"At last!" Priscilla looked delighted, even in the poor light of the fire. Her thin face was alight with pleasure, and she looked more like a girl than a woman with five children. But there was also something unhealthy about her reaction,
and Mikhail lowered his eyes quickly. Guardian? What was that? "Soon we will be together again, brother," she whispered just loud enough for Mikhail to hear.
Despite his intense curiosity, he decided he did not want to know any more than he did already. Be together? Was Priscilla planning to die? It did not sound like it. Then he shrugged, to ease his tension and banish his own sense of embarrassment. He had stumbled into something that was none of his business, and the sooner he was out of it, the, better.
The shimmering shape above the medium began to fall apart, and then the globe on the table clouded up again. Ysaba's hands opened, releasing her grip on the others, and she slumped forward, onto the table. She banged her head against the shining surface with an audible thump, and he winced with empathy.
Duncan, who had remained in the shadows until now, stepped forward. He had a glass of wine in one hand, and he lifted the woman up by her shoulder, and held it against her lips. Then his eyes met Mikhail's, and there was an expression of shame and loathing in them. The mouth of the medium opened a little, and some wine trickled into it, though more dripped down her chin.
From the corner of his eye, Mikhail could see Dyan wipe the hand which Ysaba had held against his trousers. His young face was twisted with distaste, and Mikhail felt a stab of guilt. He never should have brought his friend to Elhalyn Castle.
Mik, I feel filthy! I never want to go through anything like this again! Let's leave at first light—please! This is a terrible place!
I think you are right. But I wonder what this "Guardian" is?
I don't care if it is Aldones himself—I just want to get away from here!
Mikhail silently agreed with Dyan's sentiment. The following morning, in spite of the rain, they rode back to Thendara. They did not speak of the strange event, as if by silent agreement, then or afterward. But, from time to time, Mikhail thought about it, and wondered if he had really heard the voice of the ghost of Derik Elhalyn, and asked himself who the Guardian might be.
PART
ONE
1
Mikhail Lanart-Hastur rode along the banks of the River Valeron enjoying the fine autumn day. The breeze ruffled the golden hair on his brow, and his blue eyes mirrored the color of the water. The air was crisp, and the trees along the banks were clothed in golds and russets which reminded him of a certain pair of penetrating eyes that belonged to his cousin Marguerida Alton. Of course, he realized, almost everything reminded him of her, and in fact it was difficult not to think of her instead of focusing on the task before him.
He was returning to the Elhalyn lands he had visited briefly four years before. Then he had been the paxman of Dyan Ardais and the nominal heir of Regis Hastur—as indeed he still was. Now he had been appointed Regent to the Elhalyn Domain, charged With the responsibility of testing the sons of Priscilla Elhalyn to determine if any of them was mentally stable enough to take on the largely ceremonial but important task of being king.
Mikhail remembered his previous encounter with Priscilla, which had ended in a séance, and shook his head a little. He wondered if Burl, the bone-reader, and Ysaba, the medium, were still her companions. He knew the Elhalyns had left the castle shortly after he and Dyan had been there, and had removed to Halyn House. That was where he was going, accompanied by two Guardsmen, Daryll and Mathias. He should have had a larger entourage—his new and unwanted position demanded it. Priscilla had wished that Mikhail should come alone, but as eager as his uncle was to restore the Elhalyn kingship, that was out of the question. Regis had sent the Guardsmen, and Mikhail was glad of their company.
Whenever Mikhail thought about the meeting in the
Crystal Chamber in Comyn Castle just before Midsummer, his spirits sank. He had gone over and over the events, trying to unravel them. First his Uncle Regis had announced that he was disbanding the Telepathic Council, which had helped govern Darkover for more than twenty years, and was restoring the traditional Comyn Council. Then, without warning or consultation, he had appointed Mikhail as Regent to Elhalyn, and Mikhail had accepted the position out of his sense of duty. He had not had time to think it over, to weigh the merits or consider the ramifications. He really had had no choice but to accept.
The anger that had simmered within him for months stirred in his belly. Mikhail had never had reason to be angry with his uncle until now, and he hated feeling this way. But he could not avoid the realization that Regis had manipulated him into a position he did not want, for reasons he refused to explain. Only his own deep sense of duty had made him submit, grinding his teeth with frustration. There was something going on that he was unable to understand. His only comfort was that he was not alone in his feeling—no one, except perhaps Danilo Syrtis-Ardais, knew what Regis Hastur was up to at present.
Mikhail knew his uncle to be a clever and canny man, a man who had managed to guide Darkover through a terrible period in her long and bloody history. He had always trusted Regis, but now this trust was besieged by his own emotions, and doubts as well. He had analyzed the problem as well as he was able, and found within it enough contradictions to give him concern. He had even permitted himself to wonder if Regis Hastur knew what he was doing— only briefly before he choked off the thought and banished it to the back of his mind.
Mikhail thought about his most recent interview with Regis, just before he had set out. His uncle had seemed tired and distracted, and he had felt very uncomfortable asking for Regis' time and attention. The Elhalyn Regency was a small matter compared with restoring the Council, the problem of the contested heirship of the Alton Domain, or the possibility of the Aldarans returning to Comyn society.
The Hastur charm, "of which Regis had an unusual amount, was absent. Mikhail had asked the questions he
wished—felt he needed—to have answered, and had gotten less than satisfactory replies. His uncle had not offered any hints as to what he wished to accomplish, and, in retrospect, Mikhail realized he had not been very supportive or even attentive. "You will handle it well, Mikhail. I am sure of that. We will talk further when you return for Midwinter. Take your time over the testing of the lads. There is no urgency."
The encounter had left Mikhail with the feeling that what he had been told to do was not very important—and worse, that he was not either. He had ended up feeling exiled, the way he had after Regis' son Danilo had been born, unwanted and something of a bother. Intellectually he was sure this was not the case—then or now—but he was honest enough with himself to admit that his feelings were more than a little injured.
The problem, as he saw it, was that Regis seemed to be trying to turn back the clock, claiming that the restoration of the Elhalyn kingship was necessary, as was the Comyn Council. At the same time, Regis insisted that these moves were not reactionary, but were in the best interests of the future. It sounded plausible until Mikhail examined it carefully.
He did not think for a moment that Regis did not have some plan, some scheme, in mind. The only piece of real information he managed to pry out of his uncle was Regis' conviction that Darkover must become truly united—that the Aldarans must become part of the Comyn Council— and soon, too.
Since the Aldarans were mistrusted by the other Domains, Regis was having a very hard time convincing the other members of the Comyn Council to agree to what little of his plan he revealed. Mikhail's own parents were opposed to the idea, as were Lady Marilla Aillard and her son Dyan Ardais. Dom Francisco Ridenow seemed to change his mind every other day, and only Lew Alton supported the idea completely.
Mikhail did not have the reservations about the Aldarans that his parents did. He had visited them years before, quite unknown to his mother and father. He was acquainted with old Dom Damon, his son Robert, the heir, and Robert's twin, Her
mes Aldaran, who had recently taken over the
position of Darkover's representative to the Terran Senate from Lew Alton. And he knew Gisela Aldaran, their sister, who had been a charming young woman at the time. He had liked them, and knew perfectly well that they did not have horns and tails.
But prejudice against the family was old and ran deep. Darkovans had very long memories, especially in matters of treachery, and the Aldarans had betrayed the Council years before. It was all very well for Regis to say that bygones should be forgotten, that it was time to heal old wounds. He had clearly not anticipated the steadfast resistance he encountered to his propositions.
Mikhail was not sure even his uncle could manage to smooth things out, for all his powers of persuasion. The more he pressed, the more he was opposed, particularly by Mikhail's mother, Javanne Hastur. In a great many ways, his mother's behavior since the meeting in the Crystal Chamber had been even more distressing than Regis'. She had always been a headstrong woman, but the announcement of his Regency had provoked in her some single-minded fury that he could not understand. She was no longer the mother he knew, but a cold and distant stranger. There had been a few moments when he had even allowed himself to wonder if she were completely sane. Her mother had been an Elhalyn, after all, and they were known for their instability. He did not entertain this terrible idea for any length of time because, since Regis Hastur was her brother, he might find himself doubting his uncle for the same reasons. That thought was too much to bear.
The wind blew a scatter of leaves across the trail, their color exactly the red of Marguerida's hair. Mikhail decided he would rather moon over his beloved than try to untangle more troubling matters.
Their parting at Arilinn Tower five days before had been hard, even though they had both tried to put a brave face on it. She had retreated into the particular remoteness he now knew she hid behind when she was upset. They had not spoken of their love, for that would have been too painful. Instead, they had talked of unimportant matters, using the inconsequential to conceal the feelings that threatened to overcome them both.
Mikhail and Marguerida had gone to Arilinn just after
Midsummer, Marguerida to begin her studies of matrix science, and Mikhail to learn what he needed to know to test the Elhalyn boys for laran, which had turned out to be more complicated than he had imagined. It was a little ironic, bethought, that Marguerida was trying to learn matrix science, when, in one sense, the crystals themselves were anathema to her. Her first weeks there had brought on another siege of threshold sickness, from the proximity of the matrix relays in the Tower. That, at least, was the only explanation anyone could offer.
Much to the displeasure of Mestra Camilla MacRoss, who was in charge of the beginning students at Arilinn, Marguerida had been allowed to live in one of the several small houses that were kept for visitors, guests, and the families of those who had come to the Tower for healing, instead of sleeping in the communal dormitories with the others. It was an unheard of arrangement, and it had made things even more difficult for Marguerida. Mestra MacRoss did not like any of her charges getting special treatment, unless she herself granted them.
He smiled a little at the memory, for he knew Mestra Camilla from his own days at Arilinn, years before. She had been old then, and was now ancient. No one, not even Jeff Kerwin, the Keeper at Arilinn, dared suggest to her that she might consider retiring from her position. She was very set in her ways and very strict, which was hardly surprising, since those in her command were almost always youngsters, adolescents coming into their laran, full of vitality, mischief and often powers which were not completely under control.
From the outset, the two women had not hit it off. Mestra Camilla was very able at dealing with teenagers, but Marguerida was an adult, and not a particularly malleable one. Or rather, Mikhail reflected, his independent, self-directed cousin was quite disciplined and even obedient in her own way, which was decidedly not to the liking of the older woman. She asked too many questions, the ingrained habit of a decade of academic training. She always wanted to know why things were done in a certain way, even though he knew she had tried to restrain her lively curiosity. "Why" was not a word of which Camilla MacRoss approved.
The other students at Arilinn had not improved the situa-
tion. They were all intent on demonstrating their abilities, eager to quit their student status and move on to becoming mechanics or technicians, or even Keepers. Taking their tone from both Camilla, and from Loren MacAndrews, the oldest of the students, they treated Marguerida as an interloper. They resented her age, her experience, and the speed with which she learned. And the fact that she was an Alton, and heiress to the Alton Domain, did not sit well. The Alton Gift of forced rapport was a thing both prized and feared, and for it to be possessed by a woman who had spent most of her life off Darkover made everyone a little uneasy. They were uncertain that she would behave properly—that she would use her Gift ethically.
Marguerida, who was stubborn to the bone, had responded with her quiet pride and fierce determination. Ill as she was, she had refused to ask for special treatment. Jeff had been forced to intervene. This had made things even worse between Marguerida and Camilla, for it smacked of preferential treatment, since Jeff was kin. They had retreated into careful formality, which merely concealed their mutual hostility rather than lessening it.
Mikhail had been glad that he was there, although it had been difficult for both of them, to be so near and have to treat one another with cold formality. The love they had declared to one another before Midsummer was unchanged, but circumstances prevented them from doing more than taking occasional walks together hi one of the several gardens at Arilinn, or riding out on nice afternoons. They talked about everything from what Marguerida perceived as ridiculous customs to the nature of deities on Darkover and other worlds. He had always yearned to travel the stars, and hearing about the planets she had visited was both wonderful and miserable. He envied her travels and her education, yet he cherished every moment spent in her fascinating company. At least his sister Liriel was still at Arilinn, and she was a true friend to Marguerida. But Mikhail knew he would be missed, and was quietly glad of it.
Mikhail thought about Marguerida's stepmother, Diotima Ridenow-Alton, who was very ill with something no one could quite understand, neither Terran medics nor Darkovan healers. It seemed to be a form of cancer, but it
had not responded to any treatment. They had tried for weeks to halt the deterioration of her now frail body. Then, after much argument, the decision had been reached to put her into stasis, -until some new method could be discovered. It was, at best, a stopgap measure.
His beloved had been more than distraught, for she loved Diotima, the only mother she had ever really known. Between trying to live close to the powerful matrix screens, the recurrence of the threshold illness, and deep sorrow about her stepmother, she had alternated between being frantic with worry or depressed. While Marguerida had done her best to pretend she was in good spirits and even laughed at his jokes, underneath it all, he knew she was suffering. Only her fierce pride kept her from losing control—that and her obstinacy.
The rush of water over the stones made him think of her laughter that was all too rare these days, and the brisk touch of the breeze against his skin of Marguerida's sharp tongue. He laughed aloud. The sound made his big bay, Charger, snort in response and prick his ears. Behind" him, Mikhail could hear the pleasant jingle of the bridles of the two Guardsmen, and he sensed they were wondering what caused his amusement. It was too complicated to explain, even to men he knew as well as he did Daryll and Mathias. Besides, he was not going to admit that he was turning into a lovesick romantic when, at age twenty-eight, he should be well over such silly behavior. Next thing he knew he would be writing poetry!
It had been a long time since he had had the company of members of the Guard, and he was slightly uncomfortable about it. As a child, running free in Comyn Castle, there was always a Guardsman
nearby. He had seen them as men to give him piggyback rides or tell him stories. He had not known then that there was good reason for their vigilance, that assassins were about in the streets of Thendara, that they were murdering children in their cradles.
But, after the World Wreckers had been defeated, and Regis Hastur, his uncle, had found Lady Linnea and had their first child, he had been somewhat freed of their presence. Not entirely, for he was still the official heir to Hastur. He had been fourteen when Danilo Hastur was born, old enough to go first to Arilinn for some training,
then into the Cadet Guards for two years. It had not really registered at the time that it indicated a change in his status, that he was no longer quite the favored child he had been a few years earlier. It was not until he became paxman to young Dyan Ardais that he had ceased to have members of the Guard in close proximity all the time, as befitted his status as an adult. He had formed strong friendships during his time in the Guard, and these had persisted, so that the men riding behind him were companions and fellows at arms more than watchdogs.
All he wanted to do, he realized, was reach Halyn House as quickly as possible, test the boys, find a suitable candidate for the kingship, and get free of the Regency. He did not want to think what his life would be like if this did not come to pass. He stroked the strong neck of the big bay with his free hand and found himself remembering the last time, he had traveled this way.
Whose idea had it been, to ride off and visit the reclusive Priscilla Elhalyn—his or Dyan's? Mikhail could not remember. All he was certain of was that it had been about four years ago, and they had both been ripe for adventure. They had just gotten on their horses and ridden off to the west on a lark, neither of them thinking very clearly. That the reclusive Priscilla might not welcome them with open arms did not occur to them until they were almost there, and neither of them could easily back down without appearing a fool.
The Shadow Matrix Page 2