The Heritage Of Hastur

Marion Zimmer Bradley The Heritage Of Hastur

Darkover – 18

THE HERITAGE OF HASTUR

Chapter ONE

As the riders came up over the pass which led down into Thendara, they could see beyond the old city to the Terran spaceport Huge and sprawling, ugly and unfamiliar to their eyes, it spread like some strange growth below them. And all around it, ringing it like a scab, were the tightly clustered buildings of the Trade City which had grown between old Thendara and the spaceport.

Regis Hastur, riding slowly between his escorts, thought that it was not as ugly as they had told him in Nevarsin. It had its own beauty, an austere beauty of steel towers and stark white buildings, each for some alien and unknown purpose. It was not a cancer on the face of Darkover, but a strange and not unbeautiful garment.

The central tower of the new headquarters building faced the Comyn Castle, which stood across the valley, with an unfortunate aspect. It appeared to Regis that the tall skyscraper and the old stone castle were squared off and facing one another like two giants armed for combat

But he knew that was ridiculous. There had been peace between the Terran Empire and the Domains all of his lifetime. The Hasturs made sure of it

But the thought brought him no comfort He was not much of a Hastur, he considered, but be was the last. They would make the best of him even though he was a damned poor substitute for his father, and everyone knew it They'd never let him forget it for a minute.

His father had died fifteen years ago, just a month before Regis had been born. Rafael Hastur had at thirty‑five already shown signs of being a strong statesman and leader, deeply loved by his people, respected even by the Terrans. And he had been blown to bits in the Kilghard Hills, killed by contraband weapons smuggled from the Terran Empire. Cut off in the full strength of his youth and promise, he had left only an eleven‑year‑old daughter and a fragile, pregnant wife. Alanna Elhalyn‑Hastur had nearly died of the shock of his death. She had clung fitfully to life only because she knew she was carrying the last of the Hasturs, the longed‑for son of Rafael. She had lived, racked with grief, just long enough for Regis to be born alive; then, almost with relief, she had laid her life down.

And after losing his father, after all his mother went through, Regis thought, all they got was him, not the son they would have chosen. He was strong enough physically, even good‑looking, but curiously handicapped for a son of the telepathic caste of the Domains, the Comyn. A nontele‑path. At fifteen, if he had inherited laran power, he would have shown signs of it.

Behind him, he heard bis bodyguards talking in low tones.

"I see they've finished their headquarters building. Hell of a place to put it, within a stone's throw of Comyn Castle."

"Well, they started to build it back in the Hellers, at Caer Donn. It was old Istvan Hastur, in my grandsire's time, who made them move the spaceport to Thendara. He must have had his reasons."

"Should have left it there, away from decent folk!"

"Oh, the Terrans aren't all bad. My brother keeps a shop in the Trade City. Anyway, would you want the Terranan back in the hills, where those mountain bandits and the damned Aldarans could deal with them behind our backs?"

"Damned savages," the second man said. "They don't even observe the Compact back there. You see them in the Hellers, wearing their filthy cowards' weapons."

"What would you expect of the Aldarans?" They lowered their voices, and Regis sighed. He was used to it. He put constraint on everyone, just by being what be was: Comyn and Hastur. They probably thought he could read their minds. . Most Comyn could.

"Lord Regis," said one of his guards, "there's a party of riders coming down the northward road carrying banners. They must be the party from Armida, with Lord Alton. Shall we wait for them and ride together?"

Regis had no particular desire to join another party of Comyn lords, but it would have been an unthinkable breach of manners to say so. At Council season all the Domains met together at Thendara; Regis was bound by the custom of

generations to treat them all as kinsmen and brothers. And die Altons were bis kinsmen.

They slackened pace and waited for the other riders.

They were still high on the slopes, and he could see past Thendara to the spread‑out spaceport itself. A great distant sound, like a faraway waterfall, made the ground vibrate like thunder, even where he stood. A tiny toylike form began to rise far out on the spaceport, slowly at first, then faster and faster. The sound peaked to a faint scream; the shape was a faraway streak, a dot, was gone.

Regis let his breath go. A starship of the Empire, outward bound for distant worlds, distant suns.... Regis realized his fists had clenched so tightly on the reins that his horse tossed its head, protesting. He slackened them and gave the horse an absentminded, apologetic pat on the neck. His eyes were still riveted on the spot in the sky where the starship had vanished.

Outward bound, free for the immeasurable immensities of space, the ship was beaded to worlds whose wonders he, chained down here, could never guess. His throat felt tight He wished he were not too old to cry, but the heir to Hastur could not make any display of unmanly emotion in public. He wondered why he was getting so worked up about this, but he knew the answer: that ship was going where he could never go.

The riders from the pass were nearer now, Regis could identify some of them. Next to his bannerman rode Ken‑Bard, Lord Alton, a stooped, heavy‑set man with red hair going gray. Except for Danvan Hastur, Regent of the Comyn, Kennard was probably the most powerful man in the Seven Domains. Regis had known Kennard all his He; as a child, he had called him uncle. Behind him, among a whole assembly of kinsmen, servants, bodyguards and poor relations, he saw the banner of the Ardais Domain, so Lord Dyan must be with them.

One of Regis' guards said in an undertone, "I see the old buzzard has both his bastards with him. Wonder how he has the face?"

"Old Kennard can face anything, and make Hastur like it," returned the other man in a prison‑yard mutter. "Anyway, young Lew's not a bastard; Kennard got him legitimated so he could work in the Arilinn Tower. The younger one‑**

The guard saw Regis glance his way and he stiffened; the expression slid off his face as if a sponge had wiped it blank.

Damn it, Regis thought irritably, I can't read your mind, man, IVe just got good, normal ears. But in any case, he realized, he had overheard an insolent remark about a Comyn lord, and the guard would have been embarrassed about that. There was an old proverb: The mouse in the walls may look at a eta, but he is wise not to squeak about it.

Regis, of course, knew the old story, Kennard had done a shocking, even a shameful thing: he had taken, in honorable marriage, a half‑Terran woman, kin to the renegade Domain of Aldaran. Comyn Council had never accepted the marriage or the sons. Not even for Kennard's sake.

Kennard rode toward Regis. "Greetings, Lord Regis. Are you riding to Council?"

Regis felt exasperated at the obviousness of the question‑where else would he be going, on this road, at this season?‑until he realized that the formal words implied recognition as an adult. He replied, with equally formal courtesy, "Yes, kinsman, my grandsire has requested that I attend Council this year."

"Have you been all these years hi the monastery at Nevarsin, kinsman?"

Kennard knew perfectly well where he had been, Regis reflected; when his grandfather couldn't think of any other way to get Regis off his hands, he packed him away to Saint‑Val‑entine‑of‑the‑Snows, But it would have been a fearful breach of manners to mention this before the assembly so he merely said, "*Yes, he entrusted my education to the cristoforos; I have been there three years."

"Well, that was a hell of a way to treat the heir to Has‑tur," said a harsh, musical voice. Regis looked up and recognized Lord Dyan Ardais, a pale, tall, hawk‑faced man he had seen making brief visits to the monastery. Regis bowed and greeted him. "Lord Dyan."

Dyan's eyes, keen and almost colorless‑there was said to be chieri blood in the Ardais‑rested on Regis. "I told Hastur that only a fool would send a boy to be brought up in that place. But I gathered that he was much occupied with affairs of state, such as settling all the troubles the Terranan have brought to our world. I offered to have you fostered at Ardais; my sister Elorie bore no living child and would have welcomed a kinsman to rear. But your grandsire, I gather,

thought me no fit guardian for a boy your age." He gave a faint, sarcastic smile. "Well, you seem to have survived three years at the hands of the cristoforos. How was it in Nevarsin, Regis?"

"Cold." Regis hoped that settled that.

"How well I remember," Dyan said, laughing. "I was brought up by the brothers, too, you know. My father still had his wits then‑or enough of them to keep me well out of sight of his various excesses. I spent the whole five years shivering."

Kennard lifted a gray eyebrow. "I don't remember that it was so cold."

"But you were warm in the guesthouse," Dyan said with a smile. "They keep fires there all year, and you could have had someone to warm your bed if you chose. The students' dormitory at Nevarsin‑I give you my solemn word‑is the coldest place on Darkover. Haven't you watched those poor brats shivering their way through the offices? Have they made a cristoforo of you, Regis?"

Regis said briefly, "No, I serve the Lord of Light, as is proper for a son of Hastur."

Kennard gestured to two lads in the Alton colors, and they rode forward a little way. "Lord Regis," he said formally, "I ask leave to present my sous: Lewis‑Kennard Montray‑Alton; Marius Montray‑Lanart."

Regis felt briefly at a loss. Kennard's sons were not accepted by Council, but if Regis greeted them as kinsman and equals, he would give them Hastur recognition. If not, he would affront his kinsman. He was angry at Kennard for making this choice necessary, especially when there was nothing about Comyn etiquette or diplomacy that Kennard did not know.

Lew Alton was a tall, sturdy young man, five or six years older than Regis. He said with a wry smile, "It's all right, Lord Regis, I was legitimated and formally designated heir a couple of years ago. It's quite permissible for you to be polite to me."

Regis felt his face flaming with embarrassment. He said, "Grandfather wrote me the news; I had forgotten. Greetings, cousin, have you been long on the road?"

"A few days," Lew said. "The road is peaceful, although my brother, I think, found it a long ride. He's very young for such a journey. You remember Marius, don't you?"

Regis realized with relief that Marius, called Montray‑Lan‑art instead of Alton because he had not yet been accepted as a legitimate son, was only twelve years old‑too young in any case for a formal greeting. The question could be sidestepped by treating him as a child. He said, "You've grown since I last saw you, Marius. I don't suppose you remember me at all. You're old enough now to ride a horse, at least. Do you still have the little gray pony you used to ride at Armida?"

Marius answered politely, "Yes, but he's out at pasture; he's old and lame, too old for such a trip."

Kennard looked annoyed. Diplomacy indeed! His grandfather would be proud of him, Regis considered, even if he was not proud of himself for the art of double tongues. Fortunately, Marius was not old enough to know he'd been snubbed. It occurred to Regis how ridiculous it was for boys their own age to address one another so formally anyway. Lew and he used to be close friends. The years at Armida, before Regis went to the monastery, they were as close as brothers. And now Lew was calling him Lord Regis! It was

stupid!

Kennard looked at the sky. "Shall we ride on? It's near sunset and sure to ram. It would be a nuisance to have to stop and pack away the banners. And your grandfather will be eager to see you, Regis."

"My grandfather has been spared my presence for three years," Regis said dryly. "I am sure he can endure another hour or so. But it would be better not to ride in the dark."

Protocol said that Regis should ride beside Kennard and Lord Dyan, but instead he dropped back to ride beside Lew Alton. Marius was riding with a boy about Regis' own age, who looked so familiar that Regis frowned, trying to recall

where they'd met

While the entourage was getting into line, Regis sent his banner‑bearer to ride at the head of the column with those of Ardais and Alton. He watched the man ride ahead with the silver‑and‑blue fir‑tree emblem of Hastur and the casta slogan, Permaned&l. I shall remain, he translated wearily, yes, I shall stay here and be a Hastur whether I like it or not.

Then rebellion gripped him again. Kennard hadn't stayed. He was educated on Terra itself, and by the will of the Council. Maybe there was hope for Regis too, Hastur or no.

He felt queerly lonely, Kennard's maneuvering for proper respect for his sons had irritated him, but it had touched him

too. If his own father had lived, he wondered, would he have been so solicitous? Would he have schemed and intrigued to keep his son from feeling inferior?

Lew's face was grim, lonely and sullen. Regis couldn't tell if he felt slighted, ill‑treated or just lonely, knowing himself different

Lew said, "Are you coming to take a seat hi Council, Lord Regis?"

The formality irritated Regis again. Was it a snub in return for the one he had given Marius? Suddenly he was tired of this. "You used to call me cousin, Lew. Are we too old to be friends?"

A quick smile lighted Lew's face. He was handsome without the sullen, withdrawn look. "Of course not, cousin. But I've had it rubbed into me, in the cadets and elsewhere, that you are Regis‑Rafael, Lord Hastur, and I'm ... well, I'm nedestro heir to Alton. They only accepted me because my father has no proper Darkovan sons. I decided that it was up to you whether or not you cared to claim kin."

Regis* mouth stretched in a grimace. He shrugged. "Well, they may have to accept me, but I might as well be a bastard. I haven't inherited laran"

Lew looked shocked. "But certainly, you‑I was sure‑** He broke off. "Just the same, you'll have a seat in Council, cousin. There is no other Hastur heir."

"I'm all too well aware of that. I've heard nothing else since the day I was born," Regis said. "Although, since Javanne married Gabriel Lanart, she's having sons like kittens. One of them may very well displace me some day."

"Still, you are in the direct line of male descent A laran gjft does skip a generation now and then. All your sons could inherit it."

Regis said with impulsive bitterness, "Do you think that helps‑to know that I'm of no value for myself, but only for the sons I may have?"

A thin, fine drizzle of rain was beginning to fall. Lew drew his hood up over his shoulders and the insignia of the City Guard showed on his cloak. So he's taking the regular duties of a Comyn heir, Regis thought. He may be a bastard, but he's more useful than I am.

Lew said aloud, as if picking up his thoughts, "I expect you'll be going into the cadet corps of the Guard this season, won't you? Or are the Hasturs exempt?"

"It's all planned out for us, isn't it, Lew? Ten years old, fire‑watch duty. Thirteen or fourteen, the cadet corps. Take my turn as an officer. Take a seat in Council at the proper time. Many the right woman, if they can find one from a family that's old enough and important enough and, above all, with laran. Father a lot of sons, and a lot of daughters to marry other Comyn sons. They've got our lives all planned, and all we have to do is go through the motions, ride their road whether we want to or not."

Lew looked uneasy, but he didn't answer. Obediently, like a proper prince, Regis drew a little ahead, to ride through the city gates in his proper place beside Kennard and Lord Dyan. His head was getting wet but, he thought sourly, it was his duty to be seen, to be put on display. A little thing like a soaking wasn't supposed to bother a Hastur.

He forced himself to smile and wave graciously at the crowds lining the streets. But far away, through the very ground, he could hear again the dull vibration, like a waterfall. The starships were still there, he told himself, and the stars beyond them. No matter how deep they cut the track, I'll find a way to break loose somehow. Someday.

Chapter TWO

(Lewis‑Kennard Utontray‑Alton's narrative)

I hadn't wanted to attend Councfl this year. To be exact, I never wanted to attend Council at all. That's putting it mildly. I'm not popular with my father's equals in the Seven Domains.

At Armida, nothing bothers me. The house‑folk know who I am and the horses don't care. And at Arilinn nobody inquires about your family, your pedigree or your legitimacy. The only thing that matters in a Tower is your ability to manipulate a matrix and key into the energon rings and relay screens. If you're competent, no one cares whether you were born between silk sheets hi a great house or in a ditch beside the road; and if you're not competent, you dont come there at all.

You may ask why, if I was good at managing the estate at Armida, and more than adequate in the matrix relays at Ar‑flinn, Father had this flea in his brain about forcing me on the Council. You may ask, but you'll have to ask someone else. I have no idea.

Whatever his reasons, he had managed to force me on the Council as his heir. They hadn't liked it, but they'd had to allow me the legitimate privileges of a Comyn heir and the duties that went with them. Which meant that at fourteen I had gone into the cadets and, after serving as a junior officer, was now a captain in the City Guard. It was a privilege I could have done without The Council lords might be forced to accept me. But making the younger sons, lesser nobles and so forth who served in the cadets accept me‑that was another ong!

Bastardy, of course, is no special disgrace. Plenty of Comyn lords have half a dozen. If one of them turns out to have laran‑which is what every woman who bears a child to a Comyn lord hopes for‑nothing is easier than having the child acknowledged and given privileges and duties somewhere in the Domains. But to make one of them the heir‑designate to the Domain, that was unprecedented, and every unacknowledged son of a minor line made me feel how little I merited this special treatment

I couldn't help knowing why they felt that way‑I had what every one of them wanted, felt he merited as much as I did. But understanding only made things worse. It must be comfortable never to know why you're disliked. Maybe then you can believe you don't deserve it

Just the same, I've made sure none of them could complain about me. I've done a little of everything, as Comyn heirs in the cadets are supposed to: I've supervised street patrols, organizing everything from grain supplies for the pack animals to escorts for Comyn ladies; I've assisted the arms‑master at his job, and made sure that the man who cleaned the barracks knew his job. I disliked serving in the cadets and didn't enjoy command duty in the Guard. But what could I do? It was a mountain I could neither cross nor go around. Father needed me and wanted me, and I could not let him stand alone.

As I rode at Regis Hastur's side, I wondered if his choosing to ride beside me had been a mark of friendship or a shrewd attempt to get on the good side of my father. Three years ago I'd have said friendship, certainly. But boys change in three years, and Regis had changed more than most

He'd spent a few winters at Arrnida before he went to the monastery, before I went to Arilinn. I'd never thought about him being heir to Hastur. They said his health was frail; old Hastur thought that country living and company would do him good. He'd mostly been left to me to look after. I'd taken him riding and hawking, and he'd gone with me up into the plateaus when the great herds of wild horses were caught and brought down to be broken. I remembered him best as an undersized youngster, following me around, wearing my outgrown breeches and shirts because he kept growing out of his own; playing with the puppies and newborn foals, bending solemnly over the clumsy stitches he was learning to set in hawking‑hoods, learning swordplay from Father and practicing with me. During the terrible spring of

'his twelfth year, when the Kilghard Hills had gone up in forest fires and every able‑bodied man between ten and eighty was commandeered into the fire‑lines, we'd gone together, working side by side by day, eating from one bowl and sharing blankets at night We'd been afraid Armida itself would go up in the holocaust; some of the outbuildings were lost in the backfire. We'd been closer than brothers. When he went to Nevarsin, I'd missed him terribly. It was difficult to recon‑cOe my memories of that almost‑brother with this self‑possessed, solemn young prince. Maybe he'd learned, in the interval, that friendship with Kennard's nedestro heir was not quite the thing for a Hastur.

I could have found out, of course, and he'd never have known. But that's not even a temptation for a telepath, after the first few months. You learn not to pry.

But he didn't feel unfriendly, and presently asked me outright why I hadn't called him by name; caught off guard by the blunt question, I gave him a straight answer instead of a diplomatic one and then, of course, we were all right again.

Once we were inside the gates, the ride to the castle was not long, just long enough to get thoroughly drenched. I could tell that Father was aching with the damp and cold‑ he's been lame ever since I could remember, but the last few winters have been worse‑and that Marius was wet and wretched. When we came into the lee of the castle it was already dark, and though the nightly rain rarely turns to snow at this season, there were sharp slashes of sleet in it. I slid from my horse and went quickly to help Father dismount, but Lord Dyan had already helped him down and given him his arm.

I withdrew. From my first year in the cadets, I'd made it a habit not to get any closer to Lord Dyan than I could possibly help. Preferably well out of reach.

There's a custom in the Guards for first‑year cadets. We're trained in unarmed combat and we're supposed to cultivate a habit of being watchful at all times; so during our first season, in the guardroom and armory, anyone superior to us in the Guards is allowed to take us by surprise, if he can, and throw us. It's good training. After a few weeks of being grabbed unexpectedly from behind and dumped hard on a stone floor, you develop something like eyes in the back of your head. Usually it's fairly good‑natured, and although it's a rough game and you collect plenty of bruises, no one really

minds.

Dyan, we all agreed, enjoyed it entirely too much. He was an expert wrestler and could have made his point without doing much harm, but he was unbelievably rough and never missed a chance to hurt somebody. Especially me. Once he somehow managed to dislocate my elbow, which I wore in a sling for the rest of that season. He said it was an accident, but I'm a telepath and he didn't even bother to conceal how much he had enjoyed doing it I wasn't the only cadet who had that experience. During cadet training, there are times when you hate all your officers. But Dyan was the only one we really feared.

I left Father to him and went back to Regis. "Someone's looking for you,** I told him, pointing out a man in Hastur livery, sheltering in a doorway and looking wet and miserable, as if he'd been out in the weather, waiting, for some time. Regis turned eagerly to hear die message.

"The Regent's compliments, Lord Regis. He has been urgently called into the city. He asks you to make yourself comfortable and to see him in the morning.*1

Regis made some formal answer and turned to me with a humorless smile. "So much for the eager welcome of my loving grandsire."

One hell of a welcome, indeed, I thought. No one could expect the Regent of Comyn to stand out in the rain and wait, hut he could have sent more than a servant's message! I said quickly, "You'll come to us, of course. Send a message with your grandfather's man and come along for some dry clothing and some supper!"

Regis nodded without speaking. His lips were blue with cold, his hair lying soaked on his forehead. He gave appropriate orders, and I went back to my own task: making sure that all of Father's entourage, servants, bodyguards, Guardsmen, banner‑bearers and poor relations, found their way to their appointed places.

Things gradually got themselves sorted out. The Guardsmen went off to their own quarters. The servants mostly knew what to do. Someone had sent word ahead to have fires lighted and the rooms ready for occupancy. The rest of us found our way through the labyrinth of halls and corridors to the quarters reserved, for the last dozen generations, to the Alton lords. Before long no one was left in the main hall of

our quarters except Father, Marius and myself, Regis, Lord Dyan, our personal servants and half a dozen others. Regis was standing before the fire wanning his hands. I remembered the night when Father had broken the news that he was to leave us and spend the next three years at Nevarsin. He and I had been sitting before the fire in the great hall at Armida, cracking nuts and throwing the shells into the fire; after Father finished speaking he had gone to the fire and stood there just like that, quenched and shivering, his face turned away from us all.

Damn the old man! Was there no friend, no kinswoman, he could send to welcome Regis home?

Father came to the fire. He was limping badly. He looked at Marius' riding companion and said, "Danilo, I had your tilings sent directly to the cadet barracks. Shall I send a man to show you the way, or do you think you can find it?"

"There's no need to send anyone, Lord Alton." Danilo Syr‑rJs came away from the fire and bowed courteously. He was a slender, bright‑eyed boy of fourteen or so, wearing shabby garments which I vaguely recognized as once having been my brother's or mine, long outgrown. That was like Father; he'd make sure that any protege" of his started with the proper outfit for a cadet. Father laid a hand on his shoulder. "You're sure? Well, then, run along, my lad, and good luck go with you."

Danilo, with a polite formula murmured vaguely at all of us, withdrew. Dyan Ardais, warming his hands at the fire, looked after him, eyebrows lifted. "Nice looking youngster. Another of your nedestro sons, Kennard?"

"Dani? Zandru's hells, nol I'd be proud enough to claim him, but truly he's none of mine. The family has Comyn blood, a few generations back, but they're poor as miser's mice; old Dom Felix couldn't give him a good start in life, so I got him a cadet commission."

Regis turned away from the fire and said, "Danilo! I knew I should have recognized him; he was at the monastery one year. I truly couldn't remember his name, Uncle. I should have greeted him!"

The word he used for uncle was the casta term slightly more intimate than kinsman'. I knew he had been speaking to my father, but Dyan chose to take it as addressed to himself. "You'll see him in the cadets, surely. And I havent greeted you properly, either." He came and took Regis in a kinsman's

embrace, pressing his cheek, to which Regis submitted, a little flustered; then, holding him at arm's length, Dyan looked closely at him. "Does your sister hate you for being the beauty of the family, Regis?"

Regis looked startled and a little embarrassed. He said, laughing nervously, "Not that she ever told me. I suspect Javanne thinks I should be running around hi a pinafore."

"Which proves what I have always said, that women are no judge of beauty.*' My father gave him a black scowl and said, "Damn it, Dyan, dont tease him."

Dyan would have said more‑damn the man, was he starting that again, after all the trouble last year‑but a servant in Hastur livery came in quickly and said, "Lord Alton, a message from the Regent"*

Father tore the letter open, began to swear volubly hi three languages. He told the messenger to wait whfle he got into some dry clothes, disappeared into his room, and then I heard him shouting to Andres. Soon he came out, tucking a dry shirt into dry breeches, and scowling angrily.

"Father, what is itr

"The usual," he said grimly, "trouble in the city. Hastur's summoned every available Council elder and sending two extra patrols. Evidently a crisis of some sort"

Damn, I thought. After the long ride from Armida and a soaking, to call him out at night . . . "Will you need me, Father?"

He shook his head. MNo. Not necessary, son. Dont wait up, 111 probably be out all night." As he went out, Dyan said, "I expect a similar summons awaits me hi my own rooms; I had better go and find out. Good night, lads. I envy you your good night's sleep." He added, with a nod to Regis, "These others will never appreciate a proper bed. Only we who have slept on stone know how to do that" He managed to make a deep formal bow to Regis and simultaneously ignore me completely‑it wasn't easy when we were standing side by side‑and went away.

I looked around to see what remained to be settled. I sent Marius to change out of his drenched clothes‑too old for a nanny and too young for an aide‑de‑camp, he's left to me much of the time. Then I arranged to have a room made ready for Regis. "Have you a man to dress you, Regis? Or shall I have father's body‑servant wait on you tonight?"

*'I learned to look after myself at Nevarsin," Regis said.

He looked warmer now, less tense. "If the Regent is sending for all the Council, I suspect it's really serious and not just that Grandfather has forgotten me again. That makes me feel better."

Now I was free to get out of my own wet things. "When you've changed, Regis, we'll have dinner here in front of the fire. I'm not officially on duty till tomorrow morning."

I went and changed quickly into indoor clothing, slid my feet into fur‑lined ankle‑boots and looked briefly hi on Marius; I found 'him sitting up in bed, eating hot soup and already half asleep. It was a long ride for a boy his age. I wondered again why Father had subjected him to it

The servants had set up a hot meal before the fire, hi front of the old stone seats there. The lights in our part of the castle are the old ones, luminous rock from deep caves which charge with light all day and give off a soft glow all night Not enough for reading or fine needlework, but plenty for a quiet meal and a comfortable talk by firelight. Regis came back, in dry garments and indoor boots, and I gestured the old steward away. "Go and get your own supper; Lord Regis and I can wait on ourselves."

I took the covers off the dishes. They had sent hi a fried fowl and some vegetable stew. I helped him, saying, "Not very festive, but probably the best they could do at short notice."

"It's better than we got on the fire‑lines,*1 Regis said and I grinned. "So you remember that too?"

"How could I forget it? Armida was like home to me. Does Kennard still break his own horses, Lew?"

"No, he's far too lame," I said, and wondered again how Father would manage hi the coming season. Selfishly, I hoped he would be able to continue in command. It's hereditary to the Altons, and I was next hi line for it. They had learned to tolerate me as his deputy, holding captain*s rank. As commander, I'd have all those battles to fight again.

We talked for a little while about Armida, about horses and hawks, while Regis finished the stew in his bowl. He picked up an apple and went to the fireplace, where a pair of antique swords, used only in the sword‑dance now, hung over the mantel. He touched the hilt of one and I asked, "Have you forgotten all your fencing hi the monastery, Regis?"

"No, there were some of us who weren't to be monks, so

Father Master gave us leave to practice an hour every day, and an arms‑master came to give us lessons."

Over wine we discussed the state of the roads from Nevar‑sin.

"Surely you didn't ride in one day from the monastery?"

**Oh, no. I broke my journey at Edelweiss."

That was on Alton lands. When Javanne Hastur married Gabriel Lanart, ten years ago, my father had leased them the estate. "Your sister is well, I hope?"

"Well enough, but extremely pregnant just now," Regis said, "and Javanne's done a ridiculous thing. It made sense to call their first son Rafael, after her father and mine. And the second, of course, is the younger Gabriel. But when she named the third MikhaiL, she made the whole thing absurd. I believe she's praying frantically for a girl this time!"

I laughed. By all accounts the "Lanart angels" should be named for the archfiends, not the archangels; and why should a Hastur seek names from cristoforo mythology? "Well, she and Gabriel have sons enough."

"True. I am sure my grandfather is annoyed that she should have so many sons, and cannot give them Domain‑right hi Hastur. And I should have told Kennard; her husband will be here in a few days to take his place hi the Guard. He would have ridden with me, but with Javanne so near to her time, he got leave to remain with her till she is delivered."

I nodded; of course he would stay. Gabriel Lanart was a minor noble of the Alton Domain, a kinsman of our own, and a telepath. Of course he would follow the custom of the Domains, that a man shares with his child's mother the ordeal of birth, staying in rapport with her until the child is born and all is well. Well, we could spare him for a few days. A good man, Gabriel.

"Dyan seemed to take it for granted that you would be in the cadets this year," I said.

"I don't know if I'll have a choice. Did you?"

I hadn't, of course. But that the heir to Hastur, of all people, should question it‑that made me uneasy.

Regis sat on the stone bench, restlessly scuffing his felt ankle‑boots on the floor, "Lew, you're part Terran and yet you're Comyn. Do you feel as if you belonged to us? Or to the Terrans?"

A disturbing question, an outrageous, question, and one I

had never dared ask myself. I felt angry at him for speaking it, as if taunting me with what I was. Here I was an alien; among the Terrans, a freak, a mutant, a telepath. I said at last, bitterly, "I've never belonged anywhere. Except, perhaps, at Arilinn."

Regis raised his face, and I was startled at the sudden anguish there. "Lew, what does it feel like to have larariT"

I stared at him, disconcerted. The question touched off another memory. That summer at Armida, in his twelfth year. Because of his age, and because there was no one else, it had fallen to me to answer certain questions usually left to fathers or elder brothers, to instruct him in certain facts proper to adolescents. He bad blurted those questions out, too, with the same kind of half‑embarrassed urgency, and I'd found it just as difficult to answer them. There are some things it's almost impossible to discuss with someone who hasn't shared the experience. I said at last, slowly, "I hardly know how to answer. IVe had it so long, it would be harder to imagine what it feels like not to have laran."

"Were you born with it, then?"

"No, no, of course not. But when I was ten, or eleven, I began to be aware of what people were feeling. Or thinking. Later my father found out‑proved to them‑that I had the Alton gift, and that's rare even‑" I set my teeth and said it, **even in legitimate sons. After that, they couldn't deny me Comyn rights."

"Does it always come so early? Ten, eleven?**

"Have you never been tested? I was almost certain ..." I felt a little confused. At least once during the shared fears of that last season together, on the fire‑lines, I had touched his mind, sensed that he had the gift of our caste. But he had been very young then. And the Alton gift is forced rapport, even with non‑telepaths.

"Once," said Regis, "about three years ago. The leronis said I had the potential, as far as she could tell, but she could not reach it."

I wondered if that was why the Regent had sent him to Nevarsin: either hoping that discipline, silence and isolation would develop his laran, which sometimes happened, or trying to conceal his disappointment in his heir.

"You're a licensed matrix mechanic, aren't you, Lew? What's that like?"

This I could answer. "You know what a matrix is: a jewel stone that amplifies the resonances of the brain and transmutes psi power into energy. For handling major forces, it demands a group of linked minds, usually hi a tower circle."

"I know what a matrix is," he said. "They gave me one when I was tested." He showed it to me, hung, as most of us carried them, in a small silk‑lined leather bag about his neck. "I've never used it, or even looked at H again. In the old days, I know, they made these mind‑links through the Keepers. They don't have Keepers any more, do they?"

"Not hi the old sense," I said, "although the woman who works centerpolar in the matrix circles is still called a Keeper. In my father's time they discovered that a Keeper could function, except at the very highest levels, without all the old taboos and terrible training, the sacrifice, isolation, special cloistering. His foster‑sister Cleindori was the first to break the tradition, and they don't train Keepers in the old way any more. It's too difficult and dangerous, and it's not fair to ask anyone to give up their whole lives to it any more. Now everyone spends three years or less at Arilinn, and then spends the same amount of time outside, so that they can learn to live normal lives." I was silent, thinking of my circle at Arilinn, now scattered to their homes and estates. I had been happy there, useful, accepted. Competent. Some day I would go back to this work again, in the relays.

"What it's like," I continued, "it's‑it's intimate. You're completely open to the members of your circle. Your thoughts, your very feelings affect them, and you're wholly vulnerable to theirs. It's more than the closeness of blood kin. It's not exactly love. It's not sexual desire. It's like‑like living with your skin off. Twice as tender to everything. It's not like anything else."

His eyes were rapt. I said harshly, "Dont romanticize it. It can be wonderful, yes. But it can be sheer hell. Or both at once. You learn to keep your distance, just to survive."

Through the haze of his feelings I could pick up just a fraction of his thoughts. I was trying to keep my awareness of him as low as possible. He was, damn it, too vulnerable. He was feeling forgotten, rejected, alone. I couldn't help picking it up. But a boy his age would think it prying.

"Lew, the Alton gift is the ability to force rapport. If I do have laran, could you open it up, make it function?"

I looked at him in dismay. "You fool. Don't you know I could kill you that way?"

"Without laran, my life doesn't amount to much." He was as taut as a strung bow. Try as I might, I could not shut out flie terrible hunger in him to be part of the only world he knew, not to be so desperately deprived of his heritage.

It was my own hunger. I had felt it, it seemed, since my birth. Yet nine months before my birth, my father had made it impossible for me to belong wholly to his world and mine.

I faced the torture of knowing that, deeply as I loved my father, I hated him, too. Hated him for making me bastard, half‑caste, alien, belonging nowhere. I clenched my fists, looking away from Regis. He had what I could never have. He belonged, full Comyn, by blood and law, legitimate‑

And yet he was suffering, as much as I was. Would I give up laran to be legitimate, accepted, belonging?

"Lew, will you try at least?"

"Regis, if I killed you, I'd be guilty of murder." His face turned white. "Frightened? Good. It's an insane idea. Give it up, Regis. Only a catalyst telepath can ever do it safely and Tm not one. As far as I know, there are no catalyst telepaths alive now. Let well enough alone."

Regis shook his head. He said, forcing the words through a dry mouth, "Lew, when I was twelve years old you called me bredu. There is no one else, no one I can ask for this. I don't care if it kills me. I have heard"‑he swallowed hard‑"that bredin have an obligation, one to the other. Was it only an idle word, Lew?"

"It was no idle word, bredu" I muttered, wrung with his pain, "but we were children then. And this is no child's play, Regis, it's your life."

"Do you think I dont know that?" He was stammering. "It is my life. At least it can make the difference in what my life will be." His voice broke. "Bredu ..." he said again and was silent, and I knew it was because he could not go on without weeping.

The appeal left me defenseless to him. Try as I might to stay aloof, that helpless, choked "Bredu ..." had broken my last defense. I knew I was going to do what he wanted. "I cant do what was done to me," I told him. "That's a specific test for the Alton gift‑forcing rapport‑and only a full Alton can live through it. My father tried it, just once, with my full knowledge that it might very well kill me, and only for

about thirty seconds. If the gift hadn't bred true, I'd have died. The fact that I didn't die was the only way he could think of to prove to Council that they could not refuse to accept me." My voice wavered. Even after almost ten years, I didn't like thinking about it '*Your blood, or your paternity, isn't in question. You dont need to take that kind of risk."

"You were willing to take it."

I had been. Time slid out of focus, and once again I stood before my father, his hands touching my temples, living again that memory of terror, that searing agony. I had been willing because I had shared my father's anguish, the terrible need in him to know I was bis true son‑the knowledge that if he could not force Council to accept me as his son, life alone was worth nothing. I would rather have died, just then, than live to face the knowledge of failure.

Memory receded. I looked into Regis' eyes.

'Til do what I can. I can test you, as I was tested at Ar‑flinn. But don't expect too much. I'm not a leronis, only a technician."

I drew a long breath. "Show me your matrix."

He fumbled with the strings at the neck, tipped the stone out in his palm, held it out to me. That told me as much as I needed to know. The lights in the small jewel were dim, inactive. If he had worn it for three years and his laran was active, he would have rough‑keyed it even without knowing it The first test had failed, then.

As a final test, with excruciating care, I laid a fingertip against the stone; he did not flinch. I signaled to him to put it away, loosened the neck of the case of my own. I laid my matrix, still wrapped in the insulating silk, in the palm of my hand, then bared it carefully.

"Look into this. No, don't touch it," I warned, with a drawn breath. "Never touch a keyed matrix; you could throw me into shock. Just look into it."

Regis bent, focused with motionless intensity on the tiny ribbons of moving light inside the jewel. At last he looked away. Another bad sign. Even a latent telepath should have had enough energon patterns disrupted inside his brain to show some reaction: sickness, nausea, causeless euphoria. I asked cautiously, not wanting to suggest anything to him, "How do you feel?"

"I'm not sure," he said uneasily. "It hurt my eyes."

Then he had at least latent laran. Arousing it, though,

might be a difficult and painful business. Perhaps a catalyst telepath could have roused it. They had been bred for that work, in the days when Comyn did complex and life‑shattering work in the higher‑level matrices. I'd never known one. Perhaps the set of genes was extinct

Just the same, as a latent he deserved further testing. I knew he had the potential. I had known it when he was twelve years old.

"Did the leronis test you with Jtirion?" I asked.

"She gave me a little. A few drops."

"What happened?"

"It made me sick," Regis said, "dizzy. Flashing colors in front of my eyes. She said I was probably too young for much reaction, that in some people, laran developed later."

I thought that over. Kirian is used to lower the resistance against telepathic contact; it's used in treating empaths and other psi technicians who, without much natural telepathic gift, must work directly with other telepaths. It can sometimes ease fear or deliberate resistance to telepathic contact It can also be used, with great care, to treat threshold sickness‑that curious psychic upheaval which often seizes on young telepaths at adolescence.

Well, Regis seemed young for his age. He might simply be developing the gift late. But it rarely came as late as this. Damn it Td been positive. Had some event at Nevarsin, some emotional shock, made him block awareness of it?

"I could try that again," I said tentatively. The kirtan might actually trigger latent telepathy; or perhaps, under its influence, I could reach his mind, without hurting him too much, and find out if he was deliberately blocking awareness of laran. It did happen, sometimes.

I didn't like using kirian. But a small dose couldnt do much worse than make him sick, or leave him with a bad hangover. And I had the distinct and not very pleasant feeling that if I cut off his hopes now, he might do something desperate. I didn't like the way he was looking at me, taut as i a bowstring, and shaking, not much, but from head to foot. $ His voice cracked a little as he said, TU try." All too clearly, what I heard was, Ftt try anything.

I went to my room for it, already berating myself for

agreeing to this lunatic experiment. It simply meant too

much to him. I weighed the possibility of giving him a seda‑

*. tive dose, one that would knock him out or keep him safely

drugged and drowsy till morning. But kirian is too unpredictable. The dose which puts one person to sleep like a baby at the breast may turn another into a frenzied berserker, raging and hallucinating. Anyway, I'd promised; I wouldn't deceive him now. I'd play it safe though, give him the same cautious minimal dose we used with strange psi technicians at Arilinn. This much kirian couldnt hurt him.

I measured bun a careful few drops in a wineglass. He swallowed it, grimacing at the taste, and sat down on one of the stone benches. After a minute he covered his eyes. I watched carefully. One of the first signs was the dilation of the pupils of the eyes. After a few minutes he began to tremble, leaning against the back of the seat as if he feared he might fall. His hands were icy cold. I took his wrist lightly in my fingers. Normally I hate touching people; telepaths do, except hi close intimacy. At the touch he looked up and whispered, "Why are you angry, Lew?**

Angry? Did he interpret my fear for him as anger? I said, "Not angry, only worried about you. Kirian isn't anything to play with. I'm going to try and touch you now. Dont fight me if you can help it."

I gently reached for contact with his mind. I wouldn't use the matrix for this; under kirian I might probe too far and damage him. I first sensed sickness and confusion‑that was the drug, no more‑then a deathly weariness and physical tension, probably from the long ride, and finally an overwhelming sense of desolation and loneliness, which made me want to turn away from his despair. Hesitantly, I risked a somewhat deeper contact.

And met a perfect, locked defense, a blank wall. After a moment, I probed sharply. The Alton gift was forced rapport, even with nontelepaths. He wanted this, and if I could give it to him, then he could probably endure being hurt. He moaned and moved his head as if I was hurting him. Probably I was. The emotions were still blurring everything. Yes, he had laran potential But he'd blocked it Completely.

I waited a moment and considered. It's not so uncommon; some telepaths live all their lives that way. There's no reason they shouldn't Telepathy, as I told him, is far from an un‑mixed blessing. But occasionally it yielded to a slow, patient unraveling. I retreated to the outer layer of his consciousness again and asked, not in words, What is it you're afraid to know, Regis? Don't block it. Try to remember what it is you

couldn't bear to know. There was a time when you could do this knowingly. Try to remember....

It was the wrong thing. He had received my thought; I felt the response to it‑a clamshell snapping rigidly shut, a sensitive plant closing its leaves. He wrenched his hands roughly from mine, covering his eyes again. He muttered, "My head hurts. I'm sick, I'm so sick...."

I had to withdraw. He had effectively shut me out. Possibly a skilled, highly‑trained Keeper could have forced her way through the resistance without killing him. But I couldn't force it I might have battered down the barrier, forced him to face whatever it was he'd buried, but he might very well crack completely, and whether he could ever be put together again was a very doubtful point.

I wondered if he understood that he had done this to himself. Facing that kind of knowledge was a terribly painful process. At the time, building that barrier must have seemed the only way to save his sanity, even if it meant paying the agonizing price of cutting off his entire psi potential with it. My own Keeper had once explained it to me with the example of the creature who, helplessly caught in a trap, gnaws off the trapped foot, choosing maiming to death. Sometimes there were layers and layers of such barricades,

The barrier, or inhibition, might some day dissolve of itself, releasing his potential. Time and maturity could do a lot It might be that some day, in the deep intimacy of love, he would find himself free of it Or‑I faced this too‑it might be that this barrier was genuinely necessary to his life and sanity, in which case it would endure forever, or, if it were somehow broken down, there would not be enough left of him to go on living.

A catalyst telepath probably could have reached him. But in these days, due to inbreeding, indiscriminate marriages with nontelepaths and the disappearance of the old means of stimulating these gifts, the various Comyn psi powers no longer bred true. I was living proof that the Alton gift did sometimes appear in pure form. But as a general thing, no one could sort out the tangle of gifts. The Hastur gift, whatever that was‑even at Aritinn they didn't tell me‑is just as likely to appear in the Aillard or Elhalyn Domains. Catalyst telepathy was once an Ardais gift. Dyan certainly wasn't one! As far as I knew, there were none left alive.

It seemed a long time later that Regis stirred again, rubbing his forehead; then he opened his eyes, still with that terrible eagerness. The drug was still in his system‑it wouldn't wear off completely for hours‑but he was beginning to have brief intervals free of it His unspoken question was perfectly clear. I had to shake my head, regretfully.

Tin sorry, Regis."

I hope I never again see such despair in a young face. If he had been twelve years old, I would have taken him in my arms and tried to comfort him. But he was not a child now, and neither was L His taut, desperate face kept me at arm's length.

"Regis, listen to me,*1 I said quietly. "For what it*s worth, the laran is there. You have the potential, which means, at the very least, you're carrying the gene, your children wfll have it" I hesitated, not wanting to hurt him further, by telling him straightforwardly that he had made the barrier himself. Why hurt him that way?

I said, "I did my best, bredu. But I couldn't reach it, the barriers were too strong. Bredu, dont look at me like that," I pleaded, "I can't bear it, to see you looking at me that way."

His voice was almost inaudible. "I know. You did your best"

Had I really? I was struck with doubt I felt sick with the force of his misery. I tried to take his hands again, forcing myself to meet his pain head‑on, not flinch from it But he pulled away from me, and I let it go.

"Regis, listen to me. It doesn't matter. Perhaps in the days of the Keepers, it was a terrible tragedy for a Hastur to be without laran. But the world is changing. The Comyn is changing. YouTl find other strengths,**

I felt the futility of the words even as I spoke them. What must it be like, to live without laranl like being without sight hearing ... but, never having known it, be must not be allowed to suffer its loss.

"Regis, you have so much else to give. To your family, to the Domains, to our world. And your children will have it‑** I took his hands again in mine, trying to comfort him, but he cracked.

"Zandru's hells, stop it," he said, and wrenched his hands roughly away again. He caught up his cloak, which lay on the stone seat, and ran out of the room.

I stood frozen in the shock of his violence, then, in horror, ran after him. Gods! Drugged, sick, desperate, he couldn't be

THE HERITAGE OF HASTUR

37

allowed to run off that way! He needed to be watched, cared for, comforted‑but I wasn't in time. When I reached the stairs, he had already disappeared into the labyrinthine corridors of that wing, and I lost him.

I called and hunted for hours before, reeling with fatigue since I, too, had been riding for days. I gave up finally and went back to my rooms. I couldn't spend the whole night storming all over Comyn Castle, shouting his name! I couldn't force my way into the Regent's suite and demand to know if he was there! There were limits to what Kennard Alton's bastard son could do. I suspected I'd already exceeded them. I could only hope desperately that the kirian would make him sleepy, or wear off with fatigue, and he would come back to rest or make his way to the Hastur apartments and sleep there.

I waited for hours and saw the sun rise, blood‑red in the mists hanging over the Terran spaceport, before, cramped and cold, I fell asleep on the stone bench by the fireplace.

But Regis did not return.

Chapter THREE

Regis ran down the corridor, dazed and confused, the small points of color still flashing behind his eyes, racked with the interior crawling nausea. One thought was tearing at him:

Failed. Fve failed. Even Lew, tower‑trained and with all his skill, couldn't help me. There's nothing there. When he said what he did about potential, he was humoring me, comforting a child.

He reeled, feeling sick again, clung momentarily to the wall and ran on.

The Comyn castle was a labyrinth, and Regis had not been inside it in years. Before long, in his wild rush to get away from the scene of his humiliation, he was well and truly lost His senses, &irum‑blurred, retained vague memories of stone cul‑de‑sacs, blind corners, archways, endless stairs up which he toiled and down which he blundered and sometimes fell, courtyards filled with rushing wind and blinding rain, hour after hour. To the end of his life he retained an impression of the Comyn Castle which he could summon at will to overlay his real memories of it: a vast stone maze, a trap through which he wandered alone for centuries, with no human form to be seen. Once, around a corner, he heard Lew calling his name. He flattened himself hi a niche and hid for a few thousand years until, long after, the sound was gone.

After an indeterminate time of wandering and stumbling and hallucinating, he became aware that it had been a long time since he had fallen down a flight of stairs; that the corridors were long, but not miles and miles long; and that they were no longer filled with uncanny crawling colors and silent sounds. When he came out at last on to a high balcony at the uppermost level, he knew where he was.

Dawn was breaking over the city below him. Once before, during the night, he had stood against a high parapet like this, thinking that his life was no good to anyone, not to the Hasturs, not to himself, that he should throw himself down and be done with it This time the thought was remote, nightmarish, like one of those terrible real dreams which wakes you shaking and crying out, but a few seconds later is gone hi dissolving fragments.

He drew a long, weary sigh. Now what?

He should go and make himself presentable for his grandfather, who would certainly send for him soon. He should get some food and sleep; kirian, he'd been told, expended so much physical and nervous energy that it was essential to compensate with extra food and rest He should go back and apologize to Lew Alton, who had only very reluctantly done what Regis himself had begged him to do.... But he was sick to death of hearing what he should do!

He looked across the city that lay spread out below him, Thendara, the old town, the Trade City, the Terran headquarters and the spaceport And the great ships, waiting, ready to take off for some unguessable destination. All he really wanted to do now was go to the spaceport and watch, at close range, one of those great ships.

Quickly he hardened his resolve. He was not dressed for out‑of‑doors at all, still wearing felt‑soled indoor boots, but in his present mood it mattered less than nothing. He was unarmed. So what? Terrans carried no sidearms. He went down long flights of stairs, losing his way, but knowing, now that he had his wits about him, that all he had to do was keep going down till he reached ground level. Comyn Castle was no fortress. Built for ceremony rather than defense, the building had many gates, and it was easy to slip out one of them unobserved.

He found himself hi a dim, dawnlit street leading downhill through closely packed houses. He was keyed up, having had no sleep after his hard ride yesterday, but the energizing effect of the kirian had not worn off yet, and he felt no drowsiness. Hunger was something else, but there were coins in his pockets, and he was sure that soon he would pass some kind of eating‑house where workmen ate before their day's business.

The thought excited him with a delicious forbiddenness. He could not remember ever having been completely alone in his entire life. There had always been others ready at band to look after him, protect him, gratify bis every wish: nurses

and nannies when he was small, servants and carefully selected companions when he was older. Later, there were the brothers of the monastery, though they were more likely to thwart his wishes than carry them out This would be an adventure.

He found a place next to a blacksmith's shop and went in. It was dimly lit with resin‑candles, but there was a good smell of food. He was briefly afraid of being recognized, but after all, what could they do to him? He was old enough to be out alone. Besides, if anyone noticed the blue‑and‑silver cloak with the Hastur badge, they would only think he was a Hastur servant.

The men seated at the table were blacksmiths and stable hands, drinking hot ale or jaco or boiled milk, eating foods Regis had never seen or smelled. A woman came to take Regis' order. She did not look at him. He ordered fried nut porridge and hot milk with spices in it. His grandfather, he thought with definite satisfaction, would have a fit.

He paid for the food and ate it slowly, at first feeling the residual queasiness of the drug which wore off as he ate. When he went out, feeling better, the light was spreading, although the sun had not risen. As he went downhill he found himself among unfamiliar houses, built in strange shapes of strange materials. He had obviously crossed the line into the Trade City. He could hear, in the distance, that strange waterfall sound which had excited him so intensely. He must be near the spaceport

He had been told a little about the spaceport on Darkover. Darkover, which did almost no trading with the Empire, was in a unique location, between the upper and lower spiral arms of the galaxy, unusually well suited as a crossroads stop for much of the interstellar traffic. In spite of the self‑chosen isolation of Darkover, therefore, enormous numbers of ships came for rerouting, bearing passengers, personnel and freight bound elsewhere. They also came for repairs and reprovision‑ing and for rest leaves in the Trade City. Most of the Terrans scrupulously kept the agreement limiting them to their own areas. There had been a few intermarriages, a little trade, some small‑very small‑importation of Terran machinery and technology. This was strictly limited by the Darkovans, each item studied by Council before permission was given. A few licensed matrix technicians were set up in the cities; a few had even gone out into the Empire. The Terrans, he had

heard, were intrigued by Darkovan matrix technology and in the old days had laid intricate plots to uncover some of its secrets. He didn't know details, but Kennard had told him some stories.

He started, realizing that the street directly before him was blocked by two very large men in unfamiliar black leather uniforms. At their belts hung strangely shaped weapons which, Regis realized with a prickle of horror, must be blasters or nerve guns. Such weapons fcad been outlawed on Darkover since the Ages of Chaos, and Regis had literally never seen one before, except for antiques in a museum. These were no museum pieces. They looked deadly.

One of the men said, "You're violating curfew, sonny. Until the trouble's over, all women and children are supposed to be off the streets from an hour before sunset until an hour after sunrise."

Women and children! Regis' hand strayed to his knife‑hilt "I am no child. Shall I call challenge and prove it?"

"You're in the Terran Zone, son. Save yourself trouble." "I demand‑"

"Oh hell, one of those" said the second man in disgust "Look here, kiddie, we're not allowed to fight duels, on duty anyhow. You come along and talk to the officer."

Regis was about to make an angry protest‑ask a Comyn heir to give an account of himself in Council season?‑when it occurred to him that the headquarters building was right on the spaceport, where he was going anyway. With a secret grin he went along.

After they had passed through the spaceport gates, he realized that he had actually had a better view yesterday from the mountainside. Here the ships were invisible behind fences and barricades. The spaceforce patrolmen led him inside a building where a young officer, not in black leather but in ordinary Terran clothing, was dealing with assorted curfew violators. As they came in he was saying, "This man's all right; he was looking for a midwife and took the wrong turn. Send someone to show him back to the town." He looked up at Regis, standing between the officers. "Another one? I'd hoped we'd be through for the night Well, kid, what's your story?"

Regis threw bis head back arrogantly. "Who are you? By what right did you have me brought here?"

"My name's Dan Lawton," the man said. He spoke the same language in which Regis had addressed him, and spoke it well. That wasn't common. He said, "I am an assistant to the Legate and just now I'm handling curfew duty. Which you were violating, young man."

One of the spaceforce men said, "We brought him straight to you, Dan. He wanted to fight a duel with us, for God's sake! Can you handle this one?"

"We don't fight duels in the Terran Zone," Lawton said. "Are you new to Thendara? The curfew regulations are posted everywhere. If you can't read, I suggest you ask someone to read them to you."

Regis retorted, "I recognize no laws but those of the Children of Hastur!"

A strange look passed over Lawton's face. Regis thought for a moment that the young Terran was laughing at him, but face and voice were alike noncommittal. "A praiseworthy objective, sir, but not particularly suitable here. The Hasturs themselves made and recognized those boundaries and agreed to assist us in enforcing our laws within them. Do you refuse to recognize the authority of Comyn Council? Who are you to refuse?"

Regis drew himself to his full height. He knew that between the giant spaceforce men he still looked childishly small.

"I am Regis‑Rafael Felix Alar Hastur y Elhalyn," he stated proudly.

Lawton's eyes reflected amazement. "Then what, in the name of all your own gods, are you doing roaming around alone at this hour. Where is your escort? Yes, you look like a Hastur," he said as he pulled an intercom toward him, speaking urgently in Terran Standard. Regis had learned it at Nevarsin. "Have the Comyn Elders left yet?" He listened a moment, then turned back to Regis. "A dozen of your kin‑folk left here about half an hour ago. Were you sent with a message for them? If so, you came too late."

"No," Regis confessed, "I came on my own. I simply had a fancy to see the starships take off." It sounded, here in this office, like a childish whim. Lawton looked startled.

"That's easily enough arranged. If you'd sent in a formal request a few days ago, we'd gladly have arranged a tour for any of your kinsmen. At short notice like this, there's nothing spectacular going on, but there's a cargo transport about to take off for Vega in a few minutes, and 111 take you up to one of the viewing platforms. Meanwhile, could I offer you

gome coffee?" He hesitated, then said, "You couldn't be Lord Hastur; that must be your father?"

"Grandfather. For me the proper address is Lord Regis." He accepted the proffered Terran drink, finding it bitter but rather pleasant. Dan Lawton led him into a tall shaft which rose upward at alarming speed, opening on a glass‑enclosed viewing terrace. Below him an enormous cargo ship was in the final stages of readying for takeoff, with refueling cranes being moved away, scaffoldings and loading platforms being wheeled like toys to a distance. The process was quick and efficient. He heard again the waterfall sound, rising to a roar, a scream. The great ship lifted slowly, then more swiftly and finally was gone ... out, beyond the stars.

Regis remained motionless, staring at the spot in the sky where the starship had vanished. He knew there were tears in bis eyes again but he didn't care. After a little while Lawton guided him down the elevator shaft. Regis went as if sleepwalking. Resolve had suddenly crystallized inside him.

Somewhere in the Empire, somewhere away from the Domains which had no place for him, there must be a world for him. A world where he could be free of the tremendous burden laid on the Comyn, a world where he could be himself, more than simply heir to his Domain, his life laid out in preordained duties from birth to grave. The Domain? Let Javanne's sons have it! He felt almost intoxicated by the smell of freedom. Freedom from a burden he'd been born to‑and born unfit to bear!

Lawton had not noticed his preoccupation. He said, "I'll arrange an escort for you back to Comyn Castle, Lord Regis. You can't go alone, put it out of your mind. Impossible."

"I came here alone, and I'm not a child." "Certainly not," Lawton said, straight‑faced, "but with the situation in the city now, anything might happen. And if an accident occurred, I would be personally responsible."

He had used the casta phrase implying personal honor. Regis lifted his eyebrows and congratulated bun on his command of the language.

"As a matter of fact, Lord Regis, it is my native tongue. My mother never spoke anything else to me. It was Terran I learned as a foreign language." "You are Darkovan?" "My mother was, and kin to Comyn. Lord Ardais is my mother's cousin, though I doubt he'd care to acknowledge the relationship."

Regis thought about that as Lawton arranged his escort. Relatives far more distant than that were often seated in Comyn Council. This Terran officer‑half‑Terran‑might have chosen to be Darkovan. He had as much right to a Comyn seat as Lew Alton, for instance. Lew could have chosen to be Terran, as Regis was about to choose his own future. He spent the uneventful journey across the city thinking how he would break the news to his grandfather.

In the Hastur apartments, a servant told him that Danvan Hastur was awaiting him. As he changed his clothes‑the thought of presenting himself before the Regent of Comyn in house clothes and felt slippers was not even to be contemplated‑he wondered grimly if Lew had said anything to his grandfather. It occurred to him, hours too late, that if anything had happened to him, Hastur might well have held Lew responsible. A poor return for Lew's friendship!

When he had made himself presentable, in a sky‑blue dyed‑leather tunic and high boots, he went up to his grandfather's audience room.

Inside he found Danvan Hastur of Hastur, Regent of the Seven Domains, talking to Kennard Alton. As he opened the door, Hastur raised his eyebrows and gestured to him to sit down. "One moment, my lad, Til talk to you later." He turned back to Kennard and said in a tone of endless patience, "Kennard, my friend, my dear kinsman, what you ask is simply impossible. I let you force Lew on us‑"

"Have you regretted it?" Kennard demanded angrily. "They tell me at Arilinn that he is a strong telepath, one of their best. In the Guard he is a competent officer. What right have you to assume Marius would bring disgrace on the Comyn?"

"Who spoke of disgrace, kinsman?" Hastur was standing before his writing table, a strongly built old man, not as tall as Kennard, with hair that had once been silver‑gilt and was now nearly all gray. He spoke with a slow, considered mildness. "I let you force Lew on us and Fve had no reason to regret it. But there is more to it than that Lew does not look Comyn, no more than you, but there is no question in anyone's mind that he is Darkovan and your son. But Marius? Impossible,"

Kennard's mouth thinned and tightened. "Are you ques‑

tioning the paternity of an acknowledged Alton son?" Standing quietly in a corner, Regis was glad Kennard's rage was not turned on him.

"By no means. But he has 'his mother's blood, his mother's face, his mother's eyes. My friend, you know what the first‑year cadets go through in the Guards...."

"He's my son and no coward. Why do you think he would be incompetent to take his place, the place to which he is legally entitled‑"

"Legally, no. I won't quibble with you, Ken, but we never recognized your marriage to Elaine. Marius is legally, as regards inheritance and Domain‑right, entitled to nothing whatever. We gave Lew that right. Not by birth entitlement, but by Council action, because he was Alton, telepath, with full laran. Marius has received no such rights from Council." He sighed. "How can I make you understand? I'm sure the boy is brave, trustworthy, honest‑that be has all the virtues we Comyn demand of our sons. Any lad you reared would have those qualities. Who knows better than I? But Marius looks Terran. The other lads would tear him to pieces. I know what Lew went through. I pitied him, even while I admired his courage. They've accepted him, after a fashion. They would never accept Marius. Never. Why put him through that misery for nothing?"

Kennard clenched his fists, striding angrily up and down the room. His voice choked with rage, he said, "You mean that I can get a cadet commission for some poor relation, or for my bastard son by a whore or an idiot, sooner than for my own legitimately born younger son!"

"Kennard, if it were up to me, Fd give the lad his chance. But my hands are tied. There has been enough trouble hi Council over citizenship for those of mixed blood. Dyan‑"

"I know all too well how Dyan feels. He's made it abundantly clear."

"Dyan has a great deal of support in Council. And Marius* mother was not only Terran but half‑Aldaran. If you had hunted over Darkover for a generation, you could not have found a woman less likely to be accepted as the mother of your legitimate sons."

Kennard said in a low voice, "It was yoor own father who had me sent to Terra, by the will of Council, when I was fourteen years old. Elaine was reared and schooled on Terra, but she thought of herself as Darkovan. I did not even know of her Terran blood at first. But it made no difference. Even had she been all Terran ..." He broke off. "Enough of that It is long past and she is dead. As for me, I think my record and reputation, my years commanding the Guard, my ten years at Arilinn, prove abundantly what I am." He paced the floor, his uneven step and distraught face betraying the emotion he tried to keep out of his voice. "You are not a tele‑path, Hastur. It was easy for you to do what your caste required of you. The Gods know I tried to love Caitlin. It wasn't her fault But I did love Elaine, and she was mother to my sons."

"Kennard, I'm sorry. I cannot fight the whole Council for Marius, unless‑has he laran?"

"I have no idea. Does it matter so much?"

"If he had the Alton gift, it might be possible, not easy but possible, to establish some rights for him. There are precedents. With laran, even a distant kinsman can be adopted into the Domains. Without it ... no, Kennard, Don't ask. Lew is accepted now, even respected. Don't ask more."

Kennard said, his head bent, "I didn't want to test Lew for the Alton gift Even with all my care, it came near to killing him. Hastur, I cannot risk that againl Would you, for your youngest son?"

"My only son is dead," Hastur said and sighed. "If I can do anything else for the boy‑"

Kennard answered, "The only thing I want for him is his right, and that is the one thing you will not give. I should have taken them both to Terra, You made me feel I was needed here."

"You are, Ken, and you know it as well as I." Hastur's smile was very sweet and troubled. "Some day, perhaps, you may see why I cant do what you wish." His eyes moved to Regis, fidgeting on the bench. He said, "If you will excuse me, Kennard... T

It was a courteous but definite dismissal. Kennard withdrew, but his face was grim and he omitted any formal leave‑taking. Hastur looked tired. He sighed and said, "Come here, Regis. Where have you been? Haven't I trouble enough without worrying that you've run away like a silly brat, to look at the spaceships or something like that?"

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.

Arms‑master again was old Domenic di Asturien, who had been a captain when my father was a cadet of fourteen. He had been my own cadet‑master, my first year and was almost the only officer in the Guard who had ever been fair to

me.

Cadet‑master‑I rubbed my eyes and stared at the lists; I must have read it wrong. The words obstinately stayed the same. Cadet‑master: Dyan‑Gabriel, Lord Ardais.

I groaned aloud. Oh, hell, this had to be one of Father's perverse jokes. He's no fool, and only a fool would put a man like Dyan in charge of half‑grown boys. Not after the scandal last year. We had managed to keep the scandal from reaching Lord Hastur, and I had believed that even Dyan knew he had gone too far.

Let me be clear about one thing: I don't like Dyan and he doesn't approve of me, but he is a brave man and a good soldier, probably the best and most competent officer in the Guards. As for his personal life, no one dares to comment on a Comyn lord's private amusements.

I learned, long ago, not to listen to gossip. My own birth had been a major scandal for years. But this had been more than gossip. Personally, I think Father bad been unwise to hustle the Vallonde boy away home without question or investigation. Part of what he said was true. Octavien was disturbed, unstable, he'd never belonged in the Guards and it was our mistake for ever accepting him as a cadet. But Father had said that the sooner it was hushed up, the quicker the unsavory story would die down. The rumors had never died of course, probably never would.

The room was beginning to fill up with uniformed men.

Dyan came to the dais where the officers were collecting, gave me an unfriendly scowl. No doubt he had expected to be named as Father's deputy. Even that would have been better than making him cadet‑master.

Damn it, I couldn't go along with that Father's choice or not.

Dyan's private life was no one's affair but his own and I wouldn't care if he chose to love men, women or goats. He could have as many concubines as a Dry‑Towner, and most people would gossip no more and no less. But more scandal in the Guards? Damn it, no! This touched the honor of the Guards, and of the Altons who were in charge of it.

Father had put me in command. This was going to be my first command decision, then.

I signaled for Assembly. One or two late‑comers dashed into their places. The seasoned men took their ranks. The cadets, as they had been briefed, stayed in a corner.

Regis wasnt among the cadets. I resented bitterly that I was tied here, but there was no help for it.

I looked them ail over and felt them returning the favor. I shut down my telepathic sensitivity as much as I could‑it wasn't easy in this crowd‑but I was aware of their surprise, curiosity, disgust, annoyance. It all added up, more or less, to Where the hell is the Commander? Or, worse, What's old Kennard's bastard doing up there with the staff?

Finally I got their attention and told them of Kennard's misfortune. It caused a small flurry of whispers, mutters, comments, most of which I knew it would be unwise to hear. I let them get through most of it, then called them to order again and began the traditional first‑day ceremony of call‑over.

One by one I read out the name of every Guardsman. Each came forward, repeated a brief formula of loyalty to Comyn and informed me‑a serious obligation three hundred years ago, a mere customary formality now‑of how many men, trained, armed and outfitted according to custom, he was prepared to put into the field in the event of war. It was a long business. There was a disturbance halfway through it and, escorted by half a dozen servants in Hastur livery, Regis made an entrance. One of the servants gave me a message from Hastur himself, with some kind of excuse or explanation for his lateness.

I realized that I was blisteringly angry. Fd seen Regis desperate, suicidal, ill, prostrated, suffering some unforeseen aftereffect of kirian, even dead‑and he walked in casually, upsetting call‑over ceremony and discipline. I told him brusquely, "Take your place, cadet," and dismissed the servants.

He could not have resembled less the boy who had sat by my fire last night, eating stew and pouring out his bitterness. He was wearing full Comyn regalia, badges, high boots, a sky‑blue tunic of an elaborate cut. He walked to his place among the cadets, his head held stiffly high. I could sense the fear and shyness hi him, but I knew the other cadets would regard it as Comyn arrogance, and he would suffer for it. He looked tired, almost ill, behind the facade of arrogant control. What had happened to him last night? Damn him, I recalled myself with a start, why was I worrying about the heir to Hastur? He hadn't worried about me, or the fact that if he'd come to harm, I'd have been in trouble!

I finished tbe parade of loyalty oaths. Dyan leaned toward me and said, "I was in the city with the Council last night. Hastur asked me to explain the situation to the Guards; have I your permission to speak, Captain Montray‑Lanart?"

Dyan had never given me my proper title, in or out of the Guard hall. I grimly told myself that the last thing I wanted was his approval. I nodded and he walked to the center of the dais. He looks no more like a typical Comyn lord than I do; his hair is dark, not the traditional red of Comyn, and he is tall, lean, with the six‑fingered hands which sometimes turn up in the Ardais and Aillard clans. There is said to be nonhu‑man blood in the Ardais line. Dyan looks it.

"City Guardsmen of Thendara," he rapped out, "your commander, Lord Alton, has asked me to review the situation." His contemptuous look said more plainly than words that I might play at being in command, but he was the one who could explain what was going on.

There seemed, as nearly as I could tell from Dyan's words, to be a high level of tension in the city, mostly between the Terran Spaceforce and the City Guard. He asked every Guardsman to avoid incidents and to honor the curfew, to remember that the Trade City area had been ceded to the Empire by diplomatic treaty. He reminded us that it was our duty to deal with Darkovan offenders, and to turn Terran ones over to the Empire authorities at once. Well, that was

fair enough. Two police forces in one city had to reach some agreements and compromises in living together.

I had to admit Dyan was a good speaker. He managed, however, to convey the impression that the Terrans were so much our natural inferiors, honoring neither the Compact nor the codes of personal honor, that we must take re‑sponsbility for them, as all superiors do; that, while we would naturally prefer to treat them with a just contempt, we would be doing Lord Hasrur a personal favor by keeping the peace, even against our better judgment. I doubted whether that little speech would really lessen the friction between Terrans and Guardsmen.

I wondered if our opposite numbers in the Trade City, the Legate and his deputies, were laying the law down to Space‑force this morning. Somehow I doubted it.

Dyan returned to his place and I called the cadets to stand forward. I called the roll of the dozen third‑year cadets and the eleven second‑year men, wondering if Council meant to fill Octavien Vallonde's empty place. Then I addressed myself to the first‑year cadets, calling them into the center of the room. I decided to skip the usual speech about the proud and ancient organization into which it was a pleasure to welcome ifeem. I'm not Dyan's equal as a speaker, and I wasn't going to compete. Father could give them that one when he was well again, or the cadet‑master, whoever he was. Not Dyan. Over my dead body.

I confined myself to giving basic facts. After today there would be a full assembly and review every morning after breakfast. The cadets would be kept apart in their own barracks and given instructions until intense drill in basics had made them soldierly enough to take their place in formations and duties. Castle Guard would be set day and night and they would take it in turns from oldest to youngest, recalling that Castle Guard was not menial sentry duty but a privilege claimed by nobles from time out of mind, to guard the Sons of Hastur. And so on.

The final formality‑I was glad to reach it, for it was hot in the crowded room by now and the youngest cadets were beginning to fidget‑was a formal roll call of first‑year cadets. Only Regis and Father's young protege' Danilo were personally known to me, but some were the younger brothers Or sons of men I knew in the Guards. The last name I called was Regis‑Rafael, cadet Hastur.

There was a confused silence, just too long. Then down the line of cadets there was a small scuffle and an audible whispered "That's you, blockhead!" as Danilo poked Regis in the ribs. Regis' confused voice said "Oh‑" Another pause. "Here."

Damn Regis anyhow. I had begun to hope that this year we would get through call‑over without having to play this particular humiliating charade. Some cadet, not always a first‑year man, invariably forgot to answer properly to his name at call‑over. There was a procedure for such occasions which probably went back three dozen generations. From the way in which the other Guardsmen, from veterans to older cadets, were waiting, expectant snickers breaking out, they'd all been waiting‑yes, damn them all, and hoping‑for this ritual hazing.

Left to myself, rd have said harshly, "Next time, answer to your name, cadet," and had a word with him later in private. But if I tried to cheat them all of their fun, they'd probably take it out on Regis anyway. He'd already made himself conspicuous by coming in late and dressed like a prince. I might as well get on with it. Regis would have to get used to worse things than this in the next few weeks.

"Cadet Hastur," I said with a sigh, "suppose you step forward where we can get a good look at you. Then if you forget your name again, we can all be ready to remind you."

Regis stepped forward, staring blankly. "You know my name."

There was a chorus of snickers. Zandru's hells, was he confused enough to make it worse? I kept my voice cold and even. "It's my business to know it, cadet, and yours to answer any question put to you by an officer. What is your name, cadet?"

He said, rapid and furious, "Regis‑Rafael Felix Alar Has‑tur‑Elhalyn!"

"Well, Regis‑Rafael This‑that‑and‑the‑other, your name in the Guard hall is cadet Hastur, and I suggest you memorize your name and the proper response to your name, unless you prefer to be addressed as That's you, blockhead" Danilo giggled; I glared at him and he subsided. "Cadet Hastur, nobody's going to call you Lord Regis down here. How old are you, cadet Hastur?"

"Fifteen," Regis said. Mentally, I swore again. If he had made the proper response this time‑but how could he? No

one had warned him‑I could have dismissed him. Now I had to play out this farce to the very end. The look of hilarious expectancy on the faces around us infuriated me. But two hundred years of Guardsman tradition were behind it "Fifteen what, cadet?"

"Fifteen years," said Regis, biting on the old bait for the unwary. I sighed. Well, the other cadets had a right to their fun. Generations had conditioned them to demand it, and I gave it to them. I said wearily, "Suppose, men, you all tell cadet Hastur how old he is?"

"Fifteen, sir," they chorused all together, at the top of tfaeir voices. The expected uproar of laughter finally broke loose. I signaled Regis to go back to his place. The murderous glance he sent me could have killed. I didn't blame him. For days, in fact, until somebody else did something outstandingly stupid, he'd be the butt of the barracks. I knew. I remembered a day several years ago when the name of the unlucky cadet had been Lewis‑Kennard, cadet Montray, and I had, perhaps, a better excuse‑never having heard my name in that form before. I haven't heard it since either, because my father had demanded I be allowed to bear his name, Montray‑Alton. As usual, he got what he wanted. That Was while they were still arguing about my legitimacy. But he used the argument that it was unseemly for a cadet to bear a Terran name in the Guard, even though a bastard legally uses his mother's name.

Finally the ceremony was over. I should turn the cadets over to the cadet‑master and let him take command. No, damn it, I couldnt do it. Not until I had urged Father to reconsider. I hadn't wanted to command the Guards, but he had insisted and now, for better or worse, all the Guards, from the youngest cadet to the oldest veteran, were in my care. I was bound to do my best for them and, damn it, my best didn't include Dyan Ardais as cadet‑master!

I beckoned to old Domenic di Asturien. He was an experienced officer, completely trustworthy, exactly the sort of man to be in charge of the young. He had retired from active . duty years ago‑he was certainly in his eighties‑but no one could complain of him. His family was so old that the Comyn themselves were upstarts to him. There was a joke, told in whispers, that he had once spoken to the Hasturs as **the new nobility."

"Master, the Commander met with an accident this morning, and be has not yet informed me about his choice for cadet‑master." I crushed the staff lists in my band as if the old man could see Dyan's name written there and give me the He direct. "I respectfully request you to take charge of them until he makes his wishes known."

As I returned to my place, Dyan started to his feet. "You damned young pup, didn't Kennard tell‑" He saw curious eyes on us and dropped his voice. "Why didn't you speak to me privately about this?"

Damn it. He knew. And I recalled that he was said to be a strong telepath, though he had been refused entry to the towers for unknown reasons, so. he knew that I knew. I blanked my mind to him. There are few who can read an Alton when he's warned. It was a severe breach of courtesy and Comyn ethics that Dyan had done so uninvited. Or was it meant to convey that he didn't think I deserved Comyn immunity? I said frigidly, trying to be civil, "After I have consulted the Commander, Captain Ardais, I shall make his wishes known

to you.**

"Damn you, the Commander has made his wishes known, and you know it," Dyan said, his mouth hardening into a tight line. There was still time. I could pretend to discover his name on the lists. But eat dirt before the filthy he‑whore from the Hellers? I turned away and said to di Asturien, "When you please, Master, you may dismiss your charges." "You insolent bastard, I'll have your hide for this!" "Bastard I may be," I said, keeping my voice low, "but I consider it no edifying sight for two captains to quarrel in the hearing of cadets, Captain Ardais,"

He swallowed that. He was soldier enough to know it was true. As I dismissed the men, I reflected on the powerful enemy I had made. Before this, he had disliked me, but he was my father's friend and anything belonging to a friend he would tolerate, provided it stayed in its place. Now I had gone a long way beyond his rather narrow concept of that place and he would never forgive it.

Well, I could live without his approval. But I had better lose no time in talking to Father. Dyan wouldn't.

I found him awake and restive, swathed in bandages, his lame leg propped up. He looked haggard and flushed, and I wished I need not trouble him. "Did the call‑over go well?"

"Well enough. Danilo made a good appearance," I said, knowing he'd want to know.

"Regis was added at the last moment Was he there?" I nodded, and Father asked, "Did Dyan turn up to take charge? He had a sleepless night too, but said he'd be there."

I stared at him in outrage, finally bursting out, "Father! You can't be serious! I thought it was a joke! Dyan, as cadet‑master?"

"I don't joke about the Guards," Father said, his face hard, "and why not Dyan?"

I hesitated, then said, "Must I spell it out for you in full? Have you forgotten last year and the Vallonde youngster?"

"Hysterics," my father said with a shrug. "You took it more seriously than it deserved. When it came to the point, Octavien refused to undergo laran interrogation."

'That only proves he was afraid of you," I stormed, "nothing more! IVe known grown men, hardened veterans, break down, accept any punishment, rather than face that ordeal! How many mature adults can undergo telepathic examination at the hands of an Alton? Octavien was fifteen!"

"You're missing the point, Lew. The fact it, since he did not substantiate the charge, I am not officially required to take notice of it."

"Did you happen to notice that Dyan never denied it either? He didn't have the courage to face an Alton and He, did he?"

Kennard sighed and tried to hoist himself up in bed. I said, "Let me help you," but he waved me away. "Sit down, Lew, don't stand over me like a statue of an avenging god! What makes you think he would stoop to lie, or that I have any right to ask for any details of his private life? Is your own life so pure and perfect‑"

"Father, whatever I may have done for amusement before I was a grown man is completely beside the point," I said. "I have never abused authority‑**

He said coldly, "It seems you abused it when you ignored my written orders." His voice hardened. "I told you to sit down! Lew, I don't owe you any explanations, but since you seem to be upset about this, I'll make it clear. The world is made as it's made, not as you or I would like it. Dyan may not be the ideal cadet‑master, but he's asked for this post and I'm not going to refuse him."

"Why not?" I was more outraged than ever. "Just because he is Lord Ardais, must he be allowed a free hand for any kind of debauchery, corruption, anything he pleases? I don't care what he does, but does he have to have license to do it in the Guards?" I demanded. "Why?"

"Lew, listen to me. It's easy to use hard words about anyone who's less than perfect. They have one for you, or have you forgotten? I've listened to it for fifteen years, because I needed you. We need Lord Ardais on Council because he's a strong man and a strong supporter of Hastur. Have you become so involved with your private world at Arilinn that you don't remember the real political situation?" I grimaced, but he said, very patient now, "One faction on Council would like to plunge us into war with the Terrans. That's so unthinkable I needn't take it seriously, unless this small faction gains support. Another faction wants us to join the Terrans completely, give up our old ways and traditions, give up the Compact, become an Empire colony. That faction's bigger, and a lot more dangerous to Comyn. I feel that Hastur's solution, slow change, compromise, above all time, is the only reasonable answer. Dyan is one of the very few men who are willing to throw their weight behind Hastur. Why should we refuse him a position he wants, in return?"

"Then we're filthy and corrupt," I raged. "Just to get his support for your political ambitions, you're willing to bribe a man like Dyan by putting him in charge of half‑grown

boys?"

My father's quick rage flared. It had never been turned full on me before. "Do you honestly believe it's my personal ambition I'm furthering? I ask you, which is more important‑ the personal ethics of the cadet‑master or the future of Darkover and the very survival of the Comyn? No, damn it, you sit there and listen to me! When we need Dyan's support so badly ha Council do you think. I'd. quarrel with him over his private behavior?"

I flung back, equally furious, "I wouldn't give a damn if it was his private behavior! But if there's another scandal in the Guards, dont you think the Comyn will suffer? I didn't ask to command the Guards. I told you I'd rather not. But you wouldn't listen to my refusal and now you refuse to listen to my best judgment! I tell you, I won't have Dyaa as cadet‑master! Not if I'm in command!"

"Oh, yes you will," said my father in a low and vicious voice. "Do you think I am going to let you defy me?"

"Then, damn it, Father, get someone else to command the

Guards! Offer Dyan the command‑wouldn't that satisfy bis ambition?"

"But it wouldn't satisfy me," he said harshly. 'Tve worked for years to put you in this position. If you think I'm going to let you destroy the Domain of Alton by some childish scruples, you're mistaken. I'm still lord of the Domain and you are oath‑bound to take my orders without question! The post of cadet‑master is powerful enough to satisfy Dyan, but I'm not going to endanger the rights of the Altons to command. I'm doing it for you, Lew."

*'I wish you'd save your trouble! I don't want it!"

"You're in no position to know what you want. Now do as I tell you: go and give Dyan his appointment as cadet‑master, or"‑he struggled again, ignoring the pain‑"I'll get out of bed and do it myself."

His anger I could face; his suffering was something else. I struggled between rage and a deadly misgiving. "Father, I have never disobeyed you. But I beg you, I beg you," I repeated, "to reconsider. You know that no good will come of this."

He was gentle again. "Lew, you're still very young. Some day you'll learn that we all have compromises to make, and we make them with the best grace we can. You have to do the best you can within a situation. You can't eat nuts without cracking some shells." He stretched out his hand to me. "You're my main support, Lew. Don't force me to fight you too. I need you at my side."

I clasped his hand between my fingers; it felt swollen and feverish. How could I add to his troubles? He trusted me. What right had I to set up my judgment against his? He was my father, my commander, the lord of my Domain. My only duty was to obey.

Out of his sight, my rage flared again. Who would have believed Father would compromise the honor of the Guards? And how quickly he had maneuvered me again, like a puppet‑master pulling strings of love, loyalty, ambition, my own need for his recognition!

I will probably never forget the interview with Dyan Ardais. Oh, he was civil enough. He even commended me on my caution. I kept myself barriered and was scrupulously polite, but I am sure he knew how I felt like a farmer who had just set a wolf to guard the fowl‑house.

There was only one grain of comfort in the situation: 1 was no longer a cadetl

Chapter FIVE

As the cadets walked toward the barracks, Regis among them, he heard little of their chatter and horseplay. His face was burning. He could cheerfully have murdered Lew Alton.

Then a tardy fairness came back to him. Everybody there obviously knew what was going to happen, so it was evidently something that went on now and then. He was just the one who stumbled into it. It could have been anyone.

Suddenly he fe!t better. For the first time in bis life he was being treated exactly like anybody else. No deference. No special treatment. He brightened and began to listen to what

they were saying.

"Where the hell were you brought up, cadet, not to answer

to your name?"

"I was educated at Nevarsin," Regis said, provoking more

jeers and laughter.

"Hey, we have a monk among us! Were you too busy at

your prayers to hear your name?"

"No, it was the hour of Great Silence and the bell hadnt

rung for speech!"

Regis listened with an amiable and rather witless grin, which was the best thing he could possibly have done. A third‑year cadet, superior and highly polished in his green and black uniform, conveyed them into a barracks room at the far end of the courtyard. "First‑year men in here."

"Hey," someone asked, **what happened to the Commander?"

The junior officer in charge said, "Wash your ears next time. He broke some bones in a fall. We aH heard."

Someone said, carefully not loud enough for the officer to hear, "Are we going to be stuck with the bastard all season?"

"Shut up," said Julian MacAran, "Lanart‑Alton's not a bad sort. He's got a temper if you set him off, but nothing like the old man in a rage. Anyway, it could be worse," he added,

with a wary glance at the cadet who was out of range for the moment "Lew's fair and he keeps his hands to himself, which is more than you can say for some people."

Danilo asked, "Who's really going to be cadet‑master? Di Asturien's been retired for years. He served with my grandfather!"

Damon MacAnndra said with a careful look at the officer, "I heard it was going to be you‑know‑who. Captain Ardais."

Julian said, "I hope you're joking. Last night I was down in the armory and ..." His voice fell to a whisper. Regis was too far away, but the lads crowded around him reacted with nervous, high‑pitched giggles. Damon said, "That's nothing. Listen, did you hear about my cousin Octavien Vallonde? Last year‑**

"Chill it," a strange cadet said, just loud enough for Regis to hear. "You know what happened to him for gossiping about a Comyn heir. Have you forgotten there's one in the barracks now?"

Silence abruptly fell over the knot of cadets. They separated and began to drift around the barracks room. To Regis it was like a slap in the face. One minute they were laughing and joking, including him in their jokes; suddenly he was an outsider, a threat. It was worse because he had not really caught the drift of what they were saying.

He drifted toward Danilo, who was at least a familiar face. "What happens now?"

"I guess we wait for someone to tell us. I didn't mean to attract attention and get you in trouble, Lord Regis."

"You too, Dani?" That formal Lord Regis seemed a symbol of the distance they were all keeping. He managed to laugh. "Didn't you just hear Lew Alton remind me very forcibly that nobody would call me Lord Regis down here?"

Dani gave him a quick, spontaneous grin. "Right." He looked around the barracks room. It was bleak, cold and comfortless. A dozen hard, narrow camp‑beds were ranged hi two rows along the wall. All but one had been made up. Dauilo gestured to the only one still unchosen and said, "Most of us were down here last night and picked beds. I guess that one will have to be yours. It's next to mine, anyhow."

Regis shrugged. "They haven't left me much choice." It was, of course, the least desirable location, in a corner under a high window, which would probably be drafty. Well, it

couldn't be worse than the student dormitory at Nevarsin. Or

colder,

The third‑year cadet said, "Men, you can have the rest of the morning to make up your beds and put away your clothing. No food in barracks at any time; anything left lying on the floor will be confiscated." He glanced around at the boys waiting quietly for his orders. He said, "Uniforms will be given out tomorrow. MacAnndra‑"

Damon said, "Sir?"

"Get a haircut from the barber; you're not at a dancing class. Hair below the collarbone is officially out of uniform. Your mother may have loved those curls, but the officers

won't."

Damon turned as red as an apple and ducked his head.

Regis examined the bed, which was made of rough planking, with a straw mattress covered with coarse, clean ticking. Folded at the foot were a couple of thick dark gray blankets. They looked scratchy. The other lads were making up the beds with their own sheets. Regis began making a mental list of the things he should fetch from bis grandfather's rooms. It began with bed linens and a pillow. At the head of each bed was a narrow wooden shelf on which each cadet had already placed his personal possessions. At the foot of the bed was a rough wooden box, each lid scarred with knife‑marks, intertwined initials and hacked or lightly burned‑in crests, the marks of generations of restless boys. It struck Regis that years ago his father must have been a cadet in this very room, on a hard bed like this, his possessions reduced, whatever his rank or riches, to what he could keep on a narrow shelf a hand‑span wide. Danilo was arranging on his shelf a plain wooden comb, a hairbrush, a battered cup and plate and a small box carved with silver, from which he reverently took the small cristoforo statue of the Bearer of Burdens, carrying his weight of the world's sorrows.

Below the shelf were pegs for his sword and dagger. Danilo's looked very old. Heirlooms in his family?

All of them were there because their forefathers had been, Regis thought with the old resentment. He swore he would never walk the trail carved out for a Hastur heir, yet here he

was.

The cadet officer was walking along the room, making some kind of final check. At the far end of the room was an open space with a couple of heavy benches and a much‑scarred wooden table. There was an open fireplace, but no fire was burning at present. The windows were high and narrow, unglazed, covered with slatted wood shutters, which could be closed in the worst weather at the price of shutting out most of the light. The cadet officer said, "Each of you will be sent for some time today and tested by an arms‑master." He saw Regis sitting on the end of his bed and walked down the row of beds to him,

"You came hi late. Did anyone give you a copy of the arms‑manual?"

"No, sir."

The officer gave him a bartered booklet. "I heard you were educated at Nevarsin; I suppose you can read. Any questions?"

"I didn't‑my grandfather didn't‑no one sent my things down. May I send for them?"

The older lad said, not unkindly, "There's no one to fetch and carry for you down here, cadet Tomorrow after dinner you'll have some off‑duty time and you can go and fetch what you need for yourself. Meanwhile, you'll just have to make out with the clothes on your back." He looked Regis over, and Regis imagined a veiled sneer at the elaborate garments he had put on to present himself to his grandfather this morning. "You're the nameless wonder, aren't you? Remembered your name yet?"

"Cadet Hastur, sir," Regis said, his face burning again, and the officer nodded, said, "Very good, cadet," and went away.

And that was obviously why they did it, Regis thought Probably nobody ever forgot twice.

Danilo, who had been listening, said, "Didn't anyone tell you to bring down everything you'd need the night before? That's why Lord Alton sent me down early."

"No, no one told me." He wished he had thought to ask Lew, while they could speak together as friends and not as cadet and commander, what he would need in barracks.

Danilo said diffidently, "Those are your best clothes, aren't they? I could lend you an ordinary shirt to put on; you're about my size."

"Thank you, Dani. Td be grateful. This outfit isnt very suitable, is it?"

Danilo was kneeling in front of his wooden chest, brought out a clean but very shabby linen shirt, much patched around the elbows. Regis pulled off the dyed‑leather tunic and the

fine frilled shirt under it and slid into the patched one. It was a little large. Danilo apologized. "It's big for me too. It used to belong to Lew‑Captain Alton, I mean. Lord Kennard gave me some of his outgrown clothes, so that I'd have a decent outfit for the cadets. He gave me a good horse too. He's been very kind to me."

Regis laughed. "I used to wear Lew's outgrown clothes the years I was there. I kept growing out of mine, and with the fire‑watch called every few days, no one had time to make me any new ones or send to town." He laced up the cords at the neck. Danilo said, "It's hard to imagine you wearing outgrown clothes."

"I didn't mind wearing Lew's. I hated wearing my sister's outgrown nightgowns, though. Her governess taught her needlework by having her cut them down to size for me. Whenever she was cross about it, she used to pinch or prick me with her pins while she was trying them on. She's never liked sewing." He thought of his sister as he had last seen her heavy‑footed, swollen in pregnancy. Poor Javanne. She was caught too, with nothing ahead of her except bearing children for the house of Hastur. "Regis, is something wrong?"

Regis was startled at Danilo's look of concern, "Not really. I was thinking of my sister, wondering if her child had been born."

Danilo said gently, "I'm sure they'd have sent word if anything was wrong. The old saying is that good news crawls on its belly; bad news has wings."

Damon MacAnndra came toward them. "Have you been tested yet by the arms‑master?"

"No," said Dani, "they didn't get to me yesterday. What happens?"

Damon shrugged. "The arms‑master hands you a standard Guardsmen sword and asks you to demonstrate the basic positions for defense. If you don't know which end of it to take hold by, he puts you down for beginners' lessons and you get to practice about three hours a day. In your off‑duty time, of course. If you know the basics, he or one of his assistants will test you. When I went up last night, Lord Dyan was there watching. I tell you, I sweat blood! I made a damn fool of myself, my foot slipped and he put me down for lessons every other day. Who could do anything with that one staring at you?"

**Yes,'t Julian said from the cot beyond, where he was trying to get a spot of rust off his knife. "My brother told me he likes to sit and watch the cadets training. He seems to enjoy seeing them get rattled and do stupid things. He's a mean one."

"I studied swordplay at Nevarsin," Danilo said. "I'm not worried about the arms‑master."

"Well, you'd better worry about Lord Dyan. You're just young enough and pretty enough‑"

"Shut your mouth," Danilo said. "You shouldn't talk that way about a Comyn lord."

Damon snickered. "I forgot. You're Lord Alton's protege, aren't you? Strange, I never heard that he had any special liking for pretty boys.**

Danilo flared, his face burning. "You shut your filthy mouth! You're not fit to wipe Lord Kennard's boots! If you say anything like that again‑"

"Well, it seems we have a whole cloister of monks back here." Julian joined in the laughter. "Do you recite the Creed of Chastity when you ride into battle, Dani?"

"It wouldn't hurt any of you dirty‑mouths to say something decent," Danilo said and turned his back on them, burying himself in the arms‑manual.

Regis had also been shocked by the accusation they had made and by their language. But he realized he could not expect ordinary young men to behave and talk like novice monks, and he knew they would quickly make his life unbearable if he showed any sign of his distaste. He held his peace. That sort of thing must be common enough here to be a joke.

Yet it had touched off a murder and near‑riot in the Ter‑ran Zone. Could grown men actually take such things seriously enough to kill? Terrans, perhaps. They must have very strange customs, if they were even stricter than the cristo‑foros.

He suddenly recalled, as something that might have taken place years ago, that only this morning he had stood beside young Lawton in the Terran Zone, watching the starship break free from the planet and make its way to the stars. He wondered if Dan Lawton knew which end of a sword to take hold by, and if he cared. He had a strange sense of shuttling, rapidly and painfully, between worlds.

Three years. Three years to study swordplay while the Ter‑ran ships came and went less than a bowshot away.

Was this the kind of awareness his grandfather carried night and day, a constant reminder of two worlds rubbing shoulders, with violently opposed histories, habits, manners, moralities? How did Hastur live with the contrast?

The day wore on. He was sent for, and an orderly measured him for his uniform. When the sun was high, a junior officer came to show them the way to the mess hall, where the cadets ate at separate tables. The food was coarse and plain, but Regis had eaten worse at Nevarsin and he made a good meal, though some of the cadets grumbled loudly about the fare.

"It's not so bad," he said in an undertone to Danilo, and the younger boy's eyes glinted with mischief. "Maybe they want to make sure we know they're used to something better! Even if we're not."

Regis, aware of Danflo's patched shut on his back, remembered how desperately poor the boy's family must be. Yet they had had him well educated at Nevarsin. "I'd thought you were to be a monk, Dani."

"I couldn't be," Dani said. *Tm my father's only son now, and it wouldn't be lawful. My half‑brother was killed fifteen years ago, before I was born." As they left the mess hall, he added, "Father had me taught to read and write and keep accounts so that someday I'd be fit to manage his estate. He's growing too old to farm Syrtis alone. He didn't want me to go into the Guards, but when Lord Alton made such a kind offer, he couldn't refuse. I hate to hear them gossip about him," he said vehemently. "He's not like that! He's good and kind and decent!"

"I'm sure he doesn't listen," Regis said. "I lived in his house too, you know. And one of his favorite sayings used to be, if you listen to dogs barking, you'll go deaf without learning much. Are the Syrtis people under the Alton Domain, Danilo?"

"No, we have always been under Hastur wardship. My father was hawk‑master to yours, and my half‑brother his paxman.**

And something Regis had always known, an old story which had been part of his childhood but which he had never associated with living people, fell into place in his mind. He

said excitedly, "Dani! Your brother‑was his name Rafael‑Felix Syrtis of Syrtis?"

"Yes, that was his name. He was killed before I was born, in the same year Stef an Fourth died‑"

"So was my father," said Regis, with a surge of unfamiliar emotion. "All my life I have known, the story, known your brother's name. Dani, your brother was my father's personal guard, they were killed at the same instant‑he died trying to shield my father with his body. Did you know they are buried side by side, in one grave, on the field of Kilghairlie?"

He remembered, but did not say, what an old servant had told him, that they were blown to bits, buried together where they fell, since no living man could tell which bits were his father's, which Dani's brother's.

"I didn't know," Danilo whispered, his eyes wide. Regis, caught in the grip of a strange emotion, said, "It must be horrible to die like that, but not so horrible if your last thought is to shield someone else...."

Danilo's voice was not entirely steady. "They were both named Rafael and they had sworn to one another, and they fought together and died and were buried in one grave‑" As if he hardly knew what he was doing, he reached out to Regis and clasped his hands. He said, "I'd like to die like that. Wouldn't you?"

Regis nodded wordlessly. For an instant it seemed to him that something had reached deep down inside him, an almost painful awareness and emotion. It was almost a physical touch, although Danilo's fingers were only resting lightly in his own. Suddenly, abashed by the intensity of his own feelings, he let go of Danilo's hand, and the surge of emotion receded. One of the cadet officers came up and said, "Dani, the arms‑master has sent for you." Danilo caught up bis shabby leather tunic, pulled it quickly over his shirt and went.

Regis, remembering that he had been up all night, stretched out on the bare straw ticking of his cot He was too restless to sleep, but he fell at last into an uneasy doze, mingled with the unfamiliar sounds of the Guard hall the metallic clinking from the armory where someone was mending a shield, men's voices, very different from the muted speech of the monastery. Half asleep, he began to see a nightmarish sequence of faces: Lew Alton looking sad and angry when he told Regis be had no laran, Kennard pleading for Marius, bis grandfather struggling not to betray exhaustion or grief. As

he drifted deeper into the neutral country on the edge of sleep, he remembered Danilo, handling the wooden practice swords at Nevarsin. Someone whose face Regis could not see was standing close behind him; Danilo moved abruptly away, and he heard through the dream a harsh, shrill laugh, raucous as the scream of a hawk. And then he had a sudden mental picture of Danilo, his face turned away, huddled against the wall, sobbing hearthrokenly. And through the dreamlike sobs Regis felt a shocking overtone of fear, disgust and a consuming shame....

Someone laid a careful hand on his shoulder, shook him lightly. The barracks room was filled with the dimness of sunset. Danilo said, "Regis? I'm sorry to wake you, but the cadet‑master wants to see you. Do you know the way?"

Regis sat up, still a little dazed by the sharp edges of nightmare. For a moment he thought that Danilo's face, bent over him in the dim light, was actually red and flushed, as if he had been crying, like in the dream. No, that was ridiculous. Dani looked hot and sweaty, as if he'd been running hard or exercising. Probably they'd tested his swordplay. Regis tried to throw off the remnants of dream. He went into the stone‑floored washroom and latrine, sluiced his face with the par‑alyzingly cold water from the pump. Back in the barracks, tugging his leather tunic over Dani's patched shirt, he saw Danilo slumped on his cot, his head in his hands. He must have done badly at his arms‑test and he's upset about it, he decided, and left without disturbing his friend.

Inside the armory there was a second‑year cadet with long lists in his hands, another officer writing at s table and Dyan Ardais, seated behind an old worm‑eaten desk. Because the afternoon had turned warm, his collar was undone, his coarse dark hair clinging damoly around his high forehead. He glanced up. and Regis felt that in one swift feral glance Dyan had learned evervthin? he wanted to know about him.

"Cadet Hastur. Getting along all right so far?"

"Yes, Lord Pvan."

"Just Captain Ardais in the Guard hall, Regis." Dvan looked him over aeain, a slow evaluating stare that made Regis uncomfortable. "At least they taught you to stand straight at Nevarsin. You should see the way some of the lads stand!" He consulted a long sheet on his desk. "Regis‑Rafael Felix Afar Hastur‑Elhalyn. You prefer Regis‑Rafael?"

"Simply Regis, sir."

"As you wish. Although it seems a great pity to let the name of Rafael Hastur be lost. It is an honored name."

Damn it, Regis thought, I know I'm not my father! He knew he sounded curt and almost impolite as he said, "My sister's son has been named Rafael, Captain. I prefer not to share my father's honor before I have earned it."

"An admirable objective," Dyan said slowly. "I think every man wants a name for himself, rather than resting on the past. I can understand that, Regis," After a moment, with an odd impulsive grin, he said, "It must be a pleasant thing to have a father's honor to cherish, a father who did not outlive his moment of glory. You know, I suppose, that my father has been mad these twenty years, without wits enough to know his son's face?"

Regis had only heard rumors of old Kyril Ardais, who had not been seen by anyone outside Castle Ardais for so long that most people in the Domains had long forgotten his existence, or that Dyan was not Lord Ardais, but only Lord Dyan. Abruptly, Dyan spoke in an entirely different tone.

"How tall are you?"

"Five feet ten."

The eyebrows went up hi amused inquiry. "Already? Yes, I believe you are at that. Do you drink?"

"Only at dinner, sir."

"Well, don't start. There are too many young sots around. Turn up drunk on duty and you'll be booted, no excuses or explanations accepted. You are also forbidden to gamble. I don't mean wagering pennies on card games or dice, of course, but gambling substantial sums is against the rules. Did they give you a manual of arms? Good, read it tonight. After tomorrow you're responsible for everything in it. A few more things. Duels are absolutely forbidden, and drawing your sword or knife on a fellow Guardsman will break you. So keep your temper, whatever happens. You're not married, I suppose. Handfasted?"

"Not that I've heard, sir."

Dyan made an odd derisive sound. "Well, make the best of h; your grandfather will probably have you married off before the year's out. Let me see. What you do in off‑duty time is your own affair, but don't get yourself talked about. There's a rule about causing scandalous talk by scandalous behavior.

I don't have to tell you that the heir to a Domain is expected to set an example, do I?"

"No, Captain, you don't have to tell me that." Regis had had his nose rubbed in that all his life and he supposed Dyan had too.

Dyan's eyes met his again, amused, sympathetic. "It's unfair, isn't it, kinsman? Not allowed to claim any Comyn privileges, but still expected to set an example because of what we are." With another swift change of mood, he was back to the remote officer, "In general, keep out of the Terran Zone for your .. ‑ amusements."

Regis was thinking of the young Terran officer who, before they parted, had again offered to show him more of the spaceport whenever he wished. "Is it forbidden to go into the Terran Zone at all?"

"By no means. The prohibition doesn't apply to sightseeing, shopping or eating there if you have a taste for exotic foods. But Terran customs differ enough from ours that getting entangled with Terran prostitutes, or making any sexual advances to them, is likely to be a risky business. So keep out of trouble. To put it bluntly‑you're supposed to be grown up now‑if you have a taste for such adventures, find them on the Darkovan side of the line. Zandru's hells, my boy, aren't you too old to blush? Or hasn't the monastery worn off you yet?" He laughed. "I suppose, brought up at Nevarsin, you don't know a damn thing about arms, either?"

Regis welcomed the change of subject this time. He said he had had lessons, and Dyan's nostrils flared in contempt. "Some broken‑down old soldier earning a few coins teaching the basic positions?"

"Kennard Alton taught me when I was a child, sir." "Well, we'll see." He motioned to one of the junior officers. "Hjalmar, give him a practice sword."

Hjalmar handed Regis one of the wood and leather swords used for training. Regis balanced it in his hand. "Sir, I'm very badly out of practice."

"Never mind," Hjalmar said, bored. "Well see what kind of training youVe had."

Regis raised his sword in salute. He saw Hjalmar lift an eyebrow as he dropped into the defensive stance Kennard had taught him years ago. The moment Hjalmar lowered his weapon Regis noted the weak point in his defense; he feinted, sidestepped and touched Hjalmar almost instantly on the

thigh. They reengaged. For a moment there was no sound but the scuffle of feet as they circled one another, then Hjalmar made a swift pass which Regis parried. He disengaged and touched him on the shoulder.

"Enough." Dyan threw off his vest, standing in shirtsleeves. "Give me the sword, Hjalmar."

Regis knew, as soon as Dyan raised the wooden blade, that this was no amateur. Hjalmar, evidently, was used for testing cadets who were shy or completely unskilled, perhaps handling weapons for the first time. Dyan was another matter. Regis felt a tightness in his throat, recalling the gossip of the cadets: Dyan liked to see people get rattled and do something stupid.

He managed to counter the first stroke and the second, but on the third his parry slid awkwardly along Dyan's casually turned blade and he felt the wooden tip thump his ribs hard. Dyan nodded to him to go on, then beat him back step by step, finally touched him again, again, three times in rapid succession. Regis flushed and lowered his sword.

Then he felt the older man's hand gripping his shoulder hard. "So you're out of practice?"

"Very badly, Captain."

"Stop bragging, chiyu. You made me sweat, and not even the arms‑master can always do that. Kennard taught you well. I'd halfway expected, with that pretty face of yours, you'd have learned nothing but courtly dances. Well, lad, you can be excused from regular lessons, but you'd better turn out for practice every day. If, that is, we can find anyone to match you. If not, I'll have to work out with you myself."

"I would be honored, Captain," Regis said, but hoped Dyan would not hold him to this. Something about the older man's intense stare and teasing compliments made him feel awkward and very young. Dyan's hand on his shoulder was hard, almost a painful grip. He turned Regis gently around to look at him. He said, "Since you already have some skill at swordplay, kinsman, perhaps, if you like the idea, I could ask to have you assigned as my aide. Among other things, it would mean you need not sleep in the barracks."

Regis said quickly, "I'd rather not, sir." He fumbled for an acceptable excuse. "Sir, that is a post for an‑an experienced cadet. If I am assigned at once to a post of honor, it will look as if I am taking advantage of my rank, to be excused

from what the other cadets have to do. Thank you for the honor, Captain, but I don't think I‑I ought to accept."

Dyan threw back his head and laughed, and it seemed to Regis that the raucuous laughter sounded a little like the feral cry of a hawk, that there was something nightmarish about it Regis was caught hi the grip of a strange deja vu, feeling that this had happened before.

It vanished as swiftly as it had come. Dyan released his grip on Regis' shoulder.

"I honor you for that decision, kinsman, and I dare say you are right. And in training already to be a statesman, I see. I can find no fault with your answer."

Again the wild, hawklike laugh.

"You can go, cadet. Tell young MacAran I want to see him."

Chapter SIX

(Lew Alton's narrative)

Father was bedridden during the first several days of Council season, and I was too busy and beset to have much time for the cadets. I had to attend Council meetings, which at this particular time were mostly concerned with some dreary business of trade agreements with the Dry Towns. One thing I did find time for was having that staircase fixed before someone else broke his leg, or his neck. This was troublesome too: I had to deal with architects and builders, we had stonemasons underfoot for days, the cadets coughed from morning to night with the choking dust and the veterans grumbled constantly about having to go the long way round and use the other stairs.

A long time before I thought he was well enough, Father insisted on returning to his Council seat, which I was glad to be out of. Far too soon after that, he returned to the Guards, his arm still in a sling, looking dreadfully pale and worn. I suspected he shared some of my uneasiness about how well the cadets would fare this season, but he said nothing about it to me. It nagged at me ceaselessly; I resented it as much for my father's sake as my own. If my father had chosen to trust Dyan Ardais, I might not have been quite so disturbed. But I felt that he, too, had been compelled, and that Dyan had enjoyed having the power to do so.

A few days after that, Gabriel Lanart‑Hastur returned from Edelweiss with news that Javanne had borne twin girls, whom she named Ariel and Liriel. With Gabriel at hand, my father sent me back into the hills on a mission to set up a new system of fire‑watch beacons, to inspect the fire‑watch stations which had been established hi my grandfather's day

and to instruct the Rangers in new fire‑fighting techniques. This kind of mission demands tact and some Comyn author‑ty, to persuade men separated by family feuds and rivalries, sometimes for generations, to work together peacefully. Fire‑truce is the oldest tradition on Darkover but, in districts which have been lucky enough to escape forest fires for centuries, it's hard to persuade anyone that the fire‑truce should be extended to the upkeep of the stations and beacons.

I had my father's full authority, though, and that helped. The law of the Comyn transcends, or is supposed to transcend, personal feuds and family rivalries. I had a dozen Guardsmen with me for the physical work, but I had to do the talking, the persuading and the temper‑smoothing when old struggles flared out of control. It took a lot of tact and thought; it also demanded knowledge of the various families, their hereditary loyalties, intermarriages and interactions for the last seven or eight generations. It was high summer before I rode back to Thendara, but I felt I'd accomplished a great deal. Every step against the constant menace of forest fire on Darkover impresses me more than all the political accomplishments of the last hundred years. That's something we've actually gained from the presence of the Terran Empire: a great increase in knowledge of fire‑control and an exchange of information with other heavily wooded Empire planets about new methods of surveillance and protection.

And back hi the hills the Comyn name meant something. Nearer to the Trade Cities, the influence of Terra has eroded the old habit of turning to the Comyn for leadership. But back there, the potency of the very name of Comyn was immense. The people neither knew nor cared that I was a half‑Terran bastard. I was the son of Kennard Alton, and that was all that really mattered. For the first tune I carried the full authority of a Comyn heir.

I even settled a blood‑feud which had run three generations by suggesting that die eldest son of one house marry the only daughter of another and the disputed land be settled on their children. Only a Comyn lord could have suggested this without becoming himself entangled in the feud, but they accepted it. When I thought of the lives it would save, I was glad of the chance.

I rode into Thendara one morning in midsummer. IVe heard offworlders say our planet has no summer, but there had been no snow for three days, even in the pre‑dawn

hours, and that was summer enough for me. The sun was dim and cloud‑hidden, but as we rode down from the pass it broke through the layers of fog, throwing deep crimson lights on the city lying below us. Old people and children gathered inside the city gates to watch us, and I found I was grinning to myself. Part of it, of course, was the thought of being able to sleep for two nights in the same bed. But part of it was pure pleasure at knowing I'd done a good job. It seemed, for the first time in my life, that this was my city, that I was coming home. I had not chosen this duty‑I had been born into it‑but I no longer resented it so much.

Riding into the stable court of the Guards, I saw a brace of cadets on watch at the gates and more going out from the mess hall. They seemed a soldierly lot, not the straggle of awkward children they had been that first day. Dyan had done well enough, evidently. Well, it had never been his competence I questioned, but even so, I felt better. I turned my horse over to the grooms and went to make my report to my father.

He was out of bandages now, with his arm free of the sling, but he still looked pale, his lameness more pronounced than ever. He was in Council regalia, not uniform. He waved away my proffered report.

"No time for that now. And I'm sure you did as well as I could have done myself. But there's trouble here. Are you very tired?"

"No, not really. What's wrong, Father? More riots?"

"Not this time. A meeting of Council with the Terran Legate this morning. In the city, at Terran headquarters."

"Why doesn't he wait on you in the Council Chamber?" Comyn lords did not come and go at the bidding of the Terran an!

He caught the thought and shook his head. "It was Hastur himself who requested this meeting. It's more important than you can possibly imagine. That's why I want you to handle this for me. We need an honor guard, and I want you to choose the members very carefully. It would be disastrous if this became a subject of gossip in the Guards‑or elsewhere."

"Surely, Father, any Guardsman would be honor‑bound‑**

"In theory, yes," he said dryly, "but in practice, some of them are more trustworthy than others. You know the younger men better than I do." It was the first time he had ever admitted so much. He had missed me, needed me. I felt

warmed and welcomed, even though all he said was, "Choose Guardsmen or cadets who are blood‑kin to Comyn if you can, or the trustiest. You know best which of them have tongues that rattle at both ends."

Gabriel Lanart, I thought, as I went down to the Guard hall, an Alton kinsman, married into the Hasturs. Lerrys Ridenow, the younger brother of the lord of his Domain. Old di Asturien, whose loyalty was as firm as the foundations of Comyn Castle itself. I left him to choose the veterans who would escort us through the streets‑they would not go into the meeting rooms, so their choice was not so critical‑and went off to cadet barracks.

It was the slack time between breakfast and morning drill. The first‑year cadets were making their beds, two of them sweeping the floor and cleaning out the fireplaces. Regis was sitting on the corner cot, mending a broken bootlace. Was it meekness or good nature which had let them crowd him into the drafty spot under the window? He sprang up and came to attention as I stopped at the foot of his bed.

I motioned him to relax. 'The Commander has sent me to choose an honor guard detail," I said. "This is Comyn business; it goes without saying that no word of what you may hear is to go outside Council rooms. Do you understand me, RegisT'

"Yes, Captain." He was formal, but I caught curiosity and excitement in his lifted face. He looked older, not quite so childish, not nearly so shy. Well, as I knew from my own first tormented cadet season, one of two things happened in the first few days. You grew up fast ... or you crawled back home, beaten, to your family. I've often thought that was why cadets were required to serve a few terms in the Guard. No one could ever tell in advance which ones would survive.

I asked, "How are you getting along?"

He smiled, "Well enough." He started to say something else, but at that moment Danilo Syrtis, covered in dust, crawled out from under his bed. "Got it!" he said. "It evidently slipped down this morning when I‑" He saw me, broke off and came to attention.

"Captain."

"Relax, cadet," I said, "but you'd better get that dirt off your knees before you go out to inspection." He was father's protege", and his family had been Hastur men for gener‑

ations. "You join the honor guard too, cadet. Did you hear what I said to Regis, Dani?"

He nodded, coloring, and his eyes brightened. He said, with such formality that it sounded stiff, "I am deeply honored, Captain." But through the formal words, I caught the touch of excitement, apprehension, curiosity, unmistakable pleasure at the honor.

Unmistakable. This was not the random sensing of emotions which I pick up in any group, but a definite touch.

Laran, The boy had laran, was certainly a telepath, probably had one of the other gifts. Well, it was not much of a surprise. Father had told me they had Comyn blood a few generations back. Regis was kneeling before his chest, searching for the leather tabard of his dress uniform. As Danilo was about to follow suit, I stepped to his side and said, "A word, kinsman. Not now‑there is no urgency‑but some time, when you are free of other duties, go to my father, or to Lord Dyan if you prefer, and ask to be tested by a leronis. They will know what you mean. Say that it was I who told you this." I turned away. "Both of you join the detail at the gates as soon as you can."

The Comyn lords were waiting in the court as the detail of Guards was forming. Lord Hastur, in sky‑blue cloak with the silver fir tree badge. My father, giving low‑voiced directions to old di Asturien. Prince Derik was not present. Hastur would have had to speak for him as Regent in any case, but Derik at sixteen should certainly have been old enough, and interested enough, to attend such an important meeting.

Edric Ridenow was there, the thickset, red‑bearded lord of Serrais. There was also a woman, pale and slender, folded in a thin gray hooded cloak which shielded her from curious eyes. I did not recognize her, but she was evidently comyn‑ara; she must be an Aillard or an Elhalyn, since only those two Domains give independent Council right to their women. Dyan Ardais, in the crimson and gray of his Domain, strode to his place; he gave a brief glance to the honor guard, stopped briefly beside Danilo and spoke in a low voice. The boy blushed and looked straight ahead. I'd already noticed that he still colored like a child if you spoke to him. I wondered what small fault the cadet‑master had found in his appearance and bearing. I had found none, but it's a cadet‑master's business to take note of trivialities.

As we moved through the streets of Thendara, we drew

surprised glances. Damn the Terrans anyway! It lessened Comyn dignity, that they beckoned and we came at a run!

The Regent seemed conscious of no loss of dignity. He moved between his escort with the energy of a man half his years, his face stern and composed. Just the same I was glad when we reached the spaceport gates. Leaving the escort outside, we were conducted, Comyn lords and honor guard, into the building to a large room on the first floor.

As custom decreed, I stepped inside first, drawn sword in hand. It was small for a council chamber, but contained a large, round table and many seats. A number of Terrans were seated on the far side of the table, mostly in some sort of uniform. Some of them wore a great number of medals, and I surmised they intended to do the Comyn honor.

Some of them showed considerable unease when I stepped inside with my drawn sword, but the gray‑haired man at their center‑the one with the most medals‑said quickly, "It is customary, their honor guard. You come for the Regent of Comyn, officer?"

He had spoken cahuenga, the mountain dialect which has become a common tongue all over Darkover, from the Hellers to the Dry Towns. I brought my sword up to salute and replied, "Captain Montray‑Alton, at your service, sir." Since I saw no weapons visible anywhere in the room, I forebore any further search and sheathed the sword. I ushered in the rest of the honor guard, placing them around the room, motioning Regis to take a position directly behind the Regent, stationing Gabriel at the doorway, then ushering in the members of the Council and announcing their names one by one.

"Danvan‑Valentine, Lord Hastur, Warden of Elhalyn, Regent of the Crown of the Seven Domains."

The gray‑haired man‑I surmised that he was the Terran Legate‑rose to his feet and bowed. Not deeply enough, but more than I'd expected of a Terran. "We are honored, Lord Regent,"

"Kennard‑Gwynn Alton, Lord Alton, Commander of the City Guard." He limped heavily to his place.

"Lord Dyan‑Gabriel, Regent of Ardais." Whatever my personal feelings about him, I had to admit he looked impressive. "Edric, Lord Serrais. And‑" I hesitated a moment as the gray‑cloaked woman entered, realized I did not know her name. She smiled almost imperceptibly and murmured under

her breath, "For shame, kinsmanl Don't you recognize me? I am Callina Aillard."

I felt like an utter fool. Of course I knew her.

"Callina, Lady Aillard‑" I hesitated again momentarily; I could not remember in which of the towers she was serving as Keeper. Well, the Terrans would never know the difference. She supplied it telepathically, with an amused smile behind her hood, and I concluded, "leronis of Neskaya."

She walked with quiet composure to the remaining seat She kept the hood of her cloak about her face, as was proper for an unwedded woman among strangers. I saw with some relief that the Legate, at least, had been informed of the polite custom among valley Darkovans and had briefed his men not to look directly at her. I too kept my eyes politely averted; she was my kinswoman, but we were among strangers. I had seen only that she was very slight, with pale solemn features.

When everyone was in his appointed place, I drew my sword again, saluted Hastur and then the Legate and took my place behind my father. One of the Terrans said, "Now that all that's over, can we come to business?"

"Just a moment, Meredith," the Legate said, checking his unseemly impatience. "Noble lords, my lady, you lend us grace. Allow me to present myself. My name is Donnell Ramsay; I am privileged to serve the Empire as Legate for Terra. It is my pleasure to welcome you. These"‑he indicated the men beside him at the table‑"are my personal assistants: Laurens Meredith, Reade Andrusson. If there are any among you, my lords, who do not speak cahuenga, our liaison man, Daniel Lawton, will be honored to translate for you into the casta. If we may serve you otherwise, you have only to speak of it. And if you wish, Lord Hastur," he added, with a bow, "that this meeting should be conducted according to formal protocol in the casta language, we are ready to accede."

I was glad to note that he knew the rudiments of courtesy. Hastur said, "By your leave, sir, we will dispense with the translator, unless some misunderstanding should arise which he can settle. He is, however, most welcome to remain.

Young Lawton bowed. He had flaming red hair and a look of the Comyn about him. I remembered hearing that his mother had been a woman of the Ardais clan. I wondered if Dyan recognized his kinsman and what he thought about it

It was strange to think that young Lawton might well have been standing here among the honor guard. My thoughts were wandering; I commanded them back as Hastur spoke.

"I have come to you, Legate, to draw your attention to a grave breach of the Compact on Darkover. It has been brought to my notice that, back in the mountains near Ald‑aran, a variety of contraband weapons is being openly bought and sold. Not only within the Trade City boundaries there, where your agreement with us allows your citizens to carry what weapons they will, but in the old city of Caer Donn, where Terrans walk the streets as they wish, carrying pistols and blasters and neural disrupters. I have also been told that it is possible to purchase these weapons in that city, and that they have been sold upon occasion to Darkovan citizens. My informant purchased one without difficulty. It should not be necessary to remind you that this is a very serious breach of Compact."

It took all my self‑control to keep the impassive face suitable for an honor guard, whose perfect model is a child's carved toy soldier, neither hearing nor seeing. Would even the Terrans dare to breach the Compact?

I knew now why my father had wanted to be certain no hint of gossip got out. Since the Ages of Chaos, the Darkovan Compact has banned any weapon operating beyond the hand's reach of the man wielding it. This was a fundamental law: the man who would kill must himself come within reach of death. News that the Compact was being violated would shake Darkover to the roots, create public disorder and distrust, damage the confidence of the people in their rulers.

The Legate's face betrayed nothing, yet something, some infinitesimal thightening of his eyes and mouth, told me this was no news to him.

"It is not our business to enforce the Compact on Darkover, Lord Hastur. The policy of the Empire is to maintain a completely neutral posture in regard to local disputes. Our dealings in Caer Donn and the Trade Gty there are with Lord Kermiac of Aldaran. It was made very clear to us that the Comyn have no jurisdiction in the mountains near Aldaran. Have I been misinformed? Is the territory of Aldaran subject to the laws of Comyn, Lord Hastur?"

Hastur said with a snap of his jaw, "Aldaran has not been a Comyn Domain for many years, Mr. Ramsay. Nevertheless, the Compact can hardly be called a local decision. While Aldaran is not under our law‑"

"So I myself believed, sir," the Legate said, "and therefore‑"

"Forgive me, Mr. Ramsay, I had not yet finished." Hastur was angry. I tried to keep myself barriered, as any telepath would in a crowd this size, but I couldn't shut out everything. Hastur's calm, stem face did not alter a muscle, but his anger was like the distant glow of a forest fire against Hie horizon. Not yet a danger, but a faraway menace. He said, "Correct me if I am wrong, Mr. Ramsay, but is it not true that when the Empire negotiated to have Darkover given status as a Class D Closed World"‑the technical language sounded strange on his tongue, and he seemed to speak it with distaste‑"that one condition of the use and lease of the spaceport and the establishment of the cities of Port Chicago, Caer Donn and Thendara as Trade Cities, was complete enforcement of Compact outside the Trade Cities and control of contraband weapons? Mindful of that agreement, can you truthfully state that it is not your business to enforce the Compact on Darkover, sir?"

Ramsay said, "We did and we do enforce it in the Comyn Domains and under Comyn law, my lord, at considerable trouble and expense to ourselves. Need I remind you that one of our men was threatened with murder, not long ago, because he was unweaponed and defenseless in a society which expects every man to fight and protect himself?"

Dyan Ardais said harshly, "The episode you mention was unnecessary. It is necessary to remind you that the man who was threatened with murder had himself murdered one of our Guardsman, in a quarrel so trivial that a Darkovan boy of twelve would have been ashamed to make more of it than a joke! Then this Terran murderer hid behind his celebrated weaponless status"‑even a Terran could not escape that sneer‑"to refuse a lawful challenge by the murdered man's brother! If your men choose to go weaponless, sir, they alone are responsible for their acts."

Reade Andrusson said, "They do not choose to go weaponless, Lord Ardais. We are forced by the Compact to deprive them of their accustomed weapons."

Dyan said, "They are allowed by our laws to carry whatever ethical weapons they choose. They cannot complain of a defenselessness which is their own choice."

The Legate, turning his eyes consideringly on Dyan, said, 'Their defenselessness, Lord Ardais, is in obedience to our laws. We have a very distinct bias, which our laws reflect, against carving people up with swords and knives."

Hastur said harshly, "Is it your contention, sir, that a man is somehow less dead if he is shot down from a safe distance without visible bloodshed? Is death cleaner when it comes to you from a killer safely out of reach of his own death?" Even through my own barriers, his pain was so violent, so palpable that it was like a long wail of anguish; I knew he was thinking of his own son, blown to fragments by smuggled contraband weapons, killed by a man whose face he never saw! So intense was that cry of agony that I saw Danilo, impassive behind Lord Edric, flinch and tighten his hands into white‑knuckled fists at his sides; my father looked white and shaken; Regis* mouth moved and he blinked rapidly, and I wondered how even the Terrans could be unaware of so much pain. But Hastur*s voice was steady, betraying nothing to the aliens. "We banned such coward's weapons to insure that any man who would kill must see his victim's blood flow and come into some danger of losing his own, if not at the hands of his victim, at least at the hands of his victim's family or friends."

The Legate said, "That episode was settled long ago, Lord Regent, but I remind you we stood ready to prosecute our man for the killing of your Guardsman. We could not, however, expose him to challenges from the dead man's family one after another, especially when it was abundantly clear that the Guardsman had first provoked the quarrel."

"Any man who found provocation in such a trivial occurrence should expect to be challenged," said Dyan, "but your men hide behind your laws and surrender their own persona! responsibility! Murder is a private affair and nothing for the laws!"

The Legate surveyed him with what would have been open dislike, had he been a little less controlled. "Our laws are made by agreement and consensus, and whether you approve of them or not, Lord Ardais, they are unlikely to be amended to make murder a matter of private vendetta and individual duels. But this is not the matter at issue."

I admire his control, the firm way in which he cut Dyan off. My own barriers, thinned by the assault of Hastur's anguish, were down almost to nothing; I could feel Dyan's contempt like an audible sneer.

I got my barriers together a little while Hastur silenced Dyan again and reminded him that the incident in question had been settled long since. "Not settled," Dyan half snarled, "hidden from," but Hastur firmly cut him off, insisting that there was a more important matter to be settled. By the time I caught up with the discussion again, the Legate was saying:

"Lord Hastur, this is an ethical question, not a legal one at all. We enforce Cornyn laws within the jurisdiction of the Comyn. In Caer Donn and the Hellers, where the laws are made by Lord Aldaran, we enforce what laws he requires. If he cannot be bothered to enforce the Compact you value so highly, it is not our business to police it for him‑or, my lord, for you."

Callina Aillard said hi her quiet clear voice, "Mr. Ramsay, the Compact is not a law, hi your sense, at all. I do not believe either of us quite understands what the other means by law. The Compact has been the ethical basis of Darkovan culture and history for hundreds of years; neither Kermiac of Aldaran nor any other man on Darkover has any right to disregard or disobey it."

Ramsay said, "You must debate that point with Aldaran himself, my lady. He is not an Empire subject and I have no authority over him. If you want him to keep the Compact, you'll have to make him keep it."

Edric Ridenow spoke up for the first time. He said, "It is your responsibility, Ramsay, to enforce the substance of your agreement on our world. Are you intending to shirk that duty because of a quibble?"

"I am not shirking any responsibility which comes properly within the scope of my duties, Lord Serrais," he said, "but neither is it my duty to settle your disagreements with Aldaran. It seems to me that would be to infringe on the responsibility of the Cornyn."

Dyan opened his mouth again, but Hastur gestured him to silence. "You need not teach me my responsibilities, Mr. Ramsay. The Empire's agreement with Darkover, and the status of the spaceport, was determined with the Comyn, not with Kermiac of Aldaran. One stipulation of that agreement was enforcement of the Compact; and we intended enforcement, not only in the Domains, but all over Darkover. I dislike using threats, sir, but if you insist upon your right to vio‑

late your own agreement, I would be within my authority in closing the spaceport until such time as the agreement is kept in every detail."

The Legate said, "This, sir, is unreasonable. You have said yourself that the Compact is not a law but an ethical preference. I also dislike using threats, but if you take that course, I am certain that my next orders from the Administrative Center would be to negotiate a new agreement with Kermiac of Aldaran and move the Empire headquarters to Caer Bonn Trade City, where we need not trouble Comyn scruples."

Hastur said bitterly, "You say you are prohibited from taking sides in local political decisions. Do you realize that this would effectively throw all the force of the Terran Empire against the very existence of the Compact?"

"You leave me no choice, sir."

"You know, dont you, that such a move would mean war? War not of the Comyn's making but, the Compact once abandoned, war would inevitably come. We have had no war here for many years. Small skirmishes, yes. But the enforcement of the Compact has kept such battles within reasonable limits. Do you want the responsibility for letting a different kind of war loose?"

"Of course not," Ramsay said. He was a nontelepath and his emotions were muddy, but I could tell that he was distressed. This distress made me like him just a little more. "Who would?"

"Yet you would hide behind your laws and your orders and your superiors, and let our world be plunged into war again? We had our Ages of Chaos, Ramsay, and the Compact brought them to an end. Does that mean nothing to you?"

The Terran looked straight at Hastur. I had a curious mental picture, a flash picked up from someone in the room, that they were like two massive towers facing one another, as the Comyn Castle and the Terran headquarters faced one another across the valley, gigantic armored figures braced for single combat. The image thinned and vanished and they were just two old men, both powerful, both filled with stubborn integrity, each doing the best for bis own side. Ramsay said, "It means a very great deal to me, Lord Hastur. I want to be honest with you. If there was a major war here, it would mean closing and sealing the Trade Cities to be certain of keeping to our law against interference. I don't want to

move the spaceport to Caer Donn. It was built there, a good many years ago. When the Comyn offered us this more convenient spot, down here in the plains at Thendara, we were altogether pleased to abandon the operation at Caer Donn, except for trade and certain transport. The Thendara location has been to our mutual advantage. If we are forced to move back to Caer Donn we would be forced to reschedule all our traffic, rebuild our headquarters back in the mountains where the climate is more difficult for Terrans to tolerate and, above all, rely on inadequate roads and inhospitable countryside. I don't want to do that, and we will do anything within reason to avoid it."

Dyan said, "Mr. Ramsay, are you not in command of all the Terrans on Darkover?"

"You have been misinformed, Lord Dyan. I'm a legate, not a dictator. My authority is mostly over spaceport personnel stationed here, and only in matters which for one reason or another supersede that of their individual departments of administration. My major business is to keep order in the Trade City. Furthermore, I have authority from Administration Central to deal with Darkovan citizens through their duly constituted and appointed rulers. I have no authority over any individual Darkovan except for a few civilian employees who choose to hire themselves to us, nor over any individual Empire citizen who comes here to do business, beyond determining that his business is a lawful one for a Class D world. Beyond that, if his business disturbs the peace between Darkover and the Empire, I may intervene. But unless someone appeals to me, I have no authority outside the Trade City,"

It sounded intolerably complicated. How did the Empire manage to get its business done at all? My father had, as yet, said nothing; now he raised his head and said bluntly, "Well we're appealing to you. These Empire citizens selling blasters in the marketplace of Caer Donn are not doing lawful business for a Class D Closed World, and you know it as well as I do. It's up to you to do something about it, and do it now. That does come within your responsibility."

The Legate said, "If the offense were here in Thendara, Lord Alton, I would do so with the greatest pleasure. In Caer Donn I can do nothing unless Lord Kermiac of Aldaran should appeal to me."

My father looked and sounded angry. He was angry, with

a disrupting anger which could have struck the Legate unconscious if he had not been trying hard to control it. "Always the same old story on Terra, what's your saying, pass the buck? You're like children playing that game with hot chestnuts, tossing them from one to another and trying not to get burned! I spent eight years on Terra and I never found even one man who would look me in the eye and say, This is my responsibility and I will accept it whatever the consequences.' "

Ramsay sounded harried. "Is it your contention that it is the Empire's business, or mine, to police your ethical systems?"

"I always thought," Callina said hi her clear, still voice, "that ethical conduct was the responsibility of every honest man."

Hastur said, "One of our fundamental laws, sir, however law is defined, is that the power to act confers the responsibility to do so. Is it otherwise with you?"

The Legate leaned his chin on his clasped hands. "I can admire that philosophy, my lord, but I must respectfully refuse to debate it with you. I am concerned at this moment with avoiding great inconvenience for both our societies. I will inquire into this matter and see what can legitimately be done without interfering hi your political decisions. And if I may make a respectful suggestion, Lord Hastur, I suggest that you take this matter up directly with Kermiac of Ald‑aran. Perhaps you can persuade him of the rightness of your view, and he will take it upon himself to stop the traffic in weapons, in those areas where the final legal authority is his."

The suggestion shocked me. Deal, negotiate, with that renegade Domain, exiled from Comyn generations ago? But no one seemed inordinately shocked at the idea. Hastur said, "We shall indeed discuss this matter with Lord Aldaran, sir. And it may be that since you refuse to take personal responsibility for enforcing the Empire's agreement with all of Darkover, that I shall myself take the matter directly before the Supreme Tribunal of the Empire. If it is adjudged there that the agreement for Darkover does indeed require planet‑wide enforcement of the Compact, Mr. Ramsay, have I then your assurance that you would enforce it?"

I wondered if the Legate was even conscious of the absolute contempt in Hastur's voice for a man who required orders from a supreme authority to enforce ethical conduct. I felt almost ashamed of my Terran blood. But if Ramsay heard the contempt, he revealed nothing.

"If I receive orders to that effect, Lord Hastur, you may be assured that I will enforce them absolutely. And permit me to say, Lord Hastur, that it would in no way displease me to receive such orders."

A few more words were exchanged, mostly formal courtesies. But the meeting was over, and I bad to gather my scattered thoughts and reassemble the honor guard, conduct the Council members formally out of the headquarters building and the spaceport and through the streets of Thendara. I could sense my father's thoughts, as I always could when we were in each other's presence.

He was thinking that no doubt h would be left to him to go to Aldaran. Kermiac would have to receive him, if only as my mother's kinsman. And I felt the utter weariness, like pain, in the thought. That journey into the Hellers was terrible, even in high summer; and summer was fast waning. Father was thinking that he could not shirk it. Hastur was too old. Dyan was no diplomat, he'd want to settle it by challenging Kermiac to a duel. But who else was there? The Ridenow lads were too young. . . .

It seemed to me, as I followed my father through the streets of Thendara, that in fact almost everyone in Comyn was either too old or too young. What was to become of the Domains?

It would have been easier if I could have been wholly convinced that the Terrans were all evil and must be resisted. Yet against my will I had found much that was wise in what Ramsay said. Firm laws, and never too much power concentrated in one pair of hands, seemed to me a strong barrier to the kind of corruption we now faced. And a certain basic law to fall back on when the men could not be trusted. Men, as I had found out when Dyan was placed at the head of the cadets, were all too often fallible, acting from expediency rather than the honor they talked so much about. Ramsay might hesitate to act without orders, but at least he acted on the responsibility of men and laws he could trust to be wiser than himself. And there was a check on his power too, for he knew that if he acted on his own responsibility against the will of wiser heads, he would be removed before he could do too much damage. But who would be a check on Dyan's power? Or my father's? They had the power to act, and therefore the right to do it.

And who could question their motives, or call a halt to their acts?

Chapter SEVEN

The day remained clear and cloudless. At sunset Regis stood on the high balcony which looked out over the city and the spaceport. The dying sunlight turned the city at his feet to a gleaming pattern of red walls and faceted windows, Danilo said, "It looks like the magical city in the fairy tale."

"There's nothing much magical about it," Regis said. "We learned that this morning on honor guard. Look, there's the ship that takes off every night about this time. It's too small to be an interstellar ship. I wonder where it's going?"

"Port Chicago, perhaps, or Caer Donn. It must be strange to have to send messages to other people by writing them, instead of by using linked minds as we do through the towers," Danilo said. "And it must feel very, very strange never to know what other people are thinking."

Of course, Regis thought. Dani was a telepath. Suddenly he realized that he'd been in contact with him again and again, and it had seemed so normal that neither had recognized it as telepathy. Today at the Council had been different, terribly different. He must have laran after all‑but how and when, after Lew had failed?

And then the questions and the doubts came back. There had been so many telepaths there, spreading laran everywhere, even a nontelepath might have picked it up. It did not necessarily mean anything. He felt wrung, half desperately hoping that he was not cut off anymore and half fearing.

He went on looking at the city spread out below. This was the hour off‑duty, when if a cadet had incurred no demerit or punishment detail, he might go where he chose. Morning and early afternoon were spent in training, swordplay and unarmed combat, the various military and command skills they would need later as Guards in the city and in the field. Later in the afternoon, each cadet was assigned to special duties. Danilo, who wrote the clearest hand among the cadets, had

been assigned to assist the supoly‑officer. Regis had the relatively menial task of walking patrol in the city with a seasoned veteran or two, keeping order in the streets, preventing brawls, discouraging sneak‑thieves and footpads. He found that he liked it, liked the very idea of keeping order in the city of the Comyn.

Life in the cadet corps was not intolerable, as he had feared. He did not mind the hard beds, the coarse food, the continual demands on his time. He had been even more strictly disciplined at Nevarsin, and life in the barracks was easy by contrast. What troubled him most was always being surrounded by others and yet still being lonely, isolated from the others by a gulf he could not bridge.

From their first day, he and Danilo had drifted together, at first by chance, because their beds were side by side and neither of them had another close friend in the barracks. The officers soon began to pair them off for details needing partners like barrack room cleaning, which the cadets took in turns; and because Regis and Danilo were about the same size and weight, for unarmed‑combat training and practice. Within the first‑year group they were good‑naturedly, if derisively, known as "the cloistered brethren" because, like the Nevarsin brothers, they spoke casta by choice", rather than cahuenga.

At first they spent much of their free time together too. Presently Regis noticed that Danilo sought his company less, and wondered if he had done something to offend the other boy. Then by chance he heard a second‑year cadet jeeringly congratulating Danilo about his cleverness in choosing a friend. Something in Danilo's face told him it was not the first time this taunt had been made. Regis had wanted to reveal himself and do something, defend Danilo, strike the older cadet, anything. On second thought he knew this would embarrass Danilo more and give a completely false impression. No taunt, he realized, could have hurt Danilo more. He was poor, indeed, but the Syrtis were an old and honorable family who had never needed to curry favor or patronage. From that day Regis began to make the overtures himself‑ not an easy thing to do, as he was diffident and agonizingly afraid of a rebuff. He tried to make it clear, at least to Danilo, that it was he who sought out Dani's company, welcomed it and missed it when it was not offered. Today it was

he who had suggested the balcony, high atop Comyn castle, where they could see the city and the spaceport.

The sun was sinking now, and the swift twilight began to race across the sky. Danilo said, "We'd better get back to barracks." Regis was reluctant to leave the silence here, the sense of being at peace, but he knew Danilo was right. On a sudden impulse to confide, he said, "Dani, I want to tell you something. When I've spent my three years in the Guards‑I must, I promised‑I'm planning to go offworld. Into space. Into the Empire."

Dani stared in surprise and wonder. "Why?"

Regis opened his mouth to pour out his reasons, and found himself suddenly at a loss for words. Why? He hardly knew. Except that it was a strange and different world, with the excitement of the unknown. A world that would not remind him at every turn that he had been born defrauded of his heritage, without laran. Yet, after today . . .

The thought was curiously disturbing. If in truth he had laran, then he had no more reasons. But he still didn't want to give up his dream. He couldn't say it in words, but evidently Danilo did not expect any. He said, "You're Hastur. Will they let you?"

"I have my grandfather's pledge that after three years, if I still want to go, he will not oppose it." He found himself thinking, with a stab of pain that if he had laran they certainly would never let him go. The old breathless excitement of the unknown gripped him again; he shivered as he decided not to let them know.

Danilo smiled shyly and said, "I almost envy you. If my father weren't so old, or if he had another son to look after him, I'd want to come with you. I wish we could go together."

Regis smiled at him. He couldn't find words to answer the warmth that gave him. But Danilo said regretfully, "He does need me, though. I can't leave him while he's alive. And anyway"‑he laughed just a little,‑"from everything I've heard, our world is better man theirs."

"Still, there must be things we can learn from them. Ken‑nard Alton went to Terra and spent years there."

"Yes," Dani said thoughtfully, "but even after that, I notice, he came back." He glanced at the sun and said, "We're going to be late. I don't want to get any demerits; we'd better hurry!"

It was dim in the stairwell that led down between the towers of the castle and neither of them saw a tall man coming down another staircase at an angle to this one, until they all collided, rather sharply, at its foot. The other man recovered first, reached out and took Regis firmly by the elbow, giving his arm a very faint twist. It was too dark to see, but Regis felt, through the touch, the feel and presence of Lew Alton. The experience was such a new thing, such a shock, that he blinked and could not move for a moment.

Lew said good‑naturedly, "And now, if we were in the Guard hall, I'd dump you on the floor, just to teach you what to do when you*re surprised in the dark. Well, Regis, you do know you're supposed to be alert even when you're off duty, don't you?"

Regis was still too shaken and surprised to speak. Lew let go his arm and said hi sudden dismay, "Regis, did I really hurt you?"

"No‑it's just‑" He found himself almost unable to speak because of his agitation. He had not seen Lew. He had not heard his voice. He had simply touched him, in the dark, and it was clearer than seeing and hearing. For some reason it filled him with an almost intolerable anxiety he did not understand.

Lew evidently sensed the distress he was feeling. He let him go and turned to Danilo, saying amiably, "Well, Dani, are you learning to walk with an eye to being surprised and thrown from behind?"

"Am I ever," Danilo said, laughing. "Gabriel‑Captain Lanart‑Hastur‑caught up with me yesterday. This time, though, I managed to block him, so he didn't throw me. He just showed me the hold he'd used."

Lew chuckled. "Gabriel is the best wrestler in the Guards," he said. "I had to learn the hard way. I had bruises everywhere. Every one of the officers had me marked down as the easiest to throw. After my arm had been dislocated by‑by accident," he said, but Regis felt he had started to say something else, "Gabriel finally took pity on me and taught me a few of his secrets. Mostly, though, I relied on keeping out of the officers' reach. At fourteen I was smaller than you, Dani."

Regis' distress was subsiding a little. He said, "It's not so easy to keep out of the way, though."

Lew said quietly, "I know. I suppose they have their rea‑

sons. It is good training, to keep your wits about you and be on the alert all the time; I was grateful for it later when I was on patrol and had to handle hefty drunks and brawlers twice my size. But I didn't enjoy the learning, believe me. I remember Father saying to me once that it was better to be hurt a little by a friend than seriously hurt, some day, by an enemy."

"I don't mind being hurt," said Danilo, and with that new and unendurable awareness, Regis realized his voice was trembling as if he was about to cry. "I was bruised all over when I was learning to ride. I can stand the bruises. What I do mind is when‑when someone thinks it's funny to see me take a fall. I didn't mind it when Lerrys Ridenow caught me and threw me halfway down the stairs yesterday, because he said that was always the most dangerous place to be attacked and I should always be on guard in such a spot. I don't mind when they're trying to teach me something. That's what I'm here for. But now and then someone seems to‑to enjoy hurting me, or frightening me."

They had come away from the stairs now and were walking along an open collonade; Regis could see Lew's face, and it was grim. He said, "I know that happens. I don't understand it either. And I've never understood why some people seem to feel that making a boy into a man seems to mean making him into a brute. If we'd all been in the Guard hall, I'd have felt compelled to throw Regis ten feet, and I don't suppose I'd have been any gentler than any other officer. But I don't like hurting people when there's no need either. I suppose your cadet‑master would think me shamefully remiss in my duty. Don't tell him, will you?" He grinned suddenly and his hand fell briefly on Danilo's shoulder, giving him a little shake. "Now you two had better hurry along; you'll be late." He turned a corridor at right angles to their own and strode away.

The two cadets hurried down their own way. Regis was thinking that he had never known Lew felt like that They must have been hard on him, especially Dyan. But how did he know that?

Danilo said, "I wish all the officers were like Lew. I wish he were the cadet‑master, don't you?"

Regis nodded. "I don't think Lew would want to be cadet‑master, though. And from what I've heard, Dyan is very serious about honor and responsibility. You heard him speak at Council."

Danilo's mouth twisted. "Anyhow, you don't have to worry. Lord Dyan likes you. Everybody knows thatl"

"Jealous?" Regis retorted good‑naturedly.

"You're Comyn," Danilo said, "you get special treatment"

The words were a sudden painful reminder of the distance between them, a distance Regis had almost ceased to feel. It hurt. He said, "Dani, don't be a fool! You mean the fact that he uses me for a partner at sword practice? That's an honor I'd gladly change with you! If you think it's love‑pats I'm getting from him, take a look at me naked some day‑you're welcome and more than welcome to Dyan's love‑pats!"

He was completely unprepared for the dark crimson flush that flooded Danilo's face, the sudden fierce anger as he swung around to face Regis. "What the hell do you mean by that remark?"

Regis stared at him in dismay. "Why, only that sword‑practice with Lord Dyan is an honor I'd gladly do without He's much stricter than the arms‑master and he hits harder! Look at my ribs, you'll see that I'm black and blue from shoulder to knee! What did you think I meant?"

Danilo turned away and didn't answer directly. He only said, "We're going to be late. We'd better run."

Regis spent the early evening hours on street‑patrol in the city with Hjalmar, the giant young Guardsman who had first tested him for swordplay. They broke up two budding brawls, hauled an obstreperous drunk to the brig, directed half a dozen lost country bumpkins to the inn where they had left their horses and gently reminded a few wandering women that harlots were restricted by law to certain districts in the city. A quiet evening in Thendara. When they returned to the Guard hall to go off duty, they fell in with Gabriel Lanart and half a dozen officers who were planning to visit a small tavern near the gates. Regis was about to withdraw when Gabriel stopped him.