years, other than the occasional letter."
"This makes me so mad, Uncle Herm. I want to blast those men to bits-turn their
brains to jelly."
"Could you do that?" Herm looked alarmed.
"Yes, I could, and so could Mother and Grandfather Lew. The backwash would be
terrible, and besides it would be wrong, but it is possible. I don't think
anyone has done such a thing, but I know my mother burned a man to death with
her touch, years ago, before I was born. And used the command voice to turn some
bandits into statues in the snow."
Herm stared at the boy, as if he was unsure whether to believe him. "Hmm. That
raises some possibilities I had not considered-I've been away too long."
"And then there is Father's matrix."
"Mikhail's matrix? What about it?"
"I'm not totally sure, but everyone, even Uncle Regis, is afraid of it, and what
it can do. It came from Varzil the Good and . . . well, maybe I should say no
more."
Herm waited for a moment. "Varzil? That doesn't make any sense-if you mean his
matrix. All the legends in the Hellers say it was lost centuries ago."
"It was-before it came back into our time."
"And here I thought I was past the point of ever being amazed again. No, don't
tell me. If Lew had wanted me to know, I am sure he would have told me
everything. Are you catching any useful tidbits from down the hall?"
"No. In fact, for the first time in years, I am hardly able to hear anything. I
believe I am too tired to do any effective snooping, Uncle, for the moment."
"As well you should be! I have been using your Gifts without much thought of how
so much the effort might affect you. Now, let's get some sleep. Nothing else is
going to happen tonight-I hope."
Nico knuckled his itching eyes. Then he bent down and pulled off his boots. "I
wish I were not so ethical and so very tired, Uncle Herm. If I weren't, I'd just
let my mind drift down the hall, and . . ."
"Leave being immoral to me, son. I've had more practice. You just go on doing
what is right, and I will do the dirty work. We will come out of this mess,
somehow."
19
Domenic's eyes snapped open abruptly, and he went from deep sleep to complete
wakefulness without his usual intervening muzziness. He sat up, puzzled, and
peered around the darkened bedroom. Herm was snoring on the other side of the
bed, a pleasant, rhythmic noise which had not disturbed his rest. The wind had
risen, driving the rain against the windows, and rattling the shutters. He heard
rain gunneling from the downspouts along the eaves, then splashing into the
courtyard below. He knuckled his eyes and scratched his head, noticing how tired
he still felt, and started to settle back again.
What had roused him? It was not a noise, but more of a feeling, a shift
somewhere nearby. Ah, his mental balance had returned, and he could once again
pick up the random thoughts of those nearby. Nico was almost regretful for a
moment-it had been restful to be too weary to hear thoughts without effort. But
he felt more like himself, and that pleased him.
Vancof and Granfell were at the other end of the corridor-were they up to some
new mischief? He let his mind reach out, sweeping through the inn like a
feather, briefly touching the dreams of the inhabitants.
Several people besides himself were awake-Vancof, it seemed, but not Granfell,
and at least two of the Guardsmen. But there was another mind, a troubled one,
and after a second he knew it was Illona. She was creeping out of the room she
shared with the Renunciates, and she was not looking for the privy!
Her surface thoughts were jumbled, fear-filled and anxious. She intended to put
some distance between herself and her rescuers, although he could not catch any
hint of an actual plan. Ungrateful wench. For a moment, Nico was tempted to let
her run away, and go back to sleep. Where could she go? The Travelers were in
the village lockup and she did not know anyone else.
Then it occurred to him that he could not be sure of that. The Travelers had
been through Carcosa earlier in the year, and in previous ones as well. She
might have made friends he did not know about, or she might be acquainted with
some of the Sons of Darkover. Unlikely, he decided, after brief consideration.
From the tone of Mathias' thoughts about that organization, he didn't think any
young girls were involved. But she might encounter Vancof, who would not
hesitate to attack her.
She could come to some harm. Domenic found he was a little surprised at himself,
that he cared as much as he did after only knowing her so briefly. Somewhat
reluctantly, he examined his feelings about Illona. He had liked her from the
first second he clapped eyes on her, and that had not changed. There was just
something about the girl-her courage or maybe just her difference from the young
women he knew already. She was rough and ill-mannered, but she was also
quick-witted and brave.
He swung his legs off the bed, pulled on his tunic and boots, and decided to
follow her. Carefully opening the door of the room, Nico peeped out into the dim
corridor and saw her reach the top of the stairs. She was waiting, listening for
sounds from below. He could see she had on a tunic that was too big for her,
over her shabby undergown, and her feet were bare in the faint light that came
up the stairs. Silly girl. She was not going to get far that way. She must be
really desperate to try to escape without shoes.
And where did she think she was going? He waited until she started down the
stairs and slipped out of the room, closing the door softly behind him. His
boots made a little noise on the wood of the floor, and he realized that the
girl was smarter than he had thought. It was hard to sneak around in boots or
shoes.
Domenic managed to get halfway down the stairs before he heard a scuffle below.
There was a feminine squeak followed by a muffled cry of pain. He scrambled down
the rest of the steps and found the girl in the hands of Gregor MacEwan, one of
the Guardsmen. He was swearing a blue streak, under his breath, as Illona had
her teeth firmly on his forearm, as well as aiming a knee at his groin.
"You little catamount," snarled the man, shaking Illona hard as he tried to
avoid her flailing legs. She reached out her fingers and tried to scratch his
face or gouge his eyes, but his greater height prevented it. As it was, she tore
the top of his tunic out of its lacings, the ripping noise of fabric seeming
very loud in the silence of the inn.
Somehow Illona managed to wrench herself free of Gregor's grip for a second, and
she would have been able to run if Domenic had not grasped her around the middle
and held her tight. It was like holding a sack of furious ferrets, as she kicked
backward, struggled to pull away, and clawed at the arms around her waist. She
shoved an elbow back into his ribs as hard as she could, and Nico was shocked by
how much it hurt. Then he fell backward with a thump, and Illona landed on top
of him. All the air was knocked out of his chest for a second. She was heavier
than she looked!
&nb
sp; Before she could turn around and attack him, Gregor grabbed her by the front of
her tunic and hauled her off, holding her at arm's length, so she flapped her
feet helplessly above the floor. She continued to claw and scratch, but held at
arm's length, the girl found nothing except Gregor's well-protected forearms.
Nico sat up slowly, rubbed his ribs where she had struck him, and then started
to get up.
I have to get away from these people. I have to get back to the Travelers.
The terror and pain of this mental shout shook Domenic. He had not been prepared
for the strength of it, nor the violence either. How could he or anyone convince
her that she would come to no harm, when it was clear she believed herself to be
in mortal danger. Well, if a strange man grabbed him in the dark, he would
probably think the same thing. He wanted to calm her, to reassure her.
Illona jerked suddenly in Gregor's grasp, and turned her head sharply around.
She glared at Domenic, her eyes huge in the faint light of the lampions. "Don't
touch me," she shrilled and stopped struggling.
For a moment, he was puzzled. Then he understood that she had sensed the touch
of his mind and was outraged. How clumsy of him! He had sensed her nascent laran
earlier, but had completely forgotten about it in the heat of the struggle. His
previous idea that she might be the nedestra daughter of some man of the
Domains, with her red hair and pale skin, returned. His father had often said
there were many more telepaths on Darkover than anyone suspected, but no one, as
far as he knew, had ever thought to look among the Travelers.
It was a problem that had troubled both Mikhail and Regis Hastur in recent
years. They had known there were many undiscovered talents in the general
population, but no one had ever come up with a method to unearth them. The
number of leroni in the Towers was too small to test a population of twenty
million-an estimate at best, for no real census of Darkover had ever been
completed. More, most people seemed uninterested in the matter, or resented it.
A farmer did not want to lose a son who was a useful laborer, and a tradesman
wished his children to follow in his footsteps, not depart for a Tower. He had
encountered a few sons and daughters of both these classes during his time at
Arilinn. They had been uncomfortable in the company of so many scions of the
Domains, eager to get their training done with and return to the lives they had
been born to. Oh, one or two had been ambitious, or wished to remain, but the
majority of them had not.
"Calm down, Illona," Nico said. "No one is going to hurt you."
"I would not go that far, vai dom," Gregor growled.
"Put her down now," Domenic instructed, brushing off the front of his tunic a
little, and scowling at Gregor for using the honorific. Then he shrugged to
himself-the girl was smart and likely she already knew he was not the person he
had pretended to be. "Just where did you think you were going to run to,
Illona?" The Guardsman released his grip and lowered her feet to the floor,
watching the slight girl carefully.
"Back to my people," she mumbled.
"All of your people are in the local lockup, and unlikely to be released for
some time to come," he answered, pitching his voice carefully. It was a thing he
had trained himself to do, in order to keep his foster sister Alanna from her
all too frequent bouts of fury, a calming use of the command voice.
"Why? We did nothing wrong."
Domenic could sense that she was less angry now, but still intractable. What a
stubborn girl! She reminded him somewhat of Alanna, except that there was
nothing about her of the boiling confusion he always sensed from his cousin.
Instead there was a certain single-mindedness to her, as if when she got hold of
an idea, nothing could make her let go. "Come on. Let's go sit in the taproom
and talk for a while. The fire is still going in there, and we can be
comfortable."
"I don't want to talk to anyone," she snarled. Despite her angry words, she
turned and walked into the taproom, shivering a little. It was chilly in the
hall, and in bare feet, she probably felt it more than he did. Domenic followed
her, and they sat down in front of the grate, where the embers of the previous
night's fire still glowed. Gregor plopped a small log onto the irons, then
withdrew at Nico's gesture.
Domenic thought for a minute while the fire started to grow, trying to decide
how to approach this wary girl. She was defensive and hostile, but these were
very clear emotions in her, not muddled the way they would have been in Alanna.
Finally he said, "Illona, do you know anything about yourself?"
"What a strange question. Of course I know about myself. I am fifteen, a
foundling, and . . . what exactly do you mean?" She was immediately alert,
curious and puzzled at the same time. He could sense her trying to discern his
intent, and at the same time planning to elude it. It was an interesting
juxtaposition of thought and emotion, and he found himself admiring the clarity
she was holding onto.
"Do you know where the Travelers found you?"
"What does that matter?"
"I am curious. Humor me, won't you?"
"Why are you talking in that . . . peculiar way, as if you were very serious.
You can't possibly be interested in me." Now there was an air of confusion in
her words and, beneath it, a fresh prickle of alarm.
Domenic was surprised. No one, except his mother, had ever caught him using the
command voice, and yet he was sure that Illona could sense that he was. He
shrugged, wishing he knew better how to test for laran, or that there was
someone nearby who could, and relaxed his throat. "I am interested in you. You
are a very remarkable person."
"Huh? Me, remarkable? That's rich." She gave a little frown. "Are you trying to
seduce me, vai dom?" She spoke the last words with enormous contempt, as if she
were cursing.
Nico coughed with startlement. "That idea had not crossed my mind," he admitted.
No, he hadn't thought about anything so tame as seduction-it had been much less
subtle than that. He felt himself redden slightly and hoped she would not notice
it in the light from the hearth. She was pretty, in a waifish kind of way, but
his present intentions were not in the least dishonorable. "Why would you think
that?"
"Aunty Loret told me to watch out, that's all. And everyone knows that the lords
of the Domains can do as they please with girls, and no one can stop them." She
appeared to be nursing a grievance. And that nasty man who grabbed me called you
vai dom, so even if you are young, I know you are one of them!
"I've never seduced anyone, Illona, and I'm not sure I'd know how to begin." The
subject was making him feel uncomfortable, putting him subtly in the wrong
somehow, so he went back to his original question. "Where did the Travelers find
you? Did your aunt ever say?"
Illona did not answer right away. He is such a strange boy, so old seeming,
though I don't think he can be more than sixteen. There is something about him .
. . . Why does he want to know where I co
me from . . . ? I suppose it can't hurt
to tell him. "Yes, she did. They came on a village that was burned out by
brigands, and found me screaming my lungs out in the ruins of a house. That was
up in the Kilghards, toward the Ardais Domain. My mother, whoever she was, was
either dead or taken off by the bandits. And that is all I know about it."
"I see. Have you ever . . . been tested . . . ?"
"I wouldn't go into a Tower for all the gold in Carthon," she snapped before he
could finish his question.
What has made you so fearful and hostile to the Towers?
Illona jumped a little and shivered all over. "What are you doing to me," she
whispered.
"Nothing. You heard my thought just then." He tried to sound calm, and was
tempted to use the Voice again, but remembered how sensitive she was to it and
refrained. Frightening her further would not help him. Toward the Ardais Domain?
That was very suggestive-was it possible that she was a child of young Dyan
Ardais? According to Mikhail, Dom Dyan had been something of a rascal in his
youth. And the other Dyan, the old one, dead for years now since the final
battle between Sharra and Aldones had had the Alton Gift himself.
Domenic turned the idea over in his mind, and decided it would certainly explain
several things about Illona that he had observed but been too tired and busy to
really consider. He restrained a shudder at the idea of an untrained mind with
the Alton Gift being on the loose.
"Oh, no!" Her voice was a wail of despair, breaking into his thoughts. She
swallowed hard several times, and he could see she was fighting back tears. So
much for not scaring her. I have laran, and I've known it for years. But it
can't be very much, so maybe I won't have to be shut up in one of those places
and forced to work for the Keepers. I have to get away before he drags me off
and . . . he seems so nice, too. But that is just a sham, because he as one of
them, and all he wants is to order me around and tell me what to do.
Nico was glad she was too agitated to notice his eavesdropping now, and tried to
think of something comforting to say. "It is not the end of the world, Illona,"
Nico said softly. He had heard his mother's tales of her first experiences with
laran, and how she had been afraid and angry at the same time. The emotions