Beltran turned his eyes on Regis. His voice was level and grim. “Regis Hastur. You are not now in the Domains, but in Aldaran’s stronghold. You came here of your own free will, and you will not depart from here until you command your minion to use his powers as I shall direct.”
“My paxman is free to follow his own will and conscience. He has refused you; I support his decision. Now, Lord Aldaran, I respectfully request your leave to depart.”
Beltran shouted in the mountain tongue. The doors suddenly burst open and a dozen of his guards burst into the fireside room. I realized, in sudden consternation, that he must have meant this all along. One of them approached Regis, who was unarmed; Danilo quickly drew his dagger and stepped between them, but was swiftly disarmed. Beltran’s men dragged them back out of the way.
Marjorie faced Beltran in angry reproach.
“Beltran, you cannot! This is treachery! He was our father’s guest!”
But not my guest,” Beltran said, and the words were a snarl, “and I have no patience with barbarian codes under a pretense of honor! Now for you, Lew Alton. Will you honor your pledge to us?”
“You speak of honor?” The words seemed to rise from some hidden spring within me, and I spat on the floor at his feet. “I honor my pledge to you as you honor your father’s memory!” I turned my back on him. Within the hour I would be in touch with Arilinn by matrix, and the Comyn would know what Beltran planned …
I had forgotten the link still strong between us all. Kadarin said, “Oh, no, you won’t,” and gestured to the guards. “Take him!”
My hand fell to sword-hilt—and found, of course, nothing. Wear no sword, at kinsman’s board. I had trusted in my safety in my cousin’s own house! Two guards seized me, held me motionless between them. Kadarin came to where I was held and raised his hand to my throat, jerking the laces of my tunic undone. He raised his hand to the leather bag containing my personal matrix.
I began to struggle now in deadly fear. It had never been more than a few inches from my body since I had been keyed into it when I was twelve years old. I had been warned what it meant to have anyone else touch it. Kadarin hauled at the leather bag; I brought my knee up into his groin. He yelled with pain, and I felt the shock of the agony through my own body, doubling me up, but it only strengthened his fury. He beckoned to the rest of the guards. It took four of them to do it, but before long I was spread-eagled on the floor, arms and legs pinioned down, while Kadarin knelt atop me, straddling my helpless body, his fists flailing blows on my face. I felt blood breaking from my nose, my eyes; I gagged on my own blood, streaming down my throat from a broken tooth. I could no longer see Marjorie for the blood in my eyes, but I heard her shrieking, sobbing, begging. Were they hurting her too?
Kadarin drew his dagger. He stared straight down into my eyes, his face flickering with that unholy flame. He said between his teeth, “I should cut your throat now and save us all some trouble.”
With a swift, downward slash, he cut the thong that held the leather bag; seized it between his hands and wrenched it away.
Until the day I die, I shall never forget that agony. I heard Marjorie scream, a long, death-like shriek of pain and terror, felt my whole body arch backward in a convulsive spasm, then fall limp. I heard my own voice screaming hoarsely, felt steel fingers clutch at my heart, felt my breathing falter. Every nerve in my body was in spasm. I had never known I could live through such anguish. Red haze blurring what was left of my sight, I felt myself dying and instinctively I heard my own tortured shriek:
“Father! Father!”
Then it all went dark and blind and I thought, This is death.
I don’t know what happened in the next three days. For all I know, I was dead. I know it was three days because I was told so later; it might have been thirty seconds or thirty years later that I came up to foggy awareness that I was alive, and that I would much rather not be.