Traitor's Sun (53 page)

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 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 going on doing what is right, and I will do the dirty work. We will come out of this mess, somehow.”

D
omenic’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 under-gown, 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.

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.

“All of your people are in the local lockup, and unlikely to be released for some time to come,” he answered, pitching his voice carefully. It was a thing he had trained himself to do, in order to keep his foster sister Alanna from her all too frequent bouts of fury, a calming use of the command voice.

“Why? We did nothing wrong.”

Domenic could sense that she was less angry now, but still intractable. What a stubborn girl! She reminded him somewhat of Alanna, except that there was nothing about her of the boiling confusion he always sensed from his cousin. Instead there was a certain single-mindedness to her, as if when she got hold of an idea, nothing could make her let go. “Come on. Let’s go sit in the taproom and talk for a while. The fire is still going in there, and we can be comfortable.”

“I don’t want to talk to anyone,” she snarled. Despite her angry words, she turned and walked into the taproom, shivering a little. It was chilly in the hall, and in bare feet, she probably felt it more than he did. Domenic followed her, and they sat down in front of the grate, where the embers of the previous night’s fire still glowed. Gregor plopped a small log onto the irons, then withdrew at Nico’s gesture.