The Sword of Aldones (17 page)

It’s a kind of pain! I can’t keep away from her! But if I do touch her, I want to pull away and scream—” Linnell was twisting her hands nervously, ready to burst into hysterical tears or laughter. I didn’t know what to say. Linnell wasn’t a girl to fret over trifles; if it affected her like this, it was no minor whim.

Kathie had been dancing with Rafe Scott. As she came back, she smiled at Linnell; and almost without discernible volition, Linnell began to move in her direction. Was Kathie working some malicious mental trick on my little cousin?

But no. Kathie had no awareness of Darkovan powers. I knew that. And nothing could get through that block I’d put on her.

Linnell touched Kathie’s hand, almost shyly; in immediate response, Kathie put an arm around Linnell’s waist, and they walked for a minute like that, enlaced.

Then, with a sudden lithe movement Linnell drew herself, free and came and caught at me.

“There’s Callina,” I said.

The Keeper, aloof in her starry draperies, threaded her way through the maze of dancers. “Where have you been, Callina?Linnell demanded. She looked at her sister’s strange costume “with sorrowful puzzlement, but she did not comment; and Callina made no attempt to justify or explain herself.

“Yes,” I demanded, with an intent look at Callina, shading the words telepathically, “where have you been?”

She seemed unaware of either overtone, and her careless words were devoid of any hidden message that I could read. “Talking with Derik. He drew me apart to hear some long confused drunken tale of his, but he never did get it told. I don’t envy you, darling,” she added, smiling at her sister. “Fortunately all the wine conquered him at last—may he never be defeated by a worse enemy.” She shrugged daintily. “Hastur is signaling to me. Beltran is there, I suppose it’s time for the ceremony.”

“Callina—” Linnell almost sobbed, but the woman moved away from her outstretched hands. “Don’t pity me, Linne,” she said, “I won’t have it.” And I could tell that what she meant was “I can’t bear it.”

I don’t know what I might have said or done, but she drew herself away; her eyes brooded, blue ice like Ashara’s, past me into silence. Bitterly helpless, I watched her shrouded form move through the bright crowd.

I should have guessed everything then, when she left us without a touch, silent and remote as Ashara’s self, making a lonely island of her tragedy and cutting us all away from her. I listened, numbed, as Hastur made the formal announcement and locked the doubled marriage bracelets upon the arms of the pair. Callina was Beltran’s consort from the moment Hastur released her hand.

I glanced round at Regis and suddenly, appalled, sucked in air; the boy had turned ashen gray. I slid an arm around him and half-carried him to the archway.

He drew a sobbing breath as the cold air reached his face, and muttered, “Thanks. Guess you were right.” And abruptly he doubled up and collapsed on the floor. His lax hand was clammy and his breathing was shallow. I looked around for. help. Dio was crossing the floor, on Lerrys arm—

Lerrys stopped dead in his tracks. He stared around wildly for a moment, his face convulsed; stiffened and clutched at Dio.

That was the first shock-wave. Then hell broke loose. Suddenly the room was a distorted nightmare, warped out of all perspective, and Dio’s scream died in shivering air that would not carry sound. Then she was struggling in the grip of something that shook her like a kitten. She took one faltering step-Then I saw two men standing together, the only calm figures in the distorted air. The harlequin and the horrible cowled man. Only now the cowl was flung back, and. it was Dyan’s cruel thin-lipped face that glared bleakly at Dio. She moved, fighting, another step, another; slid to the floor and lay there without moving.

I fought the paralysis of the warped space that held us in frozen stasis. Then harlequin and cowl turned—and caught Linnell between them.

They did not physically touch her. But ;she was in then-grip as if they had bound her hand and foot. I think she screamed, but the very idea of sound had died. Linnell writhed, caught by some invisible force; a dark, flickering halo suddenly sprang up around them; Linnell sagged, held up hideously balanced on empty air; then fell, striking the floor with a crushing impact. I sobbed soundless curses; I could not move.

Kathie flung herself down by Linnell. I think she was the only person capable of free motion in the entire hall. As she caught Linnell in her arms, I saw for a moment that the tortured face had gone smooth and free of horror; a moment Linnell lay quiet, soothed, then she struggled in a bone-wrenching spasm and slackened—a loose, limp, small thing with her head lolling on her twin’s breast.

And above them harlequin and cowled shadow swelled, took on height and power.

For a moment, seeing clearly outside space, Kadarin’s gaunt’ features blazed through the harlequin mask. Then the faces swam together, coalesced— and for a moment the beautiful, damnable face I had seen in Ashara’s Tower reeled before my eyes; then the shadows closed down.

Only seconds later the lights blazed back; but the world had changed. I heard Kathie’s scream, and heard the crowd milling and crying out as I elbowed and thrust my way savagely to Linnell.

She was lying, a tumbled, pathetic heap, across Kathie’s knees. Behind her, only blackened and charred panels of wall and flooring showed where distortion and warp had faded to normal, and Kadarin and Dyan were gone—melted away, evaporated, not there.

I knelt beside Linnell. She was dead, of course. I knew that, even before I laid my hand to the stilled breasts. Callina thrust Kathie aside, and I stood back, giving my place to Hastur, and put an arm around Callina; but though she leaned heavily on me, she took no notice of my presence.

Around me I heard the stir of the crowd, sounds of command and entreaty, and that horrible curiosity of a crowd when tragedy strikes. Hastur said something, and the crowds began to thin out and clear away. I thought, this is the first time in forty generations that Festival Night has been interrupted.

Callina had not shed a tear. She was leaning on my arm, so numbed with shock that there was not even grief in her eyes; simply, she looked dazed. My main worry was now for her; to get her away from the inquisitive. remnant of the crowd. It was strange I did not once think of Beltran, though the marriage bracelet about her arm lay cold against my wrist.

Her lips moved.

“So that was what Ashara intended.” she whispered.

With a long, deep sigh, she went limp on my arm.

The thin red sunlight of another dusk was filtering through the walls of my room when I woke; I lay still, wondering if the whole thing had been a delirious nightmare born of concussion. Then Andres came in, and the drawn face of the old Terran, grief deep in its ugliness, convinced me; it was all too real. I remembered nothing after Callina’s collapse, but that wasn’t surprising. I had been warned, after the head-wound, not to exert myself; instead I’d been throwing myself into battle with some of the strongest forces on Darkover.

“Regis Hastur is here,” Andres said. I tried to sit up; he pressed me flat with strong hands. “You young idiot, don’t you know when you’re done in? You’ll be lucky to be on your feet again in a week!” Then his real feelings burst through the gruffness. “Boy, I’ve lost two of you! Don’t send yourself after Marius and Linnell!”

I yielded and lay quiet. Regis came in, and Andres turned to go—then abruptly went to the window and jerked the curtains shut, cutting the lurid sunlight.

“The bloody sun!” he said, and it sounded like a curse. Then he went away.

Regis asked me gently, “How are you feeling?”

“How do you think?” My jaw set. “I have some killing to do.”

“Less than you think, maybe.” The boy’s face was grim. “Two of the Ridenow brothers are dead. Lerrys will live, I think, but he won’t be good for much, not for months.”

I had expected that. The Ridenow were hypersensitive even to ordinary telepathic assault; he would probably lie in a semicoma for months. He was fortunate to have survived at all. “Dio?”

“Stunned, but she’s all right. Zandru’s hells, Lew, if I’d only been stronger—”

I quieted him with a gesture. “Don’t blame yourself. It’s incredible that you’re not completely burnt out; the Hasturs must be hardier than I ever thought.

Callina?”

“Dazed. They took her to the Keeper’s Tower.”

“Tell me the rest. All at once, don’t dribble out the bad news!”

“This may not be bad. Beltran’s gone; he left the castle that night, as if all Zandru’s scorpions were chasing after him. That leaves Callina free.”

I felt sourly amused. Beltran could have stepped in, with the Comyn in disorder and shock, and seized the reins of power as Callina’s consort. That had, no doubt, been the idea. But in Beltran of Aldaran—superstitious, Cahuenga of the Hellers—they had relied on the weakest of tools, and it had broken in their hand.

“This is bad. There are Terrans here, and they’ve put an embargo on the castle.

And—” he stopped, but he was keeping something back.

“Derik—is he dead too?”

Regis shut his eyes. “I wish he was,” he whispered, “I wish he was.”

I understood. Under terrible need, we had cut into Derik’s mind. We could not have foreseen that greater forces would be loosed so soon after. Corus and Auster Ridenow were the fortunate ones; their bodies had died when their minds were Stripped bare.

Derik Elhalyn lived. Hopelessly, permanently insane.

Outside I heard a strange voice, a Terran, protesting, “How the devil does one knock when there’s no door?” Then the curtains parted and four men came into the room.

Two were strangers, in the uniform of Terran Spaceforce. One was Dan Lawton, Legate from Thendara.

The fourth was Rafe Scott, and he was wearing the uniform of the Terran service.

Regis rose and faced them angrily. “Lew Alton has been hurt! He’s in no shape to be—interrogated—as you questioned my grandfather!”

“What do you want here?” I demanded.

“Only the answers to a few questions,” said Lawton politely. “Young Hastur, we warned you before; stay in your own quarters. Kendricks, take the Hastur kid back to his grandfather, and see that he stays there.”

The bigger of the Terrans put a hand on Regis’ shoulder. “Come along, sonny,” he said kindly.

Regis twisted away. “Hands off!” His hand, flashing to his boot, whipped out a narrow skean. He faced them across the naked steel, saying with soft, cold fury, “I will go when the vai Dam Alton bids me—unless you think you can carry me out.”

I said, “I prefer him to stay. And you won’t get anywhere with violence in the Comyn Castle, Lawton.”

He almost smiled. “I know,” he said. “Perhaps I wanted them to see that. Captain Scott told me—”

Captain Scott.

“Traitor!” said Regis, and spat.

Lawton ignored that, looking down at me.

“Your mother was a Terran—”

“Black shame to me that I must admit it—yes!”

“Look,” Lawton said quietly, “I don’t like this any more than you do. I’m here on business; let me do it and get out. Your mother was—”

“Elaine Aldaran Montray.”

“Then you are kin to— How well do you know Beltran of Aldaran?”

“I spent a year or so in the Hellers, mostly as his guest. Why?”

He countered with another question, this time to Rafe. “Exactly what relation are you two, anyhow?”

“On the Aldaran side, it’s too complicated to explain,” said Rafe, “Distant cousins. But he married my sister Marjorie. You could say—brother-in-law.”

“No spy for Terra can claim kin here!” I sat up, my head exploding painfully, but too much at a disadvantage flat on my back. “The Comyn will look after the law in this zone. You go and attend to your affairs in the Terran Zone! Since that was your choice!”

“That is exactly what we’re doing,” Lawton said. “Lerrys was working for us, so his brothers are our business; and they’re dead.”

“And Marrus,” said Rafe. “You never had a chance to hear it, Lew; but Marius had been working for Terra—”

I flung the lie into his face. “My brother never took a copper from Terra, and you know it! Lie to them, but don’t try to lie to an Alton about his brother!”

“The plain truth will do,” Lawton said. “You are right so far; your brother was not in our pay, nor a spy. But he worked for us, and he had applied for Empire citizenship. I sponsored him myself. He had as good a right to it as you, though you never chose to claim it. Even by your standards, that is no spy.” Lawton paused. “He was probably the only man on Darkover working to bring about an honest alliance. The rest were out to line their pockets. How come this is news to you? You’re a telepath.”

I sighed. “If I had a sekal for every time I’ve explained that, I could buy and sell the Terran Zone,” I said. “Telepathic contact is used to project conscious thoughts. Quicker than words, no semantic barriers—and no one but another telepath can listen in. But it takes deliberate effort; one to send, the other to receive. Then, even when I’m not trying, I get a sort of—well—leakage. I can feel; right now you’re confused, and sore as hell about something. I don’t know what and I’m not trying to find out; telepaths learn not to be curious.

I’ve been in rapport with my brother. I know everything he knew. But I don’t remember—and I don’t want to remember.”

Suddenly, from Lawton’s complete calm, I knew he had simply been trying to goad me; to make me lose my temper and drop my barriers. He was half Comyn; for all I knew, he might be a telepath himself. He’d been trying to find something out, and whatever it was, he’d probably found it.

“I’ll tell you why I’m here,” Lawton said abruptly. “Usually we let city-states govern themselves, until the government collapses. It usually does, within a generation after the Empire comes. When we meet real tyranny, we depose it; planets like Darkover, we simply wait for them to fall apart. And they do.”

“I heard it all on Terra. Make the universe safe for democracy—and then for Terran Trade!”

“Maybe,” Lawton said, imperturbably. “While you rule peaceably, you Žan rule till the planet crumbles. But there’s been disorder lately. Riots. Raiding.