vehicle before; he hung on breathless, as it tore through the streets, men and women and horses scattering as it roared and jolted over the cobbles; he thought irrelevantly, we must forbid this, it is too dangerous on such old and crowded streets. Once through the gates into the Trade City the streets were a little smoother and he hung on desperately, not wanting to show his fright before Dio who was apparently accustomed to this kind of breath-taking transport.

  Through the HQ gates, the Spaceforce driver barely stopping to flash a pass of some sort at the guard, then tearing across the abnormally smooth terrain to the very gates of the skyscraper; and up in the lift, Dio doggedly keeping at his heels all the way, then into Lawton’s office.

  Rafe Scott, white as death, was there, and Lawton didn’t waste words. He gestured, and Rafe poured it out.

  “Kadarin has gone to Hali! I suddenly discovered that I was reading Thyra—I don’t know why—”

  Regis did. He could feel Sharra, through and around Rafe, a monstrous and obscene flame, unbodied, inchoate… and Rafe was part of that ancient bonding.

  Kadarin, bearing the Sword. Thyra. Beltran—

  Dyan, who had recklessly flung himself into the volcano.

  And Lew, somewhere, somewhere…bound, sealed, doomed…

  “Well?” Lawton said crisply, “Will you authorize me to send a helicopter, and men properly armed with blasters, to arrest Kadarin out there? Or are you going to stick to the letter of your Compact, while they work with something which is farther outside of your Compact than a super-planetbusting bomb, let alone a blaster or two?”

  Am I going to authorize… who does he think I am? Then, in the sudden humility of power recognized and feared, Regis knew that he could no longer avoid the responsibility. He said, “Yes. I’ll authorize it.” He managed
to write his name, though his hand shook, on the form Lawton held out to him. Lawton spoke into some kind of communicator.

  “All right; Hastur authorized it. Let the copter go.”

  “I want to—” I should go with the copter. Maybe I can still do something for Lew…or his matrix if it’s sealed to Sharra…

  Lawton shook his head. “Too late. They’ve taken off. All you can do now is wait.”

  They waited, while the sun sank slowly behind the mountain pass. Waited, while time wore away and dragged, and finally Regis saw the helicopter, a tiny black speck hovering over the mountain pass, coming nearer, nearer.

  Dio rose and cried out, “He’s hurt! I—I have to go to him—” and dashed for the lift. Lawton simultaneously answered some kind of blinking light, listened, and his face changed.

  “Well,” he said grimly to Regis, “I waited too long, or you did, or somebody. They’ve got Kadarin, yes, but it looks as if he’s managed to commit another murder while everybody stood by and watched. They’re going to take him down to Medic. You’d better come along.”

  Regis followed, through the sterile white walls of the Medical division. An elevator whined softly to a stop and Spaceforce men hauled out prisoners. Dio had eyes only for Lew, carried between two of the uniformed men. Regis could not tell whether he was alive or dead; his face was ghastly, his head lolled lifeless, and the whole front of his shirt was covered in blood.

  Bredu! Regis felt shock and grief surging over him. Dio was clinging to Lew’s lax hand, crying now without trying to hide it. Behind, Kadarin moved manacled between two guards. Regis barely recognized him, he was so much older, so much more haggard, as if something were consuming him from within. Thyra, too, was handcuffed. Kathie looked pale and frightened, and one of the guards was carrying Callina, who appeared to have fainted; they set her in a chair and gestured to someone to bring smelling-salts, and after a minute Callina opened her eyes; but she swayed, holding to the chair. Kathie went swiftly to her and held her up. One of the Medic personnel said something and she frowned and said, “I’m a nurse; I’ll look after her. You’d better look after Mr. Montray-Alton; the woman stabbed him, and it looks as if it may have finished him—he was still alive when the helicopter landed, but that’s not saying much.”