After Marguerida departed to prepare for the Council meeting, Lew’s body-servant helped him into his formal court attire. The elaborate cloak, trimmed with fur and silver-thread embroidery, never hung properly over his empty sleeve. He would have been just as happy wearing comfortable, ordinary clothing, but as Lord Alton, he felt an obligation to present a certain dignity and grandeur.
Alanna, unusually silent, accompanied him through the maze of corridors, down the stairs and across the courtyard to the entrance to the part of the Castle housing the Crystal Chamber.
Although the Chamber was only half filled, the telepathic dampers had already been set. After greeting Gabriel, Lew settled himself in the Alton enclosure and placed Alanna behind him. She had no official right to appear with him, but Gabriel nodded pleasantly to her and made no objection. Marguerida had gone to speak with Istvana in the Keepers section, and Mikhail already occupied the central position under the blue and silver fir tree of the Hasturs. Domenic was there, his face taut and pale, and Rory as well, looking his usual jaunty self. From across the Chamber, under the banner of Ardais, Danilo nodded to Lew.
Mikhail waited until the Head of each Domain had arrived and Marguerida had taken her seat beside him. Then he called the meeting to order. He began the agenda, calling for old business. To everyone’s surprise, Danilo answered.
“Kinsmen, vai domyn and vai leroni, I would return to a subject we have discussed since our first meeting, that is, the need for an heir to Aillard. Since we have agreed to consider nedestro lineage, I believe I have found a candidate to fill that position. He fully understands that he cannot hold the Domain in his own right, but only as Regent for his daughter, when he has one. He will, of course, be subject to the approval of Lady Marilla and this Council.”
Beside Lew, Gabriel muttered, “What is Danilo Syrtis up to? The Aillards died out years ago.”
“I know no more of the matter than you do,” Lew answered in a hushed voice. Then he added, keeping his tone neutral, “Let us hear what he has to say before we pass judgment. It won’t be the first time a Domain has passed to a collateral branch.” It was only because both Lew and Marguerida had forfeited their rights to the Alton Domain that Gabriel now ruled Armida and sat here in Council.
Marilla Lindir-Aillard got to her feet. This morning, she looked older than her years, her sharp features tired and flushed. “I cannot imagine who you mean, Dom Danilo. None now live with full Aillard blood, and every member of the Lindirs and other related families is known to me. Do you perhaps mean some distant Eldrin cousin?”
“No, I speak of one who can trace his lineage from Lady Cassilde Aillard through her son, Auster. As you may remember, he was called Ridenow in order to protect him from the backlash aimed at Cassilde’s sister, the Keeper Cleindori Aillard.”
“Cleindori…” The whispered name spread through the Chamber. “The Golden Bell” was still revered for having challenged the old ways and freed the Towers from the crippling burdens laid on earlier Keepers.
“And so,” Danilo picked up his story, “the bloodline was hidden. But Auster in his turn fathered a nedestra daughter, and it is her son I would present to you.”
“Has he laran?” Lorrill Vallonde asked.
“Even if he has none himself,” Dani Hastur said, “he may be a perfectly suitable Regent and may pass the talent to his daughters. What sort of man is he, Uncle Danilo? Would he give us wise counsel?”
“I do not think any of us could give better, although he is yet young,” Danilo answered. “He has demonstrated his laran to my satisfaction.”
Lew noticed that none of the Aldarans made any comment. It was not so long ago that the enclosure below the double-headed eagle stood empty, curtained from sight. Aldaran had never taken part in the persecution of Cleindori. Indeed, they had long regarded many of the restrictions imposed by the Towers as obstructive and unnecessary. Sometimes, Lew thought as he rubbed the stump of his right arm, they had been wrong. Beltran Aldaran had sought to harness the power of Sharra for his own purposes, with only disaster as the result. The current family, however, were sound, prudent men. Hermes, who had succeeded Lew as Darkovan Senator, had proven himself an asset to any undertaking.
The discussion continued, ranging in tone from curiosity to veiled suspicion.
“Enough of this bickering!” Marilla snapped with more than a touch of irritation. She pressed one hand to her forehead. “One more word from any of you and my head will explode!”
“Mother, are you well?” Kennard-Dyan asked, from his seat in the Ardais area.
“I’m perfectly capable of making decisions for Aillard while it is in my keeping,” she retorted. “Let’s have no more useless chatter. I myself will admit this person as my guest. Bring him in, and he will sit here beside me.”
Danilo signaled to the Guardsmen to each side of the front doors, and a few moments later, a slight, red-haired young man entered. He wore ordinary clothing, a jacket and long pants of brown wool, well-made and very clean but worn and several years out of style. It was probably, Lew thought, the best the poor fellow could afford.
“Who is he?” Alanna asked Lew.
“I have no idea. Someone Danilo found in one of his searches?”
Danilo had finished introducing the newcomer, Darius-Mikhail Zabal, who in his turn made a few impeccably polite comments, bowed to Mikhail, the assembled Comyn, and Domna Marilla, all in proper order. He answered their questions about his parentage and upbringing clearly and articulately. There was no doubt, Lew thought, that he was an intelligent young man, far better-spoken than many who sat here through no virtue of their own but only their birth. The fact that he had been earning his living as a licensed matrix mechanic seemed promising to some and shameful to others. Marilla, who could be as snobbish as any Comynara, nevertheless smiled as she welcomed him.
“Vai domyn, worthy members of this Council,” Mikhail said, an amused smile playing across his features, “it seems our numbers have grown beyond anyone’s expectation. Aldaran is once more united with the Domains. Today we are honored not only by the presence of a company of Keepers in our midst but also by three new Ardais and now a new member of Aillard, who I hope will produce many Gifted daughters to ensure the continued prosperity of his Domain.”
The assembly responded with a round of applause. Mikhail’s words had touched on all their hopes for a renewed and flourishing Council.
“Dom Francisco Ridenow, whom we welcomed back among us last year, now wishes to address us,” Mikhail said, once the applause subsided.
Francisco stepped out into the center of the Chamber. In contrast to the elaborate finery of the rest of the Council, he wore a closefitting jacket so dark it looked black, and matching hose tucked into soft boots, the kind of clothing a man might easily dance—or fight—in. A fire burned in him, igniting his every movement.
Lew’s head throbbed with a sense of imminence. Even with the telepathic dampers in place, he sensed Francisco’s pride, his arrogance, his barely suppressed triumph…
“Lords and kinsmen, vai Comyn and Comynara!” Francisco’s voice, powerful and resonant, rang out. “I have no desire to spoil the festive mood of this morning, but a matter of utmost gravity has come to my attention, something that cannot be denied or delayed.”
The audience shifted restively. Someone—Lorrill Vallonde, Lew thought—asked, “What is he talking about?” and his neighbor hissed for him to be quiet. Rory leaned forward to whisper something to his mother, who shook her head and then turned back to glare at Francisco.
In growing horror, Lew listened as Francisco related how a commoner, a Terran expatriate, claimed to have suffered an abuse of laran at the hands of a member of the Comyn, a member of this very Council. The Chamber fell deathly silent.
Jeram…it had to be Jeram! No wonder Domenic had been unable to find him, if he had fallen into Francisco’s clutches.
Laurinda MacBard surged to her feet. Her features bore the disciplined calm of a Keeper, but her posture revealed her feelings of outrage. “Who among us stands accused of such a terrible act? Where is this Terranan, that we may hear his testimony from his own mouth?”
Francisco turned to face the Dalereuth Keeper. His tautly controlled movement drew every eye. Across the Chamber, Marguerida clasped her hands so tightly that Lew could almost hear her joints crack. He could not sense her thoughts through the telepathic dampers, but her eyes shone like molten gold. Clearly, she was wondering what Francisco was up to, bracing herself for some nasty trick.
At a nod from Francisco, the Guardsmen opened one of the double doors. Jeram entered, his hands bound behind his back, flanked on either side by armed men in Ridenow colors. A lanky, pale-haired man in Ridenow livery followed close behind them.
Jeram had changed almost beyond recognition from the man Lew had known at Nevarsin. With his skin gray and dull, his hair hanging in tangles down his back, he swayed on his feet, held upright only by his captors.
Blinking hard, Jeram glanced about the Chamber. His pupils were so widely dilated that his eyes looked black, but his expression was one of bitter determination. His gaze shifted from Francisco to Lew and, finally, to Marguerida. She looked back at him with genuine sympathy but no hint of recognition. Domenic’s face tightened, and across the room, in the Aillard section, Illona’s chin came up.
Laurinda, with an impatient gesture, broke the shocked silence. She pointed at Jeram, and her high, nasal voice rang out. “Fellow, you have accused one of us of a serious crime. We would hear your name and your story, so that we may determine the truth of it.”
Struggling to keep his balance, Jeram shook his head. It took a long moment for the Council to understand that he was refusing to answer. Clearly, he was fighting the drug, whatever it was, probably one of the kireseth fractions that lowered inhibitions and impaired will.
Moving in a slow, circular path like a hunting cat, Francisco crossed the floor to where Jeram stood. He spoke in a soft, hypnotic voice. “You don’t want to talk? We must convince you. Let’s start with something easy. Tell us your name and how you came to be here.”
Something in Francisco’s tone broke through Jeram’s resistance. “Jeremiah Reed.” The name burst in staccato syllables from his chapped and swollen lips. “Terran Special Forces, serial number—”
“That’s all right, there’s no need to be so formal. We’re all friends here.” Francisco paused, his pacing superb. “Tell us more about yourself. How did you come to Darkover? What did you do here?”
Jeram’s chin lifted. Trembling and visibly sweating, he repeated. “Jeremiah Reed, Terran Special Forces…”
“Enough!” Francisco’s suave control slipped, but only for a moment. “Let’s begin again—”
Increasingly desperate for his friend, Lew stood up. “Vai domyn, this man is clearly here against his will. I do not know what Dom Francisco intends by this spectacle. This is a Council Chamber, not a theater. Let him take his charges before the Cortes, not here.”
“The Cortes have no jurisdiction over the Comyn,” Laurinda shot back. “This matter of laran ethics directly concerns the Towers.”
Mikhail raised his voice. “Dom Francisco requested and was granted the opportunity to address the Council. I am sorry to overrule you, Dom Lewis, but he has the right, as do any of us, to bring whatever concerns he deems appropriate.”
“You would permit this—this blatant torture—to continue?” Lew demanded.
“Dom Lewis, you exceed your authority,” Laurinda broke in. “The questioning of this witness will go forward at my request. I will determine how long and in what manner it is to proceed. I need not remind you that this man stands here in full view of us all. No physical or mental force can be applied without our knowledge. Given the seriousness of the charge of laran abuse, we will proceed vigorously.”
You fool! Can’t you see that Francisco is using you? Too furious to speak, Lew sat down again. Francisco had found the right incentive to ensure the Keeper’s thorough investigation.
“Thank you,” Francisco said with a slight inclination of his head. He turned back to Jeram. “We already know why you were on Darkover. We just want to hear what you did here, in your own words. You were deployed as part of the Terran military force, first to Aldaran and then to Old North Road, isn’t that right?”
Whispers flew around the Chamber. Was this man one of them, the assassins who had tried to wipe out the Council in one single, cowardly attack? Lew felt any remaining sympathy for Jeram evaporate. Even those who might have been offended by Laurinda’s heavy-handed authority or Francisco’s manipulations now had a personal reason for wanting to hear Jeram’s testimony.
“You were part of the ambush party on Old North Road, weren’t you?” Francisco said, circling around Jeram.
Around the Chamber, conversation hushed. Men and women leaned forward to hear, their faces intent, some of them angry. Domenic looked stunned, blaming himself for not having found Jeram sooner.
Francisco moved closer. His voice was silky, almost seductive. “That’s why you came to Thendara, isn’t it? To tell your story before the Council? Here you are, and they are listening. Now’s your chance. Go on, tell them.”
At his signal, the two guards released Jeram. Jeram stumbled and caught his balance. Francisco took his shoulders and turned him in a slow circle to face every part of the audience. “Tell them.”
“This has nothing to do with the charge—” Domenic protested.
“No, let him speak,” Rufus DiAsturien said. “We have a right to know.”
For a long moment, Jeram struggled visibly to speak. His face flushed with effort; he swallowed convulsively. “It is true,” he began, his voice ragged. “I came here—to confess. To turn myself in. I tried—you were there—blasters against swords—I am sorry—following orders not an excuse…”
“Tell them what happened next. Tell them!” Francisco’s fingers dug into Jeram’s shoulders. Jeram winced but kept on, one dogged phrase after another. It must have taken enormous willpower to resist the drug this much, to say what he willed and not what Francisco ordered him to.
“This is a travesty,” Danilo said, rising to his feet. “Can’t you see the man is unfit to testify to anything? He’s too sick—or drugged—to know what he’s saying!”
“Do you dare question my honor?” Francisco retorted.
“Sit down, Danilo,” Mikhail said. Lew heard the reluctance in his voice, the stubborn adherence to protocol and tradition. “We must let him continue.”
Gasping, trembling, Jeram hung his head. He seemed at the end of his power to resist. Step by step, Francisco forced him to admit how he had been unable to remember how the battle ended until the Keeper of Nevarsin Tower had broken the compulsion spell of forgetting set upon him. With each revelation, shock rippled through the assembly.
“It was then you realized that laran—specifically the Alton Gift—had been used on you, against your knowledge or consent,” Francisco said. “Isn’t that true? Isn’t it?”
Chest heaving, Jeram shook his head. Even though the telepathic dampers suppressed any psychic contact, the entire Chamber seemed to vibrate with his struggle. The veins of his forehead stood out in stark relief. Droplets of sweat dampened the tangle of his hair.
Jeram glanced at Lew, and Lew read the desperate plea in his friend’s eyes.
Throughout the Chamber, a storm was gathering. Lew sensed it in the air, in the awful expectant listening, in the surge of adrenaline through his own veins. Lives had been broken in this Chamber before, by heedless words, by deliberate malice.
The pale-haired man seized Jeram’s right arm and twisted it behind him, close to dislocating the shoulder joint. Jeram’s face went white. Francisco bent over him, “Isn’t it?”
Jeram glared at Francisco and shook his head. Between clenched teeth, he muttered, “Go to hell,” in Terran Standard. “I’ll see you there before I go along with any more of your filthy lies!”
“You will tell us the truth,” Francisco hissed. “One way or another, you will tell us…”
Behind Lew, Alanna cried out, “Oh, this is terrible! Why doesn’t someone stop it?”
Her voice broke the looming sense of inevitability. Lew could think of only one way to stop Francisco’s questions, and that was his own confession. He had not intended to make the matter public, but the interrogation had taken on a life of its own, threatening to sweep away all in its path.
So be it!
No longer caring about the consequences, Lew rose to his feet. “This has gone far enough—”
“Help! Oh, help!”
Lew broke off at the sound of a lady’s shriek.
“Look to Domna Marilla!”
Kennard-Dyan leaped over the railing of the Ardais enclosure and rushed across the room. One hand raised to her brow, Marilla swayed in her seat. Her waiting-woman let out another shrill wail. Kennard-Dyan reached them just in time to catch Marilla as she toppled over.
“Help, someone help me! My mother is ill!”
Mikhail’s voice thundered through the Chamber, calling for order. “Clear the floor! Get that prisoner out of here!”
Francisco’s men began to drag Jeram away. Jeram struggled as best he could, but they held him fast. He could barely stand, let alone mount an effective resistance. Marguerida grabbed Mikhail’s arm and spoke to him.
“Not you,” Mikhail called out to Jeram’s captors. “Captain Cisco, you take custody of him!”
Cisco Ridenow gestured to the two Guardsmen at the main doors. The blond man released his hold on Jeram so suddenly that Jeram staggered into the arms of the Guards. Meanwhile, Darius-Mikhail, who had been sitting beside Marilla, took out his starstone, wrapped in a wallet of silk-lined leather and carried in a fold in his belt, and bent over her. He could do nothing in the laran-blanketing field.
“Turn off the dampers!” Istvana ordered, as she hurried to the Aillard enclosure. Illona gave a short nod and set about turning off the devices.
The Chamber churned with chaotic emotions. Jeram’s anguish struck Lew like a physical blow. Francisco radiated hatred and desperation. Kennard-Dyan’s guilt and worry for his mother roiled with Marguerida’s burgeoning fury and a dozen other powerful reactions from the room.
Searing white lightning burst from Alanna’s mind. A vision swept through Lew’s mind. He saw Jeram lying in a pool of blood…then it was another man, although Lew could not tell who, a man with flaxen hair…
“Help me,” Alanna whispered. She clutched the bench to keep herself from falling. A wet, gray sheen covered her skin.
Lew placed the palm of his hand against her cheek. She was cold, going into shock.
It’s all right. I’m here with you. Do not give in to your fears, child.
Her eyes widened as his mind touched hers, catalyzed through the physical contact.
Do not feed your fears, Lew sent his thought to her mind. Let them go, release them. They cannot harm you unless you give yourself to them.
I… Her answer was slow and awkward, untrained. I am so frightened. I cannot face these visions alone!
You are not alone, dear child. Once you have mastered your laran, you need never be alone.
Into their linked minds, Lew poured his most peaceful memories……the soaring joy of being one with the circle at Arilinn…walking through the streets of Caer Donn on a frosty morning, Marjorie’s hand in his…sitting in the darkened chapel at St. Valentine’s as the last sublime chords of a hymn faded away…
Alanna’s visions lost their vividness and flickered into nothingness. Under Lew’s calming images, the psychic storm in her mind died down. Color returned to her cheeks, and her eyes grew steady and clear. Lew had never seen her so free of inner strife, so tranquil.
Lew turned his attention back to the unfolding drama. Half the assembly was on its feet by now. Everyone seemed to be talking at once. Kennard-Dyan and Istvana were in a heated discussion about whether to take Marilla to her own quarters or to the Tower. Francisco loudly protested Mikhail’s orders, insisting that the witness was under his protection, not the Guards’.
Kennard-Dyan picked up his mother as if she weighed no more than a child. He followed Illona and Darius-Mikhail from the chamber. Istvana remained behind. The clamor began to diminish as Mikhail loudly announced the adjournment of the session for the day.
Cisco approached Francisco, who had remained in the center of the floor. “Come, Father, I’ll see you back to your chambers.”
Francisco shrugged off his son’s advance. Instead, he strode to the Hastur enclosure, assumed a belligerent stance, and confronted Mikhail.
“Mikhail Lanart, pretender and tyrant!” Francisco omitted Mikhail’s rightful surname of Hastur as a deliberate insult. “The floor is still mine, and I am not yet finished!”