The Heritage Of Hastur d-18 Read online

  The last time I gave you too much trouble, Grandfather, you sent me into a monastery. Isn't it too bad you can't do it again, sir?"

  "Don't be insolent, you young pup," Hastur growled. "Do you want me to apologize for having no welcome last night? Very well, I apologize. It wasn't my choice." He came and took Regis in his arms, pressing his withered cheeks one after another to the boy's. *Tve been up all night or I'd think of some better way to welcome you now." He held him off at arm's length, blinking with weariness. "You've grown, child. You are very like your father. He would have been proud, I think, to see you coming home a man."

  Against his own will, Regis was moved. The old man looked so weary. "What crisis kept you up all night, Grandfather?"

  Hastur sank down heavily on the bench. "The usual thing. I expect it's known on every planet where the Empire builds ' a big spaceport, but we're not used to it here. People coming and going from all corners of the Empire. Travelers, transients, spacemen on leave and the sector which caters to them. Bars, amusement places, gambling halls, houses of... er ..."

  "I'm old enough to know what a brothel is, sir."

  "At your age? Anyway, drunken men are disorderly, and Terrans on leave carry weapons. By agreement, no weapons can be carried into the old city, but people do stray across the line‑there's no way of preventing it, short of building a wall across the city. There have been brawls, duels, knife fights and sometimes even killings, and it isn't always clear whether the City Guard or the Terran spaceforce should properly handle the offenders. Our codes are so different that it's hard to know how to compromise. Last night there was a brawl and a Terran knifed one of the Guardsmen. The Terran offered as his defense that the Guardsman had made him what he called an indecent proposition. Must I explain?"

  "Of course not But are you trying to tell me, seriously, that this was offered as a legal defense for murder?**

  "Seriously. Evidently the Terrans take it even more seriously than the cristoforos. He insisted his attack on the Guardsman was justifiable. Now the Guardsman's brother has filed an inteot‑to‑murder on the Terran. The Terrans aren't subject to our laws, so he refused to accept it and instead filed charges against the Guardsman's brother for attempted murder. What a tangle! I never thought I'd see the day when Council had to sit on a knife fight! Damn (he Terrans anyhow!"

  "So how did you finally settle it?"

  Hastur shrugged. "Compromise, as usual. The Terran was deported and the Guardsman's brother was held in the brig until the Terran was off‑planet; so nobody gets any peace except the dead man. Unsatisfactory for everyone. But enough of them. Tell me about yourself, Regis."

  "Well, 111 have to talk about the Terrans again," Regis said. This wasn't the best time, but his grandfather might not have time to talk with him again for days. "Grandfather, I'm not needed here. You probably know I don't have laran, and I found out in Nevarsin'that I'm not interested in politics. IVe decided what I want to do with my life: I want to go into the Terran Empire Space Service."

  Hastur's jaw dropped. He scowled and demanded, "Is this a joke? Or another silly prank?"

  "Neither, Grandfather. 1 mean it, and I'm of age."

  "But you can't do that! Certainly they'd never accept you without my consent"

  "I hope to have that, sir. But by Darfcovan law, which you were quoting at Kennard, I am of legal age to dispose of myself. I can marry, fight a duel, acknowledge a son, stand responsible for a murder‑"

  "The Terrans wouldn't think so. Kennard was declared of age before he went But on Terra he was sent to school and required, legally forced, mind you, to obey a stipulated guardian until he was past twenty. You*d hate that."

  "No doubt I would. But I learned one thing at Nevarsin, sir‑you can live with the things you hate."*

  "Regis, is this your revenge for my sending you to Nevarsin? Were you so unhappy? What can I say? I wanted you to have the best education possible and I thought it better for you to be properly cared for, there, than neglected at home."

  "No, sir," Regis said, not quite sure. "It's simply that I want to go, and I'm not needed here."

  "You don't speak Terran languages."

  "I understand Terran Standard. I learned to read and write at Nevarsin. As you pointed out, I am excellently well educated. Learning a new language is no great matter."

  "You say you are of age," Hastur said coldly, "so let me quote some law back to you. The law provides that before you, who are heir to a Domain, undertake any such risky task as going offworld, you must provide an heir to your Domain. Have you a son, Regis?"

  Regis looked sullenly at the floor. Hastur knew, of course,

  that he had not "What does that matter? It's been generations since the Hastur gift has appeared full strength in the fine. As for ordinary laran, that's just as likely to appear at random anywhere in the Domains as it is in the direct male line of descent Pick any heir at random, he couldn't be less fit for me Domain than I am. I suspect the gene's a recessive, bred out, extinct like the catalyst telepath trait. And Javanne has sons; one of them is as likely to have it as any son of mine, if I had any. Which I don't," he added rebelliously, "or am likely to. Now or ever."

  "Where do you get these ideas?" Hastur asked, shocked and bewildered. "You're not, by any chance, an ombredinV

  "In a cristoforo monastery? Not likely. No, sir, not even for pastime. And certainly not as a way of life."

  "Then why should you say such a thing?"

  "Because," Regis burst out angrily, "I belong to myself, not to the Comyn! Better to let the line die with me than to go on for generations, calling ourselves Hastur, without our gift, without laran, political figureheads being used by Terra to keep the people quietl"

  "Is that how you see me, Regis? I took the Regency when Stef an Elhalyn died, because Derik was only five, too young to be crowned even as a puppet king. It's been my ill‑fortune to rule over a period of change, but I think I've been more than just a figurehead for Terra."

  "I know some Empire history, sir. The Empire will finally take over here too. It always does."

  "Dont you think I know that? IVe lived with the inevitable for three reigns now. But if I live long enough, it will be a slow change, one our people can live with. As for laran, it wakens late in Hastur men. Give yourself time."

  *Time!" Regis put all his dissatisfaction into the word.

  "I haven't laran either, Regis. But even so, I think Tve served my people well. Couldn't you resign yourself to that?" He looked into Regis1 stubborn face and sighed. "Well, 111 bargain with you. I don't want you to go as a child, subject to a court‑appointed guardian under Terran law. That would disgrace all of us. You're the age when a Comyn heir should be serving in the cadet corps. Take your regular turn in the Guards, three cadet seasons. After that if you still want to go, we'll thinV of a way to get you offworld without going through all the motions of their bureaucracy. You'd hate it‑I've had fifty years of it and I still hate it But don't walk

  out on the Comyn before you give it a fair try. Three years isn't that long. Will you bargain?"

  Three years. It had seemed an eternity at Nevarsin. But did he have a choice? None, except outright defiance. He could run away, seek aid from the Terrans themselves. But if he was legally a child by their laws, they would simply hand him over again to his guardians. That would indeed be a disgrace.

  "Three cadet seasons," he said at last. "But only if you give me your word of honor that if I choose to go, you won't oppose it after that"

  "If after three years you still want to go," said Hastur, "I promise to find some honorable way."

  Regis listened, weighing the words for diplomatic evasions and half‑truths. But the old man's eyes were level and the word of Hastur was proverbial. Even the Terrans knew that

  At last he said, "A bargain. Three years hi the cadets, for your word." He added bitterly, "I have no choice, do I?"

  "If you wanted a choice," said Hastur, and his blue eyes flashed fire though his voice was as
old and weary as ever, "you should have arranged to be born elsewhere, to other parents. I did not choose to be chief councillor to Stefan El‑halyn, nor Regent to Prince Derik. Rafael‑sound may he sleepl‑did not choose his own life, nor even his death. None of us has ever been free to choose, not in my lifetime." His voice wavered, and Regis realized that the old man was on the edge of exhaustion or collapse.

  Against his will, Regis was moved again. He bit his lip, knowing that if he spoke he would break down, beg his grandfather's pardon, promise unconditional obedience. Perhaps it was only the last remnant of the kirian, but he knew, suddenly and agonizingly, that his grandfather did not meet his eyes because the Regent of the Seven Domains could not weep, not even before his own grandson, not even for the memory of his only son's terrible and untimely death.

  When Hastur finally spoke again his voice was hard and crisp, like a man accustomed to dealing with one unremitting crisis after another. "The first call‑over of cadets is later this morning. I have sent word to the cadet‑master to expect you among them." He rose and embraced Regis again in dismissal. "I shall see you again soon. At least we are not now separated by three days' ride and a range of mountains."

  So he'd already sent word to the cadet‑master. That was

  how sure he was, Regis realized. He had been manipulated, neatly mouse‑trapped into doing just exactly what was expected of a Hastur. And he had maneuvered himself into promising three years of it!

  Chapter FOUR

  (Lew Alton's narrative)

  The room was bright with daylight. I had slept for hours on the stone seat by the fireplace, cold and cramped. Marius, barefoot and in his nightshirt, was disking me. He said, "I heard something on the stairs. Listen!" He ran toward the door; I followed more slowly, as the door was flung open and a pair of Guards carried my father into the room. One of them caught sight of me and said, "Where can we take him, Captain?"

  I said, "Bring him in here," and helped Andres lay him on his own bed. "What happened?" I demanded, staring in dread at his pale, unconscious face.

  "He fell down the stone stairs near the Guard hall," one of the men said. "I've been trying to get those stairs fixed all winter; your father could have broken his neck. So could any of us.**

  Marius came to the bedside, white and terrified. "Is he dead?"

  "Nothing like it, sonny," said the Guardsman. 'T think the Commander's broken a couple of ribs and done something to his arm and shoulder, but unless he starts vomiting blood later he'll be all right. I wanted Master Raimon to attend to him down there, but he made us carry him up here.**

  Between anger and relief, I bent over him. What a time for him to be hurt The very first day of Council season! As if my tumbling thoughts could reach him‑and perhaps they could‑he groaned and opened his eyes. His mouth contracted in a spasm of pain.

  "Lew?"

  "I'm here, Father."

  "You must take call‑over in my place...."

  "Father, no. There are a dozen others with better right.'*

  His face hardened. I could see, and feel, that he was struggling against intense pain. "Damn you, you'll go! I've fought ... whole Council ... for years. You're not going to throw away all my work ... because I take a damn silly tumble. You have a right to deputize for me and, damn you, you're going to!"

  His pain tore at me; I was wide open to it. Through the clawing pain I could feel his emotions, fury and a fierce determination, thrusting his will on me. "You wi#P

  I'm not Alton for nothing. Swiftly I thrust back, fighting bis attempt to force agreement "There's no need for that, Father. I'm not your puppet!"

  "But you're my son," he said violently, and it was like a storm, as his will pressed hard on me. "My son and my second in command, and no one, no one is going to question that!"

  His agitation was growing so great that I realized I could not argue further without harming him seriously.

  I had to calm him somehow. I met his enraged eyes squarely and said, "There's no reason to shout at me. I'll do what you like, for now at least Well argue it out later."

  His eyes fell shut, whether with exhaustion or pain I could not tell. Master Raimon, the hospital‑officer of the Guards, came into the room, moving swiftly to his side. I made room for him. Anger, fatigue and loss of sleep made my head pound. Damn him! Father knew perfectly well how I felt! And he didnt give a damn!

  Marius was still standing, frozen, watching in horror as Master Raimon began to cut away my father's shirt. I saw great purple, blood‑darkened bruises before I drew Marius firmly away. "There's nothing much wrong with him," I said. "He couldn't shout that loud if he was dying. Go get dressed, and keep out of the way."

  The child went obediently and I stood in the outer room, rubbing my fists over my face in dismay and confusion. What time was it? How long had I slept? Where was Regis? Where had he gone? In the state he'd been in when he left me, he could have done something desperate! Conflicting loyalties and obligations held me paralyzed. Andres came out of my father's room and said, "Lew, if you're going to take call‑over

  you'd better get moving," and I realized I'd been standing as if

  my feet had frozen to the floor.

  My father had laid a task on me. Yet if Regis had run away, in a mood of suicidal despair, shouldn't I go after him, too? In any case I would have been on duty this morning. Now it seemed 1 was to handle it on my own. There were sure to be those who'd question it. Well, it was Father's right to choose his own deputy, but I was the one who'd have to face their hostility.

  I turned to Andres. "Have someone get me something to eat," I said, "and see if you can find where Father put the staff lists and the roll call, but don't disturb him. I should bathe and change. Have I tune?"

  Andres regarded me calmly. "Dont lose your head. You have what time you need. If you're in command, they can't start till you get there. Take the time to make yourself presentable. You ought to look ready to command, even if you don't feel it"

  He was right, of course; I knew it even while I resented his tone. Andres has a habit of being right He had been the condom, chief steward, at Armida since I could remember. He was a Terran and had once been in Spaceforce. I've never known where he met my father, or why he left the Empire. My father's servants had told me the story, that one day be came to Armida and said he was sick of space and Spaceforce, and my father had said, "Throw your blaster away and pledge me to keep the Compact and I've work for you at Armida as long as you like." At first he had been Father's private secretary, then his personal assistant finally hi charge of his whole household, from my father's horses and dogs to his sons and foster‑daughter. There were times when I felt Andres was the only person alive who completely accepted me for what I was. Bastard, half‑caste, it made no difference to Andres.

  He added now, "Better for discipline to turn up late than to turn up in a mess and not knowing what you're doing. Get yourself in order, Lew, and I dont just mean your uniform. Nothing's to be gained by rushing off in several directions at

  once."

  I went off to bathe, eat a hasty breakfast and dress myself suitably to be stared at by a hundred or more officers and Guardsmen, each one of whom would be ready to find fault Well, let them.

  Andres found the staff lists and Guard roster among my father's belongings; I took them and went down to the Guard hall.

  The main Guard hall in Comyn Castle is on one of the lowest levels; behind it lie barracks, stables, armory and parade ground, and before it a barricaded gateway leads down into Thendara. The rest of Comyn Castle leaves me unmoved, but I never looked up at the great fan‑lighted windows without a curious swelling in my throat.

  I had been fourteen years old, and already aware that because of what I was my life was fragmented and insecure, when my father had first brought me here. Before sending me to my peers, or what he hoped would be my peers‑ they'd had other ideas‑he'd told me of a few of the Altons who had come before us here. For the first and almost the last time, I'd felt
a sense of belonging to those old Altons whose names were a roll call of Darkovan history: My grandfather Valdir, who had organized the first fire‑beacon system in the Kalghard Hills. Dom Esteban Lanart, who a hundred years ago had driven the catmen from the caves of Corresanti. Rafael Lanart‑Alton, who had ruled as Regent when Stefan Hastur the Ninth was crowned in his cradle, in the days before the Elhalyn were kings in Thendara.

  The Guard hall was an enormous stone‑floored, stone‑arched room, cobblestones half worn away by the feet of centuries of Guardsmen. The light came curiously, multicolored and splintered, through windows set in before the art of rolling glass was known.

  I drew the lists Andres had given me from a pocket and studied them. On the topmost sheet were the names of the first‑year cadets. The name of Regis Hastur was at the bottom, evidently added somewhat later than the rest. Damn it where was Regis? I checked the list of second‑year cadets. The name of Octavien Vallonde had been dropped from the rolls. I hadn't expected to see his name, but it would have relieved my mind.

  On the staff list Father had crossed out his own name as commander and written in mine, evidently with his right hand, and with great difficulty. I wished he had saved himself the trouble. Gabriel Lanart‑Hastur, Javanne's husband and my cousin, had replaced me as second‑in‑command. He should have had the command post. I was no soldier, only a matrix technician, and I fully intended to return to Arilinn at

  the end of the three‑year interval required now by law. Gabriel, though, was a career Guardsman, liked it and was competent. He was an Alton too, and seated on Council. Most Comyn felt he should have been designated Kennard's heir. Yet we were friends, after a fashion, and I wished he were here today, instead of at Edelweiss waiting for the birth of Javanne's child.

  Father evidently saw no discrepancy. He had been psi technician in Arilinn for over ten years, back in the old days of tower isolation, yet he had been able afterward to return and take command of the Guards without any terrible sense of dissonance. My own inner conflicts evidently were not important, or even comprehensible, to him.