The Sword of Aldones

CHAPTER THREE

“Very well, my lords. I will do as you wish!”

The woman’s voice stopped me, cold, as I parted the curtains and stepped into the enclosure of the Altons, in the Council Hall of the Comyn.

We had come late to the Hidden City; so late that there had been no time to send word to Old Hastur, or even to make my presence known to Linnell who, as my nearest kinswoman and foster sister, would have been informed at once. Marius, who had never been accepted in Comyn Council, had parted from me outside the council hall, and gone to take his place in the lower hall among the lesser nobles and younger sons. I had climbed the stairs to the long gallery, intending to slip quietly through the curtains into the enclosure assigned to the Altons of the Comyn hierarchy.

I stood there, startled; for it was Callina Aillard who was speaking.

I had known her all my life, of course. She was my cousin, too; Linnell’s half sister. But when I saw her last, six years ago — I shied away from the memory — she had been a girl, quiet, colorless. Now I saw that she was a woman, and beautiful.

She was standing, her head flung back, before the High Seat; a slender woman with fair fragile features, in a dark robe. Gems were braided into her long hair; gold chains about her slender throat and a golden chain about her waist,, giving her somehow the look of a prisoner, hung with fetters and yet defiant. Her voice rang out again, clear and angry.

“When before this has a Keeper been subject to the whims of the Council?”

So that was it!

Marius hadn’t told me there was a new Keeper in Comyn Council; and I hadn’t thought to ask.

In fact, he hadn’t told me much. I looked down now, slipping into my seat behind the railings, at the Council Hall of the Comyn.

It was a high, vaulted room, filled with shadows and sunlight. In the lower hall, the lesser nobles were ranged; along the dais, or gallery, were the Comyn, each family in its own enclosure, ranged in a semicircle. In the center, in the High Seat, old Dantan of Hastur, Regent of the Comyn, was standing; behind him, in the shadows, was a young man I could not see clearly. Beside him, I recognized young Derik Elhalyn, Lord of the Comyn — ruling under Hastur until he reached his majority next year, Derik, lounging in a chair, looked bored.

I looked around, getting my bearings quickly. Dyan Ardais glanced up, with an enigmatic grin, as if he sensed my presence. Beyond him Dio Ridenow was seated among her brothers; I saw my cousin Linnell, but from where she sat I knew she could not see me.

But my eyes came back to Callina. A Keeper!

Not for years had there been a Keeper seated in Comyn Council. Old Ashara had kept to her tower during my lifetime, during my father’s lifetime. She must be unbelievably ancient now. During my childhood, for a short time, there had been a frail flame-haired girl, veiled like a shrouded star, before whom even the Hasturs showed reverence. But when I was still a boy she had died or gone into seclusion, and since that day no young girls had been trained in the secrets of the master-screens. A few sub-keepers and matrix mechanics — I was one, when I cared to take my place among them — kept the relays working. It was hard to realize that my cousin Callina was the Keeper, holding in her frail hands all the incredible power of Ashara.

Yet I knew her courage. The thought roused painful memories. I didn’t want to remember how and when I had last seen Callina.

Old Hastur spoke sternly.

“My lady, times have changed. In these days—”

“In these days they have changed indeed,” she said, throwing back her head with a little silvery ringing of jewels, “when we have slavery on Darkover, and a Keeper can be sold like a shaol in the market place! No, hear me out! I tell you, we would do better to hand over all our secrets now to the accursed Terrans than to ally with the renegades out of Aldaran!”

Her eyes searched and abruptly met mine in the shadows, and unexpectedly she raised her arm and pointed a slender finger at me.

“And there sits one who can prove what I say!”

But I was already on my feet. Ally with Aldaran? I heard my own voice, unbidden.

“You damned, incredible fools!”

Abrupt silence was followed by a sudden stir, a murmur of voices, and a growl; and in dismay I realized what I had done. I had’ jumped feet first into an affaif I really knew nothing about. But the name Aldaran was enough. I looked straight at Old Hastur and defied him.

“Did I hear you say “ally with Aldaran"? With that renegade clan whose name stinks all over Darkover? The men who sold our world to the Terrans.” My voice cracked like a boy’s.

Beside Hastur, young Derik Elhalyn rose to his feet. He made a sign to Hastur and spoke informally.

“Lew, you’re forgetting yourself,” he said. Then, leaning forward, the sunlight gleaming on his red-gold hair, he spoke to the whole council, with a charming smile.

“Look here! A Comyn Lord comes back to us, after six years, and we do nothing to welcome him, but let him creep in like a mouse coming to his hole! Welcome home, Lew Alton!”

I cut through the round of applause he was trying to start. “Never mind that,” I said. “Lord Hastur — and you, my prince, consider this! Aldaran’s men were Comyn, once, and held council voice here. Why were they exiled? Ask yourself that! Or has the old shame been turned into a bedtime tale for children? Who gave the Terrans a foothold on Darkover? Are we all mad here? Or did I hear someone say — ally with Aldaran?”

I turned here and there, searching the shadowed faces for a sign of comprehension anywhere. “Do we want the Terrans on our doorstep?”

Then, desperately, I made my last appeal. I raised the arm that ends in a pinned-down sleeve, and I knew my voice was shaking.

“Do we want Sharra?”

There was a short, ugly silence. Then they all began talking at once. They didn’t want to hear about that. The voice of Dyan Ardais rose, clear and cheerful, over the rest.

“That’s your hate speaking, Lew. Not your good sense Friends, I think we can excuse Lew Alton for his words. He has reason for prejudice. But those days are gone; we must judge by today’s facts, not yesterday’s old grievances. Sit down, Lew. You’ve been away a long time. When you know more about this, maybe you’ll change your mind. Listen to our side, anyway.”

There was a general murmur of approval. Damn him! Damn him, anyway! Shaking, I sat down. He had hinted — no, he had said right out — that I was to be pitied; a crippte with an old grudge, coming back and trying to take up the old feud where I left off. By skillfully focusing their unspoken feelings, he had given them a good reason to disregard what I said.

But the Aldarans had been at the center of the Sharra rebellion! Didn’t they even know that?

Or didn’t they want to know? The Sharra rebellion had only been a symbol, a symptom — like all civil wars — of internal troubles. The Aldarans were not the only ones on Darkover who were lured by the Terran Empire. The Comyn stood out, almost alone, against the magnet-like attraction of that star-spanning federation.

And I was an easy scapegoat for both sides. The Comyn conservatives distrusted me because I was half Terran, and the anti-Comyn faction distrusted me because my father, Ken-nard Alton, had been the staunchest leader of the Comyn. And they both feared what I knew of Sharra. In their minds I was still part of that terror which had flooded the countryside with leathered Terrans wearing blasters, instead of honest swords, and making the clean night rotten with the spew of their rockets. They had never forgotten or forgiven that. Why should they?

“Our grandfathers drove the Aldarans out of the Comyn,” said Lerrys Ridenow, “but it’s high time we forgot their superstitious nonsense.”

From the shadows behind Old Hastur, a young and diffident voice spoke up. “Why not hear all of what Lew Alton has to say? He understands the Terranan; he’s lived among them. And he’s kin to Aldaran. Would he speak against his onw kinsmen without good cause?”

“Let us, at least, discuss this among the Comyn!” Callina said, and finally Hastur nodded. He spoke the formula that dismissed the outsiders; there was some muttering among the men in the lower hall, but gradually they began to quiet down, to rise and depart by twos and threes.

My head was beginning to ache, as always in this hall. It was, of course, filled with the telepathic dampers which cut out mental interference — a necessary precaution when a large number of Comyn were gathered. One of them was located right over my head. They were supposed, by law, to be placed at random; but somehow they always turned up almost in the laps of the Altons.

Each family of the Comyn had its own particular gift, or telepathic talent; in the Altons, it was the hyperdeveloped telepathic nerve which could force rapport, undesired, or paralyze the minds of men, and the Comyn had always been a little afraid of the Altons. The Gifts are mostly recessive now, bred out by generations of intermarriage with non-telepaths, but the tradition remained, and the Altons always ended-up with telepathic dampers in their laps. The con-tinuous disrhythmic waves — half sonics, half energons — were a low-keyed annoyance.

The boy beside Hastur, who had spoken up for me, came down the long gallery toward me. By now I had guessed who he was; the old regent’s grandson, Regis Hastur. As he passed Callina Aillard, she rose and, to my surprise, followed him.

“What is going to happen now?” I asked.

“Nothing, I hope.” Regis smiled at me in a friendly way. He was one of those throwbacks, still born at times into old, Darkovan families, to the pure Comyn type; fairskinned, with the dark red hair of most Comyn, and eyes of almost metallic colorlessness. He was slightly built, and, like Callina, looked fragile; but it was the “perfect tensile frailness of a dagger.”

He said, “So you’ve been out into space and back. Welcome, Lew.”

“It sounds like a welcome, doesn’t it?” I said dryly. “What’s this about Aldaran? I came in only a few seconds before Callina pointed me out.”

Regis moved his head toward the empty seats in the lower hall. “Politics,” he said. “They want the Aldaran seated among the Comyn.”

Callina interrupted. “And Beltran of Aldaran has submitted a request. He had had the insolence, the — the damned effrontery — to want to come into the Comyn by marriage! By marriage — to me!” She was white with rage.

I whistled in blank amazement. That was effrontery. Oh, yes, outsiders could marry into Comyn council. The man who marries a comynara holds all privileges of his consort. But the Keepers, those women trained to work among the master-screens, are bound by very ancient Darkovan custom to remain virgin while they hold their high office. The very offer was an insult; it should have meant bloody death for the man who spoke it. Wars have been fought on Darkover for a good deal less than that. And here they were calmly discussing it in council!

Regis gave me an ironical glance. “As my grandfather said, times have changed. The Gomyn aren’t anxious to have a Keeper in council again.”

I thought about that. Thirty-four years without Ashara would not make the council very eager to slip back under a woman’s hand.

Looking at the whole thing objectively, it made sense. As Hastur said, times had changed. Whether we liked it or not, they changed. The office of Keeper had once been a dangerous and sacred thing. Once, or so my father told me, all the technology of Darkover had been done through the matrix screens, operated by the linked minds of the Keepers. All the mining, all the travel, all energy-requiring transitions — even nuclear dispersions — had been done through the energon rings, each linked in mind with one of these young girls.

But changes in technology had made it unnecessary. There was no need for the Keepers to give up all human contact and live behind walls, guarding their powers in seclusion. Conversely, there was no need for them to be deferred to, near-worshipped.

Callina smiled wryly, guessing my thoughts. “That’s true,” she said, “and I’m not greedy for power. But,” she met my eyes steadily, “you know why I’m against this alliance, Lew. I don’t want to bring it out in council, because it’s your affair really. I don’t like to ask you this, but I must. Will you tell them about Sharra and the Aldarans?” I bowed over her hand, unable to speak. For the sake of my sanity, I tried never to think or to speak about what the Aldarans, and their horde of rebels, had done to me — or to Marjorie.

But now I must. I owed Callina a debt I could never pay. At the awful end, when I had fled with Marjorie — both of us wounded, and Marjorie dying — it had been Callina who opened the Hidden City to us. That night, when the swords of Darkover and the blasters of the Terrans had hounded us, alike, Callina had dared exposure to the radioactive site of the ancient starships, and risked a terrible death herself, to give Marjorie a bare chance of life. It had been too late for Marjorie; but I could never forget.

Just the same — to drag it all out before the Council again — I felt the sweat break out on my forehead.

Regis said quietly, “You’re the only chance we have, Lew. They might listen to you.”

I swallowed. At last I said, “I’ll — try.”

“Try to do what? Stay sober long enough to welcome us all?” Derik Elhalyn thrust his way gaily between Regis and Callina, and gripped my shoulders. “Lew, old fellow, I didn’t know you were on Darkover at all, until you popped up like one of those toys your father used to make for us! Dyan said it, but I’ll say it again — welcome home!” He stood back, waiting for me to return the clasp, then his eyes fell on my empty sleeve. He said quickly, trying to cover up the awkward moment, “I’m glad you’re back. We had some good times once.”

I nodded, upset by his confusion but glad of a pleasanter memory. “And well have more, I hope. Are the Elhalyn hawks still the finest in the mountains? Do you still climb the cliffs to take your own nestlings?”

“Yes, though Tve not so much time now,” Derik laughed. “Do you remember the day we climbed the north face of Neversin, hanging on by our eyebrows?” Once again he cut himself short, all too obviously remembering that L at least, would never climb again. For my part, I was wondering what would happen to the Comyn when this scatterbrained lad assumed the place rightfully his. Old Hastur was a statesman and a diplomat. But Derik? For once I was glad of the telepathic dampers which kept them from following my thoughts.

Derik moved me toward the high seat, a hand on my shoulder. He said, “It was all arranged before your father died, you remember. But Linnell’s refused even to talk about setting a day for the marriage, until you were home again! So I have two reasons for welcoming you back!”

I returned his affectionate grin. I wasn’t wholly alone, after all. I had kinsmen, friends. That marriage had been in the air since Linnell put away her-’dolls, yet it waited for my consent. “I haven’t even seen Linnell yet,” I said. “Though I thought I had.”

I wondered if Linnell knew she had a double in the Terran Zone. I’d have to tell her that; it would amuse her. But Hastur was calling us all to order again, and I took a seat between Regis and Derik. I was shocked at the small number of those who could claim blood-right in the Comyn; counting men and women alike, there were not three dozen. Yet they looked like a hostile army when, at Hastur’s signal, I rose to face them.

I began slowly, knowing I must plead my cause without heat.

“If I understand this, you want to ally with Aldaran, to restore the old Seventh Domain to the Comyn. You’re counting on this alliance to make peace with his mountain lords, and choke off all the outbreaks of rioting and war on the border. To get the co-operation of the Aldarans, in keeping the outlaws and renegades and trailmen where they belong-on the other side of the Kadarin river. Maybe, even, to get us some Terran trade, and permits for machinery and planes, without making too many concessions to the Terrans themselves.”

Lerrys Ridenow rose. “So far, you have been correctly informed,” he drawled. “Can you tell us something new?”

“No.” I turned,, studying him. He was the only one of Dio’s brothers worth the name of man, even when the term was used loosely. I’d known them, all three, on the pleasure moon off Vainwal. They were all delicate, effeminate, cat-graceful — and dangerous as so many tigers. They all tried to take the best of both worlds, a privilege which their great wealth, and the Comyn immunity from ordinary Dark-ovan laws, gave them. But Lerrys seemed to have the stuff of a man behind the languid, almost feminine mask, and he deserved an answer.

“No, but I can tell you something old. It won’t work,” I said. “Beltran of Aldaran, himself, is a decent sort of fellow.

But he’s tied himself up so tight with renegades and rebels and Trailmen and half-breed spies, he couldn’t make peace with us if he wanted to. And you want to bring him into the Comyn?” I spread my hands. “Certainly. Bring in Beltran of Aldaran. Bring in the man they call Kadarin, and Lawton from Thendara, and the Terran Co-ordinator from Port Chicago, while you’re about it!”

Hastur frowned. “Who is this Kadarin?” he asked.

“Hell, I don’t know. Supposed to be kin to Aldaran.”

“Like you,” Dyan murmured.

“Yes. Half Terran, maybe. Rabble-rouser on any world that will hold him. They deported him from at least two other planets before he came back here. And that man Beltran of Aldaran, that man you want to marry to a Keeper, made Castle Aldaran into a hidey-hole for all of Kadarin’s damned ridge runners and renegades!”

“Kadarin isn’t a man’s name,” Lerrys said.

“And I’m not so sure he’s a man,” I retorted. The hills around Aldaran — you know what used to live back in those hills — all sorts of things you couldn’t really call human. He looks human enough until you see his eyes.” I stopped, turned inward on horror. Abruptly, remembering where I was, the wheels of my mind began to go round again.

“The name Kadarin is just defiance,” I said. “In the hills across the river Kadarin, any bastard is called a son of the Kadarin. They say he never knew who or what his father was. When the Terrans hauled him in for questioning, he gave his name as Kadarin. That’s all.”

“Then he’s working against the Terrans, too,” Lerrys said.

“Maybe, maybe not. But he’s tied up with Sharra—”

“And so were you,” Dyan Ardais said softly. “But here you are.”

My chair crashed over backwards. “Yes, damn you! Why else would I put myself through all this, if I didn’t know what hell it is? You think the danger’s all over? If I can show you where Sharra is still out of control — not ten miles from here-then will you call off this crazy alliance?”

Hastur looked troubled, motioning Dyan and Lerrys to silence. “Can you do that, Lew? You’re an Alton, and a telepath. Put you couldn’t do anything like that alone. You’d need a mental focus—”

“He’s counting on that,” Dyan sneered. “It’s a good safe bluff! He’s the last living adult Alton!”

From the shadows a voice said, “Oh, no he isn’t.” Marius got slowly to his feet, and I stared at my brother in amazement. I thought he had left with the others. Could he — or would he — dare that most fearful of the Comyn powers?

Dyan laughed aloud. “You? You — Terranl” The word was an insult as he spoke it.

I was not yet ready to crawl away beaten. “Shall we turn, off the dampers — and prove it on you, Lord-Ardais?”

That was a bluff. I hadn’t the faintest idea whether Marius had the Alton Gift, or whether he would go down in a screaming frenzy when my mind ripped into his. But Dyan did not know either, and his face was white before he lowered his eyes.

“It’s still a bluff,” said Lerrys. “We all know that Sharra’s matrix was destroyed. What bugbear is this you drag out to frighten us, Lew? We are not children, to shiver at shadows! Sharra? That for Sharra!” He snapped his fingers.

I flung caution to the winds. “Destroyed hell!” I raged, “It’s in my rooms this minute!”

I heard the gasps that ran round the circle. “You have it?” I nodded, slowly. They wouldn’t call me a liar again. But then I caught a glimpse of Dyan’s mocking eyes. And suddenly I realized I had not been clever at all.