Traitor's Sun

Danilo's son. They had met at Arilinn the previous year, and he knew he did not

  like the boy, and that the feeling was mutual. There was something in the way he

  looked at Domenic, a sidewise glance, that made him want to squirm. More, Gareth

  gave himself airs, expecting to be deferred to, which had not sat well with his

  fellow students at the Tower. It was better to think about Belfontaine, because

  it did not seem proper to dislike his grandmother and cousin as much as he knew

  he did.

  Lew had taken Domenic with him to HQ during one of the meetings he had, telling

  him to observe everything, and passed him off as a page. It had been rather fun,

  pretending to be just a nobody, catching the random thoughts of the Terrans in

  the halls and offices. It had not been very interesting, though, because most of

  what he picked up was incomprehensible to him. But the Station Chief had been

  fascinating, in a sort of repulsive way, trying to get Lew to agree to let him

  come to the Castle and meet Regis Hastur. He watched his grandfather dodge the

  issue and change the subject so skillfully that Belfontaine hardly realized he

  was being deflected. It had been, Nico felt, a good lesson in diplomacy, but

  seeing the Station Chief had left him with the feeling that the man was a

  dangerous fool, and that all Terranan were equally irresponsible and

  treacherous.

  He had been more interested in the machines that were everywhere, beeping and

  humming to themselves, while grinding out sheets of flimsy paper that Lew told

  him would turn to ash in less than a day. Until he saw the relays at Arilinn,

  Domenic had never seen anything similar, and he was impressed in spite of

  himself. The only piece of advanced technology he knew was his mother's now

  ancient recording device, gathering dust, since she could no longer obtain the

  batteries that enabled it to run.

  It seemed futile to think about Belfontaine, and he let his mind drift in

  another direction. There were so many things he did not understand, and

  questions he could barely formulate, let alone find someone to answer. Everyone

  was so busy, and expected him to look after himself, now that he had reached his

  majority. And, in truth, he was a little afraid of the things that were in his

  mind, the thoughts and memories that dwelt there.

  There were times when he thought he could remember the moment he had been

  conceived, although he was sure this was impossible, and he wondered silently if

  he might be a little mad. But he could not shake a sense that he knew things he

  could not, and no one, even such wise people as Istvana Ridenow, were able to

  answer the questions that had begun to trouble him about five years before. He

  missed the old leronis, who had tested him before he had gone to Arilinn, and

  she had returned to Neskaya. He wished, sometimes, that he could go there and

  study with her, but he knew that he would never be allowed that far away from

  Thendara.

  Grandfather Lew referred to the way Regis had spent the last years of his life

  as a "siege mentality" and frequently rued it within Nico's hearing. He knew it

  was the result of events that had occurred long before he was born, when the

  World Wreckers had tried to ruin Darkover. As he had aged, Regis had become more

  and more anxious, as if the past were gnawing away at the present, destroying

  his peace of mind.

  Lew admitted the necessity of keeping the ruling family safe, and away from the

  Terrans, but he still seemed to think there should be some less restrictive way

  of handling the problem of security. Domenic could not imagine being able to

  come and go as he pleased, nor even suggesting that he might be allowed to. He

  was still only a boy, or a man only legally, not a full adult. He was never

  going to have any adventures, or see more of Darkover than he already had. It

  was a very depressing thought, and he decided he had better get hold of himself,

  or his mother would become alarmed and make him drink something foul-tasting.

  There was no cure, he was certain, for the way he was feeling, except, as his

  mother often said, time. He was sad over Regis' death, and that was normal. It

  was rather reassuring to think that what he was experiencing was perfectly

  ordinary, because recently his emotions had seemed to swing wildly, back and

  forth between elation and depression, without any reason. But Alanna's moods did

  that, too, so maybe it really was just his age, and not anything more serious.

  Of course, his cousin and foster-sister worried him a great deal. They were very

  close, having been reared together for ten years, and he probably knew her

  better than anyone else. Thinking of Alanna's fits of temper did nothing to

  reassure him of his own mental stability, and he could not help thinking of the

  stories he had heard over the years, about the Elhalyn branch of the family,

  which was well-known to be rather odd. Maybe great-grandmother Alanna Elhalyn

  had passed some strange gene through her daughter Javanne, that showed up in him

  and his foster sister.

  Thinking about Javanne Hastur was not a good idea, because she always made him

  feel perfectly dreadful. She had, as far as he could remember, never touched

  him, let alone hugged him the way she did Rory and Yllana. Mother said that was

  Javanne's problem, not his, but he admitted to himself that it hurt.

  Anticipation of his grandmother's imminent arrival at Comyn Castle, and the

  already prickly presence of Gareth Elhalyn, was making him feel worse by the

  second. If only they did not seem to hate him!

  But his father's mother seemed to hate a lot of things, sometimes even including

  Father. Well, at least he was in good company! He would endure her visit as he

  had all the previous ones, by avoiding her as much as possible. Let her make a

  great fuss over Rory. He was not jealous of his little brother . . . was he?

  All of this anxiety was likely due only to the great upheaval in his life, and

  that he was fifteen, and feeling unsure of himself. Uncle Rafael had told him a

  few months earlier, in a pleasant way, that he was a perfectly normal adolescent

  young man, which was a comfort. He would surely grow out of it, as he had

  started to grow out of his clothes every few months, although he was still short

  for his age. But his uncle did not know the shape that Domenic's laran seemed to

  be taking-no one did except a few leroni at Arilinn-and they were puzzled by it.

  And no one knew how it had grown since he returned to Thendara! Grown and

  changed into something so strange that half the time he was sure he was going to

  go mad. He could not really hear the planet, could he? No, that must be

  impossible, or the result of an overactive imagination. Human beings could not

  listen to the movements of the earth, could not hear the roll of the distant Sea

  of Dalereuth against the shore. Maybe, if he got the chance, he would ask Lew

  about it. Probably not. His grandfather was pretty busy, and there was no way to

  discuss this without revealing his fears about his own sanity.

  The rattle of wheels brought him out of his reverie sharply, and Nico looked

  down the narrow street that ran past this entrance to the Barracks. He knew all

  t
he delivery schedules by heart, and none were expected. He stiffened into

  alertness and peered into the shadows, as did his watchmate.

  "What's this?" Kendrick was a career Guardsman, a sturdy man in his early

  thirties, and one of Nico's favorite people. Nothing ever seemed to bother him,

  and standing guard with him was usually pleasant, restful almost. He followed

  the direction of the older man's eyes.

  Now Domenic could see what troubled the older man. It was a muledrawn wagon with

  a painted panel behind the gaudily garbed driver on the seat. Travelers! What

  the devil were they doing in the city now? They were only permitted into

  Thendara during Midsummer and Midwinter. In the warm part of the year, they went

  about, entertaining in small hamlets and the lesser cities. Except for Midwinter

  itself, he did not know where they wintered. His mother, who was curious about

  many things, had been trying unsuccessfully to gather some real information

  about them for a long time, and had not succeeded. Most of the little she did

  know she had learned from Erald, the son of the prior head of the Musicians

  Guild. He must remember to tell her that he had seen them.

  Still, they should not be driving along on this particular street, even when

  they were welcome in the city. The only traffic permitted along this route were

  those who had business at the Castle, draymen bringing in supplies or Guildsmen.

  This was interesting because it was out of the ordinary, and Domenic felt his

  black mood start to dissipate in the face of his curiosity. He had seen

  Travelers twice, during his time at Arilinn, where they performed some rather

  scandalous songs and a play which he remembered was funny but seemed to delight

  in making fun of his Uncle Regis, among other things. What he had really liked

  was the rope dancer, a pretty girl in a skimpy costume, and the juggler who said

  poetry while he tossed more and more balls into the air. No one told the

  Travelers what to do, except themselves, he believed. What was it like to be

  that free of duty?

  They did not seem to belong anywhere, unlike everyone else he knew. They did not

  have any permanent homes, and the organization of their troupes was a mystery.

  They belonged to no Guilds, answered to no authority, not even the lords of the

  Domains, and did as they pleased, so long as they did not violate the few laws

  which applied to them. There was something wonderfully attractive about that.

  For a moment, Nico wondered what it would be like to have the liberty to go

  where one chose whenever one wished. Then he decided it was probably cold and

  wet and hard.

  He peered into the shadows made by the walls of the Castle, trying to make out

  more details. The wagon had come far enough up the street that he could see the

  figures painted on the sides of it now. There were puppets, the strings picked

  out in flaking gilt, and a garland of flowers ran around the topmost edge. The

  side of the wagon was lowered, and he saw a girl leaning out, grinning. She was

  red-haired and freckled, and seemed to be about his own age. She gave him a wave

  of greeting as Kendrick stepped away from the barrack entrance.

  "Just what do you think you are doing, there, my good man?" he demanded of the

  driver. He gestured to Nico to remain in the shadows, and even though he wanted

  a better look, he remained where he was. He did not sense any danger from the

  skinny man, but he knew that he should obey the older Guard.

  The man just shrugged and gave Kendrick a surly look. He was a small man, with a

  narrow face and a beaky nose. "We broke a wheel and had to stop in Wheelwrights

  Row to fix it. It didn't seem worth going out of the city and around to meet the

  rest of our troupe."

  "You are not permitted in Thendara at this season! And this street is out of

  bounds to the likes of you in any case." Kendrick sounded outraged, but Domenic

  suspected he was enjoying the break in the rather boring task of standing guard

  at this post.

  "We ain't bothering nobody," protested the driver. "You ass-kissing servants of

  the Comyn are all alike, telling us what to do for no reason than that you don't

  do no real work!"

  The words were rude, and the attitude of the driver was that of a man looking

  for a fight. But there was more. Nico caught just a hint of fear from the man,

  and some muddled overthoughts that were strange. It took him a moment to realize

  that the man was not thinking in casta or cahuenga, but a mixture of both, with

  a good amount of Terran as well. Peculiar, but he was probably from up in

  Aldaran country, where Nico knew there were quite a few Terranan. Maybe he had a

  Terran father. Or maybe he had come this way for a reason. What if he were a spy

  or something? Nico laughed at himself quietly. That was a ridiculous idea-just

  because the man's uppermost thoughts were confused was no reason to suspect him

  of any mischief. He was jumping at shadows.

  "That is enough! You get on, or I'll have you . . ."

  "Don't get your trews in a twist," sneered the driver. "We are only going to the

  Old North Road, where we will meet up with the rest of our folk."

  "Stop being provoking," the girl called from behind. "I told you we should have

  taken the other street!"

  "And I told you it was too far. Keep your tongue between your teeth, girl, or

  I'll take a switch to your behind."

  "You and what army, Dirck? I can outrun you any day, even in ten petticoats."

  She laughed at the driver and grinned at Nico, her gray-green eyes alight with

  amusement. He smiled back. Domenic wondered who she was, and how she had become

  a Traveler. More, he wondered about the flaming hair, so often a sign of laran

  in the Darkovean populace. He had never heard of any Travelers coming to the

  Towers to be tested or trained.

  The hair itself was fascinating. It was very curly, like his mother's, but wiry

  where Marguerida's was as fine as a babe's. It stood out around her face like an

  aura of flames, even though the back of it was held in the confines of a wooden

  butterfly clasp. She was, he decided, a very pretty girl, but in an odd sort of

  way. She looked rough, not smooth like his cousin Alanna or his sister. And her

  features were not in any way remarkable-a slight turned-up nose, luminous eyes,

  and a generous mouth. There seemed to be nothing serious about her, and he

  decided that this was why he thought her pretty. She looked as if she found life

  very interesting and never worried about much, unlike Alanna.

  Domenic sighed. Every time he thought about Alanna, his belly clenched and his

  heart ached. He had feelings about his foster-sister that he suspected were

  foolish as well as inappropriate. He did not care that she was regarded by

  almost everyone as a difficult child, and that sometimes his parents were ready

  to despair of their charge. She was bold where he thought himself timid, willing

  to say things he wished he had the courage to speak. More, he knew, he was

  almost her only real friend in the world, because her sudden shifts of mood had

  alienated even his mother to some degree. Would he grow out of his feelings for

  her? He had better, for he could not marry her. They were too closely c
onnected

  by blood.

  "Can you really defend this place?" the girl in the wagon asked him saucily,

  peering toward him still in shadow. "You look a little small for a Guard."

  "Here, now-don't you go being rude to your betters, girl," Kendrick growled as

  he stepped toward the wagon.

  She shook her head, setting the curly mass of hair in motion, illuminated by the

  strip of sunlight that was making its way down the center of the street. It

  flashed brightly, like a nimbus of fire around her face. "Some overbred sprout

  of the Comyn isn't my better, Guardsman."

  Kendrick made a soft growling sort of noise in his throat, but it was clear he

  knew he was not going to win any arguments with the Traveling girl. She was not

  going to give him the least respect. "Go along with you, now!"

  As the driver slapped the reins against the hindquarters of his mules, and they

  started to move forward again, Nico caught a feeling of frustration coming from

  him. He looked uneasily over his shoulder at the girl still leaning out, and

  muttered something to himself. Dratted wench! That thought came through quite

  clearly, and Nico smiled to himself. In spite of knowing that he shouldn't, he

  felt himself admiring her rudeness. He wished he had the courage to be rude to

  anyone, instead of always doing what was expected of him. And for a moment he

  enjoyed the notion of this girl encountering Lady Javanne Hastur and tried to

  imagine what she might say.

  "If you come to the old Tanners' Field by the North Gate, we will be putting on

  a show tonight," the girl shouted at him as the wagon pulled away, sending his

  delicious fantasy right out of his head. "You aren't on duty all the time, are

  you?"

  Nico shook his head, suddenly mute and feeling rather like a dolt. He was

  getting the oddest set of impressions, and there was a thrumming in his head, an

  annoying sensation, and something more. He had an impulse to use the Alton Gift,

  to penetrate the girl's mind, if only for a moment-just to discover her name. Or

  did he wish to know more? The girl was so unlike anyone he knew that he found

  himself drawn toward her for a moment.

  The girl waved at him boldly, and the desire to do anything foolish faded away.

  He took a deep breath, relieved. His secret wish to do something unexpected did