Lawton said, “I’ll keep it for the time being.”
Kadarin laughed, a harsh animal sound. “Just try! Now that it’s been crossed with Sharra’s, even I—” he reached for the sword, then his hands contracted visibly, and he drew back with an audible gasp. Shaking his fingers, agonized, he glanced at Rafe and said, “You try.”
“Not if I know it!” Rafe backed away.
Lawton was no coward. He reached over and took the hilt firmly. Then, in a shower of blue sparks, he went flying across the room. He crashed into the wall, fell, and picked himself up, dazed, rubbing his head. “Good lord!”
“My turn.” I reached for the Sword, which had fallen to the floor. I managed to lift it to the desk, but finally, trembling, had to let it fall. “I can touch it,” I said, feeling the hot, unbearable tingling, “but I can’t hang on to it.”
“No one man can,” Regis said. “But I’ll keep it for the moment.” Easily, he picked it up and belted it at his waist. “I am Hastur,” he said quietly.
Then the Hastur Gift is the living matrix!
Regis nodded. The matrix had found its support and focus, the monitoring balance, in the brain and nerves of the Hastur who bore it. No one else could handle that sword — or even hold it without danger.
Sharra was only a dreadful and lethal copy of this.
“Yes;” Kadarin said quietly, “I guessed. That was why your hand never healed, Lew. The wound itself was not so bad, but you’d handled the matrix, and human flesh and blood won’t take it. I never did, without at least one other telepath in rapport—”
Suddenly, down the corridor, Thyra began to scream.
Kadarin jumped out of his chair. I sat bolt upright. That something which had set Thyra to mad shrieking had jolted in me, too; black emptiness, loss, tearing—
“Marja!” I almost sobbed the name.
Kadarin whirled to face me; I have never seen such a look on a human face, before or since. “Quick! Where is she?”
“What’s the matter?” Lawton demanded.
Kadarin moved his lips, but no sound came. Finally he said, “Dyan Ardais has the matrix—”
I finished. “He doesn’t dare use it alone. He saw me — what happened to my hand. He’ll need a telepath, and Marja’s an Alton—”
“Dirty, treacherous—” Kadarin’s voice was thick with fear, but not for himself. My mind was open, and for a minute, seeing Kadarin, my hate receded. Regis turned, unbelted the Sword of Aldones, and put it into Kathie’s hands. “Keep this,” he said, “you’re still immune. Don’t be afraid; no Darkovan alive can take it from you, or harm you while you hold it.” He turned to me, and without a word, knowing what he wanted, I gave him Rafe’s pistol.
“What are you—”
Regis said tersely, cutting Lawton short, “This is a Comyn affair, and with the best will in the world, you could only hinder, not help. Rafe, come with me.”
Kadarin said harshly, “You fool, it’s for Marja! Go with him!”
They went. The rhythmic, hysterical shrieks never stopped. Kadarin stood still, as if- holding himself in check with his whole body; then suddenly broke free. “I’m going,” he shouted at Lawton over his shoulder, and slammed out of the room. Lawton grabbed my arm.
“No, you don’t! Have sense, man! You can hardly stand on your feet!” He forced me into the chair again. “What set them off? Who or what is Marja?”
The screaming stopped, abruptly, as if a switch had been flipped, leaving a silence that was somehow frightening. Lawton swore and stamped out of the room, leaving me lying in the chair, swearing with helpless rage, unable to rise. I heard shouts and voices ringing in the corridors, and wondered what had happened now, and then Dio stormed into the room.
“And they left you here!” she raged. “What did that redheaded bitch do to you? And they’ve doped Callina — oh, Lew, Lew, your shirt’s all blood—” She knelt by me, her face white as her dress. Lawton came stamping back and stood over me, his face furious.
“Gone! That Thyra woman is gone — out of a sheet-steel cell, with guards all over the place! When that happens, with a Comyn matrix mechanic in the building—” He caught sight of Dio and his scowl deepened"I know you, you’re that sister of Lerrys. What are you doing here?”
“At the moment,” she blazed, “trying to see what’s wrong with Lew — which nobody else is bothering about!”
“I’m, all right,” I muttered, angry at the solicitude which weakened me. But I let her take me down to the Medical Floor where a little fat man in a white coat grumbled about a damned uncivilized planet where he spent his time patching up knife wounds. He did me up in plastic shields which hurt like hell, burned me with ultra-light of some kind and made me swallow something red and sticky which burnt my mouth and made my head swim, but it took the pain away; and when the dizziness stopped, I could think clearly again.
“Where’s Callina Aillard?”
“In there,” Dr. Forth said. “Asleep. She was faint and sick, so I gave her a shot of hypnal and had a nurse put her to bed in the women’s infirmary.”
“Any chance she could be in shock-trance?”
He put the things he’d used under the light-machine. T wouldn’t know. She saw you stabbed, didn’t she? Some Women react that way.”
I damned the man for a fool. Darkovan women don’t faint at a little blood. What was he doing here, if he couldn’t diagnose matrix-shock? And if he had drugged Callina, there wasn’t a chance I could bring her out of it. Not until all the drug wore off.
“It might be best,” Dio said quietly. “Before she wakes, I want to tell you all about Callina. Not now.”
Lawton, in his office, was setting the mechanism of search into action. Time crawled by; I waited. Once his puzzlement exploded into frustrated questions. “Damn it, I still haven’t figured out how the Marshall girl got here from Samarra. And I’m still trying to get it all straight — the way you, and Rafe, and this Thyra woman, and Kadarin, are all brothers and sisters or cousins of whatever. And now this Thyra person vanishes into thin air! Did you witch her out of there someway?”
“I did not.” Thyra could lie in a cell forever, for all I cared.
As the narcotic slowly wore off, I felt pain in my side again, but deeper down was that horrible sense of something torn away — I was afraid to know what it was.
The bloody sun of Darkover had reached its height and begun to angle sharply downward when I heard dragging footsteps and Regis and Rafe and Kadarin came in.
Regis had changed shockingly in a few hours. There was blood on his face, and blood on his sleeve, but it went deeper than his first serious fight. The last trace of the boy had burnt away and it was a man, and a Hastur, who looked at me in despair.
“You’re hurt!” Lawton exclaimed, with the horror of a Terran for personally inflicted wounds.
“Not much. Cut my shirt up, mostly. I fought with Dyan.”
“Dead?” I asked.
“No, damn it!”
Lawton demanded “Kadarin! Where’s that woman of yours?
Kadarin’s gaunt face contracted in fear. “Thyra? Isn’t she here with you? Zandru’s hells, how can I tell her—” He covered his face with his hands. Suddenly he came to me. All the rest of the people in the office might as well have been on another planet for all the regard he gave them, and he looked into my eyes with an intensity that burned years away; back to the days when we had been friends, not sworn foes.
My voice came through dry lips.
“Bob, what is it? What’s happened?”
His face twisted. “Dyan! Zandru send him scorpion whips! Naotalba twist his feet off in hell forever! He’s taken her into Sharra — my little Marguerhia.” His voice broke. The words burned at me like acid. Dyan, with the Sharra matrix. Marja, a child but an Alton — a telepath. And the blankness where she had been, the sense of something torn away.