… and he will die still thinking I had rebuffed him because of that horror—
And suddenly Regis found himself envying Lew.
How he has been loved! I have never known what it was to love a woman like that or to be loved… and I shall die never knowing if I am capable of that kind of love…
Oh, yes, there had been women. He was capable of sudden flaring passion, of taking them with pleasure, given and received; but once the flare of mutual lust had burned out, sometimes even before the woman knew herself pregnant with his child, he had been all too aware of what it was they felt for him; pleasure at his physical beauty, pride that they had attracted the attention of a Hastur, greed for the status and privilege that would be theirs if they bore a Hastur child. Any one of the five or six would gladly have married him for that status; but he had never felt for any of them anything more than that brief flaring of passion and lust; the vague distaste and even revulsion, knowing that their feeling for him was based on greed or pride.
But never this kind of disinterested love… will I die without ever knowing if I am capable of attracting that kind of love from a woman? No one has ever loved me thus unselfishly but Danilo, and that is different, the love of comrades, a shared companionship… and even that, all men seem to despise… a thing to be put aside with boyhood…is there no more than this? Why can Lew attract this kind of love, and not I?
But with what was hanging over them, there was no time for this either. He turned to speak some word of recollection to Dio, when suddenly a shriek of wild terror surged through their minds, a wordless cry of despair and fright and utter panic, pain and fear. A child, a child is crying in terror… Regis was not sure whether it was his thought or Dio’s, but all at once he knew what child it was who shrieked out in such agonized fright, and he pushed Dio before him and ran, ran like a possessed thing toward the Alton apartments.
Marja! But who would so terrify a child?
The great double doors to the Alton suite were standing ajar, swinging on one hinge. Old Andres was lying in a pool of his own blood, half over the threshold where he had been struck down.
He guarded her with his life, as he had sworn… Regis felt dismay; he too had been befriended and fathered by the old coridom. Then he realized that Andres was still moving feebly, though he was long past speech. He knelt, tears swelling up in his own eyes for the faithful old man, and Andres, with his last strength, whispered, “Dom Regis… lad…”
Regis knew that Andres did not see him; the dying eyes were already glazed, past sight. He saw only the boy of ten, Kennard’s fosterling, Lew’s sworn friend. And with his last strength Andres formed a picture in Regis’s mind…
Then it was gone and there was nothing living in the room except himself. Regis stood up, stricken with pain. “Beltran! But how, in all of Zandru’s hells, did he manage to come here, when I left him safely imprisoned…”
He did not even need to ask. He had left Beltran with Lord Dyan; and Dyan had agreed with Beltran that Sharra was the ultimate weapon against the Terrans… Lew was beyond their reach. But there remained an Alton child…
There remained an Alton child; and one Gifted, even at five years old, with the laran of her house… and of her chieri blood. Regis felt sick; would anything human stoop to use a small child in Sharra? He had had reason to know that Dyan could be cruel, could be unscrupulous, but this?
He realized that all through this, he had been hearing somewhere in his mind, ringing louder and wilder, the terrified shrieks of the child, the sudden flame and terror of the Form of Fire… and then it was gone, so suddenly that for a moment Regis was shocked, feeling that Marja must suddenly have died of terror, or been struck silent by a blow of terrifying cruelty…
What madness was this? Around him was the silence of death in the Alton rooms, the horrified gasps of Dio who stood on the threshold, but somewhere he was hearing a voice he knew, or was it a telepathic touch rather than a voice?
Fool, this is nothing for a girl-child! I have the strength and I am not squeamish…I am not one of your Tower-trained eunuchs, let me take that place rather than one you can never trust. . and then almost laughter, silent laughter in mockery. No, she’s not dead, she is beyond your reach, that is all…pick on someone your own size, Beltran!
“Lord of Light!” Regis gasped in shock, knowing what had happened. Dyan had chosen Sharra, despite every warning, he had walked of his own free will into that horror which had cost Lew his hand and his sanity, which even now overpowered Regis with dread and terror…
Does this mean Lew is free? No, never, never, he is still bound to Sharra…
“Lord Hastur! Lord Regis—” a gasping servant, come in search of him, stopped in shock, staring at the dead body of the old coridom on the floor. “Good Gods, sir, what’s happened?”
Regis said, clutching at calm and ordinary things, “This man died defending his master’s—his foster-son’s property and his child. He should have a funeral fit for a hero. Find someone who can see to it, can you?” He rose slowly, staring at the dead man and at the servants clustering in the doorway of the Alton suite. Then he saw the man who had come to look for him.
“Sir, the Lord Hastur—your grandsire, sir—he has ordered—” again the man, confused, shifted ground, “he has asked if you will come and attend on him…”
Regis sighed. He had been expecting that; what conflicting demands was his grandfather to make on him now? He saw Dio and knew she could not bear to be left out of what was happening now. Well, she had a right to know.
“Come along,” he said, “Lew and I were bredin, once, and you have a claim on me, too.”
He found his grandfather in the small presence-chamber of the Hastur apartments; Danvan Hastur said, “Aldones be thanked, I have found you! The Terran Legate has sent a message to you personally, Regis; something about a Captain Scott and permission to authorize Terran weapons—” he looked at his grandson, and tried to speak with the old authority, but only managed a shocking parody of his old strength. “I don’t know how you came to put yourself in a position where Terrans could bid you come and go, but I suppose you’ll have to deal with it—”
He is old. I am the real power of Hastur now and we both know it; though he will never say so, Regis thought, and spoke to the unspoken part of his grandfather’s words, whatever the actual words had been.
“Don’t trouble yourself, sir; I’ll go and deal with it.” He suddenly felt deep compassion for the old man, who had spent so many years holding the power of the Comyn, without even laran to sustain him.
He has had all the troubles of a Hastur and none of the rewards, he thought, and then was startled and shocked at himself. Rewards? This monstrous laran which threatened, unwanted, to split him asunder, so that he walked with the terrible knowledge of a power whose forces he could not even imagine?
Gift? The Hastur curse, rather! He felt as if his very arms and legs were too big for him, as if he walked halfway between earth and sky, his feet hardly touching the ground, and all without knowing why. Desperately, he wanted Danilo at his side. But there was not even time to send a message to his paxman, and in any case, if Dyan had flung himself recklessly into the danger and terror of Sharra, Danilo was Lord Ardais, for Dyan was as good as dead, and so were they all; let Danilo stay free of this if he could. He said brusquely to the Spaceforce man who had brought the message, “I’ll come at once.” Dio turned to follow him and he said, “No. Stay here.” He could not encumber himself with any woman now, certainly not when Danilo had been denied the privilege of attending him.