The Sword of Aldones (24 page)

I agreed. The Hasturs had been the strength of the Comyn for generations; Darkover would be better off without the rest of us.

“You, young Regis, will probably come after him. By the time you’re your grandfather’s age, the people will be psychologically ready to choose your own rulers. Lew Alton—”

“Count me out,” I said shortly.

“You have your choice. Exile—or staying and helping to keep things in order.”

Regis turned to me, earnestly. “Lew, the people need Darkovan leaders, too.

Someone who’ll work wholly on their side. Lawton will do the best he can, but he’s been Terra’s man, all his life.”

I looked sorrowfully at the young Hastur. Perhaps that was where he belonged.

Ruler, even a figurehead; working for Darkover, stemming the tides of Terra as best one man could. Perhaps I belonged at his side.

“Won’t you help me, Lew? We can do so much together!”

He was right. But all my life I had walked between two worlds, accused by each of belonging to the other. Neither would ever trust me.

“If you go, it’s for good,” Lawton warned. “Your estates will be confiscated.

And you won’t be allowed to come back. We don’t want any more Kadarins!”

The words hurt, with their truth. That was the flaw in the Comyn. Misguided patriotism, self-sufficiency, the lack of some steadying balance—perhaps just the inability to see good in an enemy.

But I was Comyn. I had not asked to be born so, but I could not change. I looked away from the entreaty in Regis’ eyes. “No,” I said, “we’ll go. I only want three things. Can I have ‘em?”

“Depends,” said Lawton. “I hope so.”

I took Dio’s hand. “To be married by our own people before we go,” I said quietly, “and to straighten out the adoption papers on Marja. She’s mine. But there are some mixed—”

He put out a hand to stop me. “Good God, let’s not get tangled up in those weird family relationships again! Yes, I’ll arrange it, unless—” he glanced at Rafe, but Rafe shook his head, a little regretfully.

“What could I do with a kid? It would just be the orphanage again.”

Lawton nodded. “What else?”

“A passport to clear space for four people.” Four; Andres would not care to see the Terrans take over, I thought, even though it was the only right and logical way to end the story of the Comyn.

Regis asked, “Where will you go?”

I looked at the steady courage in Dio’s eyes. I knew where I wanted to go and what I wanted to do, but could I ask it of Dio? Undecided/1 looked at her. After all, I had lands and an heritage on Terra, which I could claim, and live there at ease.

Marja wriggled on my lap, clambered down and ran to Dio. She laid her mop of curls on Dio’s shoulder, and Dio put both arms around her, and suddenly I made up my mind.

Halfway across the Galaxy there were pioneer worlds, where the name of Terra was a vague echo and Darkover a name unknown. There went all those who could find no place in the static Empire world, those who longed for a place outside the stylized universe of today.

If the Empire ever came so far, it would not be in our lifetime.

I went to Marja and Dio and circled them both with my arms.

“The farther, the better,” I said.

Lawton glanced at me. For a moment I thought he would protest. Then he changed his mind, smiled in his friendly, reserved way, and rose. Regret and farewell were in the gesture.

“I’ll arrange that, too,” he said.

Three days later we were in space.

Darkover! Bloody sun! What has become of you? My world is fair, but at sunset there are times when I remember the towers of Thendara, and the mountains I have known. An exile may “be happy, but he is an exile, no less. Darkover, farewell!

You are Darkover—no more!