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It was raining hard by the time they reached Armida, and Andrew lifted Callista from the saddle, sensingwith dismay the way her body stiffened against his touch. Again? He kissed her wet face under thesoaked hood. She did not draw away from the kiss, but she did not return it, either. Puzzled, but trying tobe sympathetic—she was afraid, poor girl, and who could blame her after that awful ordeal?—Andrewcarried her up the steps and set her on her feet.

“Go and dry yourself, my precious, don’t wait for me. I must make sure the horses are properly seen

to.”

Callista went slowly and regretfully up the stairs. Her gaiety had vanished, leaving her feeling tired andsick with apprehension. One of the strongest taboos in Arilinn was that which made the raw
 
kireseth
plant, untreated, a thing wholly forbidden. Although she was no longer bound by those laws, she feltguilty and ashamed. Even when she knew she was being affected by the flowers, she had remained toenjoy the effect, not moving out of range or withdrawing. And through the guilt was fear. She did not feelas she had felt with channel overload before—she had seldom felt better—but knowing what she didabout herself, she was deathly frightened.

She went in search of Damon, and he guessed at once what had happened. “Were you exposed to
kireseth
 
, Callista? Tell me.”

Stumbling, ashamed, frightened, she managed to convey to Damon a little of what had happened. Damon, listening to the faltering words, thought in an anguished empathy that she sounded as shamed asa repentant harlot, not a married woman who had spent the day innocently with her own husband. But hewas troubled. After the events of the early winter, Andrew would never have approached her like this,without an explicit invitation.
 
Kireseth
 
, as a matter of fact, had quite a reputation for breaking downinhibitions. But whatever the cause, she might again have overloaded her channels with two conflictingsets of responses. “Well, let us see what harm has been done.”

But after monitoring her briefly, he felt confused. “Are you
sure
 
, Callista? Your channels are a

Keeper’s, undisturbed. What sort of joke is this?”

“Joke? Damon, what do you mean? It happened just as I said.”

“But that is impossible,” Damon said. “You could
 
not
 
react like that. If you had, your channels would be

overloaded and you would be very ill. What do you feel now?”

“Nothing,” she said wearily, defeated, “I feel nothing, nothing,
 
nothing
 
!” For a moment he thought she would burst into tears. She spoke again, her voice tight with unshed tears. “It is gone, like a dream, and I have broken the laws of the Tower. I am outcaste for nothing.”

Damon did not know what to think. A dream, compensating for the deprivations of her life? The
kireseth
 
was, after all, an hallucinogenic drug. He stretched his hands to her. Her automatic withdrawal

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from the touch verified his guess: she and Andrew had merely shared an illusion.

Later he questioned Andrew, which he could do more thoroughly and specifically, discussing thephysical responses involved. Andrew was distressed and defensive, though he willingly admitted hewould have been responsible if Callista had been harmed. Zandru’s hells, Damon thought, what a tangle! Andrew already had so much guilt about wanting Callista when she could not respond to him, and nowhe must be deprived even of the illusion. Laying his hand on his friend’s shoulder, he said, “It’s all right, Andrew. You didn’t hurt her. She’s all right, I tell you, her channels are still wholly clear.” Andrew saidstubbornly, “I don’t believe it was a dream, or an illusion, or anything like that. Damn it, I didn’t inventthe leaves in my hair!”

Damon said, wrung with pity, “I’ve no doubt you were lying somewhere on the ground.
 
Kireseth
contains one fraction which stimulates
 
laran
 
. Evidently you and Callista were in telepathic contact, muchmore strongly than usual, and your… your frustrations built a dream. Which could happen without…without endangering her. Or you.”

Andrew hid his face with his hands. It was bad enough to feel like a fool for spending the whole daykissing and caressing his wife without anything more intimate, but to be told that he had simply gone offon a drugged dream about doing it—that was worse. Stubbornly he looked up at Damon. “I don’tbelieve it was a dream,” he said. “If it was a dream, why didn’t I dream of what I
 
really
 
wanted to do? Why didn’t
 
she
 
? Dreams are supposed to
 
relieve
 
frustrations, not make new ones, aren’t they?”

That, of course, was a good question, Damon admitted, but what did he know of the fears andfrustrations which might inhibit even dreams? One night, during his early manhood, he had dreamed oftouching Leonie as no Keeper might be touched even in thought, and he had spent three sleepless nightsfor fear of repeating the offense.

In his own room, readying himself for the evening meal, Andrew looked at his garments, crumpled andstained. Was he fool enough to have erotic dreams about his own wife? He didn’t believe it. Damonwasn’t there; he was. And he knew what happened, even if he could not explain it. He was supremelyglad Callista was not harmed, though he could not understand that either.

It was that night at dinner when
 
Dom
 
Esteban said, in a worried tone, “I wonder… do you suppose all iswell with Domenic? I feel something menaces him, something evil…”

“Nonsense, Father,” Ellemir said gently. “Only this morning
Dom
 
Kieran told us he was well and happy, and surrounded by his loving friends, behaving himself and carrying out his responsibilities as best he could! Don’t be silly!”

“I suppose you are right,” the old man said, but still he looked troubled.

“I wish he were at home.”

Damon and Ellemir exchanged frowning glances. Like all Altons,
Dom
 
Esteban had occasional flashes ofprecognition. God grant he was only worrying, Damon thought, not seeing the future. The old man wascrippled and ill. It was probably only worry.

But Damon found that he too had begun to worry, and he did not stop.

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Chapter Seventeen

«^»

All night Damon’s dreams had been haunted by the sound of horse’s hooves, galloping—gallopingtoward Armida with evil tidings. Ellemir was dressing, preparing to go downstairs for her early work insupervising the kitchens—this pregnancy attended with none of the sickness and malaise of her first—when she suddenly turned pale and cried out. Damon hurried to her side, but she brushed past him andran down the stairs, into the hall and the courtyard, standing at the great gates, bareheaded, her facewhite as death.

Damon, feeling the premonition grip him and take hold, followed her, pleading, “Ellemir, what is it?

Love, you must not stand here like this…”

“Father,” she whispered. “It will kill our father. Oh, blessed Cassilda, Domenic, Domenic!”

He urged her gently back toward the house, through the fine mist of the morning rain. Just inside thedoors they found Callista, pale and drawn, Andrew troubled and apprehensive at her side. Callista wenttoward her father’s room, saying quietly, “All we can do now is be with him, Andrew.” Andrew and Damon stayed close beside the old man while his body-servant dressed him. Gently Damon helped lifthim into the wheeled chair. “Dear Uncle, we can only wait for tidings. But whatever may come,remember that you still have sons and daughters who love you and are near you.”

In the Great Hall, Ellemir came and knelt beside her father, weeping.
 
Dom
 
Esteban patted her bright hairand said hoarsely, “Look after
her
 
, Damon, don’t worry about me. If… if evil has come to Domenic,that child you bear, Ellemir, is next heir to Alton.”

God help them all, Damon thought, for Valdir was not yet twelve years old! Who would command the

Guards? Even Domenic was thought too young!

Andrew was thinking that his son, Ellemir’s child, would be heir to the Domain. The thought seemed sowildly improbable that he was gripped with hysterical laughter.

Callista put a small cup into the old
 
dom’s
 
hand. “Drink this, Father.”

“I want none of your drugs! I will not be put to sleep and soothed until I know—”

“Drink it!” she commanded, standing pale and angry at his side. “It is not to dim your awareness, but to

strengthen you. You will need all your strength today!”

Reluctantly the old man swallowed the draught. Ellemir rose and said, “The housefolk and workmenmust not go hungry for our griefs. Let me go see to their breakfast.”

They brought the old man to the table and urged him to eat, but none of them could eat much, and Andrew felt himself straining to hear beyond the range of his ears, to listen for the messenger, bringing thetidings they now took for granted.

“There it is,” said Callista, laying down a piece of buttered bread, starting to her feet. Her father held out

his hand, very pale but in command of himself again, Lord Alton, head of the Domain, Comyn.

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“Sit still, daughter. Ill news will come when it will, but it is not seemly to run to meet it.”

He lifted a spoonful of nut-porridge to his mouth, put it down again, untasted. None of the others wereeven pretending to eat now, hearing the sound of hoofbeats in the stone courtyard, the booted feet of themessenger on the steps. He was a Guardsman, very young, with the red hair which, Andrew alreadyknew, meant that somewhere, nearby or far back, he had Comyn blood. He looked tired, sad,apprehensive.

Dom
Esteban said quietly, “Welcome to my hall, Darren. What brings you at this hour, my lad?”

“Lord Alton.” The messenger’s voice seemed to stick in his throat. “I regret that I bear you evil tidings.” His eyes flickered around the hall. He looked trapped, miserable, unwilling to break the bad news to this old man, frail and drawn in his chair.

Dom
Esteban said quietly, “I had warning of this, my boy. Come and tell me about it.” He held out hishand, and the young man came, hesitantly, toward the high table. “It is my son Domenic. Is he… is hedead?”

The young man Darren lowered his eyes.
 
Dom
 
Esteban drew a hoarse, shaking breath like an audiblesob, but when he spoke he was under control.

“You are wearied with the long ride.” He beckoned to the servants to take the young Guardsman’s cloak, remove his heavy riding boots and bring soft indoor slippers, set a mug of warmed wine before him. They set a chair for him near the high table. “Tell me all about it, lad. How did he die?”

“By misadventure, Lord Alton. He was in the armory, practicing at swordplay with his paxman, young Cathal Lindir. Somehow, even through the mask, he was struck a blow on the head. None thought it serious, but before they could fetch the hospital officer, he was dead.”

Poor Cathal, Damon thought. He had been one of the cadets during Damon’s year as cadet-master, ashad young Domenic himself. The two lads had been inseparable, had been paired off everywhere: atsword-practice, on duty, in their leisure hours. They were, Damon knew,
 
bredin
 
, sworn brothers. Had Domenic died by any mischance or accident, it would have been bad enough, but for a blow struck byhis sworn friend to be the instrument of his death—Blessed Cassilda, how the poor lad would suffer!

Dom
Esteban had managed to pull himself together, was questioning the messenger about otherarrangements. “Valdir must be brought from Nevarsin at once, designated heir.”

Darren told him, “Lord Lorill Hastur has already sent for him, and he urges you to come to Thendara ifyou are able, my lord.”

“Able or not, we shall ride this day,”
Dom
 
Esteban said firmly. “Even if I must travel by horse-litter, and

you must come with me, Damon, Andrew.”