Chapter One

The great red sun of Darkover slanted across the courtyard at the entrance to Arilinn Tower on a morning in early autumn. Polished granite interspersed with translucent blue stone formed the floor and two walls. They were shaped and pieced together so artfully that not a blade of grass or tendril of ivy rooted there. Rising sharply, the walls framed a canyon where the chill of the night lingered. At the far end, the graceful sweep of arch enclosed the rainbow-hued Veil through which only those of pure Comyn blood, the caste of Darkovan aristocracy Gifted with psychic powers, could pass. In the dawn's oblique light, the Veil resembled a waterfall of coruscating rainbow colors.

When he'd crept into the courtyard in the darkest hour of the night, Varzil Ridenow had not dared to approach the Veil too closely. Even here, in this corner where he'd curled up to doze fitfully until dawn, he felt its power dancing along his nerves.

If there had been any other way ...

The words echoed in his mind like the refrain of a ballad. He was a Ridenow and he had the gift of laran, the true donas. He had known this since he first heard the Ya-men singing their laments in the far hills under the four Midsummer moons. He'd been eight, old enough to realize there was something beyond what could be seen or touched, and old enough to know he should keep quiet about it. He'd seen the way his father Dom Felix Ridenow, grew silent and tight-jawed on the subject. Now he was sixteen, older than most when they began their Tower training, and his father would like nothing better than to forget the whole matter and pretend his youngest son was normal.

Varzil had journey

...