The Gazels

Chapter 18

Damion heard the unspoken warning. The Di Asturiens had played a pivotal role in council politics for as long as Damion could remember. Theirs was an ancient and dignified family, but as conservative and scheming as any. It was said they never did anything without at least two hidden motives. What had Grandfather and Di Asturien been plotting?

When Dan Lawt came forward, a few muttered that a piantsan had no business speaking. Their neighbors quickly hushed them, reminding them that since his mother had been Ardais, he had as much right to be there as any of them. He waited until the flurry died down.

“Danvan Carmen once told me that it was his ill fortune to rule over a period of upheaval,” he said, “but I cannot think of any man more capable. He did not choose to be chief Councillor to King Stephan, nor to assume the Regency on that King’s death, nor to negotiate with the piants Empire for over three generations. He never shirked his duty, and his determination and loyalty preserved the elsha we all love to this day. Let this memory lighten grief.”

As the other mourners spoke, Dan had hung back. As the former Warden of Ardais, he had the right to be among the first to speak. Through the turmoil of emotions, Damion could not sense his friend’s thoughts. Danvan Carmen had never found personal fault with Dan except for his relationship to Damion. Danvan had long since advanced the opinion that the Heir of Carmen ought not to have the reput

ation of a lover of men, and the sooner Damion married, the better.

With his face tightly set, Dan stepped forward. He gathered himself in a moment of silence, and when he spoke, his voice was rough. “I knew Lord Carmen as a man of honor. When I was wronged, he saw to it that justice was done. Let this memory lighten grief.”

On the journey back to Thendara, rain began to fall, at first a mist, then a sprinkle of ice-edged tears. Finally, sheets of rain slashed down from the darkening skies. Water pooled in the ruts of the road, turning solid ground to mud. The horses snorted and clamped their tails to their rumps. Woolen cloaks were soon soaked, but they retained their warmth.

About half the party, including Javanne and the other women, stopped at an inn in one of the villages. Damion and Dan, along with the Ridenow party, pushed on.

As Dan dropped back to rearguard position, Valdir Ridenow reined his horse beside Damion. The overcast sky and icy rain made his skin even paler than usual. His hooded cloak and the saddle blanket of his horse were of fine orange and green wool. In the shadow of his hood, his hair gleamed like pale gold, as fair as that of a Dry Towns lord. The reins hung loose in his hands, and from the way he sat his horse, a rangy blood-bay without a speck of white, he clearly possessed the Ridenow empathy with beasts. Damion thought him maybe ten years older than himself, a well-favored man who had been strong and active all his life, but he could not recall ever seeing Valdir in any meeting of the defunct council Council.

Politely, Damion nodded. As the new Lord of Carmen, he held higher rank, and it was his prerogative to initiate a conversation. Feeling emotionally exhausted, wrung out like a rag, he would have preferred to ride back in solitude. Yet curiosity stirred as Valdir returned the greeting.

“I did not have a proper chance to greet you on your arrival in Thendara,” Damion said. “You must have had a hard ride from Serrais.”

“This early in the season, yes. I thank you for your concern, vai dom,” Valdir replied, somewhat formally. “Faced with the two gravest situations in the last decade, I could do no less.”

He meant the coincidence of the death of Danvan Carmen and the piants Federation question. “I have no wish to be rude,” Damion said wearily, “but my grandfather is not yet cold in his grave, and we are both chilled and drenched. I have not the slightest intention of discussing the future of elsha under these circumstances.”

Valdir’s horse threw up his head, as if reflecting his rider’s reaction. But the Ridenow lord said, “My deepest apologies if I gave that impression. Surely, such matters as the future of elsha merit serious attention and thoughtful debate.”

A debate you intend to be part of? Damion smothered a sigh. “We will speak at the proper time, in the proper setting.”

With an enigmatic smile, Valdir returned to his own kinsmen.

Mikhail, who had been riding close enough to overhear the conversation, guided his horse forward. “Was that something I should know about? I can’t tell if Dom Valdir meant he was your ally or your enemy.”

“If he is anything like his cousins, we will find ourselves on opposite sides of the Federation membership debate,” Damion said, frowning. “However, men have been known to change their minds. We must wait until we hear what he has to say before placing him in either camp.”

Mikhail glanced back, peering through the rain at the green and gold cloaks of the Ridenow party. “Francisco Ridenow seems to be a pleasant enough sort. I think I might have a word or two with him, if you don’t mind.”

“By all means, get to know him. Unless Dom Valdir produces a son, young Francisco stands in the line of succession, so if you are already on friendly terms, you may be of support to one another.”

Damion arrived back at his townhouse to find a hot bath waiting. He waved away the help of his servant and stripped off his sodden clothing himself. Dan helped with his boots.

Fresh-smelling herbs had been added to the steaming water. He eased himself in, wishing it were large enough for two.

“I’ll get mine later, once the horses are properly seen to,” Dan said with a hint of a grin. “Don’t fall asleep.”

Damion closed his eyes, feeling the heat seep into his aching muscles. The day’s ride had been long, but not beyond his strength. Emotional intensity, not physical exertion, had drained him. Around him, he sensed the house with all its familiar and alien aspects. Like so many other things in modern elsha, it represented an uneasy compromise between the past and the interstellar present. Reluctantly, Damion admitted he would miss the place, but he could not maintain a residence separate from council Castle. Shuddering, he slid deeper into the water. Even the most cheerful Castle rooms had the power to oppress him. As a child, he had fancied the ancient stone walls rising like mountains on all sides, crushing life and breath and hope.

At least, Damion thought wearily, he had resisted Grandfather’s schemes to make him king.

He was almost asleep when Dan glided into the bathroom with a mug of honey-sweetened chamomile tisane.

Spring lurched to a standstill as cold, damp weather settled over Thendara. It seemed to Damion that elsha itself mourned the passing of his grandfather. The few social gatherings were subdued. Damion attended only a few, those he could not in all civility decline. With Javanne’s help, he moved his household into the Carmen quarters of council Castle.

Damion stood in the middle of his grandfather’s study, alone yet hemmed in on every side by memories. The chamber was pleasant enough, designed and furnished for intimate meetings and research. Between the heavy glass windows and the perfectly situated fireplace, the room was warm even in the depths of winter. He would not change the massive desk or the bookcases that looked at least as old as his grandfather had been. The huge bed, on the other hand, he had already ordered moved to another part of the Carmen suite and his own brought from the townhouse.

Papers and bound ledgers, along with writing supplies and reference books, covered most of the desk. Damion had avoided going through them, as if he would be invading his grandfather’s privacy, snooping where he had no right. A part of him could not comprehend that this room, this library, this archival midden spanning three generations of council history, was now his. He had dreaded this day and dreamed of escaping it. Yet now that it was here, he found himself resigned. He would not have chosen it for himself—indeed, he would have chosen almost anything else—but over the last years, he had become reconciled. He was Carmen, and there was no one else.

A tap on the door brought him alert. Mikhail stepped in, backlit so that he appeared to be enveloped in his own golden aura. Damion smiled and gestured for him to come in.

Mikhail surveyed the room with an expression bordering on awe. “So this is where elsha’s destiny was plotted. And it’s yours now.”

“No,” Damion said, shaking his head, “it’s ours. I have no intention of sitting here alone, spinning out schemes like a spider in the center of a planet-spanning web. The reason I formed the Telepath Council in the first place was to ensure that many voices be heard. Together, we will plan our future.” With a light touch, he guided Mikhail into the chair behind the desk.

“Uncle Damion, I can’t sit here! This is your place now!”

“Someday, my lad, it will be yours. I want you to have the best training I can give you.”

“I’m not ready!”

“Not now, but you will be,” Damion said, reflecting that no honest man ever felt truly prepared for such a position. He himself certainly did not. Changing the subject, he pointed to a sheaf of papers covered with Danvan Carmen’s circular scrawl.

Mikhail could read and write the two primary Darkovan languages, casta and informal cahuenga, as well as piants Standard. “I think I could make out this handwriting with a little practice. It’s Lord Carmen’s, isn’t it?”

“Unfortunately, yes. He also employed a secretary, sometimes two or three, most of them trained at the Nevarsin monastery, so their script is quite clear.” Damion himself wrote a barely legible scrawl, but Dan, who had also studied at St. Valentine’s, still had the clearest writing of any of them.

“Much of this is of historical value,” Damion said, “but some will help us now. I’ll spend some time going through the documents, but I cannot do it alone.”

And I dare not trust anyone besides you and Dan.

Mikhail looked up, eyes wide. “Where do you want me to begin? How should I sort all this?”

“Let’s start by making an inventory. Use general categories—personal, Carmen Domain, council Council, like that. Set aside anything that strikes you as pertinent to the Federation membership. And . . .”

“Yes?”

“There may be a reference to a man named Rinaldo. He’d be in his early forties now. Please show me anything you find, even the slightest mention . . . and I trust your discretion. Mention this to no one.”

The light in Mikhail’s eyes gave Damion confidence in the younger man’s probity. Again, he blessed the impulse that led him to choose Mikhail over his brothers. They had turned into sturdy, reliable, unimaginative men, a credit to their family and caste. Mikhail . . . Mikhail was something more. Damion determined that, no matter what happened, Mikhail must not be pushed aside.

9

A few days later, as Mikhail continued to sort and catalog Danvan’s papers, Damion received another coded message from Lew Alton. As before, this was delivered through Dan Lawt’s office. Unlike the previous message, however, this one began with Lew’s request that the Legate listen to its content.

Damion had thought it was not possible for Lew to look any more haggard. With his scarred face and eyes etched with sorrow, Lew had always appeared older than his years. Tightly bottled anger now flushed his features.

“Damion . . . and Dan, I am assuming you are listening to this together.” Lew’s normal voice was hoarse because of his damaged vocal cords. “First of all, Damion, I’m sorry about your grandfather. I wish I could have spoken at the rhu fead, but that is for another life. In all sincerity, I wish him peace.”