Never underestimate your foes, Nico. If I were running a secret society, I would make sure that no one felt threatened by it until the time was ripe. I would make it appear feeble and foolish, so that no one would pay it the least mind.

Grandfather was right-he said he was glad you are on our side, and not that of our enemies. I will tell Lew what we just learned, and he can get things in motion. Nico paused, anxious and hesitant. Do you think your father is involved, or is he . . . ?

I don't know, but secret societies are not really my father's style-he is too impatient for that. Besides, if they really do want to overthrow the Comyn, he would hardly want them for allies, since his ambition is to lead the Comyn and run Darkover to suit himself, not a bunch of half-baked revolutionaries.

Istvan thought they were mostly tradesmen . . . I caught that impression when he was talking.

Humph! Catch my old man consorting with merchants and weavers! I think not. He's too proud for that.

A wave of fatigue struck Domenic, and his knees trembled. He sucked in a deep gust of air, and started down the hall. As he reached the head of the stairs, he overheard the thoughts of the man tied up in the room. Who is that boy, and why is he here? I saw ham talking to that bitch Illona earlier. Where did she get to? He is probably a spy for the Hasturs. I hope I will see them in Zandru's coldest hell before the week is out! I must find a way to reach the Sons and warn them. But how? Maybe when they feed me-if they don't starve me to death-I can signal. Surely someone an the inn must belong to the Sons.

Herm-Mathias thinks that someone in the inn might be a contact-keep him away from everyone but our own people.

Oh, I intend to-but good thinking, Nico. Yet that presents a fresh problem, doesn't it?

Anger flooded through Nico. It took all of his will not to use the Alton Gift in a way he had never done before, to plunder Mathias' mind of everything it knew. He felt Herm's mental flinch as his emotions reached the other man, and was ashamed at the loss of control. Yes, it does. It means we have to suspect everyone-I hate that, Herm.

Not necessarily-you are very tired and are forgetting our companions, the Renunciates.

Would Rafaella know about the Sons? Domenic felt incredibly stupid for not thinking of the Renunciates sooner. Well, she and her sisters know how to find things out, so I'll ask her.

No, Nico. You deal with Lew and then try to get some rest. I will talk to Rafaella after I have a few more words with Mathias.

Domenic stood at the head of the stairs for a minute, feeling too dizzy to start down. Overhead, he could hear the rain falling on the roof tiles, a pleasant sound that seemed to clear his mind. He was sweating again, and knew he was close to the edge of his own endurance. He wiped his face on the sleeve of his shirt wearily. There was still a great deal to do before he could rest.

As he came down the stairs, he heard the sound of boots coming from the lower floor of the inn, up the stairs. For no conscious reason, he halted in his own descent and waited to see who it was. He knew the Renunciates had taken two rooms at one end of the corridor, the one next to his, but there were other guests at the Crowing Cock that night.

Briefly he chided himself for being so jumpy. Then he saw the shoulders and head of a man appear, and then the rest of the body, illuminated by the lampions along the hall. He had never seen the face before, but as soon as the stranger turned and walked down the corridor, he knew it must be Granfell. The shape of his skull from the rear, and the way he strode were unmistakable. He was wearing Darkovan clothing now, like the dead man had, but they looked wrong. Granfell tugged at the edge of his tunic, as if he found it uncomfortable. His light-colored hair was wet, and it was clear that he had just arrived. He knocked at a door at the far end of the corridor, and Nico, wondered how he knew which room to pick. When there was no answer, he quickly opened the door and entered.

Uncle Herm, I just saw the man called Granfell go into the room on the back of the inn, at the other end of our corridor. He's wet, so I thank he just rode in. He must be looking for the other man, the one that was knifed.

Wonderful. I told MacHaworth that if anyone came looking for the stranger, he was to tell him what room to go to. I am glad he can follow orders.

So, that's how he knew. I was wondering about it. Are we going to grab him and use your thumb screws? Domenic was startled by the sudden change in himself, although he knew perfectly well that Herm was not going to torture anyone. His fear and grief seemed to have vanished, and in their place he found a peculiar desire to hurt someone or something. It was gone almost before he could understand it, but it revealed to him a part of his character he had never suspected he possessed.

Don't be bloodthirsty-it does not become a future ruler of Darkover. No, I think not. We will let him think that their plot is undiscovered for a while yet. And see if Vancof turns up again. Go and get the Towers alerted, and then try to get some sleep. You will need all your strength tomorrow.

Yes, I will. Nico felt shamed for a moment. Herm should not have to tell him not to be bloodthirsty. Then he realized that his uncle had been teasing him gently, that it had not been meant to be the rebuke he took it for. He just was not used to being spoken to as Herm spoke to him, and he took it too seriously.

Someone-was it Danilo Ardais?-had said in his hearing "Violence begets more violence," so perhaps his momentary lapse was something normal. But between that and his earlier thoughts about Illona's scantily clad body, he felt as if he did not know himself any longer. Domenic hoped he was not becoming some sort of monster, as unnatural as Javanne had frequently intimated he might be.

After he had reached Lew, telling him everything that had happened since their earlier contact, he collapsed back onto the bed. His belly growled. Domenic was ravenous despite a large supper only a few hours before. It seemed like he hadn't eaten in at least a day! Then he knew that he had not been using his laran correctly, in the manner which his mother had been teaching him, which required less energy than the method still taught at Arilinn and the other Towers. He wasn't grounding himself right.

The air in the room seemed stifling, and he knew he had to get away from everything for a time. In spite of the temptation of the pillow, he dragged himself off the bed. His mind was filled with images of the dead stranger, and he wanted to banish these. He hadn't even known the man, but his murder seemed to have affected his thoughts to a degree he could not seem to control.

He went down the stairs and out of the inn. The courtyard was empty of people now, except for a groom sweeping a pile of ash off the stones. He looked up at the sound of Nico's footsteps and shook his head at the young man. "A sorry business, this."

"Yes, it is." One of the Guardsmen appeared from the shadows and gave Domenic a nod. Then he moved to accompany the boy, and halted at a gesture. "I'm just going to get a breath of air."

The smell of burning was dissipating with the rain, and the sodden heaps of debris were barely visible in the gloom. Domenic walked across the scene of destruction, out through the walls around the inn, and away until he found a little stand of trees a hundred paces from the inn. He could sense that the Guardsman was dogging him at a distance, keeping an eye on him without intruding.

Domenic stood, ignoring the rain and his lack of a cloak, as well as the cold that was seeping into him, and closed his eyes. He breathed slowly and deeply and thought of nothing except the earth beneath his feet. After several minutes, a sense of restoration began to flow up his limbs and into his body. He could hear, faintly, the distant murmur of the heart of the world, burning and burning, and for once he did not doubt it.

Lost in the sounds and sense of the world beneath his boots, Domenic emptied his thoughts of everything that had happened that night. It was difficult at first, even with the calming rhythm of the planet running along his veins, but after a while he felt balanced once again-neither monster nor spy, but just himself, Domenic Gabriel-Lewis Alton-Hastur.

Despite the lightness of the rain, he was drenched by the time he turned back toward the inn, as serene as he could hope to be. The Guardsman was standing with the hood of his cloak pulled up, watching him. He smiled and nodded to him, and wondered what the man thought about his going out in the rain. Nothing, very likely.

In spite of the refreshment of his energies, Domenic was still hungry for another meal. He walked into the taproom, and found it occupied by three or four of the retired Guards from Thendara and one of the village constables, all drinking quietly together. The older girl, Hannah, was there too, and she grinned at him, shook her head at his wet clothing, and handed him a small towel. He asked for some food, and in a few minutes she brought him a bowl of stew with some bread and cheese, and a half mug of brown ale.

Just as Domenic was finishing his food, he saw Vancof passing into the inn, coming from the back and making his way to the stairs. He quickly bent his head over his bowl, but the Terran agent did not spare a look toward the taproom. He appeared preoccupied from the brief glimpse Nico had of him through the strands of his dark hair.

He scooped up a mouthful of stew with his spoon and listened to the mental static around him for a moment. Then he separated Vancof's particular mind from those around him to try to discover new information. Unfortunately, all Vancof was thinking about was his aching feet, the fact that his belly was sour with tension, and his general displeasure with everything. If he had killed the other man, he was not thinking about it at all. And to learn more, Domenic would have had to force rapport with the man, the idea of which revolted him so much that the remnants of his appetite left him abruptly.

Domenic listened to the footfalls as they continued up the stair, then heard them move overhead, toward the end of the corridor where he had seen Granfell go. After a second there was a slight noise of a door opening and closing, then nothing more. He looked down at his bowl, saw there were only a few mouthfuls of stew left in it, and forced himself to finish eating. Then he headed for his own room.

Herm was sitting on the only chair in the room, looking weary and disgruntled. "Where were you? And why are you wet?" he growled.

"I went out to clear my head, and then I was hungry and went to get something to eat. Vancof just came back. He went down the hall. I wonder what he will do when he finds Granfell there," Nico announced, feeling suddenly very certain of himself.

Herm gave him a hard stare, reassessing him in some fashion. Then his face twisted in something like a smile, although it was more like a hound baring its teeth. "With any luck, he will kill him, and then we will have one less enemy to worry about. Did you get to Lew about alerting the Towers."

"Who's being bloodthirsty now?"

Herm just shrugged. "You reached Lew?"

"Yes, Uncle, and it gave me an appetite."

Herm gave a barking laugh, which only increased his resemblance to a snarling cur. "You should not have gone out alone. If anything happened to you . . . I forget that you are a growing boy, not a man, and need your vittles." Then he gave a little sigh, ran his stubby fingers through his thinning hair, and grunted softly.

"I was not alone precisely, because one of the Guardsmen followed me on my walk and kept an eye on me from a discreet distance."

"That's better. This situation is becoming more and more dangerous, and I don't think I can take on worrying about your safety at the moment. I don't know which way to turn, and I realize I have gotten altogether too dependent on technology during my years in the Federation. I keep wanting to have a communicator, not to mention a blaster or two."

"You wouldn't use a blaster, would you?" Nico was rather startled, both at the admission of frustration, and at the ruthlessness that seemed to have emerged without any warning. The cheerful companion of the road seemed to have vanished, and he was at a loss. All the tales about the Aldarans that the servants told danced in his head for a moment, and then he came to his senses. Herm was a man, no matter what his family name might be, and he was probably no more ruthless than any other-than Grandfather Lew, for instance, or even Mikhail. It was only that Domenic had never seen them in dangerous circumstances.

"Probably not. But you can bet your life that Granfell is hiding one somewhere on his person, and will have no hesitation in using it. I suspect that the only reason that Vancof was able to knife the other fellow was that he never suspected he was in any danger."

"Is that why you didn't want to grab him when I told you he was down the hall?"

"That's one reason, Nico. The Guardsmen are brave fellows, but I did not want to have them trying to use swords on people armed with blasters. And I want to see what they are up to."

"But if we stop them here, then they won't be able to attack the funeral train."

"That is true in theory, but we have no idea what has been planned by now. There are too many players on the board-Belfontaine and perhaps others in Thendara, as well as whomever is involved up in the Aldaran Domain. Capturing Vancof and Granfell would not stop things if there are troops up in the Hellers preparing to descend on this little town."

"They couldn't get here unnoticed, could they? I mean, someone would see the flyers." Domenic knew about the vehicle which Dom Damon owned and used to come to Thendara, although he had never actually seen it.

Herm shook his head. "They would not come in little flyers, but in machines that are much larger, capable of transporting fifty men, armed with weapons that could lay waste to this town in about three seconds. I don't know exactly what they have here, but for decades now there have been transports that are virtually invisible to the naked eye. I have no idea if any of those are on Darkover. But, if there are such here, you can wager that those are what they will use to carry the ambush party."

"Invisible? You mean like those cloaks that legend says we once had, only bigger?"

"Pretty much."

Domenic chewed this idea over for a moment. "So, basically, what you are saying is that swords are no match for Federation machines, and we might as well try to throw rocks! What are we going to do?" He had a terrifying vision of great bolts of lightning blasting his father and mother to cinders as they rode toward the rhu fead with Regis' body. It seemed very real, and the helplessness he had experienced earlier returned with a vengeance.

Herm flinched, as if aware that he had frightened Nico. "Try to outsmart them. And hope that they do not dare to use high technology weapons, but will dress themselves as brigands and meet us on equal terms. The one thing that is to our advantage is that they do not know we know they are up to something. The Federation does not have much respect for Darkover, and they do not know much about our secrets. Lew led them to believe that the Towers were religious establishments rather than anything else, and fortunately for us, the people of Darkover have not told them any different."

"I hate them! Why are they doing this? We've never done any harm to the Federation, have we?"

Herm sighed gustily. "None that I am aware of, Nico. As for the whys, that is more difficult to answer. One is because they can, and the other is that the leaders of the Federation have, over the past two decades, begun to mistake power for authority."

"I don't understand."

"It is the difference between force and cooperation, Nico. The Domains have managed to continue on Darkover because they have been wise enough to keep a balance between themselves, through cooperative efforts, so that no one Domain became too strong and could overwhelm the others. Regis' decision to get the Aldarans back into the Comyn is part and parcel of that idea-that we all inhabit the same planet and have to get along, in spite of our differences. My father, damn him, has never believed in such ideas, and what he would like is for Darkover to be ruled by a strong man-he always thought Regis was a lightweight-who would just make people do what he thought was best for them. And he imagines himself to be that man, probably. Or plans to set Robert up as king."

"I don't think your brother would agree to that."

"That is reassuring, since I haven't had any contact with Robert for over twenty years, other than the occasional letter."

"This makes me so mad, Uncle Herm. I want to blast those men to bits-turn their brains to jelly."

"Could you do that?" Herm looked alarmed.

"Yes, I could, and so could Mother and Grandfather Lew. The backwash would be terrible, and besides it would be wrong, but it is possible. I don't think anyone has done such a thing, but I know my mother burned a man to death with her touch, years ago, before I was born. And used the command voice to turn some bandits into statues in the snow."

Herm stared at the boy, as if he was unsure whether to believe him. "Hmm. That raises some possibilities I had not considered-I've been away too long."

"And then there is Father's matrix."

"Mikhail's matrix? What about it?"

"I'm not totally sure, but everyone, even Uncle Regis, is afraid of it, and what it can do. It came from Varzil the Good and . . . well, maybe I should say no more."

Herm waited for a moment. "Varzil? That doesn't make any sense-if you mean his matrix. All the legends in the Hellers say it was lost centuries ago."

"It was-before it came back into our time."

"And here I thought I was past the point of ever being amazed again. No, don't tell me. If Lew had wanted me to know, I am sure he would have told me everything. Are you catching any useful tidbits from down the hall?"

"No. In fact, for the first time in years, I am hardly able to hear anything. I believe I am too tired to do any effective snooping, Uncle, for the moment."

"As well you should be! I have been using your Gifts without much thought of how so much the effort might affect you. Now, let's get some sleep. Nothing else is going to happen tonight-I hope."

Nico knuckled his itching eyes. Then he bent down and pulled off his boots. "I wish I were not so ethical and so very tired, Uncle Herm. If I weren't, I'd just let my mind drift down the hall, and . . ."

"Leave being immoral to me, son. I've had more practice. You just go on doing what is right, and I will do the dirty work. We will come out of this mess, somehow."

19.

Domenic's eyes snapped open abruptly, and he went from deep sleep to complete wakefulness without his usual intervening muzziness. He sat up, puzzled, and peered around the darkened bedroom. Herm was snoring on the other side of the bed, a pleasant, rhythmic noise which had not disturbed his rest. The wind had risen, driving the rain against the windows, and rattling the shutters. He heard rain gunneling from the downspouts along the eaves, then splashing into the courtyard below. He knuckled his eyes and scratched his head, noticing how tired he still felt, and started to settle back again.

What had roused him? It was not a noise, but more of a feeling, a shift somewhere nearby. Ah, his mental balance had returned, and he could once again pick up the random thoughts of those nearby. Nico was almost regretful for a moment-it had been restful to be too weary to hear thoughts without effort. But he felt more like himself, and that pleased him.

Vancof and Granfell were at the other end of the corridor-were they up to some new mischief? He let his mind reach out, sweeping through the inn like a feather, briefly touching the dreams of the inhabitants.

Several people besides himself were awake-Vancof, it seemed, but not Granfell, and at least two of the Guardsmen. But there was another mind, a troubled one, and after a second he knew it was Illona. She was creeping out of the room she shared with the Renunciates, and she was not looking for the privy!

Her surface thoughts were jumbled, fear-filled and anxious. She intended to put some distance between herself and her rescuers, although he could not catch any hint of an actual plan. Ungrateful wench. For a moment, Nico was tempted to let her run away, and go back to sleep. Where could she go? The Travelers were in the village lockup and she did not know anyone else.

Then it occurred to him that he could not be sure of that. The Travelers had been through Carcosa earlier in the year, and in previous ones as well. She might have made friends he did not know about, or she might be acquainted with some of the Sons of Darkover. Unlikely, he decided, after brief consideration. From the tone of Mathias' thoughts about that organization, he didn't think any young girls were involved. But she might encounter Vancof, who would not hesitate to attack her.

She could come to some harm. Domenic found he was a little surprised at himself, that he cared as much as he did after only knowing her so briefly. Somewhat reluctantly, he examined his feelings about Illona. He had liked her from the first second he clapped eyes on her, and that had not changed. There was just something about the girl-her courage or maybe just her difference from the young women he knew already. She was rough and ill-mannered, but she was also quick-witted and brave.

He swung his legs off the bed, pulled on his tunic and boots, and decided to follow her. Carefully opening the door of the room, Nico peeped out into the dim corridor and saw her reach the top of the stairs. She was waiting, listening for sounds from below. He could see she had on a tunic that was too big for her, over her shabby undergown, and her feet were bare in the faint light that came up the stairs. Silly girl. She was not going to get far that way. She must be really desperate to try to escape without shoes.

And where did she think she was going? He waited until she started down the stairs and slipped out of the room, closing the door softly behind him. His boots made a little noise on the wood of the floor, and he realized that the girl was smarter than he had thought. It was hard to sneak around in boots or shoes.

Domenic managed to get halfway down the stairs before he heard a scuffle below. There was a feminine squeak followed by a muffled cry of pain. He scrambled down the rest of the steps and found the girl in the hands of Gregor MacEwan, one of the Guardsmen. He was swearing a blue streak, under his breath, as Illona had her teeth firmly on his forearm, as well as aiming a knee at his groin.

"You little catamount," snarled the man, shaking Illona hard as he tried to avoid her flailing legs. She reached out her fingers and tried to scratch his face or gouge his eyes, but his greater height prevented it. As it was, she tore the top of his tunic out of its lacings, the ripping noise of fabric seeming very loud in the silence of the inn.

Somehow Illona managed to wrench herself free of Gregor's grip for a second, and she would have been able to run if Domenic had not grasped her around the middle and held her tight. It was like holding a sack of furious ferrets, as she kicked backward, struggled to pull away, and clawed at the arms around her waist. She shoved an elbow back into his ribs as hard as she could, and Nico was shocked by how much it hurt. Then he fell backward with a thump, and Illona landed on top of him. All the air was knocked out of his chest for a second. She was heavier than she looked!

Before she could turn around and attack him, Gregor grabbed her by the front of her tunic and hauled her off, holding her at arm's length, so she flapped her feet helplessly above the floor. She continued to claw and scratch, but held at arm's length, the girl found nothing except Gregor's well-protected forearms. Nico sat up slowly, rubbed his ribs where she had struck him, and then started to get up.

I have to get away from these people. I have to get back to the Travelers.

The terror and pain of this mental shout shook Domenic. He had not been prepared for the strength of it, nor the violence either. How could he or anyone convince her that she would come to no harm, when it was clear she believed herself to be in mortal danger. Well, if a strange man grabbed him in the dark, he would probably think the same thing. He wanted to calm her, to reassure her.

Illona jerked suddenly in Gregor's grasp, and turned her head sharply around. She glared at Domenic, her eyes huge in the faint light of the lampions. "Don't touch me," she shrilled and stopped struggling.

For a moment, he was puzzled. Then he understood that she had sensed the touch of his mind and was outraged. How clumsy of him! He had sensed her nascent laran earlier, but had completely forgotten about it in the heat of the struggle. His previous idea that she might be the nedestra daughter of some man of the Domains, with her red hair and pale skin, returned. His father had often said there were many more telepaths on Darkover than anyone suspected, but no one, as far as he knew, had ever thought to look among the Travelers.

It was a problem that had troubled both Mikhail and Regis Hastur in recent years. They had known there were many undiscovered talents in the general population, but no one had ever come up with a method to unearth them. The number of leroni in the Towers was too small to test a population of twenty million-an estimate at best, for no real census of Darkover had ever been completed. More, most people seemed uninterested in the matter, or resented it. A farmer did not want to lose a son who was a useful laborer, and a tradesman wished his children to follow in his footsteps, not depart for a Tower. He had encountered a few sons and daughters of both these classes during his time at Arilinn. They had been uncomfortable in the company of so many scions of the Domains, eager to get their training done with and return to the lives they had been born to. Oh, one or two had been ambitious, or wished to remain, but the majority of them had not.

"Calm down, Illona," Nico said. "No one is going to hurt you."

"I would not go that far, vai dom," Gregor growled.

"Put her down now," Domenic instructed, brushing off the front of his tunic a little, and scowling at Gregor for using the honorific. Then he shrugged to himself-the girl was smart and likely she already knew he was not the person he had pretended to be. "Just where did you think you were going to run to, Illona?" The Guardsman released his grip and lowered her feet to the floor, watching the slight girl carefully.

"Back to my people," she mumbled.