Heritage and Exile (101 page)

“But it was Beltran, not Kermiac, who managed to burn the spaceport at Caer Donn, and half of the town with it,” Lawton said. “How do we know that Beltran hasn't brought his men here to join Kadarin, and try some such trick on the Thendara spaceport? I tell you, we have to find Kadarin before that gets out of hand again. You probably don't realize that the Empire has sovereign authority over all its colonies where there's a threat to a spaceport; they're not under local authority at all, but under the interplanetary authority of the Senate. You people have no Senate representation, but you
are
a Terran colony and I
do
have the authority to send Spaceforce in—”

This sounds like what Lerrys was saying.
Regis said, “If you ever want good relations with Comyn Council, Lawton, I wouldn't advise it. Spaceforce quartered in the Old Town would be looked upon as. . . .”

As an act of war.
Darkover, with swords and the Guardsmen, to fight the interplanetary majesty of the Empire?

“Why do you think I am telling you this?” Lawton asked, with a touch of impatience, and Regis wondered if indeed the man had read his thoughts. “We
have
to find Kadarin! We could arrest Beltran and call him in for questioning. I have the authority to fill your whole damned city with Terran Intelligence and Spaceforce so that Kadarin would have as much chance as a lighted match on a glacier!” He sounded angry. “I need some cooperation or I'll have to do
exactly
that; one of my jobs is to see that Thendara doesn't go the way of Caer Donn!”

“The agreement whereby you respect the local government—”

“But if the local government is harboring a dangerous criminal, I'll have to override your precious Council! Don't you understand?
This is an Empire planet!
We've given you a lot of leeway; it's Empire policy to let local governments have their head, as long as they don't damage interplanetary matters. But among other things, I am responsible for the safety of the Spaceport!”

Regis said angrily, “Are you accusing us of harboring Kadarin? We have a price on his life too.”

“You have been remarkably ineffective in finding him,” Lawton said. “I'm under pressure too, Regis; I'm trying to hold out against my superiors, who can't imagine why I'm humoring your Council this way with Kadarin at large, and—” he hesitated, “Sharra.”

Lawton sounded angry. “I'm doing my best, Lord Regis, but my back's to the wall. I'm under just as much pressure as you are. If you want us to stay on our side of the wall, find us Kadarin, and turn him over to us, and we'll hold off. Otherwise—I won't have a choice. If I refuse to handle it, they'll simply transfer me out, and someone else will do it—someone without half the stake I have in keeping this world peaceful.” He drew a long breath. “Sorry; I didn't mean to imply that any of this was your fault, or even that you could do anything about it. But if you have any influence with anyone in the Council, you'd better tell them about it. I'll send someone to show you the way to Captain Scott's quarters.”

 

Rafe's voice said a careless “Come in,” as Regis knocked; as he entered, Rafe started up from his chair. “Regis!” Then he broke off. “Forgive me. Lord Hastur—”

“Regis will do, Rafe,” Regis said. After all, they had been boys together. “And forget that formal little speech about why am I honoring your house.” A grin flickered on Rafe's face, and he gestured Regis to a seat. Regis took it, looking about him curiously; in his many visits to the Terran Zone he had never before been inside a private dwelling, but only in public places. To him the furniture seemed coarse, ill-made and badly arranged, comfortless. Of course, these were the bachelor quarters of an unmarried man, without servants or much that was permanent.

“May I offer you refreshment, Regis? Wine? A fruit drink?”

“It's too early for wine,” Regis said, but realized that he was thirsty from all the talking he had been doing with the Legate. Rafe went to a console, touched controls; a cup of some white smooth artificial material materialized and a stream of pale-gold liquid trickled into it. Rafe handed him the cup, materialized and filled another for himself. He came back and took a seat.

Regis said, sipping at the cool, tart liquid, “I have seen what happened to your matrix. I—” suddenly he did not have the faintest idea how he was going to say this.

“I have discovered—almost by accident—” he fumbled, “that I have some—some curious power over—not over Sharra, just over—matrixes which have been—contaminated—by Sharra. Will you let me try it with yours?”

Rafe made a wry face, “I came here so that I could forget about that,” he said. “It seems strange to hear talk of matrixes
here.
” He gestured to the bare plastic room.

“You may not be as safe as you think,” Regis warned him soberly, “Kadarin has been seen in the Terran Zone.”

“Where?” Rafe demanded. When Regis told him, he leaned back in his chair, white as death. “I know what he wanted. I must see Lew—” and stopped dead. He fumbled for the matrix round his neck; unwrapped it. He held it out quietly on the palm of his hand. Regis looked fixedly at it, and saw it begin to flame and glow with that frightening evocation, the Form of Fire in both their minds, the reek and terror of a city in flames . . .

He tried to summon memory of what he had done with Javanne's matrix; found himself, after a brief struggle, wresting the Form of Fire slowly into a shadow, to nothing, a shred. . . .

The matrix stared, blue and innocent, back at them. Rafe drew a noisy breath, color coming slowly into his face again.

“How did you do that?” he demanded.

That was, Regis thought with detachment, an excellent question. It was a pity he did not have an equally excellent answer. “I don't know. It may have something to do with the Hastur Gift—whatever that is. I suggest you try to use it.”

Rafe looked scared. “I haven't been able to—even to try—since—” but he did take the crystal between his hands. After a moment a cold globe of light appeared over his joined hands, floated slowly about the room, vanished. He sighed, again. “It seems to be—free—”

Rafe's eyes widened as he looked at Regis. He whispered, “Son of Hastur—” and bowed, an archaic gesture, bending almost to the ground.

Regis said impatiently, “Never mind that! What is it that you know about Kadarin?”

“I can't tell you now.” Rafe seemed to be struggling between that archaic reverence and a perfectly ordinary exasperation. “I swear I can't; it's something I have to tell Lew first. It—” he hesitated. “It wouldn't be honorable or right. Do you command me to tell you, Lord Hastur?”

“Of course not,” said Regis, scowling, “but I wish you'd tell me what you're talking about.”

“I can't. I have to go—” he stopped and sighed. Then he said, “Beltran is in the city. I do not want to encounter him. May I come to Comyn Castle? I promise, I will explain everything then. It is a—” again the hesitation. “A family matter. Will you ask Lew Alton to meet me in his quarters in the Castle? He—he may not want to see me. I was part of that—part of the Sharra rebellion. But I was his brother's friend, too. Ask him, for Marius's sake, if he will speak with me.”

“I'll ask him,” Regis said, but he felt more puzzled than ever.

 

When he left the Terran Zone, the Guardsman at his heels drew diffidently level with him and said, “May I ask you a question, Lord Regis?”

“Ask,” Regis said, again annoyed at the archaic deference.
I was a cadet under this man; he was an experienced officer when I was still putting the chin-strap on the cinch-ring! Why should he have to ask permission to speak to me?

“Sir, what's going on in the city? They called all the Guards out for some kind of ceremony—”

Abruptly, Regis remembered; his errand in the Terran Zone had kept him away, and yet this might be called one of the most important days in the history of the Domains. The Seventh Domain of Aldaran was about to be restored with full ceremony to Comyn, and in token of that Beltran was to swear to Compact . . . he should have been there. Not that he trusted Beltran to observe any oath one moment longer than it was to his advantage to do so!

He said, “We'll go to the city wall; at least you'll see part of it from there.”

“Thank you, my lord,” the Guard said deferentially.

Inside the city wall there were stairs, so that they could walk atop the broad wall, past posted guards, each of whom saluted Regis as he passed. Spread out below them, he could see the men in Aldaran's so-called Honor Guard.
There must be hundreds of them,
he thought,
it is really an army, enough army to storm the walls of Thendara . . . he left nothing to our good will.

In a little knot at the head of them, he could see Beltran, and a number of brightly clad cloaked figures; Comyn lords, come to witness this ceremony. Without realizing he was doing it, Regis enhanced his sight with
laran,
and suddenly it was as if he stood within a few feet of his grandfather, spare and upright in the blue and silver ceremonial cloak of the Hasturs. Edric of Serrais was there too, and Lord Dyan of Ardais, and Prince Derik, and Merryl; and Danilo at Dyan's side, the two dressed identically in the ceremonials of Ardais; and Merryl in the gray and crimson of Aillards, attending Callina, who stood slightly apart from them, enfolded in her gray cloudy wrap, her face partially veiled as befitted a Comyn lady among strangers.

One by one Beltran's men were coming up, laying down their Terran blasters before Lady Callina, kneeling and pronouncing the brief formula dating back to the days of King Carolin of Hali, when the Compact had been devised; that no man should bear a weapon beyond the arm's reach of him who wielded it, so that any man who would kill must dare his own death. . . . Callina looked cold and cross.

“Can't we go a bit nearer, sir? I can't see or hear 'em,” the Guardsman asked.

Regis replied, “Go, if you like; I can see well enough from here.” His voice was absentminded; he himself was down there, a few steps from Callina. He could sense her inner raging; she was only a pawn in this, and like Regis, she was at the mercy of Comyn Council, without power to rebel even as effectively as Regis could do.

Regis had protested once, long ago, that the path was carved deep for a Comyn son, a path he must walk whether he wished or no . . . stronger yet were the forces binding Comyn daughters. He must have thought this more strongly than he realized, for he saw Callina turn her head a little and look, puzzled, at the spot where Regis felt himself to be and, not seeing him, frown a little, but he followed her thoughts:
Ashara would protect me, but her price is too high . . . I do not want to be her pawn . . .

The ceremony seemed endless; no doubt Beltran had structured it that way, so that the Comyn witnesses might witness his strength. There was a high heap of Terran weapons, blasters and nerve guns, at Callina's feet. What in Aldones's name, does Beltran think we are going to do with them? Hand them over to the Terrans? For all we know, he might have as many more in Aldaran itself!

His eyes met the eyes of Dyan Ardais. Dyan turned, looking up at the distant spot on the wall where Regis stood. Regis did, without thinking about it, something he had never done before and did not consciously know how to do; he dropped into rapport with Dyan, sensing the man's strength and his exasperation at the way this put Beltran into a position of power.

Strengthen me, Dyan, for what I must do!
He felt Dyan's thoughts, surprise at the sudden contact, an emotion of which Dyan was not quite consciously aware . . .
su serva Dom, a veis ordenes emprézi
. . . in the inflection with which he would have put himself at Regis's orders, now and forever, in life and death at the disposal of a Hastur . . . once, on the fire-lines during his first year as an officer in the Guards, he had been sent with Dyan into the fire lines when forest-fire raged in the Venza hills behind Thendara, and once he had looked up and found himself working at Dyan's side, strained to the uttermost, shared effort in every nerve and muscle. It was very like being back to back, swords out, each guarding the other's back like paxman and sworn lord . . . he felt Dyan's strength backing his as he
reached out
blindly with his telepathic force. . . .

GET BACK!
It was a cry of warning, telepathic and not vocal, but everyone in the crowd experienced it, edged backward. The great heap of weapons began to glow, reddened, turned white-hot. . . .

They vanished, vaporized; there was a great sickening stench for a moment, then that too was gone. Callina was staring, pale as death, at the empty blackened hole in the ground where they had been. Regis felt Dyan's touch almost like a kinsman's embrace; then they fell apart again. . . .

He was alone, staring from his isolated watch-post on the wall at the empty space where the great heap of weapons had been. He heard his grandfather's voice, seizing this opportunity as if he himself had been responsible:

“Kneel now, Beltran of Aldaran, and swear Compact to your assembled equals,” he said, using the word
Comyn.
Still somewhat dazed at the destruction which had overshadowed his dramatic gesture of giving up his weapons, Beltran knelt and spoke the ritual words.