a shiver and realized that the girls and Emun were silently terrified. Alain appeared unaffected by the tension in the room, chewing his grain with calm and slow deliberation, and staring off at the fireplace, his light eyes vacant.
The silence in the room seemed charged with energy. Mikhail glanced at Daryll, who was keeping an eye on Alain, and thought he was either a fine actor, or he could not comprehend the whole matter. The steadfast presence of the young Guardsman was immensely reassuring.
Liriel swept the board with a calm glance. Mikhail watched her, enjoying the sense of her authority, and also knowing that he had support at last. "Any untrained telepath is a danger, and it seems to me that this resistance to discovering the nature of the gifts of these children is quite foolish. I do not understand Domna Priscilla's behavior. I do not believe you have any right to speak for her."
Emelda drew her lips back in a snarl. "When the four moons conjoin at Midwinter, the Guardian will do any testing necessary and . . ." She stopped abruptly, realizing she had said more than she intended. A bead of sweat shone on her forehead, and she was quite pale, her shoulders stiff with barely concealed rage. He watched her bite her lip.
Miralys shivered and moved closer to Liriel. "Don't let the Guardian have me," she whimpered.
Mik, these children are terrified, except Vincent, who cannot feel anything but his egotism. What is this Guardian?
I have told you everything I know, sister.
"There, chiya, we won't let anything happen to you," she said aloud.
"It will eat us up," Emun announced suddenly, his thin face twisted with anguish. "No one can protect us."
"You stupid whiner," Vincent sneered at his younger brother. "There is nothing to fear—not from the moons or the Guardian."
Mikhail took a deep breath. "I think that we are getting ahead of ourselves here," he began with more certainty than he felt. "There is nothing harmful that can come from testing. Liriel will examine the girls, and I will do the same for you boys, and we will get things settled." He could sense something from Emelda, an energy he had never experienced before, as if his brain was on fire. Mercifully, it only lasted a moment.
Before he could analyze the sensation, Vincent interrupted his thoughts. "There is no need for testing—I am the only one who can take the throne, and I want it!"
Emelda glared at Vincent, then at Mikhail, half rising in her chair, then settling back. "The Guardian does not want to have any testing. It is very angry already—and it will kill you if you remain here. I insist that you and your sister leave immediately and . . . !"
"That's enough!" Mikhail was surprised by his own vehemence. "You forget your place, Emelda. We are not leaving until I say so." Liriel, this situation is getting out of hand!
I am quite aware of that, brother. That female is doing her very best to overshadow both of us—I'm surprised she didn 't try it sooner.
Maybe she did. I realize that I have had a great deal of trouble making decisions—I wonder if Alain's feebleness · does not come from that. Whenever I started to get things moving, I lost my concentration.
What do you mean?
Even ordering workmen here to fix up the house was an enormous effort, as if I were dragging myself through mud. I've been here for months, but it wasn't until last week that I managed to think of asking for help with the girls—logically, I should have done that within a tenday.
Hmm. Yes. I feel it, too. It is as if something were sapping my strength, something very subtle and gossamer, and I think if I had been here alone, I would not have noticed it for quite some time. I think we must find this Guardian, whatever it is. It has the feeling of a trap-matrix, but yet it isn't. I've never encountered anything like it.
Emelda was watching them with large, dark eyes, and her small hands were curved like claws. "You have no idea what you are doing," she jeered. "You are going to die." Then she laughed, as if she enjoyed the prospect. "Your pitiful talents are no match for the Guardian."
"And yours are?" Liriel asked with deceptive calmness.
"I am a servant of the Great One. I can see the future, and I know what will happen."
"Then you are deluded. No one knows the future. The best we can get is glimpses, and those are always a matter-of interpretation. Why, you did not even know that I would
come here, until Mikhail told you." The contempt in Liriel's voice Vas acidic, and, to everyone's surprise, Emelda shrank back.
"I know you will die," muttered the little soothsayer.
"You know nothing of the sort. You only wish I would, so that you can continue in your nasty little game." Liriel's face underwent a sudden change, her expression going from bland to alert so quickly that Mikhail tensed in response. "I know who you are, Emelda, and I know what you are!" Liriel's voice was stern and strong, and she seemed to Mikhail like someone he had never known before.
"What?" The little soothsayer looked alarmed, her eyes growing wide. Fresh sweat glistened on her brow, and she drove her nails into her palms while she gnawed at her lower lip, looking like a stoat.
"You are a hedge-witch, and nothing more. Stop that!"
Mikhail had the momentary impression that a darkness was beginning to extrude from the top of Emelda's head, a churning of the air he had seen before, 'but forgotten about almost immediately. When Liriel spoke, the air stilled immediately. He would have thought he imagined it under any other circumstances.
How did you do that!
Ever since that terrible night at Armida, when she used the command voice, I've been practicing with Marguerida whenever I had the opportunity—helping her learn some control of it. No one else at Arilinn was very interested in it, but it seemed to me that focusing entirely on her shadow matrix was a mistake. Much to my surprise, I discovered that I could do the trick from time to time. He could feel her pleasure in' accomplishing that, a sense of triumph.
But I thought it could not be learned.
I did, too, when I began. Marguerida is a trained singer, so it is no surprise she can use the Voice almost instinctively. But I now know it can be, to some degree, studied and developed by anyone with laran. I'll never be very good at it, but I have actually made Mother be still a few times.
Emelda had shrunk back in her chair, looking startled and angry. The children were watching her, fearful and anxious, but also curious. It was clear from their expressions that they felt no sorrow in seeing the soothsayer humiliated,
but instead were quite relieved that someone could stop her.
Then the tiny woman seemed to gather herself, and she leaned forward again. She focused her eyes on Liriel, and Mikhail saw the churning begin again, the smoke from the fire giving it form and substance. It looked thicker than before, and seemed to have more energy. At the end of the table, Alain suddenly pitched forward into his plate, and began to convulse. At the same moment, Emun shuddered, and clapped his hands to his narrow head, howling with pain.
Mikhail acted without thought, grabbing his plate off the table, still burdened with the unappetizing boiled fowl. Mikhail disked the clumsy object out of his hand, the way he had skipped stones across the lake at Armida when he was young, spilling food onto the board. It wobbled, then skimmed over the top of Emelda's head, dripping grease on her hair, and sliding through the disturbance like a wooden blade.
There was a flash, like distant lightning, and the soothsayer collapsed. Her eyes were open, rolling back into her skull, and her mouth lolled, drooling, as the fat from the fowl dribbled down her cheeks. The small body was slack, the hands alone twitching.
"Well done!" caroled Valenta, banging on the table.
12
Mikhail stood up quickly and went to Alain, drawing him upright in his chair. He cradled the boy's head against his chest and checked his pulse. The seizure was over, and Alain's breathing seemed normal. Even his color was better than usual. Emun had stopped his desperate howling, too, and looked a little embarrassed at his outburst. Only Vincent seemed unmoved, continui
ng to shovel food into his mouth as if nothing unusual had occurred.
The sounds of the uproar seemed to have penetrated into the kitchen, for a moment later, Mathias, Tomas, and the rest of the men burst into the dining room, their hands on their hilts. They drew to a halt, took in the unconscious woman in Lady Elhalyn's chair, and seemed uncertain what to do. Mikhail was glad to see they were alert and ready to leap to his defense.
Now that things were calmer, he glanced around the room, leaning Alain back in his chair. He saw Liriel holding Mira against her generous bosom, stroking the girl's hair gently and speaking so softly he could not hear her words. Duncan was standing in the doorway from the kitchen, holding a tray of cooked grain in his hands, his eyes shocked. Then his old hands trembled, and the food fell to the floor.
Valenta patted Emun's hand, but her eyes were dancing still, full of delight and glee. Then she said, "You were wonderful, Mikhail! If I had known that a plate of chicken would do that, I would have thrown one at Emelda long ago."
"I am sure you would."
Alain stirred against him, lifting his head and looking disoriented. The oldest boy glanced down at the front of his tunic. "How did I get so messy? Mother will be angry.
These are my best clothes. Daryll helped me pick them." He sounded bewildered and unfocused, and had the querulous voice of a much younger boy.
Mikhail patted Alain's shoulder, reflecting that the shabby tunic was ready for the ragbag, and had been even before it had gotten food all over it. He, who had never paid much attention to his own clothing, except to choose the appropriate garment for the occasion, felt an outrage at the young man's attire. Priscilla was unfit to see to these children. This was not a new realization, but one he had had several times previously and forgotten.
How had the soothsayer done it? he wondered. He was. a trained telepath, an able one, though not in any way remarkable. Mikhail found himself feeling uneasy now, doubting his own abilities again, because he was certain he should have known what Emelda was doing and stopped it. It had been subtle, but that did not seem to him to be a decent excuse for not realizing the nature of his continued befuddlement. He had had to get his sister to intervene, What kind of man did that make him? He felt outraged at everyone, including himself.
But his mind felt clear, really clear, almost for the first time. Unfortunately, the clarity was mercilessly critical of his slowness to grasp the nature of his mental fog. Marguer-ida had told him he seemed different, but he had not paid her enough attention, had not listened as he might have. He had been so intent on proving himself capable, that he had not noticed that he was behaving oddly, was missing things, forgetting things. It was as if he had awakened from a terrible dream into a nightmare of failure. The relief he had felt a few minutes before at the clarity of his thoughts now turned to fury at his own stupidity.
Then, realizing the futility of such ruminations, he looked down at Alain again. The young man was staring into space, slack-jawed and vacant. The too brief awareness he had shown was gone, as if it had never existed. His rage at himself shifted and changed to fury at Domna Elhalyn. How could Priscilla have permitted . . . ?
Emelda stirred, and Mikhail stopped his musing. He was not sure quite what she was, except that she was some sort of telepath he had never encountered before. What he was certain of was that she was a danger to the children. He
had made a terrible muddle of everything so far, but now he could redeem himself a little.
Get her stone—now! Liriel's command was abrupt. He moved without thinking, reaching the far end of the table in a few strides. He extended his hand, swallowing his disgust, and closed it around the thong that lay around the scrawny neck of the soothsayer.
Emelda's eyes snapped open, and she clawed at his hand, tearing his skin with her nails. One hand raked his cheek as he yanked the thong, and tore away the hidden stone. "How dare you!" she shrilled.
It took more effort than he imagined, and he was revolted. All his life he had been trained never to touch the matrix stone of another, or even to consider such an act. It went against everything he believed. But he held the thing, dangling from the broken string of leather, away from him.
Emelda tried to grab it, but Mikhail held the object out of her reach. The bag that held the stone was only a few layers thick, he saw, much thinner than was usual, and the stone was somewhat visible beneath the silk. It was not bright blue, as he had expected, but dull and clouded. He would sooner have touched an adder.
Mikhail saw Liriel's hand close around the thong, well above the dangling stone, and take it from him. Emelda was screaming now, abuse streaming from her lips like poison.
"Give it back, you bastards! You have no right to touch me—I will kill you! I will see you die slowly—filthy bastards." She tried to snatch the object away, but Liriel, so tall compared to the short woman, pulled it out of reach, almost teasingly.
What are we going to do? If we touch the stone, it will kill her, and if we don't... .
Leave this to me, Liriel answered. Then she turned around and cast the skimpy pouch into the fire. It fell on the flames, and the silk burned away in a moment, while the stone itself nestled unharmed on a blazing log.
Emelda threw herself away from the table, and rushed to the hearth. She tried to reach for the stone, but Mikhail grabbed and held her. She was strong for all that she was so small, and she fought him like an animal, clawing and
scratching and screaming. He expected her to collapse as her matrix stone glowed in the fireplace, but she disappointed him by remaining not only conscious, but ready to scratch his eyes out if she could only reach them.
Mikhail held Emelda firmly for a moment, then balled one hand into a fist and struck her pointed chin. It hurt his already bruised knuckles, and he loathed the pleasure he had as his fist made contact. The soothsayer went slack. He had wanted to do just this for weeks, he realized, feeling ashamed of himself.
"She will be all right," Liriel informed him reassuringly, "or as well as she ever was."
"But won't she be injured by the burning of her matrix?"
"The heat of the fire will not actually harm the stone, and she clearly is not going to go into shock from losing it. But the fire will clarify the stone."
"Clarify? What do you mean?" Mikhail had never heard the term, and wondered if his sister had taken leave of her wits.
"Trust me." That thing is a piece of some old trap-matrix, and how this hedge-witch found it, I don't know. Recently, I've come across knowledge of some things better left alone. There is a cache of records at Arilinn no one has looked at in generations, and rightly so. I found it while I was helping Jeff try to discover what we might do for Diotima Ridenow. After Marguerida left Arilinn, I elected myself as researcher, and I discovered this fascinating old manuscript, so faded and worn it was almost impossible to read. And I learned something about trap-matrices no one has suspected or used for generations.
You are an amazing woman, sister.
Yes, I am. "Pick her up, will you?"
"I'd rather not." He was stunned by his sister's calmness and assurance. She had changed, become more certain, since he had last seen her. She had never shown the least tendency to boastfulness, and had certainly not regarded herself as remarkable. Was. it because of Marguerida, or something else? He wanted to know, needed to know, because it was exactly that sort of certainty he found he now lacked.
Abruptly, Priscilla Elhalyn appeared at the door of the dining room, her face quite pale and her hair disordered.
"What is this? What have you done to Emelda?" Her eyes had a strange light in them, part fury and part terror.
"We have stopped her from terrorizing your children," Liriel answered. "What were you thinking of, to allow this creature to—"
"How dare you!" Priscilla drew herself up to her full height, which was still very much shorter than Liriel or Mikhail. An expression of dignity played across her face, one Mikhail had not seen there since his arrival. "You have no r
ight to tell me anything, you stupid cow." Then she stepped over and picked up the shoulders of the soothsayer, kneeling and pulling the woman into her lap. "I want you out of here at first light—both of you. If you do not leave, I will turn the Guardian loose, and—"
"You will do nothing of the sort," Mikhail interrupted. He found himself completely disgusted with this odd woman. More, he was tired of being threatened. He had reached some limit he did not know he possessed. If he did not control himself, he was very likely to do violence, if only to release the sense of outrage he felt for the children.
Ever since he had knelt in the foyer of Armida, above the injured body of Domenic Alar, his feelings toward children had changed. He no longer regarded them as mucky annoyances, but as curious creatures who could be rather interesting. His nephew Donal, for instance, was as bright a lad as could be wished for.
He had never felt emotionally attached to children before, not even Danilo Hastur, who was probably the one he knew best. But since he arrived at Halyn House, and found himself faced with the Elhalyn children, he had grown more attached to them. It had not happened at once, but each day had brought him a sense of purpose, muted by Emelda's interference, but there nonetheless. Now it was present in full force, and he was very angry at the woman crouching on the floor. She was hugging the still form of Emelda against her as she should have held her children, and he wanted to put his hands around her throat and squeeze until the breath left her.
The Shadow Matrix Page 22
