Hastur Lord

  “Here? Out in the open?” Aghast, Valdir glanced to either side. The horse’s body granted little visual privacy, and every few moments, a pedestrian passed close enough to overhear them.

  “I advise you not to say anything you do not wish made public,” Regis said dryly.

  “You have no reason to trust me . . .” When Regis made no reply, Valdir went on in a rush, “Lord Regis, we’ve had our differences in the past. I never thought to say this to your face, but I—we—no, I cannot shift any part of the blame to my cousins. They only followed where I led.”

  Was Valdir trying to apologize, to admit he’d made a mistake?

  “I know you think my methods improper—” Valdir said.

  Criminal, more like.

  “—but I am not a man who shrinks from what must be done. I was right in principle, if not in my choice of an ally.”

  “My brother, you mean.”

  Valdir’s expression hardened in response.

  “You thought you could manage him,” Regis persisted, “like a puppet. But he has priorities of his own and no interest in your precious Federation. You put him in power, and now you must deal with him.”

  “He won’t listen! It’s impossible to have a serious discussion with him! He’s unstable, out of control! I don’t know what he’ll do next—no one is beyond his reach.”

  Regis straightened, the joints of his spine crackling with tension. “Why should I help you with the mess you’ve dug yourself into? Why should I do anything at all for you?”

  “I acted only as I thought best,” Valdir repeated.

  For a long moment, the two men stared at one another. Regis remembered Dyan Ardais saying very much the same thing. The man called Kadarin had doubtless thought so, too.

  “Better men than you have done terrible things for the good of Darkover . How does that lessen the harm they caused or restore the lives they destroyed?” Black rage boiled up in Regis. “You put Rinaldo where he is and made sure I had no power to oppose you. You married off your own kinswoman to him, though she was a child with no understanding of what that meant.

  “You set Haldred as my jailor,” Regis stormed on, “you cut me off from friends. You kidnapped two innocent men, one hardly more than a boy, a deed so lacking in honor that it should haunt you to your grave.

  “And you threatened to murder my paxman . . .”

  Valdir blanched.

  “So now you come whining to me that my brother has a mind of his own? I say, you can choke on it. There are more important things at stake than your petty ambition! Go home to Serrais and tend to your people, or get yourself to Vainwal like your kinsman Lerrys. Or freeze in Hell, for all I care! Just don’t expect any sympathy from me!”

  Regis swung into the saddle, leaving Valdir standing alone.

  The ride back to the townhouse settled his temper somewhat. The sky still threatened, but the storm was not yet upon him. The last portion of the trip, he found himself longing for the sunlit parlor, Linnea’s steadfast warmth, and the laughter of the children, as if these could stand as bulwarks against the cruelty of the world.

  The moment Regis entered the foyer of the townhouse, he knew something was wrong.

  “Oh, Blessed Cassilda, you’re back!” Merilys rushed through the interior door, face red, hands fluttering.

  “What’s happened?”

  “Domna Javanne—”

  The sound of incoherent sobbing came from within, carrying the unmistakable imprint of Javanne’s laran. Regis thrust his cloak into the hands of the trembling servant and hurried inside.

  The uproar led him straight to the family parlor, no longer a haven of tranquility. Javanne hunched on the divan, wailing. Linnea sat beside her, one arm around Javanne’s shoulders, speaking soothing words. Neither child was present, but surely Kierestelli must have sensed the jangled waves of grief and fury.

  Gabriel—

  Javanne looked up, saw Regis, and burst out in renewed weeping. He hesitated, feeling helpless in the face of such feminine outburst. If Linnea could not calm Javanne, then what could he do?

  But Javanne was his sister, and she had been as kind an older sibling as she could. He lowered himself to the divan on Javanne’s other side and took her hand in his. Her skin was moist from wiping away her tears.

  “Breda, you are safe with us. Let us help you.”

  Javanne’s shuddering lessened, but she could not speak, only shake her head.

  Linnea said, “She held herself together long enough to tell me that Rinaldo has dismissed Gabriel as Commander of the Guards.”

  “Why, for what cause?” Regis asked. Gabriel was one of the most capable and respected Guards officers in a generation.

  “None that Javanne knew.” Linnea’s brows drew together and her lips tightened. “Regis, how can your brother do such a thing? He does not have the authority!”

  “I’m afraid he does,” Regis said with a twinge of regret at how easily and dispassionately his grandfather’s lectures returned to him. “He is Lord Hastur and, nominally at any rate, Regent of the Comyn. The Comyn Council no longer exists, and with Lew Alton off-world, no one else has the rank to challenge him.”

  Javanne straightened up, struggling visibly to control her sobs. “He—he—”

  “The Lanarts have some claim to Alton,” Regis said thoughtfully. “Gabriel has a basis to challenge the decision, and many would stand with him.”

  “See, it’s not so bad—” Linnea began.

  “You don’t understand!” Javanne burst out. “He’s taken Ariel!”

  28

  Taken Ariel?

  Javanne took one deep breath after another, but managed to keep from bursting into renewed tears. Over her head, Regis met his wife’s eyes. Linnea’s bone-deep fear shivered through him. His first coherent thought was that Valdir Ridenow was up to his old schemes, and what could he want with Gabriel and Javanne—

  No, Valdir tried to warn me.

  “What do you mean, taken?” Linnea prompted Javanne.

  “I left her alone—with her governess—in our quarters. Only for an hour, while I tended to—there’s so much to do, and Bettany’s useless! When I got back, Ariel was gone—the governess half out of her mind—a note—”

  Javanne fumbled in a pocket and drew out a paper. Hand trembling, she held it out to Regis.

  “Dear sister,” he read the scholarly script aloud for Linnea’s sake.

  “Be at ease concerning the welfare of my niece. She is well, and her spiritual development is now properly—” with each phrase, his heart sank lower “—in the care of Lady Luminosa. Every means will be taken to ensure her continued safety, but it would be imprudent to interrupt her religious education.

  “Rinaldo Felix-Valentine, Lord of Hastur”

  “May all the demons in Zandru’s Seven Hells curse him!” Javanne cried. “Oh, my poor little girl!”

  “It seems,” Linnea said, filling the brief pause, “that Rinaldo has learned his lessons from Valdir Ridenow all too well. I cannot think why he would want to set aside such a capable and loyal Guards Commander as Gabriel—”

  “Because my husband is loyal, that’s why! Loyal to the Comyn,” Javanne muttered.

  “—except to prevent Gabriel from stopping him,” Linnea finished.

  Memories flooded Regis of the sickening fear when Danilo and Mikhail had been held prisoner. He would have done anything, given anything—even his own life—to save them. Danilo was an adult and Mikhail almost so, but Ariel was just a child . . .

  Blessed Cassilda, what kind of monster would do this to a little girl?

  “He won’t harm her. He still needs your cooperation,” Linnea was saying to Javanne in that cool, rational tone of hers. “Until we can find a way to release her, you must pretend to go along.”

  Javanne gave Linnea a glassy-eyed stare of incomprehension. Her desolation shocked Regis into action. When he had developed near- fatal threshold sickness, she had reached him with her mind. She had talked
him through the worst of it until his life was no longer in danger.

  Regis grasped Javanne’s shoulders and forced her to look at him. She flinched at the first contact, but she did not resist. Her eyes reflected things that were not there.

  Breda. Gently he opened his mind to hers, inviting her permission to make contact. She lowered her barriers.

  He moved through the brittle flare of her terror, the confusion and grief—not only the loss of her daughter but the festering resentment over Mikhail, the son taken from her years ago to be the Hastur heir Regis needed. He sensed love twisting into bitterness and blame, at herself, at Mikhail for deserting the family—running away to Ardais to save his own cowardly skin—n o longer a son of mine!—

  I must do something to ease her hurt, he thought, but had no time for it now.

  At least Mikhail is beyond Rinaldo’s reach. For the moment.

  Regis turned his attention back to the churning morass of his sister’s emotions. You are Hastur, and Comynara, grand- daughter of the greatest statesman of our time.

  The crazed light in her eyes shifted, now a clear blue mirror. He conjured images of a woman whose sense of honor and duty had made her a credit to her Domain, one who had taken on responsibilities far beyond her age. A competent, resourceful wife and mother . . .

  Regis startled at Linnea’s light touch on his arm. He had lost all sense of passing time. Javanne slumped beside him, pale and drained but calmer. Merilys entered with a tray bearing a pitcher of jaco, a tureen of soup, a plate of cheeses, and a basket of nut- studded rolls. At first hesitantly and then with ravenous speed, Javanne devoured the meal.

  “I will speak with Rinaldo,” Regis assured her. “He still respects my counsel. I will make him see reason.”

  “We must think carefully on how to proceed,” Linnea said.

  Javanne got to her feet. “I had best return to the Castle, so messages can reach me without delay.” She looked a little unsteady as she took her cloak from the servant.

  Regis asked one of servants to order a litter for Javanne’s comfort. When it came, she paused at the door, gave Regis a hard look, and then departed.

  “If you were anyone else, I doubt she would trust you.” Linnea dropped into a chair and closed her eyes. The skin around her mouth had gone white.

  Regis took one of her hands in his, feeling the chill in her slender fingers. “I must go to my brother. I cannot allow my sister to suffer like this.”

  “You must not go.” Linnea shook her head. “Not yet.”

  He knelt beside her, peering into her drawn face. Her eyes burned against the paleness of her skin. “There is no one else he will listen to.”

  “Ah, my love, for a man who has grown up in a hotbed of Comyn politics, you are an incurable idealist. Don’t you see? He’ll come after our children next if you dare breathe a word against him. Your plan to guide him has failed.”

  Our children. Baby Dani—a nd Kierestelli.

  His muscles went soft with horror. He wanted to contradict her, but in the pit of his belly, he knew she was right.

  Regis could not accept that Rinaldo was beyond persuasion. He must give his brother a chance. What else could he do, he who had placed Rinaldo in a position of such power?

  Something red and hot, implacable, surged up behind his throat.

  Never again will I bend to the will of one who would make hostages of those I love!

  “We must get the children beyond his reach,” Regis said. “You’ll have to go, too.”

  She lifted her chin, and he saw the negation in her eyes. “That would set the hunt on us for certain. I must remain here, visible. But you must take Stelli to safety.”

  “Leave you—at the mercy of kidnappers?”

  “I am not helpless.” She drew herself up, and an invisible mantle of power shimmered around her shoulders. “I was a Keeper, and no man touches me without leave. I will be able to keep Dani close to me and protect him, but I cannot see to both children. Stelli is more vulnerable, for she is at the right age for Rinaldo’s school. Regis, promise to take her to those who will understand her—not the Terrans!”

  Regis clambered to his feet. He could not afford the luxury of deliberation. The situation called for speed.

  Where would his daughter be safely beyond the reach of even a Hastur Lord? And who would nurture her spirit?

  Regis summoned a servant and ordered a horse to be made ready immediately. The Armida black was too old, so it must be the dun gelding. He would travel as he had before, in plain clothes, with his face and hair hidden.

  “I’ll be but a moment.” He paused at the door to look back at Linnea. “See that she’s warmly dressed.”

  Linnea did not ask where he was going. They both understood that no one, not even she herself, must have that knowledge.

  Regis never knew what Linnea told the little girl. When, a quarter of an hour later, he swung her up on the saddle in front of him, Kierestelli looked at him gravely and said nothing. Linnea had bundled her in a servant’s cloak. She was so light, like a bird. With a pang, he thought how easily those winged creatures could be broken.

  Linnea had packed a set of saddlebags such as any man out for a casual ride might carry. She handed Regis a leather belt, heavy with hidden coins. Kierestelli reached out a hand to her mother; Linnea touched the girl’s fingertips, and Regis felt the connection between them.

  Be brave, my treasure. I do not know when I will see you again, but you will always be in my heart.

  The dun pulled at the bit, snorting in excitement. Regis stroked the heavy neck; the beast would need all its strength for the road ahead. Linnea swung the gate open.

  A hundred phrases rose to his tongue and died there.

  If I don’t come back—

  Aloud, he said, “Do what you can to hide my absence. I may be a tenday or more.”

  She nodded, a quick decisive dip of her chin, a pulse of warmth caressing his mind, and then the dun surged through the opening and the gate closed behind them.

  The most difficult part would be getting out of the city. Too many of the Guards knew him, but most recognized only the trappings of a Hastur Lord, not his features or posture. They would expect him to have an escort, for he rarely left his own walls without Danilo or a Guardsman.

  No alarm had yet been raised. Unless Rinaldo meant to seize hostages from all his family members—a thing Regis could not contemplate even now—there would be no reason to forbid Regis from leaving the city. If questioned, Regis would simply have to bluff his way through as he’d done in his younger days.

  As luck would have it, as Regis neared the Traders Gate, a procession approached from outside, some in costumes resembling monk’s robes, others in rags.

  “Lord of Worlds,

  Remove our sin.

  Let the cleansing

  Now begin.”

  Mingled with the ringing of bells, the chanting grew louder. Farmers drew their carts aside, worsening the congestion at the gate. Until that moment, Regis had never thought any good might come from Rinaldo’s pilgrimages.

  The Guardsmen rushed to tackle the disorder, leaving a space wide enough for a single horse. Regis touched his heels to the dun, and it surged through the opening. Once beyond, Regis maneuvered through the milling pilgrims, farmers, wagons, and laden pack animals. A white-bearded fellow in a shepherd’s coat pulled his chervine team to a halt to let him pass. “The lass looks ill.”

  Regis nodded his thanks. These simple people saw him not as a Comyn lord but as a father with a child in his arms.

  In a surprisingly short time, the open road lay before them. There was still no sign of alarm or pursuit. Regis lifted the reins, and the dun shifted into an easy, ground-covering jog.

  Kierestelli huddled against his chest, enduring the jarring gait without complaint. As they climbed the long slope into the Venza Hills, Regis drew the horse to a walk, letting it breathe. Near the top of the pass, he halted.

  “Let’s rest here. Would yo
u like to walk a bit?”

  She jumped lightly to the ground. Regis was glad to stretch his legs. He’d been too long in the city and too little in the saddle. Joints and muscles unaccustomed to long riding would be sore tomorrow.

  The child looked back on the city. “I’m not coming back, am I, Papa?”

  What did Linnea tell her? Or what had Stelli herself guessed?

  “Of course you are,” he hastened to reply. “I will come for you when the trouble is past.”

  She seemed all at once bewildered and wise, terrified and unshaken. He did not want to frighten her with tales of men who would threaten children. He would have given anything to reassure her that the world was a safe place and everyone wished her well.

  It would be a lie, as he himself had learned at an early age. When this crisis had passed, there would be other threats. No child of his could ever be carefree, not until the four moons fell from the sky. There would always be a compelling cause and a man willing to use violence to advance it.

  This was why the Comyn had adopted the Compact, to limit violence to weapons that placed the user at equal risk. No clingfire would rain destruction from the skies, no bonewater dust would poison generations to come. No laran-fueled inferno would turn cities to ashes and spaceships to crumpled wreckage.

  Was Rinaldo guilty of another violation of the Compact by seizing little Ariel, who had no means to defend herself? Regis thrust the thought aside. He would deal with his brother once this precious daughter was safe.

  While these thoughts jumbled in his mind, Kierestelli had been studying him. In her silvery gaze, he read trust but also a growing wariness. She understood, in a deep, wordless fashion, that she was being taken away from those who wished her harm . . . because the adults she depended upon could protect her in no other way. He wanted to deny it, to weep with helpless anguish.

  “If . . . anything happens, no one must know who you are,” he said as they mounted up again. Thendara’s towers disappeared behind the curve of the sharply rising hills.