Текст книги "Hastur Lord"

Автор книги: Marion Zimmer Bradley

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 27 (всего у книги 31 страниц)

Bracing himself, Regis inspected the door. It was weathered, although still sound enough to keep out the elements. The lock was cheap, but it held when he leaned his weight into the door. The frame, however, was warped, spongy in places. The wood was not only weakened by the elements but most likely rotted as well. Regis studied the door frame and the beam on which he perched. He might choose wrongly and go crashing down or attract attention from within the house, but he must take that chance.

He selected his target, just below the level of the latch, braced himself on the soundest part of the railing, and landed a hard, percussive kick. From inside came a smothered shriek. The door flexed under the blow, but the frame fractured in places into powdery fragments. Regis closed his eyes and delivered a silent prayer to whatever god looked out for chivalric fools. Then he reached inside. His fingers found the lock.

“You can’t open it that way,” said the boy. “I’ve tried.”

Of course, the door would be locked to prevent escape, not entry. A second kick, although not as well-placed as the first, weakened the door frame further. The third landed dead-on with all the power he could muster. The door tilted open, hanging on its hinges.

Regis pushed his way through the opening. The room beyond was comfortless and chill, the meager fireplace bare, the only furnishings two narrow beds and a chair.

On one of those beds, with its stained straw pallet, Felix Lawton sat bolt upright.

32

With an inarticulate cry, Felix Lawton rushed forward. Regis caught him and held him close. Silent, barely suppressed sobs racked the boy’s body. Felix was thinner than Regis remembered, his muscles taut. He was trembling too badly to form coherent words. For a moment, Regis feared the boy’s starstone had been taken from him, but the boy’s laran,although turbulent with terror and relief, was steady.

Regis stroked the boy’s hair, lank with grime. Felix’s cheek was clammy, as if he were on the verge of shock.

This could be any child. This could bemy child.

I’m here,Regis sent a pulse of mental reassurance. It’s all right. You’re not alone.

Felix looked up, his eyes red– rimmed but dry. “I didn’t think anyone knew where I was.”

Or,Regis caught the boy’s thought, that anyone would look for me.

Felix added, “I was an idiot to believe my mother when she said she had a surprise for me. I thought maybe she missed me—she’s been over at the Castle every moment she isn’t fighting with Father. I never thought she’d—she’d—”

“How long have you been here? The others—there areother children here, aren’t there? Have you seen them?”

Felix lowered himself to the bed. “It’s been a couple of days, but I can’t be sure. She made me drink this awful stuff. Drugged, of course.” He let out a bitter cough of a laugh. “I—I heard voices, and someone crying. A girl. I don’t think I imagined it.” He paused and they both listened. “What happens now?”

“Now,” Regis answered with a ghost of a smile, “we get you out of here.”

Felix glanced toward the splintered wooden debris where Regis had wrenched the door aside.

Regis shook his head. “I don’t think we can manage that way. Not without a rope.” Felix’s captors had left him neither blanket nor anything else that might be used to escape, except his own clothing. “Besides,” Regis added, “I’ll need your help with the others. Are you with me?”

Felix straightened his shoulders and nodded.

“Come on, then.”

As Regis had expected, the latch had no lock. Darkovans did not lock their doors within their own homes. Instead, a bar had been installed on the outside. Regis took out his dagger and maneuvered the slender blade through the gap between the door and its framing. It took several attempts to lever the bar free. When he succeeded, the bar clattered to the floor outside.

Regis and Felix held still, barely breathing, listening for sounds of alarm. The last echoes of the bar falling died into silence. Gesturing for Felix to stay back, Regis lifted the latch. The door opened with a creak.

A corridor ran the length of the house, lined on either side with closed doors. Each door, like Felix’s, had been fitted on the outside with a bar. A window of cloudy, poor-quality glass admitted a diffuse light at the far end. The floor was bare wood. Once, it must have been very fine, but age and lack of care had dulled its luster. An arched opening midway along one wall led to a staircase going down.

Regis moved silently to the nearest door. There was no response when he tapped. The bar slipped easily from its brackets. The room, very much like Felix’s with bare pallets on simple frame beds, a single rickety chair and little else, was empty. There was no sign of food or water. When Regis asked Felix how long it had been since he’d eaten, Felix shrugged.

The next two rooms were empty but in use, from the rumpled ticking on the pallets. A sense of urgency grew in Regis. The longer they delayed, the greater the chance of discovery. Tiphani might have gone, but Haldred was still in the house.

“Downstairs, maybe?” Felix whispered.

“Let’s go, then. Stay behind me. We don’t know what’s down there, but in case it’s trouble . . .” Regis touched the hilt of his dagger.

Felix flashed Regis a crooked grin. Clearly, having a course of action steadied the youngster.

Keeping to one wall, Regis led the way down the stairs. As they stepped on to the landing and changed directions, muffled sounds wafted upwards. Children’s voices rose and fell in unison, although Regis could not make out their words.

They descended another few stairs. The ground floor came into view. There were no bedrooms here, only a wide hall tiled in faded mosaics, a smaller door that must lead to a parlor or formal dining room, and there, at the far end, a set of double exterior doors. Carvings swirled across the dark wood like frozen shadows.

Regis slipped his dagger free. There was no sign of Haldred or anyone else, but he could not tell how long their luck would hold. He glanced back at Felix and lifted one finger of his free hand to his lips. Felix nodded, eyes huge and somber.

With only a whisper of footsteps, they crept down the remaining stairs. Felix might not have had cadet training, but he carried himself well.

The sounds of the children grew louder, then stopped. Regis froze. A man’s voice took over, in that same rhythmic cadence. Regis recognized a devotional chant from Nevarsin.

The hallway was still clear, but they were exposed, with nowhere to hide or run. Regis motioned Felix to stay close as he hurried across the mosaic floor. Before he could reach the double doors, however, the side door opened. Regis spun around just as a man, dour-faced and broad of shoulder, entered the hall.

Haldred Ridenow.

Haldred hesitated, caught momentarily off-guard. Dagger in hand, Regis moved into the lapse. Haldred was already reaching for his sword when Regis closed with him, dagger aimed for his throat. Haldred yelped, his voice echoing in the near-empty hall, and jumped back.

Regis followed closely, circling. With his free hand, he grabbed Haldred’s wrist and twisted hard. In a fluid, circular movement, Regis spun Haldred around. Haldred staggered, but Regis held his arm twisted behind his back so tightly that their joined hands were almost at the level of Haldred’s shoulder blades. Regis knew from experience that even a little more leverage would produce excruciating pain. He laid the edge of the dagger, less sharp than its point but effective nonetheless, against Haldred’s neck.

Gasping, Haldred managed to hold still. “What—what are you doing here?” he muttered through clenched teeth.

“Rescuing the Legate’s son. My niece. A few others. You’ll know them, I expect.” Regis nudged Haldred toward the double doors. “In there, are they?”

“You’ll never get away with this!”

“Who taught you to talk like that? Valdir?”

“That weakling!” Haldred struggled, then gasped in pain.

“Do that again, and I’ll slice your throat,” Regis hissed. “Felix, can you open the doors? Good. Then you and I, Haldred, are going through them slowly. Do you understand me?”

Haldred gulped noisily. Regis took the movement for assent.

Felix shoved the doors open. Regis half prodded, half dragged Haldred through the opening. The room was spacious and bright, its windows of unblemished glass. A fireplace of chalky stone held a small fire. The chamber had been designed for elegance as well as comfort and might have once been used for dances. Now rows of benches filled the center, all facing a freestanding altar.

A man in sandals and a brown cristofororobe stood with his back to the blaze, absorbing its warmth. He was short and balding, well-padded around the middle.

A handful of children in sacks of brown cloth huddled on the benches. Their feet were bare and their eyes dull. Regis spotted Ariel among them. Several had the bright red hair of the Comyn.

“Savage!” the priest screamed. “How dare you disturb us—or carry weapons into this place of holy learning! Sacrilege, I say!”

Regis had neither the time nor the temper to answer. “All of you,” he called to the children, “we’re taking you home! Felix, get them together—”

His next words were cut off by the clamor of men’s voices and booted feet over tile. Two men armed with swords pelted down the hallway. From his vantage, Regis could not see if they had come from outside or elsewhere in the house. One or two of the children shrieked. The others whimpered and clung to one another.

Regis whirled Haldred around so that the newcomers could see the dagger. “Stop there or he dies!”

One of the men scowled, ready for a fight. Regis wasn’t sure he could carry through his threat, or what he might do against three swordsmen with just his dagger. He couldn’t risk Felix, and the children on the benches looked too intimidated to move on their own.

The second man raised his hands well away from his weapon. “It’s Lord Regis . . .”

“Get back, both of you!” Regis barked.

“You men, why are you standing there?” the priest demanded. “Do your duty! Seize the intruder!”

Regis ignored him, keeping his eyes on the two swordsmen. “We’re going to move very carefully toward the street. All of us. Do you understand?”

Both men nodded, the first more reluctantly. The priest made incoherent mutters of protest. From his peripheral vision, Regis caught the expression on Felix’s face and it heartened him.

“Good,” he said. “Then you’ll oblige me by taking off your sword belts and laying them on the floor.” They did so and backed away at his command.

“Stop!” yelled the priest. “Where are you going with those students?”

“I’m taking them back to their families.”

Felix helped the smaller children to their feet and ushered them toward the hallway. A few went willingly, but others cowered on their benches. Ariel was one of those too frightened to move or apparently to comprehend what was happening. The priest took a step to block their passage, but Regis warned him back.

Half the children had crossed the hallway when the outer doors flew open.

“Spaceforce! Freeze!” The words blared out in accented, mechanically amplified casta.

The next instant, half a dozen men in the black leather uniforms of the Terrananpolice rushed through the doors. They moved like hunters closing on the kill, swift and powerful, focused.

They all carried blasters.

Stung beyond reason by this blatant violation of the Compact, Regis cursed aloud.

Haldred took advantage of the momentary lapse and wrenched free. He stumbled, fell, and caught himself on hands and one knee.

Pandemonium erupted in the hallway. Black-clad Terrans seemed to be everywhere. Their shouts reverberated, distorted by echoes. The children who were already in the hall panicked and darted this way and that. One of the girls started screaming like a banshee.

Haldred lurched to his feet. He shouted out orders to the two swordsmen. For the first time, Regis saw the blood smearing Haldred’s throat. The wound did not look deep, but there was enough blood to terrify the children. It must have happened when Haldred struggled free.

One of the guards, the one who had recognized Regis, reached for his dropped sword. Blaster fire, silent and swift, caught him. He screamed and toppled over. Steel rattled over tile as the sword fell from his hand.

Yelling, the priest tried to herd the children back into the school room.

The second Darkovan guard snatched up his weapon. Wild-eyed, he lunged at the nearest Spaceforce man. Too late, the Terran’s head whipped around. The sword edge cut through leather, then snagged on bone. The Terran’s knees folded under him.

The Darkovan rushed in, jerking his sword free for a killing stroke. A blast beam sliced across his belly. He stiffened, head thrown back, mouth gaping, and toppled to the floor. The stench of charred flesh filled the air.

“Enough!” Regis bellowed. “Stop!”

The next moment, Haldred grabbed the dagger with one hand. The two men wrestled for control of the weapon. Regis reeled as Haldred’s other fist slammed into his jaw. His vision fractured, but he managed to hold on to the hilt.

Without releasing the dagger, Regis swiveled and lashed out with a circular kick. The blow was badly aimed, with little power behind it. The toe of his boot struck the side of Haldred’s thigh, hard enough to hurt but not disable.

Grunting with pain, Haldred tried to pull free. Regis clamped his hand over Haldred’s, anchoring it to the hilt. All he could think was that with Haldred out of action, the Terrans would break off their assault. There would be a chance for parley and an end to the killing.

“Filthy nine-fathered ombredin!” Haldred counterattacked, pummeling Regis with his free fist. At the same time, he jerked and twisted their joined hands.

Slippery with sweat, the hold broke. Haldred grabbed the dagger in both hands and lunged at Regis. Regis jumped back, barely in time. The tip caught a fold of his cloak but missed his skin.

Felix rushed toward the fallen Terran, calling out the man’s name. Regis shouted out a warning, but he could not reach the boy. Haldred blocked the way.

As Felix crossed in front of Haldred, the Darkovan grabbed him. A quick, savage move spun the boy around and pinned him against Haldred’s torso, facing away. Haldred’s forearm squeezed tight against Felix’s throat. With his other hand, Haldred jammed the tip of the dagger just below the boy’s ear.

Not my own dagger!

“Drop your weapons or he dies!” Haldred’s hoarse shout rang out.

As if in a dream, Regis saw the Terran commander turn toward them. Saw the blaster swing up in a move too quick for thought.

Acting by instinct, Regis hurled himself at Haldred. He grappled the other man around the hips. The impetus of the blow broke Haldred’s balance. They went down, slamming into the tile floor, rolling, flailing, Haldred yelling.

The next few moments blurred in a tangle of arms and legs, shouted orders in a Terranandialect, then a silence and a sudden, dense weight. Regis tried to free himself, but Haldred was too heavy. He shoved and twisted, fighting for leverage.

With a wordless shout, Regis pushed again. The weight lifted as Haldred’s body rolled aside.

Dazed, Regis pushed himself up on one elbow. Two of the Spaceforce men dragged Haldred away, one by either arm. The blaster had sliced Haldred’s torso from one shoulder to the opposite hip. Layers of fabric had crisped away to reveal a blackened, gaping cavity. Exposed vertebrae gleamed wetly at the back of the wound. Regis gulped, his guts clenching. No living creature could have survived such an injury.

The Terran commander knelt beside Felix. The boy’s head lolled to one side, one arm flung out limp and graceless. He wasn’t moving, wasn’t breathing.

Blood pooled beneath his body.

“Oh, god,” one of the Terrans babbled, “ohgodohgodohgod.”

Regis crawled over and touched one shoulder, rolling Felix toward him. Blood smeared one side of the boy’s neck and chest.

The hilt of the dagger stuck out below his ribs.

Regis jerked the front of Felix’s shirt open. His fingers closed around the cord and then the silken bag. He hesitated only for an instant before opening the drawstring.

Thrusting his fingers between the layers of soft insulating fabric, Regis felt the hard crystalline shape. He watched Felix’s face for any hint of change.

No reaction.

No movement, no fleeting expression of shock or pain. Nothing.

A moment, a blink, and we are dust . . .

Lord of Light, what could he say to Dan? Sorrywas so pale and futile a word.

And none of this would have happened had he, Regis, not been so weak as to allow Rinaldo the throne . . . Tiphani taking her own son to be indoctrinated . . . the predictable incursion of the Federation forces . . .

Sick at heart, Regis drew out the psychoactive gem. The starstone was warm from contact with the boy’s body. A pale flicker like the dying echo of fire still danced in its depths.

“No pulse!” the commander blurted. Someone else said, “He’s not breathing,” and another, “—can’t resuss—dagger too close to the heart—pull it out, might kill him—”

The commander barked: “Medics here, stat!”

“—never arrive in time—”

Regis blotted out the voices, the hovering figures. The only thing that mattered was that twist of brightness.

If Linnea were here—or even the most novice monitor—she would know what to do, how to start the boy’s heart and lungs. Regis had no training in such techniques, no way to reach anyone who did.

I cannot do this.

I cannot let him die.

Words reverberated through his mind: Light calls to Light.

Memory thundered through him, how he had opened himself—offered himself—to the power that men called the Lord of Light.

And something had answered, had filled him, flowed through him, usedhim to defeat Sharra.

Regis pressed the starstone against Felix’s red-streaked chest. Head bent, eyes closed in concentration, Regis shaped his thoughts into a prayer.

Save him . . . take my strength, use my Gift. Aldones, father of my fathers . . . let my life pass into this child . . .

Regis felt a quickening, a flicker of electric energy, in the stone under his hand. His fingers were sticky with Felix’s blood—blood as carrier of life—blood as conductor and amplifier of power . . .

And then he had no more words, only, Please, please. . .

Power answered. It rang like a crystalline bell in his mind, faintly at first, then louder. Time slowed. Between one breath and the next, the resonant clangor grew until it drove away all other awareness. The sound was beautiful past bearing and more terrible than night. It flooded him, jarred him from his moorings, shredded all resistance.

He had become a single vibrating crystal: the Hastur Gift, the living matrix.

He could shape, direct, use this power as he wished. Or he could let himself be shaped and used by it. With it, he could stride like a god across the face of the world, blasting away all who stood against him. He could remake whole planets to his own desire.

Between his hands, the boy’s life force guttered.

He did not know what to do. He let go—

Light surged through him. He no longer grasped it; he shrank to a speck in an ocean of blue-white brilliance. Knowing it would burn him up like tinder, he gave himself to the light.

Without sight or hearing, he sensed patterns within the effulgence. A form coalesced, at first only a tracery, a suggestion of lines of force. Then details emerged . . . the metallic signature of a long, slender object, the resonances of liquids, gelatinous cells bright with renewed life-energy . . .

As if the boy’s body had turned to glass, Regis made out the dagger as it sat, nested in torn and punctured tissues, the tip almost touching the heart, the severed blood vessels, the nerves still paralyzed by shock.

Live . . .

Power reached through him, not his own will but something deep and sure. An invisible spark propagated through the muscles of the heart. At the same time, the edges of the arteries clamped down. The blood-filled space between the dagger and the pericardial sac took on a new, elastic density, holding the blade in place.

The heart chambers contracted, the first beat rough, but the next smooth and strong, rippling from top to bottom. Blood pounded through the major vessels. The diaphragm shuddered, then clenched under a cascade of nerve signals.

The light faded. Regis dropped into his own body, at once too hot and too cold, too solid and too fragile.

Beneath his palms, Felix’s chest rose in a heaving breath.

Rough hands hauled Regis to his feet. He began to protest, then realized these men had no idea what had just happened. The Terrans saw him as one of the hostage takers, in league with Haldred. Still caught in a maelstrom of grief and guilt and the exhilaration of the healing, he tried and failed to summon words.

“I’ve got a pulse!” The man kneeling on the other side of Felix looked up with an expression of astonishment.

Felix groaned and feebly lifted one arm.

“Lie still, son,” the commander said. “Help’s on the way.”

“Sir? What about this one?” asked one of the men holding Regis.

“Let him go,” the commander answered, his voice thick. “He’s not with—Sweet heavens, it’s Lord Hastur.” He got to his feet, brisk and efficient, and confronted Regis. “What in blazes are youdoing here?”

Regis glared back. Outrage flared, fueling his words. “Trying to rescue these children. Which I would have done without bloodshed if you had not come barging in. You are in direct violation of the Compact and, need I add, of Federation policy.”

“You savages! Do you think you can kidnap the Legate’s son, a Federation citizen, with impunity? That we would sit back and do nothing? It’s a miracle the kid’s still alive!” And he still might not make it.

Shaking off the grip of the two Spaceforce men, Regis drew himself up. He had not contradicted the commander’s use of the title, Lord Hastur. It was time he took back those responsibilities as well.

“There will be consequences,” Regis promised, “to the ones responsible for this outrage. But your presence here, your disregard for local sovereignty is not only illegal but inflammatory. It will be seen as an act of aggression, an abrogation of all we have worked to achieve between our two worlds.”

“When the safety of a Federation citizen is at risk, we have the right—”

“You have the right to ask Darkovan authorities for assistance, but you do nothave the right to single– handedly start a war! Is that what you want? Have you forgotten recent history? Do you think we are such backward savages,” Regis deliberately echoed the words of the Spaceforce man, “that we have no means to defend ourselves? Have you so quickly blotted out how the spaceport at Caer Donn was destroyed?”

The commander blanched.

“I will see to it those Darkovans responsible for this tragedy are held accountable,” Regis continued, more quietly now. “What you must do is remove your men and their weapons as quickly as possible.”

Just then, a trio in the uniforms of the Terran Medical Corps pelted into the foyer. Regis had no idea how they had arrived so fast. The commander directed them first to Felix, then to the other wounded. They set about examining the boy with their instruments. Regis did not understand a fraction of what they did, only that they meant to stabilize him for transport.

“He’s a lucky kid,” the head medic told the commander. His gaze flickered to Regis in his gore-stained shirt. He added in Terran Standard, “What about that one? He looks like one of the local aristocrats.”

“It’s not my blood,” Regis answered in the same language.

A few minutes later, the medics had brought in a rigid carrier for Felix and secured him to it. Regis approached the head medic. “Tell Dan—” his voice caught, then held firm, “tell the Legate how very sorry I am.”

“Nothing—to be sorry—” Felix stumbled, before the medics maneuvered his carrier through the doors.

“And these?” The commander indicated Haldred and his two comrades. One of them was still alive, huddled on the floor while a medic applied an anesthetic spray.

“If you’re willing to treat him, it would be seen as a gesture of goodwill,” Regis conceded. “As for him,” with a nod toward Haldred’s corpse, “I’ll inform his family.”

“With your permission, I’ll transport the bodies back to HQ. This will require an internal investigation. We will treat the remains with respect, and the families can claim them as soon as the forensic reports are done.”

Regis was in no mood to dispute such a sound plan.

With practiced efficiency, the Spaceforce team took charge of the wounded and the dead. Regis turned to the priest and issued a string of orders regarding the children. The cristoforo,visibly shaken by the turn of events, obeyed meekly. Soon nothing remained of the fight except bloodstains and the reek of charred flesh.

The Terran commander paused at the outer door. “I’m taking a big risk in trusting you to keep your word. How do I know you’ll punish those responsible? That you won’t exonerate them because they’re your own people?”

Regis glared at the man. “I have said it. I am Hastur.”

There it was, his word an unbreakable promise. It was a burden he would bear for all his days.

Something in his tone, his bearing, or perhaps his eyes, reached the Terran. The commander lowered his own gaze, nodded, and retreated back into the street.

Regis held out his hand to Ariel. She stared at him, eyes white-rimmed, mouth set in a tight line. Slowly she slipped her chill fingers into his. Now that the last traces of power had drained from him, Regis felt lightheaded, as if his bones belonged to someone else. He could not rest, not yet.

He lifted his gaze to the waiting children. “Come, little ones. It’s time to go home.”