Hastur Lord (45 page)

Regis followed the maze of cleared streets, angling toward the Castle. Compacted snow rose like walls to either side, broken at intervals by doors. A handful of children dressed in layers of rags scampered laughing across the top layers, hurling snowballs at one another.

A clearing marked a major intersection where a scattering of vendors had set up their stalls. There was no produce, only hot
jaco
and fried bread twists. An old woman sold knitted mittens from a basket. She offered a pair to Regis. Gravely, he inspected the tiny, even stitches, the soft
chervine
wool. The old woman’s expression, dignity mixed with hunger, touched him. Blessing the foresight that had provided him with a purse, he fished out a silver coin. It was more than the mittens were worth, but not so much as to offend her pride.

A little way farther, Regis heard men’s voices, rising and falling in rhythmic chant. He drew the gelding to a halt. A strange procession approached. At first, Regis thought it a collection of monks from St. Valentine’s. Those in the vanguard wore long brown robes belted with rope, but none were tonsured. The rest, a dozen or so, carried standards with crudely painted
cristoforo
symbols, jingled bells, or pounded on hand drums. They sang,

Regis had heard the chant every morning and every evening of his years at St. Valentine’s. At the time, he had thought it tedious and simple-minded. Now, the fervor and insistent rhythm troubled him. The singers seemed to be not so much penitent as demanding. Reluctant to encounter them more closely, Regis loosened the reins and touched the horse with his heels.

A Castle Guardsman took the horse at the gate. A second escorted Regis to the Hastur apartments and his grandfather’s—now Rinaldo’s—study. The room seemed little changed since Regis himself had occupied it.

Rinaldo sat behind the massive desk. Tiphani Lawton stood beside him, in the place where Danilo should be. She wore a robe somewhat like a monk’s, not of coarse brown homespun but stripes of silky white, red, and black.

The next instant, Rinaldo caught Regis up in a brother’s embrace. Quelling his sudden alarm, Regis tried to return the greeting as heartily as it was given.

Rinaldo released Regis, clapping him on both shoulders. “It’s good to see you! This weather has kept us apart, you in your snug little den halfway across the city and me immured in this drafty old Castle.”

“I hope I find you in good health. And you,
Mestra
Lawton.” Regis bowed to Tiphani.

She lifted her chin. Her features had altered, pared to starkness but still beautiful, her hair cut short and slicked to her skull.

“I no longer bear that tainted name,” she announced. “I now answer to the name granted to me by the Most Holy—
Luminosa
! All glory be to God.”

“All glory be to God,” Rinaldo repeated.

Regis wondered what the Terran Legate had to say about his wife’s psychiatric condition now.
Better not to open that subject,
he thought as he took a seat at Rinaldo’s invitation. Before the conversation could resume, however, there came a tap at the door.

“Come,” Rinaldo called, and Danilo entered.

With an effort, Regis kept his expression calm, as if Danilo meant no more to him than a passing acquaintance. His heart turned into a falcon caged within his chest, beating frantic wings as it tore at its prison. He longed to open his mind to his
bredhyu
. Rinaldo was head-blind and would never notice . . . but Tiphani might. From their earliest meeting, Regis had sensed her psychic sensitivity, perhaps
laran
.

Danilo moved across the room, graceful as always, whole of body and unharmed. He went to the desk and placed a packet of papers before Rinaldo.

Danilo bowed first to Rinaldo, then to Tiphani Lawton—Regis could not think of her as anything else, certainly not that pompous name—and then, without the slightest hesitation, to Regis himself.

Regis relaxed minutely. Danilo’s silence had been more eloquent than any greeting. If they had indeed grown apart, if all feeling between them had died, a few meaningless words would have come easily.

Paper crinkled as Rinaldo folded the sheets and set them aside. He turned back to Regis with another smile. “What is the news from the other side of town? How does your wife and your new son? I expect he is trotting about the house by now.”

Regis smiled. “Not for some months yet, I think. Babies grow more slowly than that. He still needs his mother’s tender care. For his sake, she should remain close by him, at home.”

“Of course! I am glad to hear she is such a devoted mother, and you such a solicitous husband and father. You see, my brother, the blessings that come with obedience to Divine Law?”

“I am indeed content in my marriage,” Regis said, keeping his eyes upon his brother and not on Danilo.

Confusion flickered across Rinaldo’s features. “I do not see why the issue of a mother leaving her own young children should arise—”

“The note,” Tiphani said, placing one hand on Rinaldo’s shoulder.

“I thought Lady Bettany had sent an apology.” Rinaldo scowled. “I
told
her!”

“Do not think harshly of your poor wife.” Tiphani’s voice turned honey-sweet. “Pregnancy can addle the wits of any woman.”

Pregnancy had not made Linnea any less rational. Regis listened politely as Rinaldo explained that, of course, Bettany had not thought of the implications of her invitation.

“In any event, it is not necessary. Lady Hastur is well tended here in the Castle. She wants for nothing, certainly not feminine companionship.” Rinaldo glanced at Tiphani.

Regis felt impelled to repeat Linnea’s offer, that should Bettany desire
laran
monitoring of her pregnancy, Linnea would be at her service. He did not add that it was an extraordinary privilege to have such care from a Keeper.

Tiphani set her lips in a tight line. Rinaldo’s expression, which had been open and earnest, darkened. “With all respect to your lady wife, who seems a model of womanly virtue,” he said, “it would not be proper for one who once practiced sorcerous arts to attend my own wife. I cannot allow the innocent souls of both mother and unborn child to be exposed to such an influence, even if unintended.”

“
Laran
is not magic,” Regis said, caught unawares by the accusation. “We Comyn are not witches. Our Gifts may seem supernatural, but they can be understood rationally and used honorably.”

“So you have been misled to believe,” Rinaldo said. “I cannot fault you, although you must have learned otherwise from the good brothers at Nevarsin.”

Regis recalled that so deep was the
cristoforos’
animosity to mental powers that every stone of the monastery had been laid by human hands, without the assistance of
laran
. “I intended no offense. No harm would come to Lady Hastur in my wife’s care.”

“I do not doubt
Domna
Linnea’s good intentions, but even the strongest mind can be seduced by temptation.”

The atmosphere had chilled during the discussion. Tiphani broke the tension, turning to Regis. “We need not discompose your household, Lord Regis. Lady Hastur is in the best hands imaginable, for when the spirit is under Divine guidance, no ill can come to the body. Daily I receive instruction as to her care. No malign influence is permitted to approach her, only those individuals sanctified by the One True God. All will be well, I assure you.”

Ice brushed the back of his neck as Regis remembered her tear-streaked face and passionate words:
“I took the filthy thing away from Felix as soon as I realized. Oh, God, it’s all my fault! If only I had not been weak in letting Felix have his way! If only I had watched him more closely—”

Her ignorance had almost killed her own child. Was she now making some bizarre atonement . . . or convincing herself that she was fulfilling a holy mission?

Rinaldo nodded beatifically. Regis could not think what to say. He had faced more challenging situations than he could count, but this declaration left him speechless.

“Surely,” Danilo said to Tiphani, moving smoothly into the pause, “your husband can have no objection to your being of such service.”

Tiphani shot him a look of unadulterated spite.

So that’s where the lines of alliance were drawn.
Be careful, Danilo. Few people are more dangerous than those who believe God speaks through them.

“Have no fear,” Rinaldo said as he patted Tiphani’s arm. “I have given you my protection. No one will force you to return against your will.”

She shook off his touch. “It’s not so simple.”

“No, indeed,” Regis broke in, “for you are still a Federation citizen,
Mestra
. . . Luminosa, and your husband is the Legate. My brother may be Lord Hastur, but he does not speak for the other Domains. This Castle is the joint property of all the Comyn, controlled by no single house.”

It was a clumsy move, speaking to Tiphani but really directing his remarks at Rinaldo:
“What do you think you’re doing, harboring a runaway Terran against the wishes of her family? Are you trying to provoke a conflict with the Federation?”

Rinaldo glared at Regis as if confronting a delinquent student. “You go too far, my brother! How dare you speak so disrespectfully to me, your elder and Head of your Domain?”

“You asked for my counsel once,” Regis replied. “Is it disrespectful to speak a truth that might—” He paused, meaning to say,
“prevent a catastrophic decision?”
but, deciding better, finished, “—be put to good use?”

“
Dom
Valdir is always lecturing me on the importance of diplomatic cooperation. I am only one Domain among many . . .” Rinaldo went on, his voice becoming more thoughtful. “There is nothing to stop others from taking independent action, siding against me with Lawton and the Federation. As for the Telepath Council, they are nothing more than a band of commoners infected by
laran
witchery! No, no, what I need—what all of Darkover needs—is a strong leader to speak for everyone.”

“That is not as easy as it sounds,” Regis commented, “even with loyal supporters and sound advice.” He meant Danilo’s service and his own counsel, but Tiphani took it as an oblique compliment and preened. “As for your situation,
Mestra
Luminosa, you yourself have the power to resolve the current issue between the Federation forces and Hastur.”

“By making peace with my husband, you mean.”

Regis nodded. “Is it prudent to involve the most powerful house on Darkover in a domestic problem?”

“You know nothing of the matter!” She glowered at him. “How full of advice you are, for everyone but yourself! Regis Peacemaker, Regis Kingmaker—is that how you intend to make your mark on history?”

“I have no such aspirations,” Regis said. “In fact, I would be quite content if history forgot me entirely.”

“We must honor those who have gone before us,” Rinaldo stepped in.

Tiphani, still seething, took her leave so that she might attend to Bettany. The mood remained somber for a time, punctuated by comments of no consequence.

Then Regis said, “This tension between you—” he did not say
Hastur,
for he meant Rinaldo personally, “—and the Terran Legate is not a good situation. It can too easily spread to include our entire Domain, as well as others and the Federation itself. Would you hear my advice?”

“I am always happy to hear what you have to say. However, I question whether you truly understand the matter.”

“As far as I can tell, it is a family dispute that ought not to involve powers of state. Let the Lawtons work out their differences free from outside interference. Establish a neutral ground where they may speak with one another without intimidation.”

“That is impossible. The matter has spiritual as well as political implications.”

“You mean because the woman is a coreligionist and says she receives visions? Voices, whatever? Rinaldo, those are symptoms of a sickness of the mind. If she is ill, she needs proper treatment.”
And not blind trust from someone who only reinforces her delusions.

“I repeat, you do not fully comprehend what is at stake. At first, I could not understand why I had been driven from St. Valentine’s into this hotbed of licentiousness. But now, since the Lord of All Worlds has sent Lady Luminosa to guide me, I see my true calling. I am meant not merely to instruct a few boys who, like you yourself, will soon forget their good precepts. My destiny is to cleanse a city, a Domain . . . an entire planet.”

Danilo flinched and as quickly recovered himself. Rinaldo gave not the slightest indication he’d sensed the surge of dismay. He continued speaking about the poor, helping them through the winter, or opening the roads to pilgrimage.

Regis peered into his brother’s earnest, open face.
He is a good man, for all his early years of isolation from the world. He means to do right in the world, he just has no understanding of what that is . . .

Rinaldo had fallen under the influence of those who were not so altruistic: first Valdir Ridenow, with his desire to see Darkover a Federation member, then Tiphani Lawton, a disturbed woman only too willing to incorporate Rinaldo’s faith into her own grandiose delusions.

My brother needs my help more than ever before.
How could he turn his back on Rinaldo, a
chervine
kid among wolves?

W
inter ended as abruptly as it had begun, as if the sky had exhausted itself. Snow gave way to sleet. From one tenday to the next, the layers of filthy snow shrank. True to his promise, Regis met every day with Rinaldo, except on
cristoforo
fast days. Regis had no idea there were so many saints or occasions for suspending normal business, but he welcomed those occasions to remain with his family.