Hastur Lord (25 page)

“We must take our leave as well,” Regis said, with the short bow of a Comyn lord to one of equal rank.

Rinaldo came away cheerfully after making arrangements for a properly chaperoned visit with Tiphani a few days later.

Regis did not draw an easy breath until they were once more under the great red sun instead of glaring yellow lights. For what he had inadvertently overheard, as much with his mind as his ears, was his brother saying to Tiphani Lawton,

O
n one of these rare afternoons when he was able to finish work early, Regis found himself low in spirit. He had determined to dine alone, savoring a few hours of quiet. Javanne had organized so many family dinners that Regis had begun making excuses not to attend. Rinaldo had stepped into the vacuum, regaling Regis with his day’s exploration of the city, work on the Chapel of All Worlds, and meetings with Tiphani Lawton, with whom he was developing an increasing closeness. Regis had heard enough theological discussions in the last tenday to last a lifetime. He no longer cared about the liturgical differences between the
cristoforos
and the priests of Tiphani’s faith.

The parlor felt empty and too quiet; Regis chuckled at himself for having become unaccustomed to his own company and poured himself a goblet of unwatered wine. He sipped it meditatively, remembering the tavern near the gates of the Guards Hall, where he and Danilo used to sneak away for a tankard of pear cider. It was one of the few places where they could enjoy an evening without people constantly staring. The cadets would throng the outer room, but the back was reserved for officers. It was dark and closed-in, but the Guardsmen understood that even a Hastur needed a little privacy.

Sighing, Regis set down his wine. He no longer wanted it, although the vintage was as fine as any on Darkover. What was the Terran proverb, something about, “Better a crust of bread in a hovel where there is peace than a banquet where there is none”?

A familiar tap sounded on the door. At his greeting, Danilo entered. “Your brother is not here?”

Regis gestured,
As you see, I am alone.
Danilo had good reason to expect Rinaldo’s presence, for Regis had been spending his little available leisure time with his brother.

Taking a goblet from the sideboard, Regis poured it half full and held it out. Danilo settled on the opposite chair and raised the cup to his lips. “It’s good.”

“Better than we used to drink when we were cadets,” Regis said. Danilo shuddered theatrically. “But the point wasn’t the taste, was it? Not in those days.”

The two men sipped their wine. Regis felt the coiled tension within him ease slightly.

“Regis, I am glad to find you alone. I want to talk privately. No, not about Rinaldo, at least, not directly. About this Chapel of All Worlds that he and Dan Lawton’s wife are building.”

“What of it?” The completed structure would take time, even with Terran construction methods. Once a circle of
laran
workers under a skilled Keeper could have raised such a structure in a day. Meanwhile, services were held in an old mansion in the Trade City, accessible to all.

“It’s an excellent way to foster understanding between our peoples.” Regis said.

“I thought so too, at first. I was curious to learn more of the off-worlders’ faith, which seems so close to that of the
cristoforos
, and what wisdom they might have to teach us. I even allowed myself to believe in an all-embracing god who lifts every man’s burdens, no matter what sun we live under.”

Beneath Danilo’s calm words, Regis sensed ambivalence and . . . fear.
Fear?

“Danilo, what is wrong?”

Danilo began pacing, wine goblet in hand. The garnet liquid sloshed perilously close to spilling as he gestured. “You know—from our years at Nevarsin, from all we have been through—how I have been at odds with certain aspects of my faith.”

“The injunction against homosexuality, you mean.” Outright phobia was more the case, but Regis did not need to say so.

Danilo paused in his stride, his back to Regis. His shoulders rose and then fell. He nodded, then turned back, dark eyes filled with light.

And love,
Regis realized as his own heart responded.
How could I ever doubt that?

“I hoped,” Danilo continued, “that since the
Terranan
are said to be more tolerant, that this coming together of faiths might result in greater openness and acceptance.”

“Not all
Terranan,
” Regis reminded Danilo. “Remember when Grandfather had to intervene after an off- worlder stabbed a Guardsman who had, he claimed, made him an ‘indecent proposition.’ The Guardsman’s brother quite justifiably filed an intent-to-murder.”

Danilo shook his head in incredulity. “I’d forgotten that incident, it was so long ago. Wasn’t the Terran deported to save his life? He nearly caused an interstellar scandal because he had not the wit to simply decline the invitation.”

“Perhaps,” Regis said delicately, “he did not see that as an option. Or perhaps he was brought up like a
cristoforo,
unable to consider bedding another man without moral disgust. I’ve never asked you—how did you reconcile what you were taught with what you feel, what we have together? For a time, I thought you might have set aside your
cristoforo
beliefs, but you did not.”

Danilo took a moment to compose his answer. “For a long time, I made excuses to myself. I told myself that when you married—and each season made that more inevitable—that I too would take a wife. Do my duty as a member of the Comyn. Pass on this damnable telepathic Gift to the next generation.

“Redeem my . . . sin and become a good
cristoforo.
” He paused, his voice on the edge of trembling. “In the end, I came to understand that the sin was not in the love or the act of love but in the misuse of it. Like
laran,
a thing of good that can also be abused.”

Or twisted.
Regis closed his eyes.
Or suppressed, with deadly consequences.

The
laran
bond between them shimmered with memory, of how Regis had brought himself to the point of death, rather than approach Danilo in a way that would offend him. They had each come close to destroying themselves, trying to hide their true feelings.

Danilo’s voice dropped to a hush. “Nothing is going to change that,
bredhyu.
Nothing. Ever.”

They did not need to touch one another, so strong and clear was the telepathic embrace.

After a time, their minds drew apart. Returning to his chair, Danilo lowered his eyes to the wine swirling in the cup, like a miniature sea storm. “Regis, something is going on in that chapel. People see it as having the full sanction of the Federation. Every day, more worshipers come. They come to hear your brother preach.”

“That’s a good thing, isn’t it? For Rinaldo to use his monastery training? He’s an educated man; should he not share his knowledge of an ancient and venerable tradition?”

“Look, it’s one thing to submit oneself to the tenets and teachings of one’s faith, but it’s another matter to insist that this is the
only
way to live. And that anyone who says otherwise has no legitimate authority.”

Regis sat back in his chair. The burned end of one log collapsed into embers, sending up a cloud of ash. “If I understand rightly, you accuse Rinaldo of publicly preaching against any faith but his own. I can’t believe he would do such a thing, no matter how he may personally feel. It will take him time to emerge from the cloister, but he is a fair-minded man.”

“Of course, he makes every effort to appear reasonable to
you
.” Hardness shaded Danilo’s voice. “He still needs you.”

Regis made an impatient gesture. “Rinaldo may have spent the better part of his life as a monk, but he is not a child. He most certainly does not need me. Even now, he is exploring the city on his own.”

Danilo looked away, his features stony.

“Can we just drop the subject?” Regis said. “I don’t want to quarrel with you again.”

“Nor I with you,” Danilo said quietly.

“Why then do we keep tearing at each other this way?”

“I don’t know! In truth, I can’t blame Rinaldo. We fought even before we knew of his existence.”

“Maybe it’s the times or being Comyn in a world that no longer has a place for us,” Regis said. “If our way is hard for you and me, who were born to it, how much more difficult must it be for my brother? To be wrenched from a life of quiet and contemplation into this madness?”

Danilo nodded, thoughtful. “I admit there is much good in him. He is earnest and intelligent, and he has faithfully performed his duties as a teacher. But, Regis, he is still inexperienced. Is it is wise to let him wander through the city on his own?”

“Rinaldo is a grown man,” Regis insisted, “and I will
not
subject him to the kind of tyrannical restrictions that have plagued my own life!”

“No,” Danilo said gently, “you would not wish that on your dearest enemy.”

Regis felt a trickle of foreboding. Danilo might have a valid point. The streets were not as safe as they once were, even by day. “Rinaldo should have been back by now.”

“We would have heard from the watch if he were in trouble,” Danilo said. “Doubtless he has forgotten the time or lost his way. In some districts, the streets are like a maze even to those of us who know them well.”

“I should send a Guardsman to search for him,” Regis said.

“Let me go instead,” Danilo offered. “I know he thinks I dislike him, but that is not true. I simply do not trust him. If I look for him myself, that may show him that I have his best interest—as well as yours—at heart. And if he has become lost, I promise I will not tease him. Anyone can lose his way in the old city.”

Regis nodded. With a bow, Danilo took his leave. Alone with no distraction but his own thoughts, Regis struggled against the sense of something terrible looming over him.

My brother is a grown man,
he silently repeated to himself.
Danilo is a skilled fighter, more than capable of dispatching a trained assassin, let alone a hapless footpad. He saved my own life more times than I can count. I should not worry.

Regis sat, watching the pattern of reflections cast by the flames. Minutes slipped by. The fire died.

Suddenly, a clamor of intense, desperate emotion burst upon his mind. Deeper and quicker than thought, Regis
felt
Danilo cry out. In warning—in surprise? In alarm?

Regis was not a strong telepath. There were only a few people with whom he could speak mind-to-mind, even at short distances. Linnea, with her powerful and trained Keeper’s
laran
, was one of them.

Danilo was the other.

A series of flashing images, like bits of shattered glass and leaves blown in a Hellers gale, flooded Regis.

His own voice—
Dani’s
voice: “I am looking for Rinaldo Hastur . . . went off without an escort . . .”

A dim, vanishing thought:
Did they get Rinaldo, too?

The next moment, the thought-touch disappeared, sending Regis reeling into oblivion.

Regis gasped as he jerked back to consciousness. He had fallen across the little table. One of the wine goblets lay on its side, spilling dark liquid on the carpet. For a sickening moment, his eyes would not focus. Nausea clawed the back of his throat. He had not felt such wrenching disorientation in a long time.

Danilo—
Danilo
was in danger, needed him! He had to do something, but his mind was too muddled to determine what. He should summon help—a Guardsman. Speech seemed impossible.

Although the fire had died into coals, multicolored light filled the room, shifting, surging, and then dissolving into sparkling motes. His breath wheezed through his lungs.

Move,
he urged himself. Walking would help stabilize the balance centers in his brain and keep his focus from drifting. With a poignant twist, he remembered that Javanne had been the one to tell him that.