“I am not saying that we can never have progress and prosperity, a better future for our children. We can do all this, but in our own way and in our own time.
“Once I asked you to join together, Comyn and commoner, peasant and lord, Renunciate and mountain folk. I promised you that we would not become another lockstep world of the Empire. I swore that I would never allow the Terrananto remake us in their image. Together, we agreed to restore our world.”
Around the room, heads nodded in memory of that intoxicating time. Anything had seemed possible, and they had accomplished more than anyone believed possible. For a brief golden age, the telepaths of Darkover had acted as one, rejoiced as one, and defended their world as one.
Regis had no idea if he could summon that same commitment again. In asking them to stand beside him, he risked fracturing what remained of that unity. He sensed the currents of discord, of dissension. For too many of them, the Empire—and now the Federation—represented an end to the rule of the aristocratic Comyn and the old feudal system.
For what seemed like an eternity, Regis spoke. He felt the shift in the audience, yielding to the ingrained reverence for the Hastur Lord. Under ordinary conditions, the patchwork assent would have been enough. Now he could not afford even the appearance of disunity. If what Lew said was true, the Expansionist party of the Federation would seize upon the flimsiest excuse to impose their will.
Darkover must speak with one voice, even if that one voice was his.
He could command it. As Regent. As Hastur. As King. Was this why his grandfather had urged him to claim the throne, so that no one could contest his decisions?
Echoes of that first gathering resonated through his voice. They lifted him, carried him. Throughout the chamber, he felt a storm gathering. But would it bear them all to a safe haven or shatter them upon the rocks?
“I ask you to join together again, to answer any outside power that we shall always belong to ourselves first. Darkover must and shall forge its own destiny.”
For a long moment, no one spoke. A word, a gesture, could tip the balance and fracture the tenuous momentum.
Gabriel moved to stand before the platform. He looked imposing in his Guards Commander uniform, and his features were set in an expression of determination. “The Lord of Hastur has asked for our support. I say we owe him our loyalty, as has been the custom from the time of our fathers. Who stands with me?”
“I do.” Ruyven Di Asturien came forward. The crowd melted back and swirled to close up behind him. He carried himself with quiet authority.
“And I!”
“I!”
“I!” cried Javanne, then one of the Castamirs joined in, then Kyril Eldrin and a chorus of men and women in ordinary commoner clothing.
Valdir Ridenow was one of the last Comyn to speak up. “If it is the will of this Council, I will not stand in the way.” He paused. “For the time being.”
“So be it, then,” Regis said. “With your support, I hereby direct the Terran Federation Legate to inform the Senate of our decision to retain our status as a Class D Closed World.”
Cheering broke out throughout the chamber. Dan Lawton applauded, grinning. Regis stepped off the platform to accept congratulations and thanks. He sensed as well as saw the flickers of dissatisfaction, of grudging acceptance. Some of those opinions might change with time as Darkover continued to evolve into a new society and the planetary ecology attained a new balance.
But nothing gave Regis a deeper sense of unease than the smoothly bland expression on the Ridenow lord’s features.
It took a long time for the chamber to empty. Regis felt obliged to remain as long as anyone wanted to speak with him. The experience was exhausting, for he had never enjoyed the attention of crowds. He knew that his ability to persuade rather than to coerce depended on personal contact. It was part of the cost of victory.
Javanne hugged Regis, a brief, distracted embrace before she departed with Gabriel. Mikhail stayed to watch and listen. Valdir Ridenow gave a brief salute through the thinning crowd and then strode off. The Cortes judge bowed deeply to Regis and said that, although he was not entirely convinced, he had the greatest respect for the arguments Regis had put forth. Time would tell, the man concluded.
Time is what I have asked for, Regis replied, time to find our own way.
Through it all, Danilo never left his side. From time to time, someone would try to draw Danilo into conversation, but Danilo gracefully deflected their overtures.
Finally, when only a few pockets of conversation lingered and the servants were clearly impatient to begin cleaning the chamber, Danilo guided Regis to the back entrance. Regis was so tired that only habit and momentum kept him on his feet. He ached, not only in body but in spirit.
The corridor was narrow and poorly lit but blessedly quiet. A threadbare carpet, too poor for public use, cushioned their footfalls.
“Gods, Danilo, I need a drink!” Regis said. “My head’s about to explode!”
“As long as it doesn’t turn you into a blockhead,” Danilo quipped, referring to an old joke between them, from their earliest days as cadets.
Laughter bubbled up from a half-forgotten place within Regis. How long had it been since he had heard anything silly?
“I’m glad you haven’t lost your sense of perspective,” Danilo said, more seriously. “There’s one more item to be dealt with.”
Regis groaned. “Haven’t I done enough already? Surely, whatever it is can wait until tomorrow.”
Now that they were moving, Regis felt a renewal of physical vigor. Side by side, they swept up the back stairs, wending their way through the labyrinth of the Castle to the Hastur quarters.
Danilo paused at the door leading to the suite of rooms that had been Danvan’s and now belonged to Regis. “You’ll want to hear this.”
“If you say so.”
Danilo led the way into the most intimate of the sitting rooms, more a parlor than the formal presence- chamber Danvan had favored. A fire and a bank of beeswax candles filled the room with comforting light. A meal had been laid out on a table before the hearth. Candlelight gleamed on silver utensils, the curve of a glazed pottery bowl, the glass vase holding a cluster of dawn lilies.
A man perched on the end of the armchair as if he expected to be hauled off and punished for sitting there. A stout cane lay on the carpet beside him. Backlit by the fire, Regis saw him in silhouette, the thin, hunched shoulders, the wisps of downy hair.
“Vai dom!”The man struggled to push himself to his feet.
“Good uncle, do not rise,” Regis said, going to him. “Please, be at your ease. I am sorry, but although your face is familiar to me, I cannot recall when we have met.”
“My lord Regis,” Danilo said, “allow me to present Caradoc from Castle Hastur. You would have known him when you were a lad.”
“You served my grandfather, then,” Regis said, taking the nearest chair.
“That I did, young master, for many a long year.”
Regis glanced quizzically at Danilo.
Danilo bent over the old man. “Tell Lord Hastur what you told me . . . about the secret the old lord entrusted to you.”
“Ah, that.” The rheumy eyes brightened. “I swore I’d never tell, as my lord bade me. But you’re the new Lord Hastur, so that’s all right. You see, a long time ago, it must be forty year now, I were much younger. In the dead of night, he summons me, the Old Hastur Lord, he does. He gives into my charge a boy child, no more than three winters old.”
Astonishment swept away the last dregs of fatigue. “Rinaldo?”
“Don’t recall that were his name. Valenton? Valentine? Summat like that. Anyways, he bids me, the old lord does, to take the child to Nevarsin and give him to the monks. Now, what was I to think? What kind of life is that for a Comyn, to be reared by cristoforosin the City of Snows? But I dares not say anything. I takes the child, and a fine healthy boy he is, too, and I gives him to the brothers there. And nary a word have
I spoke of it these many years,” Caradoc concluded with a look of satisfaction.
“You have kept your word, like a true and loyal man,” Regis murmured. “Did my grandfather give any reason for the secrecy?”
The old servant shook his head. “Oh, I’ve had thoughts aplenty, but who am I to ask questions? I serve—served—my good lord. And he never saw fit to confide in the likes of me.”
Danilo went to the side cupboard and took out a purse that clinked softly. “The coridomwill see you’re given supper and a soft bed, and here’s for your trouble.”
“No trouble at all, vai domyn,” the old man replied, bobbing bows as he tucked away the purse. Deftly maneuvering his cane, he made his way to the door. “No trouble at all.”
The latch clicked shut behind him. For a long moment, Regis stared at the fire, hardly seeing it, hardly daring to believe what he had just heard. When he looked up, Danilo returned his glance, unsmiling.
“Nevarsin?”
BOOK II: Rinaldo
10
As the customary period of mourning for a man of Danvan Hastur’s rank came to an end, spring settled over Thendara. Rain fell most evenings and occasionally snow, but the air softened a little more each day. Flowers brightened gardens throughout the city. Girls went about with blossoms tucked in their hair, and singers and street performers appeared in every market place. The courtyards of Comyn Castle sprouted arbors of fragrant twining rosalys and sweet-mint.
With the end of winter, the passes through the mountains opened, permitting messengers to travel to and from Nevarsin. Regis received an answer to his inquiry from the Father Master of the monastery. He had to read it several times to fully comprehend its content.
The letter confirmed that one of the brothers of St.-Valentine’s-of-the-Snows was indeed named Rinaldo, the unacknowledged son of Rafael Hastur and Rebekah Lanart, placed there as a young child about forty years ago at the command of Danvan Hastur himself.
As soon as a suitable escort could be arranged, Regis and Danilo set out for Nevarsin. Regis dispensed with the banner bearers, taking only a few Guards, men trained and selected by Gabriel for their discretion.
Danilo frowned as the Castle grooms led out Melisande, the Armida-bred mare that Kennard Alton, Lew’s father, had given to Regis many years ago. White frosted the mare’s muzzle, and her coat, once solid black, was now the color of pewter. She pricked up her ears as she recognized Regis.
“Are you sure it’s wise to take so old a horse into the Hellers?” Danilo said. His own mount, a big-boned gelding, its white hide flecked with irregular brown spots, was old enough to have good trail sense and yet young enough to endure the mountain journey.
“Probably not.” Regis grinned as he checked the girth and blanket, making sure there were no wrinkles to cause saddle sores. Affectionately, he rubbed the mare’s forehead. She lipped his hand, searching for morsels of apple. “It will be the old girl’s last journey, that’s certain. But there’s no need to push our pace. We’ll go slow enough for her.”
The towers and ramparts of Thendara fell behind as they climbed into the Venza Hills. As happy as Regis was to be away from court and Castle, he could not entirely enjoy the journey. What would he find at Nevarsin, what sort of man might his brother be after so many years among the monks? His own time there had been both lonely and rewarding. A few of his teachers had been kind to the shy, awkward boy he had been, but most had been demanding, often harsh.
Danilo had endured the same discipline but to a greater degree. As heir to a great Domain, Regis had been allowed certain privileges, including better food and exemption from religious observances. But Danilo, born into the cristoforofaith, had been subject to every requirement. The monks had hammered a rigid set of moral rules into their charges.
Including the absolute condemnation of homosexuality.Regis had never asked Danilo how he reconciled the doctrines of his faith and their enduring bond. He had never understood why a faith that espoused compassion for all one’s fellows should single out and forbid one particular expression of love.
Regis sensed Danilo’s concern as their first meeting with Rinaldo drew nearer. For most of his life, Regis had lived with the knowledge that he was the last living son of Hastur. Now that situation had changed, although in what way remained to be seen.
How would Rinaldo react to his relationship with Danilo after a lifetime of being taught that sexual or romantic love between men was sinful? In public, Regis and Danilo behaved discreetly, with only that degree of intimacy proper for lord and paxman, but most of Thendaran society knew they were lovers. Sooner or later, Rinaldo would hear rumors, if such had not already reached the monastery.
Regis did not want to antagonize his brother with a premature confrontation. They should get to know one another before facing such a sensitive issue. The topic must be introduced carefully. With time and patience, Rinaldo would surely accept that not everyone followed the same stern code and that all men—even his own brother—had the right to follow their own hearts.
They left the Lowlands, climbing higher into the mountains. Snow-l aced peaks rose on either side. Inns became scarcer and fellow travelers few. There seemed to be no end to the mountains, for as soon as they scaled one pass, another line of cragged heights came into view. The air grew thinner, and the black mare stumbled with fatigue toward the end of each day.
Around midmorning, they reached the village of Nevarsin. Markets offered ice-melons, furs, and small items of carved chervineantler. Vendors did a brisk business in statues of St. Christopher bearing the World Child on his shoulders. Danilo pointed out an old woman selling leaf-cones of roasted nuts, a treat they had relished as students.
The monastery itself lay some distance beyond the village, up a narrow trail. Glacial snow covered the rocks above. Indeed, with its gray stone walls, weathered by centuries, the monastery seemed to spring from the mountain itself.
A cold, hard place for a cold, hard land,Regis thought gloomily. And not much warmer than Zandru’s hells.Yet men had found peace here, as well as useful work in service to their fellows. Who was he to judge them, based on a few tormented years as a student and an aversion to their narrow discipline?
The monk who greeted them at the gates looked overawed at the sight of so many armed men. He could not have been twenty, with a pale, homely face with a wine-colored mark over one side of his forehead.
“Come this way, vai domHastur, DomSyrtis,” he stammered in accented casta. “Father Master, he awaits you. In fact, he warned me this very morning that you soon would be arriving. He instructed me to make you comfortable and to bring word to him. If you will please for to follow me—”
“Gladly, but first I must see to my men and our horses,” Regis pointed out.
The monk ran off to one of the stark gray stone buildings, leaving them standing in the paved courtyard. Regis glanced up at the buildings, remembering that the founders of the monastery prided themselves on placing every single stone by human hands without the use of laran. Such could not be said for any Comyn dwelling.
A few moments later, the young monk returned with several older brothers, who took away the horses and directed the Guardsmen to the kitchen.
Blinking and stammering, the young monk led Regis and Danilo to the Stranger’s Room, luxurious by monastery standards but modest compared to Comyn Castle. Unlike the other rooms in the monastery, it boasted a fireplace and cushioned chairs. Wood had been laid on the andirons, with flint and tinder nearby. The monk set about lighting the fire, then asked if he could be of further service.
Regis sent him off to let the Father Master know of their arrival. Shortly thereafter, Regis and Danilo found themselves in the study of the venerable old monk. Regis was struck by the sensation that time had been suspended since he had last passed the monastery gates. Sun flooded the room, touching the battered surface of the desk and the alcove where a statue of the Bearer of Burdens stood eternal vigil. The figure looked as if it had never been dust
ed, or perhaps it was so ancient and fragile that it might fall to pieces at the slightest touch.
“Lord Regis—Lord Hastur you are now, I bid you welcome back to St. Valentine’s.” The Father Master remained in his seat and gestured for Regis to take the single cushioned visitor’s chair. Danilo remained by the door.
“It has been a long time,” Regis replied with a practiced smile. “You must also remember Danilo Syrtis, my sworn paxman.”
The Father Master inclined his head in Danilo’s direction. “No doubt, you are eager to meet with Brother Valentine. You will find him in the scriptorium.”
Thanking the old monk for his kindness, the two young Comyn took their leave. They knew the way as intimately as the path to their own chambers. As they threaded their way along the narrow corridors, the stone walls rough and unadorned, they passed a number of monks. Almost all the brothers covered their faces with their cowls; they might have been the very same ones as years ago.
If anything, the scriptorium was brighter than the Father Master’s study, for the windows were situated to take advantage of every moment of daylight. A handful of students bent over their desks. A fat, elderly monk strolled up one aisle and down the next, pausing now and again to inspect a line of text, to reposition a pen in clenched fingers, or to draw a wandering gaze back to its purpose.
Regis remembered the hours that he, too, had labored to produce a legible document. Perhaps the Terrans, with their instruments for perfect duplicates or vocal recordings, had the right idea. Why, in this age of starfaring ships and technological marvels, must young boys strain their eyes at such a task?
The thought came to him that the benefit lay not only in the creation of beautiful letters but in the mastery of discipline and concentration.
At the far end of the chamber, beside the unlit fireplace, a monk sat alone at a copying table. Light streamed from a high window, bathing his tonsured head. For an instant, he looked like a carven figure, silver and palest gilt. Unlike the students, who fidgeted at their desks and cast surreptitious glances at the two lords who had just entered, this monk gave no sign he was aware of the intrusion.
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