“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.