Once they were out of the carriage, Domenic did not release his hold on her, but kept his arm around her, as if he knew she would collapse if he let go. Then Mikhail swept both of them into his arms, and she leaned her head against his broad shoulder. The three of them stood there, surrounded by armed men, and the cries of the injured. Something was missing, and after a moment of flogging her tired brain, Marguerida realized that the sound of blaster fire was gone.

Reluctantly, Mikhail released her. "How did that man get into the carriage?" he demanded, his voice angry but sure.

"He broke through our ranks and then fell to the ground, vai dom. We . . . I thought he was dead, and there was so much going on . . ."

"I see," Mikhail answered, unconsciously mimicking a tone that Regis had used when he was displeased. He glanced around at the bodies of both Terranan and Darkovans that were scattered across the ground. "He was a bit cleverer than his friends. Are you all right now, caria?" There was a curt quality to his voice, one she had never heard him use before, and she gave him a sharp look. Then she realized that he was holding himself together by will alone, and that he needed her to be strong.

"Yes, Mik, I am better now." She lied, and knew it. He probably knew it as well, but he just nodded and gave her a firm squeeze on the shoulder. Nico was still beside her, his arm around her waist, and she looked into his face. It was the same familiar one she knew so well, but he was not the same person who had greeted her a few hours before in Carcosa. The boy was gone forever. Now he was a man. She felt grief, a stab of loss, for a moment, and wished she could call back the innocent child she loved. But it was too late for that.

The sky overhead went dark, and Marguerida looked up, to find the sun shadowed by great black clouds. The wind quickened, gusting around them, fanning the flames on the hillside. Something darker than the clouds came out of the sky, a jagged mass of movement. Carrion crows, a flock of hundreds of the birds, swooped down from the heavens, drawn by the smell of blood and death from who knew where. One, bolder than the rest, hopped down onto the body of the man that Nico had killed and darted a sharp beak into the soft flesh of the face.

Then the storm hit, and rain began to sweep across the devastation on the road and the hillside beyond it. The wind drove the rain against her skin, and she was drenched almost at once. It moved quickly, the wind pushing the torrent forward in a steady line, a downpour that lasted a mercifully brief time before beginning to slacken off. It soaked the burning trees, the dead and the living, washed the blood from the ground, and then scudded away to the east, leaving behind only a few sporadic showers. The fires were out, and a good thing they were, for the survivors had no stamina left to battle a raging forest fire.

"Father, there are still some people up at the top of the hill."

Mikhail nodded, rain dripping off his face. He turned around and found his brother Rafael and Donal at his back, soaked and silent as shadows. "Rafael, will you take charge of rounding up the survivors? Your Terran is good enough to manage, I think. Get them sorted out as fast as you can. We'll send them back to Thendara with the wounded."

"Why don't we just leave them to die of lung fever?" Rafael Lanart-Hastur was only half jesting. "No, I suppose that would be barbaric."

"There is still a flyer up there, and if they gather their wits, they can escape," Nico told his uncle.

"I saw a flyer leave just before the fighting started," Marguerida said, her voice almost as rough as the caw of the carrion crows that were trying to get at the bodies of the dead.

"That was Vancof, Mother. I caught his thoughts as he took off-he killed Granfell and left for HQ." Nico shuddered. "What a horrid mind he has."

Rafael turned and signaled to some of the Guards, then walked away and started up the ruined hillside. The rain had put out the fires, and there were dozens of bodies visible now. Marguerida watched them, remote and unfeeling for a moment.

Marguerida! The sharp intrusion of Lew Alton was like a slap in the face. Are you all right?

I wish people would stop asking me that! No, but I am alive, and so are Mikhail and Domenic.

That is very good to know, daughter. If anything had happened . . .

A great many things happened, Father, but I am too tired to tell you right now. She tried to order her brain into rational thought. There will be several carriages of captives and wounded coming into Thendara later. Including Francisco-he tried to kill Mikhail, the damn fool!

He what? No, don't tell me. It will keep. I will see to everything at this end, child. Be safe and come back to me as soon as you can.

I will, Farther. If this nightmare ever ends.

Marguerida felt the contact with her father terminate, and turned to her husband. She reached out and slipped her unmatrixed hand through his arm. They stood, shoulder to shoulder in the drizzling rain, silent and lost in their separate thoughts. At last he turned and looked into her face, and she saw a peculiar light in his eyes that had never been there before.

"I never imagined how terrible battle could be," he said gruffly, as if he was almost ashamed of his feelings. "And I will never forgive the Federation for this cowardly attack."

Marguerida shook her head. "It wasn't the Federation, Mik. It was a few men with more ambition than good sense. And speaking of cowardly attacks, let's not forget Dom Francisco."

He groaned softly, and tears began to trickle from the corners of his eyes. "I can't bear to think about that betrayal right now!" He swallowed several times, trying to bring himself to speak, as if he could not stand to be silent but had no words. At last he managed, "I never thought I would use my powers . . . the way I did. I turned men into dead things, bare of any dignity. And other men, good men I have known for much of my life, died to keep me alive. I don't know if I can live with what I did, Marguerida."

"Mik . . ."

Having begun, Mikhail could not stop the anguished words. "I never really understood why Regis feared me, why my own mother and those others . . . now I do. And it is breaking my heart. I never should have brought . . ."

Marguerida understood, but she knew that she could not let her husband continue in this way. Later, they would both sort out the pain within them, but not now! "Stop it! You did what had to be done, Mikhail."

"Did I? Did I really? Are you sure I was not just trying to prove myself or some other . . ."

"Mikhail Hastur-you are a good man and you will make a fine ruler for Darkover, but not if you tear yourself to pieces over things that it is too late to change."

"Donal was right in the end." The tears had stopped slipping down his cheeks and he seemed calmer.

Marguerida stared at her husband, bewildered and trying to make sense of his words, her mind confused by his sudden change of mood. "What?"

"Kill them all and let the gods sort it out," came the voice of the young paxman, still standing nearby. Domenic cast a look of admiration at his kinsman and the start of a grin played across his face.

Mikhail's shoulders slumped for a second, and then he straightened his spine and looked almost serene, as if he had passed through some inner conflict. "None of us will ever forget this day," he whispered. "As long as I am alive, I will remember what I did and why-but it hurts, caria." I am heartsick and tired, but I must not hesitate. I have a world to protect, and I swear that I will do so, no matter how great the cost. I only pray that I am not taking on more than I can endure.

26.

The following day dawned chill and cheerless. After a silent breakfast of hot porridge and fried cakes, the much diminished funeral train set out from Halstad. The little village about six miles beyond the site of the battle had been stunned at the incursion of almost two hundred people the night before, and it had been almost amusing to watch them scurry around, attempting to provide accommodations for so many. The inn had only three sleeping rooms in it, and lacked many of the other amenities of the Crowing Cock, including the bathing room. Instead, Halstad used a communal facility for the entire village. Far into the night the weary travelers had taken their turns, washing away the stench of sweat, ash and blood from their bodies, while the dazed villagers brought loads of firewood to keep the tubs warm.

It had been a numb evening, punctuated by brief attempts at conversation which trailed off in mid-sentence, as if the speakers could not recall what they intended to say. Dom Gabriel had drawn Domenic to his side, and kept him close, with Illona always near him. The safety of his other grandfather had begun to ease the roil of his emotions, to release the horror of killing a man. Domenic was sure it should not bother him as much as it did-the man had been an enemy and a stranger. But, it did, and after an hour, he had decided that his feelings were probably natural rather than morbid. Slaying another was not a casual act. He thought of Vancof, who had killed the nameless fellow in Carcosa, then Granfell just before the battle, without, it seemed, the least hesitation. It likely did not bother the man's conscience at all. No, it was better to sorrow over the dead soldier than to pretend it had not mattered.

Domenic was aware that he was not alone in his confused emotions, for everyone around him was experiencing something very similar. His father was the worst, wracking himself with a kind of savage guilt that made the young man cringe each time he caught the edge of his thoughts. He had killed one person, but Mikhail had slain dozens. How much more terrible it must be for him!

Sleep had helped, crowded into a wide bed with Dani, Danilo, Dom Gabriel and Uncle Rafael. Illona had gone with Rafaella, to sleep with the Renunciates in their tents, and he suspected she was glad to be out of doors rather than within the crowded inn. Mercifully, he had not dreamed of the dead soldier, or if he had, he did not remember it.

But Domenic was hardly refreshed as he rode beside his mother, on a better horse than the one Herm had brought him at the start of their sad adventure. He was already missing his new uncle, who had gone back to Thendara with the rest of the wounded, the captured techs and surviving soldiers. He was still unsettled, and although his mood was not as bleak as the previous night, Nico could sense the inner darkness lurking in the corners of his mind, waiting to emerge. It would take a great deal more than food, rest, and dry clothes to ease the impact of a blade thrust into living flesh.

The road curved to the west now, and beside it there were huge stands of trees, hardwoods and conifers. He breathed in the scents of the woodland, and tried to listen to the calls of the birds or the rustling of small animals. Instead, all he could hear was the rough sound of the air in his lungs, and the subtle groan of the world. He wanted to get off his horse, put his feet on the ground, and fall into a trance with the incredible murmur of the earth-to forget everything that had happened to him since he had sneaked out of Comyn Castle.

Part of him was very glad he had discovered the plot against his father, but another portion of his mind sincerely wished he had continued to be a dutiful son and stayed home. Domenic knew he had done well, had kept his head in a tricky situation. He had saved his father's life, and he was now a man. Still, he felt miserable inside, and it was not just because he had killed a man. The night before he had assumed it was only that, but as he looked at the trees, he realized that there was a great deal more bothering him than murder.

But what? A niggle of thought was trying to force itself up from the depths of his mind, and after a minute, Domenic realized he was trying very hard to avoid it-that he was pushing whatever it was down with as much energy as he could muster. What thought could cause him such anguish?

Then, as if he had surrendered by merely asking himself the question, realization blossomed in his mind. He did not want the future which lay ahead of him-to return to Thendara, to live in Comyn Castle, and prepare to wait out the decades until he assumed his father's position. As deeply as he loved his parents, the idea of spending every day with them for what felt like an eternity was unbearable. But, he had to do his duty, didn't he?

It was more than a sudden rebellion. He had been trying for months to find some way out of the prison that Comyn Castle had come to be. Ever since he had begun hearing the voice of the world, he had wanted to be in another place, somewhere very quiet perhaps, without the constant bickering of the only home he had ever known. But Mikhail would never permit him to go away, would he?

His chest ached, and Domenic noticed that he was holding his breath. He released his lungs and drew the sweet, clean air into him, almost gasping. Marguerida gave him an inquiring look but did not speak. Instead she waited for him, as she often did, to tell her what was the matter.

His mind raced, trying to find some starting point, so he would not sound like a whining child. Instead, his thoughts dashed off in what felt like several unrelated directions, leaving him more confused than he had ever been in his life. What was he doing-what was he supposed to do? Duty warred with desire, making the previous day's battle seem unimportant by comparison. And then he knew, as if the doubts had never existed, that his future was his own to choose. Domenic went from uncertainty to sureness between two breaths, and the oppressive weight that had plagued him vanished as if it had never been.

He had to discover why he could hear the heart of the world burning, why his laran was so different from anyone else's. It was so simple-why hadn't he understood sooner? It did not matter that he was the heir, that he had duties and obligations to his father. He was possessed by a greater duty, to the entire planet.

An astonishing bubble of laughter rose in his chest. What vanity! He was only a boy, really, and he had no business even thinking about abandoning his obligations for a hut in the woods. That was ridiculous! And yet . . . and yet . . .

No, not a woodland retreat, not for him. He would not last out the winter on his own, and he knew it. But there must be somewhere he could find to sort out all the muddle in his mind and heart, where he would not always be yearning for his tempestuous cousin Alanna and subject to the fury of his grandmother. But where?

Nico frowned for a second. Then his brow cleared, and once again the answer was obvious. There was a place where he could study and contemplate, and he was annoyed that it had not occurred to him sooner. He would go to Neskaya, for surely, if anyone could help him puzzle out this mystery, it must be Istvana Ridenow. But how was he going to get his mother to agree to such a plan? She was so glad to have him safely back, her first and most beloved child, and she would resist another separation with all the will she possessed. And his father would as well, he suspected.

Domenic glanced at her, and found she was still waiting for him to speak, that her golden eyes were watching him tenderly. He saw the lines along her mouth, her sorrow and tension, her grief at Regis' passing, and at the deaths of both the Darkovans and the Terranan the previous day. He marked the stubborn line of her jaw, and felt himself hesitate again. She was a loyal ally and a fearsome opponent. But he had to try to convince her, and it must be now. It would not wait for a more convenient moment, or another time. He took a long, deep calming breath.

Mother, I am not going back to Thendara.

What? Don't be silly, Nico-what are you talking about! Haven't you had enough excitement for the moment? She seemed a bit surprised by his announcement, and underneath it there was a sense of irritation. He felt dismissed, a child speaking childish things, and it angered him a little. He gritted his teeth and forced himself to restrain his mild anger-he would make her listen and understand!

It is not a matter of excitement, because I think the last few days will last me for a lifetime. But I can't go back to Comyn Castle and be shut an again.

Nico, no one is going to shut you in. That was Regis' way, and it is not your father's. What has gotten into you?

Mother, you just don't understand!

Of course I don't-mothers never understand. I remember telling Dio that she didn't, but I thank now she just knew better than I did what was best for me, Domenic. Things are much too unsettled for now for you to start traipsing around Darkover. The mental tone was patient and indulgent at the same time.

I have no intention of traipsing anywhere. What I want is to go to Neskaya and study with Istvana. Aunt Rafi and some of her sisters can guide me there, right after we bury Uncle Regis. And I will take Illona with me, because she must get some training, and she is not going to cooperate with people she does not know. She trusts me, I think, and will come along with me. That was an idea that popped into his mind without warning, and all he could say about it was that it felt right.

Hold your horses, young man! If you want to study with Istvana, we can have her return . . . but you can just put any idea of gallivanting off out of . . .

Mother, I will not go back to Thendara!

Nico, I am much too tired to have this discussion right now. I don't know why you are- This as not a discussion-it is a demand. And of you refuse to let me do what I feel I must, then I will just run away at the first opportunity. He wasn't certain of this, but it sounded like a good threat.

Yes, I suppose you might try to do that. She turned away and her shoulders slumped a little. And you might even succeed. Why, Nico, why?

I must have some peace and quiet! I cannot endure another day of endless bickering and petty jealousies. Domenic could feel his control slipping away, his fear and anger destroying his discipline. At the same time, the murmur in the heart of the world begin to resound in his mind's ear, familiar and almost comforting. The volume seemed to increase, and for a brief moment he was aware of nothing but the creaks and groans of the planet. Peace and quiet might be an impossible goal, but he was sure that if he didn't discover why and how he heard these things, and soon, he would cease to function. He was not even certain that Neskaya was the best place to go, but Istvana was reknowned for her innovative techniques, and he trusted her. It was the only idea he could come up with at the moment.

Why should you be spared what the rest of us have to endure, son? Be reasonable. We have to settle a great many things, and you will be needed at your father's side. Next spring, perhaps, if you still feel the same way, or the year after. This is not the best time.

Mother, if I wait for a best time, I will be in my dotage! There is never going to be a good tune for me to do what I know I must do, and I am not going to argue about it. If you and Father will not let me do this, then I will take off on my own! And likely break my neck in a mountain pass or something equally fatal!

Marguerida turned and glared at him. Aren't you being rather dramatic?

Domenic was enraged by this remark, and his heart pounded in his chest. Sweat popped out from his forehead, in spite of the chill of the day, and he had to force himself not to start to shake. He had to make her see! Without considering the consequences, he deepened the rapport with his mother, and allowed the steady roar ringing in his mind to reach her. Unprepared, Marguerida gasped and swayed in her saddle, then clutched her forehead, dropping the reins against the horse's neck.

He reached out and grasped her arm before she could fall, while he pulled back the surge of energy, a mixture of anger and the noise of the world. It was almost too much for him, trying to master so many diverse things at once, and he was ashamed of himself for losing control. Mikhail turned and reached out to steady his wife from the other side, looking puzzled and concerned.

"What is it, caria?"

"Nothing. Nothing. Just a slight giddiness. I am fine." She plucked up the reins again, righted herself firmly in the saddle, and gave Domenic a look that would have turned him to stone only a few weeks before. What the hell did you do? What was that . . .?

I am not absolutely sure what at is, Mother. But if I don't find out, I'll lose my mind.

Marguerida bent her head and fell into a silent reverie. At last she announced with an air of resignation, I know that sound, although I only heard it once before, and much more distantly.

You know what it is? He was amazed, and vastly relieved at the same time. How could she know?

Yes, I do. It is the heart of the world, seething and roaring. Oh, Nico! I touched it once, long ago, before you were even conceived, and only for a moment, although it felt like much longer. Do you hear it all the time?

Mostly. Sometimes it is fainter than now, but it seems to have been getting louder lately. I was afraid to tell you, that you would think I was insane.

Is this what has been disturbing you? I just thought it was your feelings for Alanna . . . I feel rather foolish, son. Her mind seemed to clear, as if she was discarding everything irrelevant in a rush of concentration, holding back a tendril of fear that tried to claim her.

You mean that you misjudged me? Well, I do have feelings for Alanna, and they do nearly drive me mad, but I am sane enough to understand the difference between a hopeless desire and what is possible. Being near her makes it harder, because I have to commit so much energy to keeping my lusts in order that I have less to use for . . . this heart of the world stuff. I have loved Alanna since I was a child, but I have always known that no matter how I felt, she could never be anything except a beloved sister and cousin. More, I understand that having been raised with her, my feelings might not be exactly what I imagine them to be simply because I haven't met very many girls who were not my relatives. I need to be away from Alanna, for her sake and mine, and I must be away from Grandmother Javanne and all the rest of them, too!

You are much wiser than I suspected, son, and that makes me feel very old, Nico. And inadequate. I feel as if I have missed several important things, that I was not paying you sufficient attention. Arilinn will not do?

No. I don't think so. Istvana has known me since I was in diapers, Mother, and there is no one I can imagine who is better equipped to help me learn about this part of myself. Even Valenta Elhalyn does not have the experience to guide me, and there is no one else at Arilinn that I can think of who might be able to understand what this new . . . new Gift is. I might be able to move mountains, although I surely hope that is not the case.

Goodness! That hadn't even crossed my mind! A new Gift. Yes, I can see now. We can't have you cracking the foundation stones of Arilinn, can we?

That is not nearly as funny as you think it is, Mother!

Now, Nico, after all these years, you must know that my first response to any crisis is to make jokes. How severe you can be. I think I do not know who you are anymore, which is a terrible admission for a mother to have to make. Very well. We will send you to Neskaya, although I doubt that Istvana will thank me for it, and you can take Illona with you. I was foreseeing trying to foster her, and to be entirely honest, I was not looking forward to it.

Domenic felt her organize her thoughts with an abruptness that was rather startling to observe. Had she always been so ruthless? Probably-he was her child, and he had never really thought about all the decisions she must have made over the decades, the adult choices that he was only now starting to understand, and he knew she must have always possessed this keenness of mind and spirit. And will you explain it to Father?

Hmm . . . I am tempted to make you do that yourself, but Mikhail has so many other things on his mind at present that he would not listen as well as he might. Yes, I will tell him. It is going to break his heart a little, son, for he feels he has lost you already to Hermes, and to lose you again to Istvana will be a hard blow.

Lost me to Uncle Herm?

I'll explain it to you another time, Nico. Now, let me have some quiet, so I can marshal my arguments.

Yes, Mother-and thank you!

You are a good son, Domenic-the best. I would do anything for you except what . . . you have just asked of me. I would rather give you a moon than let you . . . Marguerida gave a gusty sigh and he saw that she, was blinking tears away fiercely. His father's was not the only heart that looked to be rent, and for a moment, he wished he had not chosen the course he had. Then the feeling passed, and he rode on, at ease for the first time in months.

The strange pink grass that grew around the rhu fead shimmered with dew, and the large yew trees that stood like sentinals nearby rustled in the wind. Beyond the grass, Domenic could see the shifting coils of Lake Hali, where he had gestated in his mother's womb, for the first time in his life. It was eerie, and the people standing beneath the solemn trees and on the ever-rosy grass were uncomfortable.

The long wagon which had carried Regis' bier from Thendara had been rolled close to the building itself, a modest structure of stone on which no moss gathered nor ivy twined. Between the tall yews and the shrine there were a number of mounds, also covered with the remarkable pink grass. Close to the building, they had sunk down into the earth, while those farther away were more prominent. No gravestones stood at the head of the mounds, but these were the graves of the Hasturs, centuries of rulers immured in earthy anonymity.

At the far end of the row of mounds, one stood out, barely sunken yet. Even though no one had told her, Marguerida knew this was the resting place of Danvan Hastur, the grandfather of Regis, dead for nearly half a century. Beside it, the earth had been opened, and there was a deep hole, waiting for the most recent arrival. She had an eerie feeling, looking at the unmarked burial places, knowing that Mikhail would one day be laid there to become part of the mystery that was Hali.

She trembled, remembering how near he had come to joining his uncle beneath the grass. In all the hectic activity on the road, Marguerida had managed to put the traitorous attack of Francisco Ridenow out of her mind, but now it returned, playing in her mind's eye like a terrible dream. True, not a hair of her husband's head had been touched, but the nearness of death made her think of what might have happened. And he had spared the man's life, which was right and merciful, but was going to create a difficult problem in the future. Clearly Dom Francisco could not be allowed to continue as head of the Ridenow Domain-Cisco would take his place-but then what?

Marguerida forced herself to stop trying to find the future-it would manifest itself no matter what she did or thought. Instead, she turned her attention back to her surroundings. Guardsmen stood on the rosy grass arrayed in a long rank on either side of the coffin. The wind rustled the yews, making a pleasant sound, and somewhere a bird sang a haunting melody. Everything seemed very still, as if time itself was waiting.

She watched Mikhail, his eyes red with weeping, grasp the handle on one side of the coffin at the front while Danilo Syrtis-Ardais took the other. Behind them, Donal Alar and Dom Danilo Hastur lifted the back, and together, the four men moved away from the wagon toward the open grave. The wind shifted, and the scent of Lake Hali drifted across the ancient site, cooling her cheeks and bringing back memories of another time.

Marguerida watched the white-clad Servants of Aldones follow them. They were the same men who had officiated at the public ceremony two days before, and she knew they had left Thendara as soon as their duties were done, and had returned to Hali well ahead of the funeral train, without encountering any troubles. She envied them the quiet of their journey.

When the pallbearers reached the freshly dug grave, they shifted their stances slightly. Bracing their feet against the soft ground, they carefully lowered the coffin into the hole. She could see their muscles straining as they hefted their weighty burden. Then they knelt and bowed their heads as the Servants moved forward.

The first Servant advanced, a young man scarcely older than Domenic. He bore a silver basin in one hand and a bunch of flowers in the other. Solemnly he dipped the heads of the flowers into the water and flicked glistening drops over the coffin.