Free Heritage and Exile by Marion Zimmer Bradley Page A

stone-floored, stone-arched room, cobblestones half worn away by the feet of centuries of Guardsmen. The light came curiously, multicolored and splintered, through windows set in before the art of rolling glass was known.
    I drew the lists Andres had given me from a pocket and studied them. On the topmost sheet were names of the first-year cadets. The name of Regis Hastur was at the bottom, evidently added somewhat later than the rest. Damn it, where was Regis? I checked the list of second-year cadets. The name of Octavien Vallonde had been dropped from the rolls. I hadn’t expected to see his name, but it would have relieved my mind.
    On the staff list Father had crossed out his own name as commander and written in mine, evidently with his right hand, and with great difficulty. I wished he had saved himself the trouble. Gabriel Lanart-Hastur, Javanne’s husband and my cousin, had replaced me as second-in-command. He should have had the command post. I was no soldier, only a matrix technician, and I fully intended to return to Arilinn at the end of the three-year interval required now by law. Gabriel, though, was a career Guardsman, liked it and was competent. He was Alton too, and seated on Council. Most Comyn felt he should have been designated Kennard’s heir. Yet we were friends, after a fashion, and I wished he were here today, instead of at Edelweiss waiting for the birth of Javanne’s child.
    Father evidently saw no discrepancy. He had been psi technician in Arilinn for over ten years, back in the old days of tower isolation, yet he had been able afterward to return and take command of the Guards without any terrible sense of dissonance. My own inner conflicts evidently were not important, or even comprehensible, to him.
    Arms-master again was old Domenic di Asturien, who had been a captain when my father was a cadet of fourteen. He had been my own cadet-master, my first year and was almost the only officer in the Guard who had ever been fair to me.
    Cadet-master—I rubbed my eyes and stared at the lists; I must have read it wrong. The words obstinately stayed the same. Cadet-master: Dyan-Gabriel, Lord Ardais .
    I groaned aloud. Oh, hell, this had to be one of Father’s perverse jokes. He’s no fool, only a fool would put a man like Dyan in charge of half-grown boys. Not after the scandal last year. We had managed to keep the scandal from reaching Lord Hastur, and I had believed that even Dyan knew he had gone too far.
    Let me be clear about one thing: I don’t like Dyan and he doesn’t approve of me, but he is a brave man and a good soldier, probably the best and most competent officer in the Guards. As for his personal life, no one dares comment on a Comyn lord’s private amusements.
    I learned, long ago, not to listen to gossip. My own birth had been a major scandal for years. But this had been more than gossip. Personally, I think Father had been unwise to hustle the Vallonde boy away home without question or investigation. Part of what he said was true. Octavien was disturbed, unstable, he’d never belonged in the Guards and it was our mistake for ever accepting him as a cadet. But Father had said that the sooner it was hushed up, the quicker the unsavory story would die down. The rumors had never died of course, probably never would.
    The room was beginning to fill up with uniformed men. Dyan came to the dais where the officers were collecting, gave me an unfriendly scowl. No doubt he had expected to be named as Father’s deputy. Even that would have been better than making him cadet-master. Damn it, I couldn’t go along with that. Father’s choice or not.
    Dyan’s private life was no one’s affair but his own and I wouldn’t care if he chose to love men, women, or goats. He could have as many concubines as a Dry-Towner, and most people would gossip no more or less. But more scandal in the Guards? Damn it, no! This touched the honor of the Guards,