Traitor's Sun (62 page)

“What manner of mischief is this,” shouted
Dom
Francisco, pointing at Mikhail’s hand.

Before anyone else could speak, a shining cloud rose from the matrix and floated to the center of the table. It hovered there, about a foot above the carved wood, and then began to shift, to turn in place, spinning hypnotically. Mikhail found his mouth gaping in astonishment. The rest of the onlookers were just as stunned as he was, but he was sure they were going to turn and accuse him of using some trick on them as soon as they recovered their senses. The cold feeling in his muscles was gone now, but his mind felt numb.

“YOU PACK OF FOOLS! I AM NOT EVEN DECENTLY LAID TO REST YET, AND ALREADY YOU ARE TRYING TO TEAR THE FABRIC OF DARKOVER TO PIECES WITH YOUR AMBITIONS. SHAME ON YOU!”

“Father?” Although the volume was much greater than Regis Hastur had ever used in life, there was no mistaking the voice.

“SON, I AM SORRY I DID NOT REALLY SAY FAREWELL. THE SPIRIT WAS WILLING, BUT THE FLESH WAS MUCH TOO WEARY.”

“How did you get into Mikhail’s matrix?” Mikhail was glad that Dani was asking this question, because, for the moment, the power of speech seemed to have vanished from his mouth.

“VARZIL RIDENOW SENT ME FORTH FROM THE OVERWORLD, TO MAKE ALL OF YOU STOP BEHAVING LIKE A PACK OF BRAYING ASSES. THE MATRIX WAS MERELY A CONVENIENCE. I BELIEVE HE WAS SO FURIOUS THAT A SPROUT OF HIS LINE WOULD BEHAVE AS FRANCISCO IS NOW, THAT HE ACTED, BUT I AM NOT SURE. CLOSE YOUR MOUTH, MIK. YOU LOOK LIKE A HOOKED TROUT.”

The ball of light began to move, rushing first toward Lew Alton. The swirling light settled on Lew’s brow, and a remarkable expression came over the old, scarred face as tears slithered down into the seams and wrinkles. Then it moved on to
Dom
Gabriel, leaving Mikhail’s father looking stunned but not distressed. There was near silence as the cloud of light continued its circuit, touching the two Aldaran men, then Dyan Ardais and his mother.

Francisco Ridenow shrank back in his tall chair, trembling in spite of his efforts not to. When the cloud settled over his face, an expression of horror contorted his features, and he gave a bark of utter terror. He lifted a hand and tried to brush the light away, then snatched it back as if it had burned him. It seemed to cling to the Ridenow man for what seemed a long time, and when it finally drifted away, Francisco slumped forward onto the surface of the table.

Javanne Hastur sat stiffly, waiting and showing no fear. There was something in her countenance that spoke of a determination not to pay the least attention to what was going to occur, and when the light settled over her, she did not move. Then her hands, resting on the table, clenched into fists, and the cold expression in her face began to fade. Instead she looked very angry, as if she were arguing with her dead brother, and was getting the worst of it.

“How could you, Regis? How could you?” she murmured at last, as the shining energy departed.

Donal released his grip on Mikhail and stepped back as Mikhail waited his turn, too tired to feel afraid. What he experienced he could never afterward completely describe, but he felt a great, supportive affection that embraced him while simultaneously examining him ruthlessly. It was as if none of the previous years had ever happened. There was nothing of the anxiety and mistrust that had saddened both Regis and Mikhail, no rebukes or fault finding. The pain of the past was gone, as if it had never existed.

Mikhail barely noticed the reactions of the rest of the Council members as the cloud finished its journey, except that Danilo Syrtis-Ardais was smiling, and that Dani Hastur and Miralys were both weeping. At last he roused himself enough to turn and look at Marguerida. Her eyes were shining with unshed tears, but her face was as serene as he had ever seen it.

The cloud returned to the center of the table, and Mikhail watched as the light began to change once more. It folded into itself, until there was nothing except a spark, hovering above the polished wood. Then it sped back toward the ring, and the cold which had touched him earlier returned, and vanished a second later. He felt a moment’s sorrow that Lady Linnea was not there to experience this last farewell, and then the thought was gone.

He found Dani looking at him, and Mikhail realized that with the dampers destroyed, the younger man must have overheard his regret for Lady Linnea. Indeed, now he could catch the uppermost thoughts of everyone; the mental silence that he was accustomed to in the chamber was no more. Then, as if the others realized this as well, he felt their personal shields go up, with a sense of relief.

Everyone began to speak at once, as if by unspoken agreement; they would not use their
laran
for the present. Mikhail made no effort to stop them. He was too busy trying to sort out everything which had been lodged in his mind. There was much more than Regis’ love for him, and his belief in Mikhail. There had been an enormous burst of thoughts and emotions and knowledge as well, and he felt rather addled by the effect of it all. He reached out and took the cider Donal had poured for him earlier, draining the cup in three chilly gulps.

He knew now why Regis had died so young, that when he had wielded the Sword of Aldones during the Sharra Rebellion, he had paid a price that shortened his life, that same force that had turned a young man’s hair white had stolen decades of his time on this earth. Mikhail wanted to weep with relief that he really had done all he could, but he held himself back. Instead, he focused on the import of the rest of what Regis had told him, and most especially that he must inform the Comyn Council about the plot against his life immediately, and without hesitation.

Mikhail looked across at Lew, and knew from his serious expression that Regis had told him some of these same things. So, he gazed around the table, and slowly the babbling ceased; all eyes were upon him. He took a long, slow breath. Regis was right. To put it off any longer would make him appear weak. He must take command now, no matter how he felt. If only he could find the right words to say, to get them to forget their own petty concerns and work together.

Then he looked up at the shattered remnants of the trap matrices overhead, and laughed deeply. It was going to be very difficult to keep anything a secret now, and he did not know if he was glad or sorry for it. His sudden burst of merriment was disturbing to several of the people seated at the table, but he refused to choke it back.

Finally, he regained control of himself. “We have spent much too long already debating decisions which were made years ago.
No more!
There is a plot against my life, but also against the lives of the rest of you. This is something which we have to deal with, and now!”

“A plot? First you try to frighten us with the threat of Comyn Castle being attacked, and then you say this! What a pack of nonsense!”

“Didn’t you listen to anything your brother said to you, Mother?”

Francisco Ridenow had recovered himself, and was sitting up in his chair again, still pale but clearly nursing a grievance. “A plot against you—how convenient,” he sneered. “And just how did you come across this purported plot, when you have not been outside Comyn Castle in months?”

“That is quite enough, Francisco,” snapped Lew. “Don’t be obstructive.”

“I will be whatever I damn well please. Regis has been jumping at shadows for years, and I have always wondered how much of that can be laid at your feet, Lew. I think you fed his fears, in order to keep him in your own control. As for that little demonstration—I don’t know how you did it, Mikhail, but I very much doubt that we heard the voice of Regis Hastur speaking from the overworld or anywhere else!” The expression on his face suggested that he did not believe a word he was saying, but that some inner demon forced him to speak as he did.

“Of course—it was all a trick, a cruel trick,” screamed Javanne, her face twisting horribly. “How could you do that to me, Mikhail!”

“Yes—what just occurred proves completely that Mikhail must not be allowed to rule Darkover. He has too much power to be trusted. There is no plot, just lies and tricks!” Francisco roared the words with feeling, pounding his fist on the table to punctuate them.

“Silence!”
Mikhail thundered, surprised at the volume of his own voice. “Believe me, if I had been in control of that manifestation, at least one person in this chamber would be dead now! I have endured your slights and suspicions without complaint for years, but I will not allow either you, Mother, nor you,
Dom
Francisco, to continue to spew your filth at me. You can choose to disbelieve that Regis Hastur shattered the trap matrices in the Crystal Chamber until all of Zandru’s hells melt, for all I care. But that would be extremely foolish, and neither of you are complete fools.”

“It was Regis,” Danilo said very calmly. “He reminded me of things that no one in this room could know except . . . my dearest friend.”

“That is true,” Lady Marilla added. “My wits are slightly disordered yet, but I know that what touched my mind was Regis Hastur, and no other.”

“So, even you were fooled,” muttered
Dom
Francisco, glaring at his ally.

“What a paltry man you are,” Marilla replied, with great dignity. “If Mikhail says there is a plot against him, and against the Comyn, why should we not believe him? What benefit would he derive from making up such a tale?”

“You stupid—”

“It is a very good thing that Regis disarmed me, Francisco,” Dyan Ardais snarled, “or else your life would be forfeit already.”

Dani Hastur cleared his throat. “I know it was my father, and I would like to know more about this plot. I realize that everyone is very shocked and frightened—and don’t pretend you aren’t,
Dom
Francisco! But if we start threatening to kill one another, then we might as well hand Darkover over to the Federation and be done with it!”

“At last—a voice of reason,” Robert Aldaran announced. “Have you all lost your minds? As Lady Marilla asked, what possible purpose would be served by pretending that some plot existed when there was none?”

“I can tell you the answer to that.”

“I am sure you can come up with some plausible explanation,
Dom
Francisco, because your mind is full of your own plots and schemes.”

“That from Aldaran scum!”

“Why do you dishonor yourself this way,
Dom
Francisco?” Marguerida asked, her voice quiet but menacing at the same time. “You know in your heart that Mikhail has nothing but the security of Darkover in mind, and yet you continue with this irrational behavior.”

“I know nothing of the sort, witch!”

“I have never done you a moment’s harm, and still you hate me—why is that,
Dom
Francisco?”

“It would have been better if you had died years ago,” he answered, snarling. Sweat now beaded his forehead, and his hands shook with rage and some less obvious emotion.

Javanne, who had sunk into a kind of stupor, roused herself with difficulty. “I don’t believe in any plot, but I want to hear of it anyhow.” The words came from her lips unwillingly. It seemed she was at war with herself. The pained expression on her face deepened, and she swallowed hard.
I have wronged my own child, and at last I know it.

Mikhail caught her unguarded thought and felt more compassion for his mother than he had in years. He knew what it must have cost her to even allow herself to think those words, and then, with a kind of sorrow, knew she would not choose to remember them. Still, he could treasure them for as long as he lived, and would.

Mikhail looked across at Lew. He nodded toward the older man, gesturing him to begin the tale. “A few nights past, Domenic left Comyn Castle for a bit of mischief,” Lew said solemnly.

“I should have known the little bastard was at the bottom of this,” Javanne spat, her moment of self-awareness gone, and all her previous furies returning. “I’ve heard enough now!”

“One more word against my son and heir, Mother, and I will do something you will regret for the rest of your life.” She glared at him, then looked at the ring on his finger and shuddered, clinging stubbornly to her anger and her fears of him. “You are not my son any longer!”

“Thank you—I am greatly relieved that I need no longer give you any more respect than I would one of the servants. Please continue, Lew.”

Javanne had intended to provoke him, and he could see the disappointment in her face. Then her eyes seemed to glaze over, as if the inner torment were too great for her to bear, and she leaned against the back of her chair and sighed.

“As I was saying, Domenic sneaked off to watch the Travelers perform. He observed some men in Federation leathers walking to the North Gate, and being a curious lad, he followed them. They met one of the Travelers, the driver of a wagon, who was, it turned out, a spy for the Federation. At that time, we had not let the word of Regis’s sudden death reach as far as Headquarters, but this fellow, Dirck Vancof, told the men that he was gone. One of them, Miles Granfell, who is the second in command to Lyle Belfontaine, the Station Chief, suggested that since the Comyn accompany the body of their dead rulers to the
rhu fead,
that an attack on the funeral train might be a lovely idea. He has always struck me as the kind of opportunistic man who
would
think of such a thing, so I am not surprised that he did.

“Nico thought about what he had overheard, and, sensibly, told me—you recall that when we were at dinner the night you arrived, Javanne, I was interrupted? Yes, I see that you do remember. That was Domenic. And after the meal we closeted ourselves to decide what to do. Herm Aldaran offered to join Nico on the road, to see if there was anything other than wishful thinking in Miles Granfell’s idea. We have now gathered enough information to believe that some sort of assault will likely be made against the funeral train, unless we can come up with some plan to prevent it.”