Traitor's Sun

  and he felt his mother's grip tighten as she swayed slightly. He caught a

  movement out of the corner of his eye, and Dom Gabriel stepped forward and put

  his hand against the small of Javanne's back, supporting her almost tenderly,

  his face colorless in the daylight.

  "Though winter freeze the world in pain,

  The starflower shall bloom on the hill,

  Our foes shall shake their swords in vain,

  For Hastur's Children lead us still."

  Mikhail jerked as twenty voices rose in triumphant conclusion. He had not

  expected those words, and they rang through his mind. The enormity of the moment

  was like a bright pain in his heart. Someday, he thought, they wall sang these

  words for me . . .

  The last notes died away to stillness. The ancient man looked around, commanding

  all attention.

  "Here lies the Son of Hastur, Son of Aldones, Son of Light, at rest from his

  labors at last." The thready voice carried across the courtyard.

  The words bore echoes of Darkover's most distant past. Mikhail heard his mother

  take a sharp breath. He himself had never heard them before, for they were

  spoken only at the passing of those of the Hastur line, but his mother and a few

  others remembered them from the funeral of Danvan.

  "In life he bore the name Regis-Rafael Felix Alar Hastur y Elhalyn, and these

  are his deeds-"

  As the reedy voice continued, Mikhail tried to listen, but the man seemed to be

  describing a stranger, not the uncle he had known and loved. The eulogy

  proclaimed the power of Regis' wrath, but where was his charm? There were

  references in plenty to the craft with which he had outwitted the Terranan for

  so many years, but what about his wit? And though the speaker chronicled Regis'

  achievements, he said nothing of the love for Darkover that was behind them.

  Many of the people were weeping, but how much greater would their grief be if

  they had really known the man whose body now lay on that bier.

  The style of the speech both magnified and distanced the man it praised, making

  Regis Hastur seem at once larger than life and less than human. But presently

  Mikhail realized that those measured phrases were beginning to ease his sense of

  loss. No doubt that was their purpose. How Regis would have laughed if he could

  have heard!

  Or perhaps he did-Mikhail felt Varzil's ring throb on his finger, and clenched

  the fist within its glove. They were sending Regis to his rest, but would he go?

  He did not know whether the idea of another visitation would console him or make

  him more afraid.

  He straightened his back, sensing that the eulogy was drawing to a close. His

  whole body ached with exhaustion, and his feet felt like two blocks of ice in

  his boots.

  The Servant lifted his arms again. "We shall not see his like again, this child

  of Aldones-and so we bid him farewell!" The words were ancient, the sorrow in

  them like a fresh wound.

  He lowered his arms, and as if he had released their voices, from thousands of

  throats came a great wailing, a ululation that rang against the stone walls of

  Comyn Castle in cascading echoes that battered at Mikhail's weary senses until

  his own throat opened in an anguished cry. For a measureless time thereafter he

  remembered nothing, heard nothing, and felt nothing except the wracking grief of

  their enormous loss.

  23

  Marguerida was chafing at the slow pace of the funeral train. It demanded all of

  her will and the discipline of a lifetime to swallow her impatience. They had

  been on the road since daybreak, and all she wanted was to reach the village

  where Domenic was staying and to see her beloved son safe. But there was no way

  to hurry the entourage. Twenty-five wagons and as many carriages were behind

  her, with about three hundred riders beside them. She was only grateful that she

  was mounted on Dyania, with the pleasant sensation of horsey muscles against her

  thighs, instead of enclosed in one of the vehicles as were Dom Gabriel and a few

  others. That would have been too much for her.

  They had left Thendara at dawn, and ridden out of the city on the Old North

  Road, past fields covered with drifting autumn mist. It had been eerily quiet,

  and the soft folds of earth that were almost visible through the concealing

  veils of moisture had been empty of anything except flocks of sheep and cattle.

  This had gotten on everyone's already excited nerves, and when the sun rose and

  began to burn away the mist, she had sensed a little relaxation around her.

  Now she rode beside Mikhail, surrounded by twenty Guardsmen, and Marguerida

  tried to force herself to think of something besides her son. Could it actually

  be only eight days since Regis had died? She turned in the saddle and looked

  back, to the coffin draped with the silver-and-blue Hastur colors, resting on an

  enclosed flat-bedded carriage, drawn along by six creamy horses. She knew that

  the funeral had provided closure for Mikhail, but she remained trapped with her

  own conflicted feelings, no matter how hard she tried to escape them.

  There was something a bit puzzling about her emotions, for when Diotima, her

  stepmother, had died, Marguerida had been able to accept it almost immediately.

  True, she had been expecting Dio's death for several years, while Regis' death

  had come without warning, but surely after so many days she should be able to

  come to grips with herself. However, even after the astonishing intrusion of

  Regis during the Comyn Council meeting, she had not yet managed to absorb the

  sudden death of the man. And the lengthy and exhausting funeral the previous day

  had only left her tired, not free to mourn the man who had been so kind to her.

  She could only hope that once he was interred with his ancestors, she would at

  last be able to adjust her heart to the loss.

  The Council meeting had given her husband fresh confidence, and he no longer

  seemed as doubtful and hesitant as he had in the days immediately following

  Regis' death. She did not understand all that had taken place within him, but

  she could see that he was ready to lead Darkover at last. Now, if they could

  just survive the expected attack-if it was not all a tempest in a chamber

  pot-and if she could keep herself in the background for the rest of her life!

  She chewed on the problem, ruthlessly examining herself. She contrasted herself

  with Lady Linnea, who had never gone beyond the role of consort, and decided she

  could not imitate her very well. She was simply a different sort of person-too

  independent-and she was equal to Mikhail in the peculiar powers of her shadow

  matrix. Well, she could only be herself, and everyone would have to accept it.

  The thought refreshed her as the wind tugged at the hood of her cloak.

  Marguerida wondered what Lew was doing right then. Pacing, probably. That was

  how he behaved when he was impatient. Would there be an attack on Comyn Castle?

  She hoped there would not be, yet, she was curious if the plan she had helped to

  conceive would be effective. She smiled slowly. Working closely with Cisco

  Ridenow for the first time had been a remarkable experience. He had grasped the

  nature of the problem imme
diately, swinging into action as if he had been

  preparing for such an eventuality for years. And, she thought, perhaps he had.

  She had not expected him to be so imaginative, nor sure of himself.

  With the dampers in the Crystal Chamber destroyed, there had been no way to

  prevent a certain degree of leakage from the minds at the table, although

  everyone had been aware of this situation and done their best to shield their

  surface thoughts. So it had been something of a revelation to learn that Cisco

  was not nearly so much his father's creature as she and everyone else had always

  assumed. There was an undercurrent of mistrust between the two men which had

  surprised her. Watching the interplay between the two Ridenows, she finally

  decided that Cisco did not answer to anyone except himself, that he was stern

  and sober, confident in his own judgment, and wary of his sire as well.

  It was Cisco who had suggested smuggling the children away from Comyn Castle in

  the carriages which had brought the leroni from Arilinn for the funeral, while

  the Tower people remained behind to aid in defending the castle. He had been

  able to give an exact count of the men available for both the defense of the

  castle and of the funeral train as well, and she suspected that he had

  independently considered the possibility of such attacks. Indeed, he had already

  organized the City Guards for this purpose, calling up the many retired

  Guardsmen who still lived in Thendara and putting them on alert.

  He would bear watching, she decided, if they came out of this crisis in one

  piece. Still, she could not help mistrusting him just a little, because of his

  father, and after wrestling with her conscience for a moment, Marguerida decided

  she was probably wise rather than petty. It was always a good idea to keep a

  weather eye on cunning men, however loyal they might think themselves.

  Getting the children away had been a great relief. Roderick had protested

  mightily, insisting he was old enough to go to the rhu fead. He was furious that

  Domenic was going to have an adventure from which he was excluded, but she was

  glad that she did not have him to worry about. And Gareth Elhalyn had been

  displeased as well. No, that was too puny a term to describe the boy's behavior.

  Gareth had been furious and had thrown something very like a tantrum. She almost

  pitied Gisela, and was still somewhat bemused by her offer to oversee both

  Katherine Aldaran's and Marguerida's children, along with her own. Marguerida

  did not envy her a carriage journey with eight youngsters, at least two of them

  in adolescent sulks.

  It suddenly occurred to Marguerida that if they failed and perished in this mad

  adventure, then Gisela might see her youthful ambitions realized. As the aunt of

  Roderick and Yllana, and the wife of Rafael Lanart-Hastur, she would be one of

  the logical choices to care for the children, even though she was an Aldaran by

  birth. It would give her the power she had craved all her life. And, for no

  reason that Marguerida could bring to mind, she was not perturbed by this

  possibility. Giz would have to contend with Miralys Elhalyn, who had remained

  behind because of her pregnancy, as well as Javanne, who loathed Gisela even

  more than she did Marguerida. She let herself envision the encounter, for the

  sheer pleasure of it, to distract herself from other, even less wholesome

  thoughts. She succeeded for a short while, but then her doubts rushed back, and

  she started worrying again.

  If they had been successful, then Lyle Belfontaine had no idea that the

  carriages were filled with armed men, not women and children as they ordinarily

  would have been. Six to a coach, and twenty coaches, gave them another hundred

  and twenty fighters who were not visible to any interested eyes, in addition to

  the two hundred and fifty Guardsmen and the company of Renuciates who rode at

  the rear of the procession. Not a great number to face the kind of armament that

  the Federation could bring to bear, although they did not anticipate there being

  more than a hundred of the enemy. And, too, the Federation had no idea of either

  Mikhail's powers, or her own. It seemed a slender thing on which to hang their

  future, but there had been no alternative, after hours of discussion that had

  lasted until every voice in the chamber was hoarse with weariness.

  Suddenly Marguerida was struck by the irony of it all. For years people had

  feared Mikhail's matrix, so much so that they had almost forgotten the capacity

  of her shadow matrix. Lady Javanne, Dom Francisco and Lady Marilla had refused

  to believe he would not use his powers to further his own ambitions, and Regis

  had worried in his own way. Now they had turned about and decided Mikhail was to

  be their savior. It would have been amusing if it were not so terrible.

  A cold wind from the west blew across her cheeks, and she breathed deeply,

  smelling the crisp air. It brought back memories of another journey up the Old

  North Road, sixteen years before, when she had gone to Neskaya with Rafaella and

  her sister Renunciates. Odd that her mind did not go to that other occasion,

  when she and Mik had dashed off in the middle of the night, to tumble into

  history.

  Marguerida knew she was thinking of the trip to Neskaya because of the bandits

  they had encountered up in the mountains. She had killed two men during the

  fray, and used the Command Voice to stop the battle, much to her dismay and

  surprise. And now, if they were attacked as Herm and Nico thought they would be,

  she would probably slay more. The Aldaran Gift had visited her briefly that

  morning, offering her the sight of blasted corpses on a seared hillside. It had

  been frightening and useless, since she could not see the faces, and had no idea

  of their identity or what had been the cause of their deaths. And it had come

  and gone so quickly, a flicker more than a real vision.

  Everything depended on Mikhail, on his matrix, and on hers as well. What had

  seemed quite plausible in the security of the Crystal Chamber seemed less so

  now. Was it really a plan, or just a foolish hope, that they could overcome an

  armed force in the way they believed? She tingled with anticipation and chill,

  acknowledging her own fears with as much calmness as she could muster. This was

  no time to have second thoughts. She glanced at the grim faces of the Guardsmen

  around them and made a silent prayer to the thousand gods from a hundred planets

  whose names she knew.

  Still, it was very good to be on the road, riding toward whatever destiny

  awaited them. A sense of ease began to seep into her, unexpected and welcomed.

  She turned and smiled at Mikhail.

  "That's better, caria. Your frets were giving my nerves a workout."

  "Oh, dear-was I that loud?"

  "Only to me, I think. Actually you have yourself well in hand, my love. I don't

  know if I could have done this thing without you at my side. I wonder what is

  happening back in Thendara?"

  "With any luck, absolutely nothing. That would disappoint my father, who really

  wants Belfontaine to do something foolish, so he can hang him out to dry in a

  cold wind. And Val, too."

  Mikhail chuckled softly.
"Yes, she was practically rubbing her hands together

  with glee when we left. How is Katherine holding up?"

  "Pretty well, but she is as anxious to see Herm as I am to see Nico. Perhaps I

  should drop back for the present and ride beside her."

  "Yes. We know that the attack, if it comes, will be beyond Carcosa, so there is

  no danger right now. She is a very brave woman, Marguerida."

  "I know. I'm not sure I could handle being headblind as well as she has. Her

  painting helps, I think. And her friendship with Gisela, too-do you know, I

  never would have imagined that happening. She seems to have turned Giz into

  another person, and I don't really know what to make of it. Still, I am very

  glad of it. Very glad."

  Marguerida pulled her reins and turned back two horse lengths, causing the

  Guards on either side to shift their positions. She rode back, past the

  catafalque, and pulled alongside of Katherine's rather pokey mount. Herm's wife

  claimed to be able to ride, but no one would call her a good horsewoman. She

  held her reins too tightly, and her knees were clasped tautly against the sides

  of the animal. She would have been in one of the carriages but for her

  insistence that the close confines of the vehicle would make her ill.

  "Kate, the horse will not run away with you. You will be exhausted if you keep

  hanging on for dear life like that. Let go of the pommel, relax your knees, and

  take a deep breath."

  "I am sure that is excellent advice, and I will try to obey it. I haven't been

  on a horse since I was five, and that was a moor pony, and much lower to the

  ground! We don't have real horses on Renney, just barrel-bellied ponies with

  shaggy coats and docile dispositions. They are used to pull wagons, and for

  children to ride as treats."

  "Did you enjoy it?" Marguerida was determined to put Katherine at ease. It gave

  her something to focus on besides her own worries and those of the woman beside

  her. Those were a constant murmur of thoughts of Herm, and about the safety of

  her children. She felt sorry for Kate, torn by two competing loyalties. If

  Gisela had not offered to take the children, she would have had a harder time of

  it. And now, in hindsight and less weary than the day before, Marguerida felt

  that her sister-in-law's decision had been genuine, founded on her real