Traitor's Sun

  Darkover, where murders are few.

  I'll try, but it is very hard to understand. And I just hate it. Grandfather . .

  . Herm just came in. Wait a minute.

  Herm Aldaran, his balding pate gleaming with rain, was holding a small object in

  his hands, a collection of metal and brightly colored wires. "Just look what I

  found in the remains of one of the wagons."

  "What is it?"

  "A communication device, for sending messages. It is called a shortbeam and

  quite illegal on Darkover. I wonder where the receiver is? A pity it is ruined,

  since I might have been able to use it to create some trouble at the other end."

  "Was it in the puppet wagon?"

  "No, in another. It was under a stack of pages that had the most incredible

  filth on them."

  "Then it was probably the one called Mathias, who wrote the plays. But why would

  he have it . . .?"

  "This was nothing like a play-these were broadsheets."

  "Do you think Mathias and Vancof were working together?"

  "I've no idea, but Duncan grabbed the man before he could hare off into the

  night, and we can ask him." His usually pleasant face had an expression on it

  that Domenic found most disquieting. "Now, where did I put my thumbscrews?"

  "Your what?"

  "I have shocked you. Forgive me. I don't really intend to torture the man, but

  he doesn't need to know that, does he? I am just working myself up to scare the

  filth out of his bowels, Nico. It's that, or else ask you to go into his mind

  and find out what we want to know."

  Domenic considered this evidence of a ruthlessness he had never suspected, and

  decided he would rather scare Mathias than plunder the man's mind. "But what if

  he lies," he managed to say at last.

  "You would be able to tell if he did. So, come along. This is going to be very

  unpleasant."

  "Just a minute. Let me finish talking to Lew."

  "Of course."

  Domenic closed his eyes again, although he did not need to, and completed his

  interrupted conversation with his grandfather, feeling more and more uneasy as

  he did. He did not want to interrogate anyone, because he was afraid of what he

  would learn. The sense of adventure which had sustained him the night before

  vanished, and he was left with the reality, which was not nearly as comfortable.

  Odd-the people in the books he had read never seemed to have such conflicts.

  There was a third floor in the inn, and Herm led him up to it. The raucous

  sounds of the still agitated townsfolk receded a little as they ascended. Nico

  discovered that he was sweating slightly, and the stink of it told him how

  anxious he was.

  There were several small rooms along the corridor, and they went to one at the

  end of it, a tiny chamber that was occupied by three Guardsmen, as well as a man

  he had never seen before. The stranger, who must be Mathias, had pale hair and

  the look of the Dry Towns about him. His light blue eyes were constricted almost

  to pinpoints, and he looked frightened out of his wits. Six people in the small

  room was too many, and the heat of their bodies was almost overwhelming. It was

  like stepping into an oven, but instead of the nice smell of bread, there was

  only the stench of fear and anger.

  With no spoken word of command, two of the men stepped out into the hall,

  leaving Duncan, Herm, and Domenic alone with the hapless man. They were

  standing, and he was seated on a rush chair, his hands bound with a rope. The

  atmosphere in the room seemed a little less stifling now, and Mathias looked

  from one face to another, seeking some sign of release and finding nothing to

  lessen his terror. Nico thought he did not look at all like a spy or a

  revolutionary, but was just an ordinary man. And clearly he was not a very brave

  one.

  Hermes smiled, but there was no friendliness in it. He looked like a wolf, and a

  hungry one at that. Mathias shifted on his chair, squirming. "I trust you are

  comfortable," Herm said very quietly, his voice menacing in spite of the

  pleasant words.

  "Why have you dragged me up here?" Mathias half snarled, half whined. "I have

  done nothing wrong."

  Herm laughed. He had a deep, rumbling chuckle that Domenic was fond of, though

  now it seemed to take on a sinister quality. "That's rich! Nothing wrong. You've

  been writing scandalous plays, and we found broadsheets that will have you on

  the gibbet."

  "I don't know what you are talking about." How am I going to get out of this?

  "You are a filthy spy for the Terranan," Herm announced.

  Mathias seemed to brighten a little. "I am no such thing. I am a Son of

  Darkover, and I don't have any truck with any Terranan."

  "We are all sons of Darkover here, aren't we?" When he received no response, he

  asked, "What do you mean by that?" Nico, have you ever heard of these Sons?

  Curse it-why did I say that? "We are people dedicated to the betterment of

  Darkover."

  No. From what I can gather from his mind, they are some sort of fraternal

  organization, dating back to the time of Danvan Hastur. Maybe Dando

  Syrtis-Ardais knows more about them. Their aims seem to be . . . the

  establishment of some government with themselves as rulers. But I am not sure of

  that, because unless I actually probe him, I can only get a vague sense of

  things.

  Ah-revolutionaries! Thanks, Nico.

  "And what betterment do you intend?"

  "Why, to stop slaving for the lords of the Domains and be free. There is nothing

  wrong with that, is there?" Mathias sounded less frightened now, as if Herm's

  behavior was lulling him into a false sense of calm.

  "How many lords have you encountered, and how did they make you slave for them?"

  Herm sounded almost amused now.

  "Everyone knows that the Domains exist on the hard work and sweat of the common

  people, who are too stupid to realize that they are being kept in servitude."

  "That is a pretty poor opinion to have of the people you would like to save,

  don't you think?" Herm sounded quite disinterested now, almost as if he were

  inviting the man into an intellectual discussion. Then without warning, he

  shifted, learning forward toward the bound Mathias, and raising his voice

  menacingly. "Now, tell me about the broadsheets! Where were they printed, and

  who wrote them?"

  This change in tone made Mathias cringe back in the rush chair, and it creaked

  almost musically under the movement. Domenic realized that he had been prepared

  to declare several more outrageous sentiments, and had not expected to be asked

  about the damning papers. "What broadsheets?" I knew those damn things were

  going to get me into hot water! I wish Dirck had never persuaded me to write

  them. I wish Dirck had been strangled by his birthing cord. I would not be an

  this mess of it were not for him!

  "The ones we found in your wagon," Herm answered calmly.

  "I don't know what you are talking about. I am just a Traveling man, a poor

  scribner. You have no right to haul me around and tie me up like this. Who the

  hell are you, anyhow?" It was bluster, and needed no telepathy to be deciphered.

  Duncan rolled onto the balls of his feet. In spite
of his gray hair and slight

  paunch, the impression he gave was of a man who had just run out of patience,

  and was prepared to use his fists if necessary. "Don't you take that tone. You

  are in enough trouble as it is. Answer the question. Where were those sheets

  printed?"

  Mathias flinched and shivered, looking from Herm to Duncan and back again,

  seeking any hint of mercy. He cast a glance at Nico, frowned slightly, and

  swallowed hard. "I don't know anything." They'll never find the press in a

  million years. They will never think to look in Aldaran Castle.

  Domenic conveyed this fresh information to Herm, and saw his uncle's shoulders

  sag a little. Then he straightened and glowered. "Tell me about the driver of

  the puppet wagon."

  Now Mathias looked confused, as if he had expected more questions about the

  papers, and worried as well. "What about him?"

  "Who is he, and where did he come from?"

  "He's just a man. He came from another band of Travelers, and he joined up with

  us this spring." Curse him. I always thought there was something wrong with the

  bastard. He said he was one of the Sons, but I should never have believed him.

  But he knew all the passwords! This is all his fault.

  "What troupe of Travelers is he from?"

  "I don't remember." Dirck said he used to drive for Dyan Player, but he died two

  years ago. What do these people want from me?

  "Did he put you up to writing that puppet play tonight?"

  "Yes. No."

  "Which is it?"

  "Dirck said we needed something stronger, that it would get the people riled up

  more if we told how the Towers were full of wicked people, who lived off the

  backs of the poor, and . . ."

  "That's enough. I don't want to hear any of your silly cant." Herm shook his

  head dismissively. "So, this Dirck suggested you write a play that involved a

  Keeper and Regis Hastur, and you actually wrote it. Is that right?"

  "I suppose."

  "Why did you choose Regis Hastur?"

  "He's dead and can't squawk-and a good thing, too! Everyone knows he's been

  keeping behind the walls of Comyn Castle so as no one would kill him, all these

  years."

  "What a truly disgusting creature you are," Herm said quietly. "Now the only

  question is what do we do with you?"

  "I'm not afraid to die for what I believe in," Mathias sniveled, looking

  perfectly terrified. "I'll be a hero." The Sons will save me-if I can just get

  word to them.

  "No one will even miss you, you sack of dirt." Duncan growled these words, then

  turned away in disgust. After a moment, he turned back. "You are a disgrace to

  an old and respectable fellowship."

  Herm and Domenic looked at Duncan in surprise, but the man said nothing more.

  Instead, the old Guardsman made a gesture, suggesting that he wanted to talk out

  of hearing of the miserable captive. Herm nodded slightly, stepped to the door,

  and ordered one of the men outside to come in. Then he and Duncan left the room,

  and Domenic followed them.

  "I take it you know something about these Sons of Darkover, Lindir."

  "Not really, dom, and it took me a few minutes to remember that I had heard of

  them before. But I think that Istvan has a brother who is a member-shall I fetch

  him?"

  "Yes, that would be very useful." Duncan walked away and went down the stairs.

  The second Guard remained beside the door, trying to fade into the paneling on

  the wall behind him, but was clearly very curious.

  "Well, nephew, what do you think?"

  "I think that we might learn more from Mathias, but I don't think it would be

  very useful. I don't believe he knows very much, not really." Nico paused and

  thought for a moment. "What we do not know is how many other of the Travelers

  are involved in this. It might be that there is only Vancof, with this group,

  but it could be that there are Federation spies in others. So, I think that all

  the Travelers need to be found, wherever they are, and detained."

  "A good idea. How do we go about that?"

  "I'll tell Lew what we have learned, and he can get the Tower relays humming,

  and before morning, they can be located. I will leave it to someone else to

  decide what to do with them-I am so tired, Uncle!"

  "Of course you are. You have been pulling extra duty being the message center

  for our little effort."

  "Little!"

  "All right-that was too modest a word. Would 'enormous' please you more?"

  "Nothing would please me except another bath, a second supper, and bed for about

  three days."

  Duncan returned with another man, introduced him as Istvan MacRoss, and looked

  very pleased with himself. He gave Nico a droll look, and Domenic smiled back at

  him. It felt very good to have trusted retainers around him just then.

  "Tell me what you know about the Sons of Darkover, Istvan."

  Istvan grinned. He had a scar across his forehead and cheek, and the smile make

  him look very frightening. "Not much, vai dom. My younger brother was a member,

  years back, and since it is a secret fellowship, did not tell me a great deal.

  They call themselves the Ancient and Loyal Sons of Darkover, and they came into

  being during the final years of Danvan Hastur's rule. A fine-sounding name for a

  rabble of discontents who have never done much that I can tell except gather

  together to piss and moan about how they could run things much better if they

  could only think of how to do it."

  "What do they want?"

  "There I am not sure, except something different. They do not regard the Domains

  with any love-that was what made my brother leave them after a couple of

  years-but I never heard of them doing anything against the Comyn. I think what

  they really like is being secret-having passwords and all manner of nonsense."

  "Do you think there is a branch of the organization here in Carcosa?"

  "Might be. See, the way they do it is like this. They never get together in

  groups larger than six, and only one of those six knows how to reach another.

  They call the divisions rhowyns, after the six-petaled flower of that tree.

  Pretty silly, really, for if something happens to the man who knows, they are

  out of luck."

  "I see. A pretty ordinary secret society setup-and no way to find them unless

  you know the passwords or something."

  "Just so, my lord."

  "Thank you."

  Herm, it sounds to me as if Vancof just took advantage of these Sons, and they

  are not really a serious threat.

  I agree. Which is a great relief, because I think that the Federation is all the

  trouble we can manage at present. I suspect that Federation Intelligence tried

  to infiltrate these Sons, then decided that the Travelers were a better bet. Who

  knows-I can think of a hundred possibilities.

  I can also-and I am rather relieved that it is all nonsense, Uncle.

  It is not all nonsense, Nico. There is a real plot, a dangerous one, even if the

  plotters are not very capable. We must count ourselves fortunate that we

  stumbled into it-that you were a very naughty lad with a good head on your

  shoulders-before at turned into a massacre. Even if the Sons and the Travelers

  are neutrali
zed, there remains the Federation. Why did I imagine that returning

  to Darkover would be a pleasant and peaceful experience?

  Yes, I know. What should we do about Vancof?

  Since he seems to have vanished, there is nothing I can think of, unless you

  have some means to track his whereabouts, nephew. "Tell me, Istvan, do you

  believe these Sons are any real threat to the Comyn?"

  "I could not say, dom, but from what I learned from my brother, they are more

  talk than action."

  "Do you imagine they might use the excuse of Regis Hastur's death to foment some

  sort of uprising?"

  Istvan looked horrified. "I don't, but I might be wrong."

  Why is that important, Herm?

  It is just an idea, and probably not a very useful one. If the Federation has

  been trying to use either the Sons or the Travelers to destablize Darkover, then

  they might create some sort of situation which would justify them using force

  here. They would not have to assassinate anyone, just say that they were keeping

  the peace here on Darkover. They might have been planning such a thing, but with

  the dissolution of the legislature and the planned pullout in a few weeks time,

  they would have to rush things. Under such circumstances, they would just

  declare a state of emergency and use force outright. Did you get any sense of

  such a possibility from our captive?

  He thought about the passwords a little, and I had the impression there were

  hand signals, too. Vancof knew enough of them to convince Mathias he was one of

  the fellowship. But how Mathias would contact another rhowyn I don't know. I

  mean, standing in the muddle of the marketplace and putting your little finger

  in your ear until someone came up and scratched his nose doesn't seem like a

  very good system to me. I think his hope of contacting them is the wish of a

  desperate man. And even if he did, how would they rescue him, if they are as

  foolish as Istvan makes them seem?

  Never underestimate your foes, Nico. If I were running a secret society, I would

  make sure that no one felt threatened by it until the time was ripe. I would

  make it appear feeble and foolish, so that no one would pay it the least mind.

  Grandfather was right-he said he was glad you are on our side, and not that of

  our enemies. I will tell Lew what we just learned, and he can get things in