It is a reasonable idea-in light of our total lack of real information!

By now both sides of the road were abustle with activity. The muleteers were loading their animals, and a wagon was pulling through the gates, loaded with barrels of beer or wine. Then several women with cropped hair and weathered faces rode out.

"Oh, hell!"

"What's the matter, Tomas?"

"It's Aunt Rafi!"

"Who?" Herm looked back at the troup of Renunciates whose appearance had so clearly alarmed the boy.

"That woman in the lead, that's Rafaella n'ha Liriel, my aunt of sorts. She is freemated to Great-Uncle Rafe Scott. I'll just bet Mother has sent her to drag me back and lock me in the Castle!" There was no mistaking the bitterness in his voice.

"They might be on another errand, lad." He agreed that the appearance of the woman was suspicious, but he was less ready than Nico to leap to any conclusions. During the dinner where he had sat beside Marguerida Alton, he had taken her measure, and thought her a sensible if somewhat forceful person. He had liked her a great deal, and he hoped that she and Kate would talk when Marguerida had the time. He suspected that once they knew one another, they would get along well. Herm did not want his sister to be the only confidant his wife had.

He wondered again if he should have told Katherine what he was doing, but after a few moment's reflection he decided he had made the safest decision. Although only those with the Alton Gift, like Nico or Lew, could force information out of the minds of the unsuspecting, he was acutely aware that any telepath could overhear the topmost thoughts of another. And, for no reason he could put a finger to, he did not want his sister Gisela knowing what he was about.

Herm watched the Renunciate woman stand up in her stirrups and scan the fields. She had very curly hair, red but starting to gray, and a cheerful expression. Then she urged her horse forward and rode over to them. She dismounted and walked up to Herm, her callused hand extended in a friendly way. He allowed himself a silent curse at this confirmation of Nico's suggestion. He did not really want a pack of women, however capable, tagging along. But he clasped the offered hand and made his mouth smile.

"We are your escort," the woman said quietly. "Sorry we are a bit late." Her blue eyes were twinkling as she spoke, and she ignored Nico completely after giving him a swift examination.

"Yes, I see."

"It was decided you might be less noticeable if you were in the company of some Renunciates," she went on, speaking so quietly that he knew no one would overhear them. Then she gave Nico a friendly smile. "It was a compromise, you see. To keep Marguerida happy." She chuckled softly, as if some memory amused her. "There is no one else I would allow to drag me out of a warm bed in the middle of the night to form up an expedition on a moment's notice."

"Then you aren't going to take me back," he whispered.

"No, those are not my instructions." Rafaella did not explain any further, but there was something a little guarded in her expression.

"I see. I am Ian MacAnndra, and this is my nephew Tomas," Herm told her, to forestall the use of any names that might prick the interest of bystanders. And it was a good idea. An escort of Renunciates would be a good cover for their activities, as well as added protection for the boy. His respect for Marguerida Alton-Hastur went up a notch. She must have been frantic when she learned what her usually sensible son had done, and yet she had found a solution that was both simple and useful. Herm's earlier resentment at the sight of the Renunciates vanished. He had been sent out to assure the safety of Domenic, not to have a bit of excitement for himself. What a selfish bastard he could be sometimes.

"I am Rafaella n'ha Liriel. I will introduce you to my sisters later. Perhaps you will fill me in."

Before Herm could reply, Nico stiffened beside him. Look!

What?

That man coming through the gates is one of the men who talked to Vancof last night. He was wearing leathers then, and sneered at dressing lake a "barbarian," or maybe it was the other one who said that, but I guess he has changed his mind.

Very good, Nico. Is it Granfell or the other one?

I don't know-I never really saw their faces. But I recognize the walk. Look. He is nodding to Vancof. What do you think it means?

I believe it means that they have decided to try to attack the funeral train, son.

But, how?

We will just have to find out, won't we?

Nico gave a brief nod. Then he smiled at Rafaella. "Father must have done some fast talking."

"From the little I know, Tomas, he did more than that, and your grandfather, too." She gave the boy a friendly smile, as if she understood both his relief and his anxiety, and only restrained herself from ruffling his unbound hair with an effort.

The rest of the Renunciates had dismounted and were standing beside their horses a short distance away. They were talking quietly among themselves. They had several mules with them, loaded with baggage, tents and bedding, and a supply of feed for the animals. Herm was pleased and slightly amazed-they must have been up most of the night getting things together. They were a hard-looking bunch, their faces weathered. From the well-worn look of their scabbards, they were probably experienced fighters as well.

Vancof was meandering across the road toward the foodstands, walking gingerly, as if his head hurt. The man Nico had pointed out was already standing in front of one. He watched them drift together, very casually to any eye but his own. Then he saw Nico's face go grim.

Vancof is very worried, and the other man is telling him that he has to find a good place for an ambush. He says not to worry, that once a site is chosen, they will take care of the rest.

How is he supposed to communicate the information?

The man is giving him something-a device of some sort. It is very small.

Probably a signaling beacon-quite illegal on Darkover.

Yes, and I think that this worries Vancof a great deal. I think he is afraid that one of the Travelers will see it and start to ask questions. What do you think they are going to do now?

I don't know, Nico. Bring in some soldiers and dress them up lake brigands-that's what I would do, if I were going to attack. But if they plan to use Federation weapons, such a subterfuge would be useless. Of course, once they had successfully killed everyone, there would be no one left to complain, would there? He did not like the drift of his thoughts, and there was no way to effectively conceal them from Domenic.

How can they even think of such things-it is so cowardly!

To you and me, yes. The Federation sees things very differently.

Herm recognized the futility of trying to explain the ways of the Terranan to Domenic. He had lived with them for over two decades, and he still did not completely understand them himself. All he was certain of was that Federation Intelligence was always eager to distabilize the rule of planets, just for the power of it, as near as he could tell. The Federation did not want Darkover for any reason other than that it was something that was not under their control. He had opposed a great many bills in the Senate, intended to curtail the rights of Protected Planets, as well as those which further oppressed the lives of those living on member worlds. The reasoning was always the same-people did not know what was good for them, and they needed to have wiser heads decide what was best. Anything different was looked upon with suspicion, any deviation in thinking was considered a threat.

He sniffed the smoky air, felt the light breeze touch his face, and felt more alive than he had for years despite his worries. He was glad to be home, to be there to thwart the plans of these men. It would make up for years of frustration in the unending battle to keep Darkover free of outside intervention. But he still felt conflicted, torn between his desire to do something purposeful, and his fear that Katherine would never forgive him. Had he jumped at the opportunity to get away because on Darkover she was, as she insisted, no longer his equal? Did part of him really believe she was a cripple, and was that the real reason he had never told her the truth? He wished he could control his mind enough to stop thinking about that, but every time he relaxed just a little, it came back to haunt him.

His pleasure at the brisk morning breeze and the smells of the encampment vanished. Herm let himself chew on this undigested morsel, tasting the bitterness of it, almost savoring it. Yes, he wanted very much to discover the full extent of the plot against Mikhail Hastur. He loved Darkover and knew himself to be utterly loyal to the world of his birth.

But, was his love of Darkover worth destroying his marriage? He had known before he told her that Kate was going to be angry, and he had assumed that his ability to manipulate her would keep things from getting out of hand. But that had not worked out as he expected, had it? Now he might have to pay a greater price than he ever imagined for his desire to serve his world.

Herm remembered his younger and more idealistic self, the man who had gone to the Federation to work for Darkover. He had always hated the way the Aldarans were isolated from the rest of the Domains, how they were treated with mistrust and suspicion, and he had been determined to change that attitude. Less than a year in government had disabused him of most of his idealism, and the self-serving cynicism of many of the others in the lower house had given him a low opinion of humanity. But now his earlier idealistic vision flooded back, warming him, heartening him, and the fear that he might fail in his ambition began to gnaw at his assurance. This was his chance to redeem the Aldaran Domain, to prove to the Comyn that not all the members of his family were treacherous.

It was very dangerous, and Domenic might get injured or even killed. Ruthlessly, he evaluated the situation, sparing nothing. He knew in his heart he would die for Darkover, for Mikhail Hastur and the Comyn. If the assassination plot succeeded, Kate and the children would be in more danger, wouldn't they? And what about Domenic? Should he send the boy back into the city? He was torn. He needed the availability of the Alton Gift, certainly. But did that need justify putting the lad in such peril?

Herm had not felt so unsure of himself in decades. His mouth tasted like vinegar, and his belly churned around the heavy porridge he had eaten. He must be mad, thinking of challenging the Federation with one young man and a band of Renunciates as his allies. But he was not alone, and it was not entirely his decision to make. The very fact that the Renunciates had arrived, and that Domenic had not been told to return to Comyn Castle after his night away suggested that there was something going on to which Herm was not privy. What had Danilo Syrtis-Ardais said-that it might be a good idea for Nico to be away for a few days. He had barely listened to the remark, but now it had a sinister sound. Nico might be safer here than in his bed-an idea that rocked Herm down to his scruffy boots.

His mind raced. What was going on? Did the boy have some enemy in Comyn Castle that he did not know about? He remembered what he had learned, of Javanne Hastur's opposition to both her son and her grandson, and that although Mikhail was Regis Hastur's designated heir, there were some who felt he should not be. Satisfied that he had found a logical reason for things, he eased back a bit. All he had to do was keep Nico safe and put an end to the plans of the Federation.

With this thought, Herm's wry sense of humor began to reassert itself. Next he'd be imagining he could fly without benefit of Terran technology! "We need to find out where the Travelers are going to go next," he said.

"That's easy. I have picked up the name Carcosa from the thoughts of several of the Travelers, and they seem to be intending to perform there this evening." Nico smiled, pleased with himself for knowing this.

"That's less than a half day's ride on horseback, but it will take longer for the wagons to get there," Rafaella added. "And they appear to be preparing to leave." She nodded slightly, setting her wild curls in motion beneath her knitted cap.

Herm glanced across the road and saw that the mules were being put into the traces of the wagons. There was a good deal of shouting and a pleasant bustle of activity. "Then I suppose we should start out ahead of them."

"Good." Rafaella turned away and moved toward her sisters, apparently satisfied with this plan. At the same time, the stranger who had come to meet Vancof turned away, and started to walk back in the direction of the gate, his task apparently completed.

Domenic took a good look at his face as he passed, and then mounted the mare Herm had brought for him with a little snort of derision. He glanced at the piebald gelding and shook his head. "Did you have to choose the worst nags in the stable?"

"I did not want to draw attention to us, which bringing a splendid steed would certainly have done," he answered a bit defensely as he mounted.

Nico gave a snort. "You will be regretting your choice before we are halfway there. That gelding has the poorest gait of any horse I ever knew."

"I think I have already discovered his shortcomings, Tomas," Herm admitted. They left the field and started up the road at a leisurely pace.

There were heavily laden wagons ahead of them, and one party of muleteers followed behind, so the going was slow. Herm was glad of this, since they looked quite ordinary in such company. When he looked over his shoulder a few minutes later, he could just make out the first of the brightly painted Travelers' wains pulling onto the road.

Nico rode beside him, silent and sharp-eyed. After a time, Rafaella dropped back, to ride on his other side. "I am not very familiar with this part of Darkover, mestra."

"I know. That's one reason Marguerida sent me." She grinned broadly, and the freckles on her fair skin stood out in the faint sunshine now breaking through the overcast. She had a pert, upturned nose, a generous mouth and laugh-lines beside her eyes. "What do you want to know?"

Herm hesitated. How much had Rafaella been told already? Then he realized he must trust her without any assurances, that if Marguerida had sent her, she must be loyal and dependable. "Our opponents are looking for a good place for an ambush."

Rafaella did not seem surprised by this statement. "I can think of a dozen between here and the ruins of Hali Tower. Not right here, so close to the city, of course." She fell silent for a moment, thinking. "There is a goodly stand of forest about eleven miles beyond Carcosa that would appeal to me, if I were of a mind for such things. It is dense enough to conceal a hundred men with no trouble at all. And beyond that, there are some portions of the road on the way to Syrtis, where the low hills and the trees give a lot of cover."

"I take it that these areas are not havens of bandits already?"

"Oh, no. The country this close to Thendara has been quite safe for years. The bandits keep themselves to the hills, mostly. The worst we have had is the occasional footpad hoping to discover a solitary merchant or some lady of the Domains with a modest escort. It is pretty poor pickings."

He looked from one side of the road to the other, taking in the fallow fields, the occasional house or barn, and the presence of animals. He could see a little rise dotted with white blobs that were undoubtedly sheep. The smell of the empty fields, horse dung on the road, and the warm scent of his own mount mingled pleasantly, and he began to relax just a little.

"Uncle," Nico began, getting Herm's attention. It still felt odd to be addressed by that title, even though, since Gisela was married to Rafael Hastur, it was a genuine kinship.

"What is it?"

"That man, Vancof, is thinking about the terrain, just like you are, but not as clearly. I just thought you'd want to know. I can't be certain, but I think he rather likes that bit of forest that Aunt Rafi just mentioned. He is not absolutely sure, because his mind is going in several directions at once-but I got 'just outside Carcosa' a couple of times."

"That's a useful piece of information. Have you ever considered becoming a full-time spy?"

Domenic looked horrified, and then realized that he was being teased. "No, but I can see how it might be attractive to some people. I feel very uncomfortable, doing what I am doing. It doesn't seem right. I mean, I have been able to overhear the thoughts of others for a long time-can't really remember not being able to-but I learned not to listen. For one thing, most thoughts are pretty boring. Or embarrassing." He blushed all the way to the roots of his dark hair. "And most of the people I have been around were trained, too, so they kept their thoughts to themselves. Even the servants in Comyn Castle are pretty quiet. But, this-it is a god-awful racket! One of the muleteers up there has the runs, and I can't seem to block it out."

"But surely you learned how to do that at Arilinn, Tomas."

"I did, but . . . maybe I am just too excited to concentrate."

Herm frowned. Nico was only a boy, and he had been thinking of him as an adult. He puzzled over what he had heard. He was depending on Domenic's gift to keep him informed of the plans of Vancof and the other Terrans. But what if he became overwhelmed by the input? He could go into shock, and then they would really be in a mess.

"You say you can't remember not being able to hear thoughts. You mean that before your threshold time, you were already . . ."

The boy laughed. "I forgot that you don't really know much about me." You did not hear the story, but your wife did-part of it, anyhow. When Mother was pregnant with me, when she and Father were in the distant past, they hid out in Lake Hali for a long time, and the leroni at Arilinn think that it changed my laran somehow. No one knows quite what to make of it, really. Oh, I have the Alton Gift, certainly. But there seems to be a lot of other stuff in my brain that no one can explain. I've been tested over and over, and no one has ever been able to define the real limits of my laran, I am something of a freak, although no one dares to say it.

Herm considered this. He could remember his own adolescence, his own sense of his difference from others, and suspected it was something that all teenagers experienced. But he caught the undertone of anxiety in Nico's thought, his fear of himself. He hid it well, but not completely.

Don't be afraid, Nico.

If you could hear what I do, you would think you were going mad, Uncle Hermes!

And what is that?

Sometimes I can hear the planet groaning.

I see. Have you told anyone this? That, at least, explained the look of anguish at the mention of migrating rocks.

No. And I don't know why I am telling you, except I just know you won't tell me I am imagining things, or that I will grow out of it!

Herm was more touched by this expression of trust than he dared to examine. He hardly knew the boy, and yet Domenic was willing to confide in him. After a moment's reflection, he understood. He had reacted that way to Lew Alton, years before, telling him things he had never been willing to voice to any member of his own family.

Perhaps you will be able to grow into it instead, Nico.

You don't think there is anything too strange about hearing the world?

It does not seem to be harmful. As a matter of fact, it sounds fascinating.

I hadn't thought of that. Thank you.

The boy looked much more cheerful, and Herm was pleased with his diplomacy. At the same time, he was troubled. How could one hear the planet? His ever-present curiosity wondered what it sounded like. Did it groan and moan, or roar like a great fire? Both, probably, if Domenic did not merely imagine the whole thing. Then he put the worry away for another time, and returned to mulling over what he had done to Katherine. Gloom descended over his mind, and for several miles he forgot everything except his wife and children, and how much he loved them.

But after a time the pleasures of the road reclaimed his attention. In spite of the miserable gait of his mount, and his concern for both his family and the young man riding quietly beside him, Herm started to cheer up again. There was, he knew from long experience, a part of him which remained irrepressible, no matter what, and riding in the ruddy light of the morning sun, he allowed it to come to the fore.

14.

Domenic was enjoying himself enormously. The sounds and smells of the Old North Road were new to him, and in the pleasure of the moment he nearly forgot about his actual reason for the journey. When he realized this, he immediately felt guilty, pulled in two directions at once. It was hard, he decided, to feel properly serious or gloomy while riding along in the company of Herm Aldaran and Rafaella n'ha Liriel.

He knew that if Regis had not chosen to be so cautious in his last years, this experience would hardly be anything new or remarkable. When his father had been a young man, he had gone everywhere, even up to the Aldaran Domain high in the Hellers. Nico was mildly resentful that he had been denied such opportunities, and was determined to get as much out of this trip as he possibly could. He might never have another chance, unless his father decided to change things. True, he was not alone, but he was not surrounded by servants or guards either, and Uncle Herm did not treat him like a child. That made a great deal of difference. He had always been fond of Rafi, but he had never encountered her outside the confines of Comyn Castle. Here she seemed like another person altogether. He could not quite explain just how, but she was certainly more relaxed on the road. As for the rest of her band, they were strangers, and he was looking forward to getting to know them.

More than that, he was fascinated by the people around him. His encounters with the common folk of Thendara had been few, and a proper distance had always been kept by his many guardians. Most of what he knew he had learned during his Cadet duties, and that consisted of nodding to the various merchants and suppliers who brought things to the Castle rather than actually meeting them. Their concerns and ambitions remained largely a mystery to him, and he knew that he would be a better ruler-if he ever became one-if he had an idea of what they wanted and needed. No one here would bow or scrape before him, and he decided that being ordinary had a great deal to recommend it.

He listened to both the voices and the random thoughts of the bustling people ahead of him on the road. They worried about the weather, or if the dun mule would go lame, and if the load were properly balanced. No one seemed to have a single thought about the things that were always being fussed over at Comyn Castle. It was as if both the Federation and the Domains did not even exist. The tenor of these thoughts was restful, and he decided it must be rather wonderful not to worry about plots and schemes, or what sort of terrible things might happen in the future.

Toward midmorning they encountered a train of grain merchants on their way to Thendara. Nico listened to the exchange of greetings between the muleteers ahead of them on the road and the drivers of the wagons, friendly and informal. They appeared to know one another well enough to toss jokes and insults back and forth before they passed, and to ask about each others' families. If he had had a finer horse, he thought, he would have been completely happy.

By the time they reached Carcosa just past midday, he was very glad to get off the sluggish mare. The muleteers had arrived ahead of them, and the courtyard of the small inn was crowded with braying beasts. Mules were more vocal beasts than horses-they seemed to complain about everything! He looked all around, and noticed a painted sign above the door of the inn, a bright and cheerful thing with a picture of a handsome rooster on it, its proud head thrown back.

The inn itself was a large stone building with a slate roof. The main section rose to three stories, with narrow windows overlooking the yard. He could see half a dozen chimneys above the line of the roof, with smoke rising from them. Two arms extended out at angles from the structure, one for the stables, and another housing a fowl run full of cackling birds, and cages of rabbithorns as well. The stink was incredible, but he was sure that he would become accustomed to it, as the people who worked there surely must be.

Nico studied everything, as his instructors had trained him to, taking in the strong wooden door of the inn which could be closed and bolted from inside, the thick walls, and the small size of the windows, set too high off the ground for anyone to climb through. Even though it seemed to be a friendly place, he could see that it had been built with defense in mind.

When he had been about eight, he had been taken to Armida, and he must have passed through this town. But they had gone in a closed carriage, and he had seen nothing except the inside of it. He did not like to remember that trip, for while he had loved the home of his Alton ancestors, his grandmother had made him extremely uncomfortable. Now he hung back, a little shy in the presence of so many strangers, and watched a middle-aged man bustle out of the building and approach them. He was tall, nearly bald, and what was left of his hair was gray. When he drew closer, Nico could see he had twinkling blue eyes and a small nose above a friendly mouth.

Rafaella greeted him cheerfully. "Hello, Evan. This is Ian MacAnndra and his nephew Tomas-Evan MacHaworth, the best innkeeper in all Darkover." Then she grinned broadly.