“Lew deserves better of them than that,” said Danilo quietly. “And if he does not, Kennard at least is guiltless of any treachery and should be consulted.”
“Do you think I did not say that? I am old enough to sit in Council and listen to my elders, Dani, but do you think they listen to me when I speak? My grandfather said that he knew Lew and I had been bredin when I was a child—implying that would warp my judgment. If Kennard were here to be consulted, they might listen to him. Most people do. But they are not neglecting Marius, even though they have not allowed him status as Alton of Armida; they appointed Gabriel as his Guardian, and he has been sent to the Terran Headquarters for a proper Terran education. He’s better educated than either you or I, Dani, and what he has learned there probably makes more sense in this day of Empire and star-travel than this—” He gestured around the tavern, at the Guardsmen wearing swords. Regis fully agreed with the Darkovan Compact, which forbade use of any weapon beyond arm’s reach of the man using it, insisting that he who would kill must take his own chance with death. Still, swords were not weapons alone, but tokens of a way of life which seemed to make little sense in the presence of an interstellar Empire. Danilo followed his thoughts, but shook his head stubbornly.
“I don’t agree with you, Regis. Marius deserves better of the Council than a Terran education. I don’t think Kennard should have gone offworld, and certainly he should not have stayed this long. Hastur should recall him at once—unless your grandfather is greedy for another Domain to pass under the rule of the Hasturs. Already, it seems, he has taken over the Elhalyn Domain—or why is Derik not yet crowned, at eighteen?”
Regis made a wry face. “You do not know our Prince. He may be eighteen, but he is a child of ten—or might as well be. My grandsire wants nothing more than to be free of the burden of the Regency of Thendara—”
Danilo raised a skeptical eyebrow but said nothing. Regis repeated, “Derik is not yet ready to rule. The Council has deferred his crowning till he is twenty-five. There is precedent for that, and if Derik is simply slow to reach manhood and wisdom, well, that will give him time. If not—well, we will fly that falcon when his pinions are grown.”
“And what if Derik, in Hastur’s opinion, is never fit to rule?” Danilo asked. “There was a time when the Hasturs ruled all these Domains, and the rebellion against their tyranny split the Domains into a hundred little kingdoms!”
“And it was the Hasturs who united them all again, in the days of King Carolin,” said Regis. “I have read history, too. In Aldones’s name, Dani, do you think my grandsire is anxious to be King over all this country? Or do I look to you like a tyrant?”
Danilo said, “Certainly not. But in principle, each of the Domains should be strong—and independent. If Lord Hastur cannot crown Derik—and from what little I have seen of him, he looks not much like a King—he should look elsewhere for an Heir to Elhalyn. Forgive me, Regis, but I like it not, to see so much power in Hastur hands; first the Regency which controls the Heir to the Crown, and now the Altons under Hastur rule too. And the Alton Domain carries with it the command of Castle Guard. Where will Hastur turn next? Lady Callina of Valeron is unmarried; will he marry her, perhaps, to you, and bring the Aillard Domain as well under the Hasturs?”
“I am old enough to be consulted about my marriage,” said Regis dryly. “And I assure you that if he has any such plan, he has not spoken of it to me. Do you think my grandfather is a spider at the center of such a web as that?”
“Regis, I am not trying to pick a quarrel with you.” Danilo raised the wine pitcher; Regis shook his head, but Danilo poured it anyway, raised the rough mug to his lips and set it down untasted. “I know your grandsire is a good man, and as for you—well, you know well what I think, bredhyu.” He used the intimate inflection, and Regis smiled, but Danilo went on earnestly, “All this sets a dangerous precedent. After you, Hasturs may reign who are really not fit for such power. A day could come when all the Domains would be Hastur vassals.”
“Zandru’s hells, Dani!” said Regis impatiently. “Do you really think Darkover will remain independent of the Empire that long, or that the Comyn will rule over the Domains when that day comes? I think Marius Alton is the only one of us who will be properly prepared for the direction in which Darkover will go.”
“That day will come,” Danilo told him quietly, “over the dead bodies of the Ardais Domain.”
“No doubt, on that day, there will be Hastur bodies lying dead too, but it will come for all that. Listen, Dani,” he said urgently, “do you really understand the situation? A few generations ago, when the Terrans came here, it was because we happened to be in the wrong place at the right time—a planet located between the upper and lower spiral arms of the Galaxy, exactly where they needed to set up a spaceport as a crossroads and transit point for Empire traffic. They’d have preferred an uninhabited planet, and I’m sure they debated making us into one. Then they discovered that we were a lost Terran colony—”
“And Saint-Valentine-of-the-Snows lies buried in Nevarsin,” Danilo said, exasperated. “I heard all that when we were prisoners in Aldaran three years ago, Regis!”
“No, listen—the Terrans found us, speaking languages long dead on Terra itself; but we were a primitive world, which had lost its technology, or so they thought. They gave us Closed World status, so that we would not be disturbed by too-rapid social upheavals—they do that with all primitive societies, so that they can evolve at their own rate. Then they found out that we were not so primitive a planet after all, and they found out about our laran, our matrix technology. They found that the linked minds in the Tower circles could mine metals, power aircraft, all those other things—well, they wanted matrix technology, and they tried all sorts of things to get some of it.”
“Regis, I know all that, but—”
“Will you listen? You know as well as I; some Darkovans wanted, and still want, the advantages of Terran technology, a place in the Empire, status for Darkover as a colony with political strength, representation in the Empire Senate—all those things. Others, especially in the Comyn, felt that Empire citizenship would destroy our world and our people. That we’d become just another colony like a dozen others, dependent on Terran trade, offworld metals and luxuries, tourists— They’ve had their way so far. I can see that there will have to be changes on Darkover. But I want them to come at a rate we can assimilate.”
“And I don’t want them to come at all,” Danilo said.
“Who would? But the Terrans are here, like it or not. And I will not be accused of trying to keep our people primitives, barbarians, so that my family and I can maintain our superstitious powers over them!”
He had spoken more forcefully than he realized, forgetting where they were. A languid voice said, “Bravo! The Heir to Hastur has come of age and learned that Terrans are a reality, not a crew of bogeymen to frighten little children!”
Regis started. He had forgotten they were not alone. He turned to see a tall thin man, fair-haired, with the stamp of the Comyn on his angular features; elegantly dressed in foppish Darkovan clothing, but with rich alien furs adorning his cloak. Regis bowed, his face set in rigid politeness.