And back in the hills the Comyn name meant something. Nearer to the Trade Cities, the influence of Terra has eroded the old habit of turning to the Comyn for leadership. But back there, the potency of the very name of Comyn was immense. The people neither knew nor cared that I was a half-Terran bastard. I was the son of Kennard Alton, and that was all that really mattered. For the first time I carried the full authority of a Comyn heir.
I even settled a blood-feud which had run three generations by suggesting that the eldest son of one house marry the only daughter of another and the disputed land be settled on their children. Only a Comyn lord could have suggested this without becoming himself entangled in the feud, but they accepted it. When I thought of the lives it would save, I was glad of the chance.
I rode into Thendara one morning in midsummer. I’ve heard offworlders say our planet has no summer, but there had been no snow for three days, even in the pre-dawn hours, and that was summer enough for me. The sun was dim and cloud-hidden, but as we rode down from the pass it broke through the layers of fog, throwing deep crimson lights on the city lying below us. Old people and children gathered inside the city gates to watch us, and I found I was grinning to myself. Part of it, of course, was the thought of being able to sleep for two nights in the same bed. But part of it was pure pleasure at knowing I’d done a good job. It seemed, for the first time in my life, that this was my city, that I was coming home. I had not chosen this duty—I had been born into it—but I no longer resented it so much.
Riding into the stable court of the Guards, I saw a brace of cadets on watch at the gates and more going out from the mess hall. They seemed a soldierly lot, not the straggle of awkward children they had been that first day. Dyan had done well enough, evidently. Well, it had never been his competence I questioned, but even so, I felt better. I turned my horse over to the grooms and went to make my report to my father.
He was out of bandages now, with his arm free of the sling, but he still looked pale, his lameness more pronounced than ever. He was in Council regalia, not uniform. He waved away my proffered report.
“No time for that now. And I’m sure you did as well as I could have done myself. But there’s trouble here. Are you very tired?”
“No, not really. What’s wrong, Father? More riots?”
“Not this time. A meeting of Council with the Terran Legate this morning. In the city, at Terran headquarters.”
“Why doesn’t he wait on you in the Council Chamber?” Comyn lords did not come and go at the bidding of the Terran an!
He caught the thought and shook his head. “It was Hastur himself who requested this meeting. It’s more important than you can possibly imagine. That’s why I want you to handle this for me. We need an honor guard, and I want you to choose the members very carefully. It would be disastrous if this became a subject of gossip in the Guards—or elsewhere.”
“Surely, Father, any Guardsman would be honor-bound—”
“In theory, yes,” he said dryly, “but in practice, some of them are more trustworthy than others. You know the younger men better than I do.” It was the first time he had ever admitted so much. He had missed me, needed me. I felt warmed and welcomed, even though all he said was, “Choose Guardsmen or cadets who are blood-kin to Comyn if you can, or the trustiest. You know best which of them have tongues that rattle at both ends.”
Gabriel Lanart, I thought, as I went down to the Guard hall, an Alton kinsman, married into the Hasturs. Lerrys Ridenow, the younger brother of the lord of his Domain. Old di Asturien, whose loyalty was as firm as the foundations of Comyn Castle itself. I left him to choose the veterans who would escort us through the streets—they would not go into the meeting rooms, so their choice was not so critical—and went off to cadet barracks.