"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?
15
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.
&nbs
p; 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."
&
nbsp; "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