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    Arilinn: Darkover, #2
    Arilinn: Darkover, #2
    Arilinn: Darkover, #2
    Ebook477 pages7 hours

    Arilinn: Darkover, #2

    By Marion Zimmer Bradley

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    About this ebook

    A gripping new fantasy novel set in Marion Zimmer Bradley's Darkover universe.

    Darkover, a Lost Colony far out on the galactic rim, a world of telepaths, nonhumans, and warlords … a world about to discover the terrible destructive power of weapons of the mind …

    Traumatized by psychic warfare as a child, a young woman with extraordinary psychic talents negotiates a treacherous path, risking unforeseen dangers to create a haven where she and others can use their skills for good.

    In Darkover's dim past, before the tumultuous Ages of Chaos, small kingdoms still vied for power with sword and spear. But with the rise of psychic abilities called laran, unscrupulous leaders turned to half-trained sorcerers for an advantage. One such struggle arose between the realms of Hastur and its ambitious neighbor, Carcosse.

    Leora Hastur is still a child when her laran awakens, and the resulting crisis almost claims her life. Her beloved older sister, Neave, and her father's small circle of telepathic workers manage to save her, but nothing can shield her from the horrors of the impending war. Leora's younger sister perishes in the firestorm of laran-fueled destruction when Lord Carcosse and his sorcerer attack their home. Scarred and deeply traumatized, Leora is sent to a faraway Tower for healing. In the process, she grows to womanhood and develops her extraordinary Gifts, wanting nothing more than to live and work among fellow telepaths.

    But war is brewing once more …

    To prevent another catastrophe, Lord Hastur brokers an alliance, with marriage to Leora as part of the treaty. Rather than see others suffer as she has, Leora reluctantly agrees. As she and Neave travel to the wedding, one calamity follows another, from a flash flood to an attack by nonhuman catmen … and capture by ruthless Dry Towns slavers. To save her sister and their fellow captives, Leora must call forth a previously unknown Gift and summon the gods themselves to her cause.

    Arilinn is the new, long-awaited adventure in the beloved Darkover series. It's perfect for both devoted fans and those new to the world of the Bloody Sun.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherMarion Zimmer Bradley Literary Works Trust
    Release dateNov 12, 2024
    ISBN9781938185861
    Arilinn: Darkover, #2
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    Author

    Marion Zimmer Bradley

    Marion Zimmer Bradley is the creator of the popular Darkover universe, as well as the critically acclaimed author of the bestselling ‘The Mists of Avalon’ and its sequel, ‘The Forest House’. She lives in Berkeley, California.

    Read more from Marion Zimmer Bradley

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      Book preview

      Arilinn - Marion Zimmer Bradley

      The long Darkovan winter slowly loosened its grasp. Spring burst upon the Hastur estate with the heady aromas of damp earth and the first rush of green growth. The blossoming fruit trees in the castle orchard layered the ground in petals. Those who had neglected their outdoor work now bent to it with cheerfulness, and those who had no excuse invented reasons. More than one otherwise staid servant could be seen, arms flung wide, face lifted to the sun, tucking a flower into a braid, or singing as they went about their tasks. The lord’s children were no exception.

      Lord Aidan Hastur looked down from the outdoor balcony, watching his two youngest daughters play in the garden. Skirts swirled as they darted here and there, as swift and agile as kestrels. Their adolescent voices brought a smile to his lips.

      He turned away from the enchanting sight below, leaned against the cool, close-set stone, and closed his eyes. They were so young, so innocent. How much longer he would be able to shelter them from the sorrows of the world, he did not know. His only certainty was that he would give anything to keep them safe.

      Aldones grant my daughters may raise their children in a land at peace, and that my son, my Iain, need never lead men to their deaths.

      Tossing back the copper-bright curls that had come loose from her braid, Leora Hastur let out a whoop and darted out from behind the garden wall to tag her younger sister, Sharina. Sharina raced down the graveled path. Leora followed on her heels, both of them yelling. The gardener gave a mock scowl as they barreled past.

      Stay out of me beds! he called after them.

      Breathless and glowing with exertion, the sisters slowed to a more decorous pace. From the end of the path, they could be easily spotted from above, and neither would put it beyond their next-eldest sister, Jessamy, to tattle on them. Before they could head back into the garden, however, they heard a galloping horse on the road leading to the castle. 

      Something is going on. Leora could taste it in the air.

      They were just in time to see an unfamiliar rider halt in the courtyard. A stableboy trotted forward to take the reins. By the time the rider had dismounted, the castle steward, the coridom, had emerged from the front doors.

      Blue, gray, and white, Leora murmured, her gaze following the rider as he followed the coridom inside. The colors belonged to their neighbor and sometime adversary, Carcosse.

      "What does Dom Merryl want with us?" she wondered aloud.

      Sharina giggled. Maybe it’s an offer of marriage.

      If that’s true, it would be for Jessamy. We’ll just have to wait our turn and trust that when the time comes, Father will make us a good match. She did not include their oldest half-sister, Neave. Mother would never agree to a suitable dowry for a step-daughter from the first Lady Hastur.

      "I don’t want to be wed to some old pimple-faced Carcosse, Sharina said. Nor to anybody!"

      Leora took her sister’s arm. Whatever it’s about, we won’t find out by standing here.

      The entrance hall was empty except for Lorcan, the coridom, a dignified man the two sisters delighted in calling Uncle although he was old enough to be their grandfather. When they went to him, his somber expression lightened.

      "Damiselas." He bowed to each of them.

      We saw the rider from Carcosse, Leora said. Do you know what it’s about? Is he with Father now?

      What a mystery! Sharina stood on tiptoe to kiss the old man on the cheek.

      They’ve gone up to the presence chamber, Lorcan replied. "But you’re not to interrupt them with your chatter. Should it be appropriate, Dom Aidan will summon you. Until then, I advise you to remember the adage about the rabbit-horn and the scorpion-ants’ nest."

      Leora had always hated that story’s moral that terrible things happened to children who poked their noses where they didn’t belong. She suspected it was made up expressly to discourage curiosity.

      And no sneaking around the back passages, hoping for a look! Lorcan shook one forefinger at them, but his eyes twinkled. I know you, young scamps!

      We would never behave in such a disreputable manner, Leora said, gathering her dignity. What must you think of us?

      I think, he said more gently, that your lady mother has need of you this hour, and that you would do well to attend her rather than meddle in men’s business. And to remember that rules are not made to torment you but to keep you safe. Go along, then.

      Further argument would be futile. She’d only end up sounding childish, and Sharina would follow her lead.

      I’m nearly fifteen. I ought to be patient. She knew what her mother would have her do: sit quietly and do needlework or supervise the kitchen or any of a hundred boring things while the men make the important decisions. But how could she help Father if she didn’t know what was going on?

      The answer was that she couldn’t. That wasn’t what girls were allowed to do.

      Aren’t we going to snoop around and get some answers? Sharina said, grabbing Leora’s arm.

       It was not honorable, as Father had said a year ago, the last time they’d gone exploring. Leora’s cheeks still burned from the scolding. Father had assumed, rightly, that she had led Sharina into mischief. He’d upbraided Leora not only for poking around where she had no business but for endangering her younger sister.

      What if you’d fallen or gotten trapped? Those passageways aren’t safe. What kind of example were you setting for Sharina, who looks up to you? You are a daughter of Hastur and should have known better. I am deeply disappointed in you.

      Blinking back tears of mortification, Leora had vowed to never give her father cause to be ashamed of her again.

      No, she said to Sharina with a trace of regret, not this time. I’m sure we’ll find out what it’s all about.

      Aidan went through the household accounts with his long-time friend and paxman, Connor Darriell. The two men met in the comfortable, slightly shabby chamber Aidan referred to as his office. The furnishings were old enough to have acquired a collection of scratches, water rings, and candle burns from generations of careless boys. Aidan was responsible for a goodly number from sneaking into his grandfather’s private chamber.

      Aidan steadfastly refused to allow Graciela, his present wife, into his office. Connor had once remarked that the lady would not depart without having rearranged everything in such a way to be unfindable, but there had been no malice in his words. Connor and Graciela got along reasonably well, and as for Aidan, he had married her for her family’s power and her housekeeping, not for affection. He and Fiona-Maria Aillard, his first wife, had shared a great love and an even greater passion, but it had brought him nothing beyond her death and one surviving and most perplexing daughter.

      Connor opened the oversized ledger books, set out a fresh pot of ink, and took his seat beside the desk. They were only a few years apart in age, and Connor had been fostered at the castle since both were boys. It was a common practice among the Comyn aristocracy. Connor gained an education and place in life. Aidan had a companion and aide whom he could trust.

      Young Iain’s coming along with his weapons drills, Connor said once they had reviewed the progress of spring planting and a handful of villager disputes.

      I’ll get out on the yard tomorrow, Aidan said, and go a few rounds with him.

      He’ll be thrilled.

      Not if he forgets everything you’ve taught him.

      Both men looked up at a knock at the door. Connor made as if to rise, but Aidan restrained him with a gesture, As you were.

      Come.

      The coridom’s assistant entered and bowed formally. As he waited for permission to speak, he radiated anxiety.

      What is it? Aidan shaded his words with kindness. The assistant was one of the younger men training under Lorcan who would assume his duties as he aged. This lad was newly come to the castle from a small forest village under Hastur rule and was still visibly in awe of Aidan, Lord Hastur.

      "Vai dom, there’s a messenger come from Lord Carcosse."

      Carcosse? What devilry is he stirring up now?

      Aidan kept his features carefully neutral, although he sensed Connor’s alertness. He maintained a calm, confident demeanor, aware that rumors were already flying about the castle.

      Shall I have the messenger escorted here? the assistant asked.

      I’ll hear him in my presence chamber shortly.

      The assistant’s eyes widened. "Vai dom, we may require a—a short time to prepare the chamber."

      Then take the time, Aidan said. As for the messenger, he can wait. Offer him water or watered ale, but keep him in the guardroom. And under watchful eyes.

      "Yes, vai dom." With another bow, the assistant departed.

      Connor turned to Aidan. "The presence chamber, my lord?" In the past, the chamber had been reserved for formal, diplomatic use.

      Aidan did not bother to answer. He and Connor had been out of step with one another lately. The reason couldn’t be helped, nor the resulting ragged edges. With time, those should heal.

      He strode over to the window overlooking an interior courtyard. On the far side, one of the household staff opened the window and shook out a duster. How normal, how domestic that seemed. He did not want to assume that this message from Carcosse presaged some dire event, perhaps a return to the violence that had overshadowed his grandfather’s and his father’s times. The thought persisted. He tried to shake it off, lest his fears cause him to bring about that very fate.

      Something was bound to happen sooner or later, he said, trying not to sound as bleak as he felt. This message could be perfectly benign, an overture to better relations—an invitation to a ball, for all I know. Or an inquiry about a marriage alliance.

      Or something far worse.

      Either way, Aidan said, forcing a lighter tone, this messenger will take back not only my response but the formal setting in which I gave it.

      In other words, you take Carcosse seriously.

      In other words, Aidan replied with a lift of one eyebrow, "I mean to make him take me seriously."

      The presence chamber was narrow and shadowed, a relic of the past. The benches, secretary’s table, and heavy, ornately carved chair in which Aidan now sat, were dark with polish. Aidan hated the place, even though he knew its uses. For the past two generations, the chamber had been the scene of tense diplomatic conferences between Hastur and Carcosse, as well as a place to receive petitions and settle disputes. At times, Aidan imagined he could hear echoes of those times, voices shouting, the tramp of boots, the anger—that implacable, deadly anger—on both sides.

      No one now living knew exactly how the feud began. Aidan had grown up with the story of a betrothal feast in which the groom—the young Carcosse heir—and the Hastur bride’s mother died. Of poison, of a secretive thrust of a dagger, of tragically circumstantial but natural causes, it did not matter. Each family blamed the other, and Aidan had heard only the Hastur side. The resulting cycle of retaliation had ended with the Carcosse manor in ashes and each side nursing bitterness that, like half-buried embers, could flare up at any time.

      Go carefully, Aidan cautioned himself. Do not make trouble where there is none. If there is a way to keep the peace between us, I must find it. And yet … I cannot trust these people. I dare not.

      Connor opened the door and bade the messenger to enter. Aidan listened while the message was delivered. The rider stumbled over a phrase here and there. He wasn’t a trained Voice. Those were very few and greatly sought after, making their services expensive.

      My lord, hear the words of Merryl Zamboro of Carcosse, who salutes his neighbor, Aidan Valdir of Hastur, and sends wishes for the continued good—no, excellent—health of his family. He regrets to inform Lord Hastur that a party of thieves has crossed over from Hastur lands into the domain of Carcosse and there— he described the area’s precise landmarks, —there unlawfully seized cattle rightfully belonging to Lord Carcosse’s subjects. He further—um, testifies—no, asserts—that these law-breakers owe fealty to Lord Hastur and therefore their trespasses are Lord Hastur’s responsibility. Therefore, my lord demands one hundred coins of gold in recompense.

      If Aidan had been a decade younger, he would have laughed in the messenger’s face. The flimsiness of the charges compounded the outrageousness of the sum. It was enough to buy every single cow, bull, and calf in the realm of Carcosse.

      I must buy time to find out what Carcosse is really up to.

      I will consider the matter, Aidan said. In the meantime, you’ve had a long ride. Take your ease with us tonight. Connor, see to it that man and mount are fed and comfortably housed. We’ll continue our business in my office.

      At this hour, the embers from the morning fire in Aidan’s office were banked but still glowing. He stood before it, legs braced, hands spread wide. He turned as Connor entered and latched the door behind him.

      He’s settled? Aidan asked.

      A bit too nervous to properly enjoy his meal.

      Aidan lowered himself to a chair before the hearth and gestured for Connor to take the other.

      Your thoughts on the message? This was an old habit of theirs, for Connor to shave away the superficial aspects of a problem.

      This—I suppose you might call it a joke, Connor said, stretching out his legs. It doesn’t even pretend to be a sincere request for compensation. No man would consider paying such a sum and there’s no evidence here to back it up. What exactly is the point? To insult us? What does he expect?

      He expects me to refuse, of course. That’s what a sane man would do. The answer came too easily. The situation was more complicated than a meritless claim. Between them, he and Connor would get to the bottom of it.

      That goes without saying, Connor said, thoughtful. "But what is he playing at? Why make the demand at all? What does he want?"

      This might be a prelude to something else. I can’t offhand think what that might be.

      Nor I. Connor shook his head. How will you answer?

      If nothing better occurs to me overnight, I’ll politely acknowledge his concerns, offer my commiseration on the loss of his cattle, and say I’ll look into the matter.

      Connor sat up straight in his chair. You cannot mean to venture into Carcosse territory so soon after a cattle raid.

      "A reported cattle raid," Aidan said, half-joking, half-grim.

      "Vai dom, it’s my duty to advise you regarding the prudence of any action. I tell you now that what you propose is foolhardy at best."

      There it was, the old frankness, the openness that Aidan had missed these last tendays. Not merely duty, Aidan thought, but loyalty of the heart.

       Your objections are noted, he said with a nod and a slight smile. Under other circumstances, that would be the end of it. This time, the matter is a bit more … He paused, weighing his words. The place described by the messenger, where the cattle were said to have been taken, lies in an area that was once claimed by both our realms. My father annexed it when I was a boy, and so it has been ever since. It’s not just the cattle at stake, it’s ownership of the land itself.

      In other words, Connor said, "Dom Merryl is in effect laying claim to that strip of border."

      That’s the size of it. Here, I’ll show you—

      Heaving himself out of his chair, Aidan went to the shelves that held maps, some dating back a century or more. He found one detailing the borders and unrolled it on the desk. "This is an old map, drawn up before my father claimed the land. Now the boundary line would be here. He tapped the parchment with one finger. And, near as I can figure, the cattle were reportedly here, clearly on our side."

      Connor studied the map. "Merryl Carcosse knows full well that the site lies on our side of the border. He expects you to refuse that outrageous payment. Which brings us back to my question: What is he really after?"

      I doubt you and I will find the answer by sitting around discussing it. So in a day or two—once I’ve had a bit of time to assess my son’s burgeoning skills with the wooden practice sword—I’ll see what I can find out. I might add, however, that I’m not expecting much.

      Connor frowned. "I don’t like it, vai dom."

      You’ve used the honorific twice in one conversation, Aidan remarked as he rolled up the map. He handed it to Connor as if it were an accolade and waited while his paxman replaced it on the shelf.

      Connor turned back, his eyes shadowed. I’m trying to keep you from riding into a trap.

      "A trap?"

      How can it be anything else? Connor threw up his hands in exasperation.

      Indeed, Aidan said dryly.

      Do not be lulled into a false sense of safety because this supposed raid took place on our lands. It’s as plain as the ears on Durraman’s donkey that the terrain is perfect for an ambush. Maybe you’re right and Carcosse expects you to disregard him. But suppose that he claims a raid to lure you in? He will know you’re coming, and his men will be waiting for you.

      I understand your concerns. At the same time, we must consider that there is more at stake here than a fake cattle raid. Aidan began pacing, using movement to help him gather his thoughts. He trusted Connor to understand that he wasn’t speechifying, he was working his way through a knotty problem. Connor was his conscience, his sounding board.

      The day of the small family-run estate is passing, Aidan said. We stand on the brink of an age of kings. Victory leads to the lust for more territory and more subjects. This cycle of aggression and retaliation—where will it end? When we and our children have soaked the earth with our blood?

      I pray Aldones that day never comes, Connor said in a thick voice.

      As do I.

      A succession of unreadable expressions passed over Connor’s face. Not for the first time, Aidan wished he could sense what his friend was feeling. He himself had more than a touch of telepathic talent, enough to pass the Gift to his children, but had never learned to use it.

      Of course, it’s a trap. Aidan halted his pacing. "Or if it is not, I must prepare as if it were one. I cannot ignore the accusation, but I must find out what Carcosse is up to—by seeing what he does next. There will be a next, I’m sure of it. I aim to draw him out. Otherwise, I leave myself blind to his true aims."

      You’ll go well-guarded. A command, not a statement. "And you will send out scouts well in advance. And you will hold back part of your force in case the main body is taken by surprise."

      I rely upon your recommendations, and I will go further. The more I think about it, the more I think this is but the opening gambit in a game of power, with the ultimate goal of avenging the Carcosse losses two generations ago. So I will not only take your precautions, I will make my own. You are to put our pledged fighting men on alert. Contact Berrin Valdes, who served my father, and persuade him to come out of retirement to prepare the troops at the mustering place.

      Aye, I remember him, Connor said with a wry smile. The old general had been a stern taskmaster for them both when they were young. I doubt he’ll be able to resist training up another generation.

      "They’ll be the better for it. Meanwhile, make provisions here that will not alarm my lady wife or daughters. This is a precaution only—I do not want tongues to wag needlessly. Finally, I will summon the circle at Alcabra Keep. If worst comes to worst, I dare not risk them becoming an asset of war to be seized or destroyed. I especially do not want to risk the new laranzu from Neskaya falling into Carcosse’s hands."

      And not only the Neskaya wizard …

      Connor stood very still, barely blinking. Aidan noted the effort it took to mask his worry, not for himself but for Neave. The plan had been for her to join the circle folk at the Keep for continued training.

      If Carcosse means the worst, Connor said, this castle will be as safe as anywhere. We must ensure that remains so.

      "Indeed. One thing more before you go. Or two, rather. The spies you have placed in Carcosse’s stronghold, have they said anything about a circle owing fealty to him? And if so, does he have the capability of deploying laran in battle?"

      I have not received such a report, but I will inquire. It will take time. Connor meant avoiding unnecessary chances of a missive being intercepted. And the second matter?

      Aidan raked his fingers through his hair, betraying an inner disquiet at entering morally suspect territory. "If I am not at home when the Alcabra folk arrive, and if they have not already done so … they are to investigate both offensive and defensive military uses of laran. The workers at Neskaya are pioneering weapons created using the powers of the mind, as well as the direct application of psychic force. My circle—" with a slight emphasis on the word my, "—now includes a laranzu from Neskaya, brother to the Alcabra Keeper. With Zandru’s luck, that may prove an advantage, should the situation with Carcosse come to armed conflict."

      Color drained from Connor’s face, except for two spots along his cheekbones. Aidan needed no laran to tell his paxman was no longer surprised, he was appalled.

      My lord, you cannot be serious. Such a thing—

      I am in deadly earnest, Aidan cut in. "This whole affair may turn out to be a misunderstanding and a bit of bad blood from a generation ago. But if it is more, if Carcosse means to test my weaknesses as a prelude to an attack—and if he has laran armament of his own—I dare not do less. I must use every weapon I have or can create. The fate of Hastur and the lives of everyone, within these walls and outside, depends on it. Do you understand me?"

      Understanding is not required, Connor murmured, only obedience.

      Yet I would have it.

      I am at your service in this, as in all things. Connor’s words came slowly. Forgive me if I spoke out of turn.

      Aidan clapped his paxman on the shoulder. You speak out of love for me and all Hastur. Please believe that I, too, speak out of love.

      After escaping from the solarium, where she’d spent the better part of the afternoon stabbing her thumb with a needle, Leora headed back to her room. She’d had her fill of sitting demurely and never hearing a word of anything interesting. Her mother and Jessamy were like matched dolls with their neatly arranged dark hair and their endless chatter.

      She slipped through the door to the back stairs, used primarily by the household staff, up a flight and then along the narrow servants’ corridor.

      A trap?

      The words popped into her mind. She was so startled, she almost lost her balance.

      Words in her mind … but not her words. Not her voice.

      No, that was impossible. How could it be? She knew about telepathy. What Comyn child did not? But she had never thought she might have it. When she was ten, she’d been tested by a leronis from Alcabra Keep. Neither she nor her older sister, Jessamy, had any detectable laran. The leronis had said it was too early to be sure in Leora’s case, but Mother had refused to follow up. It was enough that Neave, Leora’s older stepsister, had talent enough to train at the Keep.

      If it were not telepathy … She must have overheard someone else speaking.

      Her skin turned clammy. Dizziness swept through her. She bent over, retching, as the grayness in her vision faded.

      A trap—what did that mean? Was this old shortcut a trap? Or was someone setting a trap? For her?

      She held her breath and listened. This corridor ran behind her father’s office. Now she caught the sound of men’s voices. Her father sounded upset—at Connor, with whom he never got angry. This was bad, really bad.

      Heart pounding, Leora raced down the stairs leading to the central hall. The sound of her hammering pulse filled her skull.

      A trap, Connor had said. And Father had agreed.

      The hammering of her pulse filled her skull.

      Father is riding into a trap.

      A pair of maidservants, brushing out the carpet that ran down the center of the hall, looked up at her as she headed toward the wing housing the family quarters. Hurrying on, she neared the T intersection where one corridor led to the daughters’ rooms and the other to the master suite and Iain’s chamber. The girls’ rooms were arranged along a single corridor, with Leora’s and Sharina’s next to each other and Jessamy’s further down. Neave’s was at the far end.

      A trap? What should I do? I can’t just do nothing. But I wasn’t supposed to hear that!

      Dashing around the corner, Leora collided with Neave and fell into her older half-sister’s arms. Where they touched, a jolt like lightning flashed across Leora’s skin. For an instant, she felt Neave’s presence in her mind.

      Neave pulled back, brushing her hands on her skirts as if her fingertips pained her.

      "I’m sorry—" Leora began.

      "What has distressed you, chiya?"

      Nothing, I’m just out of breath from the stairs.

      You’ve been eavesdropping— Neave gave her a piercing look, —on Father. And you didn’t like what you heard.

      It was an accident, I never meant— Wait, how did you know?

      When we touched, I picked up a fragment of your thoughts. Skin-to-skin contact enhances telepathy. I thought you knew that.

      Telepathy, so that’s what it was?

      Leora’s vision wavered. She felt sick to her stomach. She reached out to steady herself against the wall. Neave put an arm around her shoulders, carefully placing her hand on the fabric of Leora’s dress.

      You poor thing, Neave said, you’ve had a fright. First, you overhear politics you’re too young to understand, and now a big sister you barely know reads your mind.

      I’m not too young to understand that Father is riding into a trap! Only—I don’t know what to do about it.

      Father is far too wily to be caught in a trap, and Connor would never allow him to do anything rash.

      I feel like a goose, Leora confessed, all ruffled feathers and honking.

      Neave laughed. "You spoke from your heart, chiya. To you, it’s new and terrifying. I cannot say with utter certainty that Father will return, for I have not the Gift of seeing the future—"

      Blessed Evanda! Is there such a thing? I thought it was a myth.

      Neave regarded her seriously, It’s not something we Hasturs have ever had to contend with. Some of the Aldaran folk are said to be able to glimpse what is to come, or so Melanie says, but the Gift is erratic and unreliable. The visions may or may not come to pass, and the uncertainty has driven more than one of them mad.

      Then I would rather not know.

      "Nor I. I would rather make my own future, wouldn’t you? Or rely on common sense to tell me what is a reasonable outcome. So I believe that it is unlikely any harm will come to Father. And the more fool Lord Carcosse if he tries."

      The family gathered for dinner in the usual cozy room instead of the chill, echoing hall reserved for formal feasting. The chamber was not far from the kitchen, so the food was still hot. It was plain, everyday fare that had been stored over the winter, except for the boiled spring greens. As usual, Neave was not included in the meal. Leora missed her, although until today they had never been close.

      After everyone had been served, Father announced that he would be gone for a tenday or two. The entire table turned to look at him, from Mother, sitting in the place of honor beside him, to Iain, who was all of eight winters old. Sharina stared, her mouth open, but Jessamy’s lips pressed together and her brow furrowed.

      Come now, why the long faces? Father said. "I’m sure you will all find ways to amuse yourself without me. Although you— turning to Iain, —must practice with your wooden sword every day to show me how much you’ve improved when I return."

      I will, Papa!

      Excellent! While I am gone, you must obey Connor as you would me.

      "And what does Connor have to say about your leaving?" Jessamy spoke up.

      Leora knew perfectly well what Connor had said, but why was Jessamy interested?

      Hush, daughter! Domna Graciela favored Jessamy with a scowl. What your father and his paxman say to one another is private.

      Rest assured, my lady wife, I am perfectly capable of discerning which conversations are suitable for sharing with my children and which ought to remain confidential. Father’s perfectly polite expression belied the gently mocking undercurrent of his words.

      Graciela inclined her head as if she hadn’t noticed the subtle jibe. Are we permitted to know the reason for your absence?

      Father’s jaw clenched visibly as he chewed on a piece of meat. It was tough, since the cattle had not yet fattened on summer’s pastures. The family waited in silence as he finished.

      I know how quickly gossip spreads and how easily a simple fact can be distorted. And if I know you girls, you will fill that void by concocting a story far more dramatic than the truth. It’s this way: I’ll be investigating a complaint from our neighbor, Lord Carcosse. I have every hope it can be resolved.

      The cattle raid.

      None of you have cause to worry, Father continued in a reassuring tone. Connor and I talked it over, and he is arranging for my protection, so there should be no concerns regarding my safety. Does that satisfy you, Jessamy?

      Father, I am sorry. I did not mean to question—

      Whatever you determine needful is quite sufficient, Graciela interrupted.

      I am happy that it meets with your approval, Father said wryly.

      Of course, you must do what you think is best, Graciela went on. However, the roads are not yet dry, and all manner of incidents may hinder your journey. Should you be unexpectedly delayed, you may not return for the Midsummer Festival preparations. There is always much to do, and it’s a time when the entire household traditionally comes together to celebrate. Can this matter not be put off until afterward?

      Father’s expression remained as pleasant as before, but Leora sensed a flare of irritation as vivid and fleeting as if she had felt it herself.

      I am afraid it cannot, he said. I may be master of many things, but in this case, I am time’s servant. Before you protest further, my lady wife, no, this cannot be delegated.

      Forgive me, my lord husband, Graciela said. I meant no disrespect.

      And none is taken, he replied.

      That ended the discussion. An uneasy silence settled over the rest of the meal. Leora could not bring herself to eat more, and fortunately, Mother was too preoccupied to chide her.

      Aidan halted his horse and surveyed the terrain before him. Spring greenery draped the hills, although snow still lingered in the shadows. It had rained the night before, but the party had been prepared for that. Each dawn seemed a little brighter, each noon a little warmer, as the planet tilted toward the red sun. Each day strengthened Aidan’s belief that no enemy force lay in wait. He’d followed Connor’s plan, sending out scouts and holding back a portion of his armed riders. Day after day, the scouts had reported nothing more threatening than evidence of an old wolf kill.

      Aidan’s captain, a man named Hjalmar who had come down out of the Hellers a decade ago and sworn himself to Hastur service, signaled for the riders to dismount and stretch their legs. Aidan remained mounted for the sake of the longer view. His strong dun gelding, heavy-boned enough for light draft work and indefatigable on the trail, lowered its head and blew through its nostrils.

      One of the scouts emerged from the line of scrubby trees along the ridge and trotted toward Aidan and Hjalmar. Aidan

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