“Vai domna,” said Melisendra, coming into the room, “you do not want your servants to see you like this; I beg of you, let me help you.” She sat down on the bed beside Carlina, gently touching the darkening bruise on Carlina’s cheek. “Believe me, I know what you are feeling. I was a leronis, kept virgin for the Sight, and I could not even guard myself against a glamour—in a sense I was more shamed than you, for I was not beaten into submission, but laid down my maidenhood without a struggle. And I can see that you defended yourself with all your strength, as I had not the will to do; I saw the marks of your nails in his face.”
Carlina began to cry again, helplessly. Melisendra pulled the other woman against her breast and held her close.
“There now, there now, cry if you will . . .” she murmured, rocking her. “Poor little lady, I know, I know, believe me. I woke like this, too, and there was none to comfort me, my sister was far away in the Tower, and I had to face my lady’s anger. There now, there. . . .”
When Carlina had cried herself into quiet, Melisendra went into the bath and put Carlina into a hot tub, stripping away the torn chemise. “I shall have this burned,” she said. “I am sure you will not want to wear it again.” With it she put the torn clothing Bard had ripped away from Carlina. She washed her as if she had been a small child, and dressed her bruises with soothing creams. Then she dressed her like a doll, and sent for one of the waiting-women in the suite.
“Bring my lady some food,” she said, and when it came, she sat and encouraged Carlina to eat, spoonful by spoonful, some soup and some custard. Carlina found it hard to eat with her bruised jaw, but Melisendra reassured her that it was not broken.
When the waiting-women had taken away the trays, Carlina looked at her tremulously, saying, “I feel it must look strange to them—that they all know how I am shamed—and you here—”
Melisendra smiled at her. She said, “Surely not; it is nothing new that a barragana should wait on the lawful wife. And, my lady, if the truth be told, I am certain that in this land where so many marriages are made with unwilling women you are not the only noblewoman to go to her bridal as if it were rape.”
Carlina said, with a bitter smile, “Why, so they do. I had almost forgotten—I suppose this has made me Bard’s lawful wife, and I need only wait, now for the catenas to be locked on my wrists, as if I were a Dry-town whore! Where is Bard?”
“He rode away earlier today . . . I do not know where; but he looked as if he had met the avenging Avarra,” Melisendra said quietly. “I do not know what will come of this; I do not know if the political situation will force him to keep you as wife. I don’t know anything about such things. But I am sure, very sure, that he will never misuse you again. I am a leronis, and I knew something had happened within him. I do not think he will ever mishandle any woman again.”
“How can you be such a friend to me,” Carlina asked, “considering that, if I must remain here as his wife, you will be only barragana?”
“I was never more than that, my lady. Bard’s father would willingly have seen us married, but Bard cares nothing for me. I was only a diversion when he was angry and bitter at all the world. If I had not borne his son, I would have been cast out. . . .”
“Why, then,” Carlina whispered, “you are a victim too. . . .” Reaching out, she kissed the older woman, on impulse. She said, shyly, “Under the vow of the priestesses of Avarra, I am,” she quoted, “mother and sister and daughter to every other woman. . . .”
“. . . and under her mantle you are my sister,” said Melisendra softly. Carlina looked up at her in numb amazement.
“Are you one of us?”
“I would willingly have been so,” said Melisendra, and her eyes filled with tears. “But you know Her law. No woman may renounce the world for the Holy Island while she has a child too young for fostering, or aged parents who need her care. They would not have me while I had these responsibilities; my other sister is a leronis at Neskaya, and I am the only remaining support for my old father, and Erlend is only six years old. So they would not accept my vow. And—further—a laranzu told me, once, that I had work to do in the world, though he would not say how or when. But the Mother Ellinen allowed me to pledge myself, privately, to the obligations of a priestess, though I am not bound to chastity; she said I might one day wish to marry.”
“And you still—wished for the love of a man—” Carlina asked her shakily. “I feel—I will die—I cannot bear the thought that any man will ever again touch me in lust—or even in love—”
Melisendra stroked her hand gently. “That will pass, sister. That will pass, if the Goddess wills. Or it may be her will that somehow, you shall serve her again in chastity, on the island or elsewhere. We are all under her mantle.” She lifted up the black cloak and said, “Shall I have this cleaned and readied for you?”
Carlina whispered, “I am not fit to wear it—”
“Hush!” said Melisendra sternly. “You know better than that! Do you think she does not know how well you defended yourself?”
Carlina’a eyes filled with tears again. She said, “That is what I am afraid of. I could have fought harder—I could have let him kill me—I wish that I had—”
“Vai domna—sister,” Mellsendra said gently, “I think it blasphemous to believe the Goddess could be less understanding than a weak woman like myself. And if I can understand and condone your weakness, why, then, the Dark Mother can certainly do no less.”
“Perhaps I have been on the Holy Island too long,” said Carlina, and her voice was shaking. “I have forgotten the real things of the world. You are at war here.”
“Did you even know when Hali was fire-bombed and they—died?”
“We knew. But Mother Ellinen bade us shut it out, saying we could do no good by sharing their death agony—”
“My father said the same. But we were on the march with the armies,” said Melisendra.
“But the Mothers said that we must not entangle ourselves in the making of war, that our business was with eternal things, birth and death, and that war was a man’s business—that it was nothing to do with us, patriotism and men’s pride and royalty and succession, that women had nothing to do with it—”
Melisendra said a rude word. “Forgive me, lady. But I have fought alongside men in the field, unarmed except for a starstone and a dagger to make sure I did not fall into the enemy’s hands. And the Sisterhood of the Sword fight with such weapons as they have, even though they know that, for them, the penalties of defeat are even more cruel. Some of the prisoners suffered that fate only a few days ago, after the last defeat of Serrais.”
Carlina said faintly, “The priestesses of Avarra are always being asked to leave their island and do healing in the world. Perhaps we should ask the Sisterhood to protect us. At least we could not harm them in that way. . . .” Her voice trailed off. “Perhaps the Mother Ellinen is wrong when she says we should take no part in the struggles around us. . . .”
“I am not the keeper of anyone’s conscience,” Melisendra ventured. “Perhaps there are different callings for different women. . . .”
Carlina asked bitterly, “But where will you find a man to grant us that?” and the women were silent.
Neither of them had warning of what happened next. There was a small, faint, droning sound—all the survivors agreed upon that. A moment later, there was a great crash, a booming noise, the ground rocked under their feet, and they involuntarily caught at one another. The first explosion was followed by another and another.
“Erlend!” screamed Melisendra, and ran wildly down the corridor, stumbling as the walls rocked with a fourth explosion. “Erlend! Paolo!”
Paul shouted Melisendra’s name and caught her at the entrance to their rooms, grabbing her by force and dragging her under one of the doorways, where he stood, bracing himself against a further explosion. Melisendra clutched at him and stood, swaying, reaching out for the mind of her son. He was safe! Praise to all the gods, he was safe
in the stables where he had gone to visit a litter of puppies! Paul felt her relief as his own, her mind open to him as she stood, swaying, holding to him with both hands. Again and again the floors rocked with repeated explosions, the rumble and crash of collapsing stone.
“Come on,” Paul said tersely. “We’ve got to get out!”
“The Lady Carlina—”
Paul followed Melisendra as she fled back. He found Carlina cowering under overturned furniture, and snatched her up in his arms, hurrying with her toward the small private stairway into the small garden where he had first seen Melisendra with her son. Melisendra hurried at his heels. Safely outside, he set Carlina on her feet. In the confusion of terror, she had not seen him; now, staring at him, she shrank away in renewed fear.
“You—but no, you are not Bard, are you?”
“No, my lady. But it was I who took you from the Island of Silence.”
“You are very like him,” she said. “It is very strange.”
Stranger than you can know, Paul thought, but he could not tell her and knew that she would probably not believe him if he did. What could she possibly know of his world and the stasis box? That was behind him, anyway, that had been another life and the man he had been on that world was dead beyond recall. What good would it do to tell her?
Somehow, some way, he must make Bard believe that he, Paul, was no threat. Perhaps now, with Bard fled on some mysterious errand, and the castle in confusion, under attack like this—by sorcery?—was the time to take Melisendra and flee into the Kilghard Hills and farther, past the Hellers. Back in that wild and undiscovered country, perhaps, they could make another life somehow. But would Melisendra agree to leave her son?
“Look! Oh, merciful gods, look! ” cried Melisendra, looking back at the building they had escaped. One whole wing of the castle bad fallen in, and she clutched at Paul in horror. Through her mind he saw. . . .
A young face, drawn with terror; a crippled body too slow and cumbersome on the stairs, an old man hastening to safety, turning back to give an arm to the lame child . . . a flight of stairs collapsing, sliding away under their feet, the roof opening to admit the sky . . . and the world wiped out in a fall of masonry that buried them, instantly, together. . . .
“Dom Rafael! Alaric!” Melisendra whispered, in horror. She began to weep. “The old man was always so kind to me. And the boy—his life had been so hard, poor little lad, and to die like this. . . .”
Carlina’s face was set and implacable. She said, “I am sorry for your grief, Melisendra. But the usurper of the throne of Asturias is dead. And I cannot find it in me to grieve.”
Now, all through the gardens and grounds of Castle Asturias, men and women, courtiers and servants, nobles and kitchen girls and grooms, were emerging, yelling and shouting in confusion, crowding together to look in horror at the fallen wing. But even while one of the majordomos was calling out, telling everyone not to go near the still-quaking building, there was a terrific final explosion, the remainder of the stonework of that wing collapsed and crashed down, with a rising of stone dust and muffled cries, and silence descended.
In that stillness Paul heard Master Gareth shouting, “Are there any of the king’s leroni yet alive? To me! Quickly! We must find out who is attacking us!”
“I must go,” said Melisendra, and hurried away before Paul could catch at her hand, urge her to escape during the confusion. He stood beside Carlina, watching the sorcerers, not now in their gray robes, but wearing everything from nightcaps and chamber robes to one, the young boy Rory, wrapped in a towel and evidently fresh from his bath, assembling beneath the flowering trees in the orchard. Master Gareth, hobbling on his bad leg gathered the leroni around him; two or three were missing, for some of them had been in the other wing in attendance on Dom Rafael and the king, but there were four women and two men besides the boy, and Master Gareth spoke to them in hushed tones. Paul, at this distance, could not hear what he said. The soldiers were rallying, trying to keep people away from the fallen walls. Paul went toward them—what had Bard said?
You are Lord General till I return. It has come a little sooner than we thought, that is all.
One of the men ran up to him and saluted. “Sir, you’ll be worrying about your son. He’s safe, one of the sergeants has him in charge, since his mother will be with the old wizard and all the other leroni. Come, sir, show yourself to him and let the little fellow know he’s still got a father and a mother.”
Yes, that was only fair. He saw Erlend, looking pale and shaken, clinging to a puppy with both hands.
“Your mother is safe, Erlend, she’s there with your grandda,” said the soldier, “and look, chiyu, here’s the Lord General come to take you to mammy.”
Erlend raised his head. He said, “That’s not—” and for a panicky moment Paul knew the game was over already, before it began, that Erlend was about to say, That’s not my father, but he met Paul’s eyes for a split second, and said instead, “That’s not the way to talk to me, Corus, I’m not a baby.” He thrust the puppy into the soldier’s hands and said, “Take him to his mammy, he’s the one howling for milk! I should be with the leroni, some of us are dead; they will need every starstone.”
“He’s a one, he is, Lord General,” said the soldier. “Like wolf, like cub! Good lad!”
Paul said to Erlend, carefully and with dignity, “I do not think they will need you, Erlend, but you may go and inquire if they have need of you.”
“Thank you, sir.” Erlend walked at his side, steadily, but Paul could feel that the boy was shaking, and after a moment he held out his hand. The boy gripped it in his small sweaty one. When they were out of earshot he said fiercely to Paul, “Where is my father!”
“He—he rode away this morning.” After a moment he said, “I feared they would think he had deserted them in trouble, so I answered to his name when they thought I was your father.” He wondered why he bothered to explain to a child of six.
“Yes. He should be here,” Erlend said, and there was a shade of condemnation in his voice. It made Paul wonder, for the first time, if or when Bard would return!
“He said before he left, Until I return you are the Lord General,” and Erlend looked up at him, strangely. He said, “I saw him ride away. I did not know, then, what it meant,” and was silent. At last he said, “You must do as he told you.”
As the boy walked away toward the little group of leroni under the trees, Paul watched, disturbed. Carlina was still standing where he had left her. She said, “Is that Bard’s son?”
“Yes, lady.”
“He does not look at all like Bard. I suppose he is like Melisendra—certainly he has her hair and eyes.”
“I should go and see what the soldiers are doing,” Paul said, resuming what he had been intending before finding Erlend. Melisendra would be reassured by the sight of her son; but the army was like an anthill somebody had kicked over, without any kind of leader, milling restlessly. He bawled, “Form up, men! Sergeants, take muster, find out who was buried in the wreckage! Then we can find out if we’re under attack! Form up!”
There were shouts of, “It’s the Wolf! The Lord General’s here!”
Leadership reestablished, the men went about the business of forming up, taking muster, listening for the silences when a called name was not answered. Some of the men considered dead in that first random muster would later be found alive, absent for some reason or other from their post, off-duty and in the village for a drink, or a woman, one or two soundly asleep in barracks, to turn up later wondering what all the shouting was about. But at least they had some faint idea of who was there and who was not, the form of the army had been reestablished if not its totality.
And still it continued to be silent. There was no sign of any further explosion, no sign of any enemy or attack, no attacking force. Paul wondered who was the enemy. Serrais had surrendered, Hammerfell had not the strength, the Hasturs had sworn to the Compact, and while their armies were still on the r
oad, they had sworn not to use laran weapons. Had the Altons or the Aldaran joined the war, and the news somehow failed to reach Paul while he was on his errand to the Island of Silence? Was it the little kingdom of Syrtis, long known for powerful laran? There had been, so far, no word from the leroni who were searching out the direction of the attack. Paul wondered if they had accepted Erlend’s offer to work with them. Later that afternoon, with two of the army engineers, he was going into the undamaged part of the building to see what was safe and what was not, and make sure that any fires caused by collapsing braziers or untended lamps had been put out. He saw Erlend trotting busily off, and the boy saluted him gravely and said that the leroni had put him to work running errands for them, having food brought to them, and wine, because they had no isolated place to work, and the presence of a non-telepath waiting on them would be disturbing. Paul wondered what tactful leronis had thought of this, and whether it was just a way to use the boy’s energy and keep him out of trouble. It might even be true—it sounded reasonable.
Inside, the castle was chaos. One wing, and the main part, were almost totally undamaged, and most of the main Keep had not suffered. Whatever the strike, it must have hit a little off center. Paul, searching the wreckage, found no debris that would indicate actual, physical bombs smuggled in, which had been his first thought. He was inclined to agree with the appraisal of the army engineer, that it had been a strike with laran.
“We won’t know that until we get Master Gareth, or Mistress Melisendra, or Mistress Lori, up here to make sure,” the man said. “They can sniff out whether it’s laran or not; but for now they’re busy elsewhere, and rightly so, I suppose, trying to find who hit us, and how to hit back! They may end up by putting a shield over the castle—don’t be surprised I know something of that, sir, my sister was a leronis in Hali Tower; she died when the Tower was fire-bombed. And my father died thirty years ago when Neskaya was burned. Some day, sir, they’ve got to get rid of the laran weapons. Nothing against your lady, Mistress Melisendra’s a good woman, but with respect, sir, the army’s no place for women, not even in a corps of wizards, and I’d like to see wars fought honestly with steel instead of witchcraft!”
Darkover: First Contact Page 54