The link was weakening, the images falling away with every passing second. He had run out of time.
Rinaldo! Regis made one last desperate cry, throwing all his waning power behind it.
Light flashed, blue and white, and then he caught a glimpse of his half-brother’s startled face. Behind Rinaldo, he spotted not the dimly lit room, but a place bright with off-world yellow light, the corner of a luxurious tapestry of Shainsa weaving. Another man moved in the shadows.
A cry of alarm—“What is it? Dom Rinaldo—”
Valdir Ridenow! It had to be his voice.
The connection vanished.
Then Regis was spinning, tumbling into a maelstrom of sickening darkness that clawed at his mind . . . dim sparks from Zandru’s own Forge . . . demonic chattering filling his skull—
“Regis. Enough.” Words rang through his mind, haloed in starstone-blue fire. “Open your eyes. Now.”
Without his conscious intent, Regis felt his lids jerk open. Orange firelight swept away the last images.
His fingers clenched his starstone so tightly that the hard edges of the crystal dug into his flesh. Linnea took his joined hands in hers. Her skin felt warm and unexpectedly soft. Firelight turned her eyes to amber.
“I’m all right,” he mumbled.
She released him. Without needing to ask, Regis knew she had seen and felt everything he had.
“Valdir.” The name came rumbling up through his throat like the growl of a wolf. “Valdir Ridenow has taken them. By Aldones and Zandru, by the Dark Lady Avarra, if he has harmed any of them, I will have his blood!”
It took the combined efforts of Linnea, Javanne, and Gabriel, returning with the news that Danilo had been seen near The Starry Plough, to convince Regis not to go storming off to confront Valdir immediately. Linnea pointed out that he could as well send a company of Guardsmen to summon Valdir to him, while another group searched and secured the Ridenow quarters.
When Regis left Linnea, she had lain down in her bedchamber with Kierestelli wrapped in her arms. The delicate skin around her eyes and mouth had taken on an unhealthy tinge of gray. She had smiled a little as Regis bade her good night.
She should not have exposed herself to such stress. Not when she is carrying our child! But if she had not, he would be no closer to rescuing Danilo or the other captives. Moreover, it had been her decision, based on her judgment as a Keeper.
After a few hours’ fitful sleep, Regis forced down a meager breakfast and allowed himself to be dressed as befitted a Lord of Hastur. Gabriel waited with Regis in Danvan Hastur’s old presence- chamber, while the Guardsmen tramped across the wealthy district to the Ridenow mansion.
Time took on a bizarre, elastic quality, passing both too quickly and with agonizing slowness. Regis could not recall having been this anxious since—since Danilo had been seized by the Aldarans for their ill-fated Sharra circle. They had been newly pledged to one another, and Regis had had little confidence in his own abilities. All he had known at the time was that he must do whatever it took to find Danilo. Now . . . now there was more at stake than just Danilo’s freedom. He must think of Mikhail as well, and the future of Darkover, and his brother.
Rinaldo was an innocent, a sheltered monk. What a rude awakening to the dangers of the world, to be taken prisoner! Regis would not be surprised if, once this mess was resolved, Rinaldo retreated back to the security of Nevarsin.
Rinaldo . . . Rinaldo, who had no laran and yet had responded with surprise to that last desperate mental outreach. Linnea had suggested the possibility that the combined psychic strength of a trained Keeper and a Hastur might well have broken through to the thoughts of even a nontelepath.
Rinaldo . . . and the voice in the background. If Rinaldo had suddenly heard a voice in his head—his own brother’s voice—would he have realized Regis was searching for him? More importantly, would his reaction have revealed that contact to another person, to the other man? To Valdir?
Regis could not have wished for a better man to wait with him than Gabriel. Whether from natural reserve or a lifetime of discretion as a Guards officer, Gabriel kept his own worries to himself. From time to time, a messenger would appear at the door, and Gabriel would step outside to receive the news.
Nothing . . . no trace at The Starry Plough . . . no witnesses . . .
Leaving the door open, Gabriel returned to Regis. Gabriel’s expression was as unreadable as ever, but Regis sensed something new.
“Vai dom, my men have just returned from the Ridenow mansion,” Gabriel said. “They searched the entire house twice, as well as the surrounding garden and outbuildings. Neither Danilo nor my—nor Mikhail, nor your brother were to be found. The only person there, aside from a few servants, was Dom Haldred Ridenow. They have brought him. He did not seem in the least reluctant. In fact, he has demanded an audience with you.” Gabriel spat out the word as if it were a serpent.
Haldred Ridenow was the man in Danilo’s vision. Haldred had sprung the trap that snared him. What did he want, or did he come on behalf of someone else? Did he speak for his kinsman, Valdir?
What will Valdir demand in exchange for the hostages?
“I had better see him without delay.” Years of training slipped into place. Regis squared his shoulders, sitting tall in his grandfather’s chair. The muscles of his face hardened; he imagined Danvan whispering in his mind, pouring resolve into his veins.
At Gabriel’s command, the Guardsmen escorted their prisoner into the presence-chamber. Haldred’s wrists had been bound, but he was unharmed. He seemed to be in no great discomfort as he came to a halt before Regis.
Regis had met Haldred at the ball held in Rinaldo’s honor, and on a few other social occasions. Haldred was a minor Ridenow cousin from a collateral branch, not likely ever to be in line for rulership but deriving his importance and most likely his wealth from the patronage of Valdir.
Haldred’s fair hair betrayed his Dry Towns ancestry. Regis sensed only a trace of the Ridenow empathic Gift, enough to make Haldred a good horseman or hawkmaster but not enough to sensitize him to the emotions of other men. Or, Regis thought darkly, perhaps his talent allowed him to glimpse the pain and fear of his fellows, and he enjoyed it.
“Z’par servu.” Haldred bowed only as low as custom required, when in the presence of a fellow Comyn of higher rank.
“You requested an audience, and I have granted it. What do you have to say to me?”
“On my own behalf, nothing, vai dom. I carry a message. A private message.”
“From Valdir Ridenow, your master.” Regis did not bother turning the statement into a question.
Haldred inclined his head and raised his bound wrists, as if indicating that, as a mere courier, he merited respectful treatment. Dangerously close to losing his temper, Regis satisfied himself with ignoring the hint.
“By all means, fulfill your commission.” Regis indicated with a jerk of his chin that the Guardsmen were to withdraw. Gabriel provided more than enough protection against one bound man. The door closed behind the Guardsmen with a click.
The Ridenow lordling cleared his throat. “Dom Valdir Ridenow, speaking on behalf of the entire Comyn, desires me to say that for the good of Darkover, your high-handed tyranny must cease. He declares that you are no longer the legitimate Lord of Hastur and have no right, either legal or by prestige, to influence the affairs of the other Domains.”
Gabriel remained standing, outwardly imperturbable, but Regis could feel his outrage simmering just beneath the surface. Keeping his voice mild, Regis said, “That is a very improbable viewpoint. Exactly why should Dom Valdir’s delusions concern me?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” Irritation tempered with fear edged Haldred’s voice. “You are to renounce your position in favor of the true and lawful Hastur Lord.”
“And that is . . .” Even as the words escaped his lips, Regis saw the thrust of Valdir’s attack, as surely as if it had been a precisely aimed dagger.
“As th
e elder and now legitimate son, Dom Rinaldo Hastur is the rightful Heir to the Hastur Domain.” Haldred made no effort to suppress a smirk. “The Ridenow have vowed to uphold his right by force of arms. However, in the interest of the common welfare, we trust it will not be necessary. The last thing we wish is to plunge Darkover into civil war, one Domain against the other.”
“That sounds like a threat to me,” Gabriel said in the moment of stunned silence.
“Why would I accede to such a preposterous demand?” Regis said, although he already knew the answer. “What does my brother say to this?”
“My lord reminds you that your paxman and your heir are in his custody. If you resist, they will suffer for it. As for the new Lord Hastur, he has given his full consent.”
The matter-of-fact manner in which Haldred spoke chilled Regis worse than any number of boastful threats. These truly were not Haldred’s words but those of his master.
“Valdir Ridenow is a fool.”
Regis knew in his heart that he had been a bigger one. How many times had he longed to set aside his rank and position, to live a simple life, to follow his private dreams? Had he not secretly hoped Rinaldo might be the one to ease his burden? Was that not his subconscious motive in pressing for his brother’s legitimate status? But now . . . he could not allow the lordship of Hastur to be wrested from him and given to Rinaldo. Unpracticed in the ways of the world, Rinaldo would be a puppet in Ridenow hands.
Regis harbored no illusions about the intentions of Valdir Ridenow and his allies. They wanted full Federation membership, with everything that implied.
Angrily Regis said, “There is another way to solve this problem, and that is to have the location of the hostages wrenched from your mind. Unfortunately, the only known possessor of the Alton Gift is off-world at the moment, but I am more than happy to try the powers of the Hastur Gift.”
Haldred paled. “M-m-my lord—vai dom! I beg you to reconsider. I cannot reveal what I do not know. I will swear by Aldones or St. Christopher or Nebran the toad god of Shainsa that I do not know where they are!”
Valdir Ridenow might be a fool, but he was too wily to entrust such a secret to anyone who might be put to the question. In truth, Regis would slit his own throat before he forced his mind upon another, but Valdir did not know that.
Regis sat very straight, resisting the impulse to cover his face with his hands. In despair, in shame.
This is my fault, my responsibility. I should be the one to suffer for it, not Rinaldo, not Mikhail. Not—oh gods, not Danilo. But he would be seven-times damned to each of Zandru’s frozen Hells before he would give this arrogant pup the satisfaction of seeing him grovel.
Regis allowed the memory of his grandfather’s arrogance and unbending resolve to flow through him. “I will meet with Dom Valdir to discuss his proposal.”
“But—” Haldred had clearly expected a capitulation. “But I have already told you the terms—”
Regis glared at him. Haldred lowered his eyes and stammered that he would arrange an interview at the earliest convenience of the vai domyn. Only when Haldred had bowed himself out and the room fell silent did Regis allow himself to breathe again.
17
The meeting with Valdir Ridenow took place a few hours later. In the interim, Regis and Linnea tried a number of times to establish laran contact with the prisoners, without success. Linnea was still exhausted from her previous efforts and dared not do too much. In her opinion, their minds were shielded by a telepathic damper.
Regis had more to worry about than two individuals, regardless of how precious they were to him. If Valdir ended up in power through a naive and malleable Rinaldo, the Ridenow lord would surely move for Federation membership. Regis did not know how he might prevent it, once set in motion. He was having difficulty focusing his thoughts on anything beyond the moment. His mind filled with dire imaginings. No matter how often he told himself that Danilo and Mikhail were of no value to Valdir dead, his heart would not believe the hollow reassurances of his head.
Ordinarily, Danilo would have taken care of the details, arranged the meeting place and ensured its security. Regis wondered how he had managed when Danilo had served as Warden of Ardais. In the end, ironically, the Ardais quarters of the Castle proved to be the best, mutually acceptable location. Lady Marilla, acting most likely at the behest of her son, who was in a frenzy of worry about his friend, offered the largest of their chambers. She pointed out, quite rightly, that it lent itself to privacy and was as difficult to infiltrate as any place in the Castle.
Regis found clothing laid out for him by his body- servant: a suit of discreet elegance, pants and jacket and short indoor cloak of suede in muted blue over a shirt of ivory spidersilk. Regis sighed; he could not remember having worn this ensemble, and yet it so perfectly fit the occasion. Danilo would have approved. Yet, Regis admitted as he began dressing, all was not mere decoration. He could move—and fight, if need be—in these clothes. The boots, a subtly darker shade of blue and cut lower than was fashionable, were comfortable, the sword in its bejeweled sheath of good steel and well balanced. He had wielded far worse in his cadet days. The edge, he noticed, was sharp.
Gabriel came with him as advisor and kinsman, plus four Guardsmen, veterans all. The walk took them through a maze of corridors, over Javanne’s leaf-patterned carpets, under arched doorways studded with pale blue stone that made it seem they passed through the heart of an immense starstone before plunging back into torchlight-studded gloom.
Regis bent toward Gabriel to speak privately. “If this meeting goes badly, I will need your help. We may not have another chance to speak.”
Gabriel nodded. The Guardsmen gave no sign they had overheard.
Even if Regis achieved his goal of getting both Danilo and Mikhail released, he could not allow Valdir to continue with his schemes. He did not know how closely he would be watched, whether or not he would be able to come and go as he wished. Valdir was no innocent in the ways of Comyn politics. He would not leave a deposed Hastur Lord free to plot his way back into power. The Word of a Hastur might be as unbreakable as the Wall Around the World, but oaths could be phrased to a legal nicety.
“I don’t want you tainted by association with me,” Regis cautioned Gabriel, “at least, no more than you already are. It won’t help either of us if Valdir finds another Commander of the Guards.”
“That may be inevitable, but I know which officers can be trusted and which will think only of their own advantage.”
Regis understood that Gabriel included his escort among the loyal. “It would be good to establish a meeting place outside the Castle.”
“It is already done, and passwords put into place. As the Dry-Towners are fond of saying, Trust in Nebran, but tie up your oudrakhi.”
“Can you get a message to Dan Lawton? I don’t know how fast Valdir will move on Federation membership, but Lawton must find an excuse to delay action. I need time to straighten things out.”
Gabriel gave Regis a darkly appraising look, one that said, If anyone can sort out this mess, it’s you. “I’ll do what I can.”
The party paused at the Ardais entrance. Gabriel and the most senior of the Guardsmen went inside, verifying the safety of the premises. The last time Regis had entered this room, it had belonged to Dyan Ardais. In his time, Dyan had been and done many things, not all of them honorable.
Gabriel reported that all was as it should be and that Dom Valdir and Rinaldo were waiting. He stepped back for Regis to enter. At first glance, the two men inside appeared dressed for a funeral. Valdir wore a suit of green velvet so dark it looked black and a gold chain around his neck. Rinaldo was dressed in a simple belted robe reminiscent of his monkish habit.
The room was comfortably furnished, used more as a living and entertaining space than the more formal presence-chamber in Dyan’s day. Regis recognized a few pieces of furniture from those times. Dyan’s taste had been heavily masculine, leaning to heavy wood glossy with polish. The ne
wer pieces reflected a woman’s more delicate hand.
Valdir sat on a brocaded divan, Rinaldo on a more modest straight-backed chair. Two men in Ridenow green and orange leathers stood along the far wall.
Dyan’s favorite chair, which must have dated as far back as old Gabriel-Dyan Ardais, was unoccupied. Gesturing for his escort to assume their positions, Regis strode to the center of the room and paused for Valdir and Rinaldo to rise.
After a moment of uncertainty, they did so. Tradition and protocol demanded it. Valdir had grown up in a world that respected the Hastur Domain above all others, and as for Rinaldo, he might well become the next Lord Hastur, but he did not possess that prestige yet.
Regis held the tableau for a moment longer than necessary, enough to see the faint tension in Valdir’s jaw muscles. He lowered himself into Dyan’s chair and gestured for them to sit.
“Now that we are all here together,” Regis said, “I would hear what you have to say to me from your own mouth.”
Let’s not play games, Valdir’s expression said. He had more self-control than Regis had given him credit for.
“Dom Regis, I speak not only for the Domain of Ridenow but for the people of Darkover. If I had my way, the Comyn would be as truly equal as we once were. Unfortunately, the common people require a ruler.”
Valdir paused, perhaps awaiting a response. Regis did not give him that satisfaction. Valdir gave a little shrug. “Since the people cling to their adulation of the Hasturs, they shall have one—but one who looks to the future.” He leaned forward, his face tightening. “Not one who would have Darkover remain frozen in time, while the rest of the inhabited worlds move forward.”
Rinaldo had been sitting motionless, hands folded on his knees in the manner of a monk. Regis imagined a flicker of discomfort in his expression. Perhaps his brother did not agree with Valdir’s argument.
“It was a mistake to reject the benefits of Federation membership,” Valdir declared, “just as it was a mistake to abandon the Comyn Council and give so much power to that flock of squabbling barnfowl you call the Telepath Council.”