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shelter and food, for it mightbe a journey halfway to the world’s end. Once clear of Castle Storn, perhaps some of her brother’svassals would shelter her. Although they were without power to protect against Brynat’s attack, sheknew that they loved Storn and many of them knew and loved her. They would at least let her hideamong them for a day or two until the hue and cry died down; they might help provide her with food forthe journey, and it might be that one of them could set her on the road to Carthon.
    The nearest of the great lords were the Aldarans, of Castle Aldaran near High Kimbi; they had, as far asshe knew, no blood feud with Storns and no commitment to Brynat, but it seemed unlikely that theywould, or could, come to the aid of Storn at this time. Her grandmother’s kinfolk had been Leyniers,related to the great Comyn Domain of Alton, but even the Comyn Council’s writ did not run here in themountains.
    It did not occur to Melitta to censure her brother, but it did occur to her that, knowing himself weak, hemight well have attempted to place himself under the protection of one of the powerful mountain lords. But always before, the chasms and crags surrounding Storn had made them impregnable; and—a Stornswear fealty to another house? Never!
    He could have married Allira —   or me —   to some son of a great house. Then we would haveblood kin to protect us —   bare is the back with no brother to guard it !

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    Well, he had not, and the time for fretting was long past—   chickens can’t be put back into eggs ! Theevil bird that had hatched from this oversight was out and flying, and only Melitta had the freedom andthe strength to save something from the wreck.
    Carrying the tiny lamp, she went to her chests. She could not go in long skirts and mantles. At thebottom of her chest was an old riding cloak, woven of thick heavy fabric from the valley and lined withfur; it was not rich enough to rouse greed in anyone she passed, but it was warm and durable. There wasan old and shabby pair of her brother’s riding breeches, patched with leather, which she had worn forriding about the estate; it was a wiser choice than her own long, loose riding mantle. She added a knittedblouse, a long, thick, lined tunic, socks knitted from the spun fur of the forge folk, and her fur boots. Shemade a small parcel of a change of linen and some small trinkets, which she might sell or barter for helpon the way. Finally she braided her hair and tied it into a woolen cap. This done, she put out the lampand went to the balcony again. Until this moment, the actual preparation for the journey had obscured thereally basic fact: exactly   how   was she to get out of the castle?
    There were secret passages. She knew some of them. There was one, for instance, leading from thewine cellars near the old dungeon. The only thing necessary was to get into the wine cellar so that shecould get into the secret passage. Perfectly simple. And what would her guards be doing while shedescended the stairs and went into the wine cellar, conveniently managing to leave them outside? Drinking wine? That might be fine, if she could get them drunk enough, but they would certainly besuspicious at anything she offered them, on guard for a trick.
    Another exit from the castle—calling it secret was a mere technicality, a way of saying that it had beenunused for years and nobody bothered guarding it any more—was the passageway that led down intothe cliffs and the abandoned forges where, in an earlier day of Darkover, the dark, stunted mountainpeople had worshipped the fires that lit their forges. There they had made the ancient swords and thestrangely propertied artifacts which those who had never seen them used, called magical. The fires andforges had been silent for centuries, the little people withdrawn into the deeper hills; the Storns had comelong after they were gone. As a child Melitta, with her brothers and sister, had explored the