Hastur Lord (22 page)

Not everyone who had attended the funeral for Danvan Hastur had remained in Thendara, but most of the great houses were represented: Regis himself, Javanne and Gabriel, who was acting as Warden of Alton, Marilla Lindir-Aillard, Ruyven Di Asturien, one of the Eldrins, and a few from lesser families—Castamir, Lindir, and a very elderly man from the Montereys, distant cousins of the Altons. At the far end of the table, Valdir Ridenow watched calmly, his nephew Francisco at his right elbow.

Where Danilo had found all of them, Regis had no idea. Most wore courtly dress in the beautiful colors of their houses, like a flock of exotic birds filling the otherwise somber chamber. Jewels and precious metals glinted in the headdresses of the women. Chains draped the chests of the men. Their expressions ranged from distantly polite to courteous. In the absence of telepathic dampers, their emotions curled like smoke through the room. Regis did his best to block them out. Danilo’s face was a shade paler than usual; he had always been the more sensitive of the two. It must be costing him an enormous amount of psychic energy to remain free of the outside mental influences.

“
Vai domyn,
kinsmen, lords and ladies,” Regis said. “Thank you for coming and on such short notice.”

“The honor is ours.” Ordinarily, it would fall to the member of the next highest-ranking Domain to speak, but in this informal setting, Ruyven Di Asturien answered. His dignified gaze took in the assembly.

“You have brought us together, as we Comyn have always gathered at this season since before our sun turned red. We never thought to do so again. But now, we welcome you, Lord Hastur . . .”

“And the man who sits beside you,” Valdir Ridenow broke in.

Regis rose with all the dignity at his command. “It is my pleasure to present to you my father’s
nedestro
son, Rinaldo Lanart-Hastur. I declare Rinaldo legitimate and desire that he should enjoy all the privileges and responsibilities of our caste. It is my intention that my brother take his place among us, and I call upon you to acknowledge him now.”

The announcement could not have come as news. Regis knew all too well the pervasive and insidious currents of gossip that saturated Thendara in general and the Comyn in particular. Yet there was no mistaking the unease that rippled around the room.

“
Dom
Regis,” Lady Marilla began tentatively, then corrected herself,

“Lord Hastur. We are of course delighted to receive any kinsman to our midst. There are so few of us that every new addition must be precious. Your brother looks to be a fine, sober man, a credit to your Domain and to us all. But . . .” Her eyes shifted between Regis and Rinaldo, although her composure did not waver. “You are proposing more than a simple welcome. Such a step requires careful consideration of all the . . . implications.”

Regis found the woman’s indirection maddening. What she meant was she thought it inappropriate to discuss Rinaldo’s position in front of him. He sensed, from
Dom
Ruyven’s air of disapproval and the downturned curve of the old man’s lips, that he was not at all in favor of what Regis proposed. Despite the barriers Regis had summoned in his mind, he could not escape the surge of emotion from where Valdir Ridenow sat.

“Some might say,” one of the Lindir lords put in, “that the Hasturs had too much power even before the demise of the Council.”

“Speak plainly, my lord,” Gabriel said. “What are you insinuating?”

“Why, nothing more than what everyone already knows. The Telepath Council was created by Lord Hastur, and they answer to him with an almost slavish devotion. It is bad enough that the Hasturs have traditionally been the most powerful of all the Domains, more so than their royal Elhalyn cousins. But when personal charisma is combined with exemplary leadership—I say nothing against Lord Hastur, you understand—we are all cognizant of the debt owed to him—when all this is added to political influence and the legends that have grown up over the last few years . . . can it be wise for one man to possess so much power?”

“My reputation is not at issue here,” Regis said tightly. “Do you accuse me of deliberately creating a cult of personality? I assure you, I never sought or wanted—”

He reined in his tongue before spilling out that he would far rather have lived an ordinary life. No one would have believed him. A nasty impulse led him to add, “Or are you saying that it’s bad enough to have one Hastur lording it over you without adding another?”

A moment of silence answered him, of indrawn breaths, of sudden stillness of hands. That was exactly what they
had
thought. In that hush, Danilo leaned forward.

“If any of you wish to accuse Regis Hastur of an abuse of rank and power, do so properly, openly, but not at this time. We are here at Lord Hastur’s behest and in the presence of one newly come among us. Decency and dignity require that we give Rinaldo Hastur a fair hearing.”

All eyes now turned toward Rinaldo. He had listened, quiet and serious, to the debate. Now he rose to his feet, a movement both supple and dignified. He lifted his head so that they could all see his milk-pale skin, his eyes colorless as an overcast sky, and his delicate, almost ethereal features.

Emmasca . . .?
whispered through their minds.

Regis can,
Regis formed the thought and dropped his barriers so that his mental communication resounded through the ambient psychic space.
And Regis does!

“Vai domyn.”
If Rinaldo had sensed any of the roiling thoughts, he gave no sign. “I am not here to challenge the established order. Indeed, I have spent my life in obedience to authority. Judge me if you will, as you will, but I beg of you, cast no aspersions upon my brother. He has been the soul of kindness to me. I would hear no evil spoken of him.”

Rinaldo waited for his words to sink in. “As for myself, you see me as I am. I have no ambition for myself nor any desire to found a dynasty.”

With a gentle smile, he invited their agreement and was rewarded by a nod here and there.

Regis did not like the way Valdir watched, careful and intent, as if assessing how hard it would be to mold Rinaldo to his own ends. Now, where had
that
thought come from? Regis wondered. He had caught no
laran
thoughts from the Ridenow lord.

“My work at Nevarsin was primarily copying ancient manuscripts and teaching those younger than I to do the same,” Rinaldo explained. “So you see, I know a fair amount of history and very little of current worldly affairs.”

At this, someone chuckled. Regis felt the iron tension across his shoulders relax a fraction.

“If you have lived your life cloistered at Nevarsin, you are
cristoforo,
are you not?”
Dom
Ruyven kept his voice neutral, but he could not disguise the challenge in the carriage of his shoulders, the suggestive angle of his chin.

By ancient law, the sole surviving heir to an estate was forbidden to become a monk, owing to the required vow of celibacy. But Rinaldo was no longer a monk, he was not the only son of Hastur, and those days were long past.

Rinaldo met Ruyven’s stare. “Although I have been released from my vows and am free to marry and lead a secular life, I am now and always will be the servant of the Holy Bearer of Burdens.”

“My brother’s faith or lack thereof is not an issue for public debate,” Regis said, before anyone else could jump into the discussion. “We are not living in the Ages of Chaos. Darkover is part of a confederation of planets, and it is time we behaved like civilized people, not superstitious savages.”

“A
confederation
?” Valdir’s voice was soft, but it filled the room. At his side, Francisco straightened in his chair.

“A fellowship, if you will,” Regis replied, instantly regretting his choice of words. “An alliance. But on equal footing, on our own terms, not as a poor relation.”

“Change comes upon us, whether we invite it or not,” Valdir said. “Reason dictates that we would be better off to control as much of it as we can. Perhaps our best hope is to return to the days when each Domain was free to direct its own destiny.”

On the surface, Valdir was discussing the right of the Hastur Domain to run its own affairs, to satisfy itself as to the legitimacy of any
nedestro
heirs and to grant them whatever rights it saw fit. Regis had learned through years of painful experience, of betrayals and schemes and hidden meanings, never to take anything a Comyn lord said at face value. His Grandfather had begun the lessons, and the unfolding politics of Domain and Council had reinforced them.

The implication of Valdir’s argument was clear. If Regis agreed for the sake of Rinaldo’s inheritance, then Valdir could—and most likely was even now readying himself to—apply the same principle of Domain autonomy to negotiations with the Terrans.

Ridenow will join the Federation as an independent nation, whether the rest of the Domains follow or not.
The prospect was beyond terrifying. Division would follow, then civil war and the disintegration of social order. The Federation would eagerly intervene. They would send troops armed with Compact-banned weapons. The Expansionist agents would seize whatever resources they could. They would be worse than the World Wreckers, for they would have no need for secrecy and no reward for restraint.

Was
that
what Valdir wanted? Or did he simply not see the logical progression of consequences?

Wishing he could be anywhere but in that suddenly hostile chamber, Regis conceded that Rinaldo had been right. He had been a very unworldly, optimistic person after all.

Regis could see only one way of avoiding the destruction of the world he loved. “
Vai comyn,
these are indeed unpredictable times, and as
Dom
Valdir has so eloquently pointed out, change breeds uncertainty. We must look to our strengths for guidance and stability: our connections with one another and with the past, our unique Gifts, our love for this world and its people. Now more than ever, Darkover needs all our leaders.”

“No one questions your qualifications, Lord Hastur,” said the Castamir lord. Others nodded agreement, Ruyven among them.

“I have called you here out of respect for our ancient traditions. Set your minds at rest, I have no intention of relinquishing my responsibilities as Head of my Domain. Honor demands no less. As has been pointed out, we are not so many that we can afford to exclude one who has so much to contribute. For this reason, I ask for your approval of full Comyn rights for my brother as a member of Hastur.”

“There is ample precedent for a younger son to hold a Domain,” Danilo said, looking pointedly at Valdir.

“Yes, that is true,” the Monterey lord agreed in a quavering voice. “Lord Regis Hastur has already been recognized as Head of his Domain. The legitimacy of his brother, whose attributes, however worthy of a devotional life, hardly qualify him to administer a Domain, does not alter that fact. Of course, if
Dom
Regis himself were to abdicate, that would be an entirely different matter. Or if Rinaldo were to marry and produce a male heir, which is . . . ah, unlikely . . . the legal precedents . . . ah, yes. But neither of these situations pertains.”

“Put that way, I see no reason to object,” Ruyven said. “It seems to me as good a compromise as any.
Dom
Regis will retain the position he already holds, and Hastur will gain another member, but one out of the line of succession.”

“Aye . . .” Murmurs of agreement filled the room. Some, including Lady Marilla, looked frankly relieved. Valdir held back, his expression unreadable. To Regis, he did not have the air of a man entirely pleased with the outcome. He’d wanted Regis out of the way, that much was clear, and now he had not one but two Hasturs to contend with.

Valdir was too crafty to let any trace of disappointment show. As everyone rose to leave, he congratulated Regis on a matter well handled and then spoke to Rinaldo, but for somewhat longer than courtesy required.

When, at last, the socializing came to an end, Regis felt thoroughly wrung out, like an old rag that had been used too many times and left soggy all winter. The last time he had used such an object was in his time as a cadet. Danilo, he recalled, had been far more adept at scrubbing stone floors.

There he was, standing just outside the door. Regis yearned for a private moment, to feel the strength of his
bredhyu,
that sense of acceptance deeper than words. Of all the men in Thendara, none would understand better than Danilo what Regis had done, the price he had paid. The corridor was far too public for any semblance of intimacy, however, and Rinaldo was waiting, overflowing with excitement, wanting to discuss every detail of the meeting. Regis had only a moment to meet Danilo’s dark, compassionate gaze.

S
ummer descended on Thendara, and lengthening days brightened the city. The social season enjoyed a brief, frenzied renewal with the ball held in Rinaldo’s honor. Almost every dignitary in Thendara attended, those few from major Comyn houses and any minor nobility who could be found, wealthy commoners, and a good portion of the Telepath Council. Only the Terrans were lacking; Dan Lawton had been invited, but he had declined. Regis was not entirely sure why, but he sensed some continuing family difficulty.

As the evening approached, Regis found himself uneasy, although he rejoiced in the evident pleasure of his brother. He had never felt comfortable in large assemblies. Since his first entry into society, people had stared at him, openly or covertly, out of curiosity or envy. He felt himself measured against his grandfather and the lineage of great Hastur leaders, against the prowess of the other cadets, against the stories that sprang up wherever he went. He hated the whispers and insinuations, but worst of all was the adulation. How could one man live up to everything they said he had done?