Hastur Lord (36 page)

Danilo paused in his exercises and swore softly. In all the years he had guarded Regis with his life, he had never considered himself at risk.

Who, then?
His spine popped as he twisted slowly from one side to the other.
And why?

Danilo threw himself back on the pallet. It all came down to the Federation . . . or did it? He raked his hair, filthy and too long, back from his face. Although clearer than before, his thoughts moved sluggishly. He was missing something vital, something he ought to know . . .

Regis would not give in to threats and intimidation. Danilo broke out in a humorless barking laugh at the thought of Regis being intimidated by a mere human, whether
Terranan
or Darkovan. They were amateurs compared to what Regis had already faced. Dyan Ardais would have spitted them on his sword before breakfast and thought nothing of it.

The thought heartened Danilo, for he had been the target—he refused to think of himself as a
victim—
of Dyan’s casual brutality. In the end, honor had won out, no small thanks to Regis. Amends had been offered and accepted. Danilo had mourned Dyan’s death.

Hold on,
he urged himself.
Regis will not stop until he finds you. He will come. He will. Nothing will stand in his way.

When the telepathic damper cut out, Haldred Ridenow appeared outside Danilo’s cell. Danilo wanted to pummel the man senseless. With restraint, he stepped back from the door, hands well away from his body, poised on both feet. He was not in shape to take on a determined assailant, but the stance, drilled into him over years of training, gave him a semblance of dignity.

Haldred spoke through the slitted window. “I see you’re awake. That’s good. I’ve come to fetch you to better surroundings. You’re to have a bath, a shave, and decent clothes.” His lip curled to emphasize the rank odor.

“Why?” The word came out as a croak. The screaming had been real, not another nightmare. “What do you want?”

“Everything will be explained to you in due time. Are you coming? Or have you grown so accustomed to your prison that you cannot leave it?”

“I will come.”

“Then I require your word of honor that you will not try to escape or offer any resistance. Not that you could do much in your present condition, but we don’t want you damaging yourself in a futile attempt. And you must submit to a blindfold.”

Seeing no other choice, Danilo agreed. Haldred bound his eyes with a cloth and then placed one of Danilo’s hands in the crook of his elbow. On uncertain feet, Danilo followed. He had not the slightest trust in his captor’s motives, but it was always better to know the enemy’s intentions. Haldred was indeed his enemy, although Danilo did not understand why.

They went along a corridor, then up several flights of stairs. Haldred was surprisingly solicitous, warning Danilo of the changes in flooring and supporting him when he stumbled.

Danilo surmised that he had been held somewhere beneath Comyn Castle, possibly in one of the old abandoned dungeons. The Castle itself was a warren with so many disused or forgotten sections that a prisoner could easily have been hidden without the inhabitants knowing. Regis—was Regis searching for him, even now? Or was Regis waiting for him, having brought about his release?

The dank chill of the air lessened along with the fetor. They paused while Haldred opened and then locked doors behind them. Underfoot, bare stone gave way to carpet. At last, Haldred halted.

The next moment, the blindfold fell away. Danilo blinked in the sudden brightness. He had been shut away from the light for so long, he had almost forgotten what it looked like. In the center of the room was a freestanding tub filled with steaming herb-scented water. A pile of towels and a basket containing brushes, a pot of scouring sand, and several chunks of yellow soap sat within easy reach. Danilo almost wept at the sight.

A strange expression flickered over Haldred’s face, a mixture of shame and pity. “I remind you of your promise, Lord Syrtis, and leave you to your ablutions. Ring the bell when you have finished, and I will return with a barber.” Meaning word of honor or not, he would not trust Danilo with anything as lethal as a razor.

The door latch locked behind Haldred with a click. Danilo turned away, closing his eyes to focus his thoughts. His mind still felt half-deadened, as if his skull had been stuffed with banshee feathers, but he had to try while he had a moment’s chance away from that cursed damper.

Regis . . .
he called out silently.

For an instant, he caught a response. Then it was gone, and he could not be sure if he had imagined it.

Danilo pulled off his grimy clothes and eased himself into the tub. The water was surprisingly hot. He rested the back of his head against the rounded edge. He had not realized how many sore muscles one body could have. Sighing, he closed his eyes for a moment. Despite the seductive warmth and the soothing herbal aromas arising with the steam, he was not safe. He must assume these temptations were intended to lull him into a false sense of well-being.

Picking up a brush and chunk of soap, he attacked his hair and as much of his skin as he could reach. Cuts and scrapes stung under this treatment, but he welcomed the pain as an aid to alertness.

Once he was as clean as a single scrubbing could make him, Danilo stepped from the bath. He dried himself and wrapped the towel around his waist. Moving carefully, he made a circuit of the room, inspecting windows, searching each piece of furniture and each fold of drapery for anything that might be used as a weapon at such time as he might release himself from his promise.

He found nothing.

Unreasonably irritated, he folded the towel, draped it over the edge where it would cushion his neck, got back into the bath, and reached for the bell. A Comyn lord, even a prisoner, would not dress himself after a bath, and there was no point in providing him a bath without clean clothing.

A moment or two later, Haldred returned, along with two guards and an older man in the robes of a
cristoforo
monk. The monk carried a handful of garments of somber dark gray and a basket containing shaving and grooming equipment. He kept his eyes carefully averted as Danilo dried himself on a fresh towel. The shirt was fine-woven
linex
without ornamentation but expensive, as were the stylishly cut jacket and trousers. The matching boots were a little too large but manageable. Danilo wondered at the finery; this was not ordinary garb, not even for a Comyn, yet it lacked any Domain insignia or even a personality. The man who wore it might as well be a shadow.

A shave and haircut were soon accomplished, the monk being skillful in his duties. No one spoke except for a few necessary instructions.

Haldred inspected the results. “You’ll do very well.”

“Do for what?”

Haldred’s mouth tightened into a straight line. “It is not my place to answer that. Come with me, and all will be explained. Remember your promise.”

Despite his determination to take nothing at face value, Danilo’s spirits rose as he followed Haldred from the suite of rooms. He recognized where he was. Beneath his feet, Javanne’s leaf-patterned carpet welcomed him like a friend.

Two Castle guards stood watch outside the door leading to Danvan Hastur’s old chambers. No, Danilo corrected himself, they belonged to Regis now.

One of the guards opened the door. With a brief nod, Haldred departed. So, Danilo thought, Haldred had been nothing more than an errand boy. He forced himself to walk calmly between the two guards, through the outer chamber and into the library.

But the man sitting in Danvan Hastur’s enormous carved chair, studying an unfurled scroll held down by paperweights, was not Regis. It was Rinaldo.

For an instant, Danilo stared at his
bredhyu’s
brother, not quite understanding but sensing that some fundamental change had taken place. Rinaldo was dressed in Hastur colors and heavy silver jewelry. He seemed at home and not at all as if he were snooping into someone else’s private papers.

More than that and worse, far worse, was the absence of any lingering mental trace of Regis in the room. It was as if he had disappeared from the face of Darkover.

Danilo’s chest tightened, but he forced himself to stand still. The situation would be made clear soon enough.

“Ah, there you are!” Rinaldo’s mouth spread in a smile, but Danilo put no credence in it. Rinaldo did not rise, nor did he motion for Danilo to sit. “You were not too badly treated, I hope? Nothing that will not heal in time?”

“I am well enough,” Danilo replied politely, adding with a trace of reluctance, “
vai dom.
But I don’t understand why I was held prisoner or what I am doing here now.”

He was not so disingenuous as to pretend he did not know it was the Ridenow who had seized him, but he truly did not understand their relationship with Rinaldo.

“I have managed to secure your release under terms that I hope you will not be so foolish as to refuse,” Rinaldo said, again with that smile that was not a smile. “My brother has already seen their wisdom.” Rinaldo’s gaze wavered minutely, flickering around the room as if to indicate the significance of his own presence here. “I am Lord Hastur now, as is my right.”

The rush of horror and dismay must have been evident on Danilo’s face, for Rinaldo hastened to say, “No, no, my brother has come to no harm. In fact, he has freely consented to the transfer of power. I suspect he was relieved to lay down a burden he never sought. Now he has retired to a private life and family, occasionally lending me the benefit of his advice. You will see him shortly.”

Regis, free to live his own life?
Danilo’s thoughts went spinning. Then Regis must have come to some arrangement with Valdir, resulting in Danilo’s freedom—but no, that was not what Rinaldo had said.
Rinaldo
had claimed the credit.

“Will you not show a morsel of gratitude to me for having gotten you out of that filthy hole?” Rinaldo said.

“I—I thank you,
vai dom
.”

Rinaldo’s expression softened, gracious now. “It is no more than I should do for any man who has served my brother so loyally.”

Danilo felt the blood drain from his face.
Has
served?

“
Vai dom,
please do not toy with me. I am sworn paxman to Regis Hastur.”

“And now he intends to transfer that service to me.” Rinaldo’s eyes glinted like steel. “I have need of assistance, and it is better for everyone that the two of you are no longer so . . . intimate as you were. As I said, Regis himself agreed to this. I do not require your approval, only your obedience.”

The muscles between Danilo’s shoulder blades tightened, as if holding back from striking an opponent. “I made my oath to Regis. I will do what
he
commands.”

“That is sufficient for the moment. I am sorry for your distress, but I did not wish you to go forward unprepared. In time, we will come to understand one another.” Rinaldo looked as if he would say more, but just then one of the Castle Guards, a different man from before, knocked and announced it was time.

“Attend me.” Rinaldo swept past Danilo. Four armed Guardsmen followed them both.

It could not be true, Danilo thought desperately. No matter what Rinaldo said, Regis would never consent.

They had not gone very far when Danilo realized their destination was the Crystal Chamber. Their entrance, through the massive double doors, reminded Danilo of the many times he had accompanied Regis in just such a procession. A herald cried out,
“Lord Hastur!”
and a string of familiar titles, but the name was Rinaldo’s.

Danilo hardly dared to glance around the chamber. He kept his focus on Rinaldo’s back, the fur-trimmed blue velvet, the silver links around his neck. Through the hum of the telepathic dampers, he became aware of the waiting audience. His vision wavered in the diffuse polychromatic light. Peripherally, he caught flashes of color, brilliantly hued court dress, jeweled headdresses, chains of copper and silver. The empty spaces were a poignant reminder of the decline of the Comyn.

With surprise Danilo noted a woman, richly dressed but veiled, at the back of the Alton section. He had thought all the Altons gone, all off-world.

One face stood out from the jumble of color and confusion: Valdir Ridenow, his eyes fierce, intent. Gloating.

As Rinaldo’s procession approached the Hastur enclosure, Danilo spotted Regis, sitting not in his usual place but on a bench toward the rear, in the shadows. The silver-thread lace on cuff and ruffled jabot gleamed, but his eyes, his face, remained hidden.