The Shadow Matrix

by Marion Zimmer Bradley

  The bird shifted from foot to foot, fluttered its wings, and looked at him with great red eyes. Mikhail extended his arm carefully, and the crow scooted down until it stood on his wrist as a hawk might. "Have they been treating you

  well?" he asked the bird. He got a rough reply and decided that the crow found the pickings in Thendara to its taste.

  "Aren't you afraid it will peck your eyes?" Gisela asked him, sounding a little uneasy.

  "No, I am not." Mikhail could hear the impatience in his voice, and wished he had better control. More,- Mikhail felt that he was in an intolerable situation, and he resented it deeply. By the time the groom finally brought out his horse, his good mood was gone, and he mounted with an angry jerk. The sea .crow squawked in protest, flew away, circled, and returned to settle on the pommel once he was mounted.

  "It is going to come with us?" Gisela asked. Her green eyes were a little wide, and her sultry voice was higher than usual.

  "Oh, yes. It seems to like my company. I leave a window open in my room when the wind is not blowing too much, and it comes and tells me things. I do wish I spoke bird, for I am sure he knows all the secrets of Thendara by now." He turned his horse's head and started for the street.

  Gisela drew abreast of him, eyeing the crow with distaste. "It does not seem a proper bird for a lord, or a future king," she commented dryly. Mikhail looked at her, feeling uneasy at her tone, and then they rode in silence for a time. The narrow streets of Thendara had been cleared of snow by householders and merchants, though there was a little ice in places. They rode through a pleasant bustle of activity, as shutters were flung open and merchandise brought out. He heard voices, gossiping and bargaining, a comforting racket, so different from the undercurrents at the Castle. A few people watched the riders curiously, and at least two waved, recognizing Mikhail.

  "You do not seem very much like the man who came to us all those years ago, Mik."

  "Don't I? In what way do you find me different?"

  "You were never aloof with me then." She sounded as if she were deeply puzzled, and a little hurt.

  "Forgive me if I have seemed distant, Giz. I have had a great deal on my mind recently."

  "Oh, pooh! That is what people say when they do not wish to be honest. Don't you like me any longer?"

  "Certainly I like you! What a silly thing to say!" It was

  true and untrue at the same time, he decided. He found Gisela Aldaran a charming companion, for she was quickwitted and frequently bawdy. But there were so many things he could not say, all lying thickly on his silent tongue, bitter and revolting.

  Instead of concentrating on his feelings of ill-usage, he thought about her comment. Was he different? Mikhail did not feel himself to be so, but he knew that other people he was close to were different than they had been ten years before. Did he see them with new eyes, or were they actually changed? Marguerida insisted that Lew was quite an altered man from the one she had known as a child, and he felt the same way, to a lesser degree, about both Regis and Javanne. Dom Gabriel, on the other hand, seemed the same as before, perhaps a little more crochety and given to temper.

  But if he had changed, what had caused it? In one way Mikhail felt that his entire life had been fairly ordinary— unless he counted the events at Halyn House, or following Marguerida into the overworld on two occasions. Except for getting married, for the most part he had done what had been expected of him.

  Marguerida said he had a curious mind, contrasting him to his father, whom she dismissed as having a closed one. Maybe that was it. He was interested in many things, from why the Terranan did things the way they did, to how Darkover might use technology without losing its singular identity. Perhaps it had been mucking out the Halyn House stables that had made him different. It had certainly given him a fresh respect for all the folk who labored in the fields and crofts, and enabled him to live a life of ease.

  Gisela leaned out of the saddle and extended a hand as if to take his wrist. She had an expression on her face which he found too intimate. The crow took immediate exception to her movement, flaring its wings, and poking its sharp bill at her. The woman yelped and snatched her hand back, nearly overbalancing in the side-saddle. She regained her seat and glared at both the man and the bird. "Mik, that crow is a disgusting creature. They are birds of ill-omen, you know! Send it away!"

  "I know the crows in the Hellers are thought to be such, but I am surprised to hear such silly superstitions from you.

  You have a good mind, and are educated. Besides, this is a sea crow, and that is quite a different matter." Mikhail had never been so grateful for a chaperon in his life. As long as they could keep discussing the bird, they would not be able to talk about more serious things. "This fine fellow greeted me when I arrived at Halyn House, probably saved me from a hard knock on the head at the quintain, and has chosen to accompany me far from its natural home. I am sure he must be the king of his kind, and that some upstart crow has now taken his position."

  Almost as if it understood these words, the crow made a rough comment. He gave Mikhail a beady glare, as if to say, "I will deal with any interloper." It was serious and comical all at the same time, and Mikhail chuckled, his earlier mood restored.

  They had ridden to the gate of the North Road now, and found it abustle with early morning traffic. There were many carts coming into the city with loads of straw, grain, root vegetables, and cages full of plump fowl. He spotted a Travelers wagon, gaily painted and accompanied by garishly dressed folk. There were pictures of puppets on its sides, and Mikhail grinned. It had been some time since he had seen one of the shows.

  The Travelers were dressed in motley colors, their clothing torn to reveal underlayers, a very distinctive form of dress. They came to Thendara during the Midsummer and Midwinter Festivals, and the rest of the time they drove around the countryside, offering their entertainments in the smaller cities, and at places like Armida. His father did not approve of them, saying quite truthfully, that they were not respectable folk. But Mikhail found their little plays, which satirized lord and farmer with equal generosity, very amusing.

  He had wondered about them a few times, since they were a relatively recent development. When he had been a lad, all entertainers were local folk, and then, when he had been eight or nine, if he remembered rightly, he had seen the first painted wagon full of these cheerful people, arrive at Comyn Castle one summer day. It was soon after the World Wreckers, and they had been greeted—like all strangers—with suspicion. But they seemed harmless

  enough, and he really enjoyed their acrobatics, juggling, and the totally irreverent comedies they performed.

  Mikhail wondered if Marguerida knew about the Travelers, and made a mental note to tell her about them. She would be very interested, as she seemed to be in all things. He was so deep in his thoughts that he nearly forgot about Gisela, who had been silent since the crow startled her. Mikhail noticed a train of heavily laden mules accompanied by some Dry Towners and a quartet of Renunciate guides, struggling to get through the jam of carts and animals that cluttered the road. Then he returned to the present, seeing a very familiar profile, a flutter of copper-colored curls under a knitted cap, a short, upturned nose, and a firm jaw.

  "Rafaella n'ha Liriel!" He shouted across the noise of the throng, and she looked up, then smiled at him.

  "Dom Mikhail!" She rode toward him, her smile increasing. "Well met! What a lovely surprise. I did not know you had come back to Thendara—but then I have been off in the west for the past month." She drew abreast of him, reined her horse to a halt, and patted its neck.

  "It is wonderful to see you, Rafaella. How long has it been?"

  "Oh, ages and ages. I have been more busy this season than I was in the last three years, dashing her* and there with merchants, who all seem determined to come to Thendara or depart it at the same moment. My, what a handsome bird!" She chuckled. "I must say, you make a very odd appearance, with a crow on your pommel. Are you getting eccentric?"


  Gisela cleared her throat in a very ladylike but determined way, and Mikhail felt his cheeks begin to warm with blush. He was so eager to see Rafaella that he had ignored her. "Not that, I trust, but I do seem to be forgetting my manners. Blame it on such a lovely morning! Much too lovely for formalities. Rafaella, this is the Domna Gisela Aldaran. Gisela, my friend, Rafaella n'ha Liriel."

  "A pleasure, domna." The Renunciate bobbed her head a little, but the expression on her face spoke volumes. He was very grateful that Marguerida's friend was so discreet, and gave her a little smile.

  "The pleasure is mine," Gisela responded, not sounding at all pleased.

  He could see the question in Rafaella's eyes. But he said nothing. Still, he felt very embarrassed, as if he had been caught doing something naughty, and he wished Gisela to one of the lesser of Zandru's hells. Why were things so complicated? Why hadn't Gisela remained indoors and let him ride in peace? Mikhail began to feel very put upon and aggrieved, but it was such a ridiculous feeling that after a second he let it go.

  "Did Marguerida tell you about, the bandits?" Rafaella asked, quite unaware of the strain between Gisela and Mikhail.

  "Bandits?"

  "Ah, she didn't." For a moment, Rafaella's face looked perturbed, then slightly embarrassed, for her pale cheeks reddened. "I expect she thought you would worry, though why anyone worries about things which have already happened has always been something of a mystery to me. Why bother thinking that you might have frozen to death in the storm, when the storm is passed, and you are not dead?"

  "You are wise beyond your years, Rafaella. But—what bandits?"

  "When we were on the way to Neskaya, our camp was attacked in the night by some scum that ought to have known better. They did manage to surprise us, and for a short time had the upper hand. But Marguerida . . . oh, blast! I have to catch up with my merchants. Besides, it is her tale, and I should not tell it without her leave. I will be in Thendara for a day or two before I leave again—you know where to find me." She put her heels into the horse's flanks and trotted away.

  They picked their way through the traffic in silence, for the racket of voices, carts, and horses made conversation difficult. At last they left the noise behind, and the road, snow-packed down to a hard, flat surface from all the feet and hooves that had trod it, lay empty before them.

  "You seem to have some odd friends, Mik. First a crow, and now an Amazon! I was very embarrassed when you called out to her—what will people think?"

  "I imagine they will think that I know her. It is nothing for you to be embarrassed about. You are becoming conventional, Giz. Rather like my mother," he added unkindly.

  "I take it that she meant- Marguerida Alton," Gisela

  began, ignoring his comments, her sensuous voice deep and a little dangerous. "Is it true about her, what I heard?"

  "I cannot imagine, since I do not know what that might be." His voice was cold and formal, in unconscious imitation of Danilo Syrtis-Ardais who, when he chose, could cut one to the quick with only a few words.

  "That she is deformed!"

  Mikhail turned and looked at his companion with shock. "Deformed. Certainly not!" He knew the horror with which most Darkovans regarded any physical infirmity, but he expected better of Gisela.

  "Then why does she conceal her hands, if she is not hiding some ugly malformation?"

  "You have been listening to servants, Giz, and you know how they always get things wrong or exaggerate them." He was not about to talk about Marguerida's shadow matrix in the middle of the road, least of all with Gisela Aldaran.

  "What is she hiding?"

  Mikhail pursed his lips. "That is not a matter I feel free to discuss," he answered, drawing his horse's head apart from hers a little, trying to put some distance between them.

  Gisela was having none of that. She reined her horse closer to him and demanded, "Do you care for her?"

  "Again, that is not a topic for conversation."

  "Then you do! I had heard some gossip, but I did not believe it. And, it is a pity that you will never be able to . . ."

  "Gisela, stop, before you say something regrettable! This is no business of yours!"

  "Oh, but it is, and you are a fool if you cannot realize it. Surely you cannot think you can marry her! She is the Alton heiress, and must marry lower than herself." There was a bitterness in her voice that stung him. "I understand these things, you see, for I have spent my whole life thinking about them."

  "I said I did not want to talk about it, Giz!"

  "No, Mikhail! There are breaches to be healed, and the best way to accomplish that is between you and me. Besides, I have already made up my mind to have you, and I always get my way. Always!"

  "If you actually believe that, then you are a greater fool

  than I ever—" He stopped speaking before he said something irrevocable. She sounds very much like Gabe, he thought, finding a sudden glint of humor in the whole unpleasant situation. "Now stop behaving like a spoiled child and ruining a very nice ride."

  Gisela turned her horse's head around abruptly, coming so close to Mikhail's horse that the crow flared its wings with alarm. She glared at him as she announced, "I have dreamed of having you since we first met, and I will have my way! More, I have the Aldaran Gift, and I have seen that I will marry a Hastur!" Despite the passion in her voice, Mikhail sensed an undertone of doubt.

  Gisela gave her horse a brisk blow with her quirt, and the little mare started, then began to trot back toward the city gates. He was stunned at first, then very annoyed at not having gotten the last word. He felt chilled under his warm cloak.

  Mikhail sat on his horse, knowing he should turn and follow her. But he was too angry. He reflected that she reminded him very much of Javanne when she was in a determined mood, and realized that he had not noticed that quality in her before.

  Marry a Hastur? Not this Hastur, if he could help it! Besides, the Comyn Council would never agree. The future was not set in stone, but was something more fluid than he had ever imagined. He could have died at Halyn House, or broken his neck on the road, which would have put an end to all his futures. He spent a pleasant moment deciding which of his brothers might make the supreme sacrifice of taking Gisela to wife, and the start of a smile appeared on the corners of his mouth.

  Calmer now, satisfied that he had handled Gisela as well as he could, Mikhail put his knees into Charger, and started up the North Road, toward the ruins of Hali, and beyond it, to Neskaya, where Marguerida was. If he followed his heart, he could be with her in five or six days of hard riding. But duty called, and after an hour, he reined in the big bay, and turned back toward Thendara.

  18

  Margaret Alton and Rafaella n'ha Liriel in the company of two Guardsmen entered Thendara just ahead of a small storm front. It had been at their backs for two days, threatening, but never actually reaching them. She was grateful for that, to all the many gods whose names she knew, even if she did not believe in every one of them. The Guardsmen said it was the mildest early winter they could recall, but as far as Margaret was concerned, it was sheer hell. Her fingers felt like icicles, and she was quite sure her feet would never be warm again.

  The sight of the walls of Thendara heartened her. The trip had been mercifully uneventful—no bandits, no banshees, and only occasional blowing snow—but she was tired. Her bottom had, she was certain, developed calluses from hard riding, and her spine ached from tailbone to skull. But soon she would be at Comyn Castle, and if she had not gotten her days completely mixed, Ida Davidson would be arriving from University tomorrow or the day after. Fear that she might be delayed, that her dear friend might arrive and find no welcome, had troubled her chilly sleep since they left Neskaya.

  The city was transformed to her eyes. The roofs were concealed with snow, and icicles hung along the edges of the houses. The streets were open, though great mounds of frozen snow sat at corners, impeding the few carts that tried to move through them. But there was someth
ing else, she decided, looking around alertly despite her weariness. What was it?

  Then Margaret realized that there were long swags of greenery, swathed in lengths of gold cloth, hung across the stone facades of the houses and businesses, giving the city a celebratory air it lacked in summer. Then, too, it seemed

  that the inhabitants of the city were wearing clothing of brighter color than she remembered, as if they were trying to counterbalance the gray and white of winter with boisterous hues.

  They passed a market square, and she saw gaudily painted wagons, five or six of them. They were unlike anything she had seen before on Darkover. She could see that the sides of the wagons could be lowered to become small stages, for one of them was being used for a small performance. Her respect for Darkovans went up a notch at the sight of a dozen people, enduring the chill of the day, watching the little show with both interest, and clear familiarity. From time to time, one of the audience shouted at the players, and was answered.