Heritage and Exile (64 page)

Marius smiled. His eyes were dark, like a Terran's. “Don't apologize, Lord Regis; there aren't many in Council who do.” And again Regis heard the unspoken part of that,
or would admit it if they did.
Lerrys covered the small, awkward silence by pouring wine, passing it to Dyan with some offhand comment about the quality of wine here not being the best.

“But as a Guardsman, cousin, no doubt you've learned to ignore that.”

“One would never think, now, that you had worn a Guardsman's uniform, Lerrys,” Dyan returned, affably enough.

“Well, I did my share of it for a Comyn son,” Lerrys said, with a grin, “as did we all. Though I do not remember seeing you among the cadets, Merryl.”

Merryl Lindir-Aillard said with a grimace, “Oh, I caught one of the fevers about the time I should have done service in the cadets, and my mother was a timid woman, she thought I'd melt in the summer rains . . . and later, when my father died, she said I was needed at home.” His voice was bitter. Danilo said, smiling, “My father felt so too; and he was old and feeble. He let me go, willingly enough, knowing I should better myself there; but he was glad to have me home again. It's not easy to judge where one is needed most, kinsman.”

“I think we have all had experience of that,” said Dyan.

“You didn't miss anything,” said Lerrys. “Zandru's hells, kinsman, who needs sword practice and training at knife play in this day and age? The Cadets—saving your presence, Lord Regis—are an anachronism in this time, and the sooner we admit it, and call them an honor guard in fancy dress, the better off we'll be. The Guardsmen police the city, but we ought to take advantage of the Terran offer to send Spaceforce to teach them modern police techniques. I know you must feel as if you missed what every Comyn kinsman should have, Merryl, but I spent three years in the Cadets and two more as an officer, and I could have done as well without it. As long as you look handsome in a Guardsman's cloak—and I can see by looking at you that you'll have no trouble with that—you already know all you'll need for
that.
As I'm sure Dyan's told you.”

“There's no need to be offensive, Lerrys,” Dyan said stiffly. “But I might have expected it of you—you spend more time on Vainwal exploring alien pleasures than here in Thendara doing your duty as a Comyn lord! It seems to be the climate of the day. I can't blame you; when the Altons neglect their duty, what can one expect of a Ridenow?”

“Are you jealous?” Lerrys asked. “On Vainwal, at least I need not conceal my preferences, and if the Altons can spend their time idling throughout the Empire, by what right do you criticize me?”

“I criticize them no less—” Dyan began hotly.

“Lord Dyan,” said Marius Alton angrily. “I thought you at least were my father's friend—or friend enough not to judge his motives!”

Dyan looked him straight in the eye and drawled, “Who the hell are you?”

“You know who I am,” Marius retorted, “even if it amuses you to pretend you do not! I am Marius Montray-Lanart of Alton—”

“Oh, the Montray woman's son,” Dyan said, in the derogatory mode implying
brat
or
foundling.

Marius drew a deep breath and clenched his fists. “If Kennard, Lord Alton, acknowledges me his son, it matters nothing to me who else does not!”

“Wait a minute—” Lerrys began, but Merryl Lindir said, “Must we listen to this even here in Thendara? I did not come here to drink with Terran bastards—and with Terran spies!”

Marius sprang angrily to his feet. “Terran spies? Captain Scott is
my
guest!”

“As I said, Terran spies and toadies—I did not come here for that!”

“No,” retorted Marius, “it seems you came here for a lesson in manners—and I am ready to give you one!” He kicked the chair back, came around the table, his hand on his knife. “Lesson one: you do not criticize the invited guest of anyone—and I am here as the guest of the Lord Lerrys, and Captain Scott as mine. Lesson two: you do not come into Thendara and cast aspersions on any man's lineage. You will apologize to Captain Scott, and retract what you said about my father—and my mother! And you too, Lord Dyan, or I shall call you to account as well!”

Good for him,
Regis thought, looking at the angry youngster, knife in hand, crouched into a stance of readiness for a fight. Meryl blinked; then whipped out his knife and backed away, giving himself room to move. He said, “It will be a pleasure, Alton bastard—”

Lerrys tried to move toward them, laid a hand on Marius's wrist. “Wait a minute—”

“Keep out of this, sir,” Marius said, between gritted teeth.

Good, the boy has courage! Good-looking, too, in his own way! Zandru's hells, why didn't Kennard—
For a moment Regis could not identify the source of the thought, then Dyan said aloud, “Put your knife up, Merryl! Damn it, that's an order! You too, Marius, lad. Council never acknowledged your father's marriage, but it's not hard to see you're your father's son.”

Marius hesitated, then lowered the knife in his hand. Merryl Lindir-Aillard snarled, “Damn you, are you afraid to fight me, then, like all you coward Terrans—ready to kill with your coward's weapons and guns from a distance, but frightened of bare steel?”

Lerrys stepped between them, saying, “This is no place for a brawl! In Zandru's name—”

Regis saw that the others in the tavern had drawn back, making something like a ring of spectators.
When kinsmen quarrel, enemies step in to widen the gap! Does it give them pleasure to see Comyn at odds?
“Stop it, both of you! This is not a house of bandits!”

“Get back, both of you,” said a new, authoritarian voice, and Gabriel Lanart-Hastur, Commander of the Guard, stepped forward. “If you want to fight, make it a formal challenge, and let's not have any stupid brawls here! Are you both drunk? Lerrys, you are an officer, you know no challenge is valid unless both challengers are sober! Marius—”

Marius said, fists clenched, “He insulted my father and mother, kinsman! For the honor of the Alton Domain—”

Gabriel said quietly, “Leave the honor of the Domain in my hands until you are older, Marius.”

“I am sober enough to challenge him!” Marius said, angrily, “and here I call challenge—”

“Merryl, you damned fool—” Dyan said urgently, laying a hand on his shoulder, “this is serious—”

“I'm damned if I'll fight a Terran bastard with honor,” shouted Merryl, enraged, and rounded on Gabriel Lanart-Hastur. He said, “I'll fight
you,
or your whole damned Domain—if I can get any of them back here on Darkover where they belong! But your Lord Alton is no better than any of his bastards, off gallivanting all over the Empire when they're needed in Council—”

Gabriel took a step forward, but there was a glare of blue fire and Merryl went reeling back staggering. The telepathic slap was like a thunder in the minds of everyone there.

BRIDLE YOUR STUPID TONGUE, LACK-WIT! I HAVE LONG SUSPECTED THAT DOMNA CALLINA IS TRULY THE MAN OF YOUR HOUSEHOLD, BUT MUST YOU PROVE IT HERE IN PUBLIC LIKE THIS? ARE YOUR BRAINS ALL WHERE YOU CAN SIT UPON THEM? It was followed by an obscene image; Regis saw Merryl cringe. He felt it in Danilo's mind too; Danilo had known what it was to be abused by Dyan, mercilessly, with sadistic strength, until Danilo had cracked and drawn a knife on him. . . . Regis, feeling Danilo cower, felt his friend's agony and stepped back, blindly, to stand close to him. Merryl was dead white; for a moment Regis thought he would weep, there before them all.

Then Dyan said aloud, coldly, “Lord Regis, Danilo, I believe we have an engagement to dine.
Dom
Lerrys, I thank you for the drink.” He nodded to Regis, then turned away from them all. There was nothing Regis or Danilo could do but follow him. Merryl was still numbly holding the knife; he slid it into his sheath and went after them. With a swift look backward, Regis saw the tension had evaporated; Gabriel was talking in an urgent undertone to Marius, but that was all right; there was no malice, Regis knew, in his brother-in-law; and after all, in Kennard's absence, Gabriel was Marius's guardian.

Outside, Dyan frowned repressively at Merryl. “I had intended to ask you to join us; I want you and Regis to know one another. But you'd better stay away until you learn how to behave in the city, boy! The first time I take you into the company of the Comyn, you get yourself into a stupid brawl!”

Neither tone nor words need have been changed a fraction if he had been speaking to a boy of eight or nine who had bloodied his nose in a dispute over a game of marbles. Inexcusable as Merryl's behavior had been, Regis felt sorry for the youngster, who stood, crimson, accepting Dyan's tongue-lashing without a word. Well, he deserved it. Merryl said, swallowing, “Was I to stand there and be insulted by Terrans and half-Terrans, kinsman?” He used the word in the intimate mode which could mean Uncle, and Dyan did not reprove him; he reached out and slapped him very lightly on the cheek.

“I think you did the insulting. And there's a right way and a wrong way to do these things,
kiyu.
Go think about the right way. I'll see you later.”

Merryl went, but he no longer looked quite so much like a puppy that had been kicked. Regis, acutely uncomfortable, followed Dyan through the street. The Comyn lord turned into the doorway of what looked like a small, discreet tavern. Inside, he recognized the place for what it was, but Dyan shrugged and said, “We'll meet no other Comyn here, and I can endure to be spared the company of any more like the last!” The flicker of unspoken thought again,
if you value your privacy, lad, you might as well get used to places like this one,
was so indifferent that Regis could ignore it if he chose.

“As you wish, kinsman.”

“The food's quite good,” Dyan said, “and I have ordered dinner. You needn't see anything else of the place, if you prefer not to.” He followed a bowing servant into a room hung with crimson and gilt, and talked commonplaces—about the decorations, about the soft stringed music playing—while young waiters came and brought all kinds of food.

“The music is from the hills; they are a famous group of four brothers,” said Dyan. “I heard them while they were still in Nevarsin, and it was I who urged them to come to Thendara.”

“A beautiful voice,” said Regis, listening to the clear treble of the youngest musician.

“Mine was better, once,” said Dyan, and Regis, hearing the indifference of the voice, knew it covered grief. “There are many things you do not know about me; that is one. I have done no singing since my voice broke, though when I was in the monastery for a time last winter, I sang a little with the choir. It was peaceful in the monastery, though I am not a
cristoforo
and will never be so; their religion is too narrow for me. I hope a day will come when you will find it so, Danilo.”

“I am not a good
cristoforo,”
Danilo said, “but it was my father's faith and will be mine, I suppose, till I find a better.”

Dyan smiled. He said, “Religion is an entertainment for idle minds, and yours is not idle enough for that. But it does a man in public life no harm to conform a little to the religion of the people, if the conformity is on the surface and does not contaminate his serious thinking. I hold with those who say, even in Nevarsin,
There is no religion higher than the truth.
And that is not blasphemy either, foster-son; I heard it from the lips of the Father Master. But enough of this—I had something to say to you, Danilo, and I thought to save you the trouble of running at once to pour it into Regis's ears. In a word; I am a man of impulse, as you have known for a long time. Last year I dwelt for a time at Aillard, and Merryl's twin sister bore me a son ten days since. Among other business of the Comyn, I am here to have him legitimated.”

Danilo said correctly, “My congratulations, foster-father.”

Regis said a polite phrase also, but he was puzzled.

“You are surprised, Regis? I am a bit surprised myself. In general, even for diversion, I am no lover of women—but as I say, I am . . . a creature of impulse. Marilla Lindir is not a fool; the Aillard women are cleverer than the men, as I have reason to know. I think it pleased her to give Ardais a son, since sons to Aillard have no chance of inheriting that Domain. I suppose you know how these things can happen—or are you both too young for that?” he asked with a lift of the eyebrows, and a touch of malice. “Well, so it went—when I found she was pregnant, I said nothing. It might have been a daughter for Aillard, rather than an Ardais son—but I took the trouble to have her monitored and to be sure the child was mine. I did not speak of it when we met at Midwinter, Danilo, because anything might have befallen; even though I knew she bore a son, she might have miscarried, the child might have been stillborn or defective—the Lindirs have Elhalyn blood. But he is healthy and well.”

“Congratulations again, then,” said Danilo.

“Do not think this will change anything for you,” said Dyan. “The lives of children are—uncertain. If he should come to misfortune before he is grown, nothing will change; and should I die before he is come to manhood, I should hope you will be married by then and be named Regent for him. Even so, when he leaves his mother's care, I am no man to raise a child, nor would I care, at my age, to undertake it; I should prefer it if you would foster him. I will soon apply myself to finding you a suitable marriage—Linnell Lindir-Aillard is pledged to Prince Derik, but there are other Lindirs, and there is Diotima Ridenow, who is fifteen or sixteen now, and—well, there is time enough to decide; I do not suppose you are in any too great a hurry to be wedded,” he added ironically.