Read Online Stormqueen! by Marion Zimmer Bradley, Paul Edwin Zimmer - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Marion Zimmer Bradley, Paul Edwin Zimmer
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who gave us laran !”
Now Allart was angry again. “It is you who blaspheme, sir, if you think the gods can be bent to human purposes this way!”
“You insolent - ” His father sprang up, then, with an enormous effort, controlled his rage. “My son, you are young, and warped by these monkish notions. Come back to the heritage to which you were born, and you will learn better. What I ask of you is both right and needful if the Hasturs are to prosper. No” - he gestured for silence when Allart would have spoken - “on these matters you are still ignorant, and your education must be completed. A male virgin” - try as he might, Lord Elhalyn could not keep the contempt from his voice - “is not competent to judge.”
“Believe me,” Allart said, “I am not indifferent to the charms of women. But I do not wish to pass on the curse of my blood. And I will not.”
“That is not open to discussion,” Dom Stephen said, menace in his voice. “You will not disobey me, Allart. I would think it disgrace if a son of mine must father his sons drugged like some reluctant bride, but there are drugs which will do that to you, too, if you leave us no choice.” Holy Bearer of Burdens, help me! How shall I keep from killing him as he stands here before me ?
Dom Stephen said more quietly, “This is no time for argument, my son. You must give us a chance to convince you that your scruples are unfounded. I beg of you, go now and clothe yourself as befits a man and a Hastur, and make ready to ride with me. You are so needed, my dear son, and - do you not know how much I have missed you?” The genuine love in his voice thrust pain through Allart’s heart. A thousand childhood memories crowded in on him, blurring past and future with their tenderness. He was a pawn to his father’s pride and heritage, yes, but with all this, Lord Elhalyn sincerely loved all his sons, had been genuinely afraid for Allart’s health and sanity - or he would never have sent him to a cristoforo monastery, of all places on the face of this world! Allart thought, I cannot even hate him; it would be so much easier if I could !
“I will come, Father. Believe me, I have no wish to anger you.”
“Nor I to threaten you, lad.” Dom Stephen held out his arms. “Do you know, we have not yet greeted one another as kinsmen? Do these cristoforos bid you renounce kin-ties, son?”
Allart embraced his father, feeling with dismay the bony fragility of the old man’s body, knowing that the appearance of domineering anger masked advancing weakness and age. “All the gods forbid I should do so while you live, my father. Let me go and make ready to ride.”
“Go, then, my son. For it displeases me more than I can say, to see you in this garb so unfitting for a man.”
Allart did not answer, but bowed and went to change his clothes. He would go with his father, yes, and present the appearance of a dutiful son. With certain limits, he would be so. But now he knew what Father Master had meant. Changes were needful in his world, and he could not make them behind monastery walls.
He could see himself riding forth, could see a great hawk hovering, the face of a woman… a woman. He knew so little of women. And now they meant to deliver up to him not one but three, drugged and complaisant… that he would fight to the end of his will and conscience; he would be no part of this monstrous breeding program of the Domains. Never . The monkish garb discarded, he knelt briefly, for the last time, on the cold stones of his cell.
“Holy Bearer of Burdens, strengthen me to bear my share of the world’s weight…” he murmured, then rose and began to clothe himself in the ordinary dress of a nobleman of the Domains, strapping a sword at his side for the first time in over six years.
“Blessed Saint-Valentine-of-the-Snows, grant I may bear it justly in the world…” he whispered, then sighed, and looked for the last time on his cell. He knew, with a sorrowful inner knowledge,
Now Allart was angry again. “It is you who blaspheme, sir, if you think the gods can be bent to human purposes this way!”
“You insolent - ” His father sprang up, then, with an enormous effort, controlled his rage. “My son, you are young, and warped by these monkish notions. Come back to the heritage to which you were born, and you will learn better. What I ask of you is both right and needful if the Hasturs are to prosper. No” - he gestured for silence when Allart would have spoken - “on these matters you are still ignorant, and your education must be completed. A male virgin” - try as he might, Lord Elhalyn could not keep the contempt from his voice - “is not competent to judge.”
“Believe me,” Allart said, “I am not indifferent to the charms of women. But I do not wish to pass on the curse of my blood. And I will not.”
“That is not open to discussion,” Dom Stephen said, menace in his voice. “You will not disobey me, Allart. I would think it disgrace if a son of mine must father his sons drugged like some reluctant bride, but there are drugs which will do that to you, too, if you leave us no choice.” Holy Bearer of Burdens, help me! How shall I keep from killing him as he stands here before me ?
Dom Stephen said more quietly, “This is no time for argument, my son. You must give us a chance to convince you that your scruples are unfounded. I beg of you, go now and clothe yourself as befits a man and a Hastur, and make ready to ride with me. You are so needed, my dear son, and - do you not know how much I have missed you?” The genuine love in his voice thrust pain through Allart’s heart. A thousand childhood memories crowded in on him, blurring past and future with their tenderness. He was a pawn to his father’s pride and heritage, yes, but with all this, Lord Elhalyn sincerely loved all his sons, had been genuinely afraid for Allart’s health and sanity - or he would never have sent him to a cristoforo monastery, of all places on the face of this world! Allart thought, I cannot even hate him; it would be so much easier if I could !
“I will come, Father. Believe me, I have no wish to anger you.”
“Nor I to threaten you, lad.” Dom Stephen held out his arms. “Do you know, we have not yet greeted one another as kinsmen? Do these cristoforos bid you renounce kin-ties, son?”
Allart embraced his father, feeling with dismay the bony fragility of the old man’s body, knowing that the appearance of domineering anger masked advancing weakness and age. “All the gods forbid I should do so while you live, my father. Let me go and make ready to ride.”
“Go, then, my son. For it displeases me more than I can say, to see you in this garb so unfitting for a man.”
Allart did not answer, but bowed and went to change his clothes. He would go with his father, yes, and present the appearance of a dutiful son. With certain limits, he would be so. But now he knew what Father Master had meant. Changes were needful in his world, and he could not make them behind monastery walls.
He could see himself riding forth, could see a great hawk hovering, the face of a woman… a woman. He knew so little of women. And now they meant to deliver up to him not one but three, drugged and complaisant… that he would fight to the end of his will and conscience; he would be no part of this monstrous breeding program of the Domains. Never . The monkish garb discarded, he knelt briefly, for the last time, on the cold stones of his cell.
“Holy Bearer of Burdens, strengthen me to bear my share of the world’s weight…” he murmured, then rose and began to clothe himself in the ordinary dress of a nobleman of the Domains, strapping a sword at his side for the first time in over six years.
“Blessed Saint-Valentine-of-the-Snows, grant I may bear it justly in the world…” he whispered, then sighed, and looked for the last time on his cell. He knew, with a sorrowful inner knowledge,
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