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him, feeling the strange and unfamiliar emotions and sensations, but this time he knew what he was doing. This time he was not a child, his child's body responding half-aware to the most innocent of caresses; this time he knew and accepted it all, and suddenly it was Danilo in his arms, and Danilo was struggling, trying to push him away in pain and terror. Regis, gripped by need and blind cruelty, gripped him more and more tightly, fighting to hold him, subdue him, and then, with a gasp, cried aloud, "No! Oh, no!" and flung him away, pulling himself upright in the great bed.

He was alone, the firelight burned down to coals. Across the foot of the enormous bed, like a darkshadow, Danilo slept, wrapped in a blanket, his back turned away. Regis stared at the sleeping boy,unable to shake off the horror of the dream, the shock of knowing what he had tried to do.

No. Not tried to do. Wanted to do. Dreamed of doing. There was a difference.

Or was there, for a telepath?

Once, one of the few times Kennard had spoken of his own years in the tower, Kennard had said, veryseriously: "I am an Alton; my anger can kill. A murderous thought is, for me, almost a murder. A lustfulthought is the psychological equivalent of a rape."

Regis wondered if he was responsible even for his dreams. Would he ever dare sleep again?

Danilo stirred with a moan. Abruptly he began to gasp and cry out and struggle in his sleep. He mutteredaloud, "No- DO, please!" and began to cry. Regis stared in horror. Did his own dream disturb Dani! Dyan had reached him, even in sleep.... He could not leave him crying. He leaned forward, saying gently,

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"Dani, it's all right, you were asleep."

Half asleep, Danilo made the safeguarding sign of cristo-foro prayers. It must be comforting to have theirfaith, Regis thought. Danilo's smothered sobbing tore at Regis like claws. He had no way of knowing thatfar away in the castle Lew Alton had also started out of nightmare, shaking with the guilt of the mostdreadful crime he could imagine, but Regis did find himself wondering what form Danilo's nightmare hadtaken. He dared not ask, dared not risk the intimacy of midnight confidences.

Danilo had his crying under control now. He asked, "It's not... not threshold sickness again?"

"No. No, only a nightmare. I'm sorry I woke you."

"This damned place is full of nightmares . .." Danilo mut-

J*.

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tered. Regis felt him reach out for reassurance, for contact. He held himself aloof from the touch. After a long time he knew Danilo slept again. He lay awake, watching the dying remnants of the fire on the hearth. The fire that had been a raging forest fire from his troubled childhood, that had become the great form of fire. Sharra, of the legends. What, in the name of all the Gods, were they doing here at Aldaran? Something here was out of control, dangerous.

Fire was the key, he knew, not only because the memory of a forest fire had brought back the memoryhe'd buried, but it was worse than that. Lew looked as if he'd been doing something dangerous. And allthis ... this dislocation of memory, these nightmares of cruelty and lust ... something terrible was going onhere.

And Regis had Danilo to protect. He came here for that, and he vowed again to fulfill it

Weighed down under the unendurable burden of laran, knowing guilt even for his dreams, shoulderingthe heavy knowledge of what he had forgotten, Regis dared not sleep again. He thought instead. Themistake was in sending him to Nevarsin, he knew. Anywhere else he could have come to terms with it Heknew, rationally, that what had happened to him, what was happening to him now, was nothing to bringsuch catastrophic guilt and self-hatred. He had even minded when the cadets thought him Dyan's minion.

But that was before he knew what Dyan had done....

Dyan's shadow lay heavy on Regis. And heavier on Danilo. Regis knew he could not bear it if Dani wereto think of him as he thought of Dyan ... even if Regis thought of him that way....

His mind reeling under it, Regis knew suddenly that be had a choice. Faced by this unendurableself-knowledge, he could do again what he had done when he was twelve years old, and this time therewould be no lifting of the barrier. He could forget again. He could cut off the unwelcome, unwanted

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self-knowledge, cut off, with it, the undesired, unendurable laran.

He could be free of it all, and this time no one would ever be able to break through it again. Be free of itall: heritage, and responsibility. If he had no laran, it would not matter if he left die Comyn, went out intothe Empire never to return. He even left an heir to take his place. He had done it once. He could do itagain. He could meet Danilo in the morning with no guilty knowledge and no fear, meet him innocently,

as a friend. He need never again fear that Danilo could reach his mind and learn what Regis now felt he

would rather die than reveal.

He had done it once. Even Lew could not break that barrier.

The temptation was almost unendurable. Dry-mouthed, Regis looked at the sleeping boy lying heavilyacross his feet To be free again, he thought, free of it ail.

He had accepted Dani's oath, though, as a Hastur. Had accepted his service, and his love.

He was no longer free. He'd said it to Danilo, and it was true for him, too. They had no choice, it hadcome to them, and they had only the choice to misuse it or meet it with honor.

Regis did not know if he could meet it with honor, but he knew he'd have to try. Chickens couldn't goback into eggs.

Either way, there was nothing but hell ahead.

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Chapter TWENTY

(Lew Alton's narrative)

Shortly after sunrise I let myself fall into a fitful drowse. Some time later I was awakened by a strangeoutcry, women screaming-no, wailing, a sound I had heard only once before ... on my trip into thebackwoods, in a house where there was a death.

I threw on some clothes and ran out into the corridor. It was crowded, servants rushing to and fro, noone ready to stop and answer my questions. I met Marjorie at the foot of the little stair from her tower. She was as white as her chamber robe.

"Darling, what is it?"

"I'm not sure. It's the death-wail!" She put out a hand and forcibly stopped one of the women rushing by.

"What is it, what's that wailing, what's happened?"

The woman gasped. "It's the old lord, domna Marguerida, your guardian, he died in the night-"

As soon as I heard the words I knew I had been expecting it. I felt stricken, grieved. Even in such ashort time I had come to love my uncle, and beyond my personal grief I was dismayed at what this mustmean. Not only for the Domain of Aldaran, but for all Darkover. His reign had been a long one, and a

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wise one.

"Thyra," Marjorie whispered, "Evanda pity us, what will she do, how will she live with this?" She clutched my arm. "He's her father, Lew! Did you know? My father owned to her, but she was none of his, and it was her doing, her mistake, that has killed him!"

"Not hers," I said gently. "Sharra." I had begun to believe, now, that we were all helpless before it. Tomorrow- no, today, the sooner the better-it should go back to the forge-folk. Desideria had been right: it had lain safe in their keeping, should never have left them. I quailed, thinking of

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what Beltran would say. Yet Kadarin had pledged Desideria to abide my judgment.

First I must visit the death chamber, pay a kinsman's respects. The high wailing of the death-cries wenton from inside, fraying my already ragged nerves to shreds. Marjorie clutched desperately at my fingers. As we entered the great chamber I heard Thyra's voice, bursting out, almost screaming:

"Cease that pagan caterwauling! I'll have none of it here!" One or two of the women stopped in

mid-wail; others, halfhearted, stopped and started again. Beltran's voice was a harsh shout:

"You who killed him, Thyra, would you deny him proper respect?"

She was standing at the foot of the bed, her head thrown back, defiant. She sounded at the ragged endof endurance. "You superstitious idiot, do you really believe Ms spirit has stayed here to listen to theyowling over his corpse? Is this your idea of a seemly sound of mourning?"

Beltran said, more gently, "More seemly, perhaps, than this kind of brawling, foster-sister." He lookedas you would expect after a long night of watching, and a death. He gestured to the women. "Go, go,finish, your wailing elsewhere. The days are long gone when anyone must stand and wail to scare awaydemons from the dead."

Kermiac had been decently laid out, his hands laid crosswise on his breast, his eyes closed. Marjoriemade the cristoforo sign across the old man's brow, then across her own. She bent and pressed her lipsfor a moment to the cold brow, whispering, "Rest in peace, my lord. Holy Bearer of Burdens, give usstrength to bear our loss . . ." Then she turned quietly away and bent over the weeping Thyra.

"He is past all forgiveness or blame, darling. Don't torment yourself this way. It is for us to bear now, for

the living. Come away, love, come away."

Thyra collapsed into terrible sobbing and let Marjorie lead her out of the room. I stood looking down atthe calm, composed old face. For a moment it seemed my own father was lying here before me. I bentand kissed the cold brow, as Marjorie had done.

I said to Beltran, "I knew him such a little while. It is my great loss that I did not come here before." Iembraced my kinsman, cheek to cheek, feeling the pain of his grief added to my own. Beltran turnedaway, pale and composed, as

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Regis came into the room, Danilo in his wake. Regis spoke a brief formal phrase of condolence, held outhis hand. Beltran bowed over it but he did not speak. Had his grief dimmed his awareness of courtesy? He should have bidden Regis welcome as his guest; somehow it made me uneasy that he did not. Danilomade the cristoforo sign over the old man's brow, as Marjorie had done, whispering, I suppose, one oftheir prayers, then made a formal bow to Beltran.

I followed them outside. Regis looked as if he'd had the same nightmare-ridden sleep I had, and he wasfully barriered against me-a new thing, and a disquieting one. He said, "He was your kinsman, Lew. I'msorry for your grief. And I know my grandfather respected him. It's fitting there should be someone herefrom the Hasturs, to extend our condolences. Things will be different, now, in the mountains."

I had been thinking that myself. The sight of Regis almost automatically taking his place as the formalrepresentative of Comyn was disquieting. I knew his grandfather would approve, but I was surprised.

"He told me, Regis, shortly before his death, that he hoped for a day when you and Beltran could sit

down together and plan a better future for our world."

Regis smiled bleakly. "That will be for Prince Derik. The Hasturs are not kings now."

I gave him a skeptical smile. "Yet they stand nearest the throne. I have no doubt Derik will choose youfor his nearest counselor, as his kinsmen chose your grandsire."

"If you love me, Lew, don't wish a crown on me," Regis said with a shudder of revulsion. "But enough of politics for now. I will remain for the funeral, of course; I owe Beltran no courtesies, but I'll not insult his father's death bed, either."

If Kermiac's untimely death had delayed Regis' immediate departure, it must also, in all decency, delaymy ultimatum to Beltran. I anticipated less trouble now that he had had a bitter taste of the dangersinherent in Sharra. Kadarin might be less tractable. Yet I had faith in his good sense and his affection forall of us.

And so, all those days of mourning for the old lord of Ald-aran, none of us spoke of Sharra or Beltran'splans. During the days I could guard myself against the memory and the fear; only in terrifying dreams didit return, claw at me with talons of torment....

The funeral services were over; the mountain lords who had come to pay their respects to the dead, andto give alle-

giance to Beltran, departed one by one. Beltran made an appearance of grave dignity, solemnly accepting their pledges of amity and support, yet I sensed in all of the mountain men an awareness that an era had irrevocably come to an end. Beltran was aware of it, too, and I knew it hardened his resolve not to run peaceably along the track his father had made-resting on his father's accomplishments and accepting their homage because of their goodwill to Kermiac-but to carve his own place,

We were so much alike, he and I, I have known twins less like. And yet we were so different. I had notknown he was personally ambitious, too. I had lost the last traces of personal ambition at Arilinn, had

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resented Father's attempts to rouse it in me, in the Guards. Now I was deeply disturbed. Would he let his plans slip through his fingers without protest? It would take all my persuasion, all my tact, to convince him to a course less dangerous for all our world. Somehow I must make it clear to him that I still shared his dreams, that I would work for his aims and help him to the utmost, even though I had irrevocably renounced the means he and Kadarin had chosen.