Heritage and Exile (46 page)

There was relief in Danilo's eyes too. “Only in front of strangers, Regis.” He came and lifted covers off steaming bowls of food, clambered up on the bed and poured hot soup from a jug. He said, “The food's good. I had to ask for cider instead of wine the first day, that's all. I see they brought both tonight, and the cider's hot.”

Regis drank the soup and the hot cider thirstily; but although it was his first hot meal in days, he found it almost too hard to chew and swallow.

“Now tell me how you found me here, Regis.”

Regis' hand went to the matrix on the thong around his neck. Danilo shrank a little. “I thought such things were to be used only by technicians, with proper safeguards. Isn't it dangerous?”

“I knew no other way.”

Danilo looked at him, visibly moved. “And you took that risk for me,
bredu
?”

Regis deliberately withdrew from the moment of emotion. “Take that last cutlet, won't you? I'm not hungry. . . . I'm here and alive, aren't I? I expect I'll have trouble with my kinfolk; I got away from Gabriel and my escort by a trick. I was supposed to be on my way to Neskaya Tower.”

The diversion worked. Danilo asked with a faint revulsion, “Are you to be a matrix mechanic, now they know you have
laran
?”

“God forbid! But I have to learn to safeguard myself.”

Danilo had made a long mental leap. “Is this—using a matrix, untrained—why you have been having threshold sickness?”

“I don't know. Perhaps. It couldn't help.”

Danilo said, “I should have sent for Lew Alton, instead of the healer-woman. He's tower-trained, he'd know what to do for it.”

Regis flinched. He didn't want to face Lew just yet. Not till he had his own thoughts in order. “Don't disturb him. I'm all right now.”

“Well, if you're sure,” Danilo said uncertainly. “No doubt, by now, he's in bed with his girl and wouldn't thank anyone for disturbing him, but just the same—”

“His girl?”

“Aldaran's foster-daughter. The guards are lonely and have nothing to do but gossip, and I thought it just as well to learn as much as I could about what's going on here. They say Lew's madly in love with her, and old Kermiac's arranging a marriage.”

Well, Regis thought, that made good sense. Lew had never been happy in the lowlands and he was lonely. If he took a wife from his mountain kinsmen, that was a good thing.

Danilo said, “There's wine, if you want it,” but Regis firmly shook his head. He might sleep better for it, but he dared not risk anything that might break down his defenses. He took a handful of sugared nuts and began nibbling them.

“Now, Dani, tell me all about it. Old Kermiac did not know why they had brought you here, and I had no chance to ask Lew alone.” He wondered suddenly which of the women in the fireside room was Lew's sweetheart. The hard-faced girl with the harp? Or the delicate remote, younger one in blue?

“But you must have known all about it,” said Danilo, “or how could you have come after me? I tried . . . I tried to reach out for you with my mind, but I was afraid. I could
feel
them. I was afraid they'd use that somehow . . .” Regis sensed he was almost crying. “It's terrible!
Laran
is terrible! I don't want it, Regis! I don't want it!”

Impulsively Regis reached out to lay a steadying hand on his wrist, stopped himself. Oh no. Not that. Not so easy an excuse to . . . to touch him. He said, keeping his voice detached, “It seems we have no choice, Dani. It has come to us both.”

“It's like—like lightning! It hits people who don't want it, hits them at random—” Danilo's voice shook.

Regis wondered how anyone lived with it. He said, “I don't much want it either, now that I've got it. No more than I want to be heir to Comyn.” He sighed. “But we have no choice. Or the only choice we have is to misuse it—like Dyan—or to meet it like men, and honorably.” He knew he was not talking only of
laran
now. “Laran cannot be all evil. It helped me find you.”

“And if I've brought you into danger of death . . .”

“That's enough of that!” The words were a sharp rebuke; Danilo shrank as if Regis had slapped him, but Regis felt he dared not face another emotional outburst. “Lord Kermiac has called me
guest
. Among mountain people that is a sacred obligation. Neither of us is in danger.”

“Not from old Kermiac perhaps. But Beltran wants to use my
laran
to awaken other telepaths, and what's he going to do with them when he's got them awakened? Whatever they're doing . . .” He stared right through Regis and whispered, “It's
wrong
. I can feel it, reaching for me even in my sleep!”

“Surely Lew wouldn't be a party to anything dishonorable?”

“Not knowingly, maybe. But he's very angry with the Comyn, and wholly committed to Beltran now,” Danilo said. “This is what he told me.”

He began to explain Beltran's plan for revival of the old matrix technology, bringing Darkover from a non-industrial, non-technological culture into a position of strength in a galactic empire. As he spoke of star-travel Regis' eyes brightened, recalling his own dreams. Suppose he need
not
desert his world and his heritage to go out among the stars, but could serve his people and still be part of a great star-spanning culture . . . it seemed too good to be true.

“Surely if it could have been done at all, it would have been done at the height of the strength of the towers. They must have tried this.”

“I don't know,” said Danilo humbly, “I'm not as well-educated as you, Regis.”

And Regis knew so little!

“Let's not sit and make guesses about what they're doing,” Regis said. “Let's wait till tomorrow and ask them.” He yawned deliberately. “I haven't slept in a bed for a dozen nights. I think I'll try this one out.” Danilo was taking away the mugs and bowls; Regis beckoned him back.

“I hope you have no foolish notion of standing guard while I sleep, or sleeping on the floor across my doorway?”

“Only if you want me to,” said Dani, but he sounded hurt, and with that unwelcome sensitivity Regis knew he'd have liked to. The picture that had haunted him for days now returned, Dani's brother shielding his father with his body. Did Dani really want to die for him? The thought shocked him speechless.

He said curtly, “Sleep where you damn please, but get some sleep. And if you really like having me give you orders, Dani, that's an order.” He didn't wait to see where Dani chose. He slid down into the great bed and dropped into a bottomless pit of sleep.

At first, exhaustion taking its toll of his aching body and overstrained emotions, he was too weary even to dream. Then he began to drift in and out of dreams: the sound of horses' hooves on a road, galloping . . . the armory in Comyn Castle, struggling weakly against Dyan, armed and fresh against an aching lassitude that would not let Regis lift his sword . . . a great form swooping down, touching Castle Aldaran with a finger of fire, flames rising skyward. By the firelight he saw Lew's face alight with terror, and reached out to him, feeling the strange and unfamiliar emotions and sensations, but this time he knew what he was doing. This time he was not a child, his child's body responding half-aware to the most innocent of caresses; this time he knew and accepted it all, and suddenly it was Danilo in his arms, and Danilo was struggling, trying to push him away in pain and terror. Regis, gripped by need and blind cruelty, gripped him more and more tightly, fighting to hold him, subdue him, and then, with a gasp, cried aloud, “No! Oh,
no
!” and flung him away, pulling himself upright in the great bed.

He was alone, the firelight burned down to coals. Across the foot of the enormous bed, like a dark shadow, Danilo slept, wrapped in a blanket, his back turned away. Regis stared at the sleeping boy, unable to shake off the horror of the dream, the shock of knowing what he had tried to do.

No. Not tried to do. Wanted to do. Dreamed of doing. There was a difference.

Or was there, for a telepath?

Once, one of the few times Kennard had spoken of his own years in the tower, Kennard had said, very seriously: “I am an Alton; my anger can kill. A murderous thought is, for me, almost a murder. A lustful thought is the psychological equivalent of a rape.”

Regis wondered if he was responsible even for his dreams. Would he ever dare sleep again?

Danilo stirred with a moan. Abruptly he began to gasp and cry out and struggle in his sleep. He muttered aloud,

“No—no, please!” and began to cry. Regis stared in horror. Did his own dream disturb Dani! Dyan had reached him, even in sleep. . . . He could not leave him crying. He leaned forward, saying gently, “Dani, it's all right, you were asleep.”

Half asleep, Danilo made the safeguarding sign of
cristoforo
prayers. It must be comforting to have their faith, Regis thought. Danilo's smothered sobbing tore at Regis like claws. He had no way of knowing that far away in the castle Lew Alton had also started out of nightmare, shaking with the guilt of the most dreadful crime
he
could imagine, but Regis did find himself wondering what form Danilo's nightmare had taken. He dared not ask, dared not risk the intimacy of midnight confidences.

Danilo had his crying under control now. He asked, “It's not . . . not threshold sickness again?”

“No. No, only a nightmare. I'm sorry I woke you.”

“This damned place is full of nightmares . . .” Danilo muttered. Regis felt him reach out for reassurance, for contact. He held himself aloof from the touch. After a long time he knew Danilo slept again. He lay awake, watching the dying remnants of the fire on the hearth. The fire that had been a raging forest fire from his troubled childhood, that had become the great form of fire. Sharra, of the legends. What, in the name of all the Gods, were they
doing
here at Aldaran? Something here was out of control, dangerous.

Fire was the key, he knew, not only because the memory of the forest fire had brought back the memory he'd buried, but it was worse than that. Lew looked as if he'd been doing something dangerous. And all this . . . this dislocation of memory, these nightmares of cruelty and lust . . . something terrible was going on here.

And Regis had Danilo to protect. He came here for that, and he vowed again to fulfill it.

Weighed down under the unendurable burden of
laran,
knowing guilt even for his dreams, shouldering the heavy knowledge of what he had forgotten, Regis dared not sleep again. He thought instead. The mistake was in sending him to Nevarsin, he knew. Anywhere else he could have come to terms with it. He knew, rationally, that what had happened to him, what was happening to him now, was nothing to bring such catastrophic guilt and self-hatred. He had not even minded when the cadets thought him Dyan's minon.

But that was before he knew what Dyan had done. . . .

Dyan's shadow lay heavy on Regis. And heavier on Danilo. Regis knew he could not bear it if Dani were to think of him as he thought of Dyan . . . even if Regis thought of him that way. . . .

His mind reeling under it, Regis knew suddenly that he
had
a choice. Faced by this unendurable self-knowledge, he could do again what he had done when he was twelve years old, and this time there would be no lifting of the barrier. He could forget again. He could cut off the unwelcome, unwanted self-knowledge, cut off, with it, the undesired, unendurable
laran
.

He could be free of it all, and this time no one would ever be able to break through it again. Be free of it all: heritage, and responsibility. If he had no
laran,
it would not matter if he left the Comyn, went out into the Empire never to return. He even left an heir to take his place. He had done it once. He could do it again. He could meet Danilo in the morning with no guilty knowledge and no fear, meet him innocently, as a friend. He need never again fear that Danilo could reach his mind and learn what Regis now felt he would rather die than reveal.

He had done it once. Even Lew could not break that barrier.

The temptation was almost unendurable. Dry-mouthed, Regis looked at the sleeping boy lying heavily across his feet. To be free again, he thought, free of it all.

He had accepted Dani's oath, though, as a Hastur. Had accepted his service, and his love.

He was no longer free. He'd said it to Danilo, and it was true for him, too. They had no choice, it had come to them, and they had only the choice to misuse it or meet it with honor.

Regis did not know if he could meet it with honor, but he knew he'd have to try. Chickens couldn't go back into eggs.

Either way, there was nothing but hell ahead.

Shortly after sunrise I let myself fall into a fitful drowse. Some time later I was awakened by a strange outcry, women screaming—no, wailing, a sound I had heard only once before . . . on my trip into the backwoods, in a house where there was a death.

I threw on some clothes and ran out into the corridor. It was crowded, servants rushing to and fro, no one ready to stop and answer my questions. I met Marjorie at the foot of the little stair from her tower. She was as white as her chamber robe.

“Darling, what is it?”

“I'm not sure. It's the death-wail!” She put out a hand and forcibly stopped one of the women rushing by. “What is it, what's that wailing, what's happened?”

The woman gasped. “It's the old lord,
domna Marguerida,
your guardian, he died in the night—”