A young man, brown-haired and athletic, came through the door, nodded in greeting, stared curiously at Trent. He walked slowly to the table, bent his head in tribute.
"Valur, this is Kimball Trent, a newcomer," the Elder said. "We shall listen to his story." He turned to Trent. "Valur is the Reader; it is he who knows the past and who is the keeper of the books."
"I make you welcome," Valur said quietly, eyes wise beyond his years calmly studying the well-knit body of Trent.
Kimball Trent began to speak. He told of his awakening, of his rescue of Lura, of his being brought to the tunnels. He saw the skepticism in the Elder's eyes, was conscious of the probing of his statements by Valur. He told nothing of the fortress that had stayed untenanted for five centuries, told only that he had been buried in a cave, and had come miraculously alive.
Finished, he relaxed against the chair back, waited for the questions. He could feel the perspiration on his forehead, for he sensed the mettle of the men, knew that he would not leave the underground alive if they believed him to be a spy of the Gharrians.
Valur seated himself directly before Trent. "You claim to be a Kimball Trent?" he asked.
"There was once a Kimball Trent who fought the Masters when first they came. He was the friend of a man called Doctor Boyliss, and one of the first leaders of the fight against the Masters."
"I'm the one," Kimball Trent said grimly.
Valur strode to a side door, entered, returned with a small neurograph machine. He clamped cables to the arms, legs and head of Trent, adjusted dials, then began his questioning. For minutes he talked, both he and the Elder studying the dials. Slowly, amazement came to their faces, excitement flickering in their eyes. At last, they freed the cables, and Trent relaxed.
"One more test," Valur said, left the room.
Kimball Trent smiled at the Elder. "My story must sound utterly insane," he said.
"It does," the Elder said noncommittally.
Then Valur was back, gently carrying a plasti-book, opening it as he came. He spread the book on the table, opening it to a group picture, indicating one man. He took a small box from a pocket in his robe, made prints of Trent's fingerprints.