"I guess. He just didn't show up one morning, and the next day Dirck showed up and said he was from Dyan Player's troupe, and Aunty-you think that Dirck . . ."

"It does seem very convenient, doesn't it?"

Illona pulled her knees up against her chest and wrapped her arms around her legs, as if trying to make herself as small as possible. She seemed very small and afraid, but her fear was no longer of Nico. He looked beyond her, toward the wall, staring at the paneling and refused to let his mind catch even the slightest thought that ran in her brain. "Yes, I suppose it was," she said softly. "I never liked him, and neither did Aunty-and just look where it got her! But I told myself that I was being silly, because, you know, he looked at me so . . . strangely. Like he wanted to do something bad to me, only he dared not because of Loret." She paused, swallowed hard, reliving those moments, he was sure. "And I never took the things I heard him think seriously."

"Why not?"

"It was too scary." She trembled all over for a moment, then forced herself to stop. "What would you do if you were riding around the countryside with a man who seemed to be a . . . murderer? And who thought about-"

Domenic received a clear and unwelcome impression of rape, and it was all he could do not to march up the stairs, enter the room where he knew Vancof was at that moment, and kill the man. He controlled his own feelings with an effort. Aware that he did not want to frighten her again, that he was beginning to gain her trust, he only said, "You couldn't very well tell a village constable, I suppose."

Illona gave a feeble laugh. "We Travelers stay as far away from them as we can, because they are always looking for a way to make trouble for us. It is bad enough that we have to bribe them half the time, to let us perform. Not the ones near the Towers, though. But the ones in the smaller towns are greedy bullies as often as not. Except to smile and say good day, I have never spoken to a constable in my life!"

Nico chewed on this for a minute. It gave him a perspective on life outside the walls of Comyn Castle that was strange and uncomfortable. Had it always been like this, or had the withdrawal of Regis Hastur during the final years of his life allowed these actions to occur? He had never experienced any situation where he could not have asked for help, and he knew that this was not true for the girl, and for others like her as well. He could not even start to imagine what her life had been like, and the little he had learned so far only made him feel sick and sad. Domenic had never really thought about common life on Darkover, had merely assumed it was pleasant-certainly better than his life of endless duty. Now he realized how really ignorant he was.

If only his mother were there! She would reassure him-or would she? Marguerida Alton-Hastur was, in private, blunt and forthright. If she perceived a problem, she tried to remedy it, not tidy it away under the nearest carpet. Then, suddenly, he understood more of why Lew Alton had been so unhappy about Regis Hastur's last years-the way he had withdrawn and become wary and anxious. His grandfather probably knew that things on Darkover were not perfect, nor even very good for some people. And he knew now that Regis' refusal to actively rule the Domains, his insistance on hiding within Comyn Castle, had led to resentment in the common people. In another few years, or a decade, it might have even gone far enough to turn into the revolution that Vancof was attempting to foment.

Domenic was too tired to sort it out completely, and too confused. He felt as if a great weight were bearing down on him, grinding him to dust, and snatched himself back from that downward spiral with a sharp mental jerk. The girl was watching him now, her face a study in curiosity.

"You are a very strange boy, Domenic."

"How so?"

"Well, you are about my age, but you feel years older, like some ancient trapped in a boy's body. I think you know a lot of things, but I also think you don't know anything about the real world."

"You might be right about that." He grinned stiffly. "I will gladly bow to your greater experience."

"You will?" Her eyes got round as she considered this seriously. "But, why? I am just a nobody-an orphan girl."

He rubbed his chest reflectively. "With very sharp elbows. For no reason I can say, I like you, Illona. True, you have a bunch of foolish ideas in your head about the Towers, but I just like you. And I want to help you."

You do! I know it, and at scares me nearly to death. Her eyes widened as she sensed her own touch against his mind. Did I do that?

Yes.

I'm doomed.

Domenic could not help the bubble of laughter that rose in his throat at her horrified expression, even though he tried to stifle it. No, not doomed Illona, Just overly dramatic. I suppose that comes from doing all those plays with the puppets.

She balled a fist, started to punch at him, then paused. Aunty said something like that, too. I can't believe she is really dead. What is going to happen to me? Wait! It's that damn Dirck, and he is up to no good!

What? Ah, yes. I almost missed him. Illona had distracted him, but now he could sense the driver leaving the room overhead, and he was not alone, from the sound of more than one pair of faint footfalls. "Gregor," he hissed.

"Yes, vai dom."

"Get out of sight and let the men who are coming down the stairs do whatever they wish."

"But . . ."

"That's an order."

An order, but it is going to be my skin that gets racked up for not following Dom Aldaran's. Still, he's a good lad, and probably knows what he is doing.

Domenic took Illona's arm and drew her away from the fire, and to his surprise she did not resist. He could feel her fear of the driver, and he realized that without the protection of Loret, the man represented a real danger to her. He pulled her behind the long curtains that hung over the windows at the front of the inn, and hoped that Vancof and Granfell were not going to come into the taproom at all. It was cold next to the glass, and the girl pressed against him, pushing her knuckles into her generous mouth to keep from making the slightest sound.

Illona huddled against him, shivering from more than cold. He could smell the warm woolen tunic and the scent of balsam and lavender on her skin. Rafi must have made her take a hot bath before bed. His senses were so heightened now that it seemed he could feel her blood surging through her veins, and if he had not been quite so alarmed, he would have thoroughly enjoyed her nearness.

"I stashed a couple of horses behind the inn earlier," a voice murmured. Domenic twitched the curtains slightly, so he could peek through a gap in the fabric. He could see the bottom of the stairs, and part of the hall that led to both the front door and the kitchens at the back. There was a small circle of light, then two, moving eerily across the polished floorboards. After a second he could see the shine of a pair of Terranan leather boots in the strange light.

"It's raining, Vancof! I still don't see why we can't stay in until morning," another answered.

"We don't have far to go-just a few miles. There is an abandoned croft where we can hide. I don't think we dare remain here. After the riot they might start looking for me."

"That's your problem, Vancof."

"No, it is our problem. Now, be quiet. We don't want to wake up the innkeeper and have to explain to him why we are sneaking out in the middle of . . ."

"A knife will . . ."

"Shut up! Do you want to draw attention to us?"

A gusty sigh followed. "Where the hell is Nailors?"

"He must have run off during the riot. This way. And try to be quiet!"

The noise of their footfalls faded away, and the strange lights with them. Both Illona and Nico let out aching breaths as they emerged from the curtains. The girl noticed she had her hand clutched around his upper arm and snatched it away as if it burned. I am glad he as gone away! But I am still here.

Illona, I promise you nothing is going to happen to you.

Stop that! I don't want to talk to you! I wish I was dead!

No, you don't. You only think that because you are afraid!

She shuddered all over, the color draining from her cheeks. Nico felt a whirlpool of blackness begin to rise in her mind and caught her slender body firmly, holding it against him, supporting her head against his shoulder and speaking softly into her ear. Grief and fear and rage poured into him, an overwhelming rush of emotions that had been held in check for hours. It touched the same feelings in his own mind, releasing them abruptly.

They clung to one another for comfort, drowning in a sea of emotions, so close that it seemed to Domenic that there was no separation between them except their flesh. It was a shocking experience, one greater even than the intimacy of working in a Tower circle, and when it began to abate as suddenly as it had begun, he had a pang of loss as well as another of great relief.

"It will be all right, Illona, I promise," he whispered feebly.

She snuffled, and he realized she was crying softly. Illona pulled away, a little reluctantly he thought, and gave him a bleary gaze. "Well, if you promise, that will make it fine, won't it!" Even in tears, she was tart as a green apple.

I am your friend, whether you like it or not, Illona Rider. And you are going to be a fantastic telepath.

Whether I like it or not! I wish I had never waved at you and told you about going to the North Gate!

But, then, who would have saved you from those men?

There as that. My friend? Aunty always said you can't have too many friends or too few enemies. Are you really my friend?

Word of a Hastur!

She gave a fluttering sigh, too tired to go on arguing. "That will have to do for now, I suppose."

20.

Domenic stood in the dining room of the Crowing Cock and looked out the small window onto the courtyard. The rain which had begun so quietly the night before had turned into a real downpour when he had finally risen at midmorning. He could see pools of water which had collected on the stones, and piles of sodden debris which had not yet been cleared away. He sighed resignedly. It was a fairly common early autumn storm that would last for a day or two, turn the roads into mud, and keep everyone indoors until it spent itself.

A slow smile played over his mouth. Vancof and Granfell had left the inn when the rain had only begun. Now they were huddled somewhere, in some crofter's cot, he assumed, cold and cheerless. Perhaps they would fall to arguing and kill each other. He wondered if they would come back to the inn, and decided that possibility was unlikely. Vancof was known in Carcosa as a Traveler, and after the riot the night before, he was smart enough to realize that if someone recognized him, he would likely end up in the lockup. Where else might they go? There was another village, about fifteen miles farther up the Old North Road, according to Aunt Rafi. He must remember to pass this information to Herm.

At last he turned back to the long table and sat down. He picked up a sheet of thick paper, the best that MacHaworth could provide, and read through what he had written. It was a letter to his mother, containing surprisingly little of his exploits since leaving Comyn Castle, and nothing at all about finding the body of the dead man the night before. Instead, Domenic had written about subjects which he could never bring himself to speak of, either verbally or telepathically. He had written about his strong feelings for his cousin, Alanna, but more about how much he disliked living in Comyn Castle, and one short paragraph concerning the disturbing auditory experiences he had been having. It was the first letter he had written to Marguerida in his entire life, and he had discovered he was able to say things more clearly on paper than he could in any other way.

He read his words over and realized that he had left a great many things unsaid, despite his determination to do otherwise. Domenic had not mentioned the riot, because he knew it would worry his mother, and he felt she had enough on her hands already. He had not addressed his feeling of distance from his father for similar reasons. Mikhail had a lot of problems just now, and Nico did not want to add to them. In short, he decided, it was not as complete as he intended, and it was therefore dishonest by omission.

He wondered if he should just crumple the whole thing up and toss it into the fireplace. He was aware of his own self-consciousness, anxious at both saying too little and too much, but relieved that he had been able to write anything at all. No, he would send it. When Duncan Lindir rode back to Thendara later in the day, he would give it to the old Guardsman. His mother would be pleased to receive it, and that was enough.

Domenic was just finishing his reading when Illona came into the room. Her wiry red hair had been brushed and combed into a semblance of order, then pulled back ruthlessly from her forehead and braided down her back. She was wearing a green tunic and skirt that fit her well enough, belted around her slender waist, and there were soft slippers on her feet. He wondered where she had gotten the garments, for the town market was closed for the day, because of the riot, and then realized that they were rather fancy for everyday. She must have borrowed them from one of MacHaworth's daughters. He saw dark circles beneath her green eyes, as if she had slept poorly. He suspected he did not look much more rested himself.

"What are you doing?"

"I have written a letter to my mother-which will amaze her, since I have never done such a thing before. But, then, except for my years at Arilinn, I have never been away from her, and there was no need to write."

"What does it say?" She seemed anxious and curious, and did not appear to realize that she was being nosy.

"Nothing about you, if that is what is worrying you."

Illona looked surprised and almost disappointed. "I . . . I suppose I thought . . ."

"I would have told her about you, but I assumed it might make you frightened." In another mood, he knew, he would have described all the events leading up to this moment, and made rather a good tale of it. But after the previous night, Domenic's immediate impulse was to protect Illona, and he had followed it.

"That is . . . kind of you. It would have. I've been thinking about last night a lot, about what you said and all. And I think that I don't need to go to a Tower at all, not really, and that you were just being . . . what would a girl like me do in such a place? I think I'll join the Renunciates instead. It can't be any harder than being a Traveler." She eyed him closely, watching for his reaction with the wariness of a half-wild cat.

Domenic gave her a hard look. "What makes you think they would want a wild telepath in their company?"

"Are you always this unpleasant? Or just in the mornings?"

"No, I am not. In fact, I am ordinarily a very nice fellow, polite to my elders and courteous to fault. I even manage to be pleasant to my grandmother who hates me and wishes me ill. But when someone is deliberately being buffle-headed, Illona, I speak my mind."

"Is that what you think?"

"Your laran is not going to go away, no matter how hard you will it to. Anymore than your hair is going to turn soft and manageable."

Illona gave a slight grin. "Samantha tried to put it into order, and she did a good job, I think. How did you know that my hair was a trial to me? I hate it!"

"Well, I don't. I think it is very attractive-and you are changing the subject."

"I'm not the one who mentioned my impossible hair."

"True." Domenic looked down at the letter again, wondering if he could rewrite it in some other way, if he could be more honest without causing hurt. "My friend, you and I are more alike than you imagine."

"What? I am not the least like you!"

"Yes, you are. We are both stuck with Gifts we have to learn to live with. If you read what I have written, you would see that."

"Well, I can't read, so that's that."

"Not at all?"

"No."

"But how do you learn the scripts that Mathias writes if you cannot read?"

"Oh, that. I have an excellent memory. He would read the plays to me several times, and then I knew what to say. And sometimes I improved the words, which always annoyed him. He is not nearly as clever as he thinks."

Domenic remembered his encounter with the man the night before and had to agree. "I see. Well, then, I will teach you to read." He folded the letter in half and pushed it aside. Then he took a second sheet of paper and the pen in his hand. "Come and sit next to me."

Illona stared at him for a second, then walked around the table and slipped onto the bench beside him. "Why do I need to learn to read?"

"Because when you go to a Tower, you will need that skill. And we are not going to argue about that subject-you are going, if I have to drag you there myself and show you that it is not a terrible place." He was surprised at himself, because he knew he was not usually so forceful.

A mulish expression filled her face, then faded. "I think . . . I could go if you went with me. Mind you, I don't wish to, and I believe you are being very stubborn because you are used to getting your own way."

Domenic gave a snort of laughter. "I know you won't believe me, Illona, but I have rarely gotten my own way in my whole life. Now, this is your name, Illona Rider." He pointed to what he had just written. "Here are the letters, and you already know how they sound."

"Is that what it looks like?" She peered at the glyphs on the page. "Write yours."

Domenic did as she asked, putting the whole long name on the page. He watched her as she studied the letters closely. He reflected that he was very much his mother's son, just at that moment, trying to teach someone to read. She put her finger on the glyphs from her own name and then found the same ones in his, moving the digit back and forth between the two, and subvocalizing the sounds. After a minute she asked, "Why are the starting letters tall and the rest short?"

"In a name, you make the beginning of each word a capital, and the rest in another form. Do you know, I have never thought about this before-I've always just done it."

"What do you do when it is not a name, then?"

"Here-I will write a sentence."

"What does it say?"

"All mules bray."

"I see . . . the big letter at the beginning is the same one as in part of your name, and the next two are like the small ones at the first part of Illona. So, when you write something that is not a name, you make the first letter big, and all the rest small." She nodded, and he could sense she was enjoying herself.

"That is right, except if you are putting the name of a person or place in a sentence-here-I will write 'Mona and Nico are in Carcosa.' You see?"

"Is this word Carcosa?" She pointed.