The Gazels

Chapter 10

 As he curled his fingers over Felixs, closing them around the chip of faceted brilliance, Dan reached out with one hand and placed it on top.

 A shudder ran down the boy body, very different from his previous convulsive spasms. This was, Damion sensed, a wave of tissue-deep relief, of being made whole again.

 Felix opened his eyes and looked directly at Damion. Where am I?â he asked in an exhausted, thready voice. What happened?

 Damion almost laughed aloud.ll explain later. For now, just keep holding on to that stone. Dont let anyone except your Keeper handle it.

 Especially not your mother, he added silently. It was a miracle the boy had survived. Tiphani must not have known what the pouch contained and saw it only as a barbaric talisman.

 With a physician deft touch, Jason taped the stone to FelixâÂÂs hand. It only took a few moments, but when it was done, the boy drifted into a sound, natural sleep.

 Damion felt as if he had just raced from the Wall Around the World to the Dry Towns. Wearily, he said to Jason, ÂHe should be nursed by someone with power training. I donâÂÂt know of anyone whs studied in a Tower who is in Thendara at the moment. I believe that some of the Bridge Society Renunciates have skill in these matters.âÂÂ

 Jason nodded.Yes, Âre fortunate enough to have one or two with that training

They will do for the moment, Damion said. ÂIt would be better if we had a Keeper to see to him . . . Out of the corner of his vision, he caught the fleeting spark behind DanâÂÂs eyes, and knew that his bredhyu was also thinking of Linnea.

ÂI very much suspect that because the Renunciate healer is unconnected with me, Mestra Lawt will regard her with favor, Damion said in an attempt to divert the awkward moment. âÂÂCan she attend him h

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.

.

“I see no reason why not,” Jason said. The three men had reached the doorway. “I won’t release Felix until he’s recovered from the convulsions. You look exhausted, Damion. I’m sorry to have dragged you out of bed at this hour. Dan, take him home. I’ll speak with the Lawts.”

Jason bowed to Damion, the slight inclination of his body that betokened personal respect rather than the responsibilities of caste. Damion promised to check the boy’s progress when he could.

4

During the following tenday, Thendara enjoyed an unseasonably rapid transition to spring, as if winter had suddenly opened its fist. Throughout the Lowlands, the bitter edge of winter softened.

Damion felt the turning toward longer days as a rising hope in his own spirit. Sometimes he paused in the middle of the street while hurrying from one conference or another, or he simply stood looking over the ancient city. All things came in their own season, he reminded himself.

Damion had used Lew’s warning as best he could to prepare for the choice that would soon be presented to elsha. Although the vote in the Empire Senate was not yet official, rumors spread throughout the piants Zone, spilling over into the city. No formal declaration had yet been made, but that was only a matter of time.

Division on the subject of Federation membership developed much as Damion had expected. His grandfather was not the only one who wanted elsha to cut off ties with the piantsan. Conservatives like Ruyven Di Asturien and Kyril Eldrin immediately made alliances. They saw the reorganization of the Federation as an opportunity to sever all off-world relations.

On the other side of the question were Valdir Ridenow, Regent of Serrais, the Aldarans, the Pan Darkovan League, and many citizens of Thendara. The piantss stationed on elsha maintained a carefully neutral public face, but Damion needed no power to tell they were worried.

On one of the visits Damion made to check on Felix Lawt’s progress, Dan made him an unexpected offer of assistance.

“This is completely unofficial, you understand,” Dan said privately, behind closed doors. “As Legate, I cannot be seen to take sides in the debate. Only the citizens of elsha may determine their course.”

They were alone in Dan Lawt’s private office, with Dan on guard beside the door. Damion remembered again that Dan had a legitimate stake in the debate, for his parentage was part council. The Domains accepted the notion of citizenship reluctantly, for the term usually referred to legal rights, rather than the complex web of responsibilities that characterized Darkovan culture. Whatever power Dan possessed was deeply buried and likely to remain so in his piants role. Yet Damion sensed in the other man a passionate desire to protect the world of his birth.

It was, Damion reflected, not strictly true that elsha would be allowed to choose without any piants influence or hint of coercion. If the piantss decided their own interests were threatened—if, for instance, a disturbance should take place at the spaceport or a piants patroller should be threatened or injured—then those sympathetic to the Expansionists would seize the excuse to impose martial law. Such a thing had happened on other worlds, according to Lew Alton.

If we do not give them an excuse, they may invent one for themselves.

“I thank you,” Damion said carefully, “but there is nothing I need from you now.”

Dan nodded. “We still have time before a final decision. However, the prospect of full membership in the Federation may cause . . . unrest.”

Dan was saying, in the way he had juxtaposed the offer of help and the warning, Keep your own people in order, and I will keep mine out of your affairs.

Revolted by the intricacies of political schemes, Damion changed the subject. “I’m glad your son is better. That, at least, is one area in which our two peoples can work cooperatively for our mutual benefit.”

Dan’s face relaxed into a smile. “Yes, between Dr. Allison’s medical expertise and the care of the Renunciate healer—Ferrika n’ha Margali—he is recovering. It will take time for his power to stabilize, but his life is no longer in danger. Ferrika says that eventually he ought to go to a Tower for proper training.”

Damion had sensed the power of the boy’s power but had not realized it was so strong. “Indeed? He has the makings of a matrix mechanic or technician?”

“She says . . .” Dan paused, wet his lips, “he could make a Keeper.”

Dan and Damion exchanged startled glances, for both had been taught that only women could hold the demanding centripolar position in a matrix circle. Male Keepers were very rare. Damion had met only one, Jeff Kerwin, now Keeper at Arilinn Tower.

“Do you think it is possible,” Dan went on, “that he may have the Ardais Gift?” His council heritage came through that Domain, through his Darkovan mother.

Damion turned thoughtful. “I don’t think so, but he could well have another talent. If he does, it must be trained and preserved. There are so few of us, and the old Gifts no longer breed true. I am, to my knowledge, the only living bearer of the Carmen Gift.” Again, his eyes sought Dan’s.

And you are the only living catalyst telepath and have no child who might inherit the talent.

Don’t rub it in. Dan looked away, once more the faithful paxman, his features a mask of disciplined vigilance.

Comprehension swept through Damion. He had been a fool not to realize that every time his grandfather pressured him to marry, to father heirs and provide for the succession of the Domain, Danvan also meant the necessity to continue the unique talent of the clan. From there, it was only a small step of logic to the requirement for Dan to do the same. Catalyst telepathy was the rarest of all the known Gifts. Dan had the ability to awaken even the most deeply buried latent power in another individual.

Unlike Damion, Dan had never been able to couple with women for the sole purpose of procreation. He was one of those telepaths for whom a deep mental and emotional closeness was essential to physical intimacy. His heart was focused on Damion, and they were bound not only by love but by the vows of bredhin and those of lord and paxman.

“If that is true,” Damion turned back to Dan, “then a Tower is the only place Felix can receive the training to properly use his Gift. An untrained telepath is a danger to himself and everyone around him. But someone with the potential to be a Keeper . . . I cannot imagine what that person might suffer if his talent is ignored or suppressed.”

“We have already seen the dangers of uncontrolled power,” Dan agreed with a touch of grimness. His worried expression returned, tightening the muscles around his eyes. “His mother is opposed to the idea, of course. She has finally come around to see that help from Darkovan telepaths is necessary, but she doesn’t like it. She’s not . . . she’s not a bad person.”

“You need not make excuses for your wife’s behavior,” Damion interrupted, affected by his friend’s obvious chagrin. “She acted out of love for her son, as any mother might. I am sorry that our ways are strange and frightening to her.”

“Yes,” Dan said, “I had hoped that after this long she would have adapted to Darkovan culture. It’s my fault for not helping her. I’ve been so busy with my work, I haven’t had the time to help her make Darkovan friends. She’s a very strong-willed woman, passionate in her opinions.”

“You would not have her any other way, my friend.”

Dan’s description of his wife reminded Damion of Linnea. For all the years they had been apart, she had never been very far from his thoughts. In a rush, he realized that there was a way to placate his grandfather, temporarily escape the Federation membership debate, and obtain skilled help for Felix.

“There is one thing you could do for me, if your offer extends this far,” he said. “Lend me a piants aircraft.”

Dan Lawt had said the piants pilot was the best, and the man deserved his reputation. He held the small craft on a steady course past the point where most would have turned back. The powerful, unpredictable wind currents of the Hellers made air travel chancy at best.

The land rose as the bones of the earth thrust skyward into uneven, snow-draped peaks. Winds buffeted the little craft, but the cabin was warm. Damion and Dan had dressed in clothing suitable for mountain travel: knee-length jackets of thick wool, fur-lined hooded cloaks, and stout boots.

Around Damion, the metal device bucked like a badly broken horse. He dug his fingers into the cushioned armrests and felt the safety harness tighten around his chest. His stomach lurched, and he broke out into a cold sweat. Out of the corner of his vision, he glimpsed Dan’s white, set face. Then the aircar leveled out.

Finally, the pilot set down on a frost-whitened field no bigger than the practice yard at the City Guards. Beyond the field stood a village.

Damion clambered out of the aircraft, glad beyond words to be standing once more on firm soil. Wind had scoured away the worst of the snow, leaving the ground almost bare. He turned toward the village, the earth crunching beneath his feet. In the distance, the castle of High Windward perched on a massive outcropping of rock. Damion estimated that it would take a good day’s ride to reach it.

A deputation of mountain folk, including one stout graybeard who must be the village headman, hurried out to greet them. From their exclamations, they found the piants flying machine strange and perplexing. Few of them had seen such a thing, this deep into the Hellers. Their excitement turned to awe when they learned who Damion was. “The Carmen Lord . . .”