His sleeve had fallen back and she was looking at the scars on his
wrist.
"Someone set the hounds on me," Trehearne answered indifferently. Then,
"By the way, how is Kerrel?"
"I haven't seen him." She glanced at the scars again. "How did he work
it?"
"How did who work what?"
"Oh, stop trying to be subtle! I had a feeling that Kerrel might
arrange something for that voyage. He's not a man who takes his defeats
lightly."
Trehearne told her briefly the story of Yann and the hounds. He
finished, "I want to see Kerrel."
"You will!" Shairn's eyes sparkled. "And I want to be there when you
do!"
The car swung around a curve and there on its great crag loomed the
Silver Tower--Shairn's ancestral home, built by generations of Vardda
men and women who had reached out with strong hands to grasp the stars.
For a time, with Shairn, he forgot about Kerrel and Torin and all the
things that preyed upon his mind. He only knew that it was very good to
be here. It was evening when he was again reminded of them. They were
sitting in the gallery, sipping the sharp, cold wines, and Shairn said,
"Are you happy, Michael?"
He remembered another time when she had asked that question--the night
that Edri had walked away alone down the avenue of trees. He remembered
Edri crying out in the dark against injustice, and instantly the old
restlessness was back upon him.
"Yes," he said. "Yes, I'm happy." He turned the wine-glass in his
hands, brooding. "Shairn, could you get Edri out here? I'd like to see
him."
He felt her stiffen and draw away and he thought that she was angry
with him. He went on, "I didn't mean now. Tomorrow's time enough. But
I--well, I want to talk to him."
"You're fond of Edri, aren't you?"
"He was a good friend to me."
"Yes--and to me." She was silent for a moment and then she turned
around. "You might as well know now as later. Edri was arrested a month
ago."