Traitor's Sun (50 page)

After several minutes he heard a soft rain begin to patter outside the window, a sweet sound after so much horror. He just sat and listened to it, his mind almost empty. All he wanted to do was fall into the bed and pull the covers over his head. But he still had something to do—if only he could remember what. Oh, yes, he had to contact his grandfather. Where was he going to find the strength?

His mind drifted, refusing to focus, and he found his thoughts returning to the girl, Illona. He was glad she was safe with Rafaella. If the Carcosans had discovered her and recognized her for a Traveler, she might have been hurt or killed. Domenic could not have endured that, although he wasn’t sure why he cared so much about someone he barely knew. Then it occurred to him that he liked her, even if she was just a silly uneducated girl. No . . . not silly—just very foolish and ignorant. If only she had not looked so fetching in her undershift! Why couldn’t she be ugly or at least plain? Then it would be easier to despise her, as he was sure he should. Instead, he had the same urge to protect her he always felt about Alanna. It was all very puzzling.

No, it was more than that. After a few moments of ruthless self-examination, Domenic realized that his thoughts about Illona verged on the lustful. This surprised him, and then it disgusted him. How could he be thinking such things at a time like this! What kind of unnatural man was he?

Furious with himself, Domenic dragged his mind away from the memories of Illona’s young breasts and slender body beneath her shift. Herm had told him to inform Lew of the latest developments and he had not yet done so. He was there because he had the Alton Gift and could communicate with his grandfather with much less effort than anyone without that talent. For just a moment he resented his Gift, then shut away the thought abruptly. Why couldn’t he have just one feeling at a time, instead of this morass! And why couldn’t he get the image of the dead Terran out of his mind?

At last his mind began to quiet, and while he knew it had taken only a few minutes, it felt like he had undergone hours of fruitless struggle. There was a sour taste in his mouth, and his belly was in a complete knot. Domenic had wanted to be treated like an adult, not a child, and here he was, feeling angry at having adult responsibilities. At last he admitted to himself that he was more than a little frightened by the sudden violence he had seen, and realized that he must have been crazy to have dashed over to rescue Illona. He let the sense of fear spend itself, and wondered if he were a coward, or if it was normal to be scared after the fact. There was no one at hand to ask about it, and finally he let it go. Fear was a luxury to be indulged some other time.

He got up and rinsed his mouth in the basin, then splashed cold water over his face. After he had dried it on a towel, he went back to the broad bed and forced his mind into the stillness he needed. It was hard, but the Alton Gift could span great distance, and after only a brief time, he touched the familiar mind of his grandfather.

Hello, Nico. you seem . . . upset. Did our reinforcement arrive safely?
The mental voice sounded overly hearty, and Domenic felt his heart clench sharply. Had something terrible happened in Thendara? Was he overreacting to Lew’s concerns about him, jumping at shadows instead of acting like an adult? He made himself slow down, and tried to order his thoughts.

Are you all right?
The tone of the question was alarmed, even if the words were commonplace.

Grandfather, I think someone is using the Travelers to upset people. It is either the Terranan or . . . or
Dom
Aldaran.

I was afraid of that. Poor
Dom
Damon—so ambitious and so thwarted. It is funny, you know, that all of Javanne’s fears that Mikhail might hand Darkover over to the Terrans are much more likely to be fulfilled if Damon Aldaran ever gets his hands on some power.

No.
Dom
Damon and Robert Aldaran. They flew down, which was a mistake on their part. The landing field has been closed for two days, the Terrans nearly clapped them in chains. Robert was able to talk his way out of that, but Damon is in a rare temper.

I am not joking. I wonder if
Dom
Damon knows about this plot . . . no, I think not. But, if the funeral train is attacked, he will be in as much danger as the rest of us. The problem in a battle is that you cannot plan who will survive and who will not, and if the Terranan think to set up
Dom
Damon. . . .

Domenic paused, trying to control the upwelling of sorrow within him.
The Terranan man is dead. I never knew his name, and now I never will, because someone—Vancof probably—stuck a knife in him during the riot. I . . . found the body.

Poor Nico! The first time you look at death is always hard, and it never gets easier.
Nico caught fragments, images of several bodies, and knew that his grandfather was remembering the Sharra Rebellion.
No wonder you are upset.

For a moment, there was no answering thought, and Nico wondered if his grandfather were disgusted with him.
Nico, I do not know why it is, but close contact with death often makes men very randy. Men going into battle often resort to the couch before, and again after. I think that love or sex or whatever we call it is about life, and when you are near to death, then you wish to . . . renew life. In a young man your age, sexual feelings run very high.

Herm Aldaran, his balding pate gleaming with rain, was holding a small object in his hands, a collection of metal and brightly colored wires. “Just look what I found in the remains of one of the wagons.”

“What is it?”

“A communication device, for sending messages. It is called a shortbeam and quite illegal on Darkover. I wonder where the receiver is? A pity it is ruined, since I might have been able to use it to create some trouble at the other end.”

“Was it in the puppet wagon?”

“No, in another. It was under a stack of pages that had the most incredible filth on them.”

“Then it was probably the one called Mathias, who wrote the plays. But why would he have it . . . ?”

“This was nothing like a play—these were broadsheets.”

“Do you think Mathias and Vancof were working together?”

“I’ve no idea, but Duncan grabbed the man before he could hare off into the night, and we can ask him.” His usually pleasant face had an expression on it that Domenic found most disquieting. “Now, where did I put my thumbscrews?”

“Your what?”

“I have shocked you. Forgive me. I don’t really intend to torture the man, but he doesn’t need to know that, does he? I am just working myself up to scare the filth out of his bowels, Nico. It’s that, or else ask you to go into his mind and find out what we want to know.”

Domenic considered this evidence of a ruthlessness he had never suspected, and decided he would rather scare Mathias than plunder the man’s mind. “But what if he lies,” he managed to say at last.

“You would be able to tell if he did. So, come along. This is going to be very unpleasant.”

“Just a minute. Let me finish talking to Lew.”

“Of course.”

Domenic closed his eyes again, although he did not need to, and completed his interrupted conversation with his grandfather, feeling more and more uneasy as he did. He did not want to interrogate anyone, because he was afraid of what he would learn. The sense of adventure which had sustained him the night before vanished, and he was left with the reality, which was not nearly as comfortable. Odd—the people in the books he had read never seemed to have such conflicts.

There was a third floor in the inn, and Herm led him up to it. The raucous sounds of the still agitated townsfolk receded a little as they ascended. Nico discovered that he was sweating slightly, and the stink of it told him how anxious he was.