CHAPTER VII GLYNMORAN'S BANE Leoynar Trevarthen's return had a sobering effect on many and not in the least, Leoynar Trevarthen himself when he groped back, looking tousled and defeated, to Ricar Myar's villa on the hilltop. "What happened to you?" Lukus asked with astonishment. Ricar, hovering close by, remained speechless but immediately drew up a chair as if fearing for a collapse any minute. Leoynar waved a hand and declined the proffered chair. Standing awkwardly he explained: "Adilar and I had a fight." Ricar's lips were forming: "You?" Leoynar said in a thick voice: "Rather an unpleasant argument. The shock was too great for him, it seems. It appears none of you, and including me, have seriously taken into account what these latest developments are doing to him emotionally." Lukus said gently: "Leoynar, it is understandable he feels overwhelmed by all these changes. It will certainly completely alter his life, but think of the opportunities it will offer him." Leoynar's blue eyes clouded with weariness. "He has done all right for himself on his own. Anyway, we made up right after our little quarrel on Air Marshall Lauren's insistence. We would be spending all night in that barn otherwise." He recalled with remorse what had prompted the argument; the issue he was trying to avoid: Glynmoran. His mouth twitched wryly as he also recalled the moment when Marshall Lauren hauled back his subordinate officer by the scruff of his neck, and Adilar apologized to him, while a dozen or more other officers of the Force stood around and looked on open-mouthed. So zealous had they been yelling at each other that they had not even heard the Vertical Brake whines of the spitsoar, bringing back to Myaron the Air Marshall and his fresh consignment of rescuers. Leoynar continued with sudden determination that lifted the fog from his eyes: "I am going to wash and change and make myself presentable. Afterwards I will go to Ferngarthen. I will stay there for an indefinite time. Father wants me to." He started for the stairs. "Leoynar," Lukus called after him, "remember Aunt's Clarya wish to have a family reunion. Do what you can to persuade Alden to come." "I will not forget," said Leoynar, "but give him more time to prepare for the idea." 'But I have to do what I want first,' he thought as he walked to his room. Ferngarthen would be his destination, and his ultimate abiding place. He knew it when he first saw it, an enchanted place closeted by the lustre and fragrance of silver-coloured fir-woods. He knew then with emotions swelling and his eyes moist, he would never be able to return to Trevarthen Hall, nor to Ayrie or to Myaron, but he would come home, wherever he would be, to Ferngarthen. As soon as Norielle realized she had her half-brother, long thought dead, before her disguised as a steppetrekker, she had uttered a low cry and fallen into his arms. For half a second, there had clanged a jarring note as if she had expected someone else, but that moment vaporized as soon as she clutched him in her arms and wept softly: "Where have you been, Leoynar? All these long cycles, not even one word from you. Leaving us, leaving home. How have I missed you!" Had Adilar also expected someone else? Leoynar shook his head and swayed for a moment on his feet for he had not taken any rest before journeying to Myaron. So many things he himself had not anticipated, could not have envisaged at all that such a close bond existed between the cousins. He had also seen a picture of another young Praecel in his father's room, of Adilar's brother, Trajan, looking composed in the frame with only a hint of humour in the expressive eyes, and just gazing at that face had filled him with wonder and puzzlement. * * * Installed in his most comfortable armchair before the wide-open glass doors to the patio Lar Alden listened to the sounds of a night aglow with the light of Evening Star. He could only hear the chorus of the grass crickets and their songs were filled with memories. Alden reminisced how on a similar night his only son reappeared before him. No longer as vibrant and ambitious as the boy for whose affection he had fought so hard. Grown mature, grown old beyond his maturity, scarred by an unknown grief, Leoynar, the sole progeny of his first stormy union with Eleyn Myar, had come back and by a single gesture, claimed title to that parcel in his father's heart, still unclaimed and kept vacant throughout the long cycles. Leoynar had taken his father's hand and pressed it to his brow, performing the Iucarian token of filial respect: "My Lar, my father." With his heart whole and full again, Alden's thoughts turned to his beloved grandson and he felt a sudden pain, stinging as a fresh wound. Adilar had argued with his uncle and not come home. Alden had waited long hours, nights and not received a single communication, or just a simple message that the boy was well. Leoynar, looking nobly good-looking as of old, walked into the living room and impulsively Alden stretched out a hand. "Is something wrong, father," Leoynar asked, anxiously approaching. "Come sit down by me for a while," said Alden, "A lot of things have gone over my mind and I feel quite a bit overwhelmed. Maybe talking about it may make me feel better." "Take it easy," said Leoynar softly, "these changes, they have been hard on you. You should be resting now." "I feel quite comfortable. Let us chat a while. We have not done this since ... since you were a child." Leoynar squeezed his father's hand between his bronze fingers: "What shall we discuss?" "You said that Clarya is planning some sort of reunion banquet. Will she be holding it in her manor in Ayrie or in Trevarthen Hall?" "Neither place, father," Leoynar said gently, "she thought that Myaron would be more appropriate, at the grand manor of Lar Wryn. She has taken a liking to that rustic place lately, especially since her cousin is going to take charge of the Ayrie Protectorate. What are your thoughts about this planned reunion, father?" "I will certainly go!" Alden replied. "I have never visited Myaron and I have always wanted to see the famous River Nheim." "It is a long way down south from Verimur," said Leoynar, "we will take the Express. It will cut our travelling time down to about half." "Yes, that would certainly be a good idea. Has a date been fixed?" "Not yet. They are still awaiting your response. Until they have your positive answer no arrangements will be made." "That's very kind. Please tell all concerned of my willingness to participate. Now turning to other things, Leoynar. What are your thoughts about Adilar?" "Adilar? Is that what you are worrying about? We made up, we apologized and that is, I hope, the end of our silly, uhm, disagreement." "Why isn't he home yet? What is bothering him, there is no call from him, practically nothing!" Leoynar interrupted: "Don't worry about Adilar, because—" He stopped abruptly and swiftly carried on: "Because there he is walking through the garden!" Adilar sauntered through the patio doors and with a grin deposited his travelling case on the floor, looking grimy and unwashed as if he had arrived directly from the Equatorial Steppes of Calitre. Seeing that dusty spectre before him, Lar Alden nearly jumped up from his chair but restrained himself at the very last second. Crossing his legs with dignity, he asked frowningly: "Where have you been, rapscallion?" "I have spent a few days in Frairimont with Fredric. Do you still remember Fredric Lamidor, the science steward?" "Certainly I do, a most amiable young steward, with the best of manners which I cannot possibly say of you." Adilar spread out his arms: "What do you wish of me, dear grandfather?" "Offer greetings to your uncle, for instance," grumbled Lar Alden. Adilar spread out his fingers spontaneously: "Here is my pledge, Uncle Leoynar, and let us hope there never will be an occasion again to greet one another as we did the last time." "Likewise, Adilar," said Leoynar warmly, touching his nephew's fingers, "likewise." "And you are just in time for supper!" exclaimed Lar Alden for a moment at a loss for saying anything better. Later in the evening Adilar told Norielle in private that he had communicated with Trajan through the Information Exchange and within a few days, six at the most, Trajan would be home. "I could not have told grandfather in Uncle Leoynar's presence," Adilar said. "We have told Leoynar about Trajan," Norielle quietly said. "Leoynar and I were very close. I couldn't have held this back from him and then spring it on him with all the resulting pain and embarrassment. It has taken Leoynar great courage to come home, to me and especially to your grandfather, and the least we can do is to let him share our life. There is only one thing I would ask of you, Adilar, and that is, do not mention Glynmoran in his presence. It is a private pain he has to come to terms with sooner or later by himself." Norielle sighed and went on: "Have you told Trajan of what has happened recently?" "Yes, Mothy," Adilar said, "but not in great detail, we only had a short time available to us." "Has he said anything, a notion, an opinion?" "Mothy, he was stupefied, what more could he say about all this. He only promised to get in touch with Glynmo and told me to 'be kind to Uncle'. Besides he was tickled pink, almost choking with laughter when I told him of Cestor Laengx's masquerade." Norielle smiled brightly: "That's my Trajan: always able to pin down trouble spots and ready for a good laugh. If nothing else helps, Glynmoran will listen to him. It's good to have Trajan back." Adilar enquired cautiously: "Do you expect trouble coming from Glynmoran?" "Let us pray not," Norielle whispered. Her face brightening once more she continued: "In a day or two we are all going to attend that reunion celebration Aunt Clarya is putting together in Myaron. We want you to come with us, Adilar." "Gladly!" Adilar said. * * * On the evening of the great Trevarthen reunion, Glynmoran was stretching out on his couch in comfort, listening to the hum of the traffic filtering to his living room from the sky avenues above and the streets below his hanging terrace. Dama Virga asked sweetly: "Why aren't you at the ball, Lar Glynmo?" "Why aren't you with your Lar in union, dear Virga?" "Are you not aware he has checked into therapy for another round of his treatments." "How sad to be so young and so riddled with disease. He was looking in the bloom of his health when he wedded you. Naturally," Glynmoran said with a grin stretching from ear to ear, "union with you could never have been easy." "Nonsense!" Virga burst out and Glynmoran's derisive face instantly turned sober. With languid movements he pushed himself up from the couch and gazed pensively at Dama Ermiz. "Something is bothering you," he murmured with such seriousness it sounded false, but Glynmoran was serious since he was about to discover something. "Is there a grain of possibility that you do care for Julyan? Was your union with him not just a convenient method of gaining the title of Dama Protector? Do you know, Virga," Glynmoran refilled his glass and held the sparkling golden liquid to the shine of the chandelier, "the one thing which attracted me to you in the first place is that you are so like my own mother in your ambition to soar high. I wanted to know the secrets of the Phylee-Patrean female powers of snaring gullible males like my father and Julyan in their nets. If my father, who is more strange than a stranger to me, were less gullible there would not be a Dama Lisaloran in Trevarthen Hall, and there would not be a Lar Glynmoran." Glynmoran stared in dreamy contemplation at the ceiling. "Where would I then be, I wonder. A bioplast in my father's eye, as they say, still with primordial spinal pterocortices?" "Lar Glynmoran," Virga gritted through her teeth, "you being serious is more aggravating than you being droll. What have primeval pterocortices to do with it all?" "This morning, having nothing to do, I went to visit the Museum of Prehistoric Studies for a change. When you go through the front hall you will come face to face with a gigantic mural splashing over the entire wall. I spent hours looking at that mural. Frankly, I have never in my life seen something like it and I am glad I did before my life is being snuffed out." Glynmoran's eyes grew darker, burning with a fierce fire. Virga said crankily: "Stop talking nonsense!" She shuddered despite all attempts at bravura. "There it was," said Glynmoran, "and there I saw portrayed across an impossibly chaotic sky our primitive ancestors, the pterogenera, their pterocortices enabling them to soar from crag to peak above a sweltering proto-ocean which gave birth to the Odur Seas. It must be a sight worth dying for. What have we modern Iucarians traded in place for that freedom of air and sky? Skills to till the soil, build space ships so that we can soar even higher across our galaxy? Building fancy castles, wallowing in comfort instead of perching on jagged mountain tops braving storms and blizzards? Nothing to worry about, except to live and survive. What have we now left behind our shoulders? Pitiful remnants of membranes. If evolution means losing pteroskins, learning to walk flat on two feet, using brains to transform rock and stone, establishing planetary colonies, governments and noble protectorates ..." Virga held her breath. Glynmoran closed his eyes, the long eyelashes quivering under the light of the lamps. When he opened them again, they were clear as glass, and a wicked smile transformed his face again: "Then glory to evolution! Not even for the title of Lar Protector would I swap luxury, wine and good food for hardship on bare rocks battling the elements." "Damn you, Lar Glynmoran," Virga spat, "you are so unpredictable." "My unpredictability is my bane," said Glynmoran. Virga said, narrowing her eyes: "Why are you so relaxed? Weren't you prepared to do everything in your power to retain your precious title?" Glynmoran tumbled back on the couch, embracing the cushions. "And what of you, sweet Virga. At the beginning of our conversation haven't I noticed too, a faint crack in your usually impeccable polish? Has Julyan after all some hidden charm he has not shown before? Is it something I should know?" "Julyan has changed," said Virga. She grew silent for a second before she went on reluctantly: "Julian is also on very friendly footing with that friend of your mother's." "Carlomon?" "Carlomon and his close-mouthed helper, Niklaedus. I detest them but Julyan thinks Carlomon is his guiding star and he often berates me for disliking that pair. He has become hateful himself. He's told me not to visit him in the sanatorium." Virga shivered again and Glynmoran said softly, glancing at his chronodisc: "That's why I am not attending the reunion, even though they so considerately sent me an invitation. It is time." "Time for what?" Virga cried out alarmed. Glynmoran jumped up from the couch, pulled his jacket off the back of a chair and explained: "My mother is attending the reunion. She is too curious not to, because there will be a couple of new faces she wants to see. Time and distance will prevent her coming back to Trevarthen Hall for the night so Trevarthen Hall, for once, will be disembodied from her presence. And that's why I am going there on a snooping expedition tonight." He started for the door and Virga called out tremulously: "What about me?" "Stay here, this could be a risky business." "I don't want to be left alone!" "Then come along but be very quiet." * * * Trevarthen Hall was a huge shadow of turrets and wings under the mantle of the night, omnipotently silent, wrapped in blackness. It sent the shivers up Virga's back but it suited Glynmoran just fine. "Heed my words," he hissed with satisfaction, "nobody is there, not even the household retinue. They usually have a fling in town in my mother's absence. And even if they were here, I have every right to enter my home at any time." Virga felt less convinced. As they entered the huge empty hall, cold draughts came upon them, sharp like frost-tipped arrows. She stretched out a finger to the control panels eager to see the welcome sparkle of light but Glynmoran viciously slapped her hand away. "No light," he said. "The darkness will be our protection. I know the place like the back of my hand. If you follow me closely there is no chance of you getting lost here." Virga had it on the tip of her tongue to blurt out: 'I thought you said there was nobody here.' But she thought better of it; the sombreness of the unlit, unheated house was a force against which attempts at bravery were no weapons. Outside wall luminaries threw arches of creamy light on the floor through the uncurtained windows; they provided sufficient light to separate objects from inky nothingness. Glynmoran walked briskly through the halls, hallways and up a staircase without upsetting anything or making a sound. Virga, holding him by the tail of his jacket like a frightened child, kept bodily close. Glynmoran continued to investigate the vastness of Trevarthen hall, one chilly deserted corridor after the other, and after a seemingly endless time floating like lost spirits in a void, Virginia found that they were walking down the same stairs they had just ascended. In squeaky whispers she made her objection known: "Where are we going now? Has this not gone far enough?" Glynmoran answered meditatively as if speaking more to himself than to her: "No one is upstairs, all rooms appear to be locked. A precautionary move as the house is left utterly vacant. The night-light in our trusted chamberlain's chambers is not turned on, meaning he will not return tonight. So then there is only one place left to explore: the library." "And after that we can go?" Virga entreated. "Hush!" said Glynmoran as the heavy double doors of the library loomed through the darkness. They approached on tiptoe. A voice uttered a harsh command. Virga stepped on Glynmoran's toe. He bit back a curse. "What is he saying?" "Here," Glynmoran pressed a button in her hand. "Stick that in your ear. The newest version of dialect buster." "Open the doors!" the harsh voice sounded again through the library doors. As the two intruders sprang back into the shadowy portion of the hallway, the doors flew open as if a gale storm had crashed against it, and a flood of light, blinding silver-blue light, spilled over the hallway, splintering night and darkness like a descending fireball from heaven. "There!" the deep voice continued, "it has been deflected into the corridor. I told you to be careful and not to open the box all at once. And speak in their Tongue, the Light seems to bear ill will towards our speech! Take the pincers and close the lid. Careful now, just leave the lid a little bit open, just enough to see the light inside." While the voice talked, now commanding, then reassuring, the brilliance of that angry light slowly receded into the depths of the library, like a wild beast being drawn back into its cage, and everything was dark again and silent except for faint bluish strands drifting through the open doors. "Better now, much better," said the same voice, as if holding a soliloquy. There was no sound coming from the second presence save for the third presence: the Thing of Light in the box, emitting a low humming. "Such powers as this object has, we can never be too careful in handling it. It is a formidable weapon. Yes, it is an instrument of destruction rather than of healing or protection, as otherwise claimed. This is the true legacy of Lar Irwain Trevarthen! And it has finally come into our possession, through the devices of Dama Lisaloran, for us to wage war and do battle with the unbelieving: the fools of this world who don't understand they have here the mighty Light Core of a Lord Laris! But the night has been long. Let's close the box for now and retire." A soft thud and as sudden as the light had blazed forth, blackness surged back. As footsteps approached the open doorway, a thin voice rasped a question: "Do you expect opposition to our plans?" The deep voice answered: "There will be no opposition now we have the Hexstone in our hands, but it would be foolish to expect no danger. Lar Irwain Trevarthen was a remarkable lord. None of his offspring had yet been able to equal him but some day there might be one who could temper the forces of the Hexstone just like Lar Irwain had. I've just heard that his granddaughter has a son. Watch him: he is Krystan Schurell's son. The firstborns of the Lords Laris always pose the greatest threat." "Is Krystan Schurell a Lord Laris?" "I am not sure." The second voice went on, scratching like nails in the void of the night: "Leoynar Trevarthen is back. Shouldn't he be the one we have to watch?" The deep voice answered with bitter sarcasm: "Leoynar Trevarthen is broken by the rejection of his Dama. He, who has loved so well, has never been loved in return." "I don't think the Dama is someone who can fall in love." The first voice laughed softly, a low and deep sound as if coming from a dark cesspool: "The Dama is capable of powerful, destructive, love." The doors of library thudded closed and slowly the footsteps of the pair diminished to the far end of the corridor. Glynmoran felt Virga's explosive sigh of relief stroking his left ear: "That's Carlomon and Niklaedus. I recognize their voices. Are they gone? Can we go?" "Not yet," Glynmoran replied with unexpected doggedness and pulling at the doors of the library, he slipped inside. Virga wheezed, words of blasphemy sticking in her throat, but she jumped up from her crouched position and followed Glynmoran into the gloom of the deserted library. Nothing remained to indicate the erstwhile presence of two sinister individuals with plans of unthinkable catastrophe and their tool, a portentous box. The chill in the room felt more piercing than in other chambers of the house and Virga whispered, desperate and mortally afraid: "Come away! We have seen and heard enough. What are you doing?" Glynmoran was frantically rummaging through the contents of a solid writing desk that faced the ceiling-high bookshelves along the opposite wall. "Proof!" he hissed, "Evidence of any sort." He started pulling open drawers. Desperation had made him bold: he had switched on the small desk lamp. "Come away," Virga pleaded, "They might come back." "Ahah!" Glen cried out. "This looks like something we can use" He held out a slim handscreen in a leather case to the soft glow of the lamp and began hastily scrolling through the contents. "Her daily journal," he gasped, "a mother lode!" With one jerk of his finger at the desk lamp the room plummeted once more into complete darkness. Virga stifled a cry of dismay. A rough hand took her by the upper arm and thus she was dragged unprotestingly through innumerable passages and doorways out of the front door back to the outside park where Glynmoran's aero stood waiting, undisturbed, a patch of creamy shine under the shadow-webs of the woods. Neither of them spoke when the aero streaked along the flyboulevards toward Frairimont. The winking dots of the metropolis came into sight as awakening dawn began to bloom along the eastern hairline of the sea. Virga asked softly: "Why did you take such an enormous risk, Glynmoran? What did you do it for?" Glynmoran gave her no answer. He could not give her one, for he was asking himself the same question. He thought of the conversation he had with Trajan in the early hours of yesterday and a pang of emotion twisted his heart. Steering his aero up the driveway of his maisonette building he was still thinking of his cousin far, far away on a distant asteroid outpost and taking trouble and time to call him, and never before did he realize that feelings of affection could hurt so much, yet taste so sweet. * * * Rylan steered and Adilar enjoyed the scenery of the clear sweep of the sky above and the sea below while Rylan's open aerovehicle swallowed up the distance between Myaron and Frairimont. A pair of blue albas circled above the aero, sometimes looping down with huge wings taut and playfully nipping at their hair. The lack of interest in their game soon bored them and they winged westwards, dropping a half-eaten fish in the backseat as a teasing farewell. Rylan said: "I still don't how to express myself in gratitude. Words are failing me, Adilar, but your grandfather is truly remarkable. Just in a matter of hours paid in a courtesy visit he has managed to persuade my grandfather to rescind the Decree of Disinheritance!" "Everybody is underestimating my grandfather," Adilar proudly stated, tossing the remains of the fish back into the sea. "Think of the fact that he has kept us together on his own resources with such determination and perseverance. He has been the beacon to whom we have always run for help. Dear grandfather!" "And now he is the beacon shining the path to the door of my paternal home. When I see him tonight at Ferngarthen, I will thank him on my knees." Adilar laughed. "Don't you ever do that! The one thing he hates is emotional outpourings of gratitude." He continued on a softer tone. "How did your meeting go with your grandfather?" Rylan exclaimed: "I have never seen a grouch like him! There he was sitting in that grand high-backed leather chair looking like a ponderous proctor and with his unwavering square finger he pointed me to my chair. And there we were seated, eyeball to eyeball, and he spoke to me—he had a fine old voice considering—and I repeat verbatim: 'Young Praecel, never think that I am a weak-hearted and sentimental fool. I consider myself to have always acted with fairness and righteousness although maybe at times I am apt to be a little hasty in reaching my decisions but judgments, as such, can always be corrected and the illustrious Lar Alden Trevarthen,' Yes, that is precisely the word he used to describe your grandfather, Adilar! 'having pointed out the error of my ways in your case, I am more than prepared to make amends and render my previous decree void and invalid.' And while speaking thus, he pulled out of his drawer a yellowish document, showed to me what the contents were and threw it into the disintegrator. He then made out a Document of Rescission to be registered officially at the Hall of Rights. And that, Adilar," concluded Rylan in a voice, thick with sudden emotion, "signals the end of my wanderings." Adilar briefly laid a hand on his shoulder: "I am so glad things have gone so well for you. I think your grandfather is a good Praecel at heart despite his austerity." Rylan said softly: "You are right. He has given me the best portion of the whole house to do with as I please. You must come and visit me some day in my new luxury. Remarkable, that he is the same person who threw my father out of the door!" Rylan was as happy as the flock of snowgulls now filling the sky in the stead of the blue albas, swerving and playing with each other along the tips of waves deep below and the air currents high above. Adilar smiled dreamily, one of his wishes at least had been fulfilled. Rylan elbowed him playfully: "You yourself sounded pretty excited when you dragged me out this morning to spend a few days at Ferngarthen. What surprises do you have in store, Adilar Schurell?" Adilar's orange Insignia started to pulse as the spires of Frairimont were glinting along the wide horizon. * * * Rylan cautiously manoeuvred up the gentle slope of the driveway leading to Glynmoran's maisonette block. When the aero purred to a halt, he cautiously peered into his friend's face, which was an open play of anxiety. "It is probably a false alarm, one of Lar Glynmoran's innumerable antics to get attention." "No," Adilar said, frowning worriedly, "I don't think so. He has never before contacted me through the Force's communication channel." He climbed out of the aero as Rylan enquired: "Shall I leave you to it?" "By all means come with me!" shouted Adilar as he scurried through the quiet entrance lobby. "In case of emergency two heads are better than one." Rylan felt incomprehensibly a feeling of dread sinking in his stomach. "No more emergencies, please," he prayed as he followed Adilar up the escalator into the second floor lift podium. Rylan and Adilar entered Glynmoran's suite almost side by side through the wide doors and the moment they caught sight of the ruin that was once an opulent living room they could not believe their eyes. "Did you have a wild party?" Rylan said half exasperated, half amused. Glynmoran had an expression on his face as if he had been wrestling all night with winged primordial demons and he winced as Adilar caught his shoulder in a hard grip. "What happened?" Adilar demanded. Glynmoran answered dully: "Someone broke in while we were having breakfast at the brasserie this morning, but nothing has been taken. It is a sick joke." Rylan and Adilar exchanged fretful glances, clearly disagreeing all this was to be treated like some kind of a joke. Sounds of restrained sobbing reached their ears from the adjoining rooms. "I thought you lived alone, Glynmoran," said Rylan wryly. "That is Virga Ermiz. She is weeping for her Lar." They were unable to speak during moments of oppressive silence while the weeping quietened gradually. Glynmoran sighed heavily: "How nice to have someone mourn you like that. Julyan is lucky after all." Adilar grabbed Glynmoran by the shoulders and shook him furiously. "Something must have happened, something you have not told us yet. You didn't come at the reunion yesterday. You were here with Virga all along. What have you been doing, you know the meaning of this break-in. Why haven't you called the videts?" Glynmoran looked him straight in the eye and said: "What I have done is entirely for you." He broke off and started for the adjacent room. "Come with me. They were looking for something but they haven't found it, I have hidden it well. I'll show you what it is." Left on his own momentarily Rylan romped through the battered living-room, battling that wretched feeling of gloom and doom deep in his guts and wishing suddenly with all his life they could leave this place far behind. Adilar came back with a face white as a sheet and Rylan could feel his hands and feet turning cold. "Adilar...?" he faltered. Adilar coded his optic strip with brisk finger movements. "I am calling in the Spacio Command. We leave, immediately. Glynmoran is getting Virga." "Don't we have to warn the videts too?" Rylan suggested uncertainly. "Yes, do that too. There should be a general emergency panel installed in the lobby somewhere. Wait for me there." Adilar turned as Rylan hurried to the elevator leaving the front doors wide open. His finger was reaching for the coder panel when a detonation ripped apart the prevailing peace and with tremendous fury slammed into the corridor and rattled the floors of the building. The blast threw Rylan against the inner wall of the elevator and buffeted him with a gust of hot air and flying debris. One of the double doors splintered and crashed down in a storm of dust. Dazed and shaken Rylan scrambled to his feet, coughing in the smoke that thickened with each second. The bedrooms were ablaze with huge tongues of flames licking at the high ceilings. "Adilar!" Rylan screamed, "ADILAR!"