The Fall of Neskaya

by Marion Zimmer Bradley

  If we had clingfire, someone like Deslucido would only use it in greater quantities against us, or worse, and then turn our own stockpiles against us as well. But what if the mountain kingdoms had stood together against him—Verdanta and Storn and Hawksflight—even Taniquel’s Acosta?

  Verdanta allied with Storn . . . Coryn could imagine Petro’s response to that idea, but so much had changed in all their lives. Coryn and Liane had forged a bond deeper than friendship.

  Only a heartbeat of conversation had passed. Petro was still staring at Coryn, as if challenging him for answers.

  “You are right, my brother,” Coryn said in his most temperate voice, “as long as we are small and isolated, we are vulnerable to ambitious, unscrupulous men like Deslucido. I think Father had the right idea in seeking formal connections, but he looked in the wrong place.”

  “Where should we look for allies, then?” Eddard asked, genuinely interested. “You have been among the powerful kings beyond these mountains. Which of the great Domains would consider us, except as vassals for their own purposes?”

  “Not a great one,” Coryn replied, “but an equal. There is power in numbers, just as a single reed becomes unbreakable when joined to its fellows.”

  “You’re thinking of Storn?” Petro asked incredulously. Eddard’s features darkened. “I’d as soon trust a fox to guard a coop of chicks!”

  “And yet,” Coryn went on, “Liane Storn, who loves her homeland as much as we love ours, has held my life in her hands when we worked in a laran circle together and never once failed me. She had been taught to hate me, that I came from a line of despicable villains, just as I learned to think the same of her. As we came to understand each other, we saw that what we had in common far outweighed old quarrels and petty differences.”

  “But—Storn!”

  “Think on it,” Eddard said, rubbing his face with one hand. “They have been under the Oathbreaker’s boot even as we have been. It would not be the first time that a common enemy made strange comrades.”

  “You speak from the past,” Coryn added, thinking of Petro’s mission to High Kinnally during the great fire. “But we are none of us who we were then. Look at Eddard, at Tessa, Margarida—me.” Yourself. “Don’t you think the Storns might have changed, too—especially with a daughter held hostage at Linn.”

  “My—my wife was held there at first,” Eddard said. “She spoke of a Liane, a leronis, though she did not know the girl’s family. She—she said Liane nursed the baby through a fever, as tenderly as if he were her own.”

  “I see you are in league against me,” Petro said, “and I still say no good will come of this. I suppose next you’ll be wanting to send me as ambassador to High Kinnally.”

  They all laughed while Eddard said, “It is a thought.”

  “Seriously,” Eddard went on, “there could be no better way to open discussion than to help the Storns win back their freedom. I cannot send fighting men, not and honor our debt to Rafael Hastur. A small group of your foresters, Petro, those skilled in stealth and hiding, might bring news of our victory here and give them the heart to rise up on their own.”

  “That I will do.” Petro’s smile held more than a trace of ferocity, and Coryn saw that nothing would please him more than to strike back at Deslucido, even if it meant aiding their old enemies.

  King Rafael’s men stayed to organize as many men as wished to go with them, and most of the good horses. Petro had already melted into the forests on his way to High Kinnally, but he left two of his best trackers to guide the Hastur men through Verdanta lands.

  Coryn stood watching the coridom count heads and horses in the courtyard, knowing that he, too, ought to be going. The war would not wait for him, and Aldones alone knew what new strategy Deslucido might be hatching.

  Margarida came up to him, so silent that he barely heard her approach. She still wore her forest garb, her hair short as a boy’s, with the long knife strapped in a sheath to one thigh.

  “Last night, I spoke with the men who came with you,” she said without inflection.

  “Yes,” Coryn answered, since a comment seemed to be called for. “I wondered what they were saying of such interest.”

  She shook her head and went down the steps, heading for the stables and inviting him by her posture to join her. “Not so much what they said as how they said it. The silences between the words, the things they didn’t say.

  “I know what people are saying about me,” she said, “that now no husband will take me to wife, dowry or no. Husband! Well, where was he when Father and Kristlin sickened with lungrot? Where was he when the Oathbreaker’s hounds came pouring through the gap? Where was he when Lotrell and his men caught me in the forest and left me for dead?”

  Her pain seeped through her tightly woven barriers. Coryn ached to reach out, soothe it away. He brushed the back of her wrist with his fingertips, Tower-style, but she shrugged off the touch.

  “I survived those things, me alone. I don’t know—” she lifted one hand, palm callused and fingernails ragged, “—I don’t know how all this would have turned out differently if Deslucido had not come.”

  He did not need laran to read the rest of her thought, How I would have been different.

  “I had no husband to take care of me, and after this, I do not want one. Nor can I live on here like Great-aunt Ysabet, weaving tapestries until I’m ninety. King Rafael’s men have told me of the Sisterhood of the Sword. I mean to join them.”

  Coryn had heard of such, women who trained in weapons and hired themselves out as soldiers, fiercely loyal where they had pledged themselves but knowing no law but their own. He had even seen a few, moving through the streets of Thendara in pairs or threes, grim and aloof in their blood-colored vests. Gold earrings gleamed in their ears, visible below short-cropped hair. He began to say something about how improper they were, and then realized how well his sister fit their description. But for the earring, token of whatever oath they gave one another, and their distinctive garb, she might already be one of them.

  “I believe there is a house of such women in Thendara,” he said. “I can ask Rafael’s men to escort you there, if that is truly what you wish.”

  She laughed, an unexpectedly merry sound. “Dear brother, I do not need an escort, any more than I need a husband. I have asked these men if I may travel as one of them. It may be a long while before they return to Thendara, but meanwhile I will be learning the skills I will need to earn my bread.”

  “You can fight that well?” True, she’d taken Lotrell by surprise, but how could she match a man’s strength?

  “I can shoot that well. As for swordskill, I have years to make up for, when I was playing at flower decorations and sewing, while these boys were hacking at each other with wooden swords. I don’t expect I will ever be as powerful as a man, but stealth and speed can do much to even the odds.”

  Coryn could not help grinning at her. “I can see you have much to teach me. When you have pierced your ear and become a fearsome warrior, will you still allow me to call you little sister?”

  “You blockhead, of course! And you will always be my bossy brother.” She threw her arms around his neck and, for an instant, her barriers went transparent and he saw the sister he loved, tempered by a fire he could not imagine, but still a sweet and gentle spirit. He wished for all the world he could undo what had been done to her, but he realized that to even speak of it would take away from what she had achieved.

  They spoke no more of these matters, but parted amicably, he toward Neskaya and she with a contingent of armed men for Hastur.

  BOOK IV

  33

  Coryn’s second arrival at Neskaya was as unlike his first as night to day. His horse was as footsore and his own body as weary, for he had pressed both of them hard over the miles. Those miles had been uneventful except for the growing impatience within him. As his horse clattered down the last slope, the spires of pale translucent blue stone rose before him with their faintl
y luminescent glow. As before, his breath caught in his throat at the beauty of each pure line, the arched entrance, the windows ablaze with reflected sunset. Now his heart warmed to the familiar sight.

  One of the younger novices called out, “Coryn’s home!” and ran to spread the news.

  Yes, he thought, home. More than Verdanta, more even than Tramontana, this place was now his home. He had earned his place here.

  Within minutes, those workers who were awake and not sleeping off a night on the relays came out to welcome him. Few did more than touch his sleeve, yet the warmth of their welcome washed through him. As he greeted each one, his mind brushed theirs with the lightest touch. Had he not been bound by hard-won Tower discipline, he would have taken them in his arms. As it was, his eyes stung with tears. He knew these people as he did not, could not, had never known his own family. Their respect and love for him was evident in each gesture, even their restraint. In that vision behind his eyes, he felt them all clasp invisible hands.

  Bernardo, eyes tinged with red, came hurrying down after a few minutes. His face had shrunken in on itself, although his step was as firm as ever, his voice as certain.

  “Do you bring us news from Thendara? Were you successful?”

  “Yes, there is news, and whether I was successful remains to be judged,” Coryn answered somberly.

  “Come, then, and let us hear it.” Bernardo led the way to his private quarters. Mac, as senior technician, and Demiana, the slender gray-eyed woman who was the Tower’s most skilled monitor, attended the conference.

  They sat for hours, listening to Coryn’s story. Because he was lightly linked to Bernardo and the others, their shock rippled through his own body as he told of the battle with Belisar Deslucido’s forces.

  “Bonewater dust . . .” Demiana whispered, so low and tremulous that Coryn felt it as a quivering along his spine. He could not be sure if he had heard the words spoken aloud or who had said them. She sat before him, head bowed so that shadows hid her face, shoulders rigid with tension.

  “We thought—” Mac stumbled, then burst forth. “Clingfire is horrible enough, but it is akin to natural fire. We make it from elements which we find deep in the earth. It burns through flesh and bone, eating away until there is nothing left to consume. But then, once it has done its worst, it goes out like any other fire. The ground is safe to walk upon. Clingfire will not spring up anew to torment the innocent in years to come. When it is over, it is over. Not so this bonewater plague, or so those who have dealt with it tell us.”

  “They do not lie,” Coryn said. “For so Caitlin of Hali, one I have every reason to trust, has told me.”

  “She would know,” Bernardo said. “For if there were a woman anywhere capable of a Keeper’s work, it is Caitlin Elhalyn. Bonewater dust poisons the land itself, so that for generations afterward, no man may travel there in safety or eat anything which has grown or grazed on it. There may be more horrors in years to come. We can only pray we never find out what they are.”

  “But this Deslucido used it . . . on his own men, on land he claimed as his own . . .” Demiana said in a small, thin voice. She lifted her head, eyes swimming with tears. “Why? How could he do such a thing?”

  “Because,” Coryn found himself repeating Caitlin’s words with unexpected vehemence, “because he can. Because there is no one to stop him, and no consequence beyond the loss of troops which can be replaced.”

  “Surely his own people will rise up against him once they learn of this,” she said. “A king is sworn to protect those who serve him, is he not?”

  Coryn, who had never thought of himself as particularly knowledgeable in the ways of the world, was struck by her naivete. He had grown up believing the same, for his father had been a just ruler, acutely aware of his responsibilities. Since then, he had learned that power too often came without accountability.

  “Who knows if the truth will be told in lands which Deslucido controls?” Coryn said. “He may well place the blame on the Hastur lord, with none to gainsay him.”

  “But Verdanta is independent once again,” Mac said, looking at Coryn. “And other conquered kingdoms may follow.”

  “They will have to sort out their own fates,” Bernardo said with an air of finality.

  “I disagree,” Coryn said. “We will be drawn into the conflict one way or another. I went to Thendara to plead for neutrality, and I learned that was neither possible nor desirable. For how can we sit up here in our Tower while Darkover burns? Even if we were not bound to Hastur, I would urge us to join his cause. The only way to stop Deslucido and others like him is to make the price of using such terrible weapons so high that not even a madman will risk it.”

  “What?” Demiana asked in a voice whispery as paper. “Would you have us make worse things?”

  “Not a weapon to be used for attack, no.” Coryn raked the fingers of one hand through his hair. “What if we could make a weapon—no, let’s not call it a weapon, but a shield. Something which, when triggered by an attack would annihilate the attacker. What if we could do that?”

  All through the journey back to Neskaya, he had pondered the idea. The only way to stop Deslucido or others like him from using whatever horrible weapon they liked with impunity was to create an immediate and overwhelming backlash. He kept thinking of Bernardo’s idea of modifying clingfire so that it would require detonation. What if it could made to burn only when triggered by an attack, perhaps incorporated into a covering for a shield or castle wall? But that type of defense would react only to physical impact. Laran weapons came in many forms, from compulsion spells to poisoned dust. Their only common element was the use of laran, either in their manufacture or delivery. Even if there was no longer any direct laran involved, such as the case of ordinary men shooting arrows tipped with clingfire, there always remained a residue, a vibration signature.

  He explained his ideas to the others, adding, “Those laran traces could then become our detonator, as well as the target our defense will focus on.”

  Bernardo stared at him for a long moment. “Before you came to us, Kieran of Tramontana said you were not afraid to try something new, that vision and courage were your particular strengths. I thought I was taking on an apprentice, someone with whom I could share my innovations. I had no idea how quickly you would take the lead.”

  Coryn bowed his head. “I do not know if it is even possible. I only know that we must do something, before all of us are drawn into the maelstrom.”

  Mac stirred, his brows drawn together. “I wonder if the principles underlying a trap-matrix might not be used for the trigger.”

  “I don’t understand,” Demiana said. “A trap-matrix is keyed to the mental signature of a specific individual, which is why they have so few usages which are not illegal.”

  “But it’s activated by whatever it’s keyed to,” Mac said. “The Veil at Arilinn involves a trap-matrix attuned to the presence of laran, not any one particular person. We could design one to be so broad as to respond to any trace of laran or so narrow that only a certain weapon or a certain origin would set it off.”

  “Even if we could make the detonator or trigger or whatever it is,” Demiana said, heat rising in her voice. “What happens then? How will we avoid destroying ourselves as well as our enemy?”

  Coryn hesitated. He had tried several approaches as he had ridden along, all with the idea of taking the energy of the incoming attack and reflecting it back to the sender. But so far, no specific plan had come clear.

  “These are worthy questions and call for discussion by the entire Tower,” Bernardo said, getting to his feet. “Let us take our time in consideration, not only how to proceed but whether we should. We will need the wisdom and talents of everyone here if we are to make wise decisions in this matter.”

  Demiana shook her head. “I only hope we are doing the right thing, if we do choose to build such a thing. I fear we may be creating what we most wish to avoid, an even more terrible weapon.”

&
nbsp; “May Aldones light our path,” Bernardo murmured. “We can only do our best. The rest is in the hands of the gods.”

  Sitting in the center of the laboratory, the matrix glittered in shades of blue from the palest aqua to a deep azure that sent up a peculiar buzzing behind Coryn’s eyes. He’d worked with artificial matrices before, first at Tramontana and now here at Neskaya, but he had never seen one constructed like this. The dark blue tint, he knew, resulted from a series of channels within the linked stones, designed to redirect incoming energy. This was the third of five layers, Mac explained. The first was the activation device, the “trigger” they had spoken of so many weeks ago. The second concentrated and harmonized energy. The fourth and fifth layers connected the device to banks of laran batteries which would amplify the counterattack and target its origin.

  “It’s something like a ninth-order matrix in complexity, although not in usage,” Mac said, and went on into a technical explanation. Normally, it took a complete circle to safely use anything above a fourth- or fifth-level stone, but this one had been designed to be inert until triggered.

  “How long before it’s finished?” Coryn asked. He’d been working as Keeper in a healing team for the past tenday. Several families from Hastur lands had been exposed to the bonewater dust contamination blown by the winds, and King Rafael had sent them to Neskaya for treatment. Coryn had not slept for more than a few hours every day, struggling to repair the damage to the children’s bone marrow cells.

  “We’ve just finished the linkages between the first and second layers,” the technician replied. “We’ll need the full circle for the next step. Bernardo wants us to wait until things quiet down.” He pulled the three layers of insulating silk over the matrix. The light in the laboratory dimmed, and the nagging ache in Coryn’s temples eased.

  Mac met Coryn’s gaze, as if catching the flare of concern for the long period of secrecy. If word of their shield reached Deslucido or any other enemy of Hastur, it might provoke a pre-emptive strike. Deslucido might well decide it was better to destroy the thing now, before it was completed. Coryn had not thought how vulnerable they would be, especially with the influx of strangers.