CHAPTER II

DARKER THAN NIGHT


The bluish white tenement, once so grand and elegant as part
of a glorious sky had shrivelled into a blotch, darker than
night. The wind was whistling and tugging at torn cables
trailing along one decapitated portion of the roof-deck.
Adjacent luminants threw a shadow play of shivering, jagged
silhouettes on neighbouring walls and streets.

Trajan had parked his aero-vehicle some distance further
down the avenue and walking up the front portals, he held
his passwand ready, which would temporarily deactivate the
sting forcefield around the entrance of the building. He
halted and looked up, surveying the silent edifice from
where life and light had gone out. Phylee-Patreans did not
have the stomach for staying behind in a place where two of
them had met their end in such a brutally sanguinary manner.
It had plunged the whole realm into deep mourning and great
fear, and seemed to signal in the beginning of an ominous
era.

He waved the passwand at the sting barrier and walked
briskly through the gates. He loosened the holster of his
rephar and coded the wand to reactivate the barrier before
he entered the darkened lobby. He avoided the residential
elevators and flicking on his stylet torch he took the
emergency turbo shaft.

Rescuers had partially cleared away some of the debris that
littered the hallway along Glynmoran's suite and the heavy
front doors had been removed to one corner. The entrance to
the suite gaped like the mouth of a bottomless cesspit.
Trajan stood and listened. He heard nothing and he entered.

Objects and furniture in the wrecked and blackened
living-room still lay scattered around, untouched by the
hurried hands whose first gruesome task was to clear the way
to the bedrooms for whatever Praecel remnants there still
remained to be salvaged. Standing in the centre of the
devastated room Trajan was thinking hard. What was Adilar
trying to tell him? Last night's thread of communication had
been too fragile to completely understand the flashes of
messages he was receiving. Obviously Adilar was sedated and
feeling none too well at that time, and he refrained from
probing his brother's mind further; yet, he had seen vague
pictures of an altogether different room.

Trajan nodded to himself and murmured: "It must be the
bedroom." Glass-splinters softly crunched beneath his boots
as he turned the corner to the bedroom wings. The blast had
left the bedroom door clinging precariously to its hinges,
and it swayed mournfully in the wind streaming through the
gigantic holes that had once been tall, magnificent windows.
Once again, Trajan stopped for a second and listened, his
aural sensors tuning in on fullest capacity to any
fluttering, breathing or other furtive sounds of unwanted
presence; the entire building remained wrapped up in
sepulchral silence.

For the second time Trajan turned his concentration to the
spacious bedroom and the bright spear of his torchlight
highlighted each mangled and scorched object. Glynmoran had
put the handscreen back into its hiding-place to be later
retrieved, a place that had looked milky white and massive,
like the hand-in-hand panelling of—. "The bath suite,"
Trajan told himself.

His torch shone upon an enclosed space, which enjoyed the
same luxurious spaciousness of the sleeping chambers and
appeared more or less intact apart from some scorching on
the marble. Kicking away dust and debris Trajan approached
the holo-programmer installed at the head of the bathpool.
Slowly he let his fingers slide over the control panels and
pressed a tiny lever. The box console swung out to reveal
behind it a hollow encavement. He crouched down to allow his
hand and part of his arm to reach the far inside of the
hidden cabinet until his fingers touched a hard object.
Drawing his arm back he found he was holding a slim
leather-bound case. He was satisfied after a brief
inspection. He swung round abruptly and his weapon gleamed
in his hand. After a moment in suspense he extinguished his
stylet light. He was no longer alone in the building.

* * *

Leoynar cast his eyes for long moments on the dark,
melancholy outlines of the ravaged building, and shivering
he drew his overcoat closer around him. The weather had
gradually deteriorated into a cold and steady drizzle, and
every molecule in his physique was screaming objections for
his being here. But then again he felt that ludicrous sense
of urgency, which had drawn him here in the first place
where Glynmoran had come to such a violent end. He stood
there for countless more undecided moments in the wet chill
before he summoned the courage to approach the front
entrance. He had beforehand approached the Superpre of the
Frairimont Surety with a request to enter the building on
the pretext of salvaging some of Glynmoran's personal
effects, and the Surety had graciously put at his disposal
the passwand and the reactivation codes, which would allow
him to open and close the sting barrier.

He looked and stood stock-still for a moment. The forcefield
was out of action. An oversight of the Surety on this cold
and windy night? Leoynar thought no more of it and made his
way through the lobby. The elevators were still working and
without hesitation he used one of them to take him to the
skyhigh floors.

The doors seemed to open up upon a dark abyss. For one
second he was tempted to draw back into the small
confinement of the elevator where at least lights were
burning. He shook his head and took his powerful torch into
his hand. It was now or never. He shivered when he caught
sight of the appalling wreckage. The sound of the explosion
itself alone must have been excruciating but now there was
only a pit of silence.

Leoynar had seen young Rylan at the emergency station,
utterly distraught and caked with dust from head to toe, his
fingers torn and bleeding, his eyes red and weeping from the
smoke. Rylan had plunged back into the burning suite,
clawing with his bare hands at jagged and smouldering debris
until he could reach Adilar and pull him to safety. He was
holding Adilar semi-conscious in his arms when the Rescue
Force arrived on the scene, but none of them could do
anything more for Glynmoran, or for Virga Ermiz.

Was there a shadow lurking in a dark corner and watching
him? Leoynar strained his ears and his seventh sense but
again nothing, only the dead of night and the whistle of the
wind coming through the cracked patio doors. Leoynar softly
cursed. Why did he have to come out at night and not wait
until morning? Because in the morning, he reminded himself,
the builders and renovators would flood into the place and
evidence, which might still be here, would have been
obliterated.

What evidence did he think was there to find, evidence the
officials of the Surety would have overlooked? He sighed
heavily, his eyes following the path of his torch roaming
through the room. He knew why he had come: his conscience, a
sense of guilt, had driven him to the wrecked premises of
the boy whom he had refused to help, but since he was here
he might as well look around. Quietly he started his search,
pulling drawers here and there. He was scrutinizing the
cupboards when a crunch, barely audible, startled him. He
listened not entirely sure of himself. Then there it was
again, feet scraping on broken glass.

Someone was making his way in here. Extinguishing his torch
he hurried to the patio, into the open air, where he thought
himself safe. He felt the light rain sprinkling his face
when out of the corner of his right eye he saw a shadow
moving. The intruder was already on the patio not inside!
Desperately he swung round with his torch held high as a
weapon. Something heavy fell on his head with a blow searing
all the way through his brain down to his stomach and
darkness smothered him, darker than the darkness in
Glynmoran's ravaged penthouse.

* * *

Painfully Leoynar tried to move his limbs. He was tormented
by a dull throbbing at the back of his skull. Pulling his
eyes open he was unable to see anything.

With his mind groping in a fog he thought maddeningly: 'What
happened? Why can't I see? Have I gone blind?' He was
vaguely aware that he was sitting on the floor with his back
against a wall and blinking his eyes now and again, the
spear light beam of a stylet came into focus. In the glow
the stylet provided he saw he was not alone, a shade was
hovering tall above him. He made feeble movements to get to
his feet.

"Take it easy," a calm voice said, "you've had a nasty blow
to the head." Leoynar felt a hand pressing a cool compressor
against the painful spot. He shut his eyes for a moment and
opening them again he saw a rephar levelled at him.

Leoynar covered his face with his hands, desperately trying
to overcome spells of dizziness. His face was moist and so
were his clothes; he must have spent some time uncovered in
the open patio. "What is the idea of attacking me?" he
asked.

The intruder edged away a step or two. "It wasn't me," came
the short answer.

"If it wasn't you," Leoynar said obstinately, "then where is
the other?"

"He is dead."

Leoynar slowly groped to his feet, his eyes rivetted on the
weapon still pointing in his direction.

"I didn't kill him," the voice continued quietly, "he was
about to throw you over the patio balustrade when I
intervened. He was quite clumsy, that one. He hadn't noticed
that part of the railing has given away and so he went right
through it, all the way down."

Leoynar shuddered. "What are you doing here?" asked the
voice commandingly and the grip on the rephar was tightened.
In answer Leoynar grumbled: "Are you a commander sent to
investigate the matter? Only commanders carry rephars and,
as such, don't you think I have every right to be here as
father of that murdered boy?"

"You are?" Surprise was choked back and after a slight
movement in the dark the glow of a more powerful torch shone
forth, casting a gloomy light upon the wreckage and the
occupants of the room.

Leoynar drew in his breath. Having seen his picture he
recognized him at once, but the picture was nothing compared
to the Praecel in the flesh. He was like his brother in so
many ways, but his personality was entirely his own.
Compared to his brother's engaging charm he exhibited a
streak of ruthlessness, which showed he was drilled in the
more merciless aspects of commandhood. He had unusual
tone-fluctuating eyes: the grey on purple of a stormy sky
leaping in an eye-blink to the purple on grey of a clear
morning.

Leoynar tottered on his feet, sweat pearling on his brow,
while Trajan looked at him with wide, curious eyes. "Trajan,
we haven't met but I know you. Norielle told me about you."

Trajan rushed to Leoynar and supported his uncle with one
arm. With swift finger movements of the other hand he coded
his optic strip. "Come sit down." He grimaced. "Here on this
floor, it is better than nothing. The rescuers will be here
soon, they'll take care of you." Leaving Leoynar more or
less in a comfortable position, he wandered off.

Leoynar closed his eyes and in a swimming haze he thought he
heard in the far distance the flow of running water.
Presently he felt the hard rim of a glass pressed against
his lips and he took grateful gulps of the refreshing
liquid. A new cool compressor was soothing his head and he
asked without opening his eyes: "Do you know who the
intruder was?"

"No, not yet."

Leoynar whispered: "Iucarian?"

After a long pause, Trajan said, "I don't know."

Outside the whirr of approaching craft disturbed the quiet
night and Trajan left his side to go up the patio. Leoynar
heard him talking to the officials below through his
communicator. He re-entered just as two rescuers walked
through the door, and one of them addressed him immediately.

"He is as good as dead, Captain. No way he could survive
that fall."

"Just making sure."

After one glance at Leoynar, the rescuer said under his
breath: "There is one thing which we think you should see
for yourself, Captain." Trajan nodded and without a further
word he left the room.

Taking Leoynar under their care, the two rescuers judged to
their satisfaction that apart from a sore bump on the back
of his head, a few drops of blood and a mild concussion,
their patient had suffered no other serious fractures,
physically or emotionally, but as cautious officers they
would rather take him to a sanatorium for the night than
letting him loose on the streets. Leoynar apparently still
feeling weak from the shock and fright was gently supported
by the two of them out of the suite and down into the
outside street where the rain had petered out and the moist,
cool air was filled with the buzz of subdued voices and
running engines.

Trajan looked grim and brooding, but he relaxed into a smile
when he caught Leoynar's eye and he approached the trio.

"There is nothing seriously wrong with my Lar here but we
are taking him to a sanatorium, just to be on the safe
side."

Trajan pressed Leoynar's arm encouragingly. "Go get a good
rest and keep out of trouble."

Leoynar said urgently: "A private word with you, please,
Trajan."

Murmuring an excuse the two rescuers withdrew and Leoynar,
feeling that his head had now sufficiently cleared up, asked
without further hesitation: "Are you going to Myaron to see
Adilar?"

For a moment Trajan's eyes flared dark-purple under the
street illuminants but he lowered them and shrouded their
intensity with his eyelashes. "Probably," he said
noncommittally.

Leoynar said intensely: "You know far more than me what is
going on but I also understand that you are bound by the
rules of your profession to say as little as possible. But I
want to become involved. From now on I am going to face up
to things. For Glynmoran, don't deny me this chance,
Trajan."

Trajan gazed up to the blackened rooftop of the maisonette
building and said: "You have already interred him, I
believe?"

"Yes, in the Trevarthen Hall mausoleum."

"Leoynar, we will meet again but on the condition that you
go with the officers of the Force to the sanatorium for the
night. I will go to Myaron but not immediately. There are
other things I have to sort out."

Trajan brought Leoynar back to the waiting rescue craft.
"How can I contact you?" asked Leoynar.

"If you feel fit enough tomorrow and the sanatorium thinks
you are well enough to go, meet me around noon at the
mausoleum of Trevarthen Hall." Trajan shut the vehicle door
with a smile, and with a wave he sent Leoynar on his way. He
then returned to the unsmiling group of rescuers and videts
standing around a covered brancard on the ground.

* * *

Stealthily like an animal on the prowl Leoynar moved through
the ragweed thickets, which had grown wild and tall, nearly
twice his height. Sitting low he could easily conceal
himself beneath the canopy of their tufted crowns without
even the sharpest greenhawk's eye spying him out. The
calming nerve agents he had digested in the sanatorium prior
to drifting into sleep had ensured an untroubled night.
Waking up in the morning, he felt refreshed and in the best
of health, apart from a certain stiffness at the back of his
head where the physicians had coated the wound with a
curative integument. After the peremptory physical
examination he was allowed to go with all blessings and
Leoynar, with only one destination and one thought in mind,
headed unswervingly towards Trevarthen Hall.

Leoynar stood still for a moment listening. He was here on
familiar terrain, in the dense wood covering a vast
hinterland of the Hall, where in his younger days he had
spent countless hours with his friends, and his little
half-sister trailing them, playing their secret games
amongst the wild blackberry bushes. There was an old wooden
shed where they used to hide and he longed to see it again,
to invoke remembrances that were dear and sweet.

It did not take him long to find the weather-beaten shed,
deep in a glade of the thicket, tilting against a half-ring
of rioting brier but nevertheless still standing with
stubborn old age. As Leoynar cast his eye on it, he was
overcome with a heavy feeling. He had left his childhood
far, far behind him and the shed had become in later years a
monument of unhappy memories. Here he had, as a silly
lovesick youth, courted Lisaloran, cool and devastatingly
beautiful, and had offered her his heart, throbbing red,
which she took with a light smile to keep and preserve, and
to crush when she thought fit. Here too, not generally known
but believed by him, young Ricar Myar and little Norielle
had spent many tender moments together.

Leoynar did not enter the shed; he had no doubt everything
had remained exactly in the same state as he had last seen
it, on the stormy night he took his fate in his own hands.
And he reflected on the events that had occurred after his
self-orchestrated disappearance. Krystan Schurell whom
Norielle eventually wedded and whom he never knew. And the
sons they begot and isolated from the rest of the House;
remarkable children. Adilar, beguilingly charming, who in
his vision would ultimately pull the family together again.
And Trajan, whose birth they had guarded most jealously.
Trajan, the younger of the two, who somehow exercised more
control and who had the same magnetic personality as the
Patriarch, now long dead and buried, the Lar whom he had
once admired as a shining star and loved more than his own
father.

With a heavy sigh Leoynar went round the shed and continued
down the overgrown path leading to the park where the
private cemetery was housed. Walking out of the
half-darkened woodland onto the bright lawns of the park, he
instantly came upon Trajan busily planting his thornbush
aside a few others already aligning Glynmoran's marble
plaque. Their eyes met only once when Leoynar sauntered
nearer, and neither spoke a word as Trajan bowed his head
once more to his task.

Leoynar ascended the steps of the mausoleum where the wide
dome was supported by a circle of sentry pillars and sought
the memorial niche marking the resting-place of a Great Lar.
His own memorial niche had been the one next to it, before
it was sheeted over as unobtrusively as it was installed.

The simple gold-plated words stood engraved: IRWAIN
TREVARTHEN, FIRST LAR PROTECTOR OF TREVARTHEN. For minutes
Leoynar covered the engraving with his fingers in silent
yearning: he still loved the Praecel who carried that
illustrious name. From where he stood on the gallery
encircling the walled centrum of the mausoleum he could
easily see the other young Praecel who carried a common
name, bestowing his own traditional respects to the departed
in the garden under the bright shine of the afternoon HeliĆ.
The chilling thought struck Leoynar again: how was it
possible that Trajan so closely resembled his
great-grandfather? Observing his nephew thoughtfully,
Leoynar came to the conclusion that there was a difference:
the grand Lar Irwain would not dirty his hands digging into
the soil to plant the Iucarian symbol of mourning: a
thornbush whose icerosin flowers would only open during the
night, setting graveyards alight with the sparkle of
diamonds.

Trajan was wiping his hands as Leoynar came down the steps.
They stood side by side without speaking before the
milky-white plaque in the grass. Finally Leoynar faced his
nephew and steepened his fingers. Trajan met the gesture
with grey eyes smouldering and Leoynar spoke: "Glynmoran was
not my son."

Trajan's eyes flared purple in shock. "Was that the reason
why you feigned your own death?"

Leoynar's blue eyes firmly met Trajan's which had flicked to
sombre grey. "Yes, Trajan. Glynmoran would have compensated
for my shattered feelings if he were mine. On the same night
Lisaloran pulverized my love she also mocked my virility. My
seed didn't beget Glynmoran but someone else's. She even
showed me the test results as proof. For me life had gone
dead in Phylee-Patre. That's why I obliterated all my traces
here to seek out your great-uncle Valorin in Calitre and
start a new life there."

"Why did you come back?" Trajan asked guardedly.

"For the sake of a young girl Valorin had adopted and to see
that his last wish is carried through, to be reconciled
posthumously with your grandfather, his brother. And I
stayed because of Norielle, and her sons."

Trajan dropped his gaze to the plaque at his feet. "Poor
Glynmoran, in spite of all his bad mood and temper he was an
honourable Praecel of a sort. He never broke his promise, he
never exposed us to the immediate family. It was my father's
express wish that we would live and stay apart and
grandfather went along because living in seclusion has
provided him with the peace of mind that he desires."

Trajan bent over the plaque and with his hand brushed away
some soil grains, which had spilled over its surface. "Poor
unhappy cousin! Whoever's son he was, he will remain here as
the erratic cousin we loved and dreaded. No one shall know
he was not the Lar Glynmoran Trevarthen."

"No, no one shall ever know," said Leoynar in a clear voice,
"except the two of us."

They walked softly away and as they approached the front
gate, Leoynar said pensively: "I would have invited you to
Trevarthen Hall but I don't think it is wise in the
circumstances."

Trajan told him calmly: "I went there in the morning to
inspect the place. There is no one. The Hall is locked up
and deserted."

Leoynar gripped Trajan's shoulder hard: "Are you absolutely
sure?"

"Absolutely."

Leoynar said anxiously: "Why is this? Why has everybody
left? Where have they gone?"

"They have gone to a place where all the powers at play are
concentrating this very moment." Trajan adjusted his
shoulder holster under his jacket. "In Myaron, that's where
they presumably all are, villains and victims."

"What will happen in Myaron?" Leonard blurted out: "Adilar
is there at the moment!"

"I know." Trajan looked grim and exceedingly tired; he had
clearly not enjoyed a restful night.

"I am going to Myaron right away," Leonard said.

"So am I, but we are going our separate ways." Trajan's
eyes, steel purple, searched Leonard's face. "We cannot
attract any suspicion. No one in Myaron, except Air Marshall
Lauren, knows about me and about my relationship with
Adilar. I want things to remain as they are until I decide.
Say nothing of what you know to anybody. It is imperative
that you follow my instructions."

Leoynar frowned in frustration. "Very well, but I feel so
helpless. There is nothing I can do constructively."

"There is one thing you can do positively," Trajan said
quasi-sternly, the corners of his mouth twitching a little,
"Stay alive! Keep away from trouble. This is serious
business! No more deaths in the family, if you please!"