Herm felt a weight on his arm, and for a moment thought it was his Kate. Then he opened his eyes, saw a clouded dawn sky above his head, and found that the boy had rolled over in his sleep and pillowed his head against Herm’s shoulder. There was something very trusting in this, and he was moved by an unexpected rush of tenderness. He barely knew Domenic, and now here they were, alone together, involved in a covert operation.
The events of the previous night flooded into his mind, filled with fear and regret, but also a profound sense of relief. He was glad to be away from Katherine for a time. Then, just as he began to enjoy the relief, guilt crept into his consciousness, destroying the mild pleasure of having escaped the situation for a while. He saw his choice as somewhat cowardly now, and was ashamed. Katherine was right. Everything had changed between them since they had come to Darkover. He had just been too stubborn and too self-involved to admit it before. It was a bitter pill to swallow so early in the day.
The tension which had thrummed along his nerves for weeks, was still there, but subtly altered. He had escaped one set of problems only to be saddled with another. Herm had not anticipated how difficult it was going to be, not just for Katherine and the children, but for himself. He loved Darkover deeply, but his homecoming had not been what he expected. He felt sad and angry at the same time, the very emotions he had tried his best to avoid most of his adult life.
And now he was uncertain of his decision, wracked with doubts that rarely troubled him. He had taken the easy way out of the conflict with his wife. Why? Ultimately it would only make things worse. Reluctantly Herm acknowledged to himself that he had put his world before his personal life—again! There was no other rational explanation for why he had kept Kate in the dark about the talents that gave the Comyn much of their authority. He was the cunning man, wasn’t he? Surely, if he had really wished to, he could have found a way to tell her the truth, even with Federation spy eyes and ears all around him. He hated himself for leaving Katherine the way he had. He felt drained now, bewildered, and full of self-loathing. It was too many conflicting emotions to contain. He would have killed for a cup of synthecaf, if he could have gotten one.
Nico stirred, interrupting Herm’s dark thoughts. He opened his eyes, and then rubbed them with a rather grubby hand. He had gray eyes, flecked with gold, the iris rimmed in black. His black hair went back from his brow in a peak, very like Lew Alton’s, giving the boy something of the appearance of a hawk, with his prominent nose and small mouth. Not a handsome lad, but there was a lot of character in his face, and his eyes shone with intelligence.
“Uh, sorry.” Nico shifted his head off Herm’s shoulder. “Tell me, is having an adventure always this uncomfortable? There must be a million rocks under me.”
It was cold, even under the blankets, and the rocks Herm had noticed when he slipped into sleep seemed to have indeed multiplied during the night. He sat up and looked around, the covers falling off his chest. “I don’t know, since I have not had a great number of adventures. And thus far, this one is pretty tame, Tomas. But I agree about the rocks. Perhaps we were lying on a migration path of stones.” It was a feeble jest, yet Herm was quite pleased that he had managed it.
To his surprise, this bit of levity provoked a look of alarm on the boy’s face. It was gone in an instant, but for a moment he thought that Domenic had taken him seriously. It was a troubling notion for no reason he could immediately understand. He opened his mouth to ask about it, then silenced himself. Herm remembered himself at fifteen, how secretive and spiky he had been, and decided that Nico should be let alone for the present.
“What are we going to do now?”
“Now we are going to get some breakfast from one of the foodstalls. I don’t believe our friend got very far, as drunk as he was, and if my guess is correct, he is suffering from a bad hangover and wishing he were dead. Later, I think we might make a few cautious inquiries among the Travelers—you spoke of a pretty girl. Maybe she can tell us something about him.”
“What if she recognizes me?”
“A good question, and one I had not thought of. You might have a real talent for subterfuge, boy.”
“Thank you, Uncle. But if I do, no one has ever noticed it before. Rory is the one . . . He is going to be furious when he finds out what I’ve done. And jealous.” There was a certain quiet satisfaction in the words.
“No doubt. You are the ‘good’ one, aren’t you, like my own older brother? And I was like Rory when I was your age, always into some trouble or other.”
“Yesterday . . . it seems longer ago . . . Mother was saying that I must be abnormal because I never gave her a minute’s worry. If she had foreseen what I was going to do, she would have bitten her tongue.”
“Well, she didn’t, and saved herself a pot of bother. Now, roll up the bedding and put it back on the horse, and we will fill our bellies. The Travelers seem to be late risers.”
Among the footstalls there was a booth that offered a pail of heated water for the refreshment of wayfarers, and they afforded themselves of its services. As Herm splashed the warm liquid over his face, he started to feel better, and Nico removed most of the grime that he had somehow acquired during the night. Then they got bowls of porridge, thick stuff, rich with dried fruits, and slabs of warmed over flatbread. They ate in silence, until the food was consumed. It was a peaceful moment in what promised to be a tense day.
Herm you were right. That man, Vancof, only went up the road a little. Here he comes, and he seems to be in a very bad mood.
How do you know?
He is practically shouting his thoughts. I think he is afraid of something. He was frightened last night as well—of the other man, Granfell, but mostly of getting killed. He is cursing the day he ever came to Darkover, or joined Intelligence.
Good. Angry men make stupid mistakes.
They went to the horses and got them fed and watered. After a few minutes, the skinny driver came down the road, muttering to himself, and went to the wagon with the puppets painted on its sides. A female voice from within began to abuse him roundly.
“Is that the girl you mentioned?”
“I don’t know, Uncle. It doesn’t sound like her voice. And she didn’t look like she could swear like that. She seemed rather nice.”
The driver backed away from the wain, and a plump woman emerged. Her voice was lower now, so they could not overhear the words, but it was obvious that she was berating the man. After a minute another figure came out of the wagon, the slender redhead Nico had seen the previous day. She was knuckling sleep from her eyes, and looked very cross.
“Auntie, leave off!” Her voice carried across the field, as she tugged at the older woman’s sleeve. Then, suddenly, she dropped her hand and looked around, scanning the booths and stalls, as if she was looking for something. The expression on her face seemed puzzled and a little frightened.
At her movement, Nico ducked behind his horse and looked alarmed. Herm watched and saw the girl shake her head, and turn back to the now sullen combatants. The driver was red-faced with fury, and the older woman seemed about to shake him by his slight shoulders.
She sensed me!
Were you probing her, Nico?
No, just sort of . . . hovering around. It is something Mother taught me. But she noticed it. She must have some laran, otherwise she wouldn’t have. And if she sees me, she is going to wonder why I was standing guard yesterday. What’s she doing here, and why isn’t she in a Tower?
That’s a very good question, Nico. Another is who is she? She does not have the appearance of a commoner, does she?
I don’t know. I mean, she looks ordinary, like other people, to me, except for her red hair. And even though I know that red hair often goes along with laran, it i’s not always so. My Aunt Rafaella has pretty red hair, and not a lick of laran—although her sister was in a Tower for a time. And my hair is dark, yet my gifts are strong. That girl certainly is pretty, and she has a really sharp tongue. He gave the mental equivalent of a sigh. I don’t have much experience with anyone except the people in the castle and at Arilinn. I feel totally ignorant about a lot of things.
No, I suppose not. Very likely she is some nedestra child of the Comyn, but I agree that her presence among the Travelers is a little peculiar. When I left Darkover, there were only two or three groups of them, and they were more an amusing source of light entertainment than anything else. Still, I suppose that some randy sprig of the Domains might have fathered her and given her that fiery head of hair and a bit of laran, and never known he had done it.
You mean her mother was likely a Traveler?
It is a reasonable idea—in light of our total lack of real information!
By now both sides of the road were abustle with activity. The muleteers were loading their animals, and a wagon was pulling through the gates, loaded with barrels of beer or wine. Then several women with cropped hair and weathered faces rode out.
“Oh, hell!”
“What’s the matter, Tomas?”
“It’s Aunt Rafi!”
“Who?” Herm looked back at the troup of Renunciates whose appearance had so clearly alarmed the boy.
“That woman in the lead, that’s Rafaella n’ha Liriel, my aunt of sorts. She is freemated to Great-Uncle Rafe Scott. I’ll just bet Mother has sent her to drag me back and lock me in the Castle!” There was no mistaking the bitterness in his voice.
“They might be on another errand, lad.” He agreed that the appearance of the woman was suspicious, but he was less ready than Nico to leap to any conclusions. During the dinner where he had sat beside Marguerida Alton, he had taken her measure, and thought her a sensible if somewhat forceful person. He had liked her a great deal, and he hoped that she and Kate would talk when Marguerida had the time. He suspected that once they knew one another, they would get along well. Herm did not want his sister to be the only confidant his wife had.
He wondered again if he should have told Katherine what he was doing, but after a few moment’s reflection he decided he had made the safest decision. Although only those with the Alton Gift, like Nico or Lew, could force information out of the minds of the unsuspecting, he was acutely aware that any telepath could overhear the topmost thoughts of another. And, for no reason he could put a finger to, he did not want his sister Gisela knowing what he was about.
Herm watched the Renunciate woman stand up in her stirrups and scan the fields. She had very curly hair, red but starting to gray, and a cheerful expression. Then she urged her horse forward and rode over to them. She dismounted and walked up to Herm, her callused hand extended in a friendly way. He allowed himself a silent curse at this confirmation of Nico’s suggestion. He did not really want a pack of women, however capable, tagging along. But he clasped the offered hand and made his mouth smile.
“We are your escort,” the woman said quietly. “Sorry we are a bit late.” Her blue eyes were twinkling as she spoke, and she ignored Nico completely after giving him a swift examination.
“Yes, I see.”
“It was decided you might be less noticeable if you were in the company of some Renunciates,” she went on, speaking so quietly that he knew no one would overhear them. Then she gave Nico a friendly smile. “It was a compromise, you see. To keep Marguerida happy.” She chuckled softly, as if some memory amused her. “There is no one else I would allow to drag me out of a warm bed in the middle of the night to form up an expedition on a moment’s notice.”
“Then you aren’t going to take me back,” he whispered.
“No, those are not my instructions.” Rafaella did not explain any further, but there was something a little guarded in her expression.
“I see. I am Ian MacAnndra, and this is my nephew Tomas,” Herm told her, to forestall the use of any names that might prick the interest of bystanders. And it was a good idea. An escort of Renunciates would be a good cover for their activities, as well as added protection for the boy. His respect for Marguerida Alton-Hastur went up a notch. She must have been frantic when she learned what her usually sensible son had done, and yet she had found a solution that was both simple and useful. Herm’s earlier resentment at the sight of the Renunciates vanished. He had been sent out to assure the safety of Domenic, not to have a bit of excitement for himself. What a selfish bastard he could be sometimes.
“I am Rafaella n’ha Liriel. I will introduce you to my sisters later. Perhaps you will fill me in.”
Before Herm could reply, Nico stiffened beside him. Look!
What?
That man coming through the gates is one of the men who talked to Vancof last night. He was wearing leathers then, and sneered at dressing lake a “barbarian,” or maybe it was the other one who said that, but I guess he has changed his mind.
Very good, Nico. Is it Granfell or the other one?
I don’t know—I never really saw their faces. But I recognize the walk. Look. He is nodding to Vancof. What do you think it means?
I believe it means that they have decided to try to attack the funeral train, son.
But, how?
We will just have to find out, won’t we?
Nico gave a brief nod. Then he smiled at Rafaella. “Father must have done some fast talking.”
“From the little I know, Tomas, he did more than that, and your grandfather, too.” She gave the boy a friendly smile, as if she understood both his relief and his anxiety, and only restrained herself from ruffling his unbound hair with an effort.
The rest of the Renunciates had dismounted and were standing beside their horses a short distance away. They were talking quietly among themselves. They had several mules with them, loaded with baggage, tents and bedding, and a supply of feed for the animals. Herm was pleased and slightly amazed—they must have been up most of the night getting things together. They were a hard-looking bunch, their faces weathered. From the well-worn look of their scabbards, they were probably experienced fighters as well.
Vancof was meandering across the road toward the foodstands, walking gingerly, as if his head hurt. The man Nico had pointed out was already standing in front of one. He watched them drift together, very casually to any eye but his own. Then he saw Nico’s face go grim.
Vancof is very worried, and the other man is telling him that he has to find a good place for an ambush. He says not to worry, that once a site is chosen, they will take care of the rest.
How is he supposed to communicate the information?
The man is giving him something—a device of some sort. It is very small.
Probably a signaling beacon—quite illegal on Darkover.
Yes, and I think that this worries Vancof a great deal. I think he is afraid that one of the Travelers will see it and start to ask questions. What do you think they are going to do now?
I don’t know, Nico. Bring in some soldiers and dress them up lake brigands—that’s what I would do, if I were going to attack. But if they plan to use Federation weapons, such a subterfuge would be useless. Of course, once they had successfully killed everyone, there would be no one left to complain, would there? He did not like the drift of his thoughts, and there was no way to effectively conceal them from Domenic.
How can they even think of such things—it is so cowardly!
To you and me, yes. The Federation sees things very differently.
Herm recognized the futility of trying to explain the ways of the Terranan to Domenic. He had lived with them for over two decades, and he still did not completely understand them himself. All he was certain of was that Federation Intelligence was always eager to distabilize the rule of planets, just for the power of it, as near as he could tell. The Federation did not want Darkover for any reason other than that it was something that was not under their control. He had opposed a great many bills in the Senate, intended to curtail the rights of Protected Planets, as well as those which further oppressed the lives of those living on member worlds. The reasoning was always the same—people did not know what was good for them, and they needed to have wiser heads decide what was best. Anything different was looked upon with suspicion, any deviation in thinking was considered a threat.
He sniffed the smoky air, felt the light breeze touch his face, and felt more alive than he had for years despite his worries. He was glad to be home, to be there to thwart the plans of these men. It would make up for years of frustration in the unending battle to keep Darkover free of outside intervention. But he still felt conflicted, torn between his desire to do something purposeful, and his fear that Katherine would never forgive him. Had he jumped at the opportunity to get away because on Darkover she was, as she insisted, no longer his equal? Did part of him really believe she was a cripple, and was that the real reason he had never told her the truth? He wished he could control his mind enough to stop thinking about that, but every time he relaxed just a little, it came back to haunt him.
His pleasure at the brisk morning breeze and the smells of the encampment vanished. Herm let himself chew on this undigested morsel, tasting the bitterness of it, almost savoring it. Yes, he wanted very much to discover the full extent of the plot against Mikhail Hastur. He loved Darkover and knew himself to be utterly loyal to the world of his birth.
But, was his love of Darkover worth destroying his marriage? He had known before he told her that Kate was going to be angry, and he had assumed that his ability to manipulate her would keep things from getting out of hand. But that had not worked out as he expected, had it? Now he might have to pay a greater price than he ever imagined for his desire to serve his world.
Herm remembered his younger and more idealistic self, the man who had gone to the Federation to work for Darkover. He had always hated the way the Aldarans were isolated from the rest of the Domains, how they were treated with mistrust and suspicion, and he had been determined to change that attitude. Less than a year in government had disabused him of most of his idealism, and the self-serving cynicism of many of the others in the lower house had given him a low opinion of humanity. But now his earlier idealistic vision flooded back, warming him, heartening him, and the fear that he might fail in his ambition began to gnaw at his assurance. This was his chance to redeem the Aldaran Domain, to prove to the Comyn that not all the members of his family were treacherous.
It was very dangerous, and Domenic might get injured or even killed. Ruthlessly, he evaluated the situation, sparing nothing. He knew in his heart he would die for Darkover, for Mikhail Hastur and the Comyn. If the assassination plot succeeded, Kate and the children would be in more danger, wouldn’t they? And what about Domenic? Should he send the boy back into the city? He was torn. He needed the availability of the Alton Gift, certainly. But did that need justify putting the lad in such peril?
Herm had not felt so unsure of himself in decades. His mouth tasted like vinegar, and his belly churned around the heavy porridge he had eaten. He must be mad, thinking of challenging the Federation with one young man and a band of Renunciates as his allies. But he was not alone, and it was not entirely his decision to make. The very fact that the Renunciates had arrived, and that Domenic had not been told to return to Comyn Castle after his night away suggested that there was something going on to which Herm was not privy. What had Danilo Syrtis-Ardais said—that it might be a good idea for Nico to be away for a few days. He had barely listened to the remark, but now it had a sinister sound. Nico might be safer here than in his bed—an idea that rocked Herm down to his scruffy boots.
His mind raced. What was going on? Did the boy have some enemy in Comyn Castle that he did not know about? He remembered what he had learned, of Javanne Hastur’s opposition to both her son and her grandson, and that although Mikhail was Regis Hastur’s designated heir, there were some who felt he should not be. Satisfied that he had found a logical reason for things, he eased back a bit. All he had to do was keep Nico safe and put an end to the plans of the Federation.
With this thought, Herm’s wry sense of humor began to reassert itself. Next he’d be imagining he could fly without benefit of Terran technology! “We need to find out where the Travelers are going to go next,” he said.
“That’s easy. I have picked up the name Carcosa from the thoughts of several of the Travelers, and they seem to be intending to perform there this evening.” Nico smiled, pleased with himself for knowing this.
“That’s less than a half day’s ride on horseback, but it will take longer for the wagons to get there,” Rafaella added. “And they appear to be preparing to leave.” She nodded slightly, setting her wild curls in motion beneath her knitted cap.
Herm glanced across the road and saw that the mules were being put into the traces of the wagons. There was a good deal of shouting and a pleasant bustle of activity. “Then I suppose we should start out ahead of them.”
“Good.” Rafaella turned away and moved toward her sisters, apparently satisfied with this plan. At the same time, the stranger who had come to meet Vancof turned away, and started to walk back in the direction of the gate, his task apparently completed.
Domenic took a good look at his face as he passed, and then mounted the mare Herm had brought for him with a little snort of derision. He glanced at the piebald gelding and shook his head. “Did you have to choose the worst nags in the stable?”
“I did not want to draw attention to us, which bringing a splendid steed would certainly have done,” he answered a bit defensely as he mounted.
Nico gave a snort. “You will be regretting your choice before we are halfway there. That gelding has the poorest gait of any horse I ever knew.”
“I think I have already discovered his shortcomings, Tomas,” Herm admitted. They left the field and started up the road at a leisurely pace.
There were heavily laden wagons ahead of them, and one party of muleteers followed behind, so the going was slow. Herm was glad of this, since they looked quite ordinary in such company. When he looked over his shoulder a few minutes later, he could just make out the first of the brightly painted Travelers’ wains pulling onto the road.
Nico rode beside him, silent and sharp-eyed. After a time, Rafaella dropped back, to ride on his other side. “I am not very familiar with this part of Darkover, mestra.”
“I know. That’s one reason Marguerida sent me.” She grinned broadly, and the freckles on her fair skin stood out in the faint sunshine now breaking through the overcast. She had a pert, upturned nose, a generous mouth and laugh-lines beside her eyes. “What do you want to know?”
Herm hesitated. How much had Rafaella been told already? Then he realized he must trust her without any assurances, that if Marguerida had sent her, she must be loyal and dependable. “Our opponents are looking for a good place for an ambush.”
Rafaella did not seem surprised by this statement. “I can think of a dozen between here and the ruins of Hali Tower. Not right here, so close to the city, of course.” She fell silent for a moment, thinking. “There is a goodly stand of forest about eleven miles beyond Carcosa that would appeal to me, if I were of a mind for such things. It is dense enough to conceal a hundred men with no trouble at all. And beyond that, there are some portions of the road on the way to Syrtis, where the low hills and the trees give a lot of cover.”
“I take it that these areas are not havens of bandits already?”
“Oh, no. The country this close to Thendara has been quite safe for years. The bandits keep themselves to the hills, mostly. The worst we have had is the occasional footpad hoping to discover a solitary merchant or some lady of the Domains with a modest escort. It is pretty poor pickings.”
He looked from one side of the road to the other, taking in the fallow fields, the occasional house or barn, and the presence of animals. He could see a little rise dotted with white blobs that were undoubtedly sheep. The smell of the empty fields, horse dung on the road, and the warm scent of his own mount mingled pleasantly, and he began to relax just a little.
“Uncle,” Nico began, getting Herm’s attention. It still felt odd to be addressed by that title, even though, since Gisela was married to Rafael Hastur, it was a genuine kinship.
“What is it?”
“That man, Vancof, is thinking about the terrain, just like you are, but not as clearly. I just thought you’d want to know. I can’t be certain, but I think he rather likes that bit of forest that Aunt Rafi just mentioned. He is not absolutely sure, because his mind is going in several directions at once—but I got ‘just outside Carcosa’ a couple of times.”
“That’s a useful piece of information. Have you ever considered becoming a full-time spy?”
Domenic looked horrified, and then realized that he was being teased. “No, but I can see how it might be attractive to some people. I feel very uncomfortable, doing what I am doing. It doesn’t seem right. I mean, I have been able to overhear the thoughts of others for a long time—can’t really remember not being able to—but I learned not to listen. For one thing, most thoughts are pretty boring. Or embarrassing.” He blushed all the way to the roots of his dark hair. “And most of the people I have been around were trained, too, so they kept their thoughts to themselves. Even the servants in Comyn Castle are pretty quiet. But, this—it is a god-awful racket! One of the muleteers up there has the runs, and I can’t seem to block it out.”
“But surely you learned how to do that at Arilinn, Tomas.”
“I did, but . . . maybe I am just too excited to concentrate.”
Herm frowned. Nico was only a boy, and he had been thinking of him as an adult. He puzzled over what he had heard. He was depending on Domenic’s gift to keep him informed of the plans of Vancof and the other Terrans. But what if he became overwhelmed by the input? He could go into shock, and then they would really be in a mess.
“You say you can’t remember not being able to hear thoughts. You mean that before your threshold time, you were already . . .”
The boy laughed. “I forgot that you don’t really know much about me.” You did not hear the story, but your wife did—part of it, anyhow. When Mother was pregnant with me, when she and Father were in the distant past, they hid out in Lake Hali for a long time, and the leroni at Arilinn think that it changed my laran somehow. No one knows quite what to make of it, really. Oh, I have the Alton Gift, certainly. But there seems to be a lot of other stuff in my brain that no one can explain. I’ve been tested over and over, and no one has ever been able to define the real limits of my laran, I am something of a freak, although no one dares to say it.
Herm considered this. He could remember his own adolescence, his own sense of his difference from others, and suspected it was something that all teenagers experienced. But he caught the undertone of anxiety in Nico’s thought, his fear of himself. He hid it well, but not completely.
Don’t be afraid, Nico.
If you could hear what I do, you would think you were going mad, Uncle Hermes!
And what is that?
Sometimes I can hear the planet groaning.
I see. Have you told anyone this? That, at least, explained the look of anguish at the mention of migrating rocks.
No. And I don’t know why I am telling you, except I just know you won’t tell me I am imagining things, or that I will grow out of it!
Herm was more touched by this expression of trust than he dared to examine. He hardly knew the boy, and yet Domenic was willing to confide in him. After a moment’s reflection, he understood. He had reacted that way to Lew Alton, years before, telling him things he had never been willing to voice to any member of his own family.
Perhaps you will be able to grow into it instead, Nico.
You don’t think there is anything too strange about hearing the world?
It does not seem to be harmful. As a matter of fact, it sounds fascinating.
I hadn’t thought of that. Thank you.
The boy looked much more cheerful, and Herm was pleased with his diplomacy. At the same time, he was troubled. How could one hear the planet? His ever-present curiosity wondered what it sounded like. Did it groan and moan, or roar like a great fire? Both, probably, if Domenic did not merely imagine the whole thing. Then he put the worry away for another time, and returned to mulling over what he had done to Katherine. Gloom descended over his mind, and for several miles he forgot everything except his wife and children, and how much he loved them.
But after a time the pleasures of the road reclaimed his attention. In spite of the miserable gait of his mount, and his concern for both his family and the young man riding quietly beside him, Herm started to cheer up again. There was, he knew from long experience, a part of him which remained irrepressible, no matter what, and riding in the ruddy light of the morning sun, he allowed it to come to the fore.
Domenic was enjoying himself enormously. The sounds and smells of the Old North Road were new to him, and in the pleasure of the moment he nearly forgot about his actual reason for the journey. When he realized this, he immediately felt guilty, pulled in two directions at once. It was hard, he decided, to feel properly serious or gloomy while riding along in the company of Herm Aldaran and Rafaella n’ha Liriel.
He knew that if Regis had not chosen to be so cautious in his last years, this experience would hardly be anything new or remarkable. When his father had been a young man, he had gone everywhere, even up to the Aldaran Domain high in the Hellers. Nico was mildly resentful that he had been denied such opportunities, and was determined to get as much out of this trip as he possibly could. He might never have another chance, unless his father decided to change things. True, he was not alone, but he was not surrounded by servants or guards either, and Uncle Herm did not treat him like a child. That made a great deal of difference. He had always been fond of Rafi, but he had never encountered her outside the confines of Comyn Castle. Here she seemed like another person altogether. He could not quite explain just how, but she was certainly more relaxed on the road. As for the rest of her band, they were strangers, and he was looking forward to getting to know them.
More than that, he was fascinated by the people around him. His encounters with the common folk of Thendara had been few, and a proper distance had always been kept by his many guardians. Most of what he knew he had learned during his Cadet duties, and that consisted of nodding to the various merchants and suppliers who brought things to the Castle rather than actually meeting them. Their concerns and ambitions remained largely a mystery to him, and he knew that he would be a better ruler—if he ever became one—if he had an idea of what they wanted and needed. No one here would bow or scrape before him, and he decided that being ordinary had a great deal to recommend it.
He listened to both the voices and the random thoughts of the bustling people ahead of him on the road. They worried about the weather, or if the dun mule would go lame, and if the load were properly balanced. No one seemed to have a single thought about the things that were always being fussed over at Comyn Castle. It was as if both the Federation and the Domains did not even exist. The tenor of these thoughts was restful, and he decided it must be rather wonderful not to worry about plots and schemes, or what sort of terrible things might happen in the future.
Toward midmorning they encountered a train of grain merchants on their way to Thendara. Nico listened to the exchange of greetings between the muleteers ahead of them on the road and the drivers of the wagons, friendly and informal. They appeared to know one another well enough to toss jokes and insults back and forth before they passed, and to ask about each others’ families. If he had had a finer horse, he thought, he would have been completely happy.
By the time they reached Carcosa just past midday, he was very glad to get off the sluggish mare. The muleteers had arrived ahead of them, and the courtyard of the small inn was crowded with braying beasts. Mules were more vocal beasts than horses—they seemed to complain about everything! He looked all around, and noticed a painted sign above the door of the inn, a bright and cheerful thing with a picture of a handsome rooster on it, its proud head thrown back.
The inn itself was a large stone building with a slate roof. The main section rose to three stories, with narrow windows overlooking the yard. He could see half a dozen chimneys above the line of the roof, with smoke rising from them. Two arms extended out at angles from the structure, one for the stables, and another housing a fowl run full of cackling birds, and cages of rabbithorns as well. The stink was incredible, but he was sure that he would become accustomed to it, as the people who worked there surely must be.
Nico studied everything, as his instructors had trained him to, taking in the strong wooden door of the inn which could be closed and bolted from inside, the thick walls, and the small size of the windows, set too high off the ground for anyone to climb through. Even though it seemed to be a friendly place, he could see that it had been built with defense in mind.
When he had been about eight, he had been taken to Armida, and he must have passed through this town. But they had gone in a closed carriage, and he had seen nothing except the inside of it. He did not like to remember that trip, for while he had loved the home of his Alton ancestors, his grandmother had made him extremely uncomfortable. Now he hung back, a little shy in the presence of so many strangers, and watched a middle-aged man bustle out of the building and approach them. He was tall, nearly bald, and what was left of his hair was gray. When he drew closer, Nico could see he had twinkling blue eyes and a small nose above a friendly mouth.
Rafaella greeted him cheerfully. “Hello, Evan. This is Ian MacAnndra and his nephew Tomas—Evan MacHaworth, the best innkeeper in all Darkover.” Then she grinned broadly.
“Pah—you say that to all the innkeepers, mestra. Welcome to the Crowing Cock,” Evan said pleasantly, and reached out to shake Herm’s hand without any hint of a bow. Then he ushered them inside.
The entry room had whitewashed stone walls, a flagged stone floor, and dark beams overhead. It smelled of roasting fowl, woodsmoke, and beer, plus the sweaty essence of the mule drivers who had arrived earlier. He could hear voices from a room to one side. They were a noisy lot, but he rather liked the racket they made, and was disappointed when Evan showed them into the room on the far side.
A roaring fire lit a chamber with long tables in it. The walls here were paneled with dark wood, polished so much they gleamed in the reflected light of the fire. He glanced at the stone floor, then up at the beams overhead, and found that they were carved and painted with bright designs. On the mantle he spotted a collection of roosters, made of wood and stone and pottery. They struck him as amusing, and he smiled.
Evan noticed his fascination with the figures. “Do you like our cocks?”
“I have never seen anything like them,” Nico answered, wondering uneasily if he had made some sort of mistake by displaying his interest.
“An idea of my wife’s. She started with one—that large fellow with the red glaze—that she found in Thendara, and then she began asking our frequent guests to look for others. So, often, some merchant or wagoneer will arrive and present her with a new one. We have cocks from the Dry Towns, and two from up in Ardais country. And this wee one here is a gift from Rafaella.” He pointed to a very small rooster made of some green stone.
“They are wonderful,” Nico answered.
“She’ll be tickled that you like them. I’ll be sure to tell her when she gets back—her sister is ailing, and she has gone off to take care of her.”
Herm had already sat down at one of the tables, and a serving boy put a large mug of beer in front of him without being asked. Across from him, Rafaella was sitting down, so Nico decided he should join them. The warmth of the fireplace was pleasant after the chilly morning’s ride, and he realized he was very hungry.
A girl brought in wooden trenchers and napkins of coarse linen, and another followed her with a platter of roasted birds. He watched Herm dig out his belt knife, spear a whole fowl onto his platter, and begin to tear it apart with his strong hands. He picked up a leg and started to eat, and Nico imitated him.
It was wonderfully messy. Grease slimed his fingers and ran down his chin. And the taste was different than what he was accustomed to. The cook had put some herbs on the skin of the bird that he was unfamiliar with, something very spicy. Nico slurped at the smaller mug of beer the boy put down in front of him, and grinned. Accustomed as he was to more formal dining, he found the whole experience delightful. When a bowl of boiled grain with several wooden spoons in it appeared, he helped himself to a serving, using the spoon he served with to eat, copying Rafaella’s manners carefully. A basket of hot rolls was served, and he speared one with his knife.
Rafaella was watching him from beneath her lashes, hiding a smile, which was difficult with her generous mouth. “Good, isn’t it?”
“Delicious!”
“Evan MacHaworth’s birds are known the length of the old North Road. And his fowl pies are famous. I have even heard that cooks from Thendara have come up and tried to steal the recipe.”
“That doesn’t surprise me,” Herm muttered, speaking with his mouth half full.
The rest of the Renunciates had seated themselves at the other end of the table and were eating and talking quietly. Nico heard their voices, and those of the now somewhat rowdy muleteers across the hall, and felt replete and content. Not to mention greasier than he had ever been in his life. He wiped his hands and mouth on the rough napkin, then cleaned his knife and put it away.
Beside him, he could sense Herm’s weariness. Are you well, Uncle?
Oh, yes, but I have gotten quite soft over the years. I am not used to sleeping on the ground, or riding for several hours. My legs ache, and I have a stitch in my back. But the beer seems to be helping.
Satisfied, Nico relaxed. Are we going to go on, or wait for the Travelers?
A good question, Nico. I had not thought about it yet—I confess I do not have a real plan, but am improvising as we go along. Clever of your mother to have sent these Renunciates—they are a good cover. I think we will remain, since you believe the Travelers will perform here tonight. They should catch up with us in an hour or so.
You could tell Aunt Rafi that you are tired, or that you think your horse is going a bit lame. Then our remaining here would not arouse any interest. And you could take a bath—I am sure the inn has one.
You are a genius! Just what my poor back needs is a long soak.
Your hands and face, too—you are gleaming with fat!
Disrespectful imp! You are a grubby sight yourself!
No one had ever called Domenic either an imp or grubby before, and he decided he liked it. Herm was not like the other adults he knew, not so grown up and serious. Even Grandfather Lew, whom he adored, and who had a good sense of humor, was always thinking about terribly important matters. And no one except Lew had ever really teased him. He could not decide if it was because he was too serious himself, or whether it was his status that prevented such comfortable exchanges. He envied Amaury, having Herm as a father. As much as he loved Mikhail and respected him, there was always a kind of distance between them, as if his father were afraid to get too close to his eldest child. He was his mother’s son more than his father’s, and Rory, he knew, was Mikhail’s delight. It had never disturbed him much. Rory was a much more amusing person than he was, especially with all his mischief, and Nico had always accepted this. But now he was the wicked one, and equal to Roderick in mischief. Domenic had a moment’s deep satisfaction in this thought, even though he was sure his irrepressible little brother would think of something outrageous to do in the near future. Let him—Rory hadn’t uncovered a plot against their father’s life!
“I believe I have thrown my back out, Mestra Rafaella,” Herm announced, bringing Domenic back to the present. “Do you think there is a good healer in the town?”
She looked startled for a moment, then seemed to grasp the intent beneath the casual words. “No need. We have our own.” Rafaella gestured down the board, pointing to one of the woman. “Danila takes care of all our aches and pains. But we will stay here for the night, I think. I don’t fancy having you fall ill along the road. I’ll go arrange with Evan for rooms.”
She rose and went out of the room, humming to herself. A few minutes later she returned with the innkeeper, all smiles. MacHaworth took them upstairs, showed them to a pleasant bedchamber. It had a large bed, a worn bureau, and a stand with a pitcher and washing bowl on it. There were heavy curtains over the narrow window, and a small hearth on one side. The room smelled of balsam and a recent cleaning. He told them where the bathing room was and left.
One of the Renunciates knocked on the door almost immediately. She had both their bedrolls in her capable hands, and Nico took them from her with a quick thank you. “When you wish, call me, and I’ll come up and see about straightening your back, Mestru MacAnndra,” she said. She was a big woman, with large hands, and looked quite capable of yanking a spine to rights in a trice.
They sorted out their few belongings, put things away in the drawers of the chest, and headed for the bathing room in companionable silence. Nico was pleased to discover a cabinet with thick towels, and a closet with several heavy robes hanging in it. He undressed and wriggled his toes against the planked floor of the room. Then he got into the steaming communal tub and ducked down under the water.
Herm joined him, groaning with pleasure. “I have missed this.”
“Missed what? Don’t the Terranan have bathrooms?”
Yes, of course they do, but nothing lake this. I think we had best not speak aloud, because while I doubt there are any Federation spies lurking an the woodwork, there are servants who might gossip, Nico. And terms like Federation and Terranan would make their ears prick up: After twenty-some years of living in a tiny, cramped apartment, and cleaning myself in a sonic shower, this is a real luxury!
But why? Domenic had no idea what a sonic shower might be, but he did not want to reveal his ignorance. A tiny apartment? This did not jibe with his impression of the Federation, gleaned from comments made by his mother and grandfather.
You cannot imagine how crowded it is on most Federation worlds, despite all attempts at population control. It is one reason they are so eager to exploit other planets. There are over eighteen billion people on Terra alone, and the strain on their resources is enormous. Water is taxed and rationed, as is everything else. A room like this would be considered an extravagance, even an the wealthiest home, and for a mere government functionary like myself, it is inconceivable. Oh, there are a few Senators who are rich enough to afford a proper bathroom, but few of them would dare to risk it.
I still don’t understand, Uncle.
My, that has a wonderful sound to it, that Uncle business. It is rather difficult to explain how things are, but I will try. You see, many in the Federation insist that austerity is necessary an order for things to function. This is part of the Expansionist philosophy—that the Federation does not have enough resources to care for its citizens, and so must get more by exploiting other planets. As a result, water is rationed and taxed, food is limited and heavily taxed, although no one goes hungry. There are programs to feed the poor, and part of the taxes are used to support that. The meal I just ate would cost a whole day’s wages on Terra, and would have had to feed four people, not one. If they could get anything like that delicious chicken at all.
But, what do they eat, then?
The poor exist on artificial slop that would sicken a dog, Nico. It is grown in enormous vats and smells like beer gone bad, and . . . well, I don’t know what it tastes lake, because I never could make myself try it. It is nourishing enough, I suppose—it keeps them alive and reasonably healthy.
Was it always like that?
No, it wasn’t. When I went to the Chamber of Deputies, before the Expansionists got back into power and the austerity policies were introduced, things were different. Water was already being rationed, but goods were less costly then, and you could afford to eat in a restaurant from time to time. It just got worse and worse. There are millions of people on Terra who cannot find jobs, and cannot earn money, and have to live on public support programs. There are waiting lists for colonists, but they have not found very many new habitable planets recently. And most of the older worlds in the Federation are in the same shape or worse. There have been food riots, and water riots—things you simply can’t imagine. Last year the entire grid went down on one of the continents, and no one had any power or light for three days.
What’s the grid?
The grid is a network of power stations and connections that covers the entire planet. Due to the deliberate stinginess of the Expansionists, there is said to be no money for enlarging the grid, even though everyone agrees it should be done. Thus, in recent years, the demand for energy sometimes outruns the capacity of the grid to supply it. One substation will go off-line, then another, and soon everything grinds to a halt. That means that the lifts which carry people to their homes cease to function, and since many of the buildings are more than fifty stories off the ground, there is no way to get in or out until the power comes back on. And that is just one example.
Nico scrubbed his arms with a rough cloth and considered this information. He had never longed to visit other worlds, unlike his brother who was a bit space mad. And since he had begun to think he heard Darkover in his mind, he had had no desire to leave at all. There was a part of him that felt if he ever left the soil of Darkover entirely, he would die or go insane, as if he were bound to the world itself. Although the noises that echoed in his mind made him uneasy and often fearful, there was at the same time a sense of rightness in them. True, he could not imagine why he, of all people, seemed to have this particular ability, but the longer it continued, the more accustomed to it he became. He had not entirely accepted the idea, but as Herm had told him that morning, there did not appear to be any harm in it. And Herm was the first person he had told of his strange condition—he had not even confided it to Alanna, who had shared so many of his secrets when they were younger.
But he had always imagined the planets of the Federation as being places where everyone flew about in aircars, and lived in light-filled palaces with lots of devices which provided every conceivable comfort. Somehow he had never thought that anyone was poor or lacked enjoyment, which he realized now was pretty stupid. What did those people do with their time, if they did not have jobs?
It sounds terrible! Why do they live like that? I mean, if everyone has to measure their water and are taxed for it—I don’t understand that at all, Uncle—why don’t they just do it differently?
A good question—one that has troubled better minds than mine. The only answer I have is that the Terrans are an love with their technology, and they truly believe that all problems can be solved with it—that and the resources of the member planets. They never consider if the idea that everything can be made right with technological advances might be an illusion. So they take the grain from one world to feed the masses of Terra, and the metals from another to build their ships, so they can continue to explore the galaxy, looking for more planets to colonize. No one has addressed the plain fact that they haven’t settled a new colony in eleven years, because there hasn’t been anything but worlds so marginal that no one in their right mind would agree to go there.
What’s a marginal world? Domenic felt overwhelmed with the information he was learning, as well as the strange words that Herm used so casually, but he was fascinated and determined not to miss this opportunity.
Oh, one that is even colder than Darkover, or where the air is not quite breathable, or has little arable land. Thetis, where your mother grew up, is one example, and she would not recognize it if she went there now. Has she ever talked about it?
Oh, yes. I know all about the islands and the delfins. It sounds very beautiful.
It was a paradise, when Lew and Diotima lived there, Nico. Not much land, just about ten medium-sized islands and one very big one, and lots and lots of ocean.
And now? Ocean was a difficult concept for him, despite having gotten glimpses of such a thing from a few of his mother’s memories, and the occasional moments when he was sure he could see the Sea of Dalerueth rolling against the shore. He had taken a ride, while he was at Arilinn, along the banks of the Valeron, and knew that if he been allowed to ride west along it, it would have ended at the sea. There had been a moment when he had wished he could do just that, ride toward the setting sun until he reached the river’s terminus. Foolish, of course.
It made him rather angry that he had spent so much of his life cooped up in Comyn Castle, and was so very ignorant, but after a moment he shook the feeling off. It was not worth bothering about. He was free now, and since he might never again have the opportunity to sleep in an inn, or ride along the North Road with a band of Renunciates in search of Terranan spies, he might as well enjoy it while he could. He turned his attention back to his uncle.
They discovered a rare element they needed for weapons development about ten years ago, and started mining it from the oceanbed. Now there are no more delfins, Nico, because the sea has been poisoned, and they think in five years, most of the rest of the life in those waters will be dead, too. Worse, the cancer rate on Thetis has increased greatly, and people are dying for no more reason than that Interworld Mining was too greedy to take measures to avoid destroying the ecology. Once the plankton stop using up the carbon dioxide, the air will become unbreathable on Thetis, and in a short time the place will become uninhabitable.
Nico was puzzled over several of the terms his uncle used, but he fastened on just one. What’s plankton? Mother never mentioned that.
Nico sensed Herm’s gentle amusement at this question, but did not feel stupid. He felt safe with his newest uncle, and found his mild teasing to be very pleasant. He only wished he could be as comfortable with everyone as he was with Hermes Aldaran.
They are very small organisms, so small you can only see them with an optical device. Some of them are plantlike, and others are really tiny animals, but on a world without great forests of trees, like Darkover, these provide breathable air. We’ve had three bills in the Senate in the last three years to provide money to clean up Interworld’s mess on Thetas, and two of them have been defeated as being too costly. And the last one was in committee when the legislature was dissolved, so it is dead now as well. Basically, the Federation has decided that it is not worth throwing good money away on a losing proposition, particularly when Thetis is considered an unimportant world.
It isn’t unimportant to the people who live there!
No, of course it isn’t. The problem is that there are a great many people who think that money is more important than anything, and that human beings are a disposable resource.
It sounds like they think that planets are disposable, too, Uncle.
“My fingers are starting to turn into prunes,” Herm said aloud. “Are you clean enough now?”
“Yes, I am. I just wish I had some cleaner clothes.”
“Then why don’t we go out and see if there is a stall in the market and get you some new ones.” We can do a bit of snooping at the same time.
“Good. I like that idea.” Nico scrambled out of the tub, dripping, and stood on the planked floor, watching the droplets slip off his skin. Then he wrapped himself in a large towel and dried off. He redressed, trying not to feel too disgusted by the state of his garments. If he had known when he left that he was going to be away overnight, he would have brought a fresh shirt, at least.
“How’s your back feeling, Uncle Ian?”
“Much better, thank you. I believe I will forgo Danila’s ministrations for the present. She looks strong enough to snap me in half.”
Nico chuckled, for indeed the large Renunciate was rather intimidating. She did not look like any healer Domenic had ever met before. Herm got his clothes back on, and they went downstairs again. It was much quieter now that the muleteers had left to continue their journey.
They stepped out into the courtyard of the inn into watery sunlight. There were thin clouds overhead, and heavier ones mounded toward the western horizon. It would rain before the next morning, but he was not weatherwise enough to guess how soon. Nico just hoped it would not prevent the Travelers from performing. He hadn’t gotten to see much the previous evening, and he was looking forward to more.
Herm asked a groom about the local marketplace, and got directions. They walked away from the Crowing Cock in companionable silence, both of them relaxed from their baths and full bellies. After getting slightly lost in one of the winding streets of the town, they finally found their way to an open square, bustling with commerce. There was a glass blower near the entrance, and Nico stopped for a few minutes to watch the work. The heat from the open air oven was tremendous, and it felt good against the growing chill of the day.
They found a clothing stall, and purchased undergarments, a cheap shirt, two woolen tunics, a pair of trews for Domenic, and some things for Herm as well. It was rather exciting to him, since he had never been allowed to explore the marketplaces in Thendara, and he was disappointed when Herm said it was time to go back to the inn.
But when they arrived at the inn, the yard was blocked by the colorful wains of the Travelers, and he forgot his disappointment in having to leave the market. He saw the man called Vancof get down from the seat of the puppet wagon, and stepped quickly into Herm’s shadow, to avoid being seen. Then the red-haired girl climbed down from the back of the wagon and stretched luxuriously. He hoped she would not notice him, or ask any questions if she did, for the few glimpses he had gotten of her mind told him she was quick and a bit headstrong.
The driver looked pale and pinched, and he shuffled away from the wagon, heading toward the inn. He probably wanted some beer, Nico thought, although after all the drinking he had done the previous night, the boy felt he oughtn’t. The plump woman who had been arguing with him during the morning came out of the wagon and shouted at him. “You lazy good-for-nothing! Damn you for a sot!” She made a fist and shook it at him.
Vancof ignored her and vanished into the doorway of the inn. The woman looked unhappy. “Now, how am I going to manage those animals without him?” She looked around rather helplessly, since all the rest of the Travelers were busy with their own wagons and teams.
Herm took this in with a swift glance, and walked over to the angry woman. “I’m not unhandy with a mule, mestra. Perhaps I could be of assistance.”
To Nico’s surprise, she laughed, making her face transform from miserable and angry to quite pleasant. She must have been very pretty when she was younger, he decided. “You don’t know what you are thinking of,” she told Herm. “Those mules are the meanest animals on Darkover, not counting a hungry catamount. Only my driver can manage them, and he gets bitten six times out of seven.” He’s been nothing but trouble since he joined us, that Dirck, and I wish we had someone else. Even if he did come from Istvan’s troup—they were probably glad to be rid of him.
“Well, let me give it a try. If I get bitten, then it is my own fault for not listening to you.”
“No one listens to me,” the woman moaned, shaking her head and setting her grizzled braids in motion. “Not my flighty niece, or anyone. I am only a woman, and almost alone in the world, except for the girl, who is more trouble than she is worth, even though she is a very good puppeteer. If only she were as good a girl as she is a string-twiddler.”
“She’s very young,” Herm said sympathetically. Nico watched the man, and would have sworn that charm was oozing out of his freshly-bathed pores. “She will grow out of it.”
“Not soon enough for me. Well, I am Loret, and I will take you up on your offer, even if I think you are crazy to make it.” She was clearly persuaded by Herm’s pleasantries, and Nico wondered if she was flirting with his uncle.
“Ian MacAnndra at your service, Mestra Loret.” He walked away toward the animals, who were indeed an evil-looking pair of underfed mules. They snorted and brayed, and one snapped its large teeth when Herm’s hand reached for the traces. The man deftly avoided the attack, and said something in a low voice. The mules pricked their ears, stamped their hooves, and shifted from side to side uneasily. Their eyes rolled mistrustfully, but they offered no further resistence, and in a few minutes Herm had successfully removed them from the long bars of wood on each side, and led them away toward the stables.
“Well, I never!” Loret looked amazed. Then she turned on the girl, who had been standing quietly, watching all of this. “Are you planning to grow roots and flowers there, Illona? Get inside and work on the costumes. It will be dark soon, and you won’t be able to see well enough to sew.
“Oh, Auntie! I’ve been cooped up for hours!”
“No sauce, girly! You do as you are told, or there will be no supper for you.”
Illona did not appear in the least frightened by this threat, and from the well-upholstered appearance of her aunt, it was probably an empty one. She just stuck out her tongue, as she had the first time Nico had seen her, and shrugged. “The dolls are fine,” she muttered sulkily.
“Nonsense! The ruffle on Cassilda’s costume needs mending.”
“I hate sewing!”
“We all have to earn our keep. Now do as you are told.”
Illona looked as if she might refuse for just a moment. Then she gave a large, dramatic sigh and started to go back to the wagon. She glanced at Nico as she went past, and her eyes widened. “Don’t I know you?”
Domenic shook his head. “Not unless you saw me last night.” She had only seen him in the shadows of a doorway, and his hair had been pulled back, not hanging loose beside his face as it was now, but he had the feeling that very little escaped her sharp eyes. “I watched some of the performance while I was waiting for my uncle.”
“Oh. That must be it. You look very familiar.”
“Maybe I just have a common face.”
She giggled softly. “Hardly that.” I know I didn’t see him last night, but where? Oh, well, I am probably imagining things again. Still, there is something about him. “I’m Illona Rider.”
“Tomas MacAnndra.”
“I have to go sit in the wagon and sew,” she complained.
“And you hate sewing. Are you good at it?”
“Yes, very skilled. That’s why I have to do it. Aunty doesn’t understand that just because you are good at something doesn’t mean you enjoy it.”
“Yes, that’s true.” He was struck by her remark, because it had never occurred to him before that having the ability to do something might be a burden instead of a gift. Then he remembered a few things his father had said about the powers that Varzil’s matrix had presented him with, and decided she was probably more right than she guessed. Domenic wanted to continue talking to her, but felt hopelessly tongue-tied, at a loss for anything to say. “I never heard of any Riders before.”
“There are a lot of Riders in the Travelers, Tomas—hundreds. And it is not really my name, because I don’t know what that is. I mean, I am an orphan, and I was adopted by Aunt Loret when I was a very little girl.” She paused, thinking about herself, wondering as she had many times who her parents were. “And she isn’t bad, actually, just bossy.”
Herm was returning from the stables, striding confidently across the courtyard, looking amused. Nico watched his uncle, and shifted from foot to foot, eager to continue the conversation but unsure what to say next. “It must be very exciting to travel around and perform.”
“Not really, Tomas. It is very boring after a while. The performances are fun, but even they get stale. And Mathias keeps writing these new pieces, and I have to memorize them—odd sort of things, they are.”
“Are there scripts, then? I sort of had the idea that you made things up as you went along, getting the audience involved.” There, that was better, and he did not sound quite so idiotic.
“That’s how it used to be.” She looked troubled for a moment. “But since Mathias joined the troupe, he has been doing—“
“Illona!” It was an angry yell.
“Yes, Auntie! I’d better go, before she gives herself a fit. Come out and watch the show tonight.”
“Oh, yes, if my uncle says I can.”
“He will—he seems very nice.” She gave Nico a ravishing smile and scrambled up the folding stairs at the back of the wagon, her curiosity about him fading as she thought about thread and needles and lengths of fabric.
Herm rejoined Domenic and said, “What was that all about?”
“Oh, we were just talking, Uncle.” She almost recognized me, but I managed to make her think she didn’t. And I am sure she has no business with these Travelers.
What do you mean?
Well, she told me she was an orphan, and that the woman adopted her when she was very young. But I can sense her laran. It is completely untrained, but pretty strong even without any discipline. It makes me wonder how many other telepaths are roaming around, getting into trouble because they do not know how to manage their gifts.
I bow to your greater knowledge.
Father encountered a woman, years ago, who was a wild telepath, and she nearly killed him. He won’t talk about it much, but I have heard him remembering it a few times, and it was very scary. I asked Aunt Liriel about it, and she said that this woman was a kind of sorceress, that she could make your mind go all fuzzy and helpless, but that she could only do it with a small number of people. But it made Father aware that there were probably more telepaths on Darkover than anyone thought before. And he and Great-Uncle Regis made an effort to find them, but it was not very successful.
Why not?
Grandfather Lew says it is because the men of the Domains have been altogether too generous with their favors over the years, and they have fathered children they never knew about. And after a few generations, laran has spread out in the general population more and more. And if, say, a mother died in childbearing, and hadn’t told anyone that the father was the nedestro of some Domain, then no one would know until the child was grown and had threshold sickness. And then, if the sickness did not kill him or her, which is possible, since there is no way to predict the severity of it, then they would grow up and make more children, and pass it on. It is all very simple in theory, but as the generations pass, it becomes more and more complicated.
Why was the effort to locate these people not successful?
I’m not sure, but I think that perhaps there are not enough leroni to manage the job. What Grandfather Lew says is that in the past, there were so few people with gifts that no one ever made a good plan for it becoming part of the greater population. And Mother thinks that we Darkovens still tend to think that only those of the Domains have gifts worth bothering about, so that ordinary people like, for instance, the innkeeper, never really think about it. So, if they have a small gift, they either ignore it, or turn to being streetcorner seers.
But wouldn’t such a person go to a Tower?
They would, if they had any sense, or of they had a substantial Gift. And in the past, of course they would. But what if someone has just a little bit of laran, enough to start afire, perhaps, or to be good with animals? Lew thinks that there are a lot of lesser powers, that are just so minor that we have never paid attention to them, because we were so focused on the Gifts of the Domains. He said something about recessive genes, which I don’t understand. And if two common folk, with minor powers, got married, then their children might be more powerful. He says that generations of inbreeding have made us complacent.
I see that I will have to have a long talk with Lew when we get this thing settled.
Uncle, is there a back way out of the inn?
I don’t know, but there probably is a way through the kitchens. Why?
Let’s go see if Vancof is really drinking beer in the common room! I think he is up to something else.
Why do you think that?
It is just a feeling I have.
As they started for the entrance to the inn, there was the sound of hoofbeats on the cobbles of the yard. Nico glanced over his shoulder, and saw a wide-shouldered man awkwardly astride a sweating animal. He had a scowl on his broad face, and he dismounted gracelessly, swearing a little. A groom raced out and took the horse, gave the man a glare, and began to lead it away.
“Uncle, that man we saw talking to the driver this morning just rode in.”
Herm grinned without the slightest humor. “Yes, so he did. The pot is really starting to boil. Come on—don’t stare! Let’s get inside before we attract attention.” What’s on his mind, I wonder?
Nothing much, Uncle, except that he doesn’t ride well and is afraid of horses, that his bladder is ready to explode, and he wonders where the hell Vancof is.
All that?
Yes. And he as worried and puzzled, too—he doesn’t understand why he was ordered to ride after Vancof. Something changed since this morning.
Well, he as going into the building, so we will just wander in and keep an eye on him, won’t we?
Marguerida stood outside the closed door of the room which had been given to Katherine Aldaran for a studio, and took a deep breath. She had gone to the suite to find the other woman, and the maid told her that Domna Aldaran had left right after breakfast, saying that she needed to start working. Lucky Katherine. Marguerida would have loved to be in her own office, although working on her opera was impossible now. A chill swept over her—would she ever be able to complete it, now that Regis was dead? She hadn’t written the work for him, but for herself, but she had been so looking forward to seeing him hear it for the first time. The pages were still on her desk, inkstained and ruined. It hurt to think about it.
The strain of the past few days weighed on her body, giving her aches that Marguerida knew were a combination of exhaustion and sorrow. Right now she did not want to see Katherine, or anyone else for that matter. She wanted a nice quiet cave and utter stillness. Marguerida grinned at herself. She was worried about Domenic, and Kate was probably worried about Herm, so she had a duty to try to ease Katherine’s fears. The problem was that she was sick and tired of duties, not to mention fractious personalities.
When Mikhail told her what her son had done, she had been furious with both of them. How dare her husband make a decision concerning Nico without consulting her! And sending Herm to join him? What good was that? It was only when she had thought of sending Rafaella n’ha Liriel and some of her sister Renunciates to follow them that her fears had lessened. And then Mik had told her that Lew suspected that Gareth Elhalyn might be up to some mischief where Nico was concerned, and her hard-won calm had gone up in smoke. She could not believe it for a second, and then she grasped the implications, and remembered how young Gareth was behaving with Javanne. As if I don’t have enough to worry about, she thought, but I have to look at a fourteen-year-old boy as a potential enemy of my child.
Marguerida’s only comfort thus far was that the Aldaran Gift had not manifested, as it often did concerning those dearest to her. It was a feeble and undependable lack of information, however, and she wished she was free to pursue her eldest child along the North Road, and shake him until his teeth rattled. Right at that moment, she would have welcomed a vision, so long as it was rosy. Unlikely. The Aldaran Gift never seemed to show itself with good futures, only ambiguous and frightening ones.
She lifted her hand to knock, then lowered it. Marguerida was not ready to see Kate just yet. She wanted to be more serene before she encountered the other woman. If only she had not bumped into Javanne Hastur, on her way to the studio, and had an exchange of discourtesies that had left her trembling with rage and biting back cruel words. Her mother-in-law had demanded to know where Nico was. It would have been amusing, under any other circumstances, since she usually avoided the boy as much as possible. Mikhail had been adamant that his mother must not know about Domenic’s adventure, and Marguerida agreed.
Lady Javanne always managed to make her angry, but now she just felt slightly nauseated. She knew her mother-in-law was working against Mikhail, conniving with Francisco Ridenow to overset the agreement that had been reached years before. Javanne would do almost anything short of murder to unseat her youngest son from his position. And Francisco might even go that far, if he thought he could get away with it.
So much had fallen on her shoulders. It seemed unfair, and Marguerida banished that thought sternly. She was overseeing the arrangements for the public funeral, which would take place after the Council meeting. With all the servants in Comyn Castle, this should have been rather easy, but Regis’ death had been a shock, and the servants were less useful than they might have been. Everyone from the coridom to the head cook seemed to need her direction, until she thought that just one more question would drive her mad. But dealing with mourning servants was simple compared to her other duties.
She had to keep Javanne from driving poor Lady Linnea mad with her attentions. Marguerida had to reassure Katherine that Herm was safe, without revealing anything about the actual nature of his mission. There were so many secrets she had to keep—Kate did not know that there was a Federation arrest warrant for her husband, and Mikhail wanted to keep it that way. The fewer people that knew about that, apparently, the better. And it was all for the good of Darkover! Men! Just at that moment she would have cheerfully consigned every male on the planet to Zandru’s hells, even her beloved child, just to get a little peace and quiet, as long as she could have sent Javanne along with them.
Marguerida decided she couldn’t put her present task off any longer. She knocked, and heard a voice answering. Marguerida opened the door and stepped into the room. It was a spacious chamber, with several windows facing to the north, and the wan sunlight of autumn spilling onto the stone floor. An easel, sent over the previous day from the Painters Guild, was set up near the windows, with a whitened board on it, ready to be painted. There was a cracked vase with brushes sticking out of it sitting on a small table, tubes of paint laid out on a wooden palette on another, and the unfamiliar scent of turpentine mingled with the more pleasant one of woodsmoke from the small fireplace burning in one wall.
Katherine Aldaran looked at her, then started to stand up from the chair where she had been sketching on a tablet. She was wearing a shabby brown tunic, a divided skirt of dark green, and an apron. Her long fingers were smeared with charcoal, and there was a dark, sooty mark on her high forehead, where she had brushed her black hair back.
“Oh, hello. Have you come to discover what I am doing and make me stop?” Katherine’s question was both playful and a bit hostile. There were dark circles under her eyes, evidence of a poor night’s sleep, and she looked as if she were afraid to hear what might be said.
Marguerida forced herself to laugh at this, and found that she felt better for it. “No, I have not! I would not have intruded at all, since I know how annoying it is when one of the children comes in while I am trying to compose. But I thought you might be worried about Herm, and came to tell you that, as of an hour ago, he was well.”
“The devil take Hermes-Gabriel Aldaran! He is probably having the time of his life, and not thinking of me at all.” The voice was sullen, and the words lacked conviction.
“Katherine, I doubt that very much. Well, I suppose he probably is glad to be out and about, since he struck me as the kind of man who likes to do unusual things, but I am sure he is thinking of you.” Marguerida was not really certain of this, but it was a tactful thing to say.
“Only because I threatened to leave him last night, and I would, only I know that I cannot. He would not tell me anything, except that he was going away for a few days, and I could have strangled him, I was so furious.” There was no tone of complaint in her voice now, just a righteous indignation which Marguerida thought was perfectly appropriate. This was not a woman given to self-pity.
“I know all this is hard for you. It was hard for me when I first came to Darkover as an adult.”
“But you are a telepath, have this laran-stuff. I don’t, and I never will.”
“That is true, but it does not make me a different person than I was when I returned to Darkover. In fact, it nearly killed me.”
“Now, that sounds like the start of a story.” Her voice eased, as if she was glad to think about something other than herself, and she looked at Marguerida with guarded but not unfriendly eyes. “I forgot that you have not lived all your life here, but were at University.”
The room was largely unfurnished but there was a stool standing in one corner, and Marguerida pulled it out and sat down a few feet away from Katherine. The other woman picked up the tablet again, settling it over her lap, and Marguerida made a mental note to get a proper worktable moved in as soon as possible. One more thing to remember—she was sure her brain was going to melt if she asked it to do much more.
Katherine had tucked the stick of charcoal into her hair, so it stuck out of the bun at the back of her head, and now she plucked it out, turned to a fresh page, and studied Marguerida. She started to sketch again, not looking at the paper at all, but moving her hand across it while appearing to give Marguerida her complete attention. She wondered how Katherine did it, and got the mental impression that the woman’s eyes gave directions to her hand without any other part of her mind being engaged.
Marguerida forced herself to ignore her fascination with the movement of the fine hand across the paper, and marshaled her thoughts. “Yes, it is. I was born on Darkover, but I left when I was a little girl, and my father and stepmother deliberately concealed my history from me—for reasons that seemed logical to them at the time, but which caused me a great deal of trouble later.” She sighed and then smiled at some of the memories. “The Old Man says he regrets it now, but that at the time it was all he could think of to do. Some things had happened when I was a child that were very bad, and one of them was that I had been overshadowed by a long dead ancestor of mine, which did some things to my mind I still have the occasional nightmare about.”
“Overshadowed by a dead . . . and I thought the stories we had on Renney were fantastic! What is that—overshadowing?”
“Umm. It is hard to describe. This ancestor, Ashara Alton, lived and died over seven hundred years ago. She was an incredibly powerful leronis, and she managed not to die entirely when her body failed her. Instead, she left the imprint of her personality in a matrix array in the Old Tower of Comyn Castle. You can still see what remains of it—blackened and broken.” Marguerida shuddered a little, remembering the sight of the ruined structure when she rode into Thendara just before Midsummer sixteen years before. She had gone into the overworld, torn a great jewel from a building that existed only on that plane, and in the process, she had destroyed the link that kept Ashara Alton tied to present-day Darkover. In some manner that no one could explain, she had absorbed the energy of that jewel onto her left hand, and brought across the boundaries between the worlds a matrix that was part of both. She glanced down at her mitted hand, then looked up again.
“Over the centuries, she . . . well, manifested is a reasonable word for it. She would latch onto the energy patterns of someone, and use them to fulfill her will. And she had a very, very strong will,” she finished dryly, reflecting that she had at last reached the point in her life when she could speak of these events without starting to tremble. Marguerida did not feel the need to add that Ashara had a personal grudge against her, that she had foreseen the existence of one Marguerida Alton and had been determined to destroy her. Kate could only take so much information, and besides, she didn’t need to know.
Katherine paused in her sketching and frowned. “Does that happen very often? I mean, do a lot of your people go around and muck in the minds of . . .?”
“No, it is rare, and considered extremely unethical. What Ashara managed to do to me, when I was still a child and too young to resist her, was reconfigure certain of my brain patterns, so that I did not go into the usual threshhold sickness at puberty. I almost did not go into puberty at all! I came back to Darkover a twenty-eight-year-old virgin, because her interference affected my sexuality.” Marguerida gave a grin. “I have been trying to catch up for years now.”
“That must make Mikhail a very happy man.” There was no bite in the words, and Katherine sounded amused.
“A very tired one occasionally,” Marguerida agreed. “But when I got here, I had no idea of any of this, and I thought I was losing my mind more than anything else. Then I did become sick, and let me tell you, adult-onset threshhold illness is not a pleasant experience. I nearly died, and I would have except that I was helped by several people, including Mikhail, and miraculously, I survived.”
“I can see that. And your son Domenic said you and Mikhail went into the distant past, too—which I would have found utterly incredible two weeks ago. I keep having the dark suspicion that all of you are playing some trick on me, for reasons I cannot figure out.”
Now why would we do such a cruel thing?
Katherine jumped and the charcoal slipped from her fingers and skittered away across the floor.
“What! How did you . . . what did you just do?”
“Damn! Forgive me, Katherine! I am very tired, and my control seems to be . . .”
“What did you do!” Oddly, there was no fear in the question, just a single-minded rage.
“I possess the Alton Gift, which is the ability to force rapport with another mind, even the mind of a nontelepath. But I did not intend to . . .” Marguerida was ashamed of herself, and very cross as well. She should never have come to see Katherine so soon after encountering Javanne. She was upset, more than she wanted to acknowledge, and that made her careless.
Katherine bent down and recovered the charcoal. “Don’t do it again!” Her cheeks were pale, and she was breathing shallowly.
“No, I won’t—unless necessity forces me to.” One of the things she had learned over the years was never to make a promise that she could not be sure she could keep. “Still, I am curious. Why would you imagine that we would make up stories just to distress you?”
“Herm never told me much about Darkover, and certainly not about this whole laran business, Marguerida,” Katherine began, drawing her brows together and looking troubled. “He says he could not have, and this is almost true, because in the Federation now, there are eyes and ears everywhere. They spy on everyone, and everyone is assumed to be up to no good! He dragged me out of bed in the middle of the night, told me to pack, and the next thing I knew, we were on a Big Ship.” She drew a shaking breath.
“That was difficult, but Herm has always been rather secretive, and I just assumed that was his character. Now I discover he really has a secret—one that makes me . . . useless!”
“Useless?”
“Well—what do you call it . . . head-blind? Goddess, what a filthy term!”
“I think you should speak to Ida Davidson.”
“Who?”
Marguerida shifted on the stool. It was hard and uncomfortable, and she added to her list of things to remember to have some nice chairs brought in soon. “The small elderly woman you have seen with me the past two evenings.”
“Isn’t she your nanny or something? There are so many people, and I haven’t really been introduced to most of them—which I do understand, actually. I could have gone a whole lifetime without meeting Javanne Hastur,” she finished rather bitterly.
“Quite,” Marguerida answered dryly. “No, Ida is not a nanny or a servant. She is the widow of my mentor, Ivor, who died shortly after he and I came to Darkover. She is a musician, a fine one, and when she came to Darkover to reclaim her husband’s body, she remained here, because things in the Federation were already becoming difficult. She has no laran, and she has felt many of the same emotions I know you must be going through. But she has lived here for fifteen years, and I think she can reassure you much more than anything I can say.” And it will take some of the pressure off me. I should have thought of it sooner—if I were not so damn tired!
“Doesn’t she mind being . . . how can she not feel like cripple?”
“Ask her.”
“You are probably right—I am being overly anxious.” Katherine swallowed hard. “I don’t like things being out of my control,” she admitted gruffly.
“Who does?”
“There is that, isn’t there? I keep trying to keep my thoughts very . . . small.”
Marguerida shook her head. “I am sorry to tell you this, Katherine, but you are not doing a very good job of it. And that is because you are afraid—fear is like mental yelling.”
“So I should just relax and pretend that everything is wonderful!”
“I did not say that, and I wouldn’t. What I want you to do is get enough information to ease your fears of being . . . examined.”
She shivered all over for a second. “That is exactly it! And Herm wants me to be tested—he thinks I might have some latent paranormal talents or something—when Terése . . . I can’t stand this! I don’t want my little girl to hear my thoughts!”
“But, Katherine, she never would if she were trained properly. And if you really object to being checked out, then no one will force you. Do you know, I think you are actually more afraid of discovering you might have some sort of ability than of being . . . otherwise.”
Marguerida was loath to use the term head-blind just then.
“Maybe,” Katherine answered reluctantly. “Herm pointed out how often my portraits have elements in them that I have always thought were from my imagination, but which have turned out to be . . . significant to my subjects. I had never considered that, and, truthfully, I was disgusted by the idea. My Nana did not raise me to be a snoop!”
“I am sure she didn’t.” Marguerida paused, carefully considering her next words. “But does it occur to you that you might be overreacting somewhat because you are afraid you have been inadvertently . . . snooping on your sitters. I mean, if you thought all your life that you were an honest person, and then one day you found yourself in a shop putting a trinket into your purse, you would be horrified, wouldn’t you?”
“Absolutely. You know, Marguerida, you are not doing a very good job of reassuring me right now.”
“Well, perhaps you don’t need reassurance as much as you need forthrightness. Tell me, do you know what empathy is?”
“Of course—it is the ability to share the emotions of others.”
“That is one definition, and valid as far as it goes. But here, on Darkover, it is one of the Gifts, that of the Ridenow Domain, and it is much more than the intellectual capacity to agree with the feelings of another.”
“I don’t follow you.”
“There is a great distinction between ‘I know how you feel’ and ‘I feel how you feel,’ wouldn’t you agree?”
Katherine’s eyes widened. “Yes, but . . . I see now. So that’s it!”
“What?”
The other woman rubbed her cheek, leaving streaks of charcoal along the skin. “When I met Herm, the first thing I noticed about him was that he did not make me feel tired, the way many people do. He was so restful,” she went on, shaking her head. “And after we married, it did not change. He made no demands on my emotions, but was just this good man. After a while I realized that he kept a tight rein on his feelings, that he was remote and secretive, but it did not matter because I loved him. He was my safe haven.”
“And it never occurred to you that you might have chosen him because he was remote and distant? That you had some natural empathy, which is normal, but that you had an extra helping of it, shall we say, and that a husband who kept his feelings to himself was a real blessing?”
“No, not when you put it that way. Do you mean I don’t really love him?”
“Of course not! The way the two of you look at each other has such love in it that no one could imagine you do not adore one another. But we all pick partners, or try to, who suit us. Mikhail and I . . . well, the first time we met we had this ridiculous argument, but I think both of us sensed that we were meant for each other. And we still fight, too.”
“Really? Do you know, Herm and I rarely had any disagreements until we came to Darkover. Oh, there were a few times, and I lost my temper, but for the most part, it has been very nice.”
Marguerida laughed again. “Then you are very blessed.”
“Am I? I never thought about it like that. You have given me a great deal to consider, and I am not sure I am grateful, Marguerida.”
“I didn’t expect you to be, Katherine. But you still have not told me why you imagined that anyone would tell you tales that would frighten or amaze you.” Marguerida wanted to move away from the subject of the Aldaran marriage as quickly as possible. She felt uncomfortable, that she was meddling where she had no business.
“It is probably cultural. On Renney we have a body of folklore that is hardly believable, and I schooled myself to be a skeptic even before I left there. One of your ancestors managed to survive in . . . what did you call it . . . a matrix array, but one of mine supposedly could shape-change into a large cat! I always thought that that story was something to keep us children from being wicked, and I hated it.”
Marguerida smiled. “As far as I know, we don’t have any shapechangers on Darkover.”
“That’s good! I don’t think I could have stood that. I feel a little better now, but it probably won’t last. I keep rocketing back and forth, between fear and rage and back again. And even though everyone has assured me that I am safe, that my mind will not be . . . explored by strangers, I don’t believe it entirely. I hate it. And, more, I hate it that Herm has been lying to me for years and years.” She snapped the slender stick of charcoal between her fingers and threw the pieces onto the floor.
Marguerida waited to see if Katherine would do more, considering her own next move with a kind of calculation that shamed her just a little. “If I said that your fear and rage were entirely reasonable, would that help?”
“A little.” The admission seemed reluctant, as if she were unwilling to let go of the emotions.
“I was furious when I discovered I had the Alton Gift, Katherine. And there were times when I would have traded it for a warm bed and a good meal, or almost anything, except that it cannot be transferred or given away. Inherited, yes. Domenic has it, and Yllana, too.”
“And Roderick?” Katherine was very curious, in spite of her fears.
“Rory does not have the Alton Gift, but seems to have gotten a variant of the Aldaran one.”
“Oh, that! Herm told me it was the ability to see into the future, but I still find it hard to believe. If he had been able to really peer into tomorrow, he would have known we were going to come to Darkover, and at least have told me about it years ago. Wouldn’t he?”
Marguerida shook her head. “It doesn’t function like that. Yes, the Aldaran Gift is that of foresight, but it is rarely nice and clear. At least my own experience of it has never been very precise—I get a burst of information, all sort of jumbled, and then I have to try and figure out what it means. That often has turned out to be something other than I thought at the time. And what Rory has is kind of a backward version.”
“Backward? You mean he can see the past?”
“Sort of. It is more than just psychometry, although that is part of it.”
“Psychometry—now that one I have heard of. That’s where someone can touch an object and tell how old it is, or something. It always sounded pretty far-fetched to me. But Rory’s isn’t exactly like that?”
“No, it isn’t. He can pick up something and not only tell you how old it is, but a great deal about the history of the person who used the thing. There was a time when I thought it would be a wonderful skill for an archaeologist, and even considered sending Roderick off Darkover to study. But now I am glad I changed my mind, because I realize that such a talent could cause more trouble than it is worth, in places other than here.”
Katherine looked thoughtful for a moment. “I think it would likely get him killed, if he were not careful. And from the little Amaury has told me, your son Rory is not a careful boy.”
“No, that’s true enough.” Marguerida smiled and ran the fingers of her ungloved hand through her hair. “I have always been grateful that Domenic had a cautious disposition, and was not so hasty as Roderick.” I never should have told Nico he could never surprise ice! “He would make the sort of ruler that causes ministers to go early to their graves.”
“But Domenic will succeed Mikhail? I mean, there is no question about that?”
“Yes, he will, always assuming he lives long enough.” Bite your tongue! Nothing is going to happen to Nico, and you are borrowing trouble again! “Fortunately, my mother-in-law is almost alone in her insistance that Nico is not a legitimate heir to my husband.”
“But why? I have to say, Marguerida, that the little I have learned about Darkovan politics already is enough to drive me slightly mad, if I were not already well down that path on my own.”
“Nonsense! You are perfectly sane. You have been plunked down in a situation for which you were totally unprepared, and which probably violates some of your ideas about the nature of reality. I know that mine were seriously unsettled during my first months on Darkover. My father kept so much from me, my history and my potential as a telepath, so I can make an educated guess as to how you feel.” She sighed and then smiled a little. “I have almost forgiven him now. He was well-intentioned, but totally wrong. Not that I would have believed him, mind you, if he had sat me down and said, ‘Marja, you may discover that you can read minds, and you must not be afraid,’ or something equally logical. The problem is that human beings are not really logical.”
Katherine seemed rather puzzled by this for a moment. “We aren’t?”
Marguerida smiled and shook her head. “While I was at University, and afterward, I behaved in what seemed to me to be a logical manner. But I now realize that what I did was do things irrationally, and then after I would arrange the events in my mind so they seemed to follow some sort of reasonable path. That is not logic—it is wishful thinking, and involves rewriting one’s own history as one goes along. Life is not logical—it just goes along happening, and the best anyone can do is try to deal with the present as well as they can.”
“Very wise, and very difficult,” Katherine replied thoughtfully.
“Yes, it is. And especially for someone as intelligent and strong-minded as I believe you are. Herm spoke of you as Kate during dinner, and I think I can make an educated guess . . .”
“As opposed to picking my brains, you mean?” Katherine’s face underwent a transformation, going from serious to reflective to amused in only a second. “We met over a portrait I was doing, but the first thing we did together was attend a performance of The Taming Of The Shrew. A very poor production, but after that I was his Kate. But I never realized until a few days ago how like Petruchio Herm actually is! Not a fortune hunter, of course, since I haven’t one. I mean, I have watched him connive for ten years now, and I always thought it was charming, the way he could manipulate his fellow Senators. Now I discover he was gulling me, too, deceiving me just like he did those men and women, and it isn’t the least bit charming! I want to kick him in the shins!”
“Katherine, people deceive one another all the time, for much less important reasons than the safety of a planet. If a week goes by that Mikhail does not keep something from me that I believe I should be informed of, it is a miracle.” Right now, he is closeted with my father and Danilo Syrtis-Ardais and Dani Hastur and who knows what other people, plotting and scheming, and when he tells me what he wishes to, I will have to pretend to be delighted.
“But, you could . . .”
“Yes, I could listen in—but I wasn’t raised to be a snoop either! And I have to tread carefully, Katherine, because there are many who mistrust me, who think I have too much influence as it is, over my husband and my father.” She looked down at her hands again. “I was granted a peculiar power, and Mikhail was given another—so between the two of us we can do remarkable deeds. There are quite a number of people who refuse to believe that we would never use what we have to force our wills on others—my mother-in-law among them. I think this is mostly because if she had the capacity, she would use it, and she cannot imagine that we would not.” She sighed softly.
“But you haven’t? It must be very hard to resist the temptation, Marguerida.”
“No, not really. Oh, if I could turn Javanne into a toad, that might be pretty irresistible. Fortunately, laran doesn’t function like that. It still follows all the rules of the universe.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“You know—all that matter into energy stuff. With my particular laran, I can convert, with a great deal of effort, some matter into energy, or the other way around, and so can Mikhail. Hmm . . . I could, for instance, cause your tablet to burst into flame—well, in theory at least. I have never tried such a thing. But I can’t turn my mother-in-law into something else.”
“However much you might like to.”
“Exactly. But everything in Darkover society comes down to keeping the various parties in a balance of powers. Otherwise we would tear the fabric of our culture to shreds. In the past, we have almost done just that, and the gifts that Mikhail and I possess are all too similar to things that come from our history for anyone’s complete comfort. So I still have to act like a proper Darkovan female, and defer to the menfolk! All right—pretend to defer!” Marguerida felt her face redden with fury. She had to get a grip on herself before she said more. “I have learned to trust Mikhail to manage his part of the job, and to spend my energies doing mine. It is the hardest thing I have ever done in my life.”
“Trust?”
“Do you trust Herm?”
“I did, until a week ago.”
“No, Katherine, that is not what I mean. Do you think that your husband is a capable man, who can make decisions well?”
“Yes, he is that. Actually, he is so sharp it’s a wonder he doesn’t cut himself, as we say on Renney. And he hasn’t done things in the past to make me worry. No mistresses or fiddling with the account books. But he isn’t the same man I married any longer.”
“Yes, he is. Herm is exactly the man you married, only now you are aware of a portion of him that you didn’t imagine existed before. He is still a bit of a rascal, a charming fellow who cannot help being manipulative. No mistresses? He must love you very much.”
“As far as I know, he has been a paragon of faithfulness. Oh, I’ve seen him flirt occasionally, but it was usually with Senators from other planets, whom he wanted to vote a certain way.” She paused for a moment. “My Nana said he was like a cattle trader, always looking for a good purchase, feeling up the legs and checking the teeth.”
“But did she think he was an honest trader?”
“Umm, not entirely. She said he had a secret, and that it was probably a wife and six children here. I think I would have been relieved if that had turned out to be the case. Another wife I could deal with. The six children would have been a bit of trouble, I suppose.” She chuckled softly over the idea. “I could have been a wicked stepmother, after I poisoned the other wife, and drove the children into exile or something.”
“Well, to be really truthful, Herm might indeed have some nedestro offspring up in the Hellers, although I think that Robert Aldaran or Gisela would probably have mentioned it to me if they knew of any. He was in his twenties when he left here, and likely he was not celibate. But it seems to me that you already knew he was concealing something from you, at some deep and almost instinctive level.”
“Nedestro. I know the word, but I never really thought about the ramifications of it. Hmm . . . I guess I did know something was going on. Oh, Marguerida, I know I am being difficult. And maybe after a few years I will adjust to Darkover. But right now, I just want to scream with frustration.”
“Go ahead. The walls of Comyn Castle have heard things over the centuries that would curl your hair. And do not hesitate to come to me when you are troubled, please. I want to help you.”
“Thank you. I’ll try. But it isn’t easy for me, because I am not a confiding sort of woman. Actually, except for my Nana, I haven’t ever found the company of my sex very interesting, and I don’t make friends easily. I love my husband and my children, but truthfully, I am more comfortable with my pigments and brushes than with most other people. Hmm . . . if what you suggested a few minutes ago is real, and I am extra empathetic, it would explain a great deal.”
Katherine looked at Marguerida for a moment after she stopped speaking, and realized that in time she might indeed become friends with her. It was a somewhat surprising realization, and it was followed by another—that her troubled sister-in-law had become another. Funny—two nights before Gisela would have been the last person she could imagine liking, but after their talk in the carriage, everything had changed. And now Herm was away on some mysterious errand, leaving her alone among strangers. That most of them were relatives of some kind made the whole thing even more difficult. She had better just stop fretting and start learning how to cope with Darkover! Kate had her children to think of, didn’t she?
“I feel the same way about music. And I will take your words as a hint to go away and let you get on with what you are doing. I won’t press you any further.” She wanted to ask questions about Amedi Korniel, but decided that it would keep for the present. “Well, I do have a favor to ask you—two, really.”
“What is it?”
“My son Roderick shows a certain talent for drawing—at least when he gets bored and can’t think of any mischief to get into, he takes colored chalks and puts them on any wall he likes. They are rather pretty, even though I cannot allow them to remain. Could you bring yourself to tutor him a bit?”
“I would be happy to. And the other favor?”
“Do you think you might ask Gisela to sit for a portrait? I know you did not get off to a good start, but she is so unhappy, and I believe it would please her.”
Katherine gave Marguerida a bemused look, with something secretive but not unpleasant in it. “She would make an excellent subject,” was all the answer she gave, but her dark eyes glinted with interest.
“Fine. And now I will leave you to work. I will see you later in the day.”
Marguerida was rather puzzled as she left Katherine’s studio. But she was satisfied that she had eased some of Kate’s fears, and let the matter go from her mind. She had not gone ten feet down the corridor before all her own concerns rushed back. Katherine had distracted her for a brief while, and she realized that she had gotten as much relief from the visit as she had given. She had to wait, to be patient. It was very hard to be a middle-aged woman with duties, when she really wanted to rush off and do something—anything! And then the grief returned, as if it had been waiting to capture her emotions once more. “Damn you for dying, Regis. Your timing was off for once,” she muttered, and felt her eyes go blurry with fresh tears.
Katherine did not return to her sketching after Marguerida left, but sat and stared out the window, thinking about what had been said in a disordered sort of way. Her mind was tired and she knew that she could not make sense of anything right away, which irritated her greatly. Talk to Ida Davidson, Marguerida had said. It sounded simple and sensible, but Kate was not sure she could just walk up to a total stranger and voice her concerns. No, she would wait for a while and see what happened. But it was good to know that she was not the only inhabitant of Comyn Castle who was frustrated and angry.
For a time she considered the matter of empathy. That was a normal human trait, wasn’t it? And yet on Darkover it seemed to be something more—one of these Gifts that people kept mentioning. She could endure being empathic, she supposed. Marguerida’s explanation sounded plausible at least.
When another knock came at the door, she could not decide whether she was glad or annoyed at a further distraction. “Come in.”
It was Gisela, looking a little shy and wary of her welcome. She was wearing a russet tunic and darker skirt, not dissimilar from the clothing she had brought Katherine the previous day. “Hello. Am I interrupting you terribly?”
“Not at all. I was just woolgathering.” Had Marguerida told Gisela to come so quickly? Katherine was not ready to start a portrait yet—she would require something for the model to sit on, and there was only the stool—but she could make a few sketches.
“Good.” Gisela looked her up and down. “Kate, why are you wearing a riding skirt?”
“Is that what this is?” Kate tugged at the folds of her lower garment. “I was looking for something comfortable, that wouldn’t show the dirt. Is it improper?”
“No, not exactly, but it looks rather eccentric with an apron!” She gave a little giggle, then sobered. “I hardly slept last night.”
“I am sorry about that.”
“Don’t be! I was thinking about what you said in the carriage and I was just too excited to close my eyes until nearly dawn. Are you well, Kate? You look like you did not get much more sleep than I did.”
“Yes, I am fine.” Katherine repressed a yearning to talk to Gisela about Herm. She liked her new sister-in-law, but she was not yet sure how trustworthy she was. “It is just taking me a while to get adjusted to Darkover, I think.”
“You seem worried.”
“Do I?”
“Still fussing about people poking into your mind?”
“Yes, a little, I suppose.” With a slight start, Katherine realized she had managed to go for nearly half an hour without thinking about that problem at all. How unkind of Giz to remind her of it.
“Well, don’t.” She hesitated again, shuffling her feet back and forth under her long skirts. “Can I show you something?”
Katherine looked at her, and now she noticed that she could sense something of the mood of the other woman. It was very odd, and she felt very uncomfortable for a moment. But all that she could feel was excitement in Gisela, with none of the other darker emotions Kate now realized she had noticed on the previous day. How much, she wondered, of this sort of thing had she refused to acknowledge over the years? Maybe Marguerida was right. “Certainly, as long as it is not something horrid.”
Gisela looked stricken and shook her head. “Kate, I swear to you that I will never do anything mean again! I want you to be my friend! I need you to be my friend!” Tears glistened in the vivid green eyes and she trembled.
Katherine set aside her sketchpad and stood up slowly, moved and just a little frightened by this outburst. Then she crossed the space separating them and put her arm around Gisela’s shoulders. She could smell the faint scent of lavender in the cloth and some perfume as well. “There, there. Don’t cry, dear. Marguerida just asked me to do your portrait,” she added, frantically trying to think of some way to stem the wave of despair that was wracking her sister-in-law and grasping at the first thing that came to mind.
“Really? And did you tell her you already asked me to sit for you?”
“No, I didn’t. She thought it would please you, and I didn’t wish to . . .”
Gisela straightened against her. “That was very kind of her, wasn’t it? After everything?”
“I think that Marguerida is probably a very kind person, Gisela, and genuinely wants everyone around her to be happy.”
Gisela wiped her eyes with her handkerchief. “She hasn’t had much luck with me, has she?” There was a rueful tone to her voice. “Do you know how much time I have wasted hating her?”
“No, and I really don’t want to.”
“Good—because it makes me very ashamed. And I don’t like that at all.” She sighed, shrugged her shoulders under Kate’s light embrace, then made a comical face. “You see before you a reformed Aldaran.”
Impulsively, Kate took Gisela’s chin in her hand, looked intently into her face, and said, “Yes, I can see the virtue almost seeping from your pores.”
To her delight, Gisela giggled. “There is not another person, even Rafael, I would let tease me like that, dearest sister. Somehow, from you, it does not hurt.”
“I am glad of that. Now, you were going to show me something.” Katherine released Gisela, finding that she was not entirely at ease with the intimacy of contact. Is this why I paint portraits then, to be close but not too close?
Gisela plunged her hand into her beltpouch and took out a small object. “It was in my jewelry box, and I remembered it when I was getting dressed this morning.” She opened her hand. A little figure, about six inches in length, lay across her palm. The wood was dark with age, and the carving was crude, but it was powerful nonetheless. “It is the last thing I made before my nurse . . . made me stop.”
Kate took the small figure and turned it over. She noticed how Gisela had used the grain of the wood to good advantage, only removing enough to suggest folds of cloth below, and a face above that was simple but moving. On the back of the carving, there was still some bark left, rough and dark. She could see the marks left by some crude instrument, not a carver’s chisel but something less deft. One of the belt knives that everyone seemed to wear, Kate suspected, and not a very good tool for the job demanded of it.
“I don’t think you need to worry much about being good, Giz. Any sculptor I know would have been pleased to make this.”
“Thank you.”
“Will you tell me something now?”
“Anything.”
“Why did you come to me yesterday?”
“Oh, that.”
“Yes, that.”
“I . . . don’t know, not really. I was ready to hate you, and after I saw you the first time, it got worse. And then, at dinner, when Danilo Syrtis-Ardais took me to task, because he took one look at you in your Terranan finery and knew exactly what had happened, I suddenly realized that I was behaving like a fool—that I didn’t need to have you for an enemy.” She shivered slightly. “It didn’t cross my mind, when Rafael came back from the spaceport with all of you, that you could even want to be my friend, because I never imagined anyone would want that. I always wanted a sister, you know. But I had ruined things for myself with Marguerida, and here I was, starting off to mess everything up with you. So—I took a risk. I was scared to death, but I knew if I didn’t at least try, I would regret it for the rest of my life.”
“I am glad you did, Gisela. I have several sisters, but they are halfway across the galaxy, and I expect I will never see them again now. You were very brave.”
“You said that yesterday, and I didn’t believe you, but if you say it a few more times, maybe I will start to.”
Katherine smiled and leaned over and planted a gentle kiss on Gisela’s warm cheek. Then she stepped away. “Now . . . how do we get you some proper carving tools?”
The air in the little study was stale and filled with the smell of tense bodies. Lew Alton watched Mikhail, standing in front of the fireplace, fiddling with some small carved figures that stood along the mantle. The younger man looked more rested than he had the night before, despite the looming anxiety about Domenic. He smiled at his father-in-law, as if he understood Lew’s concerns and was trying to reassure him. Donal stood a few paces away, alert and watchful. Then, aware of Lew’s regard, he winked. It must be wonderful to be twenty-three, Lew thought, although his memories of himself at that age were so painful that he dreaded their recollection.
Mikhail turned and took his place behind Regis’ scarred desk. He looked from face to face, studying each intently for a moment, as if measuring his advisors and weighing their strengths and weaknesses in his mind. Satisfied that his son-in-law was in as good a frame of mind as could be hoped for, Lew relaxed a little. Now they must decide how to proceed, and he had to find a way to keep himself in the background, to allow Mikhail to take the lead. Otherwise, he felt, Mikhail would not be confident in his own decisions, and he would need to be for the sake of all their futures.
Rafe Scott, formerly of Terran Intelligence, was sitting lazily in one chair, and Dani Hastur occupied another. Time had been kind to Scott, and while his hair had grayed and his tanned face was a bit wrinkled, he seemed much the same man that Lew had known decades before in a time so removed, so different, that it might as well have been another universe. When Lyle Belfontaine had forced him to retire from the Service, Rafe had started a venture with Rafaella, taking occasional parties of Terranan on mountaineering expeditions into the Hellers. It had made him rich by Darkovan standards. He had an additional pension from the Federation, which was even occasionally paid to him, much to his amusement. The loss of Scott at HQ had made things more difficult, for he possessed strong telepathy. Until a few days before, they had used Ethan MacDoevid, who while he did not have any laran, was quick and kept his wits about him. The man from Threadneedle Street had been a good channel of information, and they all regretted that his observations were no longer available to them.
Beside him, Dani Hastur, now thirty, was still the rather quiet person he had been in his adolescence, but he had more assurance than before. The death of his father was a blow, one that Lew knew he would only recover from with time. But Dani hated Thendara, and it was obvious from the set of his shoulders that he would rather be almost anywhere else than in what had been his father’s study for so many years.
The sixth person in the room was Danilo Syrtis-Ardais. Regis’ death had taken its greatest toll on him, and he had aged visibly in the past few days. But the look in his eyes remained vigilant, and it was clear that he was not going to allow his very real grief to impede the workings of his fine mind.
Mikhail sat, clenching and unclenching the hand that bore the great matrix of Varzil the Good, his lean jaw rigid. He seemed to be looking for something that Lew could not discern. Finally, he cleared his throat and began to speak. “As soon as Dom Damon favors us with his presence,” he began, the irony in his words evident to all, “we will have to hold a Council meeting. The question is, what are we going to tell them?”
“That is succinct and to the point,” Danilo replied crisply. “If we tell them that there is a plot to assassinate you, there is going to be hell to pay. Francisco Ridenow and Lady Javanne will demand proof, or action of some sort, and we all know it. And Nico’s absence must be explained soon. So far we have managed to keep it secret, but eventually one of the servants will let the cat out of the bag, and then we will be up to our hips in wild speculation.” He gave a narrow smile. “I confess I have even toyed with the idea of telling your meddlesome mother that he has been kidnapped by the Federation, just to see the expression on her face. If only she would keep out of things!”
Dani Hastur nodded. “Yes, exactly. Gareth was asking me this morning where Nico was, and I hardly knew how to answer him, since I realized we did not want this information to become common knowledge just yet.” He gave a shrug of his shoulders. “Life would be a great deal easier if everyone minded their own business, wouldn’t it?”
“Truer words were never spoken,” Mikhail answered. “Let’s get on with this—the longer we remain here the more wild speculation we will create. I have no doubt that Francisco, Lady Marilla, and my dear mother are already imagining all manner of things. The floor is open to suggestions, information, and even jokes, so long as they are relevant.”
Rafe Scott shifted on his chair. “I have a little information that might be useful. I spent an hour in a tavern in the Trade City last evening, sipping beer and keeping my ears and mind open. I frequent the place enough to be taken for a regular, although the quality of the beer is not nearly as good as that of the gossip. Something is most assuredly up at HQ. There has been a veritable flood of messages going out for three days. What is most interesting is that, as far as I can gather, there has been no answer to them. The result is that the Terrans are becoming agitated, and are ready to jump at any shadow.”
“Do you have any idea what was in those messages?”
“Most of them were in code, and the people I eavesdropped on were too lowly placed to have access. It would be very useful if you or I could take a stroll through HQ, Lew, but that is out of the question, I suppose.”
“Perhaps. We’ve had several messages from Belfontaine, each one more shrill than the one before, and it seems clear from the most recent one that they now know that Regis is dead. He wants Herm Aldaran handed over to them, and an immediate interview with Mikhail, to discuss the future of the Federation on Darkover. It would be funny under other circumstances. It is a good thing I do not take offense easily, because the last message was extremely rude.”
Rafe Scott chuckled softly. “That’s Belfontaine all over. It sounds as if he thinks we are not aware that the Federation is planning to pull out—does he mention that?”
“No, he didn’t. Any more than we have told him of Regis’ passing. It is clear that his second, Miles Granfell, told him last night. It is a shame that we could not have kept Regis’ death secret just a little longer,” Lew answered.
“Why couldn’t you go to HQ and see him,” Dani asked.
“Oh, I could get in and speak to Belfontaine. The question is, could I then get out? Frankly, I am just a little too old to be a hostage. The same is true for Rafe.” If necessary he would die for Darkover, but he was not willing to waste his life in a futile exercise.
“Once you were on what is still Federation territory, they feel they could pretty much do as they wished.” Dani sounded uneasy at this idea.
“My information is that the port is shut down—is that right, Rafe?” Mikhail looked at the older man intently as he asked the question.
“Your information is correct. The port is closed, and there has not been an incoming ship for two days. Herm was lucky—his was the last Big Ship to come.” Scott shook his head. “I don’t like to think what this is doing to Federation trade, if this situation is occurring on planets closer to the hub.”
“That is the Federation’s problem, not ours,” snapped Mikhail impatiently.
“No, Mik, not entirely. Even though we are largely independent of the Federation, we can’t foresee how a large economic disruption within it might affect us. But that is for the future. What I observed is that low-ranking guards are still coming to the Trade City for recreation, and there is a certain quality of recklessness about them. They are aware that they will be leaving shortly, and act as if that gives them leave to do anything they wish. Already the City Guard have had to put down several brawls, and a few of the joy girls had bruises that were unusual. I popped in and called on Mestra MacIvan of the Red Sun House, and she said she was almost ready to close her doors, because things were getting ugly.”
“But why? I don’t understand that,” Dani wondered.
Rafe shifted in his chair. “My guess is that they think they can get away with anything, perhaps even murder, and not have to worry about any consequences.”
“Yes,” said Danilo. “The Commandant of the City Guards sent word this morning, wondering what to do with the Terranan he has already arrested, because his lock-up is getting rather full. And Belfontaine demanded, in another of his messages, that they be released immediately. His errand boys must be getting footsore, running back and forth between the castle and HQ.” He gave a wry grin. “I answered that they had destroyed property, and would not be let go until it was paid for, which should give him something to chew on for an hour or two. Still, I don’t quite know what to do about the problem. We can’t build another jail overnight, and if we let these men go back onto Federation territory, they will likely just return and cause more trouble.”
“What about the orphanage?” Donal asked this, then looked selfconscious.
“The John Reade Orphanage? What about it, Donal?” Mikhail asked.
“It has been standing empty since the Federation shut it down two years ago, and it is built like a fortress. It has lots of rooms, and from what Domna Marguerida has told me about it, it was little better than a prison to start with.” His cheeks were rosy, but he was standing his ground, and Lew gave him an approving nod.
A slow grin crept across Mikhail’s tired face, and years dropped away, leaving him looking very youthful instead of middle-aged. “A very elegant solution, which will no doubt amuse Marguerida greatly. Danilo, tell Belfontaine that his men are going to remain in our custody until payment is made, or until the Federation leaves. That should put him off-balance for a few minutes, since he does not yet know that we know they are pulling out. It will give him something to think about other than trying to kill me. Is there more, Rafe?”
“A bit. Most of the people I watched are low level, without any access to really sensitive information. They are worried, I would say, and what they seem to be worried about is that the Federation will not send ships to remove them at the appointed time, but will instead abandon them here. It has happened on other worlds, and even though it was not common knowledge when I left, it seems to be that now. The overall impression I got was that no one knows what is going on or what is going to happen. This has left them anxious, and reckless as well.”
“Interesting,” Lew said, leaning forward, so he could look at Scott around Dani. “It sounds as if those at the top are keeping those at the bottom in the dark, doesn’t it?”
“Exactly. The rank and file are clearly uneasy, and I did not see any officers.”
“Is that good or bad?” Mikhail asked.
“Bad, I suspect. If Emmet Grayson still had any authority, we could approach him. But since the reorganization of the Federation bureaucracy, most of the real power has been in Belfontaine’s hands, and we know him to be our enemy.”
“How many trained fighters can Belfontaine muster in Thendara?” Mikhail leaned forward across the desk as he spoke, his eyes intent.
“Now, that is a very good question, and one I cannot answer accurately. When I retired, there were about two hundred, but I don’t know if this number has been added to or reduced. Then there are those up in Aldaran territory. I tried to get a count the last time I took a party into the Hellers, and I would guess that there are between seventy-five and a hundred men there, many of them no better than raw recruits. But there are some veterans of the Pali Uprising, marines and soldiers both, and they know their business. There might be a few more, since I suspect that some of the technicians are actually combat trained.”
“What is your opinion of Belfontaine, Rafe? You have had more contact with him than anyone except Lew and myself.” Danilo spoke the question before anyone else could.
“He is shrewd and ambitious, and he has long wanted to advance his position. He got into some sort of trouble when he was Adjutant on Lein III, and was sent to Darkover in disgrace. He has been chafing to find some action for years now, and he will see Regis’ death as an opportunity to end Darkover’s Protected status, by claiming that the Federation needs to step in and keep order, or some other fabrication. It would not be the first time a Terran official acted in his own best interest. The Federation usually doesn’t interfere with this sort of adventurism, since bringing all the planets into the fold is their aim anyhow.”
“Is this Belfontaine an Expansionist?” Dani asked the question, wrinkling his brow with concentration. He had never had much interest in the problems of governance, and his years in the Elhalyn Domain had put him out of touch with current information.
“I don’t think he has any politics, or even political alliance, just a driving ambition to become a general before he is sixty,” Scott answered dryly. “He comes from an industrial family, one that owns entire planets, and essentially even the people who live on them, which gives him a particular way of seeing things that is incomprehensible to me. In the usual circumstances, he would have gone into the business, but from something he let slip once, it seems they did not think him suitable, and he ended up in the service of the Federation instead. I have the impression that in his family, working for the Federation is regarded as a step down, something that is only for people who are not sharp enough to survive the corporate environment. I think that gives him something to prove. What I am certain of is that he hates Darkover, has a very low opinion of our people, and sincerely believes that we would be much better off under the dominion of the Federation, rather than continuing on as we have for centuries.”
“Then it is safe to assume that if someone came to him and suggested that it would be possible to assassinate me on the way to the rhu fead, he would jump at the chance.” Mikhail said the words slowly, as if they were sour in his mouth.
“Possibly.”
“Only that?”
“He is not a stupid man, Mikhail. He has to step with a little care, because the last thing the Federation would want is some ambitious fellow setting himself up as a warlord. He might succeed in killing you, and then find himself facing a firing squad for treason.”
“In other words, he needs to make it appear that he is acting in the best interests of the Federation, not his own?”
“Yes, Dani, exactly. He has enough trained men to attack the funeral train—but I can’t guess if he would do it. I suspect that some of these unanswered messages he has been sending are an attempt to get some sort of authorization for intervening in Darkover’s affairs, and that he has also asked for reinforcements. It must be very frustrating for him to have no reply. Lew, do you agree?”
“I do. I assume that since disbanding the Legislature, the Federation has been in too much of a turmoil to worry about some little backwater like Darkover—for which we should be very grateful.”
Mikhail gave a grunt. “I don’t like this, but I can’t think of anything to do to change it. Lew, have you had any further word from Nico and Herm?”
“I know they joined up with Rafaella this morning, and headed toward Carcosa. If there have been developments beyond that, I have not been informed of them.”
“That was a good idea of Marguerida’s,” Scott offered. “Rafi was thrilled to get out on the road.”
“Does anyone have any ideas to propose?” Mikhail asked.
Young Donal cleared his throat and everyone looked at him with surprise. The paxman turned slightly pink with embarrassment at being the center of attention. “I don’t want to talk out of turn, but ever since Nico left, I have been thinking, and I’ve spent some time looking at maps of the route to the rhu fead.”
“There is no need to be hesitant, Donal,” Danilo said kindly. “You will have to learn to advise Mikhail as I have done for Regis for all these years. It is one of the more interesting duties of the paxman, you know.” He grinned wryly, but his eyes were filled with memory and sorrow. “You are even permitted to offer unpleasant thoughts to Mikhail, without fear of censure.”
“That’s right, Donal,” Mikhail said. “I remember a night, right here in this room, over sixteen years ago, when Danilo told my uncle that he must abandon any hope of me marrying Gisela Aldaran. He did not like it, but he took it well enough.” Mikhail and Danilo both chuckled at the memory. “Go on.”
Instead of speaking, Donal reached into his beltpouch and took out a folded piece of very thin paper. He opened it out and laid it on the desk in front of Mikhail, smoothing it carefully. “I traced this out last evening, using one of the old maps that the Terranan did years ago, and another that Rafaella gave to Domna Marguerida.”
“Why did you use two?” Dani wondered.
“The map from the Terranan is what is called a contour map, which means it shows the shape of the land, but does not have a lot of information about towns and farms. It is pretty old, but since the land remains the same, it should still be accurate.”
“It must be something done from one of their geosynchronous satellites, when they could get the infernal things to function,” Scott suggested. “It used to drive their people almost mad, for just when they got one up and running, they would have peculiar failures, and go off-line again. It gave me a poor notion of their technology at first. But someone explained to me that our sun gives off a strange radiation that bolluxes up the readings or something. Personally, I think Aldones doesn’t want strangers taking pictures of Darkover.”
Everyone chuckled at this, except Donal, who remained serious.
“I don’t know about that. The Federation thing shows how the ground rises and falls, and I made the best copy I could. Then I took Rafaella’s map, which is just a sketch of things along the Old North Road, and added that information to the first one. By using both, we can look at the landmarks and such, but also can see more about the terrain.” He pointed at one section. “For instance, here Rafaella marked a big farm, a small village, and suggested the shape of the road. But on the Terranan map, you can see how the farm is spread over several hills, that the land rises and falls, and that the road winds in a slightly different manner than she drew. I just thought it would be useful to us to look for places where an ambush might be possible. And there are a couple that I found.”
Scott stood up and looked at the map from his side of the desk. “The places marked in red, Donal?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You are right. Those are logical places for an ambush.”
“I thought that perhaps we could . . . put some of the Guardsmen in ordinary clothing, a few of them, and send them ahead to scout out things,” Donal said. “I mean, why should we go into this with only Nico and Herm and Rafaella’s Renunciates? Let’s outguess the Terrans, and spike their plans.” His young face was fierce now.
“That is a clever idea, Donal,” Danilo said, his voice warm with approval. “And do you have any suggestions as to who these men might be?”
“I made a list.” Donal pulled another piece of paper out of his pouch, rather wrinkled, and with a great many crosscuts, and offered it to Mikhail. “I would have consulted Commandant Ridenow, but I thought I had better not, since it would raise questions and get back to Francisco. And after I could not think of a way to get any of the Guards from the barracks assigned, it struck me that there are a lot of loyal older men, no longer on active duty, who are living in Thendara right now. I picked men who have had experience fighting bandits, who are seasoned and smart as well, and whose absence would not cause comment.”
Danilo stood up, circled the desk, and leaned over Mikhail’s shoulder. “These are good choices, for the most part. The only problem I can foresee is how to do this in secrecy.”
“Are you afraid of Terranan spies, Uncle Danilo?” Dani Hastur asked, “Or are you worried about some members of the Council getting wind of what’s happening?”
“Both, Dani. These men have families, and if they say anything, it will be gossip in an hour. You were wise not to talk to the Commandant, Donal.”
“I knew that Cisco would tell his father something was up, and then Grandmother Javanne would hear of it, and then the fat would have been in the fire.” He spoke simply but with great feeling.
“Your discretion does you credit, Donal.”
The young paxman grinned broadly. “I learned that from watching Lew all these years.”
“Did you now?” Lew was pleased and amused.
“When I was ten, you told me that information was the real power in the world, not kings and Domains. I have tried to remember the lesson. And when I was chosen to be paxman to Mikhail, I watched how Danilo was with Regis, how he listened more than he talked, but always seemed to know everything.”
“You have all the makings of a fine advisor,” Rafe Scott praised.
Danilo Syrtis-Ardais stood up. “I think that I can accomplish what needs to be done without arousing too much talk. I can think of a few additions to make to Donal’s list, but for the most part, it will do very well indeed. And, just to muddy the waters a bit, I think I will suggest to Cisco that he go over the reserve list.”
“Why that?”
“It will give him something to do, for one thing, and we may find we need to have those men mobilized, if the Terranan continue to misbehave in the Trade City.”
“Danilo,” said Lew in admiration, “I am very glad you are on our side, and not theirs.”
“Make it so,” Mikhail said quietly. “Now all we need to do is decide what, if anything, we are going to tell the Council, and when.”
“That is the sticky point, isn’t it?” Lew answered. “The funeral is planned for three days from now, so I suggest you delay any meeting until the day before that. You know that Javanne is going to try to overset you, and that she has at least two allies on the Council—Francisco and Lady Marilla Aillard. She has not budged an inch over the years.”
“You are right, Lew.” Mikhail looked sad at this. He had managed to reconcile with his father, Dom Gabriel, but his mother remained adamant in her refusal to accept the agreement that had been worked out fifteen years before, where Danilo Hastur became the Elhalyn Regent, and Mikhail was Regis’ heir designate. It was her ruling obsession, a kind of blind fury that drove her to bouts of near madness. Had she been anyone other than the sister of Regis Hastur, and the wife of Dom Gabriel, she would have been confined long since.
“I spoke to her this morning,” Dani said. “I found her in the dining room with Mother, insisting that . . . It was a very distressing encounter. And Mother was ready to collapse. It made me wish I were a more forceful person.”
“What happened?”
“As soon as she saw me, Aunt Javanne became very . . . friendly. It made my skin crawl. She told me that she was sure that wiser heads would prevail, and I would be made to take Mikhail’s place. I could tell she meant herself when she said wiser heads, and I tried to explain to her that I did not want to govern Darkover, that I wouldn’t have the job for all the gold in Carthanon. She didn’t listen, but at least it gave Mother a chance to escape back to her rooms.” He frowned. “She said I must not think of myself so much, but should consider my heritage and that of my children. Do you know, I think she imagines that if she cannot twist me to her will, she will go after Gareth! Forgive me. I have said too much.” He looked stricken and miserable.
“My poor mother thinks that she is the wisest woman on Darkover, and also imagines that she will live forever. The temptation to give her a powerful sleeping draught is almost irresistable.”
“That might not be a bad idea,” Lew said, completely seriously, and found himself the object of five pairs of startled eyes. Then everyone realized he was teasing them, and a chuckle came from Mikhail, followed by an eruption of laughter in the room. It eased the tension, and everyone began to relax slightly.
“It would be a wonderful thing if my mother were unable to be present at the Council meeting, wouldn’t it?” Mikhail looked almost happy for the first time in several days.
“Yes, wonderful. And quite scandalous,” Danilo murmured, his pale eyes alight with merriment. “Unthinkable,” he added.
“If I find Aunt Javanne troubling my mother again, it will not be in the least unthinkable, Danilo. I’ll put enough sleepweed in her soup to keep her dead to the world for a tenday!”
“We will have to hope it will not come to that, Dani,” Mikhail answered. “Besides, I think you would have to get in line for the honor.”
He looked from one face to the other, and what he saw seemed to satisfy him. “I think we have accomplished as much as we can at present, until we get further information.”
There was a scraping of chairs at this dismissal, and everyone except Lew and Mikhail stood up to leave. When they were gone, Mikhail looked at the older man. “Was there something else?”
“Yes, there is. I believe that you should include your brother Rafael in any further discussions.”
“But . . .”
“He has never been disloyal to you, Mikhail, and you know it. Yes, you have suspicions of his wife, for her scheming when they were first married. But you need him, and I think that he has been punished more than enough for her actions. She hasn’t really caused any problems for several years now, and I don’t expect her create any now.” Lew sighed and shook his head. “We distrust her because she is an Aldaran, but how long must she be forced to . . . Mik, it has to stop somewhere! We can’t continue to nourish wounds from the past, not when we have so many problems in the present!”
“What Regis did, keeping her and Rafael here as hostages, wasn’t really right, was it?”
“I don’t know any longer, son. There was a kind of logic in it, at the time, but that time is past. It certainly was not kind! I have no wish to dishonor the memory of a man I loved and valued as a friend, but some of the decisions Regis made in the last fifteen years were extreme, and both of us know it!”
Mikhail nodded. “I have always been torn between my loyalty to Regis and my affection for Rafael. He had never done me ill.”
“Mikhail, if you are going to rule Darkover, you have to begin making your own decisions, not keeping to the policies that your uncle put into place. I don’t want to influence you against your own judgment, no matter what your mother believes, but I do wish to advise you as well as I am able. And truthfully, if I had to choose between Gisela and Javanne right now, I would take your sister-in-law in a moment! Something has changed for her—I have no idea what—but she suddenly seems almost happy instead of restless and dissatisfied.”
Mikhail shrugged. “All that might mean is that she intends to return to her earlier insistence that Rafael would be a suitable person to take my place.”
“That is certainly a possibility, of course, but if it is, what better way to interfere with her plans than by bringing Rafael close to you? No matter how much he cares for his wife, your brother would never act against you, particularly if you mend your fences with him.”
“How fortunate I am to have you for an advisor, even when you tell me to do difficult things that I would rather avoid. I am so ashamed of how Rafael has been treated, not just by Regis, but by me as well.”
“I understand. But, Mikhail, you are a wise and decent man, and a stronger one than I think you realize just now. And one thing that separates the strong from the weak is the ability to admit fault, ask forgiveness, and get on with life.”
“Have you ever . . . ?”
“Yes, of course I have. Don’t you think that the way I denied Marguerida any real knowledge of her childhood does not make me cringe with shame? She was generous enough to forgive me, and then to trust me again. I think that is a miracle.”
“Yes, I suppose it is, but my wife has a very big heart—or otherwise we would never have ended up fostering Alanna, would we?”
“Go to your brother and make peace, Mikhail. I don’t think you will ever regret it.”
“Will he forgive me, do you think?”
Lew smiled. “Of course, Mikhail. If he does not welcome you with open arms, I will be very surprised.”
“Do you know, I have wanted to approach him many times over the years, and more in the past few days. But I was afraid to risk it. Thank you for . . . for everything.”
“There is nothing to thank me for, son. I have nothing but your best interests in mind . . . and heart.”
“No matter what my mother believes?”
“No matter what anyone thinks or believes or imagines, Mikhail.”
Mikhail took a deep breath and knocked on the door of the suite where his brother and sister-in-law lived. Then he opened it and entered. Gisela was sitting at a small table, looking at a little carving, her brows knit together, and Rafael was reading a book. They both looked at him, and the woman shrank back a little, her green eyes bright with wariness.
“Good afternoon,” Mikhail said quietly.
“This is an unexpected pleasure,” Rafael answered, smiling slightly. “You have been so busy the past few days.”
Mikhail felt the strain between them. It made his heart ache, and he wondered if he had a way to mend the inadvertent injury that Regis’ choices and Gisela’s mischiefs had brought about. “Yes, I have been, and I would rather have not.”
“Have you come about Hermes?”
“Why do you ask that, Giz?”
“I don’t know, really. I was visiting Katherine a little while ago, and she seemed . . . worried about something. I just assumed it was about Herm, because she is so devoted to him.” There was nothing in her look or voice except genuine interest. Lew was right—there was something different about Gisela. He had not seen her so relaxed since she had been a girl, when they had first met. No, not even then, because she was always tense, waiting for one of Dom Damon’s frequent outbursts of temper.
“Well, you are right. Did she tell you that Belfontaine wants him given over to the Federation?”
Gisela looked alarmed. “No, she did not, and I don’t think she knows that either! My dear brother! He hasn’t changed a bit in twenty years. I’ll bet he didn’t tell her. Where is he?”
Mikhail considered before he spoke. “He felt it would be better for everyone if he were not in Comyn Castle at present, so I sent him ahead to oversee preparations at the rhu fead.” It was the best he could think of at the moment.
Gisela fixed him with a penetrating look, more like her usual self. “I’ll wager he wanted to be away when our father appears—a pity I could not go with him!”
“That may have been part of the reason he took the task, yes,” Mikhail agreed.
“You did not come to discuss Herm, did you, Mik?” Rafael said.
“No, I didn’t. I came to beg your pardon.”
“My . . .”
“Rafael, the past is past. I cannot have you sitting around the Castle twiddling your thumbs, looking disgruntled.”
“Do you want me to leave, then?”
“Certainly not! I am going to need you now, to advise me, to listen to me when I have a problem. I have missed your good sense terribly—and more, your company, bredu.”
At Mikhail’s statement, Rafael seemed to hold his breath. “I have waited a long time to hear that word from you, Mik.”
“I should never have let Regis . . .”
“You could not have changed his mind about my trustworthiness, Mik, and we both know it.”
“That does not change the fact that I regret it very much.”
“As you said, the past is past, bredu.” Rafael walked across and embraced his brother firmly. Over his shoulder, Mikhail could see that his sister-in-law was smiling and that tears were falling from her green eyes. There was no calculation in her expression, just relief and joy.
As Mikhail hugged his older brother, he felt a knot of tension in his belly uncoil. Yes, he needed Rafael, but more, he loved the man, and was glad that he could now have him and his counsel close by. And he knew he was forgiven for the years of estrangement, for Rafael had a great heart with nothing petty in it. And that, he decided, was a gift that outweighed anything else.