Traitor's Sun (76 page)

T
he 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.

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!

Of course I don’t—mothers never understand. I remember telling Dio that she didn’t, but I think 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.

This is not a discussion—it is a demand. And if 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.

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 . . . ?

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.