The Hawkmaster's Son
by Marion Zimmer Bradley
Dyan Ardais laid down his pack on the narrow cot, cov­ered with a single rough blanket, which would be his in the cadet barracks, and started to transfer his gear into the wooden chest standing at the foot of the bed.
Third year; the final year as a cadet. He was just enough older than the others to put him out of step as a cadet; he had spent his first two cadet years here be­fore his father's inexplicable decision—and all of his fa­ther's decisions were inexplicable to Dyan—that he should spend several years in Nevarsin Monastery. Now, an equally inexplicable whim had brought him back here.
He thought, with resignation so deep that he did not fully realize how bitter it was, that his family did not seem to care where he was—Nevarsin, the cadet corps, in one of Zandru's nine hells—so long as he was not at Ardais.
He had been glad to leave Nevarsin, however. He had learned much there, including the mastery of laran de­nied him when the Keeper of Dalereuth Tower had re­fused to admit him to a Tower circle; he had seriously wished to study the healing arts and medicine, and he had been given ample opportunity, at Nevarsin, to study these things normally denied to a son of the Comyn. More than this; he had been able to forget himself there, giving himself up to his first love, music and singing in the great Nevarsin choir. The Father Cantor had ad­mired his clear treble voice and gone to some trouble to have it trained; the saddest day of Dyan's life had been the day his voice broke, and his mature singing voice turned out to be a clear, tuneful but undistinguished baritone.
But it was not really suitable, that a Comyn heir should live among cristoforos. He had accepted their dis­cipline with calm, cynical obedience, as a means to an end, without the slightest intent of taking their rules of life into his personal world-view; and when the time came, he had left them without much regret. Tempting as it might be, to give his life to music and healing, he had always known that his real vocation, the path laid out for every Comyn son, was here; to serve, and later to rule, among the Comyn. There was a Council seat awaiting him, as soon as he was old enough to take it.
And as soon as he completed this mandatory third year in the cadet corps there would be an officer's post in the Guard. The Commander of the Thendara City Guard, Valdir Alton, had only one son of an age to command; Lewis-Valentine Lanart was nineteen. Valdir's younger son, Kennard, had been sent to Terra, a few years ago, as an exchange student for the young Terran, Lerrys Montray. Dyan had known Lerrys, a little, during his own second cadet year; Lerrys had been allowed to serve a single year in the cadets, in token that he was taking up the obligation of a Comyn son. Dyan had heard his superiors say that the young Terran had been a credit to his people, but Dyan felt cynical about that. They could hardly expel or harry a political guest, so they would find tactful praise for whatever he did right and ignore his blunders, and it would make for excellent diplomatic relations.
Dyan wondered why the Comyn bothered. It would be better to send all of those damned Terrans yelping back to whatever godforgotten world had spawned them!
Dyan remembered Lerrys Montray as a pleasant-look­ing, amiable young nonentity, but he could have been a dozen times as capable and competent and Dyan would still have loathed him. For Larry had taken Kennard Alton's place—and for Dyan, no man alive, not the leg­endary Son of Aldones, could have done that. Dyan had fiercely resolved that this Terran intruder get no joy of his usurped place; he flattered himself that he had made things damned difficult for the presumptuous Terran who thought he could stand in Kennard Alton's boots!
As if some trace of precognition had sent the thought of Kennard to his mind moments before the reality, a voice behind Dyan said softly, "You're here before me, cousin? I had hoped to find you here, Janu...."
Only one person living, since Dyan's mother had died ten years before, had ever dared to use that childish pet-name. Dyan's breath caught in his throat, then he was swept into a familiar kinsman's embrace.
"Kennard!"
Kennard hugged him tight, then held him off at arm's length. "Now I really know I am home again, bredu ... so you interrupted your time in the Cadets, too? Third year?"
"Yes. And you?"
"I finished my third year before I left, remember? But Lewis has gone to Arilinn Tower, so Father wants me as his seconde this year. I'll be your officer, Dyan. How old are you now?"
"Seventeen. Just one year younger than you, Ken­nard—or had you forgotten, we have the same birthday?"
Kennard chuckled. "Why, so I had. But you remem­bered?"
"There isn't much I don't remember about you, Ken," Dyan said, with an intensity that made the older lad frown. Dyan saw the frown and quickly went back to lightness. "When did you come back?"
"Only a few days ago, just time enough to pay my respects to my foster sister and my mother. Cleindori is at Arilinn now, and of course, there is talk of marriage, or at least handfasting, for all of us. And what about you, Dyan? You're at the age when they start talking about such things."
Dyan shrugged. "There was some talk of marrying me to Maellen Castamir," he said, "but there is time enough for that; she is still playing with dolls; there might be a handfasting, but certainly not a wedding, not for ten years and more. Which suits me well enough. And you?"
"Talk," Kennard said, "There's always talk. Time enough to listen when it's something more than talk. Meanwhile I can renew my old friendships—and speak-
ing of old friendships," he said, and broke off as two young men came into the barracks.
"Rafael!" he said, then laughed, looking at the second youth. "I mean, of course, both of you!"
Rafael Hastur, Heir to Hastur, a slight, handsome youngster, with eyes nearer to blue than the true Comyn gray, smiled merrily and held out both hands to Ken-nard. "It is good to see you again, cousin! And you, Dyan—do you know Rafael-Felix Syrtis, my paxman and sworn man?"
Kennard smiled at him, "We probably met as boys; before I was sent to Terra. But I know your family, of course; the Syrtis hawks are famous."
"As famous as the Armida horses," young Syrtis said, smiling. "I heard you were to be one of our officers, Captain Alton."
"Kennard will do," Kennard said genially, "There's no need for formality here, kinsman. You know my cousin Dyan, don't you?"
Dyan frowned and gave Rafael Syrtis the most distant of nods, his frown reproving Kennard's effusive friendli­ness. A Syrtis, the son of the hawkmaster, and a cristoforo, too, as the Syrtis folk had been for generations, was no suitable paxman or companion for a Hastur heir, and, to look at the two of them, Dyan sensed they were not paxman and master alone, but bredin as well! Young Syrtis addressed his master in the familiar inflection, and he saw that the young Syrtis, though he was only a minor noble, wore in his sheath a dagger with the fine Hastur crest. Well, Rafael Hastur might have a taste for low company, but he could not force his commoner friend on other Comyn! He began talking to Rafael Hastur, pointedly ignoring young Syrtis' sycophantic efforts to be friendly. Young Hastur tried to include his friend in the conversation, but Dyan gave him only brief, frigidly courteous replies.
After a time Kennard went to attend on his father, and one of the armsmasters sent for Dyan; Rafael Hastur and Rafael Syrtis remained in the barracks, help­ing each other put away their possessions.
Rafael Hastur said, in apology, "You must not mind Dyan, my friend. The Ardais are proud ... he was dis-
gustingly rude to you, Rafe; I regard that as an insult to myself, and I shall tell him so!"
Rafael Syrtis laughed and shrugged. "He is very young
for his age," he said. "He has always been a bit like
that, acting as if he thought himself far above everyone
else, probably because he is self-conscious ... his father,
you know. I should not say so about a Comyn Lord, but
old Lord Kyril is a disgusting old sot, the most unpleas­
ant drunk I have ever met."
"You won't hear any arguments from me about that, Rafael said, "I have no love for my Uncle of Ardais. But Dyan used to be a nice lad."
Rafe Syrtis shrugged. "Well, I can live without his liking. But I'm sorry for the lad; he has not many friends. He would have more, no one would blame Dyan for the old man's faults, but he is prickly and over-swift to take offense and slight others before they can snub him. Dom Rafael, shall I go and look at the duty lists and see where and when we are assigned?"
"Go by all means," Rafael Hastur said. "Bring me word of where I am assigned, and forget not to take note of when we are off duty, so that we pay our respectful compliments to my sister Alisa and to her companion ... ha, Rafael, you see, I can feel the wind when it blows from the right quarter, and need no weather vane for that!"
Rafe Syrtis made a gesture of laughing surrender.
"You know me, vai dom caryu ... indeed, I am eager
to pay my respects to the damisela Caitlin	"
"But not too respectfully, I hope," Rafael Hastur teased, then sobered. "No, I won't make fun of you, bredu. I am truly glad you have found someone you can love, and she is worthy of you in all ways, my foster sister Caitlin."
"But I am not worthy of her ..." Rafe's voice trem­bled. "How could I look so high	"
Rafael Hastur laid his hand on his friend's shoulder. He said vehemently, "No, Rafe, don't speak like that. My father knows, we all know, your worth and quality. My father, too, values your father as one of his most loyal men. To me, Caitlin is only one of my cousins, all
eyes and teeth, and what you want with that scrawny buck-toothed little thing—"
"Scrawny! Caitlin scrawny!" Rafe Syrtis cried in indig­nation, "She is divinely slender, and her eyes ... those eyes...."
"When she was a little girl, Alisa and I used to call her Pop-eyes," Rafael teased, "and I cannot see that she has grown a whit prettier. But, Rafe, don't trouble your­self. She is my father's ward, and Alisa loves her well, but she is not wealthy, so in that respect she is not too far above you; and although her family is very good, so is yours. Father will be well content to give her to you. I do not think any other has offered for her, but even if someone had done so, I will speak to Father for you, and if you will, I shall stand for you at your handfasting. Thus Caitlin will remain in our family and close to my sister as she has always been."
Rafe Syrtis' voice trembled. "I don't know how to thank you...."
"Thank me?" Rafael said, "Merely by being what you have always been, my most loyal paxman and my sworn brother. I wish I thought, when the time comes for my father to find me a bride, he could find me one I was half so eager to marry. As yet I have seen no maiden in Thendara who seems better to me than any others; Father has spoken of the daughter of Lord Elhalyn, but she is still a child." He laid his hand, shyly, on his friend's arm. "Perhaps some of your good fortune will come to me, too, and I too shall be lucky in love. But promise me, Rafe, that you will never let this new tie part our company."
"Never," Rafe Syrtis pledged, "I swear it."
For the first tenday or so of the cadet season, the business of honor guards, of escort for Comyn lords and ladies, of assessing the training of new cadets and as­signing suitable duties to older ones, kept them all too busy for the renewing of old friendships. On the morning of Festival Night, Kennard and Dyan met in a small office near the Guard Hall, where Kennard was making up duty lists before leaving for the ceremonial duties of the night's ball.
"Will you be there, Dyan? But of course you will, there is no other representative of the Ardais Domain here." He looked at the younger lad with sympathy. Dyan's father, Dom Kyril, was well known to be subject to recurring periods of derangement when he had little sense of what was fitting and proper; during one of his lucid intervals, he had arranged for Dyan to perform the ceremonial duties of the Domain, so that he might not, in a moment of vagueness or madness, bring disgrace upon them.
Kennard said, "I am fortunate in that my father and my brother Lewis are both fit to perform the public du­ties of the Domain; I have no liking for ceremony. I could take pride in the important business of Council, but to stand up in public and be admired like a racehorse because of my pedigree ... no, I should find that tiresome."
Dyan said stiffly, "I hope I shall never fail any duty to Comyn, no matter how tiresome it may be."
Kennard put his arm briefly around his friend's shoul­der. He said, "That's what I love about you, bredu. But truthfully, Dyan, it is a boring business, isn't it?"
Dyan chuckled. "I wouldn't say so in public, but it's as you say. I wonder if the prize horse gets tired of being dressed in his finest harness and paraded in the streets?"
"It's a good thing we don't know, isn't it, or we'd never have the heart to hold parades," Kennard said. "No, actually, I do know, a little. One of the things I like to do, when I have leisure, is to train our saddle horses, and I can sense, just a little, with laran, how they feel about the bit and the saddle. But they come to ac­cept it, just as you and I accepted learning to stand long watches, and to write, and to do all the other things we have to do. And, speaking of tiresome duties, Lewis said that Father had chosen a wife for me, some tiresome daughter of one of the minor Hastur clans ... have you heard any gossip?"
Dyan shook his head. "I am not particularly interested in women and I hear very little about marriages."
Kennard said with a shrug, "Women, that is one thing. I discovered that, at least. But as for marriage ... oh, I suppose it would have its merits, an established home,
children for the clan ... I bear the Alton Gift; Lewis does not. So it is more urgent for me to marry and to have sons."
"As to that," Dyan said, "I suppose, as always, I will do whatever my duty is to the Domain, but when I was so young I was so sickened at my father's women—" He did not look at Kennard, and his calm, musical voice did not change its inflection, but Kennard, who had a sizable portion of the Ridenow empath gift, sensed that Dyan was forcing the words through layers of pain and shame.
"You probably do not know ... there were times when he brought them to Ardais, flaunting them in my mother's face, jesting, about the old days when wives knew their duty, and if they did not delight in their hus­band's bed, choosing some woman to please their hus­bands ... he forced her to foster all of Rayna Di Asturien's bastard sons and even daughters ... even though the woman was cruelly arrogant to my mother. And he did not stop at—at making advances even to her own serving maids, and worse, before her eyes, and forc­ing her to witness ... the idea that I could ever behave so dishonorably, it makes me physically ill! And yet he could not ... could not help himself; the idea that I could ever be so enslaved to a ... a concept of manhood, of virility ... so that I would hurt and humiliate a good woman who had done me no harm, to whom I owed honor ... someday, I suppose, I shall marry properly and do my duty to the Domain, but the idea that I could ever be so—so enslaved to my own lusts ... before I could behave like that I hope I would be honorable enough to make myself emmasca as the whining cristoforos do!"
Kennard was appalled at his vehemence; he squeezed Dyan's arm with silent affection, but there was nothing he could say before the younger boy's revelation. He had had no idea ...! At last, after a long time and diffidently, he said, "Your father ... he is not in his right senses, bredhyu, you must not let his wickedness deform your life."
"I will not," Dyan said, guarded again and defiant, "but I am in no hurry to have a woman's happiness and honor placed in my hands. It would be a—a terrifying
responsibility. And suppose I should find myself so en­slaved to the desire for women...."
Kennard said, half lightly and half seriously, "Oh, I shouldn't think there is much danger of that. Women are pleasant enough, but I have no wish to limit my attentions to only one. I would rather make them all happy, not give any one of them the right to jealousy and reproaches."
"Mow can you be so cynical!" Dyan said in horror.
"Dyan, I was joking! But truly, my brother, I am not particularly interested yet in marriage, I have not been home long enough even to renew all my old ties and friendships, and I would rather wait a while before form­ing new ones. And speaking of old ties and friendships, you and I have hardly seen anything of one another! Shall we plan a hunt? Or—Rafael Hastur spoke of spending a tenday at Syrtis—Dom Felix knows more of hawks than anyone from Dalereuth to the Kadarin, and he has promised me one trained to my own hand. Both of them, I know, would be delighted if you joined us."
"I do not care for hawking," Dyan said stiffly. So Ra­fael Hastur thought he could force his friend, the hawk-master's son, on Kennard Alton by laying him under obligations with this kind of courtesy—this kind of bribe!
"Well, as you like," Kennard said. "We'll ride in the hills, then, just the two of us, if you'd prefer that. I can take three days' leave, and so can you, a few days after Festival Night."
A day or two later the invitation was actually forth­coming from Rafael Hastur to join them at Syrtis—his sister and foster sister were also to make up the party— but Dyan refused, saying that he and Kennard had made other plans. Riding at Kennard's side along the lower ridges of the Venza Hills, Dyan felt perfectly happy, as if, after all these years, they had returned to a happy boyhood. Kennard, too, seemed happy. He told Dyan something ... not much ... of his years on Terra, his struggle against the heavy air and the dragging gravity, the long trip from star to star, the curious offworld cus­toms. And the loneliness, among those mostly ungifted with laran.
"Only once did I find real friends," he said. "On
Terra, of all places, some kindred of the Montrays, who
had lived on Darkover, and knew how that light hurt
my eyes ... that was the worst, the pain of the light,
and even when the sun was not in the sky, I sometimes
felt I should go mad under the frightful cold light of that
terrible white moon ... do you know that their word for madness is akin to their word for moonworshiper? There
was a girl—her name was Elaine, that is Yllana in our
tongue ... but she was kin to Aldaran, too. I do not
suppose I will ever see her again. But she understood,
a little	how I feared that terrifying moon."
Dyan said, "Moon madness is easy enough to under­stand; we have that proverb, What is done under four moons need never be recalled nor regretted...."
"True," Kennard laughed, "and I see there are three in the sky, and later tonight, Idriel will rise too, and then we, too, will perhaps have some adventure of madness!"
All the moons were indeed high in the sky when they made camp and cooked their meal, roasting a bird Dyan had brought down with his courvee, the curved throwing-stick used for hunting in the Hellers. "I have lost my skill," Kennard lamented, "it has been so long!"
They sat long beside the coals of their fire, lighted by the four moons, talking of their own childhoods, the early days in the Cadets.
"I was so wretched on Terra," Kennard said, "I won­der, often, if Larry was equally so in my place. His kin­dred were so kind to me, and tried so hard to be understanding. I know my father would have been kind, but what about the others, Dyan? Was he happy in the Cadets? Did any befriend him? I would have com­mended him to your kindness as my sworn friend."
Dyan said stiffly "Do you think anyone alive could take your place? I think we all made him realize what an interloper he was, to try that!"
Kennard shook his head in dismay. "But we were friends, Dyan, I would have had you treat him as you would have treated me, as friend and brother ... well, it is past, I won't censure you," he said, "but I wish you could have come to know him as well as I do; believe me, he is worthy of it, Janu."
But he used the old pet-name of their childhood, and
Dyan knew that Kennard was not angry with him, of course not, Kennard would not quarrel with him over any Terranan!
The fire had burned low. Kennard yawned, and said, "We should sleep. Look, we have the four moons after all ... what madness shall we do?"
Dyan said, with a shyness that surprised him, "Hardly madness ... but shall we, then, renew our old pledge, bredhyu, after so many years?"
For a moment Kennard was motionless, startled. Then he said, very gently, "If you will, bredhyu." He repeated the word with the special inflection Dyan had used, only for sworn brothers between whom there were no barri­ers. "It would need no renewal to be as strong as ever; I do not forget what I have sworn. And you are old enough, I would not have thought to treat you as a boy too young for women ... but if you wish for it, my dearest brother, then, as you will."
He drew Dyan to him, their lips meeting, barriers going down in the most intimate of touches, until their minds were as exposed to one another as their young bodies ... and in that moment, something deep within Dyan Ardais cracked asunder, never to be whole again.
Kennard had not ceased to love him. He would never cease to love him. He welcomed their reunion, and now he had given himself up completely to the warmth and tenderness of this physical reconfirmation too, he was withholding nothing. And yet ... yet there was a pro­found difference, a difference heartbreaking to Dyan. What was, to Dyan, the needed, desperately longed-for wellspring of his existence, the core and renewal of his being, was nothing like that to Kennard. Kennard loved him, yes, cherished him as brother, friend, kinsman, with a thousand kindly memories. But the very center of their love, this mutual affirmation which was the whole reason for Dyan's existence, was to Kennard only a pleasant kindness, he would have been equally content if they had clasped hands and slept apart ... and before the agony of that knowledge, Dyan Ardais felt that the whole core of his being was cracked, torn, broken into fragments.
Even while he was held tenderly in Kennard's arms,
wholly absorbed in the mutual sharing, he felt the ice of death surrounding him, like the icy halls of Nevarsin, cold, alone ... even dissolving in the mutual delight was agony, he knew he was sobbing uncontrollably, and through his own despair he sensed Kennard's bewildered grief and regret. He could not even be angry with Kennard; Kennard's thoughts were his own, What can I do? He cannot be other than he is, nor can I. I love him, I love
him dearly, but love is not enough	
"Dyan, Dyan ... Janu, bredhyu, my beloved brother, don't grieve like this, you are breaking my heart," Ken­nard pleaded. "What can I say to you, my brother? You will always be more dear to me than any man living, that I swear to you. I beg of you, don't grieve so ... the world will go as it will, and not as you or I would have it ... there is no one, no one I love more than you, Dyan, it is only that I am no longer a boy ... Dyan, I swear to you, a time will come when this will not matter to you so terribly ... all things change...."
Inwardly Dyan raged, I will not change, not ever, all of him was crying out in anguished rebellion, but slowly he managed to bring his weeping under control, with­drawing behind an impenetrable barricade of calm, good manners, almost lightheartedness. He reached for Ken­nard again, with skillful, seductive touch, just letting Kennard sense his thoughts, at least there is this, and Kennard cannot pretend he does not find pleasure in it....
Kennard, still troubled, but grateful for Dyan's calm, reached for him with gentle urgency, saying aloud ... he could not bear the deeper touch of minds, not now, "I will never try to pretend that, my brother."
Summer moved on. One day, as Kennard was changing in the small room off the Guard Hall, after giving some younger cadets lessons in swordplay, he said to Dyan, "Well, it's happened. Father has found me a wife."
Dyan lifted an ironical eyebrow. "My congratulations. Am I acquainted with the fortunate young woman?"
"I don't know! I don't know the girl at all. Father says she is suitable, of a minor Hastur sept; he said that
she is not particularly beautiful, but she is not ugly ei­ther, and she is amiable, and accomplished, and gifted with laran—and that is enormously important to me. He has no doubt whatever that we will like one another and live well together. Beauty may be important in a man's mistresses, but good temper and friendly disposition are more important for sharing a home and a life, and I have no doubt we will be happy enough. She is foster sister to Rafael and Alisa Hastur; have you met her? Her name is Catriona, Catrine, something like that."
"Caitlin?" Dyan asked, and Kennard nodded. "I think so. You know her?"
"No," Dyan said, "but I know who she is."
Inside he was laughing triumphantly. That would teach Rafael Syrtis to lift his eyes to a girl of Hastur kindred! Now that they had a proper husband for the girl, Rafe Syrtis would learn that there were limits to a common­er's ambition!
He said formally, "I wish you every happiness, kins­man," but his own happiness overflowed when Kennard smiled and said, "The girl is nothing to me, dear brother. I have never yet met the woman who can be more to me than a sworn brother, and I heartily pray that I never shall."
He was curious to know how the two Rafaels would react to this knowledge; and he was not long in finding out. Actually he was out of earshot, doing some small chore in the barracks while Rafael Hastur and Rafe Syrtis were ostensibly playing cards at the other end of the room; but he heard them mention Kennard's name and felt not the slightest ethical hesitation in extending his senses to listen in, telepathically, to what they were saying.
I could hardly believe it, Rafael Syrtis said, I knew of course, that she was gratified and glad to see me when I sought her out, but I had never believed that she would actually send for me, would beg me ... Rafael, I could not bear it, she had been crying so, her poor little face was swollen with tears, I think the very stones of Nevarsin Peak would have melted with pity! And of course that father of hers thinks only of what it will mean to her, to
marry a Comyn heir... what shall I do, Rafael? I cannot lose her, not now, not when I know she cares about me as much as I...."
Dyan felt savage gratification. So this damned com­moner was learning he could not force his way into Comyn circles by marrying a foster sister to Rafael Hastur, after all! Well, let him suffer, it would teach him a lesson! Then, in outrage, he heard what Rafael Hastur was saying to his friend. A Hastur, to speak like this? Disgraceful!
If you and Caitlin both have the courage ... I will stand by you. Freemate marriage cannot be gainsaid, if it has been consummated; if you spoke to my father, he would say it was only a boyish fancy, but if you have shared a bed, a meal, a fireside ... I do not know if the girl has the strength of mind to defy the old people's wishes, but if she does, and you, you will want witnesses, and Alisa has promised that she, too, will stand by you....
And then they were discussing horses, and directions, and Dyan turned off his listening-in, as Rafe Syrtis turned and looked uneasily at him ... had that damned commoner some scrap of laran after all? But he did pick up the rendezvous, the traveler's hut on the road to Callista's Well....
You have nothing to fear from Dyan, Rafael Hastur said calmly. He, too, has suffered from the whims of an overstrict father, he would not betray us.
Would I not! Dyan thought, enraged. Even if he had not been infuriated by Rafe Syrtis' presumption, daring to raise eyes ambitiously to the ward of a Hastur, he was angered for Kennard's sake. Who was this girl Caitlin, to prefer some impudent nobody to Kennard Alton? What a slap in the face for Kennard it would be, if it became gossip in Council that his promised bride had run away to marry someone else! And for whom? For a prince, for a nobler marriage? Not even that; for the son of her guardian's hawkmaster! What an insult to Kennard! Dyan thought, in a fury, that if he had had the offending Caitlin before him, that he would have spit on her!
Kennard must know at once—that Rafael Hastur and
that insolent and presumptuous favorite of his were con­spiring to cheat him of his bride!
As he went in search of Kennard, he was rehearsing in his mind what to say, to make Kennard aware of how he was being insulted by the Hastur heir! Those false friends and traitors were conspiring to cheat Kennard, to make him lose face before the Guards and the Council.
Yet his mind persisted in presenting Kennard to him, not grateful to Dyan for warning him of this humiliation they were planning, but as angry with Dyan for his med­dling; it seemed he could almost hear Kennard's voice, saying, Zandru's hells, Dyan, do you think I care about the girl? At this time of my life, one girl is very much like another to me, provided she is suitable, I've never even seen her. And the more Dyan argued in his mind, trying to convince Kennard that he could not consent to lose his pledged bride to a commoner, the more his mind rehearsed Kennard's logical reply:
What pleasure could I possibly have in marrying a girl who is helplessly in love with another man? There are plenty of women who would as soon have me; why not let the Syrtis boy have this one, and welcome, if they want each other; who knows, perhaps some day I might be fortunate enough to find some woman who could care as much for me as this one does for Rafe!"
Confused by the voices in his mind, Dyan felt grave misgivings. Should he simply hold his peace? If Caitlin Lindir-Hastur and Rafe Syrtis cared so much, why should he rend them asunder to give Caitlin into the hands of a man who did not care whether he had her or another? Then, in a last moment of anguished self-knowledge, still stinging with that unintended rejection from Kennard, he knew he did not want Kennard to marry a woman who would mean to him what Caitlin meant to Rafe ... what no woman, I know it now, will ever mean to me....
Firmly he dismissed his compunctions. Loyalty to Comyn demanded that he prevent young Hastur from defying the will of the Council, that Kennard Alton should have Caitlin as a wife. Kennard should not be
humiliated by being shown that his pledged bride pre­ferred to be the wife of a commoner, a hanger-on, the hawk-master's son!
Kennard will know that I hold his honor as a Comyn Lord dear to me as my own; he will be grateful to me, I will still mean more to him than any woman....
His hands were shaking. He realized that he was out­side the Hastur apartments, and as he told the grave-faced servant to say that Dyan Gabriel, Regent of Ar-dais, wished to speak to the Lord Danvan Hastur, or, failing that, to the ancient Lord Lorill, he rehearsed, mentally, his opening words.
Do you know, my lord, what they are planning, your son and his shameless paxman, the son of your hawk-master? They are planning that Kennard, Heir to Alton, shall be cheated of the marriage designed in Council....
They were a small party; all of Comyn blood, or long-trusted Guardsmen who could be certain not to spread scandal. Danvan Hastur himself rode with them, and Dyan himself was the youngest of the party riding north­ward to Callista's Well. Old Hastur had inquired dis­creetly; when he heard that the lord Rafael and Alisa, with Rafael's paxman, young Syrtis, and Alisa's foster sister, had ridden out before midday, taking hawks as if it were an innocent holiday, he had gathered the party and ridden swiftly forth. Now they sighted the small trav­eler's shelter, and outside, they saw four horses, one of them the white stallion which Rafael Hastur rode.
Danvan Hastur's voice was low and bitter.
"Spread out; circle the house. Who knows what they will do, these rash young ones? Disobedience, certainly; perhaps dishonor and disgrace." With his paxman at his side, he struck a heavy blow with his sword hilt on the door; Dyan could see that the elderly Lord of Council was prepared for anything, even brute defiance.
But no blow was struck. Dyan could not see, and from his post, never heard what words were exchanged inside, but after a long time, Danvan Hastur came forth. His face was cold and set; he held the weeping Caitlin by the hand. Lord Hastur signaled to two Guardsmen to
ride at either side of Rafe Syrtis, who looked as white as his shirt.
"Guard him lest he do himself some hurt," Hastur said, not unkindly. "He is distraught. He has been ill-advised by those who should have known better." His eyes rested on his son Rafael, and his face was like stone.
"As for you," he said, "I know where to lay the blame for this disgraceful affair; you are fortunate that your cousin Alton does not challenge you to a duel, since Comyn immunity covers you both. No, not a word—" He raised his hand imperiously. "You have said and done quite enough, but through good fortune and fast horses it came to nothing. I shall deal with you later. Get to your horse and ride, and don't presume to speak to me tonight."
Rafael's lips moved inaudibly in protest, but his father had already turned away. He himself set Caitlin on her horse, saying, "Come, my child, no harm is done, though your folly was great. I'll pawn my honor Kennard shall never hear of this, and fortunately he has nothing to forgive you. Alisa!" His voice suddenly cut like a whip. "Get to your saddle, my girl, or I shall have you lifted there! No, not a word!"
Alisa drew her green cloak around her face; it seemed to Dyan that she was weeping, too. But his eyes were on the slumped back of Rafael Syrtis. Now, indeed, that detestable commoner had learned his lesson!
In the end nothing came of it; Alisa was sent away in disgrace—to Neskaya, they said; but there was surpris­ingly little gossip. The Guard Hall was full of it, but Dyan answered no questions; his honor had been en­gaged to keep silent. A few days later the handfasting was duly held, and Caitlin Hastur-Lindir was pledged to marry Kennard Alton di catenas. Dyan, watching the bride and groom dance together, with courteous indiffer­ence, at the ceremony, felt a curious hollow emptiness. Kennard, when he came to speak congratulations, greeted him affectionately.
"Let me present you to my promised wife, Dyan.... Damisela, this is my kinsman and sworn brother, Dyan."
For a moment the girl's dead face came alive with a
flicker of wrath and resentment, and Dyan realized she must have seen him in that circle of politely averted faces, at the hut on the road to Callista's Well ... then it was gone, and Dyan knew she no longer even cared about that.
"I wish you every happiness," he said formally, and Kennard replied something equally formal and meaning­less; only Dyan caught his imperceptible shrug.
"Here is your foster brother to dance with you, Caitlin," Kennard said, and delivered her up to Rafael Hastur. "Come back to me soon, my lady." But he watched them move away together with an almost audi­ble sigh of relief.
"I do not think Caitlin likes me overmuch," he said. "I suppose, soon or late, she will resign herself to the idea; I'll try to be as kind and friendly as I can, and I suppose we will agree together as well as any other mar­ried couple. She is certainly no beauty," he added can­didly, looking after the girl, "but she seems to have a sweet disposition, even if she is sulking now; and she is well-spoken and gentle, and she seems to be intelligent enough! I would hate to be married to a fool. I suppose I am not really ill-content," Kennard finished, without much conviction. "My father could have done worse for me, I suppose. Well, if she gives me a son with laran, I won't ask much else of her." Almost visibly, he shrugged. "Oh, well, it is an excuse for a festival and a merry-making, shall we have a drink? Dyan—listen to me. Of all my acquaintances in the Guardsmen, only Rafael Syrtis has not come to congratulate me or wish me well. My brother, what can I possibly have done to injure him that he should dislike me so much?"
Dyan felt a tight constriction in his throat. It was not too late, even now ... instead he heard himself saying, "What the devil does it matter to you what he thinks, Kennard? Who is this Rafael Syrtis anyway, that he should snub you?. Nobody—the hawkmaster's son!"
"We married your father to someone we thought suit­able," old Hastur said, "and they dwelt together in perfect harmony, and total indifference, for many years."
—The Heritage of Hastur