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done.”
    “A great deal of harm will have been done!” Carolin shook his head. How could Auster and the others riot see it? If Varzil were an ordinary lad, he might well forget his childhood dream, but he was not ordinary. Carolin had sensed the strength of his laran and the passion that could be so easily turned for good or for ill.
    He is important—to me, to all of Darkover.
    The shift in Auster’s eyes told Carolin he had picked up the thought.
    Some Hasturs have the gift of prescience. Auster spoke mind to mind. It is said that Allart Hastur, who forged the peace between your clan and the Ridenow, could see into the future. There is more at stake here than one undersized boy.
    Yes! Carolin shot back at him. Yes, there is! He took a breath. And I will use all the power of my rank to make sure he gets his chance.
    Auster shook his head again. “I advise you to stay out of it. It is best for everyone to let these things run their natural course.”
    “And allow the grudges of generations long past to dictate everything we do now?” Carolin shot back.
    “You are not a private person, to think only of yourself,” Auster reminded him. “In some things, not even the King of the Hasturs can have his way. The world will go as it wills, and not as you or I—or even this Ridenow boy—will have it.”
    “I understand your meaning plain enough, Auster. I know very well what is at stake here and I have no wish to set the whole countryside aflame in war. But there must be another way!” And I will find it!
    “Consider the consequences. For if you take any action, Carolin Hastur, you will be responsible for whatever comes of it, for good or for ill.”
    “Then that is my choice and my burden.” Carolin lifted his chin. “Is there nothing I can say to convince you?”
    “Oh,” Auster said, a ghost of a smile flitting across his mouth. “You have already done that. If this lad returns to us with his father’s blessing, we will of course welcome him, whether he be Ridenow or not. Rest content with that.”
    Carolin knew when he was dismissed. At least, Auster had given him a germ of hope. If he could not directly change the minds of Auster and Dom Felix, then at least he could seize upon whatever opening chance presented him with. He felt certain there would be one.

3
    I n the Ridenow quarters of Arilinn’s Hidden City, Varzil waited for his father’s return. Each major house had access to private apartments, clean and warm but austere. Despite the banners of green and gold, these were only slightly more luxurious than trail shelters, and maintained under the same conditions of truce.
    Not two hours ago, Dom Felix had been summoned, with a great show of politeness but absolute command, to the Keeper of Arilinn Tower. Then he would learn that Varzil had slipped away from the evening gathering of the Comyn Council, where his presence would have served his family, and stayed out all night without permission or letting anyone know where he was. Dom Felix would never have approved of his plan, so in essence he had done what would surely have been forbidden. Now Varzil had been found out, his act of disobedience made public. If only Arilinn had taken him in—but it had not, and now he would pay doubly, for trying and for failing. The result would not be pleasant.
    Varzil awaited his father’s return with equanimity, for he had always borne the punishments meted out for childhood mischief with patience. No action, whether grand or trivial, was without consequence. At Sweetwater, the family estate, he saw this on a daily basis. A seed planted with care became a vine laden with sweet-gourds in the fall. A hand raised in temper against a half-broken colt gave rise to a sullen, unreliable mount. A cat whose tail was pulled would turn and scratch. A kind word and smile to the cook resulted in a treat at bedtime. A dreamy summer afternoon in the orchards, playing the flute and watching the patterns of clouds, was followed by