time. It was too much, and for the first time in his life, Lyle Belfontaine
fainted.
When consciousness returned, Belfontaine found himself lying on a long couch,
his battle gear gone. There was a pleasant fire in a huge maw of stone, and the
smell of Cottman balsam drifted out from it. He lay in his fouled thermals,
dazed and bewildered.
There was a faint rustle of fabric, and he turned his head in the direction of
the sound. A dark-haired woman in a jewel-red garment came into view. It fell in
soft folds around her slender form as she walked toward him, a soft veil
fluttering from the top of her head. "Feeling better?"
He stared at her, for a moment incapable of comprehending the question.
Belfontaine's command of the local language had never been very good, and in his
present muddled condition, it abandoned him entirely for a few seconds. Then he
understood and nodded, sitting up so quickly that his head swam. She was small,
no taller than he was, and young enough to be his daughter, but clad only in his
soiled thermals, he felt helpless and vulnerable. And disgusting-he stank of
sweat, fear, and worse.
The sound of boots on stone came in from behind the couch, and Belfontaine
turned around to see who it was. Lew Alton, grinning like a fiend, appeared. If
he had not lost his weapons, he would have blasted the hateful man right then.
"You have always wanted to see the inside of Comyn Castle, haven't you, Lyle,
and now you have achieved your ambition," Alton said gravely. "Would you care
for a glass of wine?"
For a moment this barefaced effrontery robbed Belfontaine of the power of
speech. Then he snarled, "What are you doing here? I thought you left with . . .
and what did you do to me and my men?"
"I did not do anything to you, little man. All your troubles you have brought on
yourself. Now, about the wine. I am going to have some, and I suggest you do the
same." Lew walked to a small table and poured two glasses. Then he looked at the
silent woman. "Would you like some, too, Val?"
"Yes, I believe I would," she answered. Alton poured another, then picked one up
and handed it to her. He placed the remaining glasses on a small tray and moved
toward Belfontaine.
Little man. That was what he had heard just before he . . . no, he did not want
to think about that. Belfontaine was sure he had heard Lew's voice, but not in
the air. There was a different resonance. He must have shouted over some sort of
device, some primitive thing, an ancient loudspeaker probably. He had only
thought he heard the words in his mind. The whole thing must have been an
illusion due to his agitated state.
The smugness of the man was infuriating. There had to be a way to penetrate Lew
Alton's arrogant triumph. But he felt so weak, confused and mortified that it
was hard to muster up enough strength to focus his mind. It was as if all his
emotions except fear, had faded into shadows. Yes, he was most definitely
afraid, but he was damned if he was going to let it show.
He took the offered glass, forcing his sluggish mind to work. There had to be a
reasonable explanation for all this. There was no way a bunch of backwater
primitives could have defeated trained troops so easily. He sipped a little of
the wine and racked his brain.
The combat suits had been sabotaged in some manner-that must be it! Some of the
native personnel must have done it, though he could not imagine how. And now he
was a prisoner. It had never occurred to him that he might fail, and he
remembered how his father had appeared and called him worthless. It was all
impossible! The silence in the room weighed on him.
"I thought you were with the funeral train," he muttered, hating the whine in
his own voice, and still trying to find some sense in the whole mess. The train!
How much time had passed? He could not tell, and there was no clock that he
could see. The train had left at daybreak, and he had waited for several hours
before he began his assault. He shuddered at his realization of the failure of
it. By now the ambush should have taken place, and no one but he knew that most
of the members of the Comyn Council were likely dead. The troops from the
Hellers would not be wearing Federation combat suits, so they would be immune to
this unexpected treachery. Yes, he could definitely salvage something.
Belfontaine bit his lower hp. He longed to announce what he knew, to wipe the
smug expression off Alton's scarred and wrinkled face, to tell him that his
daughter was dead! But he must not waste his advantage so cheaply. Let him think
he had the upper hand for a time. The wine was rather good, and it seemed to be
clearing his mind slowly.
"I am sure you did, but since I expected you to come calling, I decided to be a
good host and await you."
"You . . . expected . . . me?" The wine turned to vinegar in his mouth.
"Of course. You convinced yourself that Comyn Castle would be an easy target.
You have always underestimated us, Lyle. It is your fatal flaw."
"Fatal? What are you going to do to me?"
"Why, you will be my guest for a time." Lew Alton's face was solemn, but there
was a light in the Comyn lord's eyes that made Belfontaine uneasy. "And later, I
am going to turn you over to the Federation-always assuming they come back for
you-and let them deal with you. Of course, when my son-in-law returns, he may
have some other ideas-nothing too terribly barbaric, I assure you."
That was too much! He could not stand it a second longer. "You will have to wait
a long time, then, because he is not coming back! He's dead, and so is everyone
else in that party!"
Alton appeared unmoved, not the least bit afraid. "Now, now, Lyle. It would have
been much wiser not to have admitted knowledge of that. Much wiser."
Belfontaine felt the blood drain from his face. His ears rang, and he felt
nauseous. With a great effort he swallowed the saliva that filled his mouth and
screamed, "You stupid bastard-your daughter is dead!"
To his fury and amazement, Lew Alton did not react except to appear mildly
amused. "No, little man, she most definitely is not!"
25
The carriage rattled along, and Domenic shifted back and forth on his bench. He
was riding with his back to the driver, and the forward movement of the vehicle
threatened to unseat him. Across from him, Herm and Katherine were silent, each
lost in their own thoughts. It did not take laran to be able to tell they had
much to talk about, and Domenic wished he had gone in the carriage with Illona
and his grandfather Gabriel, so they could have the privacy they clearly needed.
"Please, it's clear you have much to discuss," he finally told them, unable to
endure their tense silence any longer. "If you can pretend I'm not here, I'll
try my best not to listen." Then he turned and looked through the window,
watching the thighs of the Guardsman who was riding beside the vehicle.
Herm gave a sort of grunt, a sound Domenic was now very familiar with. "I wish
it were that easy, nephew."
Katherine turned and studied her husband. "It is that easy, except that you
don't want to talk to me-you just want to charm me into forgetting the past few
days. Domenic is not the problem, Herm. You are."
"What has gotten into you, Kate? I said I was sorry!" I go away for a few days
and when I see her again, she seems like a different person-one I don't know at
all.
"Sorry is not enough, and you know it!" She paused, seeming to gather her
resolve and perhaps her nerve, and then went on. "Why are you such a runaway?"
"What?" Herm turned a deep shade of red, as if her words had hit some mark that
shamed him.
"Well, aren't you? Don't you try to sidestep getting close to anyone, even me? I
don't know why I didn't realize it before. No, that's not true. I did know it,
and it was one of the reasons I married you-the more fool I."
"You are going to have to explain that, Katherine, because I am completely
lost."
"I know it sounds ironic, but it seems that I never understood myself until I
came to Darkover-why I am uncomfortable with most people. I married you,
Hermes-Gabriel Aldaran, partly because I was so comfortable with you-and now
that I'm here I've realized that the reason that I was more at ease with you
than with other people is that you are remote! Oh, you are sweet and loving and
utterly devoted, but there is a part of you that is always held back. That part
made me feel unthreatened, but now things are so different! If we are going to
mend this marriage, you have to change!"
Domenic wished he could stop his ears-he was trying not to listen-but he was
fascinated at the same time. Was this the sort of thing his parents said to each
other when they were alone? It must be, since he knew both Mikhail and
Marguerida were very strong and stubborn people, and they could not have managed
their years of marriage without some sort of argument. It gave him a new and not
entirely pleasant insight into the relationship between the two most important
people in his life.
"Remote?" Herm sounded peevish, and almost childish now.
"Yes, and withholding, too! Or do you believe that this 'hale fellow well met'
you pretend to be is the real Hermes?"
The man squirmed and knitted his fingers together. Then he swallowed hard and
replied, "I avoid introspection whenever possible."
"Then you had better stop avoiding it, or else I am going to . . . well, I'm not
sure. Perhaps I will join the Painters Guild and leave you. Or let your brother
support me for the rest of my years. Even though you have exiled me to this
strange world, I am not without options!"
"You are asking me to change who I am. I don't know if that is realistic. I
don't know if I can."
"I want you to try. I will not be shut out again, nor abandoned, Herm. You
should get that through your thick Aldaran head right now!"
"It isn't enough that I love you?"
"Not nearly, cario." The term of endearment did not take the sting out of her
demand, and Domenic held back a smile, lowering his head a little so his mouth
was concealed. He realized he was learning something important about being an
adult, although he could not quite understand it yet.
"What do you want of me, Kate?" He seemed humble now, sincere and a bit afraid.
"I want you to grow up! No more games and schemes, and no more secrets, at least
not from me!"
Herm looked downcast for a minute, and Nico tensed, waiting for his response. "I
don't know who I am without my plots and schemes, Katherine."
"Then it is about time you started finding out."
The man gave a great sigh. "Do you know how much I hate it when you are right?"
"Yes." Kate reached over and put her hand on his interlocked fingers. "If I did
not love you so much, I would not be bothering, you know."
"What did I ever do to deserve you?" He bowed his head.
Katherine leaned over and kissed his shiny pate. "You were born under some lucky
star, I suppose," she murmured.
Domenic yawned, not from tiredness, but to release the tension in his jaw. It
was amazing-they had both been very angry at each other just a few minutes
before, and now it was over, for the moment. He suspected that the matter was
not completely settled, that Kate would have to chide her husband again and
again. But peace had been restored, and he felt he had learned a lesson. He
wished he could ask his mother about it, but that would mean revealing what had
passed between his uncle and Katherine, and he would not do that. After chewing
over it mentally for several seconds, Domenic let it go and he turned his
attention outward. He scanned the minds of the Guardsmen riding beside the
carriage, and then reached for those more distant ones he knew waited beyond.
* * * *
At the head of the slow-moving train Mikhail and Marguerida rode side by side.
They were both tense and alert, and around them, the mood of the Guards was
grim. The sound of hooves, the jingle of bridles, and the occasional snort of
mount or bray of mule were the only noises which punctuated an increasingly
oppressive silence. Marguerida swallowed in a dry throat, the taste of one of
MacHaworth's excellent fowl pies lingering in her mouth, and hummed a scale.
Mikhail glanced at her when he heard the tones, smiling just a little.
The midday meal had been chaotic, noisy and almost fevered, as if everyone
realized that it might be their last, and was determined to make the most of it.
She was relieved to have Domenic back, and was glad she had persuaded him to
ride in one of the carriages instead of on horseback. It was not much
protection, but at least he would be out of sight during the actual fighting.
She hoped she was right. It was easier to worry about her son than to think
about what awaited them up the road.
Rafaella had been able to give them a clear idea of exactly where the ambush
would most likely come. She and the rest of her Renunciates had been doing a
good deal of quiet spying since the previous evening, and at least they had a
fair idea of the number and location of the enemy. What they did not know, and
what worried Marguerida and Mikhail most, was what sort of weaponry they would
be facing. Rafi said that the men were dressed in Darkovan clothing, and seemed
to have cudgels and short swords. But Marguerida was unable to completely
convince herself that the Federation forces would not try to use their superior
weaponry against the funeral train.
She took a deep breath and drew her mind into a less stressful channel.
Marguerida knew she had to conserve her energies for the attack, that she would
need all her wits about her, and if she started imagining blaster bolts, she
would be exhausted by the time they reached their foes. Instead, she turned her
thoughts to Illona Rider, who might or might not be a child of Dyan Ardais.
It was clear from the way Dyan had behaved that he was reluctant to acknowledge
the girl. Marguerida had never completely understood him, after all it was no
shame to father nedestro children, and all Darkovan children were so very
precious! He should have rejoiced to know that another child of his lived!
Something would have to be done about Illona, whether or not Dyan acknowledged
/> her. She sighed. Fostering was the obvious answer, but she was not sure she
wanted to take on another adolescent herself. Alanna was enough trouble already,
and she had the suspicion that her difficult charge would not be pleased to have
a rival for the affections of those around her. More, Marguerida was fairly
certain that Nico would be caught between the two girls.
She remembered what people had said to her so long ago: "An untrained telepath
is a danger to herself and everyone around her."
The girl needed training, too. And she did not doubt that Domenic was correct in
his guess that Illona had the Alton Gift. Marguerida had felt the girl's nascent
laran, and it was enough like her own to make her believe her son. But she did
not think that Arilinn would be a very friendly place for a Traveler child, and
she suspected that after a few rebuffs from the other students there, Illona
would simply run away. No, she must either foster the girl herself or send her
someplace like Tramontana. And fretting about it now was not doing her any good
at all.
Against her better judgement, Marguerida turned her mind back to the present.
Had they thought though all the possibilities? Could they protect enough of
their own people with the combined energies of her matrix and Mikhail's to halt
the attack? They had tried to test the limits of their powers, and knew that it
could stop an arrow easily. It had been a nerve-racking experience for them, and
even more so for the hapless Guardsman who was asked to aim his bow toward them.
But whether it would be able to stop a blaster was another matter entirely. It
was really a shame that the Command Voice was such a limited resource, that it
did not reach beyond a hundred feet with any reliability. They had decided not
to risk that, since it would affect friend and foe alike, leaving those outside
its influence free to do as they wished.
Marguerida shifted in the saddle, turned, and looked behind her. She found
Francisco Ridenow riding a few lengths back, and remembered that Kate had told
her to keep an eye on him. Then she turned ahead again, and strained her
distance sense to its utmost. She had done this several times already, but this
time she was rewarded with the faint glimmer of mental energies about a mile
beyond. It was still too far for her to distinguish individual minds, or to