Beltran said, more gently, “More seemly, perhaps, than this kind of brawling, foster-sister.” He looked as 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 away demons from the dead.”

Kermiac had been decently laid out, his hands laid crosswise on his breast, his eyes closed. Marjorie made the cristoforosign across the old man’s brow, then across her own. She bent and pressed her lips for a moment to the cold brow, whispering, “Rest in peace, my lord. Holy Bearer of Burdens, give us strength 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 at the calm, composed old face. For a moment it seemed my own father was lying here before me. I bent and 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.” I embraced my kinsman, cheek to cheek, feeling the pain of his grief added to my own. Beltran turned away, pale and composed, as Regis came into the room, Danilo in his wake. Regis spoke a brief formal phrase of condolence, held out his 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. Danilo made the cristoforosign over the old man’s brow, as Marjorie had done, whispering, I suppose, one of their 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 was fully barriered against me—a new thing, and a disquieting one. He said, “He was your kinsman, Lew. I’m sorry for your grief. And I know my grandfather respected him. It’s fitting there should be someone here from 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 formal representative 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 you for 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, delay my ultimatum to Beltran. I anticipated less trouble now that he had had a bitter taste of the dangers inherent in Sharra. Kadarin might be less tractable. Yet I had faith in his good sense and his affection for all of us.

And so, all those days of mourning for the old lord of Aldaran, none of us spoke of Sharra or Beltran’s plans. During the days I could guard myself against the memory and the fear; only in terrifying dreams did it 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, and to give allegiance 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 not known he was personally ambitious, too. I had lost the last traces of personal ambition at Arilinn, had 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.

When the mountain lords had departed, Beltran courteously asked Regis and Danilo to remain for a few more days. I had not expected either of them to agree and was ready to try to persuade them, but to my surprise, Regis had accepted the invitation. Maybe it was not so surprising. He looked dreadfully ill. I should have talked to him, tried to find out what ailed him. Yet whenever I tried to speak to him alone be rebuffed me, always turning the conversation to indifferent things. I wondered why. As a child he had loved me; did he think me a traitor, or was it something more personal?

Such was my state when we gathered that morning in the small fireside hall where we had met and worked together so often. Beltran bore the marks of stress and grief and he looked older, too, sobered by the new weight of responsibility. Thyra was pale and composed, but I knew how hard-won that composure had been. Kadarin, too, was haggard, grieved. Rafe, though subdued, had suffered the least; his grief was only that of a child who had lost a kindly guardian. He was too young to see the deeper implications of this.

Marjorie had that heartbreaking remoteness I had begun to see in her lately, the isolation of every Keeper. Through it I sensed a deeper disquiet. Beltran was her guardian now. If he and I were to quarrel, the future for us was not bright.

These were my kinsmen. Together we had built a beautiful dream. My heart ached that I must be the one to shatter it.

But when Danilo and Regis were ceremoniously escorted in, I felt again a glimmer of hope. Perhaps, perhaps, if I could persuade them to help us, there was still a way to salvage that dream!

Beltran began with the utmost courtesy, making formal apologies to Danilo for the way his men had exceeded their orders. If the words had more of diplomacy than real regret, I supposed only the strongest of telepaths could feel the difference. He ended by saying, “Let the end I am striving for outweigh personal considerations. A day is coming for Darkover when mountain men and the Domains must forget their ages-old differences and work together for the good of our world. Can we not agree on that at least, Regis Hastur, that you and I speak together for a world, and that our fathers and grandfathers should have wrought together and not separately for its well-being?”

Regis made a formal bow. I noticed he was wearing his own clothes again. “For your sake, Lord Beltran, I wish I were more skilled in the arts of diplomacy, so that I might more fittingly represent the Hasturs here. As it is, I can speak only for myself as a private individual. I hope the long peace between Comyn and Aldaran may endure for our lifetimes and beyond.”

“And that it may not be a peace under the thumbs of the Terrans,” Beltran added. Regis merely bowed again and said nothing.

Kadarin said with a grim smile, “I see that already you are skilled, Lord Regis, in the greatest of the Comyn arts, that of saying nothing in pleasant words. Enough of this fencing-match! Beltran, tell them what it is you hope to do.”