Traitor's Sun (61 page)

Dom
Damon cast a look of unconcealed loathing at his older son. Then he rattled the paper in his hand. “I just don’t understand this! Why in the world would Belfontaine issue an arrest warrant, particularly for a son of mine?”

“What better way to provoke an incident, and justify some action that would otherwise not be permitted,” Lew replied almost smugly, as if he felt he had caught the Aldaran somehow. “Belfontaine has a history of overstepping himself, for being ambitious, and I am sure that being forced to leave Darkover this way, at this time, was not his choice.”

“What in Zandru’s coldest hell do you mean by that,” growled
Dom
Damon, looking more confused and anxious by the moment.

“Well, if we did not turn over Herm, then he might think he could justify storming Comyn Castle itself. The law is rather ambiguous about the rights of individual citizens of Protected Planets, which means that Belfontaine might have decided to read it to his advantage.” Lew looked grim for a moment. “We can only conjecture, I’m afraid, but I do know that Belfontaine has been sending frantic messages to his superiors, and that they have not, so far as I know, responded. I think he is trying to get permission to use force against us.”

“Then you must be insane! Why would he want to do something so foolish?” The color of
Dom
Damon’s face was alarming now, so red that Mikhail feared he would have an apoplectic fit. But he did not look like a man who was planning deliberate treachery. Whatever plan he had, it had nothing to do with the ambush that might await them on the road. He let himself enjoy a moment of relief.

“We must hope you are correct, with your greater knowledge of the Terranan,
Dom
Damon,” Francisco said slowly, frowning over the words. “But if he is desperate, then who knows what he might decide. Are we just going to sit around and wait for him to make a move?”

“Hardly that,” Danilo answered. “Both the City Guard and the Castle Guard are on full alert, as I am sure you already know,
Dom
Francisco. In the recent past the Federation has attempted to cause trouble in various ways on Darkover, but thus far they have had very little success. The Thendaran rumor mill is almost silent concerning the Federation, but very curious about . . . well, no matter.” He fell silent and looked as if he had said too much already, but when no one questioned him, he went on. “If there is any assault, it will come from another direction.”

“And just what is being done to prevent this,” Javanne asked sharply, speaking directly to Danilo.

Mikhail looked at Lew, for they had spent hours together with Danilo, trying to decide just how to present the plot to the Council. Lew gave one of his speaking shrugs and answered, “First, we have started rounding up the Travelers’ troupes, quietly and firmly, because there is some evidence that the Federation has been using them as spies and agents.”

“The Travelers? I can hardly believe what I am hearing! Do you actually expect us to believe that a bunch of entertainers pose some sort of threat to the Comyn?” She looked triumphant, as if she felt she had scored a point.

Dom
Damon looked alarmed at this revelation, since everyone knew that several of the Traveler bands wintered in the Aldaran Domain. Still, there was nothing guilty in his expression. The ruddy color in his cheeks faded, and now he was pale. “Spies? Agents? Have you lost your mind?”

“No, I have not. We have already uncovered one spy within the Travelers, and who knows how many others there are. Do you remember the riot in the Horse Market during Midsummer? Well, it was provoked by the Travelers—we know that now, although we did not then. But the danger has been nipped in the bud,” Mikhail told them. Any troupe near a Tower had been dealt with, since he had received Nico’s communication two nights before, but that still left those in more remote locations free to make as much mischief as they wished. But if his son were correct, then it was likely that the Travelers themselves were largely innocent dupes, and that no troupe had more than one or two Terranan spies with them, if that.

“Travelers! This is utterly ridiculous! You are making this up!” snapped Javanne. “I don’t know what you think you are doing, telling us these stories, and . . .”

“
Silence!
” roared
Dom
Gabriel. “If you say another word against Mikhail, woman, I will drag you out of here by your hair.”

Javanne’s mouth gaped, pushing the little ruff under her chin askew. Then she clamped it closed, glared at her husband, and subsided, shocked. She gathered herself again, slowly and with difficulty, looking old and haggard, yet determined at the same time. “Son or not, I will not allow you to take my brother’s place!”

Mikhail took a deep breath and looked around the table. “Let us be clear on one matter. I am Regis Hastur’s heir, and I will do what he wished me to do. The matter is not open to further discussion. I will not waste my time debating my own fitness with those of you who imagine yourselves to have wiser heads, or the well-being of Darkover more to heart. This is hardly the time to start fighting among ourselves.”

Lady Marilla cleared her throat. “I must disagree,
Dom
Mikhail, and very strongly. You are too much influenced by Lew Alton and your wife, and everyone here knows that. I am afraid that the matter must be debated, and that, in the end, you will have to step aside.” Her voice was soft, as always, and it sounded as if she had prepared the words carefully.

This was too much for Dyan Ardais, who rarely said very much at Council meetings. “In whose favor, Mother? Have you completely lost your wits?”

Lady Marilla looked slightly surprised, for it was not often that her son opposed her openly in Council meetings. “Well, a regency, of course . . . until Roderick is . . . or perhaps Gareth . . .”

“Ah, so that is what you have decided, have you?” Dyan sneered. “Forgive my mother, Mikhail. That is the most foolish idea I have heard in months, and I can guess where she got it. I must point out that Mikhail named Domenic his heir when he reached his majority at Midsummer, so there is no question of . . .”

“Domenic must never be permitted to succeed, and neither must Mikhail.” Javanne spoke firmly, and it was clear that she was sincere. No matter how many
leroni
assured her that the events that had taken place during Mikhail and Marguerida’s strange adventure in the past had actually occurred, she refused to believe that her grandson was the legitimate issue of a real marriage. She had fixed her mind on the idea that Nico was
nedestro,
and nothing could budge her from it.

Mikhail felt his heart sink, and he felt slightly ill. He wanted her approval and support, and he wondered how she could hate him so much. Well, perhaps she did not hate him, but only hated that she could not influence him, could not force him to follow her own plans. But she did hate his oldest child, and his wife, and that was almost more than he could bear.

“None of you really understand, and think me a foolish old woman,” Javanne exclaimed, anguish in her voice. “Regis cannot have been in his right mind when he named Mikhail his heir—it is impossible! Mikhail must have used his powers to . . .” Her voice trailed away and she began to sob.

Everyone at the table was looking at him, averting their eyes from the spectacle of Javanne Hastur’s grief. Mikhail felt his cheeks flame with a combination of embarrassment and rage that made his hands tremble. No one had ever openly accused him of using his matrix to his own advantage before, although he knew that the thought had crossed their minds. The ancient
di catenas
bracelet encircling his wrist rattled against the tabletop as he tried to master himself, to refrain from saying anything he would regret later. It made his heart ache, that his own mother would think such things of him, could regard him as so dishonorable.

Marguerida put her left hand over his right one again, and, despite the dampers, he felt her healing power sweep over him. He felt his blood cease to roar in his veins, and his breathing returned to normal. He looked around the table, at his mother, Francisco Ridenow and Lady Marilla arrayed against him. Then he studied
Dom
Damon. It was almost enough to make him throw up his hands and storm out of the chamber in a rage.

“Is there anyone else who imagines I influenced Regis Hastur in his decision?” he asked, surprised to find his voice steady and even.

“It was very convenient for you, wasn’t it?” Francisco commented, “when young Dani resigned and took the Elhalyn Domain, right after you showed up with that fantastic tale and what you claim is the matrix stone of
my
ancestor.” Francisco glanced around the table, the center of all eyes. “And Dani was quite young, and so very malleable.” His voice was soft with suggestion, and Mikhail wanted to hit him.

Dani Hastur glared at Francisco and nearly spat with rage. “How dare you! Is there no ill thought you will not entertain? Next you will be suggesting that Mikhail had something to do with my father’s death,” he snarled. His hand left the table and went to the hilt of his dagger, but Miralys touched his arm and he released his grip.

Francisco smiled narrowly. “So that thought crossed your mind, too, did it?” He tried to suggest a feeling of comradeship across the table with Regis’ son. “It must have been so hard to wait for Regis to die, since the Hasturs are usually such a
long-lived
family.”

Danilo Syrtis-Ardais shifted in his chair, leaned forward slightly so that he could see Francisco clearly, and spoke. “That is the most disgraceful thing I have ever heard. I was with Regis when he had his stroke, and there was nothing about it that was the least unnatural. To suggest such shows more than I wish to know about the nature of your thoughts, Francisco. I had no idea you were so filthy-minded.”

If the words had any impact,
Dom
Francisco did not show it. Instead, he went on, speaking in a low voice, as if trying to persuade his listeners of the validity of his suspicions. “We do not really know what Mikhail can do with his matrix, do we,
Dom
Danilo? And even you can be fooled.”

Dyan Ardais pounded his fist on the table again. “You keep that damned tongue of yours behind your teeth, Francisco, or I will personally pull it from your mouth! Mikhail has never done anything to anyone except to heal them.”

“So why did Regis die? If Mikhail is so powerful, why was he unable to restore Regis? Your loyalty to Mikhail does you credit,
Dom
Dyan, but I think it blinds you as well.”

“And I suppose you think that I would not have known if something was wrong, Francisco,” Danilo Syrtis-Ardais almost snarled. “I assume you think I am blind as well? Considering how you managed to achieve the rulership of your own Domain, I suppose such thoughts are natural.”

There was a stricken silence and everyone stared at Francisco Ridenow, even his usual ally, Lady Marilla. There was no one present who had not nourished suspicions about the deaths of those who stood in the way of Francisco, but no one had ever openly suggested that he had arranged them. The man flinched slightly, and his face paled as he realized he had gone too far.

Dom
Damon’s eyes narrowed, as if he were trying to find some advantage in this conflict. Then his face cleared quickly. “While I am sure that Mikhail did nothing to his uncle, we cannot pretend that we are entirely free of suspicion. And we should remember that Mikhail is not the only Hastur—that he has two brothers, both older than himself, who could easily . . .”

“Enough!” Rafael spoke for the first time. “I have no ambition to rule Darkover, and my brother Gabe has so little interest in politics that he did not even bother to attend the Council meeting. If you say another word,
Dom
Damon, against my brother, I will happily ram your teeth down your throat. I have been wanting to do that for years.”

“What—and deny me that pleasure?” Robert snapped from the other side of the table, baring his teeth at Rafael, like a wolf challenging a rival. “The succession was decided, long ago, and not in some moment of weak-mindedness the way Regis’s loving sister would have it. This is hardly the time to think about changing it.”

Mikhail felt cold, as if a wind from the Hellers had just blown through his body. He had known for a long time that he was resented and feared, but the continuous barrage of violent feelings against him were eroding his strength. Despair flickered and burst into flame in his mind. How could he hope to lead the Domains, when he could not even control a Council meeting?

Suddenly there was a remarkable sound, and the great trap matrices in the ceiling of the Crystal Chamber rang like chimes. Everyone looked up, and then there was an explosion of noise and blinding light. The shining stones burst into shards and cascaded not downward, but outward, toward the walls of the room, shattering into bits as they struck. Reflexively, everyone at the table flinched, and Lady Marilla half ducked under the protective rim of the table before she stopped herself.

Mikhail heard a shout from one of the Guards near the doorway, and he sensed Donal rushing toward him. The young paxman flung himself against Mikhail’s shoulder, throwing his body over Mikhail’s, trying to protect him. He could feel the warm breath of his nephew against his cheek.

A wind seemed to rise from nowhere, tugging at garments and hair, plucking away the butterfly clasps of the women and the knives of the men as if they were no more than twigs. Mikhail felt a sharp tug at his wrist, and watched, round-eyed, as his glove was pulled from his hand and rose in the swirling air. A minor tornado funneled to the ceiling, then angled off, bearing away the debris it had collected. Finally, the strange whirlwind flung itself against the farthest wall, the collected implements clattering to the floor with a loud noise.

The silence that followed was broken only by gasps and a few screams. Everyone seemed too stunned to do more than stare at the destruction. Then Mikhail’s ring quivered on his finger, and beams of light burst from it.