knew the woman. And Herm did not completely trust her. Then she knew that the
offer was genuine, that her sister-in-law understood how much she wanted to join
Herm and was only being generous. "Yes, if you take the children, Giz, I will
let them go. They like you, and they like your youngsters. Thank you-it is a
kind thing to do." Then she frowned.
"What is it, Kate?"
"Herm told me, before he ran off like a thief in the night, that we were going
to have to take Ter‚se to this Arilinn for some sort of test." She bit her lip.
"I don't want anything like that to happen when I am not around-I will not have
my daughter frightened!"
"I can promise you, Katherine, that nothing will happen to Ter‚se, and that she
will not be tested in your absence." Marguerida thought for a moment. "She is a
little young, and has not shown any sign of threshold sickness yet, so there is
no need for it."
"I am going to hold you to that, Marguerida." Kate could hardly contain her
sudden anxiety for her child. But she knew Marguerida to be a woman of her word,
and she felt herself begin to calm.
"Now that everything is all settled, let's order up a proper breakfast. I'll
help you dress for the rite, Kate. Doing your hair will probably improve my mood
a bit. I wonder if anyone would mind if I wore a heavy veil, or perhaps a sack
over my head?"
Marguerida sputtered over a gulp of tea. When she had regained her breath, she
said, "Do Kate's hair?" She looked from one woman to the other, as if something
had occurred between them which had escaped her notice, and she could not quite
discern what it was. "I have never seen you so . . . helpful, cousin. It becomes
you."
"I'd tell you I was reformed, but you wouldn't believe me, would you?"
"After what I witnessed yesterday, Giz, I would believe almost anything."
"Marguerida, what did happen in the Council meeting?" Kate asked.
"Aside from the damper matrices being shattered to pieces, and Regis Hastur
manifesting out of the beyond and scolding everyone?" Marguerida sighed. "And
Javanne disowning Mik, and Francisco Ridenow suggesting that Regis' death was
suspicious? Other than that, it was a useful meeting. Don't look at me as if I
have lost my mind-just give me a glass of wine. Tea is all very well, but not
what I need just now. My bones ache with weariness."
"Regis . . . appeared?" Gisela looked startled.
"Didn't Rafael tell you?"
"No, because I haven't seen him since yesterday!"
"Oh, yes, I had forgotten. Mikhail sent him to Rafe Scott, and the two of them
are trying to discover if the Sons of Darkover are a real threat to the Comyn."
"The who?" The name clearly meant nothing to Gisela, and she studied Marguerida
keenly, her green eyes flashing in the light from the fire. "Kate, give her some
wine right this minute! Now, Marguerida, begin at the beginning and tell us
everything. Just pretend it is one of those tales you are always writing."
Kate poured another goblet of wine and handed it to Marguerida. Then she sat
down, curved her hands around her still warm tea, and listened to the story. She
felt suspended in time, as if she had nothing more important to do than sit and
hear the tale. And when Marguerida stopped speaking perhaps twenty minutes
later, she was not sure she believed half of what she had just heard.
The three women sat companionably in silence for several minutes, and then
Gisela stirred in her chair. "Well, now at least I understand what put Father in
such a rage. And why Lady Javanne looked so haggard when I passed her in the
corridor."
Kate was struck by the oddness of the situation, to be sitting in her bedclothes
with two women she had not known a week before, drinking tea and speaking of
plots and ghosts, as if they were the most ordinary things instead of impossible
ones. Or were they? She thought that Marguerida and Gisela were intelligent
women and certainly not crazy ones. Maybe these events were not remarkable on
Darkover. Some of the tales she had heard about the ghost groves on Renney would
probably strike them as very odd indeed. Katherine decided she would accept the
story, for the present.
"Kate, I am going to go tell the maid to pack some things for your children, and
get them dressed for the funeral. They will likely be so bored with it that they
will regard a carriage ride to Arilinn as an adventure." Gisela paused and
smiled at Katherine. "Don't worry, breda. Just go and find Hermes and mend your
fences with him, and leave the rest to me."
Katherine nodded in agreement. She knew she could stay in Comyn Castle, or go
with the children herself, but neither of those choices would keep her from
worrying about her husband. She had not really understood, until now, how
absolutely vital he was to her, and if he were killed in what seemed to her to
be an insane venture against the Federation, she would rather perish with him
than live another forty or fifty years without him. She did not want to think
about this possibility, but she had to. And, if the worst occurred, she was
certain that Gisela would see that her children were cared for.
The enormous courtyard on the north side of Comyn Castle had not seen a
gathering of the populace since Mikhail had been proclaimed the heir designate.
Domenic's elevation to that status had been a much smaller event, almost
private, due to Regis's fears, and had taken place within the castle itself, not
in this public space.
Mikhail stood on the wide steps which rose from one end of the plaza, with his
back to the high walls of castle, and looked out toward the crowd which had been
gathering quietly up the length of the plaza for over an hour now. The lords and
ladies of the Domains and the families of the gentry who had managed to come to
Thendara were ranged on either side of him, and he could sense his nephew just
behind his left shoulder, watchful even in his near-exhaustion. He felt safe
under Donal's eyes, and grateful for such a devoted paxman.
Regis Hastur's body lay on a bier at the foot of the stairs, covered with a
swath of fabric in the blue and silver of his house. There was no sign of
deterioration on the corpse, for it had been placed in a stasis chamber
immediately after death, and he looked as if he were sleeping. The white hair
was slack around the quiet face, and the expression on it was calm and serene.
There were guards on either side of him, and more stood along the path from the
far end of the courtyard, keeping the crowd in order.
The people of Thendara, merchants and tradesmen, guild masters and their
journeymen, women and children, moved along toward it. When they reached the
body, they paused to express their grief and respect. For many of them, it was
their first view of Regis Hastur in many years, and for the younger citizens,
the only time they had seen him in their lives. He had been a stranger to those
he governed during the end of his life, but that did not appear to have lessened
the deep affection in which he was held, if the sad faces and tears were any
indication.
Except for the wind fluttering in the awni
ngs which had been hung from the wall,
to afford some shelter in case of rain, there was little sound but the dirge
from the pipes, the beat of the drums, the shuffle of feet, and the occasional
cough. After they had looked at the body of their dead ruler, the people removed
themselves to the other end of the plaza, crowding together and waiting
patiently. Mikhail realized that these were his people now, his to govern and
guide, and he felt very humble to receive their trust. He could only hope he
would deserve it.
Mikhail was exhausted, and his feet ached, but he stood in his place, refusing
to indulge himself by releasing his own sorrow. He felt he must not let go. Not
yet, and not publically. He watched a woman bend over the body, and place a
single white flower on it, adding to the collection of such offerings. He did
not know who she was, although her clothing suggested she was from the
mercantile class, but her sorrow was genuine, and it moved him, so he had to
strain to continue keeping his face immobile.
Beside him, Javanne Hastur stood with clenched hands, clearly containing herself
with enormous difficulty. No matter what their disagreements, he knew his mother
had loved her younger brother deeply, and that his passing was a great blow to
her. Then, without warning, he heard her begin to sob, and without thinking,
Mikhail reached out and put an arm around her. To his surprise, she did not
stiffen and pull away, but instead leaned most of her weight against him,
turning her face into his shoulder. He shifted his feet to keep from falling
backward and held her tightly, as he had not done since he was a very young man.
Javanne's hand clung to the laces of his dark tunic, and he felt her shudder
with anguish. In his own weariness, her emotions flooded into him, and Mikhail
felt his eyes moisten. Tears began to cascade down his cheeks, slipping down and
falling into her hair. "It is my fault," she whispered.
"No, Mother. It is no one's fault."
"If I had not opposed him . . ."
"Hush! It was his time-that's all." His voice was thick with tears and grief,
and he barely believed his own words. There was no need to lay blame, but he
understood his mother's guilt, for he shared it in his own way. Even though he
now knew that wielding the Sword of Aldones had meant that Regis would be
shortening his full measure of years, he could not help wondering if fearing his
nephew had not also contributed to his uncle's untimely demise. He put his other
arm around Javanne and held her close. "We will both miss him, Mother."
After several minutes, Javanne began to gain control of her emotions. She drew
herself apart gently, brushing her cheeks with her fingers. She stood away from
him and stared down at the continuing procession. Then she reached out and put
her hand into his ungloved one, lacing her fingers into his and holding tight.
Mikhail returned her grasp carefully, not wishing to hurt her aging hand with
his grip, and felt a moment of pure joy in the midst of his sorrow. After all
that had been said the day before, he treasured the small gesture of her touch
on his hand, of her turning to him in her grief.
Dani Hastur was standing nearby with his wife, his mother, and his son Gareth.
Miralys and Dani were both in tears, but their child just stared blankly into
the distance, as if completely unaware of what was happening. Mikhail could not
help thinking about the previous day, and the way Gareth had behaved. Had he
really stolen Dani's rightful place? Mikhail did not think he had, but he could
see how a youngster would believe that. With a sickening certainty, he knew they
had not heard the last of it either. And, covertly studying Gareth's emotionless
expression, he was very happy that Domenic was not there.
The line of mourners still stretched to the end of the courtyard, and it would
be some time before the final ceremony took place. It felt like it had been
hours already.
He tore his eyes away, since the steady movement of people was starting to make
him feel sleepy. To try to rouse his exhausted mind a little, he studied the
members of the Comyn again. Their faces were somber, as befitted the occasion.
No one would have guessed from their expressions how divided they had been a day
before. They appeared to him to be like actors in some play, not the people he
had known for years. Lady Marilla Aillard was standing beside her son, Dyan
Ardais, her usually placid face troubled. For a moment he wondered what was
bothering her. Then she shifted her stance and grimaced, and he realized that
she was just as tired as he was, and that her bones were aching. Standing on
cold stones in a chilly midday was a trial for her, as it must be for everyone.
Time slowed for him now, and the sound of the pipes was like the wailing of a
hundred storms, sad and desolate. Mikhail lost himself in the dirge, forgot for
a span everything except his sense of loss. He did not even think of the perils
that might await them on the morrow, although he was aware that it remained in
the back of his mind.
He came back to himself with a start, still holding Javanne's hand in his, and
realized that the pipes had at last ceased. There was a stillness in the
courtyard, a sense of waiting. The space around the body of Regis Hastur was
vacant except for the Guards who stood at each corner of the bier, and the
parade of mourners was a sea of faces at the other end of the plaza.
A chorus from the Musicians Guild began to sing, twenty men and woman giving
voice to a hymn that had not been heard in decades.
"Oh, stars that in the elder days,
In Majesty unstained did blaze
And suns that in the deeps of night
Yet burn with uncorrupted light . . . "
It was a painfully sad melody, the ancient words rising in the air and drifting
across the courtyard, wrenching him back into his grief again. Two harpers
accompanied the singers, and it seemed to him that the gentle notes from the
strings were even sadder than the pipes had been.
"Shine forth in splendor, show the way
Surpassing sight of mortal eyes,
For Hastur's Son departs this day
To seek his Father in the skies . . . "
A shiver of movement went through the crowd. Mikhail turned and saw that the
great central doors of Comyn Castle were swinging open. The two sections swung
ponderously on their hinges-they were only used for official occasions, and
until this morning, when Regis' body was borne into the courtyard, Mikhail's
proclamation as heir had been the last time they were opened. The singers
continued-
"But darkness gathers here below,
Evanda's flowers are hid by snow,
The wounded sun sinks in the sky,
In fear the scattered moons do fly-"
Mikhail shivered, hearing in the song an echo of his own fears. The verse seemed
uncannily appropriate to their situation. He wondered gloomily if the song was
an exaggeration of Darkovan fears, intended to express conventional mourning, or
whether the Hasturs had always left their heirs in such confusion.
But now white-robed figures were emerging from the dark rectangle
of the
doorway. They must be the Servants of Aldones, who had come down from the Shrine
at Hali. They had arrived during the meeting of the Council, and he had not even
had time to greet them, but at least they were there. He felt a pang of guilt at
having left Marguerida to bear so much of the burden of arranging the funeral.
He supposed he should be grateful to Gisela, who had found the ancient book
describing the ritual in the castle archives. He knew he would have hated asking
his mother if she could recall what had been done when Danvan Hastur had died.
"The banshee wails across the snows,
Kyorebni gather scenting war,
Oh, who will stand against our foes
When Hastur's son rides forth no more?"
The people lifted their voices once more in loss and longing, and Mikhail felt
his gut clench with fear. They could not know how great a danger threatened
them, but he did. Why had Regis laid this burden upon him? He was not worthy-he
could never take the place his uncle had filled so well and for so long. He
realized he was trembling, and in astonishment felt his mother squeeze his hand
reassuringly, as she had done decades ago, when he was still a child and had
come to Comyn Castle for the first time.
The five white-robed figures circled the bier, and as they did so, the Guards at
its corners bowed and stepped away. The first, and youngest, of the Servants,
carried a silver basin of water, which he sprinkled as he moved. The next, a
tall man who strode as if he had once been a warrior, carried fire in a lantern.
The third man swung a censer whose chains clashed and rattled as it circled,
sending smoke swirling into the air. The one who followed him scattered sand
from the shores of Hali. As they moved, the chorus began the next verse, picking
up their tempo, so that the tune seemed less a dirge than a battle cry.
"Camilla weeps in darkest night
But still Cassilda sings in light;
Hastur's radiance shines above
Blessing all below with love-"
The fifth of the white-clad Servants of Aldones, an old man who seemed too frail
for the weight of his robes, took his place at the head of the bier, arms lifted
so that the wide sleeves rippled in the wind. The smell of the burning herbs
began to drift across the courtyard, pungent and sharp. Mikhail's eyes stung,