"Have you been listening to this seditious nonsense all your life, or is it a recent thing?" Domenic could sense Rafi's puzzlement at his question, but he ignored it. He was determined to get to the bottom of the matter, and the girl was his best chance for that. He did not want to use forced rapport, but discovered, to his dismay, that he was willing to if he must. All the lessons in ethics he had taken at Arilinn rang in his mind, and for the first time, he realized how dangerous a thing the Alton Gift could be in the hands of someone who could set aside any consideration except their own needs. He hoped that Illona would tell him the truth without force.

Who is this boy, and why is he asking me this? There is something wrong here, but I can't figure out what it as. He's right-I never heard a word against the Hasturs before this sprang, when we were in the Hellers, up in Aldaran country. Everything changed after that, didn't it? What are they going to do to me?

Illona seemed suddenly subdued. "This spring was when I first heard it." Why am I telling him anything at all? He seemed so nice, and I liked him right away. But that is no reason to talk to him, is at? Aunt Loret didn't like that play, and now I see why. I wash I was somewhere else. I'm scared.

"And this Mathias fellow, who wrote the play, how long has he been with you?"

"He joined our band this spring."

The noise from the courtyard was decreasing a little, although some shouting could still be heard. There was also the sound of wood being smashed, and Nico suspected that the Travelers' wagons were being demolished by the angry townspeople. A moment later he saw a burst of fire rise above the wall around the inn. Someone had put a torch to one of the wagons. "Illona, you have gotten yourself into a real mess."

"I have guessed that much," she said, some of her earlier sauciness returning. She gritted her teeth, forcing herself to stand up straight, and glared at Rafaella and Domenic. Even in the rather dim light, he could see she was very pale, and the freckles on her strong nose were very apparent. He marveled at her strength, at her refusal to surrender to her terrors completely. He was not sure how he would have behaved in the same situation.

"You have been in some bad company," Rafaella said quietly. She had regained her self-control, and in the shadows she seemed stern and powerful, but less threatening than a minute before.

Illona looked up at Rafaella, defiant. "I've never known anything but the Travelers, so I can't judge. My Aunt Loret thinks that Mathias and some of the others are a little crazy, but I didn't pay her any mind."

Herm Aldaran suddenly appeared out of the darkness, his expression invisible in the shadows. "Ah, there you are. I saw you snatch the girl from harm's way, and a good thing, too! The constables and our friends have managed to get things under control, but most of the wains are firewood now." He cleared his throat and shifted from foot to foot uncomfortably. "Some people have been killed . . . including your aunt, Illona. I'm sorry."

She did not react at once. She peered from face to face and then tears swelled in her eyes and began to trickle down her grubby cheek. Illona made no sound, just wept silently, shrinking into Domenic's cloak, getting smaller and smaller, as if she might puddle down to the ground. Rafaella put a supporting arm around her and drew the girl into her embrace.

Who else was killed, Herm?

I'm not certain, except for the woman and the juggler, who was in the wrong place at the wrong time. The crowd went mad, and I was very glad for the presence of those Guardsmen, even if I fear that their intervention has destroyed their anonymity. There is still a lot of confusion, though, and perhaps they will not be too obvious. I don't know where Vancof or the other Terran have got to. I looked around, but they seem to have vanished.

Domenic hesitated then, conscious of an inner conflict. Hermes Aldaran was the son of Damon Aldaran, the head of that Domain. True, Herm had assured him earlier that he was loyal, but all the old stories about Aldaran betrayal rose in his mind. Regis had managed to force the Council to allow Dom Damon and Robert Aldaran seats on it, but there was still a great deal of bad feeling about the entire family. He liked and trusted Hermes, and he thought well of Robert, didn't he? It was old Dom Damon he did not like. But where would Herm's real loyalties lie if it came to serious conflict?

Domenic struggled briefly with the problem. Then he made his choice, deciding he did not have time to consult with Lew or his father. The Terran stranger had kept looking to the north, and this band of Travelers had come from Aldaran territory in the spring-there might be no connection, but he could not assume that. The girl says that when they came down from the mountains this sprang, there was a change. I think that someone in the Hellers is up to mischief.

Domenic was rather pleased at the diplomatic way he phrased this, but he had not anticipated the quickness of his uncle's mind. If you mean my father, I would not put anything past him. He has always resented the Hasturs, and thought that the Aldaran could do a better job of running Darkover. But, truthfully, this mess is not his style, Nico. My father is not a very subtle man, and spreading sedation would, I believe, never occur to him.

I have to agree, from the little I know about Dom Damon. But maybe he is backing them somehow.

Unless he has changed a great deal in the past twenty-three years, I doubt it.

Why?

My father is stingy to a fault, Nico. He would not spend a sekal on something unless he could be sure to see a return. No, my guess is that there is something going on in the Aldaran Domain that the old bastard knows nothing about-that the Federation complex up there is behind this.

I hope you are right, Herm.

I hope I am, too, because I would not like to see my own father, much as I dislike him, involved in a plot to destroy the Domains.

It was getting colder now, especially without his cloak, and Nico shivered, as much from the chill as from the words he had just heard. The distrust of the Aldaran went back for generations, and it had been very important to Regis Hastur to overcome it. If it were discovered that they were involved in planning the overthrow of the Hasturs, all that effort would have been for nothing. And using the Travelers to spread discontent was very clever. They went everywhere, and spread gossip as they did.

But Herm was right about one thing-it was not the sort of behavior that Dom Damon had shown in the past. He tended to bluster and bully his way around. Domenic felt very young and a little helpless for a moment, as if too much had been put on his shoulders. And, as if he sensed this, Herm put a firm hand on his shoulder. "Let's get in out of the cold, shall we?" And let Lew know about the latest developments.

18.

Domenic looked at Herm for a moment, in the flickering light from the courtyard. Then he said, "We should make sure everything is under control first." His words surprised him, and the firm voice that came from his throat seemed to be that of another-some older, stronger person than himself.

"Yes, I suppose another few minutes will not matter," Herm agreed. "Rafaella, take Illona with you, please. She needs a hot bath-look how she is shivering."

"I don't want to go with her," Illona wailed, sounding suddenly very young and afraid. "I want my aunt!"

"I know you do," Rafaella began gently. "But you will have to make do with me. It is going to start raining soon, and if you stay out here, you will get an inflammation of the lung and have to drink all manner of nasty-tasting things to heal you."

"I wish I was dead, too," the girl moaned.

"No, you don't!" Herm was stern. "And Loret would not want you dead either-she wanted you to be safe, child."

"I . . . can't believe she is dead. Now I am all alone . . . what is going to happen to me?"

"Nothing is going to happen to you, Illona," Rafi told the girl almost tenderly. "Now come along." The girl hesitated, then finally allowed the older woman to draw her away.

It was growing colder, and Nico was sorry he no longer had his cloak. He wanted to follow the girl and the Renunciate into the warmth of the inn. Instead, his sense of duty gripped him-the very thing he had run away to avoid-and he marched back into the courtyard purposefully. There was a great deal of heat from the fire, and the yard was unnaturally warm. Destruction was everywhere. He needed to introduce Herm to the old Guardsmen who were helping put out the fires and carry the dead and wounded away.

Yet, the scene within the yard was less chaotic than he might have imagined. Most of the fires were beginning to gutter out from lack of fuel. There was a terrible smell, of burned wood, paint, and probably flesh as well. There had been people in the wagons when they went up, and not all of them had escaped. His stomach gave a slight lurch.

Domenic spotted Duncan Lindir first and went over to him. The man was very pale in the light that remained. "How many dead have you found?"

"Six Travelers, vai dom, and one man from the village. There may be more in the rubble-it is still too hot to handle-but I hope not. Then there are the injured-quite a lot, but I am not sure of the number yet. Mostly broken arms and knocked heads. The Renunciate healer is seeing to them with the help of the village healer."

"Very good, Duncan. This is Hermes Aldaran."

Duncan sketched a brief bow, as if reluctant to show respect to an Aldaran. "I was told to ask you for orders, but I did not have the chance earlier, dom." His tone was barely civil, as if he was forcing himself to say the words without meaning them.

"Just as well, since I had none to give you," Herm answered, pretending he had not noticed the man's mild rudeness. "I would like to know the rest of your company."

"Well, they are rather . . ."

"I did not mean this instant, man! I can see they are very busy. Just point them out and tell me their names . . . if you would be so kind."

The irony of his answer was not lost on Lindir, and Duncan's mouth twisted in something approaching a smile. He nodded then, and Domenic could sense the old Guardsman's barely supressed hostility toward Herm begin to diminish. He watched the two men, speaking in quieter voices now, and wondered how his uncle did it. It was the same thing as had happened with Loret that afternoon. But Herm did not seem to be trying to be charming now, just businesslike and impersonal. If there was a laran for persuasion, then Herm had it, he decided. Nico moved away, restless and uneasy. Where had Vancof and the other man gotten to? Had they been hurt or perhaps killed in the riot?

He walked toward the corner where he had last seen the Terran man standing, an inky cluster of shadows where the stables met the wall of the inn. There was a low bench there, where the grooms and stable lads waited for wayfarers or rested from their duties, almost invisible except as a deeper shadow against the wall of the inn. He stood there for a moment to let his eyes adjust to the near darkness, and then he saw a boot.

Nico squatted down and peered beneath the bench. The boot had once been shining leather, but now was scuffed and a little muddy. It led to a leg, and as his eyes were able to see more, he realized he was looking at the body of the nameless man. There was no movement, no rise and fall in the chest. He swallowed very hard several times, then reached out and put his hands around the boot.

He stood up and used his weight to try to pull the body out from beneath the bench. The man was heavy, but at last the corpse slithered out across the uneven stones of the courtyard. There was the sound of footfalls behind Domenic, and a moment later Abel MacEwan was beside him, shouldering him firmly out of the way and taking the burden of dead flesh into his larger and more capable hands.

The torso of the dead man was slumped forward, but now it fell back, and Domenic could see the hilt of a knife thrust into the chest. A stain spread around the wound, dark against the brown cloth of the tunic. Someone brought a torch, and he looked down into the face of the stranger.

The eyes were still open, and the mouth gaped a little. He seemed, in death, to be surprised. Nico could not drag his eyes away from the sight, until someone finally took the shoulders of the corpse and Abel the feet and, between them, began to carry it away.

No, not surprised-betrayed. Swaying a little from the shock of it, Domenic knew that no one from the village had killed the man. It must have been Vancof-though why was a mystery. Then he remembered that morning, seeing the dead man give the driver something. He closed his eyes, trying to recall every detail. There had been something folded, a paper, and another object, something square.

As the fires went out, the chill of the evening began to make Domenic shiver. Despite his discomfort, he did not move, frozen in place with sorrow and horror. Instead, he forced himself to try to remember anything he had overheard from Vancof. Most of it was a useless muddle, but a few phrases seemed to be important. The word "orders" kept cropping up, something the driver did not like, which made him afraid. What had he been ordered to do-kill his ally? That was insane! Still, there seemed no other explanation, and he forced his mind to accept it.

Almost shaking with chill and emotion now, Domenic trudged into the inn. The warmth of the entrance seemed almost feverish for a few steps. He brushed his sleeve across his face roughly. Then, too weary to continue, he sank onto a bench near the door.

Nico felt his control slip away in a flood of unfamiliar emotions. He wanted to weep, but no tears came. He felt as if he had turned to stone, and he ached for release. People were dead, innocent folk like Illona's Aunt Loret, whom he had known only for a few minutes. The Terran man, whose name he had never discovered, was dead also. He had not seen the others, but he had seen the unknown Terran, and knew, deep down, that he had not deserved to perish.

The deep grief for the death of Regis Hastur, which he had held at bay for days, rose in his throat at last. He remembered incidents, pleasant moments when his great-uncle was at ease, telling tales of the Sharra Rebellion, to Grandfather Lew's obvious discomfort, but somehow making them seem less painful than they must have been. Nico recalled Regis' charm and swift wit, the way he ate his meals, and many other small things. It did not seem enough, somehow, for such a great man.

His chest ached, and there was a pounding pulse in his forehead. A tear rolled down his cheek and he swept it away with a trembling finger. All he had done was run away for a bit of fun, and now there were dead people and injured folk, and too much pain to endure. This was not an adventure-it was a nightmare from which he could not escape!

If only Lew or his mother could be with him, to tell him how to feel, to help him. Logically, Domenic knew that the riot would have happened whether he had been present or not, but he still felt responsible. After dwelling on this unsettling event and feeling worse by the moment his good sense tried to assert itself, and succeeded a little. He was being morbid over things he could not control! He had to get a grip on himself and inform his grandfather of the events in Carcosa. Now, if only his cold and tired body would cooperate!

Domenic forced himself to stand and half stumbled up the stairs to his room. Once there, he slammed the door shut and sank down on the edge of the bed. His breathing was ragged and he tried to control it. At last the rapid beating of his heart started to slow, and the dreadful thoughts that were racing through his mind began to subside. He closed his eyes hard, pinching the lids down almost angrily, trying in vain to squeeze the images of destruction out of his mind's eye.

From below, he could hear voices, townspeople and Guardsmen both. The sickening smell of the burned wood and flesh lingered in the air. Then he realized that the stench was in his clothes, his hair, his skin, and he almost vomited. He pulled his tunic over his head and threw it across the room into the far corner. The movement energized him enough to shed all his garments, and to pour cold water from the ewer into the basin and wash himself. Then he put on a clean shirt from their purchases in the town market, and the trousers he had worn the previous day. The comforting smell of horse from the garment seemed to dispell the miasma of death in his discarded clothing as well as the scents that wafted through the window.

After several minutes he heard a soft rain begin to patter outside the window, a sweet sound after so much horror. He just sat and listened to it, his mind almost empty. All he wanted to do was fall into the bed and pull the covers over his head. But he still had something to do-if only he could remember what. Oh, yes, he had to contact his grandfather. Where was he going to find the strength?

His mind drifted, refusing to focus, and he found his thoughts returning to the girl, Illona. He was glad she was safe with Rafaella. If the Carcosans had discovered her and recognized her for a Traveler, she might have been hurt or killed. Domenic could not have endured that, although he wasn't sure why he cared so much about someone he barely knew. Then it occurred to him that he liked her, even if she was just a shy uneducated girl. No . . . not silly-just very foolish and ignorant. If only she had not looked so fetching in her undershift! Why couldn't she be ugly or at least plain? Then it would be easier to despise her, as he was sure he should. Instead, he had the same urge to protect her he always felt about Alanna. It was all very puzzling.

No, it was more than that. After a few moments of ruthless self-examination, Domenic realized that his thoughts about Illona verged on the lustful. This surprised him, and then it disgusted him. How could he be thinking such things at a time like this! What kind of unnatural man was he?

Furious with himself, Domenic dragged his mind away from the memories of Illona's young breasts and slender body beneath her shift. Herm had told him to inform Lew of the latest developments and he had not yet done so. He was there because he had the Alton Gift and could communicate with his grandfather with much less effort than anyone without that talent. For just a moment he resented his Gift, then shut away the thought abruptly. Why couldn't he have just one feeling at a time, instead of this morass! And why couldn't he get the image of the dead Terran out of his mind?

At last his mind began to quiet, and while he knew it had taken only a few minutes, it felt like he had undergone hours of fruitless struggle. There was a sour taste in his mouth, and his belly was in a complete knot. Domenic had wanted to be treated like an adult, not a child, and here he was, feeling angry at having adult responsibilities. At last he admitted to himself that he was more than a little frightened by the sudden violence he had seen, and realized that he must have been crazy to have dashed over to rescue Illona. He let the sense of fear spend itself, and wondered if he were a coward, or if it was normal to be scared after the fact. There was no one at hand to ask about it, and finally he let it go. Fear was a luxury to be indulged some other time.

He got up and rinsed his mouth in the basin, then splashed cold water over his face. After he had dried it on a towel, he went back to the broad bed and forced his mind into the stillness he needed. It was hard, but the Alton Gift could span great distance, and after only a brief time, he touched the familiar mind of his grandfather.

Lew!

Hello, Nico. You seem . . . upset. Did our reinforcement arrive safely?

The mental voice sounded overly hearty, and Domenic felt his heart clench sharply. Had something terrible happened in Thendara? Was he overreacting to Lew's concerns about him, jumping at shadows instead of acting like an adult? He made himself slow down, and tried to order his thoughts.

I am. I just saw my first riot, and I hope I never see another. The Travelers tried to put on a play that infuriated the crowd-it was disgusting and indecent. They were making fun of Regis-it was not funny at all. It was so ugly. Uncle Herm said it was subversive and that the intent was to turn people against the Comyn! What began as a pleasant evening's entertainment turned the townsfolk into a mob in a flash. They tore apart the wagons and burned them. People got killed.

Are you all right? The tone of the question was alarmed, even if the words were commonplace.

Yes, I'm fine, but don't tell Mother about it, please. She'd be on her horse and traveling the North Road in a minute. But there is more, and at is worse, I think. It seems that this troup of Travelers were up in the Hellers, in the Aldaran Domain, last winter, and when they came back, they had not only this Vancof I told you about, but some other people who were spreading a tale of . . . Well, I don't quite know how to put it. It's like they were trying to make people mad at the Hasturs, and at the Domains and the Towers in general. I don't know if it was just this bunch, or other groups of Travelers as well.

There was a small fracas in the Horse Market involving the Travelers at Midsummer. Regis was even thinking of banning them from the city completely, because there have been incidents recently as well. So, unless it was the group you have there, it might be . . .

Grandfather, I think someone is using the Travelers to upset people. It is either the Terranan or . . . or Dom Aldaran.

I was afraid of that. Poor Dom Damon-so ambitious and so thwarted. It is funny, you know, that all of Javanne's fears that Mikhail might hand Darkover over to the Terrans are much more likely to be fulfilled if Damon Aldaran ever gets his hands on some power.

But that could never happen, could it?

The Hasturs have been ruling Darkover for a long time, Nico, but nothing lasts forever. And yes, if something happened to your father, you and Rory, and a few other well-chosen people, then Damon Aldaran might be able to declare himself in command.

How?

Through Gisela, in her marriage to your uncle Rafael, of course. That would have the illusion of legitimacy. But we don't need to speculate. You and your brother are very much alive and well, and so is your father. He has just arrived, by the way.

Who? Father?

No. Dom Damon and Robert Aldaran. They flew down, which was a mistake on their part. The landing field has been closed for two days, the Terrans nearly clapped them in chains. Robert was able to talk his way out of that, but Damon as in a rare temper.

It's a pity he is a lord of the Domains, or otherwise you could put him in the cellar until after this mess is over.

A temptation, to be sure. There never seems to be a moldy dungeon available when you need one. There has been quite a bit of trouble from the Terrans here since you left, and we are going to turn the old Orphanage into a jail.

Grandfather! Be serious!

I am not joking. I wonder if Dom Damon knows about this plot . . . no, I think not. But, if the funeral train is attacked, he will be in as much danger as the rest of us. The problem in a battle is that you cannot plan who will survive and who will not, and if the Terranan think to set up Dom Damon . . .

Grandfather!

Sorry, Nico. I am feeling extremely harassed just now. Rafe Scott has found out that the Federation has cut off communication with Darkover, for reasons which remain unclear, and perhaps the plot to attack the funeral will turn out to be nothing at all. I don't know if Belfontaine would risk taking action without approval, and I can't pop over to HQ as I might have in the past, to see how the wind is blowing. I sincerely hope that it will all turn out to be a tempest in a chamber pot, because I don't particularly want to go up against energy weapons with my rather rusty sword.

Herm and I were thinking about that a little while ago. So much has happened. Grandfather, and my mind seems so muddled.

Take your time, Nico.

It started because the Terranan spy from Thendara . . .

The what?

Remember I told you I saw two men last night-one was Granfell and one wasn't? Well, the one that wasn't rode in here late this afternoon, before the old Guardsmen arrived.

Go on.

He came out to watch the Travelers, and I noticed he kept looking up at the sky, but he wasn't looking south, toward Thendara, but north instead. I mentioned this to Uncle Herm, and he asked me how many troops there were up in the Aldaran Domain. He suggested that perhaps the attack could come from them, rather than from HQ.

Yes, that makes a kind of sense, now you say it. Herm has the most devious mind I have ever encountered, and I have always been grateful he was on my side, and not my enemy.

Do you trust him?

I do, Nico. He has proven over and over, in his tune in the Senate and the Chamber of Deputies, that he had nothing but the best interests of Darkover in mind. He has had at least a dozen opportunities to sell us out, and he never did. There is more, isn't there? What are you holding back?

Domenic paused, trying to control the upwelling of sorrow within him. The Terranan man is dead. I never knew his name, and now I never will, because someone-Vancof probably stuck a knife in him during the riot. I . . . found the body.

Poor Nico! The first time you look at death is always hard, and it never gets easier. Nico caught fragments, images of several bodies, and knew that his grandfather was remembering the Sharra Rebellion. No wonder you are upset.

He looked so surprised, Grandfather! And that isn't the worst part.