Bradley, Marion Zimmer - The Heritage of Hastur

VIP免费

2024-12-07 0 0 985.59KB 193 页 5.9玖币

侵权投诉

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

Marion Zimmer Bradley

THE HERITAGE OF HASTUR

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—**

Marion Zimmer Bradley

THE HERITAGE OF HASTUR

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?"

18 Marion Zimmer Bradley

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

THE HERITAGE OF HASTUR

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?"

Marion Zimmer Bradley

"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

Marion Zimtner Bradley

THE HERITAGE OF HASTUR

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

24 Marion Zimmer Bradley

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

THE HERITAGE OF HASTUR

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

Marion Zimmer Bradley

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.

THE HERITAGE OF HASTUR

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

Marion Zimmer Bradley

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

THE HERITAGE OF HASTUR

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?"

Marion Zimmer Bradley

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?"

THE HERITAGE OF HASTUR

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

Marion Zimmer Bradley

THE HERITAGE OF HASTUR

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

文档加载中……请稍候！
如果长时间未打开，您也可以点击刷新试试。

下载文档到电脑，查找使用更方便

5.9 玖币 0人已下载

立即下载 VIP免费下载

摘要：

COPYRIGHT©1975,BYMARIONZIMMERBRADLEYTHEHERITAGEOFHASTURChapterONEAstheriderscameupoverthepasswhichleddownintoThendara,theycouldseebeyondtheoldcitytotheTerranspaceportHugeandsprawling,uglyandunfamiliartotheireyes,itspreadlikesomestrangegrowthbelowthem.Andallaroundit,ringingitlikeascab,werethetightlyc...

展开>> 收起<<

Bradley, Marion Zimmer - The Heritage of Hastur.pdf

共193页,预览10页

还剩页未读，继续阅读

声明：本站为文档C2C交易模式，即用户上传的文档直接被用户下载，本站只是中间服务平台，本站所有文档下载所得的收益归上传人(含作者)所有。玖贝云文库仅提供信息存储空间，仅对用户上传内容的表现方式做保护处理，对上载内容本身不做任何修改或编辑。若文档所含内容侵犯了您的版权或隐私，请立即通知玖贝云文库，我们立即给予删除！

Bradley, Marion Zimmer - The Heritage of Hastur

相关推荐

开通VIP享超值会员特权

作者详情

相关内容

热门标签

举报选择: