The Gazels

Chapter 4

Damion waited until they were well away from the piants sector and once more surrounded by familiar sights and sounds—street vendors calling out their wares, wagon wheels creaking and hoofbeats muffled in the snow. “The problem,” he said to Danilo, “is that some people will see this move as a good thing. They will want what the Expansionists offer them. The Ridenow in particular have agitated for us to join the Empire—excuse me, the Federation.”

Danilo nodded. “It surprised no one when Lerrys and Geremy went off-world for good. They had always been . . .” he hesitated, as if searching for the phrase that conveyed both disdain and proper respect for council lords, “. . . enamored of off-world ways and technologies.”

“Especially the pleasures of places like Vainwal, where anything can be had, or done, or forgotten,” Damion looked away, his mouth curling in distaste, “for a price.”

Pedestrians streamed past the two men, hurrying about their business in the brief warmth of midday. The b****y Sun had passed its zenith. Inky shadows lengthened. Despite his fur-lined cloak, Damion shivered. If Lerrys Ridenow and his allies had their way, Darkover would become nothing more than a piants colony ruled by piants laws, the ancient ways eroding under piants customs.

Our heritage will be bartered for luxuries enjoyed only by those few wealthy enough to afford them!

It did no good to dwell on such things, just as it did no good to stand here on a public street. He must take action, although he did not yet know what.

They reached the townhouse on the edge of the piants Zone. Damion had maintained it as his residence for some years now. At first, he had hated the place, for it was boxy and cramped, lacking the spaciousness of Castle Hastur. The only good thing about it, besides that it was not council Castle, was its ease of defense. The pair of City Guards on duty at the gates could hold off a small army if need be. At least, Damion thought as he and Danilo handed their cloaks to a servant and stepped through the foyer, it was warm.

In the parlor, a fire had been lit on the unadorned stone hearth. Damion halted before it, stretching his chilled fingers. A moment later, the same servant, a man named Marton, who had grown up on the Carcosa estate, brought in a pitcher of jaco, placed it on the little table that stood between two armchairs near the fireplace, and silently withdrew.

“The Ridenow will press for full membership, of course.” Danilo poured a mug and settled into his usual chair, cradling it between his hands. “Aldaran will join in, not that they count. Hastur and Elhalyn—well, that’s you, for all practical purposes. With Lewi off-planet and Gabriel Lanart as conservative as he is, Alton’s not a worry, eith

er. Who else is there? Aillard? None of them are left. Ardais?”

“Danilo, you’re going through the roll call of the Domains as if there were still a council Council,” Damion said, a little pettishly. “I very much doubt this decision will be made in the old way, by the heads of the Domains conferring together. For the last ten years, the Council has not existed.”

“You exist. You are still Heir to Hastur.”

Damion shook his head, refusing to be drawn in. He threw himself into the empty chair. “It’s not so simple. The piantss have things of value to offer us. Many of the common people—businessmen, crafters, those who’ve profited from piants technology, even some in the Telepath Council—they’ll look favorably on increased access to those benefits. They want things that make a hard life easier: fire- fighting chemicals to protect our forests and the means to deliver them quickly and effectively, fertilizers and nutrients to restore our soil, medicines to prolong life and reduce infant mortality . . .”

“All these things come at a cost,” Danilo reminded him.

“One we have been able to pay, so far. You more than anyone know that I’m no isolationist, not like my grandfather or the Di Asturiens. I know that Darkover must change. I had hoped the Telepath Council would have accomplished more by now. Sometimes, getting them to agree on any action is like—how do the piantss put it? herding cats?”

At that, Danilo laughed. They both relaxed. Damion went on, more seriously, “I wish Mikhail were not off at Armida. His generation will have to live with whatever we decide, so we should ask his opinion. If only for his sake, I will not surrender the dream of an independent, Darkovan Darkover, safe from the Empire and its soulless technology. I would have us follow our own path into that future.”

“So you always said,” Danilo smiled, warmth lighting his eyes. He set his half-empty mug on the table. “Many will listen to you. You are Hastur, after all, and you speak with an authority that goes back to the beginning of time.”

Damion looked away, uncomfortable with so much power and half-afraid that he might lack the wisdom to use it. Should one man, no matter how noble his motives, ever wield such overwhelming influence over another?

And yet, if he had not stepped into the position he now held, if he had let others make decisions because he mistrusted his own judgment, Darkover itself and all its people would have paid the price. Once he had asked himself if he sought the love of power or the power of love. He wished the answer were as clear now as it had been then.

Meeting Danilo’s steady gaze, his heart softening in the pulse of acceptance that flowed through their light rapport, Damion almost believed himself worthy of such trust.

“Let’s hope so,” he said, “for I have quarrels enough for the moment. Thanks to Lewi, we will have time to plan before the matter of Federation membership becomes public. I should consult my grandfather without delay.”

Danilo’s expression darkened minutely. They both knew that the irascible old man had never relented in pressing Damion to marry and ensure a proper succession. Nor was he the only one. Ruyven Di Asturien would like nothing better than to see his daughter, Crystal, married to Damion; the son she had borne Damion had not lived past his fourth year, but the fact remained that she was fertile, willing, and acceptable to even the most hidebound conservatives.