The Shadow Matrix

by Marion Zimmer Bradley

  He faced the two young women. Both of them had asked for his protection during the weeks he had been there, but he had failed to understand the source of their fear. Mikhail wanted to kick himself. That he had forgotten the cries for help almost as soon as he heard them did not make him feel any better.

  Mikhail had a sick feeling in his belly. As Elhalyn Regent, he was sworn to protect these little girls, and he knew he was not doing a good job of it. He had kept trying to manage things in such a way as not to offend Priscilla Elhalyn, nor to go against her wishes not to be separated from her children. He was an idiot. He had to take the children away—and soon.

  But what would Regis Hastur say? He had not told Mikhail to bring the youngsters to Thendara. On the contrary, he had been fairly insistent that Mikhail should do nothing to disturb Priscilla's arrangements, that he should abide by her wishes, and do nothing more than see that the children

  were well, and find an appropriate son to sit on the Elhalyn throne. He had, in short, tied Mikhail's hands. He had not mistaken the implication that he should not return to the city until he had tested the boys and found a candidate for the throne, nor the feeling that he had been manipulated by his uncle into a completely untenable position. The entire Regency was a sham, something Regis had cooked up to both distract Javanne and other reactionaries from his plan to rejoin the Aldaran Domain with the others.

  Mikhail was not given to displays of temper very often.

  But at that moment he wanted very much to explode, to

  release his feeling of ill-usage and vent a rage he had been

  ignoring for weeks. Only the watchful presence of the two

  girls prevented him from kicking" the nearest wall, or pick

  ing up the chair that his Guardsmen sat in during the night

  and smashing it into kindling. He was forced to be satisfied

  with a mental Damn you, Regis, and let it go.»

  It was bad enough that some little hedge-witch had been meddling in his mind, but that he had been cleverly manipulated by his uncle as well seemed to be an enormous betrayal. The more so, since he could not really think of a good reason for Regis to have set him a task that was doomed from the onset. What was it going to prove, if he did succeed in finding a son to occupy the throne? That he was good and loyal and would do Regis' bidding? That needed no proof, and if his uncle doubted him, he should have found another way to show it.

  How much authority did he really have, and why had he not asked that question of his uncle when he had the chance? Or had he, and been subtly put off? Could he go against Priscilla's wishes and remove the children from Halyn House?

  The problem, Mikhail decided after a moment, was that he did not think of the position as one of power, just of obligation, a duty he wished to be relieved of as quickly as possible. He had come there because Regis told him to, not because he wished to, or, in truth, even sincerely cared whether another Elhalyn took the ceremonial throne of Darkover. He had never known an Elhalyn king, as Regis and Dom Gabriel and the rest of that generation had, and discovered, to his dismay, that he had virtually no emo-

  tional investment in the prospect—except to escape taking on the task himself.

  He sighed deeply, trapped in troubled thoughts as Liriel emerged from her room and started down the corridor toward the bathroom. The two girls watched her, wide-eyed with interest. She was garbed in a voluminous gray bed-robe, and she glanced at them as well, passed by them, and entered the steaming room with the enormous tub.

  "She's quite grand, isn't she?" Miralys' comment brought

  him back to the present.

  "Yes, she is. Grand is the perfect word to describe her. That's very clever of you, Mira."

  The girl gave him a sparkling look, a flicker of pale lashes, and a smile that would light a room. Mikhail knew that look, for he had seen it many times before, in other girls, though none so young as this one, since he reached adulthood. The lass was halfway to fancying herself in love with him, he thought, his heart sinking. At the same time he was not surprised, for she had no other men to consider, unless one counted his guardsmen. Mathias was too old to be of interest to the girls, but Daryll was a handsome man, He was not a Hastur, however. Even here, he knew that made a difference.

  Mikhail dismissed that matter for the moment. "You girls had better go make yourselves neat for supper. You don't want my sister to think you are hoydens, do you?" It was a feeble ploy, but the best he could think of on the spur of the moment.

  And clearly Mira saw right through it, because she gave him another glance through lowered lashes. Val, watching this byplay, gave her sister a light punch on the shoulder. "Come on, Mira! I need help with my hair, and you know that Wena is all thumbs."

  Mikhail watched them scurry down the corridor toward the room they shared. He felt depressed, but it soon passed away. With Liriel there to help him, he could perhaps accomplish what Regis had sent him to do. It was a faint hope, but more hope than he had experienced for days. Satisfied, he turned and went to put on a fresh tunic for dinner.

  11

  Mikhail stood in front of the fireplace in the dining room, warming his hands, his back to the table. It was still a cheerless room, but the one window had been repaired, so there was no longer a draft which chilled the feet when the wind blew from the west, and he himself had rubbed wax into the shabby table that ran down the center of the room. The memory of that task lightened his mood a little. He drew his hands in front of him, and looked at them. Since he had arrived, they had done things he never would have imagined doing and they were scuffed and a little callused. But he liked that, the feeling of being capable of turning his ten fingers to any job, whether it was rubbing wax into a table, or pounding pegs into a window frame. When he thought about all the work he had done, getting Halyn House in some order, he felt quietly pleased. The black mood that came and went from his mind finally left him altogether.

  Mikhail leaned an elbow on the mantle, starting to relax, and studied a collection of small ornaments that stood along it. There were chervines carved from stone, and a fine herd of wooden horses, the grain of the wood cleverly used to give the impression of muscles or hide. He noticed there was dust around them and almost pulled out his handkerchief to wipe it away. He chuckled at himself, then shook his head in wonder. He was becoming quite domestic! First apologizing for the worn towels, and now this.

  Mikhail turned away from the fireplace and watched old Duncan set out wooden trenchers and implements. He could hear the pleasant murmur of masculine voices from the kitchen, and hoped the presence of visitors might have inspired Ian, the cook, to a greater effort than usual. How clever of Liriel to have brought both manservants and

  Guardsmen. He felt less vulnerable, and his mind seemed sharper. Now, if he could just get a grip on his emotions. Swinging between despair and hope was exhausting.

  He sniffed tentatively, then sighed. From the smells issuing from the nearby kitchens, Ian had made no special efforts on Liriel's behalf. It would probably be their usual fare: the same overcooked fowl and boiled grain, lacking any spices or herbs. Not that Liriel would mind, he knew. She ate with a good appetite, no matter what.

  Mikhail would have liked a rabbithorn stew, with some dried fruits in it, or a ragout of chervine the way the cook at Armida made it. Failing that, he would have cheerfully eaten fish, for the river abounded in them, even at this time of year. But Ian had a gift for completely ruining any fish that arrived at Halyn House, as if he hated things which swam. He either fried them so hard they could be used for doorstops, or boiled them so much they lost both flavor and texture.

  He thought longingly of the dining room at Armida, or the great one at Ardais, then forced those images away. They reminded him too much of Marguerida, for he could not think of those rooms without remembering the first meals he had eaten in her presence. She had a way of consuming fish that was both elegant and efficient. Well, she had grown up on an aquaeous world, so she had probably
had a great deal of practice.

  There would be, he was certain, boiled leeks, swimming in a shiny bath of broth, and hard rolls that could be used as projectiles, if Halyn House ever came under attack. He wished he knew more about cooking, and laughed at himself. First linens and then cookpots—what a fine figure of a man he was cutting.

  Liriel swept into the dining room, with Mira on one arm

  and Val on the other. She was laughing, and had clearly

  started to make friends with the girls. A moment later

  Emun appeared, holding Alain by the sleeve. The youngest

  boy's hair was damp from a recent washing, and it clung

  to his narrow forehead, making his thin face seem even

  more anxious. His large eyes darted toward the shadows in

  the corners of the room, as if he expected something to

  jump out at him.

  Alain's presence pleased him, for it was a rare occasion

  that got the oldest Elhalyn out of his soiled clothing and into a room other than his bedroom. Behind the boys, Mikhail saw Daryll; he knew that his young Guardsman had taken to spending much of his free time with Alain, talking to him quietly or telling him outrageous stories. At times, these tales had almost seemed to rouse Alain from his stupor. When it began, Mikhail had thought that Daryll was merely bored, and looking for some occupation other than sleeping or keeping watch outside his door, mending broken walls or helping with the roof of the barn. Now he knew that Daryll had a genuine affection for the poor lad, and was pleased that he had gotten Alain to come down to supper.

  Duncan was setting out platters of rolls when Vincent arrived, booming in his strong voice and swaggering. He looked very handsome in the light of the candles set along the table and in sconces on the walls, his blue eyes dancing. Vincent swept the room with an arrogant glance, then walked up to Liriel, every inch the lord of the manor.

  "I bid you welcome to Halyn House, domna. I am sorry I was not here when you arrived—I had some business to attend to." He stood very close to Liriel, much nearer than was polite.

  Mikhail was shocked and more than a little annoyed, but Liriel just looked at the young man calmly. "Thank you for your welcome," she answered courteously.

  "And how do you find your chamber?"

  It was hardly a seemly question, but Liriel only smiled. "It is quite unexceptional."

  "I ask because I am sure you are accustomed to great luxury. We have none of that at Halyn House, because, my mother says, it weakens the will."

  "Luxury? My room at Tramontana is comfortable, but I would never call it luxurious."

  Vincent appeared a little nonplussed at this reply. "I meant at Armida or ..."

  "I'm afraid I rarely pay attention to such things. My, something smells good. Traveling has given me an excellent appetite."

  A coil of tension Mikhail had not realized he had in his chest relaxed. He had made a good decision, asking Liriel for help. Her manners were superb, and almost nothing

  rattled her. Not even an ill-mannered boy trying to flirt with her. Odd that he had never noticed before.

  By this time, Emun had gotten Alain seated at one end of the table, and put a napkin on his lap. Mira tugged at Liriel's sleeve, but Vincent took her hand and drew her to a chair, helping her into it, then took the one beside her. It was a highbacked seat, old, in need of reglueing, and it creaked audibly under the weight of the technician. Mira grabbed the place on the other side of Liriel, even though she normally sat as far from Vincent as possible.

  Mikhail revised his estimate of Miralys. She was just as fearful of her brother as the rest of her siblings, but she concealed it better. Now she seemed determined to shelter in the shadow of his sister, no matter what. There was a look on her face, determination combined with adoration, that made her beauty even greater. Clearly she had decided that Liriel was a valuable ally.

  Mikhail watched Valenta and Emun take places across the table, and waited for the appearance of Priscilla Elhalyn. He always did this, though she rarely came to the evening meal. He hoped Liriel's arrival had sparked a proper regard for polite behavior. When she did show up, he always seated her before taking his place at the table.

  As Duncan came out of the kitchen with a platter of sorry-looking boiled fowl, their legs disjointed and sagging, Emelda came in from the living room. She wore a blue dress he had not seen before, and her rather skimpy hair was-pulled back and tidy for a change. Her protuberant eyes passed over him uneasily.

  "Domna Priscilla is much too upset to join us," Emelda announced, "and has sent me in her stead." With that, she marched to the head of the table, to the chair Priscilla would have occupied, and sat down, looking smug. She set her hands beside her empty plate and smiled at everyone.

  Mikhail frowned. Emelda's sudden change of garb roused his suspicions. She was up to something, for he had never seen her wear anything except the red of a Keeper since his arrival. There was something in her manner that disturbed him, a tension he had never seen in her previously. Perhaps Liriel's arrival had upset her. If so, he was sincerely glad of it.

  Then he wondered if Priscilla was actually upset, or if

  she had been forced to remain in her noisome chamber. He had suspected for some time that Emelda was drugging her mistress with various evil concoctions that he smelled when he ventured into the rear of the house. Mikhail had not pursued his suspicions—Priscilla was not his charge, only the children were. Or had he refused to inquire further because Emelda was so clearly hostile, and vigilant toward her mistress? It was too late to wonder about the past. What was he going to do about the present?

  Suddenly he remembered sitting in the garden at Arilinn with Marguerida, during her first days there. "I do wish there was a textbook—several would be better! Studying matrix science without any references is making me crazy! The records in the scriptorium are not my idea of useful, for where they are not obscure, they resort to vagueness!" Then she had smiled at him, and he had felt his heart leap.

  Now, recalling, these words, Mikhail found he wished he had a book of some sort which told him what he could do, as Regent, and what he could not. He had never before been in any situation where he did not know exactly where he stood in the scheme of things, and he found he did not like it at all. He had never understood so well as now the frustrations that Marguerida must have experienced, trying to learn the customs of Darkover without the sort of materials she was used to.

  And just at that moment, a nice text on the ins and outs of laran would have been very useful. If he possessed such a thing, he likely could have dealt with Emelda on his own, without running to his sister to bail him out of the situation. As glad as he was of her presence, Mikhail felt that she would not have had to make a long and wearisome journey if he had not failed at his assigned task.

  Mikhail noticed again that his mind was less muddled, though his emotions remained conflicted. Why was Emelda present, and why was Priscilla absent? He somehow knew the answer almost as soon as he formed the question. Emelda could only influence people in small numbers, and the arrival of Liriel and four men had likely upset her control. She dared not allow Priscilla to be present, or be out of the room herself. Emelda had to be there, for her own purposes. But did she really imagine she could control Liriel, who was well trained and skillful?

  Mikhail smothered an impulse to walk up to the head of the table, grab the tiny woman by the arm, and show her out of the room. It was bad enough that she was sitting in her mistress' place, when she was, technically, no more than a servant. But he found he was curious as to what she was up to. If she was going to try to corrupt Liriel's mind, as she had done his, she was in for a nasty surprise!

  He found Emelda watching him closely, her dark eyes narrow with suspicion. Mikhail ignored her and took his seat, as if nothing was the matter. He shrugged, put all his troubles out of his mind, and passed the bowl of leeks, with a few carrots added tonight, in celebration, he assumed, of. Liriel's presence.
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br />   "I trust you will not remain here long," Emelda announced, looking at Liriel much too directly to be polite, "since your presence is a disturbance, and you are not welcome. In fact, the domna wishes that both of you depart tomorrow, or the day after at the latest. All of you!" She glared at Daryll, who was sitting beside Alain, serving him a portion of boiled grain.

  "What utter bosh," Vincent answered her, his loud voice ringing around the room. "Just yesterday she told me she was looking forward to having someone new to talk to."

  "She never said anything of the sort," Emelda answered, drawing her dark brows together.

  "Emelda," Mikhail began, "I am Regent for the Elhalyn. For all practical purposes, this is my house, not yours, nor Priscilla's."

  "Oh, that!" The soothsayer was almost sneering. "The domna has decided that she has changed her mind—there will be no Regency, and . . ."

  "The hell you say," roared Vincent, his pale face reddening with rage. "You interfering old biddy—shut your face before I shut it for you!"

  Liriel swallowed her mouthful. "I do not think that I can finish testing the girls in so brief a time, and I do not expect to leave in the next few days."

  "No testing! I will not permit it," Emelda snarled.

  "You do not have any say in the matter," Mikhail said quietly. He could sense a coldness in the room that had nothing to do with the temperature. Emelda was trying to influence him—a cold, creepy feeling in his brain. He felt