The Heritage Of Hastur d-18 Read online

Whatever his reasons, he had managed to force me on the Council as his heir. They hadn't liked it, but they'd had to allow me the legitimate privileges of a Comyn heir and the duties that went with them. Which meant that at fourteen I had gone into the cadets and, after serving as a junior officer, was now a captain in the City Guard. It was a privilege I could have done without The Council lords might be forced to accept me. But making the younger sons, lesser nobles and so forth who served in the cadets accept me‑that was another ong!

  Bastardy, of course, is no special disgrace. Plenty of Comyn lords have half a dozen. If one of them turns out to have laran‑which is what every woman who bears a child to a Comyn lord hopes for‑nothing is easier than having the child acknowledged and given privileges and duties somewhere in the Domains. But to make one of them the heir‑designate to the Domain, that was unprecedented, and every unacknowledged son of a minor line made me feel how little I merited this special treatment

  I couldn't help knowing why they felt that way‑I had what every one of them wanted, felt he merited as much as I did. But understanding only made things worse. It must be comfortable never to know why you're disliked. Maybe then you can believe you don't deserve it

  Just the same, I've made sure none of them could complain about me. I've done a little of everything, as Comyn heirs in the cadets are supposed to: I've supervised street patrols, organizing everything from grain supplies for the pack animals to escorts for Comyn ladies; I've assisted the arms‑master at his job, and made sure that the man who cleaned the barracks knew his job. I disliked serving in the cadets and didn't enjoy command duty in the Guard. But what could I do? It was a mountain I could neither cross nor go around. Father needed me and wanted me, and I could not let him stand alone.

  As I rode at Regis Hastur's side, I wondered if his choosing to ride beside me had been a mark of friendship or a shrewd attempt to get on the good side of my father. Three years ago I'd have said friendship, certainly. But boys change in three years, and Regis had changed more than most

  He'd spent a few winters at Arrnida before he went to the monastery, before I went to Arilinn. I'd never thought about him being heir to Hastur. They said his health was frail; old Hastur thought that country living and company would do him good. He'd mostly been left to me to look after. I'd taken him riding and hawking, and he'd gone with me up into the plateaus when the great herds of wild horses were caught and brought down to be broken. I remembered him best as an undersized youngster, following me around, wearing my outgrown breeches and shirts because he kept growing out of his own; playing with the puppies and newborn foals, bending solemnly over the clumsy stitches he was learning to set in hawking‑hoods, learning swordplay from Father and practicing with me. During the terrible spring of

  'his twelfth year, when the Kilghard Hills had gone up in forest fires and every able‑bodied man between ten and eighty was commandeered into the fire‑lines, we'd gone together, working side by side by day, eating from one bowl and sharing blankets at night We'd been afraid Armida itself would go up in the holocaust; some of the outbuildings were lost in the backfire. We'd been closer than brothers. When he went to Nevarsin, I'd missed him terribly. It was difficult to recon‑cOe my memories of that almost‑brother with this self‑possessed, solemn young prince. Maybe he'd learned, in the interval, that friendship with Kennard's nedestro heir was not quite the thing for a Hastur.

  I could have found out, of course, and he'd never have known. But that's not even a temptation for a telepath, after the first few months. You learn not to pry.

  But he didn't feel unfriendly, and presently asked me outright why I hadn't called him by name; caught off guard by the blunt question, I gave him a straight answer instead of a diplomatic one and then, of course, we were all right again.

  Once we were inside the gates, the ride to the castle was not long, just long enough to get thoroughly drenched. I could tell that Father was aching with the damp and cold‑ he's been lame ever since I could remember, but the last few winters have been worse‑and that Marius was wet and wretched. When we came into the lee of the castle it was already dark, and though the nightly rain rarely turns to snow at this season, there were sharp slashes of sleet in it. I slid from my horse and went quickly to help Father dismount, but Lord Dyan had already helped him down and given him his arm.

  I withdrew. From my first year in the cadets, I'd made it a habit not to get any closer to Lord Dyan than I could possibly help. Preferably well out of reach.

  There's a custom in the Guards for first‑year cadets. We're trained in unarmed combat and we're supposed to cultivate a habit of being watchful at all times; so during our first season, in the guardroom and armory, anyone superior to us in the Guards is allowed to take us by surprise, if he can, and throw us. It's good training. After a few weeks of being grabbed unexpectedly from behind and dumped hard on a stone floor, you develop something like eyes in the back of your head. Usually it's fairly good‑natured, and although it's a rough game and you collect plenty of bruises, no one really

  minds.

  Dyan, we all agreed, enjoyed it entirely too much. He was an expert wrestler and could have made his point without doing much harm, but he was unbelievably rough and never missed a chance to hurt somebody. Especially me. Once he somehow managed to dislocate my elbow, which I wore in a sling for the rest of that season. He said it was an accident, but I'm a telepath and he didn't even bother to conceal how much he had enjoyed doing it I wasn't the only cadet who had that experience. During cadet training, there are times when you hate all your officers. But Dyan was the only one we really feared.

  I left Father to him and went back to Regis. "Someone's looking for you,** I told him, pointing out a man in Hastur livery, sheltering in a doorway and looking wet and miserable, as if he'd been out in the weather, waiting, for some time. Regis turned eagerly to hear die message.

  "The Regent's compliments, Lord Regis. He has been urgently called into the city. He asks you to make yourself comfortable and to see him in the morning.*1

  Regis made some formal answer and turned to me with a humorless smile. "So much for the eager welcome of my loving grandsire."

  One hell of a welcome, indeed, I thought. No one could expect the Regent of Comyn to stand out in the rain and wait, hut he could have sent more than a servant's message! I said quickly, "You'll come to us, of course. Send a message with your grandfather's man and come along for some dry clothing and some supper!"

  Regis nodded without speaking. His lips were blue with cold, his hair lying soaked on his forehead. He gave appropriate orders, and I went back to my own task: making sure that all of Father's entourage, servants, bodyguards, Guardsmen, banner‑bearers and poor relations, found their way to their appointed places.

  Things gradually got themselves sorted out. The Guardsmen went off to their own quarters. The servants mostly knew what to do. Someone had sent word ahead to have fires lighted and the rooms ready for occupancy. The rest of us found our way through the labyrinth of halls and corridors to the quarters reserved, for the last dozen generations, to the Alton lords. Before long no one was left in the main hall of

  our quarters except Father, Marius and myself, Regis, Lord Dyan, our personal servants and half a dozen others. Regis was standing before the fire wanning his hands. I remembered the night when Father had broken the news that he was to leave us and spend the next three years at Nevarsin. He and I had been sitting before the fire in the great hall at Armida, cracking nuts and throwing the shells into the fire; after Father finished speaking he had gone to the fire and stood there just like that, quenched and shivering, his face turned away from us all.

  Damn the old man! Was there no friend, no kinswoman, he could send to welcome Regis home?

  Father came to the fire. He was limping badly. He looked at Marius' riding companion and said, "Danilo, I had your tilings sent directly to the cadet barracks. Shall I send a man to show you the way, or do you think you can find it?"

 
; "There's no need to send anyone, Lord Alton." Danilo Syr‑rJs came away from the fire and bowed courteously. He was a slender, bright‑eyed boy of fourteen or so, wearing shabby garments which I vaguely recognized as once having been my brother's or mine, long outgrown. That was like Father; he'd make sure that any protege" of his started with the proper outfit for a cadet. Father laid a hand on his shoulder. "You're sure? Well, then, run along, my lad, and good luck go with you."

  Danilo, with a polite formula murmured vaguely at all of us, withdrew. Dyan Ardais, warming his hands at the fire, looked after him, eyebrows lifted. "Nice looking youngster. Another of your nedestro sons, Kennard?"

  "Dani? Zandru's hells, nol I'd be proud enough to claim him, but truly he's none of mine. The family has Comyn blood, a few generations back, but they're poor as miser's mice; old Dom Felix couldn't give him a good start in life, so I got him a cadet commission."

  Regis turned away from the fire and said, "Danilo! I knew I should have recognized him; he was at the monastery one year. I truly couldn't remember his name, Uncle. I should have greeted him!"

  The word he used for uncle was the casta term slightly more intimate than kinsman'. I knew he had been speaking to my father, but Dyan chose to take it as addressed to himself. "You'll see him in the cadets, surely. And I havent greeted you properly, either." He came and took Regis in a kinsman's

  embrace, pressing his cheek, to which Regis submitted, a little flustered; then, holding him at arm's length, Dyan looked closely at him. "Does your sister hate you for being the beauty of the family, Regis?"

  Regis looked startled and a little embarrassed. He said, laughing nervously, "Not that she ever told me. I suspect Javanne thinks I should be running around hi a pinafore."

  "Which proves what I have always said, that women are no judge of beauty.*' My father gave him a black scowl and said, "Damn it, Dyan, dont tease him."

  Dyan would have said more‑damn the man, was he starting that again, after all the trouble last year‑but a servant in Hastur livery came in quickly and said, "Lord Alton, a message from the Regent"*

  Father tore the letter open, began to swear volubly hi three languages. He told the messenger to wait whfle he got into some dry clothes, disappeared into his room, and then I heard him shouting to Andres. Soon he came out, tucking a dry shirt into dry breeches, and scowling angrily.

  "Father, what is itr

  "The usual," he said grimly, "trouble in the city. Hastur's summoned every available Council elder and sending two extra patrols. Evidently a crisis of some sort"

  Damn, I thought. After the long ride from Armida and a soaking, to call him out at night . . . "Will you need me, Father?"

  He shook his head. MNo. Not necessary, son. Dont wait up, 111 probably be out all night." As he went out, Dyan said, "I expect a similar summons awaits me hi my own rooms; I had better go and find out. Good night, lads. I envy you your good night's sleep." He added, with a nod to Regis, "These others will never appreciate a proper bed. Only we who have slept on stone know how to do that" He managed to make a deep formal bow to Regis and simultaneously ignore me completely‑it wasn't easy when we were standing side by side‑and went away.

  I looked around to see what remained to be settled. I sent Marius to change out of his drenched clothes‑too old for a nanny and too young for an aide‑de‑camp, he's left to me much of the time. Then I arranged to have a room made ready for Regis. "Have you a man to dress you, Regis? Or shall I have father's body‑servant wait on you tonight?"

  *'I learned to look after myself at Nevarsin," Regis said.

  He looked warmer now, less tense. "If the Regent is sending for all the Council, I suspect it's really serious and not just that Grandfather has forgotten me again. That makes me feel better."

  Now I was free to get out of my own wet things. "When you've changed, Regis, we'll have dinner here in front of the fire. I'm not officially on duty till tomorrow morning."

  I went and changed quickly into indoor clothing, slid my feet into fur‑lined ankle‑boots and looked briefly hi on Marius; I found 'him sitting up in bed, eating hot soup and already half asleep. It was a long ride for a boy his age. I wondered again why Father had subjected him to it

  The servants had set up a hot meal before the fire, hi front of the old stone seats there. The lights in our part of the castle are the old ones, luminous rock from deep caves which charge with light all day and give off a soft glow all night Not enough for reading or fine needlework, but plenty for a quiet meal and a comfortable talk by firelight. Regis came back, in dry garments and indoor boots, and I gestured the old steward away. "Go and get your own supper; Lord Regis and I can wait on ourselves."

  I took the covers off the dishes. They had sent hi a fried fowl and some vegetable stew. I helped him, saying, "Not very festive, but probably the best they could do at short notice."

  "It's better than we got on the fire‑lines,*1 Regis said and I grinned. "So you remember that too?"

  "How could I forget it? Armida was like home to me. Does Kennard still break his own horses, Lew?"

  "No, he's far too lame," I said, and wondered again how Father would manage hi the coming season. Selfishly, I hoped he would be able to continue in command. It's hereditary to the Altons, and I was next hi line for it. They had learned to tolerate me as his deputy, holding captain*s rank. As commander, I'd have all those battles to fight again.

  We talked for a little while about Armida, about horses and hawks, while Regis finished the stew in his bowl. He picked up an apple and went to the fireplace, where a pair of antique swords, used only in the sword‑dance now, hung over the mantel. He touched the hilt of one and I asked, "Have you forgotten all your fencing hi the monastery, Regis?"

  "No, there were some of us who weren't to be monks, so

  Father Master gave us leave to practice an hour every day, and an arms‑master came to give us lessons."

  Over wine we discussed the state of the roads from Nevar‑sin.

  "Surely you didn't ride in one day from the monastery?"

  **Oh, no. I broke my journey at Edelweiss."

  That was on Alton lands. When Javanne Hastur married Gabriel Lanart, ten years ago, my father had leased them the estate. "Your sister is well, I hope?"

  "Well enough, but extremely pregnant just now," Regis said, "and Javanne's done a ridiculous thing. It made sense to call their first son Rafael, after her father and mine. And the second, of course, is the younger Gabriel. But when she named the third MikhaiL, she made the whole thing absurd. I believe she's praying frantically for a girl this time!"

  I laughed. By all accounts the "Lanart angels" should be named for the archfiends, not the archangels; and why should a Hastur seek names from cristoforo mythology? "Well, she and Gabriel have sons enough."

  "True. I am sure my grandfather is annoyed that she should have so many sons, and cannot give them Domain‑right hi Hastur. And I should have told Kennard; her husband will be here in a few days to take his place hi the Guard. He would have ridden with me, but with Javanne so near to her time, he got leave to remain with her till she is delivered."

  I nodded; of course he would stay. Gabriel Lanart was a minor noble of the Alton Domain, a kinsman of our own, and a telepath. Of course he would follow the custom of the Domains, that a man shares with his child's mother the ordeal of birth, staying in rapport with her until the child is born and all is well. Well, we could spare him for a few days. A good man, Gabriel.

  "Dyan seemed to take it for granted that you would be in the cadets this year," I said.

  "I don't know if I'll have a choice. Did you?"

  I hadn't, of course. But that the heir to Hastur, of all people, should question it‑that made me uneasy.

  Regis sat on the stone bench, restlessly scuffing his felt ankle‑boots on the floor, "Lew, you're part Terran and yet you're Comyn. Do you feel as if you belonged to us? Or to the Terrans?"

  A disturbing question, an outrageous, question, and one I
/>   had never dared ask myself. I felt angry at him for speaking it, as if taunting me with what I was. Here I was an alien; among the Terrans, a freak, a mutant, a telepath. I said at last, bitterly, "I've never belonged anywhere. Except, perhaps, at Arilinn."

  Regis raised his face, and I was startled at the sudden anguish there. "Lew, what does it feel like to have larariT"

  I stared at him, disconcerted. The question touched off another memory. That summer at Armida, in his twelfth year. Because of his age, and because there was no one else, it had fallen to me to answer certain questions usually left to fathers or elder brothers, to instruct him in certain facts proper to adolescents. He bad blurted those questions out, too, with the same kind of half‑embarrassed urgency, and I'd found it just as difficult to answer them. There are some things it's almost impossible to discuss with someone who hasn't shared the experience. I said at last, slowly, "I hardly know how to answer. IVe had it so long, it would be harder to imagine what it feels like not to have laran."

  "Were you born with it, then?"

  "No, no, of course not. But when I was ten, or eleven, I began to be aware of what people were feeling. Or thinking. Later my father found out‑proved to them‑that I had the Alton gift, and that's rare even‑" I set my teeth and said it, **even in legitimate sons. After that, they couldn't deny me Comyn rights."

  "Does it always come so early? Ten, eleven?**

  "Have you never been tested? I was almost certain ..." I felt a little confused. At least once during the shared fears of that last season together, on the fire‑lines, I had touched his mind, sensed that he had the gift of our caste. But he had been very young then. And the Alton gift is forced rapport, even with non‑telepaths.

  "Once," said Regis, "about three years ago. The leronis said I had the potential, as far as she could tell, but she could not reach it."

  I wondered if that was why the Regent had sent him to Nevarsin: either hoping that discipline, silence and isolation would develop his laran, which sometimes happened, or trying to conceal his disappointment in his heir.