Not even to myself did I want to admit that once I had liked the man. I sighed.
“I spoke about a renegade, Zeb Scott.”
The flood of memory rushed on, resistless, only a few bald words escaping to fill in years of adventure and the long search. “Zeb Scott died drunk, raving, in a wineshop in Carthon, babbling about the blue sword with the power of a hundred demons. We guessed that it was Sharra.
“The Aldarans, centuries ago — so the legend ran — had summoned Sharra to this world; but the power had been sealed off again, and the Aldarans exiled for their crime. Only after that had the Aldarans played traitor to Darkover, and sold-the Terrans a foothold on our world.
“Kadarin went after the Sharra sword, found it, and experimented with the power. He needed a telepath. I was right at hand, and too young, too damned reckless to know what I was doing. And there were the Scotts. Rafe was just a child then. But there were the girls; Thyra, and Marjorie—”
I quit there. It was no use. There was no way, no way at all to tell her about Marjorie. I flung my cigarette savagely from the window and watched it spinning away on a little eddy of wind.
Callina said softly, when I had almost forgotten her, “What was he trying to do?”
This was safe ground. “Why does any traitor steal or betray? The Terrans have been trying for centuries to beg, borrow or steal some secrets of matrix mechanics. The Comyn were incorruptible, but Kadarin knew the Terrans would pay well. Experimenting with the power, he activated some of the focal points, showed them what he could do. But at the end he betrayed the Terrans too, and opened up a — a hole in space, a Gate between worlds, to take on all that power—”
My voice cracked like a boy’s. “Damn him! Damn him waking and sleeping, living and dead, here and here after!” I fought suddenly back to self-control and said quietly, “He got what he wanted” But Marjorie and I were at the poles of power, and—”
I shook my head. What more could I say? The monstrous terror that had flamed and ravened between worlds, the hellfire. Marjorie, confident and unafraid at the pole of power, suddenly crumpling in agony, under the backlash of that awful thing—
“I broke out of the matrix lock, and somehow managed to slam the Gate again. But Marjorie was already—”
I broke there, unable to say another word, and slumped into a chair, hiding my face on my arm. Callina came swiftly to me, kneeling, her arms around my bent shoulders. “I know, Lew. I know.”
I jerked away from her touch. “You know! Thank your Gods you don’t know!” I said savagely. Then, gripped in the fist of memory, I let my head fall forward on her breast. She did know. She had tried to save us both. Marjorie had died in her arms. “Yes,” I muttered, “you know the rest.”
My head was throbbing, and I could feel the echoing throb-throb of her heart through the soft silk of her dress. Her hair was like the dust of flowers against my face. I raised my good hand to clasp her soft fingers in mine.
She threw back her head and looked at me.
“We’re alone with this, Lew. Hastur’s bound by Compact to obey the council. Derik’s an imbecile, and Regis is only a boy. The Ridenow, the Ardais — they want anything that will keep them in power; they’d sell out to Sharra themselves if they thought they could do it safely! You’re powerless alone. And I—” her mouth worked, but no sound came.
Finally she said, “I’m a Keeper, and I could hold all the power of Ashara if I would. Ashara would give me strength enough to rule the whole council if I would let her, but I — I won’t be a puppet, Lew, I don’t want to be only her pawn! I won’t! The council pulling me one way, Ashara the other. Beltran couldn’t be worse!”
We were clinging together like children frightened by the darkness. She was soft in my arms. I tightened my clasp on her; then her half-breathed protest went lax in the middle of a kiss. She made no resistance when I lifted her to her feet and drew back her head beneath my own.
Outside the last red trace of the sun dropped behind Nevarsin Peak and the stars began to wink in the denuded sky.
CHAPTER SIX
At the height of Comyn power, centuries ago, the Crystal Chamber must have seemed small for all those who could claim blood-right in the hierarchy. An even blue light spilled diffused radiance over the glass walls; green, scarlet, golden flashes struck through. At noon it was like dwelling in a rainbow’s heart; at night it seemed to hang high and alone, buffeted on the winds of space.
Here I had first been presented to the Comyn, a boy of five, too big-boned and dark for a true Comyn child; young as I had been, I remembered the debates, and old Duvic Elhalyn shouting, “Kennard Alton, you waste our time and insult this holy place bringing your half-caste bastard into Council!”
And I could see in memory my father turning savagely to lift me high above them, in full sight of the Comyn. “Look at the boy, and eat those words!” And the old Lord had eaten them. No one ever defied my father twice. Much good his raging had done. Half-caste I was, bastard I remained, alien I was and would be; as much as that small boy who had sat for hours, fidgeting through the long ceremonials he did not understand, arm aching from the touch of the matrix that had set its pattern in the flesh to seal his Comyn. I glanced impassively at my wrist. I still had the mark. About three inches above where they had had to take off my hand.
“What are you brooding about?” Derik demanded.
“Sorry. Did you ask me something? I was thinking about my first council. There were more of us then.”
Derik laughed. “Then it’s high time you began raising sons to follow you, laggard!”
The thought was not unpleasant. My own estates, fertile green valleys in the uplands around Daillon, were waiting for me. I glanced at Callina; she sat beside Linnell, the two snuggled together in a great chair that would have held half a dozen girls their size. Derik went over to them and stood talking to Linnell. She looked happy, and the prince’s shallow handsome face seemed lighted from within. Not really stupid, Derik; only dull.
Not good enough for Linnell. But she loved him.
Dio Ridenow caught my eyes, then lowered her own with a resentful flush. Dyan Ardais came through the prism door, and I frowned suspiciously. Dyan, and Dyan alone, had known I had the Sharra matrix. Marius, while I was away, had been nothing more than a lonely boy, despised by the Comyn for his alien blood, powerless. I, alone, was powerless and maimed. But together we formed a powerful threat to his ambition.
Kadarin’s attempt on my life was a personal feud, and he had fairly filed his intentions. The trailmen would always steal. But would they risk killing an Alton, even by accident? Reprisals for such things were swift and terrible — or had been when the Comyn was worthy of the name. With swift decision, I reached out and made contact with Dyan’s mind. He scowled and raised his head, locking barriers against me; and I did not take up the challenge. Not yet.
Hastur was calling us to order. This was a formality, of course; a gesture toward appeasing those who had been absent or ill. Ostensibly, since this closing ceremony of Comyn could not be held unless everyone who held laran rights in the Comyn were present, no member could complain that he had no chance to be heard. In theory I could keep them there as long as I chose — I, or any dissatisfied member — simply by refusing my assent to close the session. But in fact, any triviality, and small time-consuming matter, would be brought up and argued at length; anything to keep me from getting a chance to speak. Until time, or weariness, brought the session to an end and silenced me on those issues forever. Once the council was closed, I was bound by Comyn law and many oaths to contest the issues no further. I’d seen the blocking technique used before.
The triviality was not long in coming. Lerrys Ridenow arose and glared belligerently around the room, and Hastur Stretched his baton to Lerrys, ignoring roe.
“Comyn, I have a personal complaint—”
I saw Dio’s hands knot into small fists. Would Lerrys really drag that affair out in Comyn council, or demand satisfacti
on from me at this late date and on another planet? But Lerrys did not look at me, but at Derik.
“My lords, in these days when the Comyn and the other powers of Darkover drift apart, our young ruler should take a consort outside of council, and bring in some strong alliance. Linnell Aillard, too, could give marriage-right to some strong and loyal man.”
I stared. Dio and I had escaped public censure — but this was almost as bad. Linnell was white with shock, and Callina broke in angrily, rising to her feet, “Linnell is my ward! This is no matter for council meddling!”
Dyan caught up the phrase maliciously. “Meddling? Does a Comyn Keeper question the will of the council?”
“Not where I am concerned,” Callina retorted, standing straight and defiant. “But for Linnell, yes!”
I knew this was only a point of delay, but I could not look at Linnell’s small stricken face and keep silent. “Idiots!” I said harshly. “Yes, you too, Lord Regent! You very cleverly rushed the council through while I was out of my head—”
“From his utter disregard of council manners,” drawled Lerrys in languid rebuke, “Lew Alton is still out of his head.”
“Then more of you should have your wits addled like that,” I retorted, turning on him. “This council is a farce, and now it is turning into a brawl! Here we sit like gaffers in the market square, haggling over marriages! Can a burst dam be mended with toothpicks?”
They were all listening to me, but I stopped, a familiar fist squeezing my throat. What was this?
Callina’s face seemed to waver in the rainbow shimmer or was it my eyes? But she caught up my words;
“Oh, we are so safe, my lords, we have so much time for this nonsense! While the Terrans lure the people away, and make a reeking, filthy Trade City out of our Thendara, we sit wrangling among ourselves, letting our young lords and ladies enjoy themselves on other planets—” her glance rested coldly on Dio Ridenow — “while we sit in the Crystal Chamber making marriages. And Sharra’s matrix in Kadarin’s hands! You had a demonstration, the other day, of our Comyn powers and what did you do? You let Marius Alton be killed, and Lew hurt. Those two you should have guarded above all the others! Which of you can answer for the life of Marius? Which of you would dare take his place?”
Before anyone could answer, I jumped in again.
“The Terrans have left us a little power to rule, and we play with our corner of the planet like little children squabbling over their playgrounds! The people used to hate the Terrans! Now they hate us instead! A leader could jump up from anywhere, or nowhere, and strike fire to all this tinder! While I was on Earth, I heard someone call Darkover the weak link in the Terran Empire. We could be the link to snap the chain of conquest! Are we doing it?”
Abruptly I stopped, out of breath, aware, first, that Callina and I were in telepathic contact — in’ spite of the dampers — and, second, that even this faint surface contact was exhausting me completely. I sent a desperate command; Break it! Get out! What was the girl doing? I couldn’t hold that kind of rapport under a damper! She clung, uncomprehending, and I lashed out with a quick telepathic surge, to knock her out of rapport. I was already so limp I could hardly stand up. I caught at the edge of the railing and let myself slide back into my seat, but I could not loose the merciless grip on my mind. Was it Callina?
The room was very quiet. I saw Dio’s face taut and pale. Lerrys choked, “What’s wrong with the dampers?”
Hastur stood up, leaning over the long table, and started to speak, then looked up. His mouth dropped open.
Callina froze, motionless.
The floor dipped under my feet and would not stay still.
And above us there was a little shimmering, a distortion of the air.
Dio screamed.
“The — the death sign,” someone faltered, and voices died in deadly stillness.
I stared at the sign that flared like letters of living fire in the air, and I felt my blood freeze and the strength running out of me like water. Twisted space writhed and flared, and the inside me was howling and gibbering, reduced to primal panic. From time out of mind, before Darkover’s sun faded to a dying ember, that sign meant doom and death, bodies and minds seared to ruin.
“Sorceress! She-devil!” It was Dyan’s voice exploding in curses; he took three quick strides toward Callina, caught her by the shoulders, and wrenched her away from her place before the High Seat; flung her, with all the strength in his lean body, out into the room.
And young Regis, through some uncanny sensing, leaped up and caught Callina’s reeling body as she fell. The sight broke the static horror that held me; I whirled to face Dyan. At last I had reason! The man who dared to touch a Keeper had forfeited immunity. Annihilating fury swept from me, taking Dyan unaware. The Alton Gift, even unfocused, can be a vicious thing. His mind lay, in seconds, stripped before mine. I rained vicious mental slaps on it. It was immensely satisfying. I had been holding this in check ever since he picked my mind on the skyliner. He writhed, crumpled and fell, gasping in loud desperate hoarse half-sobs.
The pattern of fire flamed and died and was gone. Space in the room was quiet, normal again.
Callina stood leaning on Regis, pallid and shaken. I still stood over Dyan; his defenses were slashed away, and it would have been easy to snap the thread of his life. But Derik threw himself forward, flinging restraining arms around me.
“What are you about, you madman?”
There is something in a touch which can lay the mind bare. And what I touched then, shook my world. Derik was a weakling; I had always known that; but this — this tumbling, impassible confusion? I drew away, unable to endure even a second of it, letting my savage attack on Dyan relax.
“Hastur’s voice, harsh, and sombre, commanded, “In the name of Aldones! Let us have peace here, at least!”
Dyan stumbled to his feet and backed away. I could not move, though I had no will left to defy Hastur. The Regent looked gravely at Callina.
“A serious occasion, Callina comynara.”
“Serious truly. But only for me?” She freed herself from Regis’ protecting arm. “Oh, I see. You blame me for the — the manifestation?”
“Who else?” Dio cried shrilly. “So innocent, so innocent she looks, but she and Ashara — she and Ashara—”
Callina turned terrible eyes on her.
“Can all your life be told in open council then, Dio Ride-now comynara? You sought Ashara once.”
Dio’s eyes sought mine. Then, with the quick desperate move of one deserted, she threw herself into the arms of her brother Lerrys and burrowed her bright head in his shoulder.
Callina faced them all with aloof dignity. “I need not defend myself from your silly panic, Dio,” she said. “But you, Dyan Ardais, I ask no courtesies of you, but you touch me again at your life’s risk. Let everyone hear, and let him beware of a finger’s weight laid on me; I am Keeper. And no man lives to maul me three times.”
She turned toward the door. And until the curtains had folded down softly behind her, there was silence.
Then Dyan laughed, low and ugly. “In six years you have not changed, Lew Alton. Still you have a passion for witches. You stand here defending our sorceress, even as you once threw away all your Comyn honor for that mountain hellion of Kadarin’s, trying to lure a Comyn lord to her bed—”
But that was all he got to say. “Zandru’s hells!” I shouted, “she was my wife and you keep your filthy tongue from her name!” I smashed my flat hand, hard, across that sneering mouth. He yelped and staggered back, then his hand swept like lightning into his shirt—
And Regis was on him like lightning, seizing the small deadly thing he raised to his lips. The boy flung it to the floor in disgust. “A poison-pipe — in the Crystal Chamber! And you spoke of honor, Dyan Ardais?”
The two Hasturs held Dyan back between them. One of the Ridenow brothers had a restraining hand on my arm, but he didn’t need it.
I’d had all I could stand.
I turned my back on them all and left.
I’d have strangled if I’d stayed there another minute.
Not knowing or caring where my steps led, I went up and up toward the height of the Comyn Castle. I found bitter relief in climbing flight after flight of stairs; head bent and aching, but a need for physical action driving me on.
Why the hell hadn’t I stayed on Terra?
That damnable sign! Half the Comyn would take it for a supernatural apparition, a warning of danger. It meant danger, all right, but there was nothing supernatural about it. It was pure mechanics, and it scared me more than any ghostly visitation.
It was a trap-matrix; one of the old, illegal ones, which worked directly on the mind and emotions, rousing racial memories, atavistic fears — all the horrors of the freed subconscious of the individual and the race, throwing man back to the primal, reasonless beast.
Who would build a pattern like that?
I could have, but I hadn’t. Callina? No Keeper alive would blaspheme her office that way. Lerrys? He might think it a perverted joke, but I didn’t think he had the training. Dyan? No, it had scared him. Dio, Regis, Derik? Now we were getting silly; I’d be accusing Old Hastur, or my little Linnell, next!
Dyan, now. I couldn’t even have the relief of killing him in fair fight.
Even with one hand, I wasn’t afraid to fight him. Not a man Dyan’s age. I don’t read my antagonist’s mind, like a telepath in a bad scare-story, to figure out his sword strokes. That sort of stuff takes intent, motionless concentration, Nobody — not the legendary Son of Aldones — could fight a duel that way.
But now I could fight him before a hundred witnesses, and they’d still cry murder. After today and what they’d seen me do to Kadarin. I couldn’t do that to anyone else, Kadarin and I had once been in rapport through Sharra, and we had — however little we liked it — a foothold in each other’s minds.
The Sword of Aldones d-2 Page 6
