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The home of the Altons was a great gray rambling structure, too low for a castle, too imposing to be ahouse. He found himself fitting into the place easily, riding with Kennard, helping him train his huntingdogs, learning to shoot with the curiously shaped crossbows they used for sport, savoring the strangenessof the life he lived. It was all very interesting, but certainly nothing that he could tell Reade which might beof benefit to the Terrans—and he was glad of it. He hadn’t liked the idea of being what amounted to aspy.

Mostly the days were too full for much introspection, but sometimes when he was in bed at night, hefound himself wondering why the invitation had been issued in the first place. He liked Kennard, theywere friends, but would that alone cause Valdir Alton to ignore the long tradition on Darkover of ignoringthe Terrans?

He found himself wondering if Valdir’s reason for issuing the invitation were not very much the same as Reade’s reason for wanting Larry to accept it—that Valdir just wanted to know something about the Terrans, close up.

He was, by now, used to riding, and a three-day hunt had been arranged partly for his benefit. He hadmanaged to shoot well enough to bring down a small rabbitlike beast on the first day, which had beencooked over the campfire that evening, and he was proud of that, even though it was the only thing hehad hit during the long hunt.

At the top of the hill he drew even with Kennard, and they sat breathing their horses, side by side,looking across the valley.

“It’s nice up here,” Kennard said at last. “I used to ride this way fairly often, a couple of seasons ago. Father feels that now it’s too dangerous for me to come alone.” He gestured at their escort, Darkovans Larry did not know: one a well-dressed young redhead from a nearby estate, the others men from the Alton farms, workmen of various sorts. One was in the uniform of the Guards, but Kennard himself was wearing old riding-clothes, slightly too small for him.

“Dangerous? Why?”

“It’s too near the edge of the forests,” Kermard said, “and during the last few seasons, trailmen have spread down into these forests. Usually they stay in the hills. They’re not really dangerous, but they don’t like humans, and we stay out of their way, as a rule. Then, too, this is on the border of mountain country, and men from the Cahuengas—”

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He broke off, stiffening in his saddle, looking intently across the valley.

“What is it, Kennard?” Larry asked.

The Darkovan boy pointed. Larry could see nothing, but Kennard called to his father, a shrill insistentshout, and Valdir turned his horse and came cantering back.

“What’s wrong, Ken?”

“Smoke. The mist lifted just for a minute, over there—” Kennard pointed, “and I saw it. Right at the

edge of the Ranger station.”

Valdir frowned, narrowing his eyes, shading them with his thin brown hand. “How sure are you? It’s agood hour’s ride out of our way—damn this mist, I can’t see anything.” He flung back his head like adeer sniffing the wind, peering into the distance, and finally nodded.

“A trace of smoke. We’ll ride and check.” He glanced at Larry. “I hope you don’t mind the extra

riding.”

“Not at all, but I hope nothing’s wrong, Lord Alton.”

“So do I,” Valdir said, his brows drawn down with worry, and touched his horse’s flank with a light heel. They were off down the trail, the sound of hoofs making a dull clamor on the leaves underfoot. As they neared the bottom of the valley, the mist lifted slightly and the men pointed and shouted. Larry’s nostrils twitched at a faint, acrid whiff of strange smoke. The sun had swung southward, and they were turning their horses up a widened trail that led to the top of a little hill, when Valdir Alton let out a great curse, rising in his stirrups and pointing; then he clapped his heels to his horse’s side and vanished over the top of the rise. Kennard spurred after him, and Larry, urging his horse forward, felt a surge of excitement and fear as he followed. He came over the rise in the road and heard Kennard cry out in consternation; he pulled up his horse and looked down, in dismay, at a grove of trees from which black smoke was coiling upward.

Kennard slid from his horse and began to run. The man in the Guardsman’s uniform called to him anddrew his crossbow up to rest, and Larry realized, with a shiver, that they were all looking warily at thesurrounding trees. What might lie behind them?

Valdir leaped from his saddle; the other men followed suit, and Larry slid down with the rest. Thedeathly silence seemed more ominous because it was cut through with the soft chirping of birds from adistance, twittering in the grove.

Then Kennard called; he was kneeling in the road beside what Larry thought to be a gray boulder, buthe put out his hand to turn it and Larry, his stomach cramping in horror, saw that it was the hunched bodyof a man in a gray cloak.

Valdir bent over the man; straightened. Larry stood frozen, looking down at death. He had never seen adead body before, let alone the body of a man dead by violence. The dead man was young, little morethan a boy, a shadow of thin beard on his face. A great wound in his chest gaped black and bloody. Hehad been dead some time.

Kennard was looking pale. Larry turned away, feeling faint and sick, and struggling not to show it, as

Valdir turned away from the dead man.

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“Cahuenga—his cloak is Cahuenga from the far hills,” he said, “but boots and belt are from Hyalis. A raider—but no beacon flared when this station was attacked.” He stepped warily around the corpse. The Guardsman shouted, “Don’t go up there alone, Lord Alton!” and, sliding from his saddle, crossbow lowered, ran to follow him. Kennard followed, and Larry, as if compelled, ran after them.

A blackened ruin, still smoking, showed the vague outline of a building. On a little stretch of green at oneside lay the crumpled body of a man. When Kennard and Larry reached Valdir’s side, Valdir wasalready kneeling beside the body. After one glance, Larry turned away from the glazed, pain-ridden eyes;the man was bleeding from a great gash across his side, and from his lips a little dark-flecked foam stirredwith his rasping breath.

Over the inert body the other Darkovan aristocrat looked at Valdir; gripped the limp wrist. His foreheadwas ridged with dismay. Valdir, looking up, said, “He must speak before he dies, Rannirl. And he’s dyinganyway.”

Rannirl’s mouth was set. He nodded, fumbled at his belt, and from a leather wallet drew forth a small,blue-glazed vial stoppered with silver. Handling it carefully, and keeping his own face free of the smallfumes that coiled up from the open mouth of the vial, he measured a few cautious drops in the cap: Valdirforced the man’s mouth open and Rannirl let the fuming liquid fall on the man’s tongue. After a moment agreat shudder ran through the frame of the dying man, and the eyes fluttered.

His voice sounded harsh, far away. “
 
Vai dom
—we did what we could—the beacon—fire—”

Valdir gripped the limp hands, his face terrible and intent. There was something in his hands, somethingthat glittered cold and blue; he pressed it to the dying man’s forehead, and Larry saw that it was a clearblue jewel. Valdir said, “Do not spend your strength in speaking, Garin, or you will die before I learnwhat I must know. Form your thought clearly while you can, and I will understand. And forgive me,friend. You may save many lives with this torment.” He bent close to the dying face, his own features agrim mask, lighted blue as the strange jewel suddenly flared and burned as if with inner flame. A spasm ofterrible anguish passed over the dying Ranger’s face; he shuddered twice and lay still, and Valdir, with apainful sigh, released his hands and straightened up. His own forehead was beaded with sweat; heswayed, and Kennard leaped to steady his father.

After a minute Valdir passed his hand over his wet brow, and spoke: “They didn’t sell their livescheaply,” he said. “There were a dozen men; they came from the North, and hacked Balhar to pieceswhile he was trying to reach the beacon and set it aflame. He thought at first that they were Cahuenga,but two were tall pale men who were hooded almost like the
 
kyrri
 
, and one was masked. He saw themsignal; they carried a mirror-flash device of some sort. After he fell, Garin saw them ride away northwardtoward the Kadarin.”

Rannirl whistled softly. “If they could spare so many to prevent one beacon being lighted—this doesn’tlook like a few bandits out after a raid on the farms in the valley!”

Valdir swore. “There aren’t enough of us to go after them,” he said, “and we’ve only hunting weapons. And Zandru alone knows what other devil’s work has been done along here. Kennard”—he turned tohis son—“go and light the beacon, at least. Quickly! Garin tried to crawl there, when they had left him fordead, but his strength failed—” His voice went thin in his throat; he bent and covered the dead face withthe Ranger’s cloak.

“He didn’t fight me,” he said. “Even for a man weakened with many wounds and after a dose of that

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devil’s drug of yours, Rannirl, that takes a rare kind of courage.”

He sighed, then, recovering himself, told two of the workmen to bury the dead Rangers. The sound ofmattock and pick rang dully in the grove; after a few minutes, Kennard came running back.

“No way to light the beacon, father. Those devils took the time to drench it with water, just in case!”

Valdir swore, again, moodily, biting his lip. “The people along the valley should be warned, andsomeone should track them and find which way. We can’t go to all four winds at once!” He stood for amoment, scowling, thoughtful. “If we had enough men we might take them at the fords, or if we couldwarn the countryside by beacon—”

Abruptly he seemed to come to a decision.

“There aren’t enough of us to follow them, and they’ve too big a head start in any case. But this probably means a good-sized raid. We’ve got to warn the people in the valley—and we can find a tracker there who can get on their trail and follow it better than we could. Nothing’s likely to happen before night.” He glanced up at the sun, trembling crimson at the zenith. “The hunt’s over; we’ll eat a bite and then start back. Kennard, you and Larry—” he hesitated. “I’d like to send you both back to Armida, but you can’t cross this country by yourselves. You’ll have to ride with us.” He looked at Larry. “It may mean some hard riding, I’m afraid.”

The men had finished burying the Rangers; Valdir vetoed making a cookfire, directing the men to getcold food from their saddlebags. They sat eating, grimly discussing the burnt station and the dead Rangers in a dialect of which Larry could understand little. He could not eat; the food stuck in his throat. It was his first sight of violence and death and it had sickened him. He had known that violence was notunheard-of on Darkover, he had himself had a brief brush with it in his fight with the street boys, but nowit assumed a dark and frightening aspect. With an almost painful nostalgia, he wished he were back in thesafety of the Terran Zone.

Or was that safety, too, a mere illusion? Was there violence and cruelty and fear there, too, hiddenbehind the facades, and was he just now becoming aware of all these things? He choked over the pieceof dry biscuit he was eating, and turned his eyes away from Kennard’s too-searching gaze.

Valdir Alton’s tall form shadowed him, and the Darkovan lord dropped on the grass at his side. He said,

“Sorry that your hunt had to end this way, Lerrys. It wasn’t what we planned.”

“Do you really think I’d be worrying about a hunt when people are dead?” Larry asked.

Valdir’s eyes were shrewd. “Nothing like this in your life before? Nothing like this in your world? Everything in the Terran Zone very neat and law-abiding?” Once again Larry had the feeling that—aswith Lorill Hastur—his thoughts were being read. He remembered, with a small twinge of fear, how Valdir Alton had probed the mind of the dying Ranger.

He said, “I suppose there are law-breakers on Earth and in the Terran Zone, too. Only here it seemsso—”

“So close up and personal?” Valdir asked. “Tell me something, Lerrys: Is a man more or less dead when he is killed neatly by a gun or a bomb, than when he is—” He moved his head toward where the dead Ranger had lain. His face was suddenly bitter as he added, “That seems to be the main difference between your people and ours. At least the men who killed poor Garin did not do their killing while they

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were a safe distance away!”

Larry said—glad to have something between himself and the memory of a dead man with a bleedingwound in his chest— “The main thing is that most of our people don’t do any killing at all! We have lawsand police to handle that sort of thing for us!”

“While here we feel that every man should handle his own affairs for himself, before they spread into wars,” Valdir said steadily. “If any man offends me, damages my property or my family, steals my goods—it’s my personal duty to revenge myself on that man—or to forgive him, if I see fit, without dragging in others who really have no part in the quarrel.”

Larry was trying to fit that together—the contrast between the fierce individualism of the Darkovancode, and the Terran’s acceptance of an orderly society, based on rules and laws. “A government oflaws and not of men,” he said, and at Valdir’s raised eyebrow, explained, “that’s supposed to be theoriginal theory behind the Terran governments.”

“While ours is a government of men—because laws can’t be anything but the expression of men who make them,” Valdir said. His face was grave and serious and Larry knew that while he might have started this conversation for the purpose of taking his young guest’s mind off the scene of unfamiliar violence, now he was deeply involved in what he was saying. “It’s one reason we want little to do with the