Everyone began to speak at once, as if by unspoken agreement; they would not use their laran for the present. Mikhail made no effort to stop them. He was too busy trying to sort out everything which had been lodged in his mind. There was much more than Regis' love for him, and his belief in Mikhail. There had been an enormous burst of thoughts and emotions and knowledge as well, and he felt rather addled by the effect of it all. He reached out and took the cider Donal had poured for him earlier, draining the cup in three chilly gulps.

He knew now why Regis had died so young, that when he had wielded the Sword of Aldones during the Sharra Rebellion, he had paid a price that shortened his life, that same force that had turned a young man's hair white had stolen decades of his time on this earth. Mikhail wanted to weep with relief that he really had done all he could, but he held himself back. Instead, he focused on the import of the rest of what Regis had told him, and most especially that he must inform the Comyn Council about the plot against his life immediately, and without hesitation.

Mikhail looked across at Lew, and knew from his serious expression that Regis had told him some of these same things. So, he gazed around the table, and slowly the babbling ceased; all eyes were upon him. He took a long, slow breath. Regis was right. To put it off any longer would make him appear weak. He must take command now, no matter how he felt. If only he could find the right words to say, to get them to forget their own petty concerns and work together.

Then he looked up at the shattered remnants of the trap matrices overhead, and laughed deeply. It was going to be very difficult to keep anything a secret now, and he did not know if he was glad or sorry for it. His sudden burst of merriment was disturbing to several of the people seated at the table, but he refused to choke it back.

Finally, he regained control of himself. "We have spent much too long already debating decisions which were made years ago. No more! There is a plot against my life, but also against the lives of the rest of you. This is something which we have to deal with, and now!"

"A plot? First you try to frighten us with the threat of Comyn Castle being attacked, and then you say this! What a pack of nonsense!"

"Didn't you listen to anything your brother said to you, Mother?"

Francisco Ridenow had recovered himself, and was sitting up in his chair again, still pale but clearly nursing a grievance. "A plot against you-how convenient," he sneered. "And just how did you come across this purported plot, when you have not been outside Comyn Castle in months?"

"That is quite enough, Francisco," snapped Lew. "Don't be obstructive."

"I will be whatever I damn well please. Regis has been jumping at shadows for years, and I have always wondered how much of that can be laid at your feet, Lew. I think you fed his fears, in order to keep him in your own control. As for that little demonstration-I don't know how you did it, Mikhail, but I very much doubt that we heard the voice of Regis Hastur speaking from the overworld or anywhere else!" The expression on his face suggested that he did not believe a word he was saying, but that some inner demon forced him to speak as he did.

"Of course-it was all a trick, a cruel trick," screamed Javanne, her face twisting horribly. "How could you do that to me, Mikhail!"

"Yes-what just occurred proves completely that Mikhail must not be allowed to rule Darkover. He has too much power to be trusted. There is no plot, just lies and tricks!" Francisco roared the words with feeling, pounding his fist on the table to punctuate them.

"Silence!" Mikhail thundered, surprised at the volume of his own voice. "Believe me, if I had been in control of that manifestation, at least one person in this chamber would be dead now! I have endured your slights and suspicions without complaint for years, but I will not allow either you, Mother, nor you, Dom Francisco, to continue to spew your filth at me. You can choose to disbelieve that Regis Hastur shattered the trap matrices in the Crystal Chamber until all of Zandru's hells melt, for all I care. But that would be extremely foolish, and neither of you are complete fools."

"It was Regis," Danilo said very calmly. "He reminded me of things that no one in this room could know except . . . my dearest friend."

"That is true," Lady Marilla added. "My wits are slightly disordered yet, but I know that what touched my mind was Regis Hastur, and no other."

"So, even you were fooled," muttered Dom Francisco, glaring at his ally.

"What a paltry man you are," Marilla replied, with great dignity. "If Mikhail says there is a plot against him, and against the Comyn, why should we not believe him? What benefit would he derive from making up such a tale?"

"You stupid-"

"It is a very good thing that Regis disarmed me, Francisco," Dyan Ardais snarled, "or else your life would be forfeit already."

Dani Hastur cleared his throat. "I know it was my father, and I would like to know more about this plot. I realize that everyone is very shocked and frightened-and don't pretend you aren't, Dom Francisco! But if we start threatening to kill one another, then we might as well hand Darkover over to the Federation and be done with it!"

"At last-a voice of reason," Robert Aldaran announced. "Have you all lost your minds? As Lady Marilla asked, what possible purpose would be served by pretending that some plot existed when there was none?"

"I can tell you the answer to that."

"I am sure you can come up with some plausible explanation, Dom Francisco, because your mind is full of your own plots and schemes."

"That from Aldaran scum!"

"Why do you dishonor yourself this way, Dom Francisco?" Marguerida asked, her voice quiet but menacing at the same time. "You know in your heart that Mikhail has nothing but the security of Darkover in mind, and yet you continue with this irrational behavior."

"I know nothing of the sort, witch!"

"I have never done you a moment's harm, and still you hate me-why is that, Dom Francisco?"

"It would have been better if you had died years ago," he answered, snarling. Sweat now beaded his forehead, and his hands shook with rage and some less obvious emotion.

Javanne, who had sunk into a kind of stupor, roused herself with difficulty. "I don't believe in any plot, but I want to hear of it anyhow." The words came from her lips unwillingly. It seemed she was at war with herself. The pained expression on her face deepened, and she swallowed hard. I have wronged my own child, and at last I know it.

Mikhail caught her unguarded thought and felt more compassion for his mother than he had in years. He knew what it must have cost her to even allow herself to think those words, and then, with a kind of sorrow, knew she would not choose to remember them. Still, he could treasure them for as long as he lived, and would.

Mikhail looked across at Lew. He nodded toward the older man, gesturing him to begin the tale. "A few nights past, Domenic left Comyn Castle for a bit of mischief," Lew said solemnly.

"I should have known the little bastard was at the bottom of this," Javanne spat, her moment of self-awareness gone, and all her previous furies returning. "I've heard enough now!"

"One more word against my son and heir, Mother, and I will do something you will regret for the rest of your life."

She glared at him, then looked at the ring on his finger and shuddered, clinging stubbornly to her anger and her fears of him. "You are not my son any longer!"

"Thank you-I am greatly relieved that I need no longer give you any more respect than I would one of the servants. Please continue, Lew."

Javanne had intended to provoke him, and he could see the disappointment in her face. Then her eyes seemed to glaze over, as if the inner torment were too great for her to bear, and she leaned against the back of her chair and sighed.

"As I was saying, Domenic sneaked off to watch the Travelers perform. He observed some men in Federation leathers walking to the North Gate, and being a curious lad, he followed them. They met one of the Travelers, the driver of a wagon, who was, it turned out, a spy for the Federation. At that time, we had not let the word of Regis's sudden death reach as far as Headquarters, but this fellow, Dirck Vancof, told the men that he was gone. One of them, Miles Granfell, who is the second in command to Lyle Belfontaine, the Station Chief, suggested that since the Comyn accompany the body of their dead rulers to the rhu fead, that an attack on the funeral train might be a lovely idea. He has always struck me as the kind of opportunistic man who would think of such a thing, so I am not surprised that he did.

"Nico thought about what he had overheard, and, sensibly, told me-you recall that when we were at dinner the night you arrived, Javanne, I was interrupted? Yes, I see that you do remember. That was Domenic. And after the meal we closeted ourselves to decide what to do. Herm Aldaran offered to join Nico on the road, to see if there was anything other than wishful thinking in Miles Granfell's idea. We have now gathered enough information to believe that some sort of assault will likely be made against the funeral train, unless we can come up with some plan to prevent it."

"Forgive me if I do not believe you, Lew. It is just too fantastic." Dom Francisco's face was white with fury and frustration, and his voice was thready. A look of desperation filled his eyes, and he looked like a man who was watching his favorite horse break its leg.

"I hope it does not demand a blaster shot in the guts to change your mind, then. If you even have time to consider the matter," Marguerida replied as if she were speaking of the weather.

The look of desperation increased. "Blasters are not allowed on Darkover."

"That is not strictly true," Robert Aldaran put in before anyone else could speak. "They are not permitted to the populace of Darkover because of the Compact, and we ourselves would never use them. But there are a goodly number of weapons of various sorts in the Terran complex in our Domain, and a greater amount at the spaceport. Regis has known this for years. Those, plus the presence of combat-trained troops in both places has been a source of concern for a long time. If you hadn't spent so much energy disputing him, you would have been aware of the problem."

"An Aldaran speaking of the Compact! When have any of you ever respected it?" No one responded to Dom Francisco's question, but Lady Marilla looked at him with enormous distaste.

Javanne tried to rouse herself from her near stupor. "Yes, that is true-but I have never understood why we did not change . . ." She seemed too exhausted to continue, suddenly, and lowered her head so her jaw almost touched her collar.

"Because we do not have command of the Federation bases on Darkover, obviously." Mikhail shifted in his chair. "And we can hardly expect to overcome such weapons with swords and horses."

"Why should we believe you?" Francisco asked, trying once more to gain control of the meeting.

"You give me too much credit for deviousness, Dom Francisco, and not enough for common sense! There is nothing in the world that would cause me to endanger the lives of any of you."

"Mikhail is right," Lady Marilla said suddenly, "and you are wrong, Francisco. Everything he has said Regis also said when he brushed through me a few minutes ago-did he not tell you the same?"

"Yes, but I cannot . . . cannot bear . . ." He shuddered again and tried to get a grip on his emotions. "It must have been some sort of trick."

"Oh, do stop being a fool, Francisco," Lady Marilla snapped, her usually placid face twisted with anger. "I have known Mikhail Hastur for decades, and he is right when he says he is not devious. We have been waiting-you, Javanne and I-for him to do something with his matrix to confirm our basest suspicions, and he has never done so. The temptation must have been incredible." She cast Mikhail a fond look.

"Not really, Lady Marilla. In fact, the greatest temptation I have endured these past fifteen years has been the occasional one to give my mother laryngitis during her visits, since the sound of her voice has long since stopped giving me any pleasure." At this, everyone, except Dom Francisco and Lady Javanne, began to chuckle. The tension broke for the moment, and an air of relief traveled about the chamber.

"And just what do you intend to do about this supposed plot, Mikhail? Would you have us ride into the jaws of death for your sake?" Francisco's words sounded forced and thin.

"You are perfectly welcome to remain in Comyn Castle, or return to the Ridenow Domain, Dom Francisco," Marguerida said with false sweetness, "and I am sure that no one will think any the less of you for trying to save your own skin. And then, if we all get killed by the Terranan, you will have the pleasure of trying to survive while they hunt you down like a dog. Which, if they take over Darkover, they will certainly do."

Francisco Ridenow had the grace to blanch right down to the roots of his pale blond hair, and he glared fiercely at Marguerida. She had managed to imply that he was a coward without actually saying it, and there was nothing he could do about it.

Mikhail looked around the table again. There was a different atmosphere in the chamber than there had been just a few minutes before. The wariness that he was accustomed to feeling from Lady Marilla had departed, and there were other changes as well. Some of the fear and suspicion they felt toward him remained in several minds, but it was no longer as strong. Regis had reassured them, and they had believed him. More, the restraint he had demonstrated for years had finally made an impact. He had said he had only been tempted to silence his difficult mother, even though he had the ability to do much more, and they had believed him.

But there was more to it than a simple change of attitude. With the exception of his mother and Dom Francisco, he realized, these people wanted him to lead them. Regis' death had unsettled them, and they were intelligent enough to know that there must be continuity, and that he was the person to provide it. Regis' last gift to Darkover had been to tell the members of the Comyn Council to follow Mikhail Hastur, his heir. The alternative, everyone knew, was civil war of a kind that had not occurred on Darkover in centuries.

Mikhail experienced a moment of great relief, and also the sense that most of the people in the room were waiting for him to tell them how to proceed. Until this moment he had not realized how greatly everyone's mistrust had weighed on him during the past fifteen years. At last the Comyn would allow him to lead them, and he could only hope that he was worthy of their sudden trust. "I am completely open to suggestions as to how to proceed-even including canceling the funeral train altogether for now."

Dom Gabriel shook his grizzled head slowly. "Not that, son. You can't hide in here like your uncle did. No, we must meet this foe, but make it on our own terms, as much as possible. Indeed, if we can expose this plot for what it is, and embarrass the Federation with it, we will be in a much better position all around, won't we?" He turned to Lew Alton as he asked his question.

"True, and wise, Dom Gabriel, but very difficult to manage. The first thing, I believe, is that we must not take the youngsters along at all-that is too dangerous."

At this, everyone began to speak at once, offering their ideas, except for Francisco and Javanne. Mikhail listened and observed, and found that he was staring at Dom Damon. Something rustled in his mind, like a bit of paper in the wind, some tidbit that Regis had imparted earlier.

Dom Damon was innocent of plotting with the Federation-all he had intended was to try to place Rafael in Mikhail's position! He looked at his brother, the forgotten son, sitting stiffly beside him. It would not have worked, but Dom Damon was not clever enough to understand that. Still, it was a relief to know that while he could not trust the old devil too far, he was not part of the plot to attack the funeral train.

"We should call for Dom Cisco Ridenow," Danilo said, breaking into Mikhail's thoughts. Everyone looked at him. "His expertise will be very useful, I believe."

There were nods of agreement at this, and a look crossed Dom Francisco's face, as if he had been handed a reprieve. Mikhail caught the look as well as the whisper of thought behind it. Beside him, Marguerida was alert, and his brother Rafael, on his other side, turned his head toward the head of the Ridenow Domain with icy interest. Dom Francisco flinched-he had forgotten the absence of the dampers.

Don't worry, Mik-I'll see to it that he doesn't try to kill you himself. As he heard Rafael's angry thought, a kind of clarity began to fill his mind, a sudden, blessed calm, which he could only hope would endure long enough to hammer out a plan. With Marguerida on one side, Rafael on the other, and Donal at his back, he could bring all of his attention toward the immediate threat. Then, with a sickening certainty, he knew that he had been moving toward this moment all his life-not as he had anticipated in his youth, nor planned in early adulthood. Nothing was happening according to his own imaginings-and yet, this was his destiny.

22.

Her dream was filled with an eerie wailing. Katherine reached toward the other side of the bed in her sleep. When her hand touched the empty pillow, she started to wake, and found there were tears on her face. Herm wasn't there, and she thought for a moment her heart would break. Then she remembered that she would be joining him soon, in some little town called Carcosa, and the ache began to subside.

But the sound from her dream had not stopped, and she sat up and pulled her knees up against her chest, hugging them and shivering all over. It was not wailing at all, but something else, something she had never expected to hear again in her life-seapipes, or whatever they called that instrument on Darkover. It was coming from some distance, but the melody carried, and then another pipe took up the tune, mournful and heartbreaking. No wonder she was weeping.

Kate rubbed her face dry on her nightgown and swallowed several times. More and more pipes were joining in now, until, after several minutes, it sounded as if there were thirty or more, playing in every quarter of the city of Thendara. Although she had never heard the melody before, she knew it for a dirge, and it made her ache for Renney. In her mind, she could hear the sea crashing near the old manse where she had grown up, and the sound of seapipes playing at her mother's death rites. She could almost smell salt in the air, so powerful was the evocation of memory and feeling.

A knock on the door of the suite interrupted her before she could completely surrender to the upwelling of emotions. Instantly she felt anxious. Had she slept into the middle of the day or had some terrible thing happened during the night? No, she was sure it was still morning, from the way the light came through the narrow window of her bedroom. Her heart raced as she pushed the covers aside, swung her long legs out, thrust her feet into slippers. The knock came again, sounding urgent, so she did not bother with a robe in the chilly room, but only grabbed a shawl from beside the bed and hurried to answer the door.

Gisela stood there, her arms filled with billows of dark fabric, her face chalky-white and stricken, her hair wild and half escaped from its clasp. There was a mark on one of her cheeks, the start of a bruise, and her eyes were puffy from crying. Without a word, Kate pulled her into the room and put her arms around her sister-in-law, so the pile of textiles was trapped between their chests.

"What is it?"

"I just brought you the clothes for the funeral," Gisela answered, her voice strained.

"No," Kate said, lifting her hand to touch the mark with tender fingers. "What is this? Rafael didn't . . ." She and the children had had dinner in Gisela's suite the night before, and her sister-in-law had not been hurt then. It had been a pleasant meal, much less formal than the lengthy suppers of the previous evenings. Meeting Gisela and Rafael's children, Casilde, the oldest, and the two boys, Damon and Gabriel, had been pleasant, and Terese and Amaury had become quite noisy in the presence of their new cousins.

Gisela looked horrified at this suggestion. "Oh, no! Never. Not even when I deserved it!"

"Who, then? And don't try to tell me you ran into the door or something-someone hit you!"

"Yes." Gisela did not speak further for a few seconds. "My father."

"Your father? But why?" just then Rosalys, the maidservant, appeared from the other end of the suite, where she had a room near the children. "Will you get us some tea, Rosalys, and something to eat?" Kate took the bundle of clothing from Gisela, and held it out. "Please see that these are hung up, too."

"Certainly, domna." The servant gave the two women a curious look, took the garments, then bustled off to attend to the matter.

Kate drew Gisela toward the chairs that were placed around the hearth in the sitting room. The fire had died down overnight, so Katherine added a small log and poked the embers into life. Then she turned around and began to chafe her sister-in-law's icy hands. She felt a callus which had begun to form across the right palm, where Gisela held her carving knife, and saw a tiny cut on one slender finger as well. A single tear swelled in one of Gisela's eyes and rolled down her cheek. "Will you tell me what happened?" She brushed away the tear with her fingers, then drew off her shawl and draped it around the shoulders of the other woman.

Huddled in the chair, Gisela just shuddered. Then she looked up and said in a small voice "I did not know where to go." And then, in a stronger tone, she added, "And I don't want any damned tea!"

"Oh." Kate glanced around the room, hearing the wailing pipes from outside the castle, and the soft sigh of the morning wind. Then she saw that there was a tray with a carafe of firewine and several glasses sitting on the table. She walked over, poured a glass, and brought it back to her sister-in-law. Gisela gulped it down in a few swallows, gasped, and began to cough.

Katherine pounded her between the shoulders until the fit passed, and the color began to return to Giz's cheeks. "Another glass?" A nod answered her. This time Gisela only sipped from it, then leaned back into the comforting chair and gave a long sigh.

"I haven't seen him like this in years," she began. "Whatever happened at the Council meeting yesterday put him in a fury, and somehow it was all my fault."

Katherine felt confused. "But you weren't even there-we were in my studio! They were all at that meeting, weren't they, your father and everyone, and they never came back for dinner."

Gisela gave a bitter laugh. "I hadn't told him that Mikhail and Rafael were reconciled, mostly because it wasn't any of his business. So he went to the Crystal Chamber all ready to propose that since Mikhail was not acceptable to all of the Council, then my husband should be instead. As near as I can tell, he never even got to suggest it before some sort of hell broke loose. I don't know exactly what happened, but the trap matrices in the chamber were smashed to bits, and there was a lot of shouting and table pounding. I am so glad I was with you!"

"I am, too." Kate had no idea what a trap matrix was, but it sounded frightening. There were so many things she did not know, and more she could not understand. "Rafael didn't tell you . . ."

"I haven't seen him, Kate. All I know is that everyone on the Council was in the Crystal Chamber until very late, and that after that, Rafael went off on some errand for Mikhail. He sent me a note." The wine seemed to have invigorated her a little, and some color was returning to her unnaturally pale skin.

"When did you see your father, then?"

"About two hours ago-he came slamming into the suite, dragged me up out of bed, and started screaming at me. That woke the children, and Gabriel tried to make him let me go, and got tossed on the floor. It was horrible, with the children screaming and my father shaking me by the shoulders and . . ." She stopped, drew a shuddering breath, and tried to calm herself. "I had taken a draught before bed, and I was so tired. He never told me that I was supposed to keep Rafael and Mikhail at odds, Kate! I don't know if I would have if I could. But, thinking it all over, I suppose that the reason he had me trying to get Regis to change his heir designate, all those years back, was just to make trouble between them. I feel like such a fool!" Gisela broke into fresh tears.

"Why? The only fool in this seems to be Dom Damon. He used you, Giz, and you fell into his plans without realizing clearly what it might mean. But, if there is any blame, I think Dom Damon deserves the larger portion." Kate could almost feel the waves of near-hysteria that were flowing from Gisela, and she was very glad that Marguerida had suggested the idea of empathy to her, or otherwise she might have felt she was going mad herself. And she wanted nothing but to make it cease-immediately. It was nearly a physical sensation-like being pricked by invisible knifepoints.

She had taken an almost immediate dislike to her father-in-law when she had met him at last the night after Herm left, and had come to the conclusion that one reason her husband had left was to avoid encountering the man. Now she was ready to hate him without reservation for upsetting Gisela and hurting her.

The sobs subsided slowly. Gisela mopped her wet face with a rather soiled hankerchief, then gulped down the rest of her glass of wine. "There is that, but it doesn't make me feel very much less dreadful and guilty. When I saw Mik and Rafael embrace three days ago, I was so happy for both of them. And when Rafael went to the Council meeting, after years of being excluded because of me, I was glad. Then my damn father had to try to ruin everything, and when he failed, he . . . punched me in the face." She lifted her empty hand and gingerly touched the bruise. "He called me terrible things, and I just wanted to kill him, Kate!"

"I'm so sorry, breda. " The sense of being assaulted was fading now, and Kate was less uncomfortable.

"I should have. Mikhail would probably have given me a prize if I had."

"Maybe." She was glad Gisela had not murdered her father, even if he deserved it. She sat down in the chair across from the other woman, pushed her unbound hair off her shoulders, and shook her head in wonder. "Are things always this . . . dramatic?"

"Oh, no," Gisela said solemnly. "Sometimes nothing happens for years and years."

"Then I suppose they were saving it up for my arrival," Kate answered dryly. She hated raised voices and arguments but realized that the entire castle was full of people in the midst of a serious dispute. For a moment, Katherine wished she were back in the small apartment she and Herm had occupied, on an overcrowded world where everyone was very careful to be polite, lest the peace officers cite them with a civil violation and fine them. Or back on Renney, with the smell of the sea. The feeling passed, leaving her a little forlorn.