With this second attack, his concentration was pressed to the brink.

Dyannis threw her head back to see the third aircar bearing down on them.

NO!.

She trembled with the power coursing through her. Memory stirred, branded into the very core of her laran. A dragon, a creature of frozen unholy fire, bent over a crowd of lawless men and turned their resolution into groveling terror. The dragon was inside her--it was her- It was their only chance. It was the one thing she swore she would never do again.

Oh, sweet mother, Blessed Cassilda-help me!

As if in answer to her prayer, Dyannis sensed her brother's steadfast presence, the strength and complexity of his trained talent, and something beyond him, a luminous pressure. For an instant out of time, her fear disappeared. She soared upon a current of purest light, utterly at peace.

Varzil dropped the shield.

13

No! Dyannis cried.We will be defenseless- She cut herself off as the truth rose, inexorable as night. They were already defenseless. Varzil could hold the shield for only a few more moments, but not in the face of another attack. The men and animals were already scattering beyond the perimeter of safety. Even if the next round of clingfire failed to finish them, there was still the bonewater dust___ Still in rapport with her brother, she caught no hint of fear or even resignation. Instead, he seized upon her first reaction.

We must reach the minds of those who commanded the aircars, yes, but not as some fearsome monster, striking terror and causing mayhem.

Varzil launched his consciousness as a fisher might cast a net. Dyannis fell into anchor position, feeding him power. The pilots reacted with surprise to the telepathic contact. Hands paused on the controlling mechanisms, but not from any imposed paralysis. Varzil had attracted their attention as perhaps no other living man could.

You must not continue on this mission. There is another way to peace. His words rang out like the deepest bell in Thendara. How could anyone, she wondered, doubt that he spoke the truth?

We have no choice-attack or die, kill or be killed.

And this is what you would do! Varzil's mental voice thundered, each syllable building, storm cloud layer upon layer until the very fabric of the psychic realm reverberated with its power. Then, through the lens orthe most powerful Keeper on Darkover, Dyannis saw each man's private vision.

She saw families, fathers, gray-bearded elders, children, lovers, mothers with babes in their arms, glimpses of firelit hearth and sweep of meadow, snatches of lullaby and rousing chorus, a hound's soulful eyes, felt the silken hide of a horse, tasted brambleberry ale and crusty bread.

Over all these myriad impressions a veil of dust drifted, each particle luminescing faintly green. It clung to leaf and rock and roof, washed into stream and barrel, a colorless film, a hint of shadow.

As Dyannis watched through three pairs of horrified eyes, the laughter of the children fell silent, the mothers' smiles turned to keening wails as they looked into the sunken faces and swollen bellies of their babes. The rich, ripe gold of wheat and barley faded to ash; leaves curled and fell from blackened branches. A horse stumbled, ribs gaunt in a coat covered with festering sores, fell to its knees beside the rat-gnawed carcass of a hound, and then lay still. A withered hag crouched before a cold and lifeless hearth, chewing on a scrap of leather, still wearing the bridal robes of a young girl.

In the next heartbeat, she was no more than a pile of whitened bones, unburied and unmourned, beneath the sterile light of a single moon.

Behind the vision, Dyannis sensed yet a deeper shadow, one neither Varzil nor the Isoldir pilots had envisioned. A woman, her face no more than an ashen glimmer, hooded and robed in night, watched . . . waited ... hungered ...

In the echoing silence that followed, Varzil spoke, his words gentle and relentless, infinitely sad. Thisjs what you would bring, not only to Ailiard, but also to Isoldir. To every land. I beg of you, let us pass. Return to your homes in peace. Do not spread this madness any further.

For a long moment, there was no answer. The aircars continued in their formation, but seemed to slow their pace. Suddenly, the foremost broke off, circling back.

Even in Isoldir, we have heard tales of Varzil the Good, who preaches the Compact of King Carolin Hastur. We believed such a thing was folly, to surrender our only advantage and go disarmed among our enemies. But some things are more horrible than defeat, more final than death. I cannot speak for any other man, but I will not be a party to what you have shown us.

I am willing to die for my country, the second said, his mental words heavy with reluctance, but I am not willing to bring that fate to any land, not even the Aillards.

Dyannis covered her cheeks with her hands, feeling her tears hot and slick.

Against all reason, against all hope, they were turning back! There was nothing to stop them from destroying this small force and continuing on their mission, and yet they had listened-they had believed!

Above, the lead aircar was already headed back to Isoldir, the second just beginning to turn. Lady Helaina burst into tears. The Hastur soldiers hugged each other and danced. Dyannis very nearly got down and joined them. She wanted to laugh, to shout. She looked toward her brother, thinking to share the triumph.

Varzil kept his gaze aloft, following the path of the third aircar, the one from which there was only silence. It continued on its deadly course, past them and on toward Ailiard.

Rowland, are you crazy? Think what you are doing! came from the first aircar.

While I live, Isoldir still has one loyal son! was the reply.

Dyannis, watching the third aircar increase its speed, disappearing into the distance, cried out, "Can we do nothing to stop him?"

"Even if we could send word to the Aillards in their stronghold at Valeron to blast him out of the sky, I would not do it," Varzil replied in a low voice. "For to them, that would only prove the necessity of such weapons."

We will not betray our comrade, said the lead pilot.

I would not ask it of you, Varzil replied. By your leave, I go now to speak with the folk at Cedestri Tower.

We will return to prepare for your visit, the pilot said.

I thank you for your courtesy, Varzil replied.

May you walk in the grace of the gods, then, Varzil of Neskaya. And you, Dyannis of Hall May the Light of Aldones shine upon us all, she returned, for she felt certain they would all be in need of blessing in the days to come.

They saw Cedestri Tower burning when they were yet an hour's journey away. It was late in the day, and all through that morning, Dyannis had felt the psychic firmament shift and tremble. Although she reached out with her laran, she could get no clear reading, nothing specific from either Cedestri or the folk at the Aillard capital of Valeron. Only the most gifted telepaths could transcend these distances, and then only when making contact with someone they knew intimately, and that was hardly the case with either Tower. She knew only that something terrible was happening, and one glance at Varzil's whitened face told her that he sensed it, too. Neither could bring themselves to speak their fears aloud. They pushed their horses for more speed, and their guards kept pace.

They had come down over the last row of gently eroded hills where flocks of goats grazed, between orchards of pear and false quince, and farmsteads with barnfowl coops and plots of flowering herbs. The land here was not so barren, the gardens, trees and neatly tended fences indicating a level of prosperity. Clearly, the surrounding lands were well able to support the Tower, and there were no signs of the poverty and grinding despair of Thendara.

Before them stretched a wide valley dominated by an enormous outcropping of rock. From its size and configuration, Dyannis guessed it must be some volcanic formation. She could not make out any means of access to the heights, where a castle, apparently carved out of the same rock, overlooked the surrounding fields. This must be the seat of Isoldir. A short distance away, Cedestri Tower sat in the midst of a sprawling village.

Charcoal smoke billowed upward from both the castle and the Tower, mostly the latter.

Sweet Cassilda! Valeron must have counterattacked.

The nearest soldier shifted in his saddle, his face grave with concern.

"Captain, let us make haste," Varzil said. "Our help is needed at Cedestri!"

They clattered through the outskirts of the village, their horses blowing froth from the last frenzied gallop. Tbwnspeople and soldiers in Isoldir colors, gray banded by red and yellow, had formed brigades to carry water from the cluster of wells. The thatched roofs of the village houses had already been thoroughly soaked.

Soot blackened the upper walls of Cedestri Tower, but the lower portions looked intact. It had been a graceful building, three stories of silvery, laran- crafted stone soaring above the low-walled gardens that now were little more than churned mud and trampled stalks. The main entrance was a tapered arch with a carved design of interlacing vines. Through it, two workers in charred robes struggled to drag a limp body. Other victims, some of them hideously burned, lay or sat huddled just beyond the garden walls.

Those who could, looked up as the party from Hali drew to a halt, and cried out in alarm.

We are friends. Varzil sent out the telepathic message, so clear and strong that anyone with a scrap of laran could not have failed to understand him.

He added, in a ringing voice, "We are here to help!"

At Varzil's signal, the Hastur captain barked out a string of commands to his men, sending them where they were most needed. Dyannis jumped down from her horse and rushed to the Tower doors. The two laranzu'in were still garbed for circle work, and the man they had clearly pulled from the wreckage above wore the crimson of a Keeper. Greasy smoke streaked their faces, and the arm of one hung limply, the yoke of his robe torn to reveal a laceration still oozing blood. His face was pasty with shock and he looked on the brink of collapse. Stumbling, they managed to drag their Keeper down the wide, shallow stair to the garden, where one of Carolin's soldiers picked up the Keeper as if he weighed no more than a child.

The wounded man swayed on his feet. His eyes rolled up in his skull and Dyannis managed to slip her shoulder under his armpit and catch him before he fell. His weight staggered her, but she somehow managed to keep him moving in the direction of the healers' area. His comrade followed, coughing and retching.

As soon as Dyannis touched the wounded man, she recognized him from the relays. His name was Earnan Gervais, kinsman to Francisco, Keeper of Cedestri Tower.

See to him, Earnan begged silently.

Dyannis lowered him to the ground and went to see to Francisco. One of Cedestri's monitors bent over him, her white robe torn and muddy. Blood clotted one temple, matting her coppery hair. She looked up as Dyannis crouched beside her. Freckles dusted cheeks pale as milk. She was very young. Dyannis thought she must have just finished her training as a monitor.

"Those Aillard monsters-they did this!" the girl's words tumbled out.

"Can-can you help him?"

Poor child, Dyannis thought. She's probably never seen a man so badlynurt. The attack, horrible as it was, could have been much worse. The Valeron Aillards had retaliated with restraint, using only ordinary fire, or the Tower would still be in flames and all its workers dead.

But it would do no good to say so aloud.

Dyannis closed her eyes and skimmed her hands over the Keeper's body.

She drew upon her starstone to focus her laran. She sensed no broken bones-no internal bleeding-no disruption of spinal cord- Ah! Smoke clogged the delicate tissues of the lungs. Starved of oxygen, nerves sputtered and failed. The Keeper's mind, with all its talent and trained strength, spiraled into darkness, beyond her reach.

You must help me, Dyannis cried, linking with the girl's mind.

After an instant of panic at the unexpected rapport, the girl's discipline held.

Their two joined invisible hands through the body of the dying man. The thought-fingers elongated and meshed together, becoming a sieve to catch the particles of carbon and even smaller motes of toxic gases. By the blessing of the gods, the girl's telekinesis ability was strong, for Dyannis could not have done it alone. Together, they lifted smoke from lungs, bringing in fresh air with every gasping breath. At last, the Keeper's chest heaved and a fit of coughing racked his body.

Dyannis, breaking the linkage with the young monitor, rolled the Keeper onto his side. The strength of his spasms heartened her. From here, his body would be able to clear out the rest. She was only a little surprised when his eyes opened, gray and clear and focused.

Dyannis of Hali, rang in her mind, a tenor bell. Your coming is most timely.

She suppressed a tart reply about people who needed to be rescued from their own folly, making weapons like crystalline bonewater, setting up the mill in the Overworld to tap the Hali Lake energy rift, not to mention launching an attack against an enemy as powerful as Valeron. He was not, after all, her own Keeper, and she didn't want to risk Varzil's mission here by antagonizing him. Raimon had warned her often enough about her own imprudent behavior. Instead, she shaped a suitably polite response that she was happy to be of service, and went to see who else needed her help.

By the time the great Bloody Sun sank beneath the horizon, most of the smoke had cleared and the wounded were settled for the night, their most pressing injuries tended as well as might be. Even Lady Helaina had tucked up her skirts and worked as hard as any of them. The night was mild, so many of the Hastur soldiers, including their captain, camped beneath two of the four moons, leaving their tents for the wounded.

A soldier wearing Isoldir colors crossed by a bloodstained officer's sash approached Varzil as he met with the Hastur captain for their own sleeping arrangements. The Isoldir man bowed to his Hastur counterpart and began speaking of a council the next morning.

"I fear you've mistaken me," the Hastur captain said, his mouth quirking in a half-smile, "for I'm not the one who leads this party. I am under the command of Dom Varzil of Neskaya, who speaks for King Carolin." He gave a short bow in Varzil's direction.

" Vai dom, your pardon," the Isoldir man said, flushing in confusion, "I did not know-I was sent by my master, Lord Ronal of Isoldir, to find the Hastur lord who has aided us and bid him to council."

Varzil held his shoulders squarely, but Dyannis read the weariness in every fiber of his body. "I am no great lord, but a Keeper, and have come as emissary for Carolin Hastur. As you can see by the size of our company, we are here to parley and not to fight. This is my sister, Dyannis, a leronis of Hali Tower. By the grace of Aldones, we were in time to help the wounded.

The day is late and there is still much to be done, but if the need is urgent, we will come."

We, Varzil? Dyannis asked silently.

Varzil took her aside and said in a low voice. "Valeron has just put a brutal ending to the dispute. Lord Ronal must be acutely aware of his helplessness, and such desperation breeds suspicion and rash actions. We are strangers, come without warning and just after the attack. What better way to convince him of our peaceful intentions than by your presence?"

"Varzil, don't tease. I'm hardly presentable at even a minor provincial court!" Dyannis gestured to her clothing, stained with travel dust, smoke, and blood. Her hair and face were equally filthy.

"Exactly."

"Meaning what?"

"Meaning that you, a well-born leronis, have been working side by side with his own people all day and under terrible conditions. Would an enemy do so?"

Dyannis sighed, knowing the futility of further argument, and followed the Isoldir messenger. She decided to leave Lady Helaina to her well-deserved rest and deal with the repercussions tomorrow.

As they approached Isoldir Castle, the last slanting light of the Bloody Sun cast an eerie tint over the cragged stone. The trail twisted along the cliffside to the summit. Dyannis, not daring to look down, let the reins lie slack on her horse's neck and trusted to the beast's surefootness and familiarity with the route. It was not one she would want to try under any but the best circumstances.

The last part of the trail had been raised and the sides cut away so that only a narrow causeway remained, leading to the gates of the castle. A few men could easily defend it, for the attackers must come at them singly, with no room to maneuver in combat.

From what little Dyannis could see of the outer walls, the castle had suffered much less damage than had the Tower. Valeron had not meant to conquer them or to leave them defenseless against bandits and scavengers, only to prevent another such attack as the one Cedestri launched. The Tower had been all but destroyed, but Isoldir still retained its Lord and, so far as she could tell, the greater part of its fighting men. She wondered if Isoldir, made even more desperate by humiliation, would try again.

If they do so, they are greater fools than we thought, Varzil answered her. They would lose all claim to a righteous cause. Their neighbors, small and great, will see them as the aggressors. If they wish to preserve what remains to them, they will not answer.

They passed through massive double doors and into an entrance hall, where a handful of wary-eyed guards fell into step around them. Soot and dust streaked their clothing, and one had a nasty burn across one beardless cheek. A white-haired man in a courtier's long robes limped toward them.

When the Isoldir messenger bowed and whispered, the old man's eyes widened.

"You come to Isoldir at a sad and perilous time, vai tenerezu," he said in a hoarse voice. "My lord extends what welcome we can offer."

"I thank you, for in this, the intent is of greater worth than the deed," Varzil said, inclining his head in return. "There is too much to be done for those injured below for us to stand about exchanging courtesies. If your master would speak with us, bring us to him speedily."

A few moments later, Dyannis followed her brother into a smaller room, clearly a council chamber. Maps and lists covered a central table, along with a platter bearing the remains of a hasty meal. Some of the windows, which she guessed looked upon an inner courtyard, had been broken and the shattered glass still lay across the stone floor. Yet the wall tapestries, conventional scenes of battle and hunting, were of good quality if not new.

Fresh torches burned steadily from their wall sconces.

At the far end of the table, a man of middle age, his belly just beginning to run to fat, straightened up from bending over the papers. His appearance betrayed little of his character, yet something in the lines of his face reminded Dyannis of Rakhal Hastur, Carolin's traitor cousin, when she met him so many years ago at Midwinter Festival at Hali. Then Rakhal had been a trusted aide to the ailing king, and no one guessed what treachery lay in his heart. She reminded herself that she must not judge this man on a superficial physical resemblance. She caught no hint of his thoughts, but his desperation battered her, his struggle to find a way to save his kingdom.

The elderly counselor performed the introductions. Ronal of Isoldir acknowledged Varzil with a slight bow, and then bid his servants bring chairs for his guests. Varzil refused food, but accepted jaco for both of them.

Dyannis settled into her seat as a mug of the steaming brew was brought to her. The kitchen must be functioning well enough to supply hot drinks. The condom must be a marvel of efficiency.

After a brief exchange of courtesies, Ronal spoke. "Varzil of Neskaya, you say you came here as emissary of King Carolin Hastur. What is his interest here?"

"I cannot speak for him with regard to Aillard's attack upon you," Varzil replied with the same forthrightness, "nor of yours upon them. My mission concerns quite another matter, one which has been overtaken by these dreadful circumstances. I was sent to persuade Cedestri Tower and you, its Lord, to join us in a Compact of Honor, abandoning the use of laran in warfare. We know that Cedestri Tower developed a new variant of bonewater dust-"

Lord Ronal's mouth tightened, but he did not flinch.

"-and we sought to prevent its use, as well as the escalation of hostilities that must surely follow."

Most men spoken to in such a manner would respond with anger, Dyannis thought, but Ronal of Isoldir only nodded. Varzil had read him correctly.

"You came too late," Ronal said, his voice edged with weariness. "I doubt we would have listened then, when we were full of arrogance and pride. You may return to your master and say that our own folly has accomplished more than your words ever could. Here we sit, as you see, disarmed by those very events that we set into motion."

He knows that Aillard could have destroyed him utterly, and did not, Varzil spoke mentally to Dyannis. For the moment, shock has humbled his pride, but it will return, and with it, a thirst for revenge. We must offer him something better.