A World Divided (46 page)

They came out on the landing just as Taniquel darted up the stairs; she almost ran into them, and Rannirl reached out and steadied her.

“Careful,
chiya!
What’s happening?”

“I’m not sure,” she said. “But Neyrissa has had a message from Thendara; the Lord Hastur is coming to Arilinn.”

“So soon,” Rannirl murmured. “I’d hoped we’d have more time!” He looked at Kerwin and frowned. “You’re not ready.”

Kennard limped up the steps toward them, holding heavily to the rail. Kerwin asked, “Has this something to do with me?”

“We’re not sure yet,” Kennard said. “It might be. It was Hastur who gave his consent to bringing you here, you know—though we accepted responsibility.”

Kerwin felt sudden fear constricting his throat. Had he been traced here? Were the Terrans going to enforce their deportation order? He did not want to leave Darkover, felt he could not bear, not now, to leave Arilinn. He belonged here; these were his people....

Kennard followed his thoughts and smiled kindly to him.

“They have no authority to deport you, Jeff. By Darkovan law, citizenship follows the parent of higher rank; which means you are Darkovan by blood-right, and Comyn
Aillard
. No doubt, when Council season comes again, Lord Hastur will confirm you as Heir to Aillard, since there is no female heir to that line; Cleindori had no daughters, and she was herself
nedestro.
” But he still looked troubled, and as he went up toward his room he looked over his shoulder, edgily, saying, “But, damn it, wear Darkovan clothes!”

Kerwin had had himself outfitted in the city; as he got into the somber blue-and-grey outfit he had chosen from the best tailor he could find, he thought, looking at himself in the mirror, that at least he
looked
Darkovan. He felt like one—most of the time, anyway. But he still had the sense of being on trial. Did Arilinn, or for that matter Comyn Council, really have the power to defy the Terran Empire?

That, Jeff decided, was a damn god question. The only problem was that he didn’t know the answer, and couldn’t even guess.

They gathered, not in the big hall they used evenings, but in a smaller, more formally arranged chamber high in the Tower, which Kerwin had heard called the Keeper’s audience-chamber. The room was brightly lit with prisms suspended from silver chains; the seats were old, carved from some dark wood, and in their midst was a low table inlaid with patterns in pearl and nacre, a many-pointed star at the center. Neither Kennard nor Elorie was in the room; Kennard, he knew, had gone to the airfield to welcome the distinguished guest. Kerwin, taking one of the low seats around the table, noticed that one chair was higher and more imposing than the rest; he supposed that this was reserved for the Lord Hastur.

A curtain was drawn back by one of the nonhumans; Kennard hobbled in and took his seat. Behind him came a tall, dark, commanding man, slightly built, but with a soldierly air of presence. He said ceremoniously, “Danvan Hastur of Hastur, Warden of Hastur, Regent of the Seven Domains, Lord of Thendara and Carcosa—”

“And so forth and so forth,“ said a gentle, resonant voice. “You lend me grace, Valdir, but I beg of you, spare me all these ceremonies.” And the Lord Hastur came into the room.

Danvan Hastur of Hastur was not a tall man. Simply clad in grey, with a blue cloak lined in silvery fur, he seemed at first just a scholarly, quiet man, edging past middle age; his hair was fair, silvering at the temples, and his manner was courteous and unassuming. But something—the stately straightness of his slim body, the firm line of his mouth, the swift, incisive look with which he summed up the room of people—made Kerwin aware that this was no elderly nonentity; this was a man of tremendous presence, a man accustomed to command and to be obeyed; a man absolutely secure in his own position and power, so secure that he did not even need arrogance.

Somehow, he seemed to take up more space in the room than he physically occupied. His voice filled it to the corners, without being loud.

“You lend me grace, children. I am glad to return to Arilinn.”

The clear blue eyes fixed on Kerwin, and the man moved toward him. So compelling was that presence that Kerwin rose to his feet in automatic deference.

“
Vai dom
,” he said. “I am here at your service.”

“You are Cleindori’s child, then, the one they sent to Terra,” Danvan Hastur said. He spoke the Thendara dialect of Kerwin’s own childhood. Somehow, not knowing precisely how he sensed it, Kerwin knew Hastur was not a telepath. “What name did they give you then, son of Aillard?”

Kerwin told the man his name; Hastur nodded thoughtfully.

“Well enough; although
Jeff
has an unnecessarily barbarian sound. You might well consider adopting one of the names of your clan; your mother would certainly have given you one of her family names, Arnad or Damon or Valentine. Had you thought about it? When you are presented before Council, surely, you should wear a name befitting an Aillard noble.”

Kerwin said tightly, resisting the man’s charm, “I’m not ashamed of wearing my father’s name, sir.”

“Well, please yourself,” Hastur said. “I assure you I meant no offense, kinsman; and I had no intention of suggesting that you deny your Terran heritage. But you look Comyn. I wanted to see you myself and be sure of you.”

Kennard said dryly, “You did not trust my word, Lord Danvan? Or—” He glanced at the dark sallow man he had called Valdir. “Or was it you who could not accept my word, my father?” A look half hostile, half affectionate passed between them, before he said formally to Kerwin, “My father, Valdir-Lewis Lanart of Alton, Lord of Armida.”

Kerwin bowed, startled; Kennard’s father?

Valdir said, “It did not occur to us that you would attempt to deceive us, Kennard, even if you could. But Lord Hastur wished to be certain that the Terrans had not duped you all into accepting an imposter.” His sharp eyes studied Kerwin briefly, then he sighed and said, “But I can see that it is true.” He added directly to Kerwin, “You have your mother’s eyes, my boy; you are very like her. I was her foster-father; will you embrace me as a kinsman, nephew?” He stepped forward, embracing Jeff formally, pressing his cheeks to each of Kerwin’s in turn. Kerwin, sensing—correctly—that this was a very meaningful act of personal recognition, bowed his head.

Hastur said, frowning a little, “These are strange days. I never thought I would welcome the son of a Terran to the Council. Yet if we must, we must.” He sighed and said to Kerwin, “Be it so then; I recognize you.” His smile was wry. “And since we have accepted the son of a Terran father, we must, I suppose, accept the son of a Terran mother. Bring Lewis-Kennard to Council, then, if you must, Kennard. How old is he now—eleven?”

“Ten, sir,” Kennard said and Hastur nodded. “I cannot speak for what the Council will do. If the boy has
laran
—but then, he is too young to tell, and the Council may refuse to recognize him; but I, at least, will not fight you any further, Ken.”

“
Vai dom
, you are too kind,” said Kennard, in a voice heavily overlaid with sarcasm. Valdir said sharply, “Enough. We will fly that falcon when her pinions are grown. For the moment—well, Hastur, young Kerwin here would not be the first of Terran blood to stand before Comyn Council by marriage-right. Nor even the first to build a bridge between our two worlds, to the betterment of both.”

Hastur sighed. “I know your views on that, Valdir; my father shared them, and it was by his will that Kennard was sent to Terra when he was no more than a boy. I do not know if he was right or wrong; only time will tell. For the moment, we are confronted with the consequences of that choice, and we must deal with them, will we nil we.”

“Strange words for the Regent of Comyn,” Auster said from his place, and Hastur gave him a fierce hawk-blue stare, saying, “I deal in realities, Auster. You live here isolated with your brothers and sisters of Comyn blood; I, at the very edge of the Terran Zone. I cannot pretend that the ancient days of Arilinn are still with us, or that the Forbidden Tower has never cast a shadow over every Tower in the Domains. If King Stephen—but he is dead, sound may he sleep, and I rule as Regent for a child of nine, and not a very clever or sound one; one day, if we are all fortunate, Prince

Derek will rule, but until that day comes, I do what I must in his place.” He turned with a gesture of finality that silenced Auster, and took his seat—not, Kerwin noticed with astonishment, the high seat, but one of the ordinary seats around the table. Valdir did not seat himself but remained standing by the door. Although he wore no weapon, Kerwin somehow thought of a man with a hand on the hilt of his sword.

“Now, tell me, my children, how does it go with you in Arilinn?”

Kerwin, watching Lord Hastur, thought:
I wish I could tell that old fellow about the heaved rock! There’s no nonsense to Lord Hastur; he’d know what to make of it, and no mistake!

The curtains at the entrance moved. Valdir said ceremoniously, “The Lady Elorie, Keeper of Arilinn.”

Once again her small stately body seemed weighted with the cruelly heavy ceremonial robes. The golden chains at her waist and fastening her cloak seemed almost fetterlike with their weight; they clasped at her shoulders, heavy, a burden. In silence, not looking at any of them, she moved to the thronelike chair at the head of the table. Valdir’s deep bow startled Kerwin no less than the Lord Hastur, who rose in his place and bowed the knee deeply to Elorie.

Kerwin watched, paralyzed; this was the same girl who played with her pet birds in the great hall, and quarreled with Taniquel and made silly bets with Rannirl and rode like a hoyden with her hawks; he had not seen her before in the full regalia of the Keeper, and it was a shock and a revelation. He felt as if he too should bow, but Taniquel touched his wrist and he heard the unspoken thought:

The Tower Circle at Arilinn, alone in the Domains, need not rise for their Keeper. The Keeper of Arilinn is sacrosanct; but we are her own, her chosen.
There was pride in Taniquel’s thought, and Kerwin felt a flicker of it, too; even Hastur could not refuse deference to the Keeper of Arilinn.
So in a sense we are more powerful than the Regent of the Seven Domains. ...

“Welcome, in the name of Evanda and Avarra,” Elorie said in her soft throaty voice. “How may Arilinn serve the son of the Hasturs,
vai dom
?”

“Your words brighten the sky,
vai leronis
,” Hastur replied, and Elorie motioned him to resume his seat.

Kennard said, “It’s a long time since you honored us with a visit to Arilinn, Lord Hastur. And we are honored indeed, but if you’ll forgive me, we know you didn’t come to do us honor, or to have a look at Jeff Kerwin, or to bring me messages about the Council, or even to let me visit my father and ask about the health of my sons. Nor, I venture to say, even for the pleasure of our company. What do you want with us, Lord Hastur?”

The Regent’s face crinkled up in a pleasant grin.

“I should have known you’d see through me, Ken,” he said. “When Arilinn can spare you, we need someone like you in Council; Valdir is too diplomatic. You’re right, of course; I came from Thendara because we have a delegation waiting—with the big question.”

All of them, except Kerwin, seemed to know what he meant. Rannirl muttered, “So soon?”

“You haven’t given us much time, Lord Hastur,” Elorie said. “Jeff’s making good progress, but it’s slow.”

Kerwin leaned forward, gripping at the chair arm.

“What’s this all about, why are you looking at me?”

Hastur said, solemnly, “Because, Jeff Kerwin-Aillard, you have given us, for the first time in many years, a Tower Circle with a full complement of power, under a Keeper. If you do not fail us, we may be in a position to save the power and prestige of the Comyn—if you do not fail us. Otherwise—” He spread his hands. “The Terrans will have their entering wedge. The rest will follow and there won’t be any way to stop it. I want you—all of you—to come and talk to the delegation. What about it, Elorie? Do you trust your Terran barbarian as much as that?”

In the silence that followed, Kerwin felt Elorie’s glance, calm, childlike, resting on him.

Elorie turned to Kennard and said quietly, “What about it, Ken? You know him best.”

By now Kerwin was used to being discussed before his face. In a telepath society there was no way to avoid it anyway. Even if they had tactfully sent him out of the room, he would have been aware of what was being said. He tried to keep his face impassive.

Kennard sighed and said, “As far as trusting goes, we can trust him, Elorie,” he said. “But the risk is yours and so the decision has to be yours. Whatever you decide, we’ll stand by you.”

“I speak against it,” Auster said passionately. “You know how I feel—you too, Lord Hastur!”

Hastur turned to the younger man and said, “Is it blind prejudice against Terrans, Auster?” His calm manner contrasted curiously with Auster’s tense, knotted face and angry voice. “Or have you some reason?”

“Prejudice,” Taniquel said angrily, “and jealousy!”

“Prejudice, yes,” Auster admitted, “but not, I think, blind. It was entirely too easy to get him from the Terrans. How do we know that the whole thing wasn’t concocted for our benefit?”

Valdir said, in his deep voice, “With Cleindori’s face written on his own? He has Comyn blood.”

“I think, by your leave,” Auster said, “that you, too, are prejudiced, Lord Valdir. You, with your Terran foster-son and half-caste grandson—”

Kennard leaped to his feet. “Now, damn it, Auster—”

“And you speak of Cleindori!” As he spoke it, the word was an epithet, a foulness. “She who was Dorilys of Arilinn—renegade, heretic—”

Elorie rose, angry and white. “Cleindori is dead. Let her lie in peace! And Zandru send scorpion whips to those who murdered her!”