Traitor's Sun (72 page)

When consciousness returned, Belfontaine found himself lying on a long couch, his battle gear gone. There was a pleasant fire in a huge maw of stone, and the smell of Cottman balsam drifted out from it. He lay in his fouled thermals, dazed and bewildered.

There was a faint rustle of fabric, and he turned his head in the direction of the sound. A dark-haired woman in a jewel-red garment came into view. It fell in soft folds around her slender form as she walked toward him, a soft veil fluttering from the top of her head. “Feeling better?”

He stared at her, for a moment incapable of comprehending the question. Belfontaine’s command of the local language had never been very good, and in his present muddled condition, it abandoned him entirely for a few seconds. Then he understood and nodded, sitting up so quickly that his head swam. She was small, no taller than he was, and young enough to be his daughter, but clad only in his soiled thermals, he felt helpless and vulnerable. And disgusting—he stank of sweat, fear, and worse.

The sound of boots on stone came in from behind the couch, and Belfontaine turned around to see who it was. Lew Alton, grinning like a fiend, appeared. If he had not lost his weapons, he would have blasted the hateful man right then.

“You have always wanted to see the inside of Comyn Castle, haven’t you, Lyle, and now you have achieved your ambition,” Alton said gravely. “Would you care for a glass of wine?”

For a moment this barefaced effrontery robbed Belfontaine of the power of speech. Then he snarled, “What are you doing here? I thought you left with . . . and what did you
do
to me and my men?”

“I did not do anything to you, little man. All your troubles you have brought on yourself. Now, about the wine. I am going to have some, and I suggest you do the same.” Lew walked to a small table and poured two glasses. Then he looked at the silent woman. “Would you like some, too, Val?”

“Yes, I believe I would,” she answered. Alton poured another, then picked one up and handed it to her. He placed the remaining glasses on a small tray and moved toward Belfontaine.

Little man.
That was what he had heard just before he . . . no, he did not want to think about that. Belfontaine was sure he had heard Lew’s voice, but not in the air. There was a different resonance. He must have shouted over some sort of device, some primitive thing, an ancient loudspeaker probably. He had only thought he heard the words in his mind. The whole thing must have been an illusion due to his agitated state.

The smugness of the man was infuriating. There had to be a way to penetrate Lew Alton’s arrogant triumph. But he felt so weak, confused and mortified that it was hard to muster up enough strength to focus his mind. It was as if all his emotions except fear, had faded into shadows. Yes, he was most definitely afraid, but he was damned if he was going to let it show.

He took the offered glass, forcing his sluggish mind to work. There had to be a reasonable explanation for all this. There was no way a bunch of backwater primitives could have defeated trained troops so easily. He sipped a little of the wine and racked his brain.

The combat suits had been sabotaged in some manner—that must be it! Some of the native personnel must have done it, though he could not imagine how. And now he was a prisoner. It had never occurred to him that he might fail, and he remembered how his father had appeared and called him worthless. It was all impossible! The silence in the room weighed on him.

“I thought you were with the funeral train,” he muttered, hating the whine in his own voice, and still trying to find some sense in the whole mess. The train! How much time had passed? He could not tell, and there was no clock that he could see. The train had left at daybreak, and he had waited for several hours before he began his assault. He shuddered at his realization of the failure of it. By now the ambush should have taken place, and no one but he knew that most of the members of the Comyn Council were likely dead. The troops from the Hellers would not be wearing Federation combat suits, so they would be immune to this unexpected treachery. Yes, he could definitely salvage something.

Belfontaine bit his lower lip. He longed to announce what he knew, to wipe the smug expression off Alton’s scarred and wrinkled face, to tell him that his daughter was dead! But he must not waste his advantage so cheaply. Let him think he had the upper hand for a time. The wine was rather good, and it seemed to be clearing his mind slowly.

“I am sure you did, but since I expected you to come calling, I decided to be a good host and await you.”

“You . . . expected . . . me?” The wine turned to vinegar in his mouth.

“Of course. You convinced yourself that Comyn Castle would be an easy target. You have always underestimated us, Lyle. It is your fatal flaw.”

“Fatal? What are you going to do to me?”

“Why, you will be my guest for a time.” Lew Alton’s face was solemn, but there was a light in the Comyn lord’s eyes that made Belfontaine uneasy.” And later, I am going to turn you over to the Federation—always assuming they come back for you—and let them deal with you. Of course, when my son-in-law returns, he may have some other ideas—nothing too terribly barbaric, I assure you.”

That was too much! He could not stand it a second longer. “You will have to wait a long time, then, because he is not coming back! He’s dead, and so is everyone else in that party!”

Alton appeared unmoved, not the least bit afraid. “Now, now, Lyle. It would have been much wiser not to have admitted knowledge of that. Much wiser.”

Belfontaine felt the blood drain from his face. His ears rang, and he felt nauseous. With a great effort he swallowed the saliva that filled his mouth and screamed, “You stupid bastard—your daughter is dead!”

To his fury and amazement, Lew Alton did not react except to appear mildly amused. “No, little man, she most definitely is not!”

T
he carriage rattled along, and Domenic shifted back and forth on his bench. He was riding with his back to the driver, and the forward movement of the vehicle threatened to unseat him. Across from him, Herm and Katherine were silent, each lost in their own thoughts. It did not take
laran
to be able to tell they had much to talk about, and Domenic wished he had gone in the carriage with Illona and his grandfather Gabriel, so they could have the privacy they clearly needed.

“Please, it’s clear you have much to discuss,” he finally told them, unable to endure their tense silence any longer. “If you can pretend I’m not here, I’ll try my best not to listen.” Then he turned and looked through the window, watching the thighs of the Guardsman who was riding beside the vehicle.

Herm gave a sort of grunt, a sound Domenic was now very familiar with. “I wish it were that easy, nephew.”

Katherine turned and studied her husband. “It
is
that easy, except that you don’t want to talk to me—you just want to charm me into forgetting the past few days. Domenic is not the problem, Herm.
You are.
”

“What has gotten into you, Kate? I said I was sorry!”
I go away for a few days and when I see her again, she seems like a different person—one I don’t know at all.

“Sorry is not enough, and you know it!” She paused, seeming to gather her resolve and perhaps her nerve, and then went on. “Why are you such a
runaway
?”

“What?”
Herm turned a deep shade of red, as if her words had hit some mark that shamed him.

“Well, aren’t you? Don’t you try to sidestep getting close to anyone, even me? I don’t know why I didn’t realize it before. No, that’s not true. I did know it, and it was one of the reasons I married you—the more fool I.”

“You are going to have to explain that, Katherine, because I am completely lost.”

“I know it sounds ironic, but it seems that I never understood myself until I came to Darkover—why I am uncomfortable with most people. I married you, Hermes-Gabriel Aldaran, partly because I was so comfortable with you—and now that I’m here I’ve realized that the reason that I was more at ease with you than with other people is that you are remote! Oh, you are sweet and loving and utterly devoted, but there is a part of you that is always held back. That part made me feel unthreatened, but now things are so different! If we are going to mend this marriage, you have to change!”

Domenic wished he could stop his ears—he was trying not to listen—but he was fascinated at the same time. Was this the sort of thing his parents said to each other when they were alone? It must be, since he knew both Mikhail and Marguerida were very strong and stubborn people, and they could not have managed their years of marriage without some sort of argument. It gave him a new and not entirely pleasant insight into the relationship between the two most important people in his life.

“Remote?” Herm sounded peevish, and almost childish now.

“Yes, and withholding, too! Or do you believe that this

‘hale fellow well met’ you pretend to be is the real Hermes?”

The man squirmed and knitted his fingers together. Then he swallowed hard and replied, “I avoid introspection whenever possible.”

“Then you had better stop avoiding it, or else I am going to . . . well, I’m not sure. Perhaps I will join the Painters Guild and leave you. Or let your brother support me for the rest of my years. Even though you have exiled me to this strange world, I am not without options!”

“You are asking me to change who I am. I don’t know if that is realistic. I don’t know if I can.”

“I want you to try. I will not be shut out again, nor abandoned, Herm. You should get that through your thick Aldaran head right now!”

“It isn’t enough that I love you?”

“Not nearly,
cario
.” The term of endearment did not take the sting out of her demand, and Domenic held back a smile, lowering his head a little so his mouth was concealed. He realized he was learning something important about being an adult, although he could not quite understand it yet.

“What do you want of me, Kate?” He seemed humble now, sincere and a bit afraid.

“I want you to grow up! No more games and schemes, and no more secrets, at least not from me!”

Herm looked downcast for a minute, and Nico tensed, waiting for his response. “I don’t know who I am without my plots and schemes, Katherine.”

“Then it is about time you started finding out.”

The man gave a great sigh. “Do you know how much I hate it when you are right?”

“Yes.” Kate reached over and put her hand on his interlocked fingers. “If I did not love you so much, I would not be bothering, you know.”

“What did I ever do to deserve you?” He bowed his head.

Katherine leaned over and kissed his shiny pate. “You were born under some lucky star, I suppose,” she murmured.

Domenic yawned, not from tiredness, but to release the tension in his jaw. It was amazing—they had both been very angry at each other just a few minutes before, and now it was over, for the moment. He suspected that the matter was not completely settled, that Kate would have to chide her husband again and again. But peace had been restored, and he felt he had learned a lesson. He wished he could ask his mother about it, but that would mean revealing what had passed between his uncle and Katherine, and he would not do that. After chewing over it mentally for several seconds, Domenic let it go and he turned his attention outward. He scanned the minds of the Guardsmen riding beside the carriage, and then reached for those more distant ones he knew waited beyond.

At the head of the slow-moving train Mikhail and Marguerida rode side by side. They were both tense and alert, and around them, the mood of the Guards was grim. The sound of hooves, the jingle of bridles, and the occasional snort of mount or bray of mule were the only noises which punctuated an increasingly oppressive silence. Marguerida swallowed in a dry throat, the taste of one of MacHaworth’s excellent fowl pies lingering in her mouth, and hummed a scale. Mikhail glanced at her when he heard the tones, smiling just a little.

The midday meal had been chaotic, noisy and almost fevered, as if everyone realized that it might be their last, and was determined to make the most of it. She was relieved to have Domenic back, and was glad she had persuaded him to ride in one of the carriages instead of on horseback. It was not much protection, but at least he would be out of sight during the actual fighting. She hoped she was right. It was easier to worry about her son than to think about what awaited them up the road.

Rafaella had been able to give them a clear idea of exactly where the ambush would most likely come. She and the rest of her Renunciates had been doing a good deal of quiet spying since the previous evening, and at least they had a fair idea of the number and location of the enemy. What they did not know, and what worried Marguerida and Mikhail most, was what sort of weaponry they would be facing. Rafi said that the men were dressed in Darkovan clothing, and seemed to have cudgels and short swords. But Marguerida was unable to completely convince herself that the Federation forces would not try to use their superior weaponry against the funeral train.