Zandru's Forge (34 page)

“Done? What do you mean?” Eduin paused in wrapping the rail to the post.

“You’d be too young to remember, and the Hasturs sure enough kept it quiet.” Gwynn’s blue eyes glowed in his dark-bearded face. “Did you never wonder how the throne came to Old Felix, when it was King Rafael who ordered Uncle Damian’s execution?”

Eduin shrugged. Rafael II had died childless although he had not heard why, and so the throne had passed to the collateral branch, bringing Carolin into the line of succession. “You mean—
you
—

Gwynn shook his head. “Not that I wouldn’t. But Karlis, who was better than I’ll ever be, as wily as an Aldaran assassin—aye, that was his doing, his triumph, for all he was caught and killed for it. Which leaves the rest—” he grunted as he lifted the last rail by himself, “—to you and me, baby brother.”

After a time of concentration on the work, Eduin asked, “Did you ever think—what it will be like when we get them all? The royal line, the children of Queen Taniquel? What then?”

“To see the world made right, justice finally done? Karlis and Ewen avenged? Father free to die in peace? Lad, I would give my right arm, no—I would give my life—to see that day.”

Eduin, seeing himself reflected in the fierce blue light of his brother’s eyes, looked away. It was a long time before he could speak again.

Rumail listened gravely as Gwynn told his story, all three of them sitting in front of the fire in the main room. The scowl lines in the old man’s face deepened further with Eduin’s news.

Eduin braced himself for Romail’s censure, but the old man only nodded and said, “I dared not hope it would be that easy. They are more devious than thieves, these Hasturs, and have good reason to fear the slightest shadow. Their evil deeds pursue them everywhere.”

“Father, what would you have us do?” Gwynn said.

“Do not berate yourselves. You, Gwynn, have survived where your brothers have not and now are a skilled swords-man and tracker. You, Eduin, have done far more than I ever dreamed possible. To have advanced so far, and at Arilinn!”

“Yes, Father,” Eduin burst out, “but they have not chosen me for a Keeper, nor are they likely to.”

“Better men than you have been denied that training,” Rumail said. “You have bought me something more valuable.”

“What is that?” Eduin blinked.

“You cannot guess?” Rumail’s grimace spread into a mirthless grin. “You have been the bosom friend to Carolin Hastur. You have held his starstone in your hand—”

Instantly, Eduin understood his father’s intent. “I have even more!” he cried, and hurried to bring his saddlebags. He drew out a comb of tortoiseshell and silver filigree. It had been Carolin’s Midwinter gift to him.

Rumail held the comb between his clasped hands and closed his eyes. Eduin felt his father’s concentration like a shimmering in the air. “Yes,” Rumail murmured. “Carolin, this Prince of Hasturs, has handled this more than once. There—in the metal, the imprint of his thoughts.”

The old man took a deep breath. His lips moved silently, as if giving thanks. “With this, I can construct a weapon designed exactly to his mind. I will have to send to the Nest at Temora for the housing, but it can be done. Oh, yes—it can be done. And you, Gwynn, who can shadow a man without rousing the least suspicion, you shall be the archer to loose this lethal arrow.”

So that would be the end of Carolin Hastur. A trap-matrix, keyed to Carolin’s mental signature, was as deadly as it was illegal.

“But what of the children of Queen Taniquel? Carolin is a Hastur, true, and the next King when old Felix finally passes to his well-deserved grave.”

“You speak rightly, Eduin. I mean to destroy the Hasturs, most especially the spawn of that hell-bitch. So far as we know, she had but two, and the older one, a boy, died of threshold sickness thereby saving us the trouble of snuffing him out. Yet we must not spread ourselves too thin in our search. Gwynn will dispatch the young Hastur, and you will return to the Tower work for which you are so well suited. The genealogy archives are kept at Hali. From there, you must discover the fate of the second child. It was a daughter, I believe, though that makes no difference. Her sex cannot mitigate the guilt of her blood.”

Hali! Dyannis
...

“And perhaps I will have another chance with Carolin’s cousins,” Eduin said.

“Do nothing to endanger your position,” Rumail said, his voice suddenly stern. “But in case you do fall under suspicion, you must have the full benefit of the Deslucido Gift. Of all my sons, you are the only one with sufficient
laran.”

Rumail communicated directly to Eduin’s mind, fully aware that Gwynn could have only the sketchiest idea of what followed.

Varzil started awake to the sound of gentle tapping on his door. The milky haze of the stars suffused his room. He’d forgotten to draw the shutters and the night, on the crisp edge of autumn, was preternaturally clear. He had been asleep for only a few hours.

The tapping came again, soft but insistent. Felicia stood outside his door wearing a long, thick shawl over her usual woolen robe. Light from her candle fell across her face. Aside from the redness of her eyes, her appearance was tidy and proper, from the felt boots on her feet to the shawl wrapped around her shoulders.

“I am sorry to disturb you,” she said.

He stepped back to invite her to enter. She went to the fireplace where last night’s embers still glowed softly. Varzil bent to add another log to the pile.

Feeling a little self-conscious, he bade her sit and drew up the second chair. At Arilinn, men and women visited each other’s quarters freely. Work in the circles enforced periodic celibacy for both sexes, and it was assumed that every adult was capable of managing his or her own affairs. But sitting here in his night shirt with Felicia, with her erect posture and serious demeanor, hands folded neatly on her lap, he felt awkward. With a rueful inner smile, he wondered if they ought to have a chaperon.

“Would you—can I offer you wine? Or send a
kyrri
for some hot
jaco?”

“I have a favor to ask of you,” she began. Her voice, though steady, was lower than usual in pitch.

Of
course
—

“No.” She shook her head, insisting upon words. “It’s complicated. Hear me out ”

“All right,” he said aloud, settling back into the chair to indicate that she should proceed in her own way and pace.

“Tonight was my rotation on the relays,” she began. “I received news of rather more personal importance than the senders at Hali intended. Queen Taniquel Hastur-Acosta has died.”

Varzil blinked.
“The
Queen Taniquel? The one from the ballads? I didn’t realize she was still alive.” Those tragic events were but a generation past. The glamour of legend had made them seem far more distant.

Felicia smiled, a little sadly. “She didn’t want—After everything that happened, she withdrew from public life.”

Varzil waited for her to continue. This news clearly affected Felicia more deeply than the passing of a famous queen.

“She’ll be buried at Hali, at the
rhu fead
with her illustrious ancestors. It will be a private affair, but I will have to attend.” She paused, looking away, into a distance that only she could see. The fire crackled and the flickering lights burnished the smoothness of her cheek. An unshed tear glistened at the corner of one eye.

So softly, he could barely make out the words, she said, “She was my mother.”

For a long moment, he could not be sure he’d heard correctly. His first impulse was to suspect a metaphorical reference, as if she had claimed the Blessed Cassilda, or Naotalba the Accursed as her parent. Suddenly, he understood her modesty and her insistence upon proving herself.

He smiled gently. “I never knew your mother except as the heroine of song. I am sorry to never have had that privilege.”

She sighed and some of the iron poise melted from her posture. “There’s something so comforting in talking to you. You’re the one person I could count on not to run down the halls, screaming out the news. I would rather my parentage not be generally known, even now. You can, I hope, understand why.”

He saw her walking down a street in Hali, in Arilinn, saw people crowding around, crying out her name and then, “Taniquel! Queen Taniquel!” reaching out to her with their hands, not ten or twenty but hundreds, hands and eyes and shouting everywhere she turned. He saw her eyes white and strained, watched her struggle to keep her
laran
barriers up against the battering adoration, the hunger for a hero.

It’s impossible,
he thought.
No human can live up to a legend. Not Queen Taniquel. Not you.

You have been on the streets, she answered silently. You know how desperately these people, want someone to save them. And not just in Arilinn, but in Dalereuth, in Temora
...
in Thendara
...
everywhere.

“Does anyone else know?”
Who you really are?

“Here? Only Auster and now, you. Were I a man, I could travel to Thendara and no one would ask my business. Alas, that is not the case. So, Auster has made arrangements for me to go as part of the entourage of Lady Liriel Hastur. She knows me only as a distant cousin of a minor branch of the family, a
leronis
of Arilinn.”

Liriel Hastur had been at Tramontana this last year, lending the prestige of her rank to the newly rebuilt Tower there. She had arrived in Arilinn only a tenday earlier, on some private business in the Hidden City.

“So you will travel in disguise?”

“Oh!” she said, with a little gesture as if that part were obvious. “I’ll be her attendant ”

“But you—
”far outrank her.

Don’t flatter me.
“Varzil, listen. I—I have been long alone and in hiding. If my brother had survived, I would have had some consolation there. As it is, the few Hastur relatives who are even aware of my existence are strangers to me.” She paused, eyes downcast and blinking hard. “This will be the hardest thing I have ever had to do, to stand at my mother’s grave and say nothing, just as if I never knew her.”

Varzil, already in rapport, caught a ripple of her fear. The funeral might be open to only family and a few select close friends, but it was impossible to disguise that it was Queen Taniquel being honored. Rumors would spring up like wildflowers after the last frost. The very assemblage of Hastur dignitaries would generate questions. Lady Liriel might speak as befitted a
Comynara
and Hastur. Carolin also had the right. But anything at all Felicia said would attract the very attention she feared, for why should an unknown
leronis,
even if distantly related, share that privilege?

“I will serve you in any way I can,” he said.
Would you have me speak for you?

For a moment, Felicia retreated into herself. Then she touched the back of his hand with her fingertips. “You—it is known that you are a friend of Carolin Hastur. It would not be unseemly for you to go to Thendara. Will you come with me, so that I am not alone? Will you do this, and keep my secret?”

For a long moment, her eyes held his in wordless communion. Their heartbeats echoed one another.

“Considering the number of lords and kings on Darkover who
want
to be famous, the opposite strikes me as a reasonable enough request,” he said, forcing a lighter tone. “It will be good to see Carlo again, although I would wish for happier circumstances. I will have to ask permission of Auster, as my Keeper.”

She nodded. “I’ve already done so. I would not have approached you without his leave.”

Varzil wondered what Queen Taniquel had been like, the real person and not the stuff of legends. It did not seem a kind thing to ask now. In bereavement as in every other aspect of life, there was a time when words flowed and memory became a gift, and a time to keep silent.