Текст книги "Heritage Of Hastur"

Автор книги: Marion Zimmer Bradley

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 9 (всего у книги 28 страниц)

Hastur looked at me with sympathy. That hurt, too. It would have been hard enough to strip myself this way before a man my own age. Finally he said gently, “There’s never been any question of compulsion, Lew. But promise me to think about it. The Storn-Lanart girl has applied to Neskaya Tower. We need Keepers and psi technicians. But we also need sensitive women, telepaths, to marry into our families. If you could come to like one another, we would welcome her.”

I said, drawing a deep breath, “I’ll think about it.” Linnea was a telepath. It might be enough. But to put it bluntly, I was afraid, Hastur gestured to a servant to take his emptied plate and my nearly untouched one. “More wine?”

“Thank you, sir, but I have already drunk more than I usually do in a week. And I promised my foster-sister another dance.”

Kind as he had been, I was glad to get away from him. The conversation had rubbed me raw-edged, rousing thoughts I had learned to keep firmly below the surface of my mind.

Love—to put it more precisely, sex—is never easy for a telepath. Not even when you’re very young and still childishly playing around, discovering your own needs and desires, learning to know your own body and its hungers.

I suppose, from the way other lads talk—and there’s plenty of talk in the cadets and the Guards—for most people, at least for a time, anyone of the right sex who is accessible and not completely repulsive will do. But even during those early experiments I had always been too conscious of the other party’s motives and reactions, and they would rarely stand up to so close an examination. And after I went to Arilinn and submerged myself in the intense sharing and closeness there, it had changed from merely difficult to impossible.

Well, I had promised Linnell a dance. And what I had told Hastur was true. Linnell was not a woman to me and she would not disturb me emotionally at all.

But Callina was alone, watching a group of classic dancers do a rhythmic dance which mimicked the leaves in a spring storm. Their draperies, gray-green, yellow-green, blue-green, flickered and flowed in the lights like sunshine. Callina had thrown back her hood and, preoccupied in watching the dancers, looked rather forlorn, very small and fragile and solemn. I came and stood beside her. After a moment she turned and said, “You promised Linnell to dance again, didn’t you? Well, you can save yourself the trouble, cousin, she and the Storn-Lanart child are in the balcony, watching and chattering to one another about gowns and hair-dressing.” She smiled, a small whimsical smile which momentarily lightened her pale stern face. “It’s foolish to bring little girls that age to a formal ball, they’d be just as happy at a dancing class!”

I said, letting out my pent-up bitterness, “Oh, they’re old enough to be up for auction to the highest bidder. It’s how we make fine marriages in the Comyn. Are you for sale too, damisela?”

She smiled faintly. “I don’t imagine you’re making an offer? No, I’m not for sale this year at least. I’m Keeper at Neskaya Tower, and you know what that means.”

I knew, of course. The Keepers are no longer required to be cloistered virgins to whom no man dares raise even a careless glance. But while they are working at the center of the energon relays, they are required, by harsh necessity, to remain strictly chaste. They learned not to attract desires they dared not satisfy. Probably they learned not to feel them, either, which is a good trick if you can manage it. I wished I could.

I relaxed. Against Callina, tower-trained and a working Keeper, I need not be on my guard. We shared a deeper kinship than blood, the strong tie of the tower-trained telepath,

I’ve been a matrix technician long enough to know that the work uses up so much physical and nervous energy that there’s not much left over for sex. The will may be there, but not the energy. The Keepers are required, for their physical and emotional safety, to remain celibate. The others in the circle—technicians, mechanics, psi monitors—are usually generous and sensitive about satisfying what little remains. In any case you get too close for playing the elaborate games of flirt and retreat that men and women elsewhere are given to playing. And Callina understood all this without being told, having been part of it

She was also sensitive enough to be aware of my mood. She said, with a faint tinge of gentle malice, “I have heard Linnea will be sent to Arilinn next year, if you both choose not to marry. You’ll have time for second thoughts. Shall I ask them to be sure she is not made Keeper, in case you should change your mind?”

I felt somewhat abashed. That was an outrageous thing to say! But what would have infuriated me from an outsider did not trouble me from her. Within a tower circle such a statement would not have embarrassed me, although I would not have felt constrained to answer, either. She was simply treating me like one of our own kind. In the rapport of the tower circles, we were all very much aware of each other’s needs and hungers, eager to keep them from reaching a point of frustration or pain.

But now my circle was scattered, others serving in my place, and somehow I had to cope with a world full of elaborate games and complex relationships. I said, as I would have said to a sister, “They’re pressuring me to marry, Callina. What shall I do? It’s too soon. I’m still—” I gestured, unable to put it into words.

She nodded gravely. “Perhaps you should take Linnea after all. It would mean they couldn’t put any constraint on you for someone less suitable.” She was seriously considering my problem, giving it her full attention. “I suppose, mostly, what they want is for you to father a son for Armida. If you could do that, they wouldn’t care whether you married the girl or not, would they?”

It wouldn’t have been difficult to have fathered a child on one of the women in my circle at Arilinn, even though pregnancy makes it too dangerous for a woman to remain in the tower. But the thought of that was like salt in a raw wound. I said at last, and heard my voice crack, “I am a bastard myself. Do you honestly think I would ever inflict that on any son of mine? And Linnea is very young and she was … honest with me.” This whole conversation troubled me for obscure reasons. “And how do you come to know so much about this? Has my love life become a subject for Council debate, Callina comynara?”

She shook her head pityingly. “No, of course not. But Javanne and I played dolls together, and she still tells me things. Not Council gossip, Lew, just women’s talk.”

I hardly heard her. Like all Altons, I sometimes have a disturbing tendency to see time out of focus, and Callina’s image kept wavering and trembling, as if I saw her through running water or through flowing time. For a moment I would lose sight of her as she was now, pale and plain and crimson-draped, as she shimmered in an ice-blue glittering mist. Then she would seem to float, cold and aloof and beautiful, shimmering with a darkness like the midnight sky. I was tormented, struggling with mingled rage and frustration, my whole body aching with it—

I blinked, trying to get the world back in focus.

“Are you ill, kinsman?”

I realized with sheer horror that I had been, for an instant, on the very edge of taking her into my arms. Since she was not now Keeper within the circle, this was only a rudeness, not an unthinkable atrocity. Still, I must be mad! I was actually trembling. This was insane! I was still looking at Callina, reacting to her as if she were a desirable woman, not barred from me by double taboo and the oath of a tower technician.

She met my eyes, deeply troubled. There was cool sympathy and kindliness in her glance, but no response to my surge of uncontrollable emotion. Of course not!

“ Damisela, I apologize profoundly,” I said, feeling my breath raw in my throat “It’s this crowd. Plays hell with my … barriers.”

She nodded, accepting the excuse. “I hate such affairs. I try never to come to them, except when I must. Let’s get into the air for a moment, Lew.” She led the way out to one of the small balconies where a thin fine rain was falling. I breathed the cold dampness with relief. She was wearing a long, fine, shimmering black veil that spun out behind her like wings, gleaming in the darkness. I could not resist the impulse to seize her in my arms, crush her against me, press her lips against mine—Again I blinked, staring at the cool rainless night, the clear stars, Callina calm in her brilliant drapery. Suddenly I felt sick and faint and clung to the balcony railing. I felt myself falling into infinite distances, a wild nowhere of empty space …

Callina said quietly, “This isn’t just the crowd. Have you some kirian, Lew?”

I shook my head, fighting to get the world in perspective. I was too old for this, damn it. Most telepaths outgrow these psychic upheavals at puberty. I hadn’t had threshold sickness since before I went to Arilinn. I had no idea why it should overcome me just now.

Callina said gently, “I wish I could help you, Lew. You know what’s really wrong with you, don’t you?” She brushed past me with a feather-light touch and left me. I stood in the cold damp air of the balcony, feeling the sting of the words. Yes, I knew what was wrong and resented it, bitterly, that she should remind me from behind the barricade of her own invulnerability. She did not share my needs, desires; it was a torment from which she, as Keeper, was free. For the moment, in my flaring anger at the girl, I forgot the cruel discipline behind her hard-won immunity.

Yes, I knew what was really wrong with me. At Arilinn I had grown accustomed to women who were sensitive to my needs, who shared them. Now I had been a long time away, a long time alone. I was even barred, being what I am, from the kind of uncomplicated relief which the least of my fellow Guardsmen might find. The few times—very few times—when, in desperation, I had been driven to seek it, it had only made me sick. Sensitive women don’t take up that particular profession. Or if they do I’ve never met them. Leaning my head on the railing, I gave way to envy … a bitter envy of a man who could find even temporary solace with any woman with a willing body.

Momentarily, knowing it would make it worse in the end, I let myself think of the girl Linnea. Terran blood. A sensitive, a telepath. Perhaps I had been too hasty.

Rage gripped me again. So Hastur and my father thought they could manipulate me no other way, now they tried to bribe me with sex. They had bribed Dyan by putting him in charge of a barracks-full of half-grown boys, who at the very least would feed his ego by admiring him and flattering him. And however discreetly, he thrived on it.

And they would bribe me, too. Differently, of course, for my needs were different, but essentially still a bribe. They would keep me in control, pliable, by dangling a young, beautiful, sexually exciting girl before me, a half-spoken agreement.

And my own needs, which my telepathic father knew all too well, would do the rest. I felt sick at the knowledge of how nearly I had fallen into their trap.

The festivities inside the ballroom were breaking up. The cadets had long gone back to barracks. A few lingerers were still drinking at the buffet, but servants were moving around, beginning to clear away. I strode through the halls toward the Alton rooms, still alive with rage.

The central hall was deserted, but I saw a light in my father’s room and went in without knocking. He was half-dressed, looking weary and off guard.

“I want to talk to you!”

He said mildly, “You didn’t have to charge in here like a cralmacin rut for that.” He reached out briefly and touched my mind. He hasn’t done that much since I was grown up, and it made me angry that he should treat me like a child after so many years. He withdrew quickly and said, “Can’t it wait till morning, Lew? You’re not well.”

Even his solicitude added to my wrath. “If I’m not, you know whose fault it is. What in the hell do you mean, trying to marry me off without a word of warning?”

He met my anger head-on. “Because, Lew, you’re too proud and too damned stubborn to admit you need anything. You’re ready, past ready, for marriage. Don’t be like the man in the old tale, who when the devil bade him take the road to paradise, set off on the high-road to hell!” He sounded as raw as I felt. “Damn it, do you think I don’t know how you feel?”

I thought about that for a moment. I’ve wondered, now and then, if my father has lived alone all these years since my mother died. He’d certainly had no acknowledged mistress. I had never tried to spy on him, or inquire even in thought about his most private life, therefore I was doubly angered that he left me no rag of privacy to cover my nakedness, had forced me to strip myself naked before Hastur and disgrace myself before my cousin Callina.

“It won’t work,” I flung at him in a fury. “I wouldn’t marry the girl now if she was as beautiful as the Blessed Cassilda, and came dowered with all the jewels of Carthon!”

My father shrugged, with a deep sigh. “Of course not,” he said wearily. “When did you ever do anything so sensible? Suit yourself. I married to please myself; I told Hastur I would never compel you.”

“Do you think you could?” I was still raging.

“Since I’m not trying, what does it matter?” My father sounded as weary as I felt. “I think you’re a fool, but if it helps you feel independent and virtuous to go around with an ache in your”—to my surprise and shock he used a vulgar phrase from the Guard hall, one I’d never suspected him of knowing—“then be just as damned stubborn as you want. You’re my son all right: you have no more sense than I had at your age!” He shrugged in a way that indicated he was through with the subject. “Threshold sickness? I have some kiriansomewhere, if you need it.”

I shook my head, realizing that something, perhaps just the flooding of my system with violent anger, had dispelled the worst of it.

“I had something to say to you, but it can wait till morning if you’re not in shape to listen. Meanwhile, I want another drink.” He started to struggle to his feet; I said, “Let me serve you, Father,” and brought him a glass of wine, got one for myself and sat beside him to drink it. He sat sipping it slowly. After a time he reached out and laid a hand on my shoulder, a rare gesture of intimacy from childhood. It did not make me angry now.

Finally he said, “You were at the Council. You know what’s going on.”

“You mean Aldaran.” I was glad he had actually changed the subject

“The worst of it is, I cannot be spared from Thendara, and what’s more, I don’t think I can make the journey, Lew.” His barriers were down, and I could feel his weariness. “I’ve never admitted, before, that there was anything I could not do. But now,” and he gave me his quick, rare smile, “I have a son I can trust to take my place. And since we’ve both defied Hastur, Thendara might not be too comfortable for you in the next weeks. I’m going to send you to Aldaran as my deputy, Lew.”

“Me, Father?”

“Who else? There is no one else I can trust so well. You did as well as I could have done on the fire-beacon business. And you can claim blood-kinship there; old Kenniac of Aldaran is your great-uncle.” I had known I was of the Aldaran kin, but I had not known it was so high in the clan, nor so close. “Also, you have Terran blood. You can go and find out beyond all rumors, what is really happening back there in the mountains.”

I felt both elated and uncertain about being sent on this highly sensitive mission, knowing that Father trusted me with it. Hastur had spoken of our duty to serve the Comyn, our world. Now I was ready to take my place among those of our Domain who had done so for more generations than any of us could count. “When do I start?”

“As soon as I can arrange escort and safe-conduct for you. There’s no time to be lost,” he said. “They know you are heir to Comyn. But you are also kinsman to Aldaran; they will welcome you as they would never welcome me.” I was grateful to my father for giving me this mission, then, a new feeling and a good one, I realized that the gratitude need not be all mine. He genuinely needed me. I had a chance to serve him, too, to do something for him better than he could do it himself. I was eager to begin.

previous | Table of Contents | next

previous | Table of Contents | next

Chapter NINE

At this season the sun was already up when the rising-bell rang in the barracks. Little runnels of snow were melting in the court as they crossed the cobblestones toward the mess hall. Regis was still sleepy in spite of the icy water he had splashed on his face. He felt that he’d almost rather miss breakfast than get up for it at this hour. But he was proud of his good record; he was the only cadet who had never incurred a punishment detail for sleeping through the bell and stumbling in late and half asleep. Nevarsin had done him some good, after all.

He slid into his assigned seat between Danilo and Gareth Lindir. An orderly slapped battered trays in front of them: thick crockery bowls of porridge mixed with nuts, heavy mugs of the sour country beer Regis hated and never touched. He put a spoon distastefully into the porridge.

“Does the food really get worse every morning, or am I imagining it?” Damon MacAnndra asked.

“It gets worse,” said Danilo. “Who’s capable of imagining anything at this God-forgotten hour? What’s that?”

There was a small commotion at the door. Regis jerked up his head and stared. After a brief scuffle a cadet was flung off his feet and went reeling across the room, crashed headfirst into a table and lay still, Dyan Ardais was standing in the doorway waiting for the unfortunate cadet to rise. When he did not stir, Dyan motioned to an orderly to go and pick him up.

Damon said, “Zandru’s hells, it’s Julian!” He got up from his seat and hurried to his friend’s side. Dyan was standing over him, looking grim.

“Back to your seat, cadet. Finish your meal.”

“He’s my friend. I want to see if he’s hurt.” Ignoring Dyan’s angry glare, Damon knelt beside the fallen cadet; the other cadets, craning their necks, could see the bright smear of blood where Julian’s head had struck the table. “He’s bleeding! You’ve killed him!” Damon said in a shrill, shaking voice.

“Nonsense!” Dyan rapped out. “Dead men don’t bleed like that.” He knelt, quickly ran his fingertips over the boy’s head and motioned to two third-year cadets. “Take him back to the staff offices and ask Master Raimon to have a look at him.”

As Julian was carried out, Gabriel Vyandal muttered across the table, “It’s not fair to pick on us at this hour of the morning when we’re all half asleep.” It was so quiet in the mess room that his voice carried; Dyan strode across the room and said, looking down at him with a curl of his lip, “Times like this are when you should be most on guard, cadet. Do you think that footpads in the city, or catmen or bandits on the border, will pick an hour of your convenience to attack? This part of your training is to teach you to be on your guard literally every moment, cadets.” He turned his back on them and walked out of the room.

Gareth muttered, “He’s going to kill one of us some day. I wonder what he’ll say then?”

Damon came back to his seat, looking very white. “He wouldn’t even let me go with them and hold his head.”

Gabriel laid a comforting hand on his arm. He said, “Don’t worry, Master Raimon will take good care of him.”

Regis had been shocked at the sight of blood, but a sense of scrupulous fairness made him say, “Lord Dyan is right, you know. When we’re really in the field, a moment of being off guard can get us killed, not just hurt.”

Damon glared at Regis. “It’s all right for you to talk, Hastur. I notice he never picks on you.”

Regis, whose ribs were chronically black and blue from Dyan’s battering at sword practice, said, “I suppose he thinks I get enough lumps working out with him in armed-combat training.” It occurred to him that there was an element of cruelty in this too. Kennard Alton had taught him to handle a sword when he was believed to be the best swordsman in the Domains. Yet in daily practice with either Kennard or Lew for two years, he had collected fewer bruises than he had had from Dyan in a few weeks.

A second-year man said audibly, “What do you expect of the Comyn? They all hang together.”

Regis bent his head to the cold porridge. What’s the use?he thought. He couldn’t show everybody his bruises—he shouldn’t have opened his mouth. Danilo was trying to eat with trembling hands. The sight filled Regis with distress but he did not know what he could say that would not be an intrusion.

In the barracks room, Regis quickly made up his bed, helped Damon fix up Julian’s cot and arrange his possessions; when Julian returned, at least he would not have to face demerits for leaving his bed and shelf in disorder. After the other cadets had gone off for arms-drill, he and Danilo remained. It was their turn to sweep the room and clean the fireplace. Regis went meticulously about the work of scraping ashes from the fireplace and cleaning the hearth. You never knew which officer would make inspection and some were stricter than others. He did the work with all the more thoroughness because he detested it, but his thoughts were busy. Had Julian really been hurt? Dyan had been too rough.

He was aware that Danilo, shoving the heavy push-broom with scowling determination at the far end of the room, was filled with a kind of sullen misery that overlaid everything else. Regis wondered if there was any way to block out other people’s emotions, for he was far too sensitive to Danilo’s moods. If he knew what Dani was thinking, or why he was so angry and miserable all the time, it might not be so bad, but all Regis got were the raw emotions.

He sensed Lew Alton’s presence and looked up to see him coming along the room. “Not finished? Take your time, cadet, I’m a little early.”

Regis relaxed. Lew could be strict enough, but he did not go out of his way to look for hidden fragments of dust. He continued his work with the hearth-broom, but after a minute felt Lew bend and touch his arm. “I want a word with you.”

Regis rose and followed him to the door of the barracks room, turning to say over his shoulder, ‘I’ll be with you in a minute, Dani, don’t try to shift that table until I can help you.” Just outside, aware of the touch of Lew’s thoughts, he looked up to face his smiling eyes.

“Yes, I knew the other day, in Council,” Lew said, “but I had no chance to speak to you then. When did this happen, Regis? And how?”

“I’m not sure,” Regis said, “but somehow, I—touched—Danilo, or he touched me, I’m not really sure which it was, and some kind of—of barrier seemed to go down. I don’t know how to explain it.”

Lew nodded. “I know,” he said, “there aren’t any words for most of these experiences, and the ones there are, aren’t very enlightening. But Danilo? I sensed he had laranthe other day, but if he could do that, then—” He stopped, his brow furrowed, and Regis followed the thought, that would mean he’s a catalyst telepath! They’re rare, I thought there were no functioning ones left.

“I’ll speak to my father before I leave for Aldaran.”

“You’re going instead of Uncle Kennard? When?”

“A few days before Council season is over, not long now. The trip into the mountains is hard at any season, and impossible after the snows really begin in earnest.”

Danilo was standing in the doorway of the barracks room and Regis, recalled abruptly to his work, said, “I’d better get back; Dani will think I’m shirking my share.”

Lew took a perfunctory glance inside the room. “Go ahead. It looks all right; I’ll sign the inspection report. Finish up at your leisure.” He came to Danilo and said, “I’m leaving for Aldaran in a day or two, Dani. I shall be passing Syrtis on my road. Have you any message for DomFelix?”

“Only that I strive to do my duty among my betters, Captain.” His voice was sullen.

“I’ll tell him you do us credit, Danilo.” The boy did not answer, going off toward the fireplace, dragging the broom. Lew looked after him with curiosity. “What do you think is bothering him?”

Regis was worried about Danilo’s moods. His silent weeping had wakened Regis twice more, and again he had been torn between the desire to console his friend and the wish to respect his privacy. He wished he could ask Lew what to do, but they were both on duty and there was no time for personal problems. Anyway, Lew might be required by Guard regulations—he didn’t really know—to tell him he should ask his cadet-master about any personal problem. Regis said at last, “I don’t know. Homesick, maybe,” and left it at that “How is Julian? Not dead?”

Lew looked at him, startled. “No, no. He’ll be all right. Just a bit of a knock on the head.” He smiled again and went out of the barracks.

Danilo leaned the broom against the wall and began to shift the heavy wooden table to get at the litter under it. Regis jumped to catch the other end.

“Here, I toldyou I’d give you a hand; you could hurt your insides trying to lift a heavy thing like that.” Danilo looked up, glowering, and Regis said, “I wasn’t shirking, I only wanted to say goodbye to my kinsman. You were rude to him, Dani.”

“Well, are we going to work or gossip?”

“Work by all means,” said Regis, giving his end of the table a heave. “I’ve nothing to say to you when you’re in this mood.” He went to fetch the broom. Danilo muttered something under his breath and Regis swung around, demanding, “What did you say?”

“Nothing.” Danilo turned his back. It had sounded suspiciously like, “Don’t get your hands dirty,” and Regis stared.

“What’s the matter? Do you think I ought to finish up? I will if you want me to, but I don’t think I was away talking thatlong, was I?”

“Oh, I’d never think of imposing on you, Lord Regis! Allow me to serve you!” The sneer was openly apparent in Danilo’s voice now and Regis stared in bewilderment. “Danilo, are you trying to fight with me?” Danilo looked Regis up and down slowly. “No, I thank you, my lord. Fight, with an heir to Comyn? I may be a fool, but not such a fool as all that.” He squared his shoulders and thrust his lip out belligerently. “Run along to your fencing lesson with Lord Ardais and leave the dirty work to me.”

Regis’ bewilderment gave way to rage. “When did I ever leave any dirty work for you or anyone else around here?” Danilo stared at the floor and did not answer. Regis advanced on him menacingly. “Come on, you started this, answer me! You say I haven’t been doing my fair share?” No other accusation could have made him so furious. “And take that look off your face or I’ll knock it off!”

“Must I watch the very look on my face, Lord Hastur?” The title, as he spoke it, was an open insult, and Regis hit him. Danilo staggered back, sprang up raging and started for him, then stopped short.

“Oh no. You can’t get me in trouble thatway. I told you I’m not going to fight, Lord Hastur.”

“Yes you will, damn you. You started this! Now put up your fists, damn you, or I’ll use you for a floor-mop!”

“That would be fun, wouldn’t it,” Danilo muttered, “force me to fight and get me in trouble for fighting? Oh, no, Lord Regis, I’ve had too much of that!”

Regis stepped back. He was now more troubled than angry, wondering what he could possibly have done to upset Dani this way. He reached out to try to touch his friend’s mind, met nothing but surging rage that covered everything else. He moved toward Danilo; Dani sprang defensively alert.

“Zandru’s hells, what are you two about?” Hjalmar stepped inside the door, took it all in at a glance and collared Regis, not gently. “I heard you shouting halfway across the court! Cadet Syrtis, your lip is bleeding.”

He let Regis go, came and took Danilo by the chin, turning his face gently up to look at the wound. Danilo exploded into violence, pushing his hand away, his hand dropping to knife-hilt. Hjalmar grabbed his wrist.

“Zandru’s hells! Lad, don’t do that! Drawing a knife in barracks will break you, and I’d have to report it! What the hell’s the matter, boy, I only wanted to see if you were hurt!” He sounded genuinely concerned. Danilo lowered his head and stood trembling.

“What’s between you two? You’ve been close as brothers!”

“It was my fault,” said Regis quietly, “I struck him first.”

Hjalmar gave Danilo a shove. It looked rude but was, in truth, rather gentle. “Go and put some cold water on your lip, cadet. Hastur can finish doing the barracks alone. It will teach him to keep his big mouth shut.” When Danilo had vanished into the washroom he scowled angrily at Regis. “This is a fine example to set for the lads of lower rank!”

Regis did not argue or excuse himself. He stood and accepted the tongue-lashing Hjalmar gave him, and the three days of punishment detail. He felt almost grateful to the young officer for interrupting a nasty situation. Why, why, had Danilo exploded that way?

He finished sweeping the barracks, thinking that it was not like Dani to pick a fight.

And he had picked it, Regis thought soberly, throwing the last of the trash, without realizing it, into the newly cleaned fireplace. But why? Had they been tormenting him again about trying to curry favor with a Hastur?

All that day he went about his duties preoccupied and wretched, wondering what had brought his friend to such a point of desperation. He had halfway decided to seek Danilo out in their free time, brave his anger and ask him outright what was wrong. But he was reminded that he was on punishment detail, which turned out to be the distasteful duty of working with the orderlies sweeping the stables. Afterward it took him a long time to get himself clean and free of the stable stink and he had to hurry to be in time for his new assignment, which he found boring beyond words. Mostly it consisted of standing guard at the city gates, checking permits and safe-conducts, questioning travelers who had neither, reminding incoming merchants of the rules covering their trade. After that he and a junior officer were assigned supervision of night guard at the city gates, his first use of authority over any of the Guardsmen. He had known, in theory, that the cadets were in training for officers, but until now he had felt like a menial, a flunky, junior to everyone. Now, after a scant half season, he had a responsible duty of his own. For a time he forgot his preoccupation with his friend’s trouble.