“Not unless he wants to go,” Lew said amiably. “A lad who’s of a scholarly turn and wants a good education might enjoy the chance to study there, but Marius, I’ve heard, has already had the best education the Terrans could give. I owe your grandfather thanks for arranging that.”
“He didn’t do it to please you. On the contrary.” It had been, and they both knew it, a way of emphasizing that Marius must seek his destiny among Terrans, not his father’s people. “While you were away, I suppose you learned much of what the Terrans had to offer—”
“Not as much as I’d have liked to; I was in hospitals a good deal of the time,” Lew said, and behind his scarred face Regis sensed much of what Lew would never tell him, pain and final acceptance of mutilation. “But while I was convalescing, yes, I’d have gone mad without something to do. I tried some surveying, map-making; there are parts of the Kilghard Hills, and most of the Hellers, that have never been properly mapped. Better to do it ourselves than to let the Terrans do it because we can’t be bothered to teach our own people measurements. It seems preposterous, that they have a Mapping and Survey unit on Darkover, and we don’t!”
Regis said, “I’ve thought of having my sons educated by the Terrans. Though, I suppose, I’d have to fight grandfather every step of the way. It might be better to have someone who’s had a Terran education—like Marius, or you—educate them, instead of sending them offworld, or into the Trade City—”
Lew said, with that sudden irradiating smile which made Regis, finally and forever, forget the gargoyle scarring of the face, “I’ve lived in the Empire too long; you seem young to me to have a family. But you’re twenty-one now, I should have known Hastur would have married you off long since. I’d be proud to foster your sons. Who is your wife? How many children—”
Regis shook his head. “That’s been a constant argument with Grandfather, too. But I adopted my sister’s son, just before you went offworld—” He paused, hesitant, remembering; Lew had been in no state to remember that. But Lew nodded and said, “I remember. You told me at Aldaran.”
“I have a nedestro son and two daughters,” Regis said. “The oldest is past three; in a couple more years, I shall bring him before the Council. And Mikhail is already eleven. When he is twelve, I shall bring him to Thendara and take his education into my own hands.” He grinned and said, “I’ve had a lot of experience fighting Grandfather on that subject; I suppose I can supervise my son’s education. I won’t let him grow up ignorant.”
“You’re right, we’ve kept to the old ways too long,” Lew said. “I remember my father saying that when he was fifteen, he was an officer in the Guards, but he could neither read nor write, and was proud of it; when he went among the Terrans, they thought him an idiot because no one with a sound mind is allowed to let it lie fallow—”
“The monks at Nevarsin deplore it just as much as a Terran would,” Regis said. “I ought to be grateful to Grandfather that he made certain I had that much education at least.” In Nevarsin monastery, he had at least learned to read and write, done some elementary ciphering, and read such Darkovan history as was available, which wasn’t much.
“Kennard had me taught to read and write, though I must admit I wasn’t tremendously apt at either,” Lew said. “Lying in the hospital, I made up for lost time; but boys are still being brought up as if it was unmanly—I imagine it’s because a scholar hasn’t enough time to master weapons, and of course when the Domains were one constant battleground year after year, that was the most important thing in a boy’s education, to be good with a sword and weapons. Even when I was a boy, there were bandits enough in the Kilghard Hills. For centuries Armida had to be kept like an armed camp. Kennard would never have been criticized, if he’d kept me there to defend his lands instead of sending me into a Tower—”
Regis picked up the unspoken part of that too: that Lew’s work in the Arilinn Tower, his skill at matrix technology, had led to the Sharra rebellion, and to the sword that was not a sword, the sword which concealed Sharra—
And he saw it growing, blossoming behind Lew’s eyes, the look of horror that slid over Lew’s face, felt his own hair rising as the flames flared in his mind…Sharra! He looked at Lew. The smiling man, the kinsman with whom he had been calmly discussing the merits of Darkovan versus Terran education, was gone; Lew’s face was dead white, so that the scars stood out like crimson brands, and his eyes were—blank horror, staring at nothing Regis could see. But they could both see it, the raging, ravening form of the fire-Goddess, straining against the chains, fire-locks tossing high against the sky… She was not in the quiet street around them, she was not in this world at all, but she was there, there in their minds, horribly present for both of them…
Regis breathed hard, forcing himself to control the trembling of his hands, reached out for Lew’s mind, tried to do what he had done with Javanne’s, to pick the fire-form out of the texture of Lew’s thoughts… and found something he had never touched. Javanne had seen Sharra only in his mind; Rafe had only seen the matrix… this was something else, something more dangerous; he saw a face, lean, wolfish, colorless hair, colorless gray eyes, and a woman’s face like a restless flame—
“Kadarin—” he gasped, and never knew whether he had spoken aloud or not. The frozen, static horror left Lew’s eyes. He said grimly, “Come on. I’ve been afraid of this—”
He began to run, and Regis, following, could feel the jolting pain, like fire in Lew’s hand—a hand that was not there, a phantom fire… but real enough to make sweat stand out on Lew’s forehead as he ran, jolting, uneven, his good hand gripping a dagger in his belt—
They turned into an open square, heard shrieks, cries. Regis had never been inside the Alton town house, though he had seen it from the outside. Half a dozen of the uniformed City Guard were fighting in the center of the square; Regis could not see who they were fighting. Lew cried out, “Marius!” and ran up the steps. The door suddenly burst open, and at the same time Regis saw flames shooting from an upper window. One of the Guardsmen officers was trying to organize people into a fire-fighting line, water being passed from hand to hand from the nearest well and from a smaller well in the garden behind the house, but it was utter confusion.
Lew was fighting, on the steps, with a tall man whose face Regis could not see, fighting one-handed with his knife. Gods! He has only one hand! Regis ran, whipping his sword from its sheath; saw Andres struggling with a bandit who wore the garb of the mountains… but what are mountain men doing here in Thendara? The Guards flowed up the steps, an officer shouting to rally them. It was hard, in the press, to tell friend from foe; Regis managed to get himself back to back with Lew, covering him, and for a moment, as his sword went up, he saw a face he recognized—
Gaunt, gray-eyed, lips drawn back in a feral scowl…The man Kadarin looked older, more dangerous. His face was bleeding; Lew had somehow slashed him with his dagger. Behind Regis there was a great cracking roar, like an explosion; then Guardsmen were hurrying everyone down the steps, shouting urgently, and the house buckled slowly and erupted skyward. Regis was driven to his knees by the force of the blast. And then there was a high, clear call, in a woman’s voice, and suddenly the bandits were gone, melting away across the square, evaporating like mountain mist into the labyrinth of streets. Dazed, Regis picked himself up, watching the Guardsmen struggling with the remains of the burning house. A cluster of scared servant women were crying in a corner of the garden. Andres, his jacket unlaced, his face streaked and grimed with smoke, one boot unlaced, limped down the stairs and bent over Lew. Jeff came and helped Lew to sit up.