Traitor's Sun

  What sort of man is he, Nico?

  I think I would call him smooth. He is an empath, like many of the Ridenow, but

  he is good on military matters. I learned a lot from him, about how to look at a

  building and find its weak points, for instance. I have always found him to be

  fair, but there is just something about him that is very remote.

  What do you mean by smooth?

  Well, there is something about him that I don't really like, and I can barely

  explain it. Nothing bad, but he is as slick as a glass ball-nothing seems to

  cling to him. I guess the most I can say is that I wouldn't completely trust him

  to back me up in a fight. Or maybe I just don't like him because his father was

  always fighting with Regis, and will probably make everything more difficult in

  Council. My judgment may be prejudiced, Uncle.

  At least you have the wisdom to realize that you might dislike Cisco for no

  other reason than that his father was an adversary of Regis. There are a lot of

  people three times your age who would not be able to make such a distinction.

  What is the general feeling about Cisco in the barracks?

  I don't know-it would have been impolite to ask, wouldn't it? I haven't

  overheard any real grumbling, though. As I said, he seems to be fair, but very .

  . . remote.

  I see. I wish you were a little nosier, Nico. It would have been useful of you

  knew more. Still, the fact that Dando Ardais is sending men up here with only a

  minimum of instruction is very suggestive.

  Of what?

  Something clandestine. Wouldn't Cisco be aware of these men being ordered to

  Carcosa?

  No, he wouldn't. Those I spotted are retired from active duty, and only would be

  called for of there was a real need for trained men.

  I see. Is Cisco trusted by Danilo Ardais?

  I suppose so-but Danilo is so deep and cunning that I would never guess if he

  weren't. He's never done anything that I know about that would make anyone

  actively mistrust him. I think it is only that Francisco Ridenow, his father, is

  practically in Grandmother Javanne's pocket, and has opposed Regis for years

  now. I think giving Cisco the Commandant's position was intended to mollify Dom

  Ridenow-but it didn't work. He is just as bone-headed as he always was. And it's

  only natural that Danilo would assume that anything Cisco found out would come

  to his father's ears very quickly.

  And do you believe that?

  I'm not sure, Uncle. It seems to me that Cisco keeps his own counsel most of the

  time-that he doesn't trust anyone too far. And he might not trust his father

  very much either.

  Why?

  When Francisco was younger, the Ridenow Domain had several men who could have

  claimed it-two older brothers, and an uncle. They all came to grief, and a lot

  of people think that Francisco had a hand in their untimely deaths. Who knows if

  it's true or not.

  I had almost forgotten how complex Darkovan alliances could become. They make

  the backroom dealing of the Federation look like a picnic in the park.

  Domenic had never seen a park or been on a picnic, so he shrugged his shoulders

  and sipped his beer. I described the man with Vancof, and told Duncan to keep an

  eye on them if they leave the taproom. Was that the right thing to do?

  Yes. Now, let's go eat something, since I think this might be a very long night

  for us.

  When Herm and Nico came out of the inn an hour later, it was already dark, and

  the smallest moon, Mormallor, had risen. The smell of the night air was fresh,

  but heavy with the threat of rain, and it did not entirely conceal the pungent

  scent of the nearby stables and hen runs. This, added to the powerful scent of

  the growing number of people crowded into the courtyard was rather overwhelming

  at first. Then his nose stopped protesting, and he forgot about it.

  Nico looked around with interest. He saw that torches had been set in stanchions

  around the broad courtyard of the Crowing Cock, and the wagons of the Travelers

  looked much better in that light than in the glare of day. The shabby paintings

  on the sides of the wains seemed prettier, and the worn costumes of the

  performers looked finer. He watched a fire eater stuff what seemed to be burning

  brands into his throat, and wondered how the trick was accomplished. Overhead, a

  slack rope had been drawn from the stables to one outjutting portion of the roof

  of the inn, and a slender female was just setting her comely foot on it, testing

  it for her acrobatics.

  Half the town had turned out for the entertainment, and there was a great deal

  of noise. A juggler began to toss lighted torches into the air, and the crowd

  cheered, then jeered when he dropped one. The man, who had a comical face, just

  grinned and continued to perform. Everyone seemed to be talking at once,

  continuing discussions begun in the taproom, and a general air of anticipation

  ran through the crowd. Most of the people wore cloaks and capes, although the

  evening was not particularly cold yet, so the hoods were pushed back. The

  earlier wind had died away, and it was calm and almost pleasantly cool.

  Domenic spotted the rest of the men whom Danilo had sent, mingling in the crowd.

  In spite of their ordinary clothing, they still seemed to him to be obviously

  Guardsmen, from the straightness of their backs and the alert way they watched

  the crowd. Still, he suspected that no one else would catch on immediately. And

  even though he almost resented their presence, part of him was very glad they

  were there. He also noticed the man who had ridden in during the afternoon,

  standing in a corner where the stables were connected to the wall of the inn and

  keeping an eye on everything. The entire scene began to take on a fantastic

  aspect to his eyes, as if the townspeople and the Travelers were a backdrop for

  a play which had not yet begun.

  He closed his eyes for a moment, and swept the crowd with his mind, as his

  mother had taught him to do a few months earlier. It was a dizzying experience,

  with such a large number, but he was getting better at it. He sensed Rafaella,

  standing about ten feet away from him, keeping an eye on him as if he were her

  own child, and the other Renuciates scattered through the throng. From the

  Guardsmen he received the impression of puzzlement and a little worry, and

  realized that they were feeling more than a little resentment at their lack of

  directions. It was a shame that none of them had laran, and that the only way he

  could communicate with them was by using the Alton Gift.

  Nico shifted his attention back to the Terranan, who was doing a reasonable job

  of fading into the crowd. He, too, was puzzled and annoyed, and waiting for

  something as well. Why did he keep looking up at the sky? And why was he looking

  to the north, toward the mountains, instead of toward Thendara and the

  spaceport.

  He leaned his head back and scanned the dark sky, seeing a few bright stars

  poking through the light overcast that was moving slowly in from the west. In

  his present heightened state of awareness, he felt the earth beneath his feet

  and the movement of the clouds above him. There was a strong if brief temptation br />
  to let himself fall into a light trance, to listen to the planet itself, but he

  resisted it. Instead, he sniffed the air and guessed how long it would be before

  the rain arrived. Not long, he decided. The clouds were moving faster than when

  he had wakened from his nap, driven by a wind high up in the atmosphere. Then he

  returned his attention to the nameless spy hovering at the edge of the throng,

  turning so as to be able to observe him without being obvious.

  Uncle Herm.

  What is it?

  The Terran man keeps looking north, at the sky, as if he is expecting to see

  something fly overhead. That's the wrong direction for Thendara and the

  spaceport. There is nothing that way except . . .

  The Domains of the Aldaran and Ardais, as well as the estates of the Storn. And

  none of them have any Federation technology except my father. You need not try

  to spare my feelings, Nico. I'm just pleased that you are so observant, and are

  using your head.

  Regis was always a little anxious about the number of Terranan in Aldaran

  territory, but since we managed to get your Domain back onto the Council, he

  thought it was taken care of. Your brother Robert is a good man.

  My father, however, is another thing altogether. I know. It is one reason I

  jumped at the chance to leave Darkover when it was offered to me, to get away

  from him. There is no love lost between us, and I would not put anything past

  him.

  But, Herm, surely he would not help the Federation kill my father!

  I would not have thought so, but don't forget I have not seen him in nearly a

  quarter of a century. He might see it as a chance to further his own ambitions.

  I can't speculate, but I confess I have a very bad feeling about it. Do you have

  any idea how many Terranan are in the Aldaran Domain?

  Several hundred, for certain.

  And how many of those are soldiers and Marines?

  That I could not say. I have always had the impression that most of them were

  technical folk.

  We have been assuming that any attack would originate at the spaceport in

  Thendara, and we have overlooked the possibility that combat-ready men might be

  flown down from the Hellers. As soon as the performance is finished, you should

  get in touch with Lew and inform him of this possibility. This whole matter

  might be much more complex than we thought at first.

  That is not a happy thought.

  No, it isn't.

  Domenic saw the side of the puppet van lower down on strong ropes, and the crowd

  began to press toward it, cutting off his view. He slipped through the people,

  using his still relatively short stature to advantage, and managed to elbow his

  way into the front of the throng. An enchanting vision was painted on a sheet of

  canvas, a vista of turreted castles and in the center, a very tall but

  recognizable Tower surrounded by a field of blue kireseth flowers. After a

  moment, a red-clad figure on strings began to cross the small stage. It was

  supposed to be a Keeper, obviously, but while the face was concealed beneath a

  veil, the skirts of the robe were indecently brief, revealing a pair of comely

  limbs sewn from some soft textile. He was not sure whether to be amused or

  scandalized.

  The Keeper began to speak, and he recognized the voice of the red-haired girl,

  Illona Rider. What she declared made Domenic's ears turn red, and his cheeks

  burn with embarrassment. A young woman had no business saying things like that,

  especially one who seemed as nice as Illona! And they would never have dared

  perform such a play at Arilinn or any other Tower. He began to understand now

  why Regis had restricted the Travelers from frequent visits to Thendara.

  Herm was standing just behind him now, with a hand on Domenic's shoulder. He

  could sense the Aldaran man's startlement and displeasure, and felt a little

  less upset. It was not that he was being a prig. What the puppet was voicing was

  disgraceful. Worse, the people in the crowd were laughing noisily and offering a

  few ripe comments of their own. He sensed a general feeling that the townspeople

  did not hold the Towers in great esteem, which was strange and puzzling to him.

  Another puppet joined the Keeper on the stage, and they indulged in a verbal

  display of punning that had the crowd roaring with approval. He listened,

  wondering how Illona managed to create two such distinct voices, and then began

  to really pay attention to the wordplay. It was more than naughty, and came

  close to obscene. He saw a village woman nearby grab a young girl and haul her

  back into the throng, her face outraged. Around him others began to rustle with

  discomfort, and he saw that a few people were leaving the courtyard, casting

  glances over their shoulders as they hastened into the narrow street beyond the

  inn. They had clearly lost their taste for the entertainment.

  Is this a typical thing, Nico?

  I don't know. I saw the Travelers twice at Arilinn, but they never did anything

  like this. It is bad, isn't it? Hmm. Illona told me that a man called Mathias

  joined the troupe who has been writing some pieces for the players that she

  appeared to find . . . unseemly.

  It is much worse than unseemly-it is subversive. It is one thing to make a

  little fun of an institution, but this goes far beyond that. If this is what the

  Travelers have been doing in the towns and villages, I am only surprised that

  they have been allowed to continue at all. All this stuff about keeping the

  common folk in their places, and taking their grain . . . is bound to whip up

  resentment. This is not my idea of amusement, and it isn't playing well with the

  crowd either. Who is that supposed to be?

  A third puppet had entered, a male figure in fine but tawdry garments, wearing a

  two-pointed fool's hat with a wobbly crown around the it at the brow. The puppet

  was poorly made, and he had the impression that it had been constructed in

  haste, for it was not of the quality of the other two. It had a dissipated face,

  and legs that managed to mince in a very unmanly way. Domenic felt a rush of

  anger as he watched, for although the face of the figure was crudely carved and

  sewn, there was no mistaking the white hair beneath the hat. It could only have

  been intended to be Regis Hastur, and he was stunned and outraged at the same

  time.

  Nico lowered his eyes and stared at the bare head of an urchin just in front of

  him, wondering what the little boy was thinking of what he saw. He probably

  didn't understand half of it, because the child seemed puzzled and restless. He

  did not want to watch the movement of the puppets any longer, and wished he were

  a hundred miles away.

  Around him, Domenic could feel the crowd shift back and forth. The cheerful mood

  that had been present a few minutes before was gone, and there were mutters. In

  a few seconds, these turned to cries of outrage. Apparently, making fun at the

  expense of an imaginary Keeper was all right, but insulting the ruler of

  Darkover was not.

  When he looked up, he knew that the puppeteers did not realize what was

  happening outside their wagon. The crowd was becoming very angry. It was all

  happenin
g so quickly that the manipulators did not suspect a thing. In a sudden

  movement, half a dozen burly men, a little the worse for drink perhaps, rushed

  clumsily forward. One grabbed the offensive doll and yanked it hard. The strings

  snapped.

  This action set off the rest of the audience. In a second there were twenty

  furious men around the wagon, and one pulled open the door at the end of it and

  climbed inside. Others tore at the painted screen, or the remaining figures, and

  the uproar spread through the crowd. The townspeople turned on the Travelers in

  a fury, seizing the innocent juggler and anyone else dressed in motley, and half

  a dozen fist fights broke out across the courtyard.

  The man hauled a screaming, red-faced Illona out of the wagon, and slapped her

  hard across the face. Another man tried to pull the girl away from him, and the

  shouting between them degenerated into yet another fight. Two village constables

  tried to keep order, but there were too many fights going on for them to contain

  the fury of the mob, which was now howling for blood, without much concern as to

  whose was spilled.

  Domenic took advantage of his size and darted between several infuriated men.

  Then he grabbed Mona's hand and yanked her toward him. She tried to snatch it

  back until she realized he was a rescuer, and not an enemy. "Come on," he

  shouted. "You are going to get hurt."

  Illona glanced back, her eyes wide with terror, and then they dashed away,

  through the gates of the courtyard and into the dim light beyond it. She gave a

  short, sharp cry of pain, and he paused. It was then that he realized that she

  wore no shoes, and had stubbed her toe on a rock. All she was wearing was her

  undershift and drawers. He could just make out the rise and fall of small

  breasts beneath the thin fabric, as she gasped short, fearful breaths.

  For a moment, he was too stunned to move. She just stood beside him, panting and

  frightened. Then Domenic whipped his cloak off his shoulders and wrapped it

  around her. A moment later Rafaella emerged from the darkness, and he realized

  that it had only been seconds since he dragged Mona away. He had never been so

  glad to see the Renunciate in his life.

  The fracas began to spill out of the courtyard, and Rafaella seized both of them

  by the shoulders and herded them around toward the back of the building. The