“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. Ineed 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 laranf
or 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 laranhad 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. “ Laranwork 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.
Weapons?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 weare 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, Terrananby their coloring and dress, enter a discreetly marked brothel. He did not like to think of his niece, or any child, in this place.
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 castacame 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.
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