The Heirs Of Hammerfe Read online

  "Dark hair," Erminie frowned, "I had hoped that at least one of our sons, my lord, would bear the laran gift of our family."

  "From what I have heard of the laran-gifted," Rascard said, "we-and they-are better without it, my dearest. Laran was not too much known in my line."

  "One or both may still be red-haired, my lady," said the midwife, bending near. "When babes are born with such an abundance of dark hair, it is in no way uncommon for it all to fall out and come in again fair or red."

 

  "Truly?" Erminie asked, then paused, absorbed in thought. "Yes, my mother's closest friend said that when I was born my hair was dark, but it fell out and grew in bright red."

  "Well, so it may be," Rascard said, and bent to kiss his wife. "My thanks for this great gift, my dearest lady. What shall we name them?"

  "That is for you to say, my husband," said Erminie. "Would you name one of them for your son who perished at Storn hands?"

  "Alaric? No, I like not the omen of giving my son the name of the dead," said Rascard, "I will search in the archives of Hammerfell for names of those who were healthy and lived to a ripe old age."

  Accordingly, he came to her room that evening, where she lay with the babies tucked in one to either side of her, with Jewel, now a very large dog indeed, across the foot of her bed.

  "Why have you tied a red ribbon around one son's wrist and not about his brother's?" asked Duke Rascard.

  "It was I who did that," said the midwife. "This little man was the elder of his brother by almost twenty minutes; he was born just as the clock was striking midday, while his lazy brother delayed a few more minutes."

  "A good thought," said Rascard, "but a ribbon can fall off or be lost. Call Markos," he added, and when the old paxman entered the room, bowing to the duke and his lady, he said, "take my elder son there- the little duke, my heir-he with the ribbon about his arm-and see that he is marked so that he may never be mistaken for his brother."

  Markos bent and lifted the baby. Erminie qua-

 

  vered fearfully, "What are you going to do with him?"

  "I'll not hurt him, my lady; not for more than a moment. I'll but tattoo him with the mark of Hammerfell, and bring him back to your breast. It won't take but a minute or so," said the old man, lifting the well-wrapped baby, despite pleas from his -mother, and left the room.

  Soon he brought him back, and, unfolding the blanket, revealed a tattoo in red on the small shoulder, the hammer-mark of the Duchy of Hammerfell.

  "He shall be called Alastair," said Rascard, "after my late father; arid the other shall be Conn, after my great-grandsire, in whose time the feud with Storn was made, if you. have no objection, my dear."

  The baby slept fitfully, and woke wailing, his face flushed and angry.

  "You have hurt him," Erminie accused.

  Markos laughed. "Not much, nor for long; and even so it is a small price to pay for the heirship of Hammerfell."

  "Hammerfell and heirship be damned," Erminie said wrathfully, hugging the shrieking Alastair to her breast. "There, there, my little love, Mother has you now, and no one shall touch you again."

  At that moment, Conn, in the cradle across the room, woke and began squalling, an angry echo to his brother's cries. Rascard went to pick up his younger son, who was thrashing fitfully in his blankets. Rascard observed with surprise that Conn was clawing frantically at his unmarked left shoulder; no sooner did Conn begin crying than Alastair dropped off to sleep in Erminie's arms.

  Over the next days, Erminie noticed it more than

 

  once; that when Alastair cried, Conn woke and whimpered; but even when Conn was sorely pricked with a pin in his breechclout, Alastair continued to sleep peacefully. She remembered what had been said in her family, that of twins in laran-gifted households, one always had a little bit more than his share of psychic power, and the other a bit less. Obviously, then, Conn was the more telepathic of the twins, and she spent more time holding him and soothing him. If he were sensitive to his own pain and also to his brother's, he must therefore need more love and tenderness. So for the first months of his life, Conn became his mother's favorite, while Alastair was the duke's favorite because he was his heir and because he fussed less and smiled more at his father.

  Both twins were handsome and healthy children, and grew like puppies; and when they were only half a year old, were taking unsteady steps about the house and courtyard, sometimes clinging to the great dog Jewel who was their constant companion and guard. Alastair was a few days quicker to walk, but was still only crying and cooing when Conn first babbled a sound that could have been his mother's name. As their midwife had predicted, their downy toddler's hair was the color of living flame.

  No one but their mother could ever tell them apart; even their father sometimes mistook Conn for Alastair, but their mother never made a mistake.

  They had rounded a full year, and several moons beyond when, on a dark cloudy afternoon, toward evening, Duke Rascard burst into his wife's sitting room, where she sat with her ladies, the twins playing with wooden horses on the floor. She looked up at

  him in surprise.

 

 

  "What's the matter?"

  The duke said, "Try not to be too alarmed, my dear; but there are armed raiders approaching the castle. I have rung the bell for folk on the outlying farms to come inside the keep; I have ordered the drawbridge to be raised. We are secure here even if they try and hold us under siege for a whole season. But we must be prepared for anything."

  "The men of Storn?" she asked, her face betraying no fear or dread; but Conn, evidently sensing something in her voice, dropped his wooden horse and began to wail.

  "I fear so," Rascard said, and Erminie went pale.

  "The children!"

  "Yes," he said, and kissed her quickly. "Take them, and go as we planned. God keep you, my dear, until we are reunited."

  She snatched up a twin under each arm and retreated into her own room, where she quickly packed a few necessities for each child; she sent one of her women to the kitchen for a basket of food, and went swiftly down to a back entrance; the plan had been made that if anyone actually broke into the fortress, she would leave at once with the babies, and try to make her way through the woods to the nearest village where they would be safe. Now it struck her that perhaps it would be the greatest folly to leave the shelter of the castle for the woods and wilds; whatever came, she should remain in safety here; even under siege she would at least be with her husband.

  But she had promised Rascard to follow the plans they had made. If she did not, he might not be able to find her afterward and they might never be to-

 

  gether again. Her heart seemed to stop inside her breast; might that hasty kiss have been her last farewell to her children's father? Conn was wailing in-consolably; she knew he must be picking up her fears, so Erminie tried to summon up courage not only for herself but for her frightened children. She wrapped them in their warmest cloaks and set them down beside her, the basket on her arm and a hand to each.

  "Now come quickly, little ones," she whispered to them, and hurried down the long twisting stairs toward the back gate of the castle, the twins stumbling on unsteady little feet.

  She pushed open the long-disused entrance, which nonetheless was kept oiled and in order for just such an eventuality as this; she looked back toward the main "court and saw the sky darkened with flights of arrows, and somewhere, flames rising. She wanted to run back, screaming her husband's name, but she had promised.

  By no means return, whatever happens, but await me in the village till I come to you. If I do not meet you there at sunrise, you will know I have perished; then you must leave Hammerfell and take refuge in Thendara with your Hastur cousins, and appeal to them for justice and revenge. She hurried along, but her pace was too much for the children. First Alastair tripped and sprawled shrieking on the cobblestones, then Conn stumbled; she picked them bot
h up in her arms and hurried on. Something big and soft bumped her in the darkness; she put out. a hand and almost burst into tears.

  "Jewel! There, good dog, good dog," she whispered, through tears tearing her throat. "You came with me, then, oh, good dog!"

 

  She stumbled over something frighteningly soft, and almost fell; recovering her balance in the semi-dark of the courtyard, she felt a man's body under her feet. She had fallen to her knees and could not avoid seeing the man's face. To her shock and horror it was the groom who had led her children's ponies out that very afternoon. His throat had been cut, and Erminie cried out in dismay, then stopped as Conn began to sob in accord with her fear.

  "Hush, hush, my little son; we must be brave now and not cry," she murmured, patting him to quiet him.

  In the dark, a voice spoke her name, so softly it could hardly be heard over the child's sobbing.

  "My lady-"

  She barely withheld a scream; then, even as she recognized the voice, she made out the familiar face of old Markos in the deepening firelit darkness.

  "No need to fear; it's only me."

  At his familiar touch, Erminie let out her breath in relief.

  "Oh, thank the Gods it is you! I was afraid-" Her voice was drowned out by a great crash somewhere as of falling masonry, or thunder. Markos came close to her in the darkness.

  "Here, let me carry one of the babes," the old man said. "We can't go back; the upper courts are all afire."

  "What of the duke?" Erminie asked, trembling.

  "When I saw him last all was well; he was keeping the bridge with a dozen of his men. Those fiends set it afire with clingfire which burns the very stone!"

  "Ah, the devils!" Erminie's voice was a wail.

  "Devils indeed!" the man muttered with a grim

 

  stare at the heights, then turned to the woman. "I should be at the fighting, but His Grace sent me down to guide you to the village, lady; so gi' me one of the babes and we'll go faster." She could hear the creaking of some huge siege engine over the roar of the flames, and looking back saw it outlined against the dark sky, huge like the skeleton of some monstrous unknown beast, with dark missiles bursting out of the giant's maw and exploding into flame in midair. The twins in her arms were struggling to get down, and Erminie handed over one of the twins to Markos. She was not sure in the dark which one she had given to him. It was growing cold, and the night was dark and rain was beginning to make the path slippery underfoot. Clutching the remaining twin, she hurried after the shadowy form of Markos down the hill. Once she stumbled over the dog and dropped her basket; she had to retrieve it, and almost lost sight of her protector. She wanted to cry out to him to wait, but she did not want to hold him back, so she tried to keep him in sight, stumbling along without really taking much heed of where she was going. Before long she was completely lost, hampered by the dog who kept blundering under her feet and the weight of the heavy child in her arms. At least there was only one to carry and the other was safe with the only man save her husband whom she absolutely trusted.

  Slipping and sliding on stones and grass, she somehow reached the bottom of the hill, where she called o softly, "Markos!"

  But there was no answer.

  Again she called, afraid to raise her voice too much, for fear of attracting the attention of the enemies

 

  she knew must be all around her in the woods. Above her, at the top of the hill, Hammerfell was burning; she could see the flames rising as if from a volcano. Nothing could live in that inferno; but where was the duke? Had he been trapped within the burning castle? Now she could see that it was Alastair clinging round her neck, whimpering. Where was oMarkos with Conn? She sought to try and find her bearings by the terrible light of her home burning above her. She called again, softly; but all round her in the woods she could hear strange steps and unknown voices, even laughter. She was not even sure whether she heard the voices with her ears or with her laran.

  "Ha, ha! So ends Hammerfell!"

  "That's the end of 'em all!"

  She watched, paralyzed with dread, as the flames rose higher and higher and finally, with a great crash like the end of the world, the castle fell in and the flames began to subside. Shaking in terror, she fled through the woods rill she could no longer see the sun rising over the ruin that had been the proud fortress of Hammerfell. By early morning she was all alone in a strange wood, with the dog huddled against her legs and the tired child clinging round her neck. Jewel whined in sympathy as if trying to comfort her, nudging so close that she almost pushed Erminie off her feet. Erminie sat down on a log, Jewel cuddling close to her for warmth, and tried to avert her eyes from the dying fire of what had been the only home she had ever known.

  As the light of the new day strengthened, she drew herself wearily to her feet and, hoisting the heavy weight of the sleeping twin, she trudged into

 

  what was left of the village at the foot of the hill. Horrorstruck, she realized that Storn's men had been here first; house after house lay in smoldering ruins, and most of the people had fled-except for those who lay slaughtered. Weary and heartsick, she forced herself to search throughout the remains of the village, the few houses left standing; to ask anyone she recognized of Markos and Conn, who had been in his arms. But nowhere did she hear any news of the old man or her child. She carefully avoided being seen by any stranger-if any Storn follower recognized her, she knew she would be killed at once without mercy, and her child, too. Till near noon she waited, still hoping that the duke had escaped that last conflagration and would join her there, but everyone she asked in the wood now filled with homeless villagers regarded the sad-faced, bedraggled woman with her dog and her heavy child with pity and kindness as they denied any sight or word of an older man bearing a year-old child in his arms.

  All day she persisted in her search, but by sunset, she knew that what she most feared had indeed come to pass. Markos was vanished, dead or slain, or else he had abandoned her for some reason, and since the duke had not come for her at sunrise, he must have perished in the fall of the burning castle.

  And so, filled with despair and the dawning of terror as the last light died, Erminie forced herself to sit down, to straighten and braid her long, disheveled hair, to eat some food from her basket, then feed some bread to her dog and her hungry child. At least she was not completely alone, but left with her firstborn, now the Duke of Hammerfell-and where, where was his twin? Her only support and

 

  protection was a witless dog. She lay down and wrapped herself in her cloak, creeping close to Jewel for warmth, sheltering the sleeping Alastair in her arms. She fervently thanked the Gods the winter had passed. At first light, she knew that she must look about carefully and take her bearings, then set out on the long road that would bring her at last to the faraway city of Thendara, and to her kinsmen in the Tower there. Alastair was rocked in her embrace as her body was wracked with sobs.

 

  5

  Thendara lay nestled in a valley of the Venza Mountains, the great Tower rising over the heights of the city. Unlike other, more secluded Towers which housed all the telepaths working there-monitors, Keepers, technicians, and mechanics-the Tower in Thendara did not serve to isolate the inhabitants from the people of the city, but as in all the cities of the lowlands, tended to set the tone of social life in general.

  The Tower workers mostly had residences in the city itself, sometimes very elegant and splendid ones. However, this was not the case with the widowed Duchess of Hammerfell. Erminie, who had shed that identity for the simple one (which carried even higher prestige in the society of Thendara) of Second Technician in Thendara Tower, lived modestly, in a small house off the Street of Swordsmiths, whose only

 

  luxury was a garden filled with scented herbs, flowers, and fruit trees.

  Erminie was now thirty-seven years old, but she was still slender, swift-moving and bright-eyed, her spl
endid copper hair as new-polished as ever. She had lived alone with her only son all these years; no breath of scandal had ever touched her name or reputation. She was seldom seen in any company save that of her son, her lady housekeeper, or the great old rust-colored mountain dog who accompanied her everywhere.

  This was not because she was shunned by society; rather, it was she who shunned or seemed to scorn it. Twice she had been sought in marriage, once by the Keeper of the Tower, one Edric Elhalyn, and more recently by her cousin, Valentine Hastur, the same man who had come to her home in the hills so very long ago. This gentleman, close kin to the Hastur-lords of Thendara and Carcosa, had first asked her to marry him in her second year in the Tower. At that time she had refused him, pleading the recent-ness of her widowhood. Now, on an evening late in summer, some eighteen years after she had first come to the city, he renewed his suit.

  He found her in the garden of her town house, sitting on a rustic bench there, her fingers busy with needlework. The dog Jewel was at her feet, but she raised her head and growled softly as he approached her mistress.

  "Quiet; good girl," Erminie chided the dog gently. "I should think you would know my cousin well enough by now; he has been here often enough. Lie down, Jewel," she added sternly, and the dog subsided into a floppy rust-colored heap at her feet.

 

  Valentine Hastur said, "I am only glad you have so faithful a friend, since you have no other protector. If I have my way, she will know me better still," he added with a meaningful smile.

  Erminie looked into the deep gray eyes of the man who sat beside her. His hair was now woven through with silver, but otherwise he was unchanged-the same man who had offered her support and affection for nearly two decades. She sighed. "Cousin- Val, I am grateful to you as always; but I think you will know why I must still say no."

  "No, I'm damned if I do," Lord Valentine said fervently, "I know you cannot still be in mourning for the old duke though that may be what you would have people believe."

  Jewel rubbed against Erminie's knees and whined, demanding the attention she felt was being denied her. Erminie petted her distractedly.