The Sword of Aldones (4 page)

“We’re coining in to Thendara. Will you travel with me?”

“I expect to be met.” I didn’t, but I had no wish to prolong this chance acquaintance. Dyan bowed, unruffled. “We shall meet in Council,” he said, and added, with lazy elegance, “Oh, and guard your belongings well, Comyn Alton.

There are doubtless, some who would like to recover the Sharra matrix.”

He spun round and walked away and I sat slack, in shock. Damn! Had he picked my mind as I sat there? How else had he known? The dirty Cahuenga! Still doped with procalamin as I was, he could have gotten inside my telepathic barriers and out again before I knew it. But would one of the Comyn stoop so far?

I stared after him, furiously; started to rise, and fell back with a jolt; we were losing altitude rapidly. The sign flashed to fasten seat belts; I fumbled at mine, my mind in turmoil.

He had forced memory on me—forced me to remember why I had left Darkover six years ago, scarred and broken and maimed for life. Wounds that had begun to heal, with time and silence, tore at me again. And he had spoken the name of Sharra.

A half-caste boy, a bastard, Comyn by special grace only because my father had no Darkovan sons, I had been easy prey for the rebels and malcontents swarming under the rallying cry of Sharra. Sharra—the legend called her a goddess turned daemon, bound in golden chains, called forth by fire. I had stood at those fires, using my telepath gifts to summon forth the powers of Sharra.

The Aldarans, the Comyn family exiled for dealing with the Terrans, had been at the center of the rebellion. I was a kinsman of Beltran, Lord of Aldaran.

Faces I had tried to forget, marched relentlessly out to torment me. The man called Kadarin, rebel extraordinary, who had persuaded me to join the rebels of Sharra. The Scotts; drunken Zeb Scott who had found the talisman matrix of Sharra, and his children. Little Rafe, who had followed me about, his hero; Thyra, with the face of a girl and the eyes of a wild beast. And Marjorie.

Marjorie! Time slid away. A frightened girl with soft brown hair and gold-flecked amber eyes stole to my side through the strange firelight.

Laughing, she walked the streets of a city that was now smashed rubble, a garland of golden flowers in her hand.

I slammed the memory shut. That wouldn’t help. The thrum of the braking jets hurt my ears; out the window I could see the stubby towers of Thendara, rosy in the pink sunlight; a bright spot on the dark plains, patched with forests and low hills. We dipped lower and lower, and I saw lakes flash like silver mirrors; then the skyscraper peak of the Terran HQ building flashed past the window, the glare and whiteness of the spaceport struck my eyes, there was a jar, and a bump, and we were down. I tore at my straps. Now for Dyan—

But I missed him. The airfield was a scrabble of humans from thirty planets, jabbering in a hundred languages, and as I pushed my way through the crowd, I ran with smashing force into a thin girl dressed in white.

She stumbled and fell, and I bent to help her to her feet. “Please forgive me,”

I said in Standard, “I should have been looking where I was going—” and then I got a good look at her.

“Linnell!” I cried out joyfully, “by all that’s wonderful!” I caught her up clumsily, hugging her. “Did you come to meet me? But, little cousin, how you’ve grown!”

“I beg your pardon!” The girl’s voice was dripping with ice. Suddenly aghast, I set her on her feet. She was speaking Darkovan now, but no Darkovan girl ever had such an accent. I stared at her, appalled.

“I’m sorry,” I said at last, dumbfounded. “I thought—” but I kept on staring.

She was a tall girl, very fair, with a soft heart-shaped face and soft dark brown hair and gentle gray eyes—but they were not gentle now; they were blazing with anger.

“Well?”

“I’m sorry,” I repeated numbly, “I thought you were one of my cousins.”

She gave a cool shrug, murmured something and moved away. I followed her with my eyes, still staring. The resemblance was fantastic. It ‘wasn’t just a superficial similarity of coloring and height; the girl was a mirror image of my cousin, Linnell Aillard. Even her voice sounded like Linnell’s. A light hand touched my shoulder and a gay girlish voice said, “Shame, Lew! How you must have embarrassed poor Linnell! She brushed past me without even speaking! Have you been away so long that you have forgotten all your manners?”

“Dio Ridenow!” I said, startled.

The girl beside me was small and pert, with flaxen-gold hair fluttering about her shoulders, and her green-gray eyes were aslant with mischief. “I thought you were on Vainwall!” I said.

“And when you said good-bye to me there, you thought I would stay alone to cry my eyes out,” she said saucily. “Not I! The space lanes are free to women as well as men, Lew Alton, and I, too, have a place in Comyn Council, when I choose to take it. Why should I stay there and sleep alone?” She giggled. “Oh, Lew, you should see your face! What’s the matter?”

“It wasn’t Linnell,” I said, and Dio stared. “Who, then?” She looked around, but the girl who looked like Linnell had vanished into the crowds. “And where is my uncle? Have you quarreled with your father again, Lew?”

“No!” I said roughly. “He died on Vainwal!” Didn’t anyone on Darkover know it yet? “Do you think anything less would bring me back here?”

I saw the mirth go out of Dio’s face. “Oh, Lew! I’m sorry! I didn’t know!”

She touched my arm again, but I shied away from her sympathy. Dio Ridenow was high explosive where I was concerned. On Vainwal, that had all been very well.

But I knew, if she didn’t, how quickly that old affair could flare up into passion again. I had troubles enough without woman trouble, too.

Once again I had failed to barricade my thoughts. Dio’s fair face etched itself with crimson; and abruptly, catching her teeth in her lip, she turned and almost ran toward the spaceport barriers.

“Dio!” I called after her, but at that moment someone shouted my name.

And right there, I made my first mistake. I didn’t go after her—don’t ask me why. But someone called my name again.

“Lew! Lew Alton!”

And the next moment a slender, dark-haired boy in Terran clothing was smiling up at me.

“Lew! Welcome home!”

And I couldn’t remember his name to save my life.

He looked familiar. He knew me, and I knew him. But I stood warily back, remembering how I had recognized Linnell. The youngster laughed.

“Don’t you know me?”

“I’ve been away too long to be sure about anybody,” I said. I reached for telepathic contact, but the drug was still fuzzing my brain; I sensed only the fringes of familiarity. I shook my head at the kid. He’d have been only a child when I left Darkover; he was still so young that I don’t think he’d started shaving yet.

“Zandru’s hells,” I said, “you couldn’t be Marius, could you?”

“Couldn’t I?”

I still couldn’t believe it. My brother Marius, the younger brother who had cost our Terran mother her life—could I possibly fail to recognize my own brother?

He was grinning up at me shyly, ,and I relaxed. “I’m sorry, Marius,” I said.

“You were so young, and you’ve changed so much. Well—”

“We can talk later,” he said quickly. “You have to go through customs, and all, but I wanted to get to you first. What’s the matter, Lew, you look funny. Sick?”

I leaned hard for a minute on his suddenly-steadying arm, until the vertigo passed. “Procalamin,” I said ruefully, and at his blank look elucidated. “They shoot us full of it, on starships, so we can take the hyperdrive stresses without coming apart at the seams. It takes a while to wear off, and I’m allergic to the stuff anyhow.”

I caught his sidewise glance and my face grew grimmer. “Do I look that bad?That’s right, you haven’t seen me, have you, since I lost my hand and got my face cut up. Well, get a good look.”

His eyes slid away, and I tightened my arm around his shoulders.

“I don’t mind you staring,” I said more gently, “but damned if I want you sneaking a look at me when you think I won’t notice, because I always do. See?”

He relaxed and studied me frankly for a minute, then grinned. “Not pretty, but you never were much of a beauty, as I remember. Let’s go.”

I looked past the skyscraper of the HQ, and the tall buildings of the Trade City. Beyond them rose the vast, splintered teeth of the mountains; and poised, “far above the plain, the loom of the Comyn Castle, topped by the tall spire of the Keeper’s Tower.

“Are the Comyn already assembled in Thendara?”

Marius shook his head. I still couldn’t get used to the notion that this was my brother. He didn’t feel right. “No,” he said, “They—we’re meeting out in the Hidden City. Lew, did you bring any guns from Terra?”

“Hell, no. What would I want with guns? And they’re contraband anyhow.”

“Then you’re not armed at all?”

I shook my head. “No. It’s not allowed to carry side arms on most Empire planets and I’ve lost the habit. Why?”

He scowled. “I managed to get one last year,” he said. “I paid four times what it was worth, and it has the contraband mark on it. I thought—wait, that’s your name they’re calling.”

It was. I went slowly toward the low white customs building, Marius trailing after me. He shook his head at the officer on duty, and went on through. My luggage had been laid on the conveyer belt and the clerk glanced at me without much interest.

“Lewis Alton-Kennard-Montray-Alton? Landed at Port Chicago on the Southern Cross? Matrix technician?”

I admitted all of it, and shoved the plastic chip which held my certification as a licensed matrix mechanic.

“We’ll have to check this on the main banks,” the Terran clerk said. “It will take an hour or two. We’ll get in touch with you.”

The clerk flicked his eyes over a printed form. “Do - you - solemnly - affirm -

that - to - the - best - of -your - knowledge - and - belief - you - have - not - in -your - possession - any - power - or - propulsion - weapons -guns -

disintegrators - or - blasters - atomic - isotopes - narcotic - drugs -

intoxicants - or - incendiaries?”

I signed. He hefted my luggage under the clarifier; the screen stayed blank, as I’d known it would. The items named were all items of Terran manufacture; by solemn compact with the Hasturs, the Empire is committed not to, let them be brought into the Darkovan Zone, or anywhere outside the Trade Cities. Such items, contraband on our planet, were treated before they were brought here with a small speck of radioactive substance, harmless but unremovable. “Anything else to declare?”

“I have a pair of Earth-made binoculars, a Terran camera, and half a bottle of Vainwal firi (sp?),” I told him. “Let’s see them.”

He opened the cases, and I tensed. This was the moment I had been dreading.

I should have tried to bribe him. But that would have meant—if he happened to be honest—a fine and blacklisting. I couldn’t risk that.

He glanced at the camera and binoculars. Terran lenses are a luxury item and usually highly taxed. “Ten reis duty,” he said, and pushed the folds of clothing aside. “If the firi is less than ten ounces, there’s no tax. What is this?”

I thought I’d bite through my tongue when his hand gripped it. It felt like a fist squeezing my heart. I said through a contracted throat, “Let it alone!”

“What in the—” he dragged it out. It was like a nail raking along a nerve. He started to unwrap the cloth. “Contraband weapon, huh? You—hell, it’s a sword!”

I couldn’t breathe. The blue crystals in the hilt winked up at me, and his hand gripping it was too vast an agony to be borne.

“It’s a—an heirloom in my family.”

He looked at me queerly. “Well, I’m not hurting it any. Just wanted to make sure it wasn’t a contraband blaster, or something.” He shoved the folds of silk around it again, and I remembered how to breathe. He picked up the half-empty bottle of the expensive Vainwal cordial and measured it with his eyes. “About seven ounces. Sign a statement that you’re bringing it in for personal consumption and not for resale, and it’s duty free.”

I signed. He snapped the lock on the case, and I moved, with faltering steps, away from the customs barrier.

One hurdle past. And I’d managed to live through it—this time.

I rejoined Marius and went to hail a skycar.

The Sky Harbor Hotel was tawdry and expensive, and I didn’t much like the place; but I wasn’t apt to run into other Comyn there, and that was the main thing. So they showed us up to two of the square cubicles which Terrans call rooms.

I’ve gotten used to them on Terra and Vainwal, and they didn’t bother me. But as I fastened the doors, I turned to Marius in sudden dismay; “Zandru’s hells, I’d forgotten! Does this bother you?” I knew how doors, and walls, and locks, could affect a Darkovan. I’d known that terrible, suffocating claustrophobia all during my first years on Earth. More than anything else it sets Darkovan apart from Terran; Darkovan rooms had translucent walls, divided by thin panels or curtains or solid light barriers.

But Marius seemed quite at ease, sprawling idly on a piece of furniture so modernistic I couldn’t tell whether it was a bed or a chair. I shrugged; I’d learned to tolerate claustrophobia, probably he had too.

I bathed, shaved, and wadded up, carelessly, most of the Terran clothing I’d worn on the starship. The things were comfortable, but I couldn’t turn up in Comyn Council wearing them. I dressed in suede-leather breeches, low ankle-boots, and laced up the crimson jerkin deftly, making a little extra display of my one-handed skill because I was still too damned sensitive about it. The short cloak in the Alton colors concealed the hand that wasn’t there. I felt as if I’d changed my skin.

Marius was roaming restlessly about the room. He still didn’t feel familiar. I vaguely recognized his voice and manner, but there wasn’t that sense of closeness usual between telepaths in a Comyn family. I wondered if he sensed it, too. Maybe it was the drugs.

I stretched out, shut my eyes and tried to doze, but even the quiet bothered me; after eight days in space, the thrumming of the drives an omnipresent nuisance under the veils of drug. Finally I sat up and hauled my smaller piece of luggage toward me.