Heritage and Exile (58 page)

There was still time. His grandfather had made him promise three years. But he knew that for him, time had run out on his choices.

Dan Lawton was finishing up the Legate's speech.

“. . . every individual landing at any Trade City, whether at Thendara, Port Chicago or Caer Donn, when Caer Donn can be returned to operation as a Trade City, will be required to sign a formal declaration that there is no contraband in his possession, or to leave all such weapons under bond in the Terran Zone. Furthermore, all weapons imported to this planet for legal use by Terrans shall be treated with a small and ineradicable mark of a radioactive substance, so that the whereabouts of such weapons can be traced and they can be recalled.”

Regis gave a faint, wry smile. How quickly the Terrans had come around, when they discovered the Compact was not designed to eliminate Terran weapons but the great and dangerous Darkovan ones. They had had enough of Darkovan ones on the night when Caer Donn burned. Now they were all too eager to honor the Compact, in return for a Darkovan pledge to continue to do so.

So Kadarin accomplished something. And for the Comyn. What irony!

A brief recess was called after the Legate's speech and Regis, going to stretch his legs in the corridor, met Dan Lawton briefly face to face.

“I didn't recognize you,” the young Terran said. “I didn't know you'd taken a seat in Council, Lord Regis.”

Regis said, “I'm anticipating the fact by about half an hour, actually.”

“This doesn't mean your grandfather is going to retire?”

“Not for a great many years, I hope.”

“I heard a rumor—” Lawton hesitated. “I'm not sure it's proper to be talking like this outside of diplomatic channels . . .”

Regis laughed and said, “Let's say I'm not tied down to diplomatic channels for half an hour yet. One of the things I hope to see altered between Terran and Darkovan is this business of doing everything through diplomatic channels. It's your custom, not ours.”

“I'm enough of a Darkovan to resent it sometimes. I heard a rumor that there would be war with Aldaran. Any truth to it?”

“None whatever, I'm glad to say. Beltran has enough trouble. The fire at Caer Donn destroyed nearly eighty years of loyalty to Aldaran among the mountain people—and eighty years of good relations between Aldaran and the Terrans. The last thing he wants is to fight the Domains.”

“Rumor for rumor,” Lawton said. “The man Kadarin seems to have vanished into thin air. He'd been seen in the Dry Towns, but he's gone again. We've had a price on his head since he quit Terran intelligence thirty years ago—”

Regis blinked. He had seen Kadarin only once, but he would have sworn the man was no more than thirty.

“We're watching the ports, and if he tries to leave Darkover we'll take him. Personally I'd say good riddance. More likely he'll hide out in the Hellers for the rest of his natural life. If there's anything natural about it, that is.”

The recess was over and they began to return to the Crystal Chamber. Regis found himself face to face with Dyan Ardais. Dyan was dressed, not in his Domain colors, but in the drab black of ritual mourning.

“Lord Dyan—no, Lord Ardais, may I express my condolences.”

“They are wasted,” Dyan said briefly. “My father has not been in his right senses for years before you were born, Regis. What mourning I made for him was so long ago I have even forgotten what grief I felt. He has been dead more than half of my life; the burial was unduly delayed, that was all.” Briefly, grimly, he smiled.

“But formality for formality, Lord Regis. My congratulations.” His eyes held a hint of bleak amusement. “I suspect those are wasted too. I know you well enough to know you have no particular delight in taking a seat in Council. But of course we are both too well trained in Comyn formalities to say so.” He bowed to Regis and went into the Crystal Chamber.

Perhaps these formalities were a good thing, Regis thought. How could Dyan and he ever exchange a civil word without them? He felt a great sadness, as if he had lost a friend without ever knowing him at all.

The honor guard, commanded today by Gabriel Lanart-Hastur, was directing the reseating of the Comyn; as the doors were closed, the Regent called them all to order.

“The next business of this assembly,” he said, “is to settle certain heirships within the Comyn. Lord Dyan Ardais, please come forward.”

Dyan, in his somber mourning, came and stood at the center of the rainbow lights.

“On the death of your father, Kyril-Valentine Ardais of Ardais, I call upon you, Dyan-Gabriel Ardais, to relinquish the state of Regent-heir to the Ardais Domain and assume that of Lord Ardais, with wardship and sovereignty over the Domain of Ardais and all those who owe them loyalty and allegiance. Are you prepared to assume wardship over your people?”

“I am prepared.”

“Do you solemnly declare that to your knowledge you are fit to assume this responsibility? Is there any man who will challenge your right to this solemn wardship of the people of your Domain, the people of all the Domains, the people of all Darkover?”

How many of them could truly declare themselves fit for that? Regis wondered. Dyan gave the proper answer.

“I will abide the challenge.”

Gabriel, as commander of the Honor Guard, strode to his side and drew Dyan's sword. He called in a loud voice,

“Is there any to challenge the worth and rightful wardship of Dyan-Gabriel, Lord of Ardais?”

There was a long silence. Hypocrisy, Regis thought. Meaningless formality. That challenge was not answered twice in a score of years, and even then it had nothing to do with fitness but with disputed inheritance! How long had it been since anyone seriously answered that challenge?

“I challenge the wardship of Ardais,” said a harsh and strident old voice from the ranks of the lesser peers. Dom Felix Syrtis rose and slowly made his way toward the center of the room. He took the sword from Gabriel's hand.

Dyan's calm pallor did not alter, but Regis saw that his breathing had quickened. Gabriel said steadily, “Upon what grounds, Dom Felix?”

Regis looked around quickly. As his sworn paxman and bodyguard, Danilo was seated just beside him. Danilo did not meet Regis' eyes, but Regis could see that his fists were clenched. This was what Danilo had feared, if it came to his father's knowledge.

“I challenge him as unfit,” Dom Felix said, “on the grounds that he contrived unjustly the disgrace and dishonor of my son, while my son was a cadet in the Castle Guard. I declare blood-feud and call formal challenge upon him.”

Everyone sat silent and stunned. Regis picked up Gabriel Lanart-Hastur's scornful thought, unguarded, that if Dyan had to fight a duel over every episode of that sort he'd be here fighting until the sun came up tomorrow, lucky for him he was the best swordsman in the Domains. But aloud Gabriel only said, “You have heard the challenge, Dyan Ardais, and you must accept it or refuse. Do you wish to consult with anyone before making your decision?”

“I refuse the challenge,” Dyan said steadily.

Unprecedented as the challenge itself had been, the refusal was even more unprecedented. Hastur leaned forward and said, “You must state your grounds for refusing a formal challenge, Lord Dyan.”

“I do so,” Dyan said, “on the grounds that the charge is justified.”

An audible gasp went around the room. A Comyn lord did not admit that sort of thing! Everyone in that room, Regis believed, must know the charge was justified. But everyone also knew that Dyan's next act was to accept the challenge, quickly kill the old man and go on from there.

Dyan had paused only briefly. “The charge is just,” he repeated, “and there is no honor to be gained from the legal murder of an old man. And murder it would be. Whether his cause is just or unjust, a man of Dom Felix' years would have no equitable chance to prove it against my swordsmanship. And finally I state that it is not for him to challenge me. The son on whose behalf he makes this challenge is a man, not a minor child, and it is he, not his father, who should rightly challenge me in this cause. Does he stand ready to do it?” And he swung around to face Danilo where he sat beside Regis.

Regis heard himself gasp aloud.

Gabriel, too, looked shaken. But, as protocol demanded, he had to ask:

“Dom Danilo Syrtis. Do you stand ready to challenge Lord Dyan Ardais in this cause?”

Dom Felix said harshly, “He does or I will disown him!”

Gabriel rebuked gently, “Your son is a man, Dom Felix, not a child in your keeping. He must answer for himself.”

Danilo stepped into the center of the room. He said, “I am sworn paxman to Lord Regis Hastur. My Lord, have I your leave to make the challenge?” He was as white as a sheet. Regis thought desperately that the damned fool was no match for Dyan. He couldn't just sit there and watch Dyan murder him to settle this grudge once and for all.

All his love for Danilo rebelled against this, but before his friend's leveled eyes he knew he had no choice. He could not protect Dani. He said, “You have my leave to do whatever honor demands of you, kinsman. But there is no compulsion to do so. You are sworn to my service and by law that service takes precedence, so you have also my leave to refuse the challenge with no stain upon your honor.”

Regis was giving Dani an honorable escape if he wanted it. He could not, by Comyn immunity, fight Dyan in his place. But he could do this much.

Danilo made Regis a formal bow. He avoided his eyes. He went directly to Dyan, faced him and said, “I call challenge upon you, Lord Dyan.”

Dyan drew a deep breath. He was as pale as Danilo himself. He said, “I accept the challenge. But by law, a challenge of this nature may be resolved, at the option of the one challenged, by the offer of honorable amends. Is that not so, my lord Hastur?”

Regis could feel his grandfather's confusion like his own, as the old Regent said slowly, “The law does indeed give you this option, Lord Dyan.”

Regis, watching him closely, could see the almost-involuntary motion of Dyan's hand toward the hilt of his sword. This was the way Dyan had always settled all challenges before. But he steadied his hands, clasping them quietly before him. Regis could feel, like a bitter pain, Dyan's grief and humiliation, but the older man said, in a harsh, steady voice, “Then, Danilo-Felix Syrtis, I offer you here before my peers and my kinsmen a public apology for the wrong done you, in that I did unjustly and wrongfully contrive your disgrace, by provoking you willfully into a breach of cadet rules and by a misuse of
laran;
and I offer you any honorable amends in my power. Will this settle the challenge and the blood-feud, sir?”

Danilo stood as if turned to stone. His face looked completely stunned.

Why did Dyan do it? Regis wondered. Dyan could have killed him now with impunity, legally, and the matter could never be raised against him again!

And suddenly, whether or not he received the answer directly from Dyan, or his own intuition, he knew: they had all had a lesson in what could happen when Comyn misused their powers. There was disaffection among the subjects and even among themselves, in their own ranks, their own sons turned against them. It was not only to their subjects that they must restore public trust in the integrity of the Comyn. If their own kinsmen lost faith in them they had lost all. And then, as for an instant Dyan looked directly at him, Regis knew the rest, right from Dyan's mind:

Danilo was still standing motionless and Regis could feel his thoughts, too, troubled, uncertain: I have wanted for so long to kill him. It would be worth dying. But I am sworn to Regis Hastur, and sworn through him to the good of the Comyn. Dani drew a long breath and wet his lips before he could speak. Then he said, “I accept your honorable amends, Lord Dyan. And for myself and my house, I declare no feud remains and the challenge withdrawn—” Quickly he corrected himself: “The challenge settled.”

Dyan's pallor was gradually replaced by a deep, crimson flush. He spoke almost breathlessly. “What amends will you ask, sir? Is it necessary to explain here, before all men, the nature of the injustice and the apology? It is your right . . .”

Regis thought that Dani could make him crawl. He could have his revenge, after all.

Danilo said quietly, “It is not necessary, Lord Ardais. I have accepted your apology; I leave the amends to your honor.”

He turned quietly and returned to his place beside Regis. His hands were shaking. More advantages to the custom of formality, Regis thought wryly. Everyone knew, or guessed, and most of them probably guessed wrong. But now it need never be spoken.

Hastur spoke the formal words which confirmed Dyan's legal status as Lord Ardais and warder of the Ardais Domain. He added: “It is required, Lord Ardais, that you designate an heir. Have you a son?”

Regis could feel, through the very air, his grandfather's regret at the inflexibility of this ritual, which must only inflict more pain on Dyan. Dyan's grief and pain, too, was a knife-edge to everyone there with
laran
. He said harshly, “The only son of my body, my legitimate heir, was killed four years ago in a rockslide at Nevarsin.”

“By the laws of the Comyn,” Hastur instructed him needlessly, “You must then name your choice of near kinsmen as heir-designate. If you later father a son, that choice may be amended.”

Regis was remembering their long talk in the tavern and Dyan's flippancy about his lack of an heir. He was not flippant now. His face had paled to its former impassivity. He said, “My nearest kinsman sits among the Terrans. I must first ask if he is prepared to renounce that allegiance. Daniel Lawton, you are the only son of the eldest of my father's
nedestro
daughters, Rayna di Asturien, who married the Terran David Daniel Lawton. Are you prepared to renounce your Empire citizenship and swear allegiance to Comyn?”