Traitor's Sun

  greeted her a few hours before in Carcosa. The boy was gone forever. Now he was

  a man. She felt grief, a stab of loss, for a moment, and wished she could call

  back the innocent child she loved. But it was too late for that.

  The sky overhead went dark, and Marguerida looked up, to find the sun shadowed

  by great black clouds. The wind quickened, gusting around them, fanning the

  flames on the hillside. Something darker than the clouds came out of the sky, a

  jagged mass of movement. Carrion crows, a flock of hundreds of the birds,

  swooped down from the heavens, drawn by the smell of blood and death from who

  knew where. One, bolder than the rest, hopped down onto the body of the man that

  Nico had killed and darted a sharp beak into the soft flesh of the face.

  Then the storm hit, and rain began to sweep across the devastation on the road

  and the hillside beyond it. The wind drove the rain against her skin, and she

  was drenched almost at once. It moved quickly, the wind pushing the torrent

  forward in a steady line, a downpour that lasted a mercifully brief time before

  beginning to slacken off. It soaked the burning trees, the dead and the living,

  washed the blood from the ground, and then scudded away to the east, leaving

  behind only a few sporadic showers. The fires were out, and a good thing they

  were, for the survivors had no stamina left to battle a raging forest fire.

  "Father, there are still some people up at the top of the hill."

  Mikhail nodded, rain dripping off his face. He turned around and found his

  brother Rafael and Donal at his back, soaked and silent as shadows. "Rafael,

  will you take charge of rounding up the survivors? Your Terran is good enough to

  manage, I think. Get them sorted out as fast as you can. We'll send them back to

  Thendara with the wounded."

  "Why don't we just leave them to die of lung fever?" Rafael Lanart-Hastur was

  only half jesting. "No, I suppose that would be barbaric."

  "There is still a flyer up there, and if they gather their wits, they can

  escape," Nico told his uncle.

  "I saw a flyer leave just before the fighting started," Marguerida said, her

  voice almost as rough as the caw of the carrion crows that were trying to get at

  the bodies of the dead.

  "That was Vancof, Mother. I caught his thoughts as he took off-he killed

  Granfell and left for HQ." Nico shuddered. "What a horrid mind he has."

  Rafael turned and signaled to some of the Guards, then walked away and started

  up the ruined hillside. The rain had put out the fires, and there were dozens of

  bodies visible now. Marguerida watched them, remote and unfeeling for a moment.

  Marguerida! The sharp intrusion of Lew Alton was like a slap in the face. Are

  you all right?

  I wish people would stop asking me that! No, but I am alive, and so are Mikhail

  and Domenic.

  That is very good to know, daughter. If anything had happened . . .

  A great many things happened, Father, but I am too tired to tell you right now.

  She tried to order her brain into rational thought. There will be several

  carriages of captives and wounded coming into Thendara later. Including

  Francisco-he tried to kill Mikhail, the damn fool!

  He what? No, don't tell me. It will keep. I will see to everything at this end,

  child. Be safe and come back to me as soon as you can.

  I will, Farther. If this nightmare ever ends.

  Marguerida felt the contact with her father terminate, and turned to her

  husband. She reached out and slipped her unmatrixed hand through his arm. They

  stood, shoulder to shoulder in the drizzling rain, silent and lost in their

  separate thoughts. At last he turned and looked into her face, and she saw a

  peculiar light in his eyes that had never been there before.

  "I never imagined how terrible battle could be," he said gruffly, as if he was

  almost ashamed of his feelings. "And I will never forgive the Federation for

  this cowardly attack."

  Marguerida shook her head. "It wasn't the Federation, Mik. It was a few men with

  more ambition than good sense. And speaking of cowardly attacks, let's not

  forget Dom Francisco."

  He groaned softly, and tears began to trickle from the corners of his eyes. "I

  can't bear to think about that betrayal right now!" He swallowed several times,

  trying to bring himself to speak, as if he could not stand to be silent but had

  no words. At last he managed, "I never thought I would use my powers . . . the

  way I did. I turned men into dead things, bare of any dignity. And other men,

  good men I have known for much of my life, died to keep me alive. I don't know

  if I can live with what I did, Marguerida."

  "Mik . . ."

  Having begun, Mikhail could not stop the anguished words. "I never really

  understood why Regis feared me, why my own mother and those others . . . now I

  do. And it is breaking my heart. I never should have brought . . ."

  Marguerida understood, but she knew that she could not let her husband continue

  in this way. Later, they would both sort out the pain within them, but not now!

  "Stop it! You did what had to be done, Mikhail."

  "Did I? Did I really? Are you sure I was not just trying to prove myself or some

  other . . ."

  "Mikhail Hastur-you are a good man and you will make a fine ruler for Darkover,

  but not if you tear yourself to pieces over things that it is too late to

  change."

  "Donal was right in the end." The tears had stopped slipping down his cheeks and

  he seemed calmer.

  Marguerida stared at her husband, bewildered and trying to make sense of his

  words, her mind confused by his sudden change of mood. "What?"

  "Kill them all and let the gods sort it out," came the voice of the young

  paxman, still standing nearby. Domenic cast a look of admiration at his kinsman

  and the start of a grin played across his face.

  Mikhail's shoulders slumped for a second, and then he straightened his spine and

  looked almost serene, as if he had passed through some inner conflict. "None of

  us will ever forget this day," he whispered. "As long as I am alive, I will

  remember what I did and why-but it hurts, caria." I am heartsick and tired, but

  I must not hesitate. I have a world to protect, and I swear that I will do so,

  no matter how great the cost. I only pray that I am not taking on more than I

  can endure.

  26

  The following day dawned chill and cheerless. After a silent breakfast of hot

  porridge and fried cakes, the much diminished funeral train set out from

  Halstad. The little village about six miles beyond the site of the battle had

  been stunned at the incursion of almost two hundred people the night before, and

  it had been almost amusing to watch them scurry around, attempting to provide

  accommodations for so many. The inn had only three sleeping rooms in it, and

  lacked many of the other amenities of the Crowing Cock, including the bathing

  room. Instead, Halstad used a communal facility for the entire village. Far into

  the night the weary travelers had taken their turns, washing away the stench of

  sweat, ash and blood from their bodies, while the dazed villagers brought loads

  of firewood to keep the tubs warm.

&nbs
p; It had been a numb evening, punctuated by brief attempts at conversation which

  trailed off in mid-sentence, as if the speakers could not recall what they

  intended to say. Dom Gabriel had drawn Domenic to his side, and kept him close,

  with Illona always near him. The safety of his other grandfather had begun to

  ease the roil of his emotions, to release the horror of killing a man. Domenic

  was sure it should not bother him as much as it did-the man had been an enemy

  and a stranger. But, it did, and after an hour, he had decided that his feelings

  were probably natural rather than morbid. Slaying another was not a casual act.

  He thought of Vancof, who had killed the nameless fellow in Carcosa, then

  Granfell just before the battle, without, it seemed, the least hesitation. It

  likely did not bother the man's conscience at all. No, it was better to sorrow

  over the dead soldier than to pretend it had not mattered.

  Domenic was aware that he was not alone in his confused emotions, for everyone

  around him was experiencing something very similar. His father was the worst,

  wracking himself with a kind of savage guilt that made the young man cringe each

  time he caught the edge of his thoughts. He had killed one person, but Mikhail

  had slain dozens. How much more terrible it must be for him!

  Sleep had helped, crowded into a wide bed with Dani, Danilo, Dom Gabriel and

  Uncle Rafael. Illona had gone with Rafaella, to sleep with the Renunciates in

  their tents, and he suspected she was glad to be out of doors rather than within

  the crowded inn. Mercifully, he had not dreamed of the dead soldier, or if he

  had, he did not remember it.

  But Domenic was hardly refreshed as he rode beside his mother, on a better horse

  than the one Herm had brought him at the start of their sad adventure. He was

  already missing his new uncle, who had gone back to Thendara with the rest of

  the wounded, the captured techs and surviving soldiers. He was still unsettled,

  and although his mood was not as bleak as the previous night, Nico could sense

  the inner darkness lurking in the corners of his mind, waiting to emerge. It

  would take a great deal more than food, rest, and dry clothes to ease the impact

  of a blade thrust into living flesh.

  The road curved to the west now, and beside it there were huge stands of trees,

  hardwoods and conifers. He breathed in the scents of the woodland, and tried to

  listen to the calls of the birds or the rustling of small animals. Instead, all

  he could hear was the rough sound of the air in his lungs, and the subtle groan

  of the world. He wanted to get off his horse, put his feet on the ground, and

  fall into a trance with the incredible murmur of the earth-to forget everything

  that had happened to him since he had sneaked out of Comyn Castle.

  Part of him was very glad he had discovered the plot against his father, but

  another portion of his mind sincerely wished he had continued to be a dutiful

  son and stayed home. Domenic knew he had done well, had kept his head in a

  tricky situation. He had saved his father's life, and he was now a man. Still,

  he felt miserable inside, and it was not just because he had killed a man. The

  night before he had assumed it was only that, but as he looked at the trees, he

  realized that there was a great deal more bothering him than murder.

  But what? A niggle of thought was trying to force itself up from the depths of

  his mind, and after a minute, Domenic realized he was trying very hard to avoid

  it-that he was pushing whatever it was down with as much energy as he could

  muster. What thought could cause him such anguish?

  Then, as if he had surrendered by merely asking himself the question,

  realization blossomed in his mind. He did not want the future which lay ahead of

  him-to return to Thendara, to live in Comyn Castle, and prepare to wait out the

  decades until he assumed his father's position. As deeply as he loved his

  parents, the idea of spending every day with them for what felt like an eternity

  was unbearable. But, he had to do his duty, didn't he?

  It was more than a sudden rebellion. He had been trying for months to find some

  way out of the prison that Comyn Castle had come to be. Ever since he had begun

  hearing the voice of the world, he had wanted to be in another place, somewhere

  very quiet perhaps, without the constant bickering of the only home he had ever

  known. But Mikhail would never permit him to go away, would he?

  His chest ached, and Domenic noticed that he was holding his breath. He released

  his lungs and drew the sweet, clean air into him, almost gasping. Marguerida

  gave him an inquiring look but did not speak. Instead she waited for him, as she

  often did, to tell her what was the matter.

  His mind raced, trying to find some starting point, so he would not sound like a

  whining child. Instead, his thoughts dashed off in what felt like several

  unrelated directions, leaving him more confused than he had ever been in his

  life. What was he doing-what was he supposed to do? Duty warred with desire,

  making the previous day's battle seem unimportant by comparison. And then he

  knew, as if the doubts had never existed, that his future was his own to choose.

  Domenic went from uncertainty to sureness between two breaths, and the

  oppressive weight that had plagued him vanished as if it had never been.

  He had to discover why he could hear the heart of the world burning, why his

  laran was so different from anyone else's. It was so simple-why hadn't he

  understood sooner? It did not matter that he was the heir, that he had duties

  and obligations to his father. He was possessed by a greater duty, to the entire

  planet.

  An astonishing bubble of laughter rose in his chest. What vanity! He was only a

  boy, really, and he had no business even thinking about abandoning his

  obligations for a hut in the woods. That was ridiculous! And yet . . . and yet .

  . .

  No, not a woodland retreat, not for him. He would not last out the winter on his

  own, and he knew it. But there must be somewhere he could find to sort out all

  the muddle in his mind and heart, where he would not always be yearning for his

  tempestuous cousin Alanna and subject to the fury of his grandmother. But where?

  Nico frowned for a second. Then his brow cleared, and once again the answer was

  obvious. There was a place where he could study and contemplate, and he was

  annoyed that it had not occurred to him sooner. He would go to Neskaya, for

  surely, if anyone could help him puzzle out this mystery, it must be Istvana

  Ridenow. But how was he going to get his mother to agree to such a plan? She was

  so glad to have him safely back, her first and most beloved child, and she would

  resist another separation with all the will she possessed. And his father would

  as well, he suspected.

  Domenic glanced at her, and found she was still waiting for him to speak, that

  her golden eyes were watching him tenderly. He saw the lines along her mouth,

  her sorrow and tension, her grief at Regis' passing, and at the deaths of both

  the Darkovans and the Terranan the previous day. He marked the stubborn line of

  her jaw, and felt himself hesitate again. She was a loyal ally and a fearsome


  opponent. But he had to try to convince her, and it must be now. It would not

  wait for a more convenient moment, or another time. He took a long, deep calming

  breath.

  Mother, I am not going back to Thendara.

  What? Don't be silly, Nico-what are you talking about! Haven't you had enough

  excitement for the moment? She seemed a bit surprised by his announcement, and

  underneath it there was a sense of irritation. He felt dismissed, a child

  speaking childish things, and it angered him a little. He gritted his teeth and

  forced himself to restrain his mild anger-he would make her listen and

  understand!

  It is not a matter of excitement, because I think the last few days will last me

  for a lifetime. But I can't go back to Comyn Castle and be shut an again.

  Nico, no one is going to shut you in. That was Regis' way, and it is not your

  father's. What has gotten into you?

  Mother, you just don't understand!

  Of course I don't-mothers never understand. I remember telling Dio that she

  didn't, but I thank now she just knew better than I did what was best for me,

  Domenic. Things are much too unsettled for now for you to start traipsing around

  Darkover. The mental tone was patient and indulgent at the same time.

  I have no intention of traipsing anywhere. What I want is to go to Neskaya and

  study with Istvana. Aunt Rafi and some of her sisters can guide me there, right

  after we bury Uncle Regis. And I will take Illona with me, because she must get

  some training, and she is not going to cooperate with people she does not know.

  She trusts me, I think, and will come along with me. That was an idea that

  popped into his mind without warning, and all he could say about it was that it

  felt right.

  Hold your horses, young man! If you want to study with Istvana, we can have her

  return . . . but you can just put any idea of gallivanting off out of . . .

  Mother, I will not go back to Thendara!

  Nico, I am much too tired to have this discussion right now. I don't know why

  you are-

  This as not a discussion-it is a demand. And of you refuse to let me do what I

  feel I must, then I will just run away at the first opportunity. He wasn't

  certain of this, but it sounded like a good threat.

  Yes, I suppose you might try to do that. She turned away and her shoulders