“Steady, Lew,” he muttered. “It’s what he wants you to do, come after him without thinking—”

The matrix at my throat was suddenly alive with flame, and a voice whispered, called in my mind.

… I am here! I am here…all your rage, all the fury of frustrated lust, let it turn on them to serve me, burning, burning…

Sharra! The voice of Sharra, whispering like a frantic ghost in my mind, the fury of all my frustration, leaping up to betray me… Thyra’s eyes, burning into mine, the red flame of her hair seeming to blaze up around her! And suddenly it flared all around her, as Thyra seemed to grow taller, to rise and tower above us into the heights of the ballroom, as I saw Kadarin’s long fine hand, the hand of a chieri, flash and draw the sword, thatsword—

It called to me. I had dragged it unwilling through half a Galaxy because I could not leave it behind, and now it summoned me, summoned me… half-aware, I slid my dagger back into its sheath; my place was at Kadarin’s side, lending strength to the Goddess, pouring all my own rage and terror and frustration through it… my hand went to the matrix at my throat. I saw some woman whose name I could not remember staring at me with widening blue eyes— I heard her whisper a name I no longer associated with myself, but she was nothing to me, and a young man with the face of a mortal enemy… Hastur, he was Hastur… the mortal enemy, the first to strike! I felt his hand gripping at my arm and thrust him away with uncanny strength, so that his knees buckled and he spread to the floor; and all this time that pattern of hate and fear, mingled love and loathing, beat in my mind…I took a step, then another, toward where the Goddess flamed above me.

I must return… return to Sharra, return to the immortal who rose in flame above me forever, burn myself in the purging fire… she was there, Marjorie, calling me from within the flames of Sharra, those compelling amber eyes, the cascade of red hair wildly tossing sparks and flame and the smell of burning, as I burned for her with lust and terror…

The one I knew to be my mortal enemy was gripping me now with both hands as I fought my way, step by step, through the cries of the yammering crowd, to where Sharra burned…

“No, damn it, Lew,” he gasped, “You’re not going, if I have to kill you first and give you a clean death…” and he struck at me with the dagger, tearing a line of blood across my good arm. The pain made me waver, come to myself a little, know what was happening.

“Regis—help me,” I heard myself whisper.

“Your matrix! Let me—” Before I could stop him, he snatched out his own dagger, cut the string which held my matrix round my neck; I tensed, in anticipation of agony unendurable… once Kadarin had ripped it away and I had gone into convulsions… but even through the leather bag and the silks I felt the touch—

The form of Sharra wavered, sank… I did not know what Regis was doing, but strand by strand, it seemed that the gripping call of Sharra lessened in my mind. I heard it still, a soft insidious voice whispering in my mind…

Return to me, return, take vengeance on all these who have scorned and despised you… return, return…

…to Darkover and fight for your brother’s rights and your own… but now it was my father’s voice; I had never thought I would be glad to hear that haunting voice in my mind, but now it recalled me wholly to myself, like a plunge into an icy stream. Then that too quieted, and I stood looking at Kadarin and Thyra where they stood together, the Sharra sword in Kadarin’s hand, Thyra’s hair still tossing with the last sparks of the dying flame.

Gabriel broke away from Javanne; made a quick step toward Kadarin, his sword in hand. Perhaps all he saw was the invasion by a wanted man; I never knew whether the Form of Fire had been real or whether anyone but myself had seen it. Kadarin whirled, shoving Thyra before him, as Gabriel shouted for the Guard and the young cadets started flocking toward him from everywhere in the room. I drew my dagger again and started for him too, then stood paralyzed—

The air seemed full of cold shimmering light. Kadarin and Thyra stood frozen, too, and I saw Kathie caught between them.

They did not physically touch her, but something shook her like the grip of some invisible thing with claws; tossed her aside and caught at Linnell. She was in their grip as if she had been bound, hand and foot. I think she screamed, but the very idea of sound had died in the thickening darkness around Kadarin and Thyra. Linnell sagged, held up hideously on empty air; then fell, striking the floor with a crushing impact, as if something had shaken her and then dropped her. I fought toward her, shouting soundless curses, but I could not move, could not really see.

Kathie flung herself down by Linnell. I think she was the only person capable of free movement in that hall. As she caught up Linnell in her arms I saw that the tortured face had gone smooth and free of horror; a moment Linnell lay quiet, soothed, then she struggled with a bone-wrenching spasm, and slackened, a loose, limp small thing with her head lolling on her twin’s breast.

And above her the monstrous Form of Fire grew again for a moment, Kadarin’s face and Thyra’s blazing out from the center… then it all swam away and for a moment that cold and damnable mask I had seen in Ashara’s Tower blazed out and swam before my eyes…

… and then it was gone. Only a little stirring in the air, and Kadarin and Thyra were gone, too; the lights blazed back and I heard Kathie scream, and heard the cries of the crowd as I elbowed my way savagely to Linnell’s side.

She was dead, of course. I knew that even before I laid my hand over Kathie’s in a vain attempt to feel any pulse of life. She was lying, a tumbled, pathetic little heap across Kathie’s lap. Behind her, blackened and charred panels showed where warp and distortion had faded and Kadarin and Thyra were gone. Callina thrust her way through the crowd, and bent over Linnell. Around me I heard the sound of the Festival throng subsiding. Gabriel sent out the Guard that had gathered, in an attempt that I knew would be vain—Kadarin had not gone out of the castle in any recognizable way and searching the grounds would do no good, even if the Terran Legate joined his forces to ours for the man they both wanted. The other people in the crowd were wedging in around us, and I heard that horrible sound of horror and curiosity which runs through a crowd when tragedy strikes. Hastur said something, and people began silently leaving the ballroom. I thought, this is the first time in hundreds of years that this Festival has been interrupted.

Regis was still standing like one of the pillars of the Castle, his face pale, his hand still gripping his matrix. The Hastur Gift. We did not know what it was; but we had seen its power now for the second time.

Callina had not shed a tear. She was leaning on my arm, so numbed with shock that there was not even grief in her eyes; she only looked dazed. My main worry was now to get her away from the inquisitive remnant of the crowd. It was strange that I did not once think of Beltran, even though the marriage-bracelet was still locked on her wrist.

Her lips moved.

“So this was what Ashara intended…” she whispered.

She collapsed and went limp in my arms.

BOOK THREE: The Hastur Gift

CHAPTER ONE

« ^ »

After Lew carried Callina from the ballroom, Regis Hastur’s first thought was of his grandfather. He hurried toward the place where he had last seen Lord Hastur watching the dancers; he found him there, pale and shaken, but uninjured.

“Linnell is dead—” Regis said, and Danvan Hastur put a hand to his heart. He said, gasping, “What of the prince, what of Derik?” He tried to rise, but fell back, and Regis said “Keep still, sir—I’ll see to it.” He beckoned to Danilo, who broke into a run across the floor.