Read Online The Sword of Aldones by Marion Zimmer Bradley - Free Book Online
Authors: Marion Zimmer Bradley
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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 nontelepaths, but the tradition remained, and the Altons always ended-up with telepathic dampers in their laps. The continuous 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,
“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 nontelepaths, but the tradition remained, and the Altons always ended-up with telepathic dampers in their laps. The continuous 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,
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