Traitor's Sun (36 page)

And now he was uncertain of his decision, racked with doubts that rarely troubled him. He had taken the easy way out of the conflict with his wife. Why? Ultimately it would only make things worse. Reluctantly Herm acknowledged to himself that he had put his world before his personal life—again! There was no other rational explanation for why he had kept Kate in the dark about the talents that gave the Comyn much of their authority. He was the cunning man, wasn’t he? Surely, if he had really wished to, he could have found a way to tell her the truth, even with Federation spy eyes and ears all around him. He hated himself for leaving Katherine the way he had. He felt drained now, bewildered, and full of self-loathing. It was too many conflicting emotions to contain. He would have killed for a cup of synthecaf, if he could have gotten one.

Nico stirred, interrupting Herm’s dark thoughts. He opened his eyes, and then rubbed them with a rather grubby hand. He had gray eyes, flecked with gold, the iris rimmed in black. His black hair went back from his brow in a peak, very like Lew Alton’s, giving the boy something of the appearance of a hawk, with his prominent nose and small mouth. Not a handsome lad, but there was a lot of character in his face, and his eyes shone with intelligence.

“Uh, sorry.” Nico shifted his head off Herm’s shoulder. “Tell me, is having an adventure always this uncomfortable? There must be a million rocks under me.”

It was cold, even under the blankets, and the rocks Herm had noticed when he slipped into sleep seemed to have indeed multiplied during the night. He sat up and looked around, the covers falling off his chest. “I don’t know, since I have not had a great number of adventures. And thus far, this one is pretty tame, Tomas. But I agree about the rocks. Perhaps we were lying on a migration path of stones.” It was a feeble jest, yet Herm was quite pleased that he had managed it.

To his surprise, this bit of levity provoked a look of alarm on the boy’s face. It was gone in an instant, but for a moment he thought that Domenic had taken him seriously. It was a troubling notion for no reason he could immediately understand. He opened his mouth to ask about it, then silenced himself. Herm remembered himself at fifteen, how secretive and spiky he had been, and decided that Nico should be let alone for the present.

“What are we going to do now?”

“Now we are going to get some breakfast from one of the foodstalls. I don’t believe our friend got very far, as drunk as he was, and if my guess is correct, he is suffering from a bad hangover and wishing he were dead. Later, I think we might make a few cautious inquiries among the Travelers—you spoke of a pretty girl. Maybe she can tell us something about him.”

“What if she recognizes me?”

“A good question, and one I had not thought of. You might have a real talent for subterfuge, boy.”

“Thank you, Uncle. But if I do, no one has ever noticed it before. Rory is the one. . . . He is going to be furious when he finds out what I’ve done. And jealous.” There was a certain quiet satisfaction in the words.

“No doubt. You are the ‘good’ one, aren’t you, like my own older brother? And I was like Rory when I was your age, always into some trouble or other.”

“Yesterday . . . it seems longer ago . . . Mother was saying that I must be abnormal because I never gave her a minute’s worry. If she had foreseen what I was going to do, she would have bitten her tongue.”

“Well, she didn’t, and saved herself a pot of bother. Now, roll up the bedding and put it back on the horse, and we will fill our bellies. The Travelers seem to be late risers.”

Among the footstalls there was a booth that offered a pail of heated water for the refreshment of wayfarers, and they afforded themselves of its services. As Herm splashed the warm liquid over his face, he started to feel better, and Nico removed most of the grime that he had somehow acquired during the night. Then they got bowls of porridge, thick stuff, rich with dried fruits, and slabs of warmed over flatbread. They ate in silence, until the food was consumed. It was a peaceful moment in what promised to be a tense day.

They went to the horses and got them fed and watered. After a few minutes, the skinny driver came down the road, muttering to himself, and went to the wagon with the puppets painted on its sides. A female voice from within began to abuse him roundly.

“Is that the girl you mentioned?”

“I don’t know, Uncle. It doesn’t sound like her voice. And she didn’t look like she could swear like that. She seemed rather nice.”

The driver backed away from the wain, and a plump woman emerged. Her voice was lower now, so they could not overhear the words, but it was obvious that she was berating the man. After a minute another figure came out of the wagon, the slender redhead Nico had seen the previous day. She was knuckling sleep from her eyes, and looked very cross.

“Auntie, leave off!” Her voice carried across the field, as she tugged at the older woman’s sleeve. Then, suddenly, she dropped her hand and looked around, scanning the booths and stalls, as if she was looking for something. The expression on her face seemed puzzled and a little frightened.

At her movement, Nico ducked behind his horse and looked alarmed. Herm watched and saw the girl shake her head, and turn back to the now sullen combatants. The driver was red-faced with fury, and the older woman seemed about to shake him by his slight shoulders.

I don’t know. I mean, she looks ordinary, like other people, to me, except for her red hair. And even though I know that red hair often goes along with laran, it is not always so. My Aunt Rafaella has pretty red hair, and not a lick of
laran
—although her sister was in a Tower for a time. And my hair is dark, yet my gifts are strong. That girl certainly is pretty, and she has a really sharp tongue.
He gave the mental equivalent of a sigh.
I don’t have much experience with anyone except the people in the castle and at Arilinn. I feel totally ignorant about a lot of things.

No, I suppose not. Very likely she is some nedestra
child of the Comyn, but I agree that her presence among the Travelers is a little peculiar. When I left Darkover, there were only two or three groups of them, and they were more an amusing source of light entertainment than anything else. Still, I suppose that some randy sprig of the Domains might have fathered her and given her that fiery head of hair and a bit of
laran,
and never known he had done it.

By now both sides of the road were abustle with activity. The muleteers were loading their animals, and a wagon was pulling through the gates, loaded with barrels of beer or wine. Then several women with cropped hair and weathered faces rode out.

“Zandru’s Hells!”

“What’s the matter, Tomas?”

“It’s Aunt Rafi!”

“Who?” Herm looked back at the troup of Renunciates whose appearance had so clearly alarmed the boy.

“That woman in the lead, that’s Rafaella n’ha Liriel, my aunt of sorts. She is freemated to Great-Uncle Rafe Scott. I’ll just bet Mother has sent her to drag me back and lock me in the Castle!” There was no mistaking the bitterness in his voice.

“They might be on another errand, lad.” He agreed that the appearance of the woman was suspicious, but he was less ready than Nico to leap to any conclusions. During the dinner where he had sat beside Marguerida Alton, he had taken her measure, and thought her a sensible if somewhat forceful person. He had liked her a great deal, and he hoped that she and Kate would talk when Marguerida had the time. He suspected that once they knew one another, they would get along well. Herm did not want his sister to be the only confidant his wife had.

He wondered again if he should have told Katherine what he was doing, but after a few moment’s reflection he decided he had made the safest decision. Although only those with the Alton Gift, like Nico or Lew, could force information out of the minds of the unsuspecting, he was acutely aware that any telepath could overhear the topmost thoughts of another. And, for no reason he could put a finger to, he did not want his sister Gisela knowing what he was about.

Herm watched the Renunciate woman stand up in her stirrups and scan the fields. She had very curly hair, red but starting to gray, and a cheerful expression. Then she urged her horse forward and rode over to them. She dismounted and walked up to Herm, her callused hand extended in a friendly way. He allowed himself a silent curse at this confirmation of Nico’s suggestion. He did not really want a pack of women, however capable, tagging along. But he clasped the offered hand and made his mouth smile.

“We are your escort,” the woman said quietly. “Sorry we are a bit late.” Her blue eyes were twinkling as she spoke, and she ignored Nico completely after giving him a swift examination.

“Yes, I see.”

“It was decided you might be less noticeable if you were in the company of some Renunciates,” she went on, speaking so quietly that he knew no one would overhear them. Then she gave Nico a friendly smile. “It was a compromise, you see. To keep Marguerida happy.” She chuckled softly, as if some memory amused her. “There is no one else I would allow to drag me out of a warm bed in the middle of the night to form up an expedition on a moment’s notice.”

“Then you aren’t going to take me back,” he whispered. “No, those are not my instructions.” Rafaella did not explain any further, but there was something a little guarded in her expression.

“I see. I am Ian MacAnndra, and this is my nephew Tomas,” Herm told her, to forestall the use of any names that might prick the interest of bystanders. And it was a good idea. An escort of Renunciates would be a good cover for their activities, as well as added protection for the boy. His respect for Marguerida Alton-Hastur went up a notch. She must have been frantic when she learned what her usually sensible son had done, and yet she had found a solution that was both simple and useful. Herm’s earlier resentment at the sight of the Renunciates vanished. He had been sent out to assure the safety of Domenic, not to have a bit of excitement for himself. What a selfish bastard he could be sometimes.

“I am Rafaella n’ha Liriel. I will introduce you to my sisters later. Perhaps you will fill me in.”

Before Herm could reply, Nico stiffened beside him.
Look!

Nico gave a brief nod. Then he smiled at Rafaella. “Fa ther must have done some fast talking.”

“From the little I know, Tomas, he did more than that, and your grandfather, too.” She gave the boy a friendly smile, as if she understood both his relief and his anxiety, and only restrained herself from ruffling his unbound hair with an effort.

The rest of the Renunciates had dismounted and were standing beside their horses a short distance away. They were talking quietly among themselves. They had several mules with them, loaded with baggage, tents and bedding, and a supply of feed for the animals. Herm was pleased and slightly amazed—they must have been up most of the night getting things together. They were a hard-looking bunch, their faces weathered. From the well-worn look of their scabbards, they were probably experienced fighters as well.

Vancof was meandering across the road toward the foodstands, walking gingerly, as if his head hurt. The man Nico had pointed out was already standing in front of one. He watched them drift together, very casually to any eye but his own. Then he saw Nico’s face go grim.