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.