Traitor's Sun

  He stood up and used his weight to try to pull the body out from beneath the

  bench. The man was heavy, but at last the corpse slithered out across the uneven

  stones of the courtyard. There was the sound of footfalls behind Domenic, and a

  moment later Abel MacEwan was beside him, shouldering him firmly out of the way

  and taking the burden of dead flesh into his larger and more capable hands.

  The torso of the dead man was slumped forward, but now it fell back, and Domenic

  could see the hilt of a knife thrust into the chest. A stain spread around the

  wound, dark against the brown cloth of the tunic. Someone brought a torch, and

  he looked down into the face of the stranger.

  The eyes were still open, and the mouth gaped a little. He seemed, in death, to

  be surprised. Nico could not drag his eyes away from the sight, until someone

  finally took the shoulders of the corpse and Abel the feet and, between them,

  began to carry it away.

  No, not surprised-betrayed. Swaying a little from the shock of it, Domenic knew

  that no one from the village had killed the man. It must have been Vancof-though

  why was a mystery. Then he remembered that morning, seeing the dead man give the

  driver something. He closed his eyes, trying to recall every detail. There had

  been something folded, a paper, and another object, something square.

  As the fires went out, the chill of the evening began to make Domenic shiver.

  Despite his discomfort, he did not move, frozen in place with sorrow and horror.

  Instead, he forced himself to try to remember anything he had overheard from

  Vancof. Most of it was a useless muddle, but a few phrases seemed to be

  important. The word "orders" kept cropping up, something the driver did not

  like, which made him afraid. What had he been ordered to do-kill his ally? That

  was insane! Still, there seemed no other explanation, and he forced his mind to

  accept it.

  Almost shaking with chill and emotion now, Domenic trudged into the inn. The

  warmth of the entrance seemed almost feverish for a few steps. He brushed his

  sleeve across his face roughly. Then, too weary to continue, he sank onto a

  bench near the door.

  Nico felt his control slip away in a flood of unfamiliar emotions. He wanted to

  weep, but no tears came. He felt as if he had turned to stone, and he ached for

  release. People were dead, innocent folk like Illona's Aunt Loret, whom he had

  known only for a few minutes. The Terran man, whose name he had never

  discovered, was dead also. He had not seen the others, but he had seen the

  unknown Terran, and knew, deep down, that he had not deserved to perish.

  The deep grief for the death of Regis Hastur, which he had held at bay for days,

  rose in his throat at last. He remembered incidents, pleasant moments when his

  great-uncle was at ease, telling tales of the Sharra Rebellion, to Grandfather

  Lew's obvious discomfort, but somehow making them seem less painful than they

  must have been. Nico recalled Regis' charm and swift wit, the way he ate his

  meals, and many other small things. It did not seem enough, somehow, for such a

  great man.

  His chest ached, and there was a pounding pulse in his forehead. A tear rolled

  down his cheek and he swept it away with a trembling finger. All he had done was

  run away for a bit of fun, and now there were dead people and injured folk, and

  too much pain to endure. This was not an adventure-it was a nightmare from which

  he could not escape!

  If only Lew or his mother could be with him, to tell him how to feel, to help

  him. Logically, Domenic knew that the riot would have happened whether he had

  been present or not, but he still felt responsible. After dwelling on this

  unsettling event and feeling worse by the moment his good sense tried to assert

  itself, and succeeded a little. He was being morbid over things he could not

  control! He had to get a grip on himself and inform his grandfather of the

  events in Carcosa. Now, if only his cold and tired body would cooperate!

  Domenic forced himself to stand and half stumbled up the stairs to his room.

  Once there, he slammed the door shut and sank down on the edge of the bed. His

  breathing was ragged and he tried to control it. At last the rapid beating of

  his heart started to slow, and the dreadful thoughts that were racing through

  his mind began to subside. He closed his eyes hard, pinching the lids down

  almost angrily, trying in vain to squeeze the images of destruction out of his

  mind's eye.

  From below, he could hear voices, townspeople and Guardsmen both. The sickening

  smell of the burned wood and flesh lingered in the air. Then he realized that

  the stench was in his clothes, his hair, his skin, and he almost vomited. He

  pulled his tunic over his head and threw it across the room into the far corner.

  The movement energized him enough to shed all his garments, and to pour cold

  water from the ewer into the basin and wash himself. Then he put on a clean

  shirt from their purchases in the town market, and the trousers he had worn the

  previous day. The comforting smell of horse from the garment seemed to dispell

  the miasma of death in his discarded clothing as well as the scents that wafted

  through the window.

  After several minutes he heard a soft rain begin to patter outside the window, a

  sweet sound after so much horror. He just sat and listened to it, his mind

  almost empty. All he wanted to do was fall into the bed and pull the covers over

  his head. But he still had something to do-if only he could remember what. Oh,

  yes, he had to contact his grandfather. Where was he going to find the strength?

  His mind drifted, refusing to focus, and he found his thoughts returning to the

  girl, Illona. He was glad she was safe with Rafaella. If the Carcosans had

  discovered her and recognized her for a Traveler, she might have been hurt or

  killed. Domenic could not have endured that, although he wasn't sure why he

  cared so much about someone he barely knew. Then it occurred to him that he

  liked her, even if she was just a shy uneducated girl. No . . . not silly-just

  very foolish and ignorant. If only she had not looked so fetching in her

  undershift! Why couldn't she be ugly or at least plain? Then it would be easier

  to despise her, as he was sure he should. Instead, he had the same urge to

  protect her he always felt about Alanna. It was all very puzzling.

  No, it was more than that. After a few moments of ruthless self-examination,

  Domenic realized that his thoughts about Illona verged on the lustful. This

  surprised him, and then it disgusted him. How could he be thinking such things

  at a time like this! What kind of unnatural man was he?

  Furious with himself, Domenic dragged his mind away from the memories of

  Illona's young breasts and slender body beneath her shift. Herm had told him to

  inform Lew of the latest developments and he had not yet done so. He was there

  because he had the Alton Gift and could communicate with his grandfather with

  much less effort than anyone without that talent. For just a moment he resented

  his Gift, then shut away the thought abruptly. Why couldn't he have just one

  feeling at a time, instead of this morass! And why couldn't he
get the image of

  the dead Terran out of his mind?

  At last his mind began to quiet, and while he knew it had taken only a few

  minutes, it felt like he had undergone hours of fruitless struggle. There was a

  sour taste in his mouth, and his belly was in a complete knot. Domenic had

  wanted to be treated like an adult, not a child, and here he was, feeling angry

  at having adult responsibilities. At last he admitted to himself that he was

  more than a little frightened by the sudden violence he had seen, and realized

  that he must have been crazy to have dashed over to rescue Illona. He let the

  sense of fear spend itself, and wondered if he were a coward, or if it was

  normal to be scared after the fact. There was no one at hand to ask about it,

  and finally he let it go. Fear was a luxury to be indulged some other time.

  He got up and rinsed his mouth in the basin, then splashed cold water over his

  face. After he had dried it on a towel, he went back to the broad bed and forced

  his mind into the stillness he needed. It was hard, but the Alton Gift could

  span great distance, and after only a brief time, he touched the familiar mind

  of his grandfather.

  Lew!

  Hello, Nico. You seem . . . upset. Did our reinforcement arrive safely?

  The mental voice sounded overly hearty, and Domenic felt his heart clench

  sharply. Had something terrible happened in Thendara? Was he overreacting to

  Lew's concerns about him, jumping at shadows instead of acting like an adult? He

  made himself slow down, and tried to order his thoughts.

  I am. I just saw my first riot, and I hope I never see another. The Travelers

  tried to put on a play that infuriated the crowd-it was disgusting and indecent.

  They were making fun of Regis-it was not funny at all. It was so ugly. Uncle

  Herm said it was subversive and that the intent was to turn people against the

  Comyn! What began as a pleasant evening's entertainment turned the townsfolk

  into a mob in a flash. They tore apart the wagons and burned them. People got

  killed.

  Are you all right? The tone of the question was alarmed, even if the words were

  commonplace.

  Yes, I'm fine, but don't tell Mother about it, please. She'd be on her horse and

  traveling the North Road in a minute. But there is more, and at is worse, I

  think. It seems that this troup of Travelers were up in the Hellers, in the

  Aldaran Domain, last winter, and when they came back, they had not only this

  Vancof I told you about, but some other people who were spreading a tale of . .

  . Well, I don't quite know how to put it. It's like they were trying to make

  people mad at the Hasturs, and at the Domains and the Towers in general. I don't

  know if it was just this bunch, or other groups of Travelers as well.

  There was a small fracas in the Horse Market involving the Travelers at

  Midsummer. Regis was even thinking of banning them from the city completely,

  because there have been incidents recently as well. So, unless it was the group

  you have there, it might be . . .

  Grandfather, I think someone is using the Travelers to upset people. It is

  either the Terranan or . . . or Dom Aldaran.

  I was afraid of that. Poor Dom Damon-so ambitious and so thwarted. It is funny,

  you know, that all of Javanne's fears that Mikhail might hand Darkover over to

  the Terrans are much more likely to be fulfilled if Damon Aldaran ever gets his

  hands on some power.

  But that could never happen, could it?

  The Hasturs have been ruling Darkover for a long time, Nico, but nothing lasts

  forever. And yes, if something happened to your father, you and Rory, and a few

  other well-chosen people, then Damon Aldaran might be able to declare himself in

  command.

  How?

  Through Gisela, in her marriage to your uncle Rafael, of course. That would have

  the illusion of legitimacy. But we don't need to speculate. You and your brother

  are very much alive and well, and so is your father. He has just arrived, by the

  way.

  Who? Father?

  No. Dom Damon and Robert Aldaran. They flew down, which was a mistake on their

  part. The landing field has been closed for two days, the Terrans nearly clapped

  them in chains. Robert was able to talk his way out of that, but Damon as in a

  rare temper.

  It's a pity he is a lord of the Domains, or otherwise you could put him in the

  cellar until after this mess is over.

  A temptation, to be sure. There never seems to be a moldy dungeon available when

  you need one. There has been quite a bit of trouble from the Terrans here since

  you left, and we are going to turn the old Orphanage into a jail.

  Grandfather! Be serious!

  I am not joking. I wonder if Dom Damon knows about this plot . . . no, I think

  not. But, if the funeral train is attacked, he will be in as much danger as the

  rest of us. The problem in a battle is that you cannot plan who will survive and

  who will not, and if the Terranan think to set up Dom Damon . . .

  Grandfather!

  Sorry, Nico. I am feeling extremely harassed just now. Rafe Scott has found out

  that the Federation has cut off communication with Darkover, for reasons which

  remain unclear, and perhaps the plot to attack the funeral will turn out to be

  nothing at all. I don't know if Belfontaine would risk taking action without

  approval, and I can't pop over to HQ as I might have in the past, to see how the

  wind is blowing. I sincerely hope that it will all turn out to be a tempest in a

  chamber pot, because I don't particularly want to go up against energy weapons

  with my rather rusty sword.

  Herm and I were thinking about that a little while ago. So much has happened.

  Grandfather, and my mind seems so muddled.

  Take your time, Nico.

  It started because the Terranan spy from Thendara . . .

  The what?

  Remember I told you I saw two men last night-one was Granfell and one wasn't?

  Well, the one that wasn't rode in here late this afternoon, before the old

  Guardsmen arrived.

  Go on.

  He came out to watch the Travelers, and I noticed he kept looking up at the sky,

  but he wasn't looking south, toward Thendara, but north instead. I mentioned

  this to Uncle Herm, and he asked me how many troops there were up in the Aldaran

  Domain. He suggested that perhaps the attack could come from them, rather than

  from HQ.

  Yes, that makes a kind of sense, now you say it. Herm has the most devious mind

  I have ever encountered, and I have always been grateful he was on my side, and

  not my enemy.

  Do you trust him?

  I do, Nico. He has proven over and over, in his tune in the Senate and the

  Chamber of Deputies, that he had nothing but the best interests of Darkover in

  mind. He has had at least a dozen opportunities to sell us out, and he never

  did. There is more, isn't there? What are you holding back?

  Domenic paused, trying to control the upwelling of sorrow within him. The

  Terranan man is dead. I never knew his name, and now I never will, because

  someone-Vancof probably stuck a knife in him during the riot. I . . . found the

  body.

  Poor Nico! The first time you look at deat
h is always hard, and it never gets

  easier. Nico caught fragments, images of several bodies, and knew that his

  grandfather was remembering the Sharra Rebellion. No wonder you are upset.

  He looked so surprised, Grandfather! And that isn't the worst part.

  Tell me everything.

  It's so awful, and I feel . . . ashamed. I found him, and I was sorry and sad.

  But afterwards . . . I started having these thoughts about Illona-that's the

  Traveler girl I saw yesterday in Thendara-and they were . . . when the crowd

  attacked the puppeteer's wagon, she got pulled out, and she was only wearing her

  underclothes! She was almost naked! One second I was feeling terrible, and the

  next, I was . . . excited.

  For a moment, there was no answering thought, and Nico wondered if his

  grandfather were disgusted with him. Nico, I do not know why it is, but close

  contact with death often makes men very randy. Men going into battle often

  resort to the couch before, and again after. I think that love or sex or

  whatever we call it is about life, and when you are near to death, then you wash

  to . . . renew life. In a young man your age, sexual feelings run very high.

  I don't like how I was thinking!

  I did not suppose you did, Domenic. And all I am telling you is that it is a

  perfectly natural reaction, not something to be ashamed of, or worry over,

  unless you pursue your instincts and force yourself upon a woman.

  I wouldn't!

  I did not think so. Now, let the matter go, and stop being so hard on yourself.

  You will wear yourself out, and you need to save your energy for other things.

  Yes, you are right. Grandfather, I am very confused. I don't understand why the

  man was killed like that. I think Vancof did it, because no one here in Carcosa

  knew the stranger, and the others who died an the riot were hit with sticks . .

  . I mean . . .

  I understand, Nico. If you are right, and your spy did the killing, than I think

  it was probably that he took advantage of the uproar. You suggested last night

  that this Vancof was afraid, and very reluctant to go along with Granfell's

  plan. Perhaps his idea was to get rid of this fellow, and then try to vanish. Or

  maybe he was just evening up some old scores. Nico, one thing you will have to

  learn is that people sometimes kill one another for no good reason at all. It is

  a sad reflection on the species, but we don't seem to outgrow it, even here on