Traitor's Sun

  "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