Danilo was there, in dress uniform. A little self-consciously, he wished me a joyous Festival. I returned the greeting. “Where is Regis? I don’t see him anywhere.”
“He was on duty tonight, sir. I offered to change with him—all his kinsmen are here—but he said he would have years of it, and I should go and enjoy myself.”
I wondered which officer, in malice or by way of emphasizing that a Hastur could expect no favors in the cadets, had made certain that Regis Hastur would draw a tour of duty on Festival Night. I only wished I had so good an excuse.
“Well, enjoy yourself by all means, Dani,” I told him.
The hidden musicians had struck up a sword dance and Danilo turned eagerly to watch as two Guardsmen came with torches to place the swords. The hall lights were lowered to emphasize the ancient and barbaric quality of this oldest of traditional mountain dances. It is usually danced by one of the greatest dancers in Thendara; to my surprise, it was Dyan Ardais who strode forward, wearing the brilliantly barbaric costume whose history was lost before the Ages of Chaos.
There are not many amateurs, even in the Hellers, who still know all the traditional steps and patterns. I’d seen Dyan dance it when I was a child at Armida, in my father’s hall. I thought that it went better there, to the music of a single drone-pipe, by the glare of firelight and a torch or two, than here in the elaborate ballroom, surrounded by ladies in fancy party costumes and bored noblemen and city folk.
Yet even the elaborately garbed ladies and noblemen fell silent, impressed by the strange solemnity of the old dance. And yes—I give him his due—by Dyan’s performance. For once he looked grave, stern, free of the flippant cynicism I detested so, wholly caught up in the tense, treading-on-eggs quality of the weaving steps. The dance displays a fierce, almost tigerish masculinity, and Dyan brought a sort of leashed violence to it. As he snatched up the swords in the final figure and held them poised over his head, there was not a sound anywhere in the ballroom. Because I had been impressed against my will, I tried deliberately to break the spell.
I said aloud to Danilo, “I wonder who he’s showing off to this time? It’s a pity Dyan’s indifferent to women; after this he’d have to beat them off with a pitchfork!”
I found myself pitying any woman—or any man, for that matter—who allowed himself to be charmed by Dyan. I hoped for his own sake that Danilo was not one of them. It’s natural enough for boys that age to be strongly attracted to any strong character, and a cadet-master is a natural object for such romantic identification. If the older man is an honorable and kindly one, it does no harm and wears off in a short time. I long since grew out of any such childish attachments and, although I’ve been on the receiving end a time or two, I made sure it went no further than a few exchanged smiles.
Well, I wasn’t Dani’s guardian, and it had been made clear that Dyan was beyond my reach. Besides, I had enough worries of my own.
Dyan was moving toward the buffet; I saw him stop for a glass of wine, speaking to the Guardsmen there with a show of affability. We came briefly face to face. Resolving that if there was any discourtesy among Comyn I would not be the one to show it, I made some brief polite comment on the dance. He replied with equally meaningless courtesy, his eyes straying past me. I wondered who he was looking for and received in return—my barriers must have been lowered for a moment—a surge of violent anger. Perhaps after tonight this meddlesome bastard will be busy with his own affairs and have less time for interfering in mine!
I made the briefest possible polite bow and moved away for my promised dance with Linnell. The floor was filling quickly with dancers; I took Linnell’s fingertips and led her to the floor.
Linnell is a pretty child, with soft bronze-brown hair and blue eyes framed in lashes so long and dark they looked unreal. She was, I thought, considerably prettier than her kinswoman Callina, who had looked so severe and stern at Council yesterday.