Hastur Lord

  “I repeat, you do not fully comprehend what is at stake. At first, I could not understand why I had been driven from St. Valentine’s into this hotbed of licentiousness. But now, since the Lord of All Worlds has sent Lady Luminosa to guide me, I see my true calling. I am meant not merely to instruct a few boys who, like you yourself, will soon forget their good precepts. My destiny is to cleanse a city, a Domain . . . an entire planet.”

  Lord of Light! He means it!

  Danilo flinched and as quickly recovered himself. Rinaldo gave not the slightest indication he’d sensed the surge of dismay. He continued speaking about the poor, helping them through the winter, or opening the roads to pilgrimage.

  Regis peered into his brother’s earnest, open face. He is a good man, for all his early years of isolation from the world. He means to do right in the world, he just has no understanding of what that is . . .

  Rinaldo had fallen under the influence of those who were not so altruistic: first Valdir Ridenow, with his desire to see Darkover a Federation member, then Tiphani Lawton, a disturbed woman only too willing to incorporate Rinaldo’s faith into her own grandiose delusions.

  My brother needs my help more than ever before. How could he turn his back on Rinaldo, a chervine kid among wolves?

  27

  Winter ended as abruptly as it had begun, as if the sky had exhausted itself. Snow gave way to sleet. From one tenday to the next, the layers of filthy snow shrank. True to his promise, Regis met every day with Rinaldo, except on cristoforo fast days. Regis had no idea there were so many saints or occasions for suspending normal business, but he welcomed those occasions to remain with his family.

  Despite his lingering grief at being separated from Danilo, Regis found an unexpected peace in the small domestic joys of sitting quietly with Linnea, listening to Kierestelli sing or teaching her the game of Castles, or playing with baby Dani. All those years when he had resisted the pressure to marry, he had no idea what he was refusing. How could he have? He had grown up in a cold and joyless house with only his distant, demanding grandfather and a loving but overworked older sister for comfort. No wonder he had regarded the catenas as shackles.

  For all his contentment, Regis sensed a growing tension in the city. He saw it in Linnea as well, in the faint signs of restlessness, the flicker of vigilance in her eyes when she thought he was not watching. This idyllic time could not endure. All things changed. Nothing was certain but death and next winter’s snow. The milder weather would open the mountain passes . . . and summer would come, with whatever Comyn might observe the traditional gathering in Thendara.

  Something else was coming, carried on the seasonal change. The world was no longer frozen solid.

  Rinaldo proved an apt pupil; he had been a scholar at Nevarsin and had a good mind, even if he had been trained to memorize without critical understanding. At times, Regis thought his brother’s negative attitude toward the laran Gifts of their caste had softened. Regis advanced the argument that such abilities, when trained and used properly, could do much good: in healing, in communication across long distances, in mining precious minerals or manufacturing and delivering firefighting chemicals. Once or twice they discussed the possibility of opening the old, disused Comyn Tower if they could find a Keeper and enough leroni for a working circle. In the end, however, Rinaldo refused to commit to the plan.

  On the subject of relations with the Federation, Regis made greater progress. Rinaldo had all but broken off contact with Valdir Ridenow. Except for his closeness to Tiphani Lawton, Rinaldo had little interest in off-worlders and their material benefits. The Federation seemed to have enough internal difficulties without pressing the issue of Darkovan membership, but no one could predict how long that might last. Sooner or later, Darkover’s strategic importance, its location in the galactic arm, would bring it to the attention of the Expansionist Party.

  “We cannot accept the meddling of Godless outsiders,” Rinaldo stated. “Valdir is right about one thing: the Federation, with its promise of an easier life, has destroyed the moral fiber of our society. Luminosa has seen this in a vision.”

  Dan Lawton sent increasingly formal demands for the release of his wife, invoking the power of his office as Federation Legate. With all the diplomatic skill he possessed, Regis went about convincing his brother of the unwiseness of interfering between the Lawtons. He brought up the issue yet again at breakfast in the central parlor of the Hastur apartments. It was not the most cheerful of mornings, for the first edge of a storm front obscured the red sun. A damp chill pervaded the chamber. Even the warmth of the jaco, served unsweetened in monastery style, seemed fleeting. Danilo was out on some errand or another.

  “Is it not written that a husband is responsible for the keeping of his wife?” Regis asked. “How can he do that when, for all he knows, she is held here against her will?”

  “Ridiculous!” Rinaldo snorted.

  “Yes, but her husband does not know it. Nor does he know of the work she does here or the companionship she provides to Lady Hastur. He is not an unreasonable man, and he is genuinely concerned about her health. If he were able to reassure himself that she is well, he might even approve the arrangement.”

  Grudgingly, Rinaldo admitted that Dan Lawton had a legitimate reason to speak with his wife. Regis proposed to arrange a meeting at the Renunciate Guild House. The Guild House had a private room used to negotiate trade contracts, to which men might be admitted. The neutrality of the venue, along with Rinaldo’s promise that she would not be coerced into returning to the Terran Zone, should satisfy Tiphani.

  “Lady Luminosa,” Rinaldo corrected.

  “So she is called . . . here,” Regis conceded, “but her husband knows her only by her former name.”

  Servants came in to clear away the remains of the meal. In the tension of the conversation, Regis had hardly touched the buttered pastries or cold meat pie. Rinaldo made no comment; perhaps he thought Regis was practicing abstemiousness.

  Rinaldo waited until the bustle faded behind closed doors. “What you propose sounds reasonable, but I do not see the point of it. I have no intention of relinquishing Lady Luminosa, should her husband prove obdurate. It would be wrong to create any expectation that he might be allowed to take her back and subject her to—whatever it is they do there.”

  “The Terranan are not monsters,” Regis said evenly. “They have freely shared their medical and technical expertise, to our advantage. Moreover, they have laws governing their citizens, rights that cannot be taken away.”

  “I have granted her sanctuary with the inviolable Word of a Hastur.” Rinaldo’s voice shifted to a tone Regis was coming to know all too well. In this mood, Rinaldo would not be budged.

  Regis was reluctant to let the matter slide. The woman’s influence over his brother had grown since Midwinter. He saw no possibility of awakening Rinaldo to the extremeness of her pronouncements; that Rinaldo listened to anyone else was a victory in itself.

  “You must honor your word,” Regis said. “At the same time, it is unkind to leave Dan Lawton in ignorance about his wife’s well-being.”

  If Linnea were separated from him for this long without so much as a word, Regis would tear apart the Castle walls with his bare hands to find her. Or want to, at any rate.

  Perhaps recalling the teachings of St. Christopher, Rinaldo considered the point. Regis offered to take word to the Legate himself, saying, “He trusts my integrity. If I explain the situation, I believe that will put his worries to rest.”

  “That is a compassionate thing to do.” Rinaldo wrote out a safe-passage request to allow Regis to enter the Terran Zone.

  Since the day was young, Regis rode the dun gelding directly to Terran Headquarters. A wind had sprung up, damp and ice- edged, slicing through his cloak. He wondered if the fairer weather of the past tenday had been a deceit, winter’s mockery, and that true spring would be a long time arriving. At least Linnea and the children were warm and secure. He thought of Mikhail, sti
ll at Ardais and well out of Thendaran politics. And Danilo . . .

  Here I am, he chided himself, a mother barnfowl making sure all my chicks are safe!

  Outside the Terran Zone, Regis paid a street sweeper to look after the horse. He passed the checkpoint without incident. One of the Spaceforce guards escorted him to the Headquarters building. In the man’s friendly manner Regis read a hope that tensions between Federation and Castle might be thawing. Regis did not disabuse him of the notion.

  Headquarters had not changed, not the glass and gleaming steel or the men and women in form-fitting uniforms, or the faint reek of ozone and machine oil; it might have been yesterday that Regis had last walked here with Danilo beside him.

  As soon as Regis presented himself to the Legate’s office, he was ushered into the inner chamber.

  Valdir Ridenow was sitting in one of the two chairs informally placed around a low table.

  Dan Lawton stood to greet Regis. Valdir rose as well, an unreadable expression on his face. “Lord Regis, how very good of you to call.”

  “Mestre Lawton,” Regis said formally, then inclined his head to the Ridenow lord. “Lord Valdir.”

  “Lord Regis. Legate Lawton, I believe this concludes our business.” With a slight bow, Valdir took his leave.

  Once the door was safely shut, and Regis and Dan had seated themselves, Dan leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees.

  “My god, Regis, what’s been going on? One day, Darkover is ready to petition for full Federation membership, and the next, it looks as though we’ll be formally evicted!”

  “I believe that my brother, as Lord Hastur, has not yet settled on a course of action,” Regis replied. “Before we say anything more on that subject, may I ask what Dom Valdir wanted? Please tell me it was not to petition for separate Federation membership on behalf of his Domain.”

  “I doubt the Federation would accept the application even if he did. I can tell you this, for it is public knowledge. Dom Valdir and his cousin Haldred have applied for Federation citizenship. He came here today to ask me to expedite the processing, and there is no reason I should not do so. Is there?”

  Regis shook his head to cover his surprise. Had the Ridenow given up the cause of Darkovan membership, seeking instead the rights and protections of the Federation? What would come next—exile to the stars, as Lerrys Ridenow had chosen?

  “I didn’t come here to investigate Valdir Ridenow,” Regis admitted. “I’m acting as my brother’s agent. I think he’s tired of getting complaints from you.”

  “I’ve run out of polite ways to say, Return my wife or else. What does he think he’s doing, holding a Federation citizen? If he wanted to convince the Senate that Darkover is a barbaric planet that must be pacified for the safety of the entire galaxy, he’s made a good start.”

  “I don’t think that’s what he has in mind. He’s not holding Tiphani against her will.”

  “He’s standing in the way of her getting proper medical care, that’s what he’s doing!” Dan shoved himself to his feet and began pacing.

  “You should have heard the way she was going on before she made a break for it! I knew she’d been exposed to some bizarre cults on Temperance, but I never dreamed—”

  Dan reined in his outburst. “I’m sorry. It’s not fair to inflict my feelings on you, but I’ve had no one else to talk to. Oh, the medics here have diagnoses aplenty for what’s wrong with her, but no help for how it makes me feel!”

  “Helpless. Desperate. Responsible.”

  Comprehension flickered in Dan’s eyes. He lowered himself back into his seat. The color in his cheeks seeped away.

  “Regis . . . I didn’t think.”

  Regis made a dismissive gesture. “I’ve been granted leave to tell you that your wife is well—in body, at least—and content to remain where she is. My brother regards her as a valuable advisor, not to mention a companion for his wife.”

  “Then heaven help them both! Encouraging her delusions is bad enough, but to be guided by them is insanity!”

  “My brother doesn’t see it that way, but he has offered to arrange a meeting on neutral ground.” Regis detailed the proposal, adding, “I hope you can persuade your wife to accept treatment.”

  “Tiphani is an adult. I can’t force her to come back. Or to get help, unless she’s a danger to herself or someone else.”

  “Giving advice hardly constitutes a criminal assault,” Regis observed. “If she feels secure, she will be more amenable to seeing you and Felix, and that may open the door to reconciliation. How is your son, by the way?”

  “Confused. Angry. How else should he be?”

  “As are you, for good reason. But Felix, having lost his mother, now needs his father more than ever.”

  Dan lowered his head, his features hidden. Regis thought how easy it was to become mired in a problem that had no solution.

  At last, Dan said, “Thanks, I needed that reminder. I hope things work out for Tiphani and she receives the care she needs and returns to her old self. Meanwhile, I can’t set everything else aside. I have a son who needs me, as you pointed out, and work commitments.” His gaze was steady, his eyes shadowed. “And friends—”

  With a quick gesture, Regis forestalled whatever Dan was about to say. “You’re a good man and a good Legate with a deep sensitivity to Darkovan culture, but you will be of no use to either us or your Federation if you don’t remain neutral.” Regis paused to let his words sink in. “Certainly, grant individual citizenship, negotiate trade agreements and leases for the spaceport, and conduct your usual business. But leave the internal affairs of the Domains to us.”

  “Have I ever done otherwise?”

  Regis shook his head. “No, but these are unusual times. We will come through them, and Darkover will reach a new accord with the Federation. I have opinions as to what that relationship should be, as do others. Until then, let us work out our own concerns without any appearance of taking sides.”

  “As much as I can, I will.” Dan paused, his brow furrowed. “Except that . . . you know I tried to delay formal recognition of your brother as Head of Hastur.”

  “Your technicians took a tissue sample from me for comparison. I appreciate your efforts, Dan. It was a difficult, confusing time. But what you did was hardly interfering with our domestic affairs. You were within your mandate to establish his identity.”

  Dan shook his head. “It’s not that. When we did a genetic analysis of your brother, we mapped all his chromosomes . . .”

  Regis still couldn’t figure out what his friend was getting at. Then he realized, all his chromosomes included those that determined gender. “I know Rinaldo is emmasca. He has never kept it secret. The condition may cause other anomalies as well . . . Are you saying he isn’t human?”

  “I am saying there is no way he could have fathered the child his wife is carrying. It’s biologically impossible. He is genetically sterile.”

  “Then who—”

  Did that innocent-seeming child have a lover? Counting backward from Midsummer, she could not have been pregnant when she married Rinaldo. The implications of a son with no Hastur blood succeeding to the Domain were staggering.

  It would break Rinaldo’s heart to discover the betrayal.

  Dan lifted his hands in a gesture of surrender. “I have no idea, nor will I offer any advice as to what action, if any, you should take.”

  “I hardly know what is necessary . . . or prudent.”

  “Was I wrong to tell you?”

  Regis shook his head. “The information is safe with me. I must ask you not to tell anyone else.”

  “Only the doctor who performed the analysis knows. I will speak to her and have the records sealed.”

  After a few parting comments, the two men wished each other well, and Regis took his leave.

  “Tell Tiphani we miss her and hope to see her . . . when it becomes possible.”

  After the artificial illumination of Headquarters, daylight seemed b
lessedly muted. Regis strode briskly past the Terran Zone perimeter, his mind still spinning. The air tasted of stone and metal. As he passed the checkpoint, the guard waved, a brief lift of one hand, and then returned to his work.

  Regis reclaimed his horse with an additional tip to the street sweeper. Before he could mount up, however, Regis sensed he was not alone. He stilled himself, reins gathered in his left hand. His right hand slipped beneath his cloak to the dagger at his belt.

  Air stirred behind his left shoulder. Regis heard a faint scuff of boot leather on stone . . .

  The dagger slipped free. Regis turned, shifting his shoulder to swing the cloak out of the way—

  And faced Valdir Ridenow, an arm’s-length away.

  Valdir froze, hands well away from his body. “Lord Regis, we have lived through perilous times, you and I, but do you really think I would assassinate you in the middle of a street?”

  “I do not know what you are capable of.” Regis slipped the weapon back into its sheath, but kept his fingers curled around the hilt. “Have you something to say to me? A farewell before you take ship for the stars?”

  Valdir flushed. “I have no intention of abandoning my caste or my world. Federation citizenship is available to all as our right. It was a precaution only.”

  “I truly do not care whether you are a citizen of the Federation or the Fourteenth Planet of Bibbledygook.” It might be better for Darkover if Valdir did go far away. “What do you want?”

  “A word.”

  “Only one? Why would I grant you that much?” An evil mood had infected Regis. Seeing the other man’s face, taut and proud, he relented.

  “Very well. I am listening.”

  “It’s too early for ale, and this street is far too public,” Valdir said. “I know a place in the Trade City where we can get a back room.”

  “Please don’t insult my intelligence.” Although Regis could hold his own in a fair fight, old habits still held. He was not fool enough to go anywhere private with a man who had shown himself to be unscrupulous or to allow Valdir any closer than arm’s-length. Danilo would have a fit if Regis gave such a scoundrel the chance to slip a blade between his ribs.