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She was not trying to follow the conversation between the man her captors had styled the Voice of Rannath and his prisoner, but the prisoner caught her attention. He was unusually tall, with reddish-darkhair and a heavy and sombre face, with something strange about his expression and eyes. She wished shecould see him more clearly and understand his words. She could see that he was making someimpression on the Voice of Rannath, for the Dry-towner was smiling. Then, before Melitta’s electrifiedears, the very voice and accent of her brother rang through the hall, drawing her upright in a frenzy ofbewilderment.

“I am Loran Rakhal Storn, Lord of Storn, of High Windward!”

Melitta stifled a cry. It had evidently been the wrong thing for him to say; the smile was gone from Kerstal’s face. He rapped out something and suddenly every man in the room had drawn his knife andthey were closing in on the unlucky stranger at the center of the circle.

Kerstal said, “You lie. You lie, stranger. The son of Storn is not personally known to me; but his father isknown to mine, and the men of Storn are known to our house. Shall I tell you how you lie? Storn menare fair-haired; the eyes of Storn men are gray. And it is known to me, as it is known to every man fromthe Hellers to Thendara, that the Lord of Storn has been blind from birth—blind beyond cure! Now stateyour true name, liar and braggart, or run the gantlet to save your wretched skin!”

And suddenly, with a gasp of horror, Melitta understood. She understood what Storn had done— andquailed, for a thing that was a crime beyond words—and why he had done it, and what she must do tosave them both.

“Let me through,” she said, her voice clear and high. “He lies not. No Storn of Storn lies, and when my words are heard let any who belies us call challenge on either or both. I am Melitta of Storn, and if the House of Storn is known to you, father and son, then look in my face and read
 
my
 
lineage there.”

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Shaking off the hands of the startled men who held her, she made her way forward. The closed ring ofknife-wielding Dry-towners parted before her and closed after her. She heard a rippling whisper ofwonder run round the circle. Someone said, “Is this some Free Amazon of the lowlands, that she walksshameless and unchained? Women of the Comyn Domains are shamefast and modest; how came thismaid here?”

“I am no Free Amazon but a woman of the mountains,” said Melitta, facing the speaker. “Storn is my

name and Storn is my household.”

Kerstal turned toward her. He stared at her for some minutes; then his hand fell from his knife hilt, andhe bent in the formal bow of the Dry-towners, his hands spread briefly.

“Lady of Storn; your heritage speaks in your face. Your father’s daughter is welcome here. But who is

this braggart who calls kin with you? Do you claim
 
him
 
as kin?”

Melitta walked toward the stranger. Her mind was racing. She said quickly, in the mountain tongue,

“Storn, is it you? Loran, why did you do it?”

“I had no choice,” he replied. “It was the only way to save you all.”

“Tell me quickly the name of the horse I first learned to ride, and I accept you for who you are.”

A faint flicker of a smile passed over the stranger’s face. “You did not learn to ride on a horse, but on astag pony,” he said softly, “and you called him
 
Horny-pig
 
.”

Deliberately Melitta went to the stranger’s side, laid her hand in his and stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek.

“Kinsman,” she said slowly, and turned back to Kerstal.

“Kinsman of mine he is indeed,” she said. “Nor did he lie when he named himself Storn of Storn. Our mountain ways are unknown to you. My brother of Storn is, as you say, blind beyond cure and thus unable to hold
 
laran
 
right in our house; and thus this cousin of ours, adopted into our household, wears the name and title of Storn, his true name forgotten even by brother and sister,
 
nedestro
 
heir to Storn.”

For a moment after she spoke the words she held her breath; then, at a signal from Kerstal, the knivesdropped. Melitta dared not let her face show relief.

Storn spoke softly: “What redress does the Great House of Rannath give for deadly insult?”

“I am the Voice of Rannath only,” Kerstal countered. “Learn our customs another time, stranger.”

“It seems to me,” Storn said, his voice still gentle, “that Storns have suffered grave ills at your hands. Deadly insult given to me, and my sister—” His eyes turned on the two men who had haled Melitta into the Hall. “Is this your courtesy to strangers in your city?”

“Amends shall be made,” Kerstal said. Beads of sweat stood out on his forehead. “My House has no quarrel with you, Lord of Storn; be then our guests and receive gifts consonant with your quality. Let the exchange of courtesy wipe out memory of offense given or taken.”

Stern hesitated, his hand on the hilt of his knife, and Melitta, reading the gesture with astonishment,thought,
 
He’s enjoying this; he half hopes that Kerstal will call challenge
 
!

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But if this was Storn’s intention, he remembered his primary intention in time. He said, “Be it so, then. My sister and I gratefully accept your hospitality, kinsman of Rannath,” and all round the circle, therewere small sighs and stirs of relief or, perhaps, of disappointment.

Kerstal summoned servants and gave orders, then detained Storn a moment with a raised hand. “Youclaim this woman, then? See you to it that she does not walk abroad free in defiance of our customs!”

Melitta bit her tongue on an angry retort, feeling Storn’s hand dig hard into her shoulder. This was notime to start any further arguments.

A few minutes later, they were in a large guest room, bare as all Dry-town rooms, with little more thanmats on the floor and a shelf or two. When the servants had withdrawn, Melitta faced the stranger whobore her brother’s voice and manner. Left alone with him, she hardly knew what to say.

The stranger said softly, in their own language, “It’s really me, you know, Melitta.” He smiled. “I mustsay—you came at exactly the right moment. We couldn’t have planned it better!”

“No planning of mine, but good luck,” she conceded. She sank down wearily. “Why did you send me

here?”

“Because at one time there were mountain-born mercenaries all through this part of the country, gathering at Carthon. Now, with the Dry-towners moving in here, I’m not sure,” Storn said. “But we are free; we can act. We could do nothing, now, at High Windward.” He threw himself down on one of the pallets. Melitta too, was tired beyond words and she was also ill at ease with a man who still seemed a stranger to her. At last she said, “Who is—the man—”

“His name is Barron; he is a Terran, an off-worlder. His mind lay open to me; I scanned his future and saw that he would be coming into the mountains. And so—” Storn shrugged. Another of those silences fell between brother and sister, a silence which could not be talked about. They both knew that Storn had broken an ancient taboo, forbidden from the earliest years of the Darkovan Compact. Even though the victim was a Terran, the horror remained with Melitta.

They were both relieved when servants of Rannath entered, bearing trays of food, and a pair of chestswhich, the servants explained, were gifts from the House of Rannath to the Lord and Lady of Storn. When they had gone away again, Melitta rose and approached the pile of gifts, and Storn laughed softly. “Never too tired to be curious—just like a woman! As a matter of fact, Melitta, enjoy these gifts withclear conscience—Rannath’s Voice, or whatever that official calls himself, knows that he is purchasingimmunity from a blood feud that would run for years and cost him a hell of a lot more than this! If wewere Dry-towners, that is. He’ll despise us a little because we can be bought off, but I for one don’t carea scrap for what a patch of unwashed Dry-towners think about us, do you? I accepted the gifts because,among other things”—he surveyed her—“you looked as if you could use a few gifts! I’ve never seen youlook so hoydenish, little sister!”

Melitta felt ready to cry. “You don’t know half of where I’ve been, or how I’ve had to travel, andyou’re making fun of what I’m wearing—” Her voice broke.

“Melitta! Don’t cry, don’t—” He reached out and took her into his arms, holding her tight, her face on his shoulder. “Little sister,
 
breda, chiya
 
…” He cuddled her, crooning pet names from their childhood. Gradually she quieted, then drew away, vaguely embarrassed. The voice, the manner, were her brother’s, but the strange man’s body and touch were disconcerting. She lowered her eyes, and Storn

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laughed, embarrassed.

“Let’s see what Kerstal has sent us, and we’ll see how high he rates the
 
kihar
 
of the House of Storn.”

“Not cheaply, at any rate,” Melitta said, opening the chests.

There was a sword of fine temper for Storn. He buckled it on, saying, “Remember, these are Dry-towners—it does not mean what it would mean in our mountains. Worse luck, or it would be apledge to come to our aid.” With the sword was an embroidered vest and baldric. For Melitta, as shehad hoped, were gowns of linen trimmed with fur, hoods and coifs—and a gilt chain with a tiny padlock. She stared at that, unbelieving.

Storn laughed as he picked it up: “Evidently he thinks I’m going to put you on a leash!” Then, as hereyes flashed again, he added quickly, “Never mind, you don’t have to wear it. Come,
 
breda
 
, let us eat,and then rest for a little while. We’re safe here, at least. Time enough tomorrow to think about whatwe’re going to do, if Rannath decides that no one here can help us.”

XI

«^»

STORN HAD proved an accurate prophet. However eager the House of Rannath might be to avoid alengthy blood feud with the Storns, the word had evidently gone out all over Carthon; no one was “atleisure,” as he told them regretfully, to pursue a war in the mountains.

Storn, privately, didn’t blame them. The Dry-towners were never at ease in the foothills, let alone in thehigh passes; and the House of Rannath had enough to do to hold Carthon, without scattering such armiesas he could command on missions in the far Sierras. For that matter, Dry-town mercenaries, unskilled atmountaineering and ill-guarded against snow and cold, would be more trouble than they were worth. They needed mountain men, and there were none in Carthon.

When the brother and sister insisted on taking their leave, Kerstal besought them to stay and managednot to sound nearly as insincere as they both knew he was. When they pleaded urgent necessity, hefound Melitta an excellent riding horse from his private stables and pressed it upon her as a gift.

“And thus,” Storn said cynically as they rode away from the Great House, “the Voice of Rannath serves his lord by cutting another tie with the mountains and making it less likely that more mountain folk will come here. That makes it more convenient for the few who remain in Carthon to go elsewhere—I wonder what happened to all the Lanarts? They used to hold land near Carthon,” he explained, “and they were a sub-clan of the Altons, along with the Leyniers and the people of Syrtis. I hope the damned Dry-towners haven’t killed them off by entangling them in blood feud and picking them off one at a time; they were good people. Domenic Lanart offered his eldest son in marriage to you, once, Melitta.”

“And you never told me.”

He chuckled. “At the time you were eight years old.” Then he sobered again. “I should have married youoff, both of you, years gone; then we would have kinfolk at our call. But I was reluctant to part with you. Allira had no great wish to marry…”

They both fell silent. When they spoke again, it was of the past of Carthon and how it had fallen to this

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deserted state. Not until they were free of the city did Storn again broach the subject of their next move.

“Since Carthon has proved a false hope—”

Melitta broke in: “We are within a few days ride of Armida, and Valdir Alton has banded together all themen of the foothills against bandits—look what he did against Cyrillon des Trailles! Storn, appeal to him! Surely he will help us!”

“I cannot,” Storn said somberly. “I dare not even meet with Valdir’s men, Melitta. Valdir is a Comyn telepath, and has Alton powers; he would know at once what I have done. I think he already suspects. And besides”—he flushed darkly, ashamed—“I stole a horse from one of Alton’s men.”