Mikhail found himself the center of ten pairs of eyes, as the rest of the leroni stared at him. It was clear from their expression that they thought he was mad. He was not certain they were wrong. But the sense of sureness persisted, in spite of his doubts. He had to follow his path, let the matrix guide him, and keep his fears from corrupting his purpose.
No, Mik, I can't. Even if we had ten teleports, I don't think it would be possible. Wait! Forget about the damn uranium, and think about the stasis field—about the screens themselves.
The screens? The ones in there are starting to degrade, and will collapse soon, no matter what we do.
Listen to me. Stop worrying about the ore! Matrixes have a temporal function, one that no one has ever explored, unless it was Varzil himself. They must. The larger the matrix, the more time it can contain. That is how Ashara managed to continue on all those centuries—because she found some way to shift in time, and her Tower in the overworld was part of it.
What are you suggesting?
Can we regress those screens—take the time out of them?
Take them out of time . . .?
No—take the time out of them!
Mikhail was dumbfounded. The image that had formed in his mind returned, and he understood it. The power of it was enormous. He had no idea how to direct it. Then the terror abated, as if someone was drawing it away from him. He could not do it alone, or even with only Marguerida. He would have to depend on the abilities of ten strangers, all of them worn and weary from their imprisonment. How could he direct them, or himself? It was too much to ask of him.
Mikhail clenched his hands, then released them. Cold sweat trickled down his sides. Then he braced himself, took several deep breaths and said, "We will have to create a circle for this, and you will have to trust me. I have never functioned as a Keeper before, but I will have to." Then a smile stretched his mouth. All the knowledge he needed was gleaming on his finger, and all he need do was surrender his will to it.
Davil gave him a hard look. "You have already shown yourself to be able—though we do not even know your name. What do you wish to accomplish?"
"I want to degrade the stasis in the next room, make it go backward, if you will."
"Only Varzil," Marius began, "could do such a thing."
"How do you know that?"
"I was with him when he restored the lake."
"Good." Mikhail was heartened by this, even if Marius looked very dubious. "Can you tell me precisely what he did?"
"No. He Understands time, and he ... well, it is hard to say." The older man gnawed his lower lip for a moment. "He turned it backward, it seemed to me. Ah, now I see
what you mean. You think if you can turn that room backward . . . yes, that might even work. Or we could all get killed trying it."
"That is always a possibility," Mikhail admitted, facing the fear that ate at him. "It is that or leave that stuff here, for Dom Padriac to use, or try to use."
"I don't think he can do much without his sister, but there is a chance he might find another to do his bidding." Marius glared at the woman on the floor. The rise and fall of her breast showed she was alive, but only barely. Then he raised his shadowed eyes to Mikhail. "But, before we begin, who are you? You have called her Marguerida, but who are you?" The older man looked stubborn.
Mikhail was aghast. He had not realized he spoke her name. He felt his belly clench again, and realized that he stood at some sort of crux in time, in history as it would be remembered if any of the leroni survived. If only he had a clue to what to call himself now. All the names he had tried with Marguerida seemed wrong. It had to be something that sounded right, but it could not be the name of a person who had lived in that time.
He started to open his mouth, and was suddenly caught in a fragment of memory, of the words of his dream. Mikhalangelo, Varzil had called him. That man was dead. And a part of history, "Call me Angelo," he said at last.
Marguerida's eyes widened, and he saw her throat twitch with swallowed laughter. Really, Mik! How could you?
Well, I am one of the Lanart Angels, my darling.
Lanart devils is more like.
"Very well," Marius said cautiously, as if he knew he was being lied to, but decided it was not worth pursuing.
The leroni began to settle into a circle, their training asserting itself in spite of their fatigue and the questions which troubled their minds. Mikhail watched them arrange themselves, and was deeply moved by their courage and willingness to accept his leadership. And he could not help but wonder what they would remember afterward, and what they would say. There was, to his limited knowledge, no Angelo mentioned in history, nor any Marguerida either. But so many records had been destroyed, there might well have been a dozen.
The courage and trust of the leroni heartened Mikhail.
He could feel his own doubts begin to fall aside as the room grew quiet. He hoped he would not falter, that he could trust his own intuition as they were trusting him, and bring all of them out of this dangerous situation without harm.
Mikhail stood very still. He could sense the people around him bringing their various energies into focus, and, without any direction, he knew Marguerida had posted herself to monitor the circle. It was the best possible use of her powers, and he relaxed slightly.
Then he stared into his matrix. He felt himself draw their powers together in a network. Mikhail started to strain to order the energies, and encountered immediate resistance. Was he wrong? It had been easier and clearer a few moments before. Then he realized that he must let his will step back, and allow the knowledge within his matrix to guide him. He was only a vessel, a vehicle to harness minds and spirits to a single purpose. The sensation was one of great power, but with it a tremendous humility, an awe at what he was about to do.
The circle ceased to be individuals as the power increased. He could sense Marguerida, moving from person to person, balancing the energy, keeping everyone focused. The image he had seen earlier began to reform in his mind. It seemed a field of sparks, little motes of brilliance in darkness. It wavered, then solidified again.
Mikhail bent everything he possessed into holding that image steady, knowing that this was his task. He forgot about everything except the pattern of lights.
His sense shifted, and he knew that something was about to happen. Time flowered, blossoming in his cells. He peered at the pattern in his mind. All the little twinkles seemed identical, but he knew that one held the key. He stared at each light in turn, until he felt as if his eyes were dazzled.
A sickening terror gripped him. He was not strong enough, he was not ready for this! He was not skilled enough even to guide himself. The image shivered in his mind's eye, and he forced his will back again. Let the matrix do the work, he tried to tell himself.
Breath faltered, then heart. Mikhail could feel his body start to die. Then he was steadied, and air once more
flowed into his lungs. His heart pounded as he drove himself back into the pattern. There it was! It was just a dart of light, identical to all the others, and yet he knew it was what he sought.
Mikhail stared at that spark. The others began to fade as he looked, and he waited, knowing that he must, without knowing why. All the dazzling bits had paled into insignificance except the one. Eternity encompassed him, and the matrix held him unmoving within it.
What now? Mikhail waited in an endless moment. Then, with a delicacy that seemed impossible, he reached out and gave it the tiniest push.
The spark trembled, then seemed to move very fast, speeding away from his view into nothingness. He heard a terrible roar, the sound of stones cracking. Someone screamed. And his body was his again, and it was he who was howling, great raw sounds pouring from his mouth. Mikhail slipped to the cold floor, almost insensate.
His body felt like ice, and his head throbbed. Then he heard a familiar voice crow with jubilation. "You did it!"
35
A chaos of voices surrounded him. Mikhail wanted
to tell them to be quiet, but his throat hurt terribly, and his tongue felt too large for his mouth. All he managed was a feeble moan of protest.
Marguerida bent over him, her eyes enormous. Then her hand moved over his body, sweeping away some of the anguish in his muscles. He felt firm hands on his shoulders, supporting him not very gently. Mikhail looked behind him and found Davil. "Did it work?" His voice croaked like a crow.
"Yes, but don't ask me how. It was the most remarkable . . ."
"We have to get out of this place right now," one of the other announced. "The stasis chamber exploded—it is sure to collapse any moment, and that will bring the roof down. We will have guards here in a flash and that bitch of Dom Padriac's as well.
As Davil and Jonathan helped Mikhail to his feet, he heard Marguerida ask, "Who?"
"Leonora, the dom's leronis."
"Damn. I had forgotten all about her—we need a distraction."
"There is something I can do," Betha said grimly, her eyes narrowing to slits. "Even though it goes against the grain, and I swore I would never do this again." She looked troubled, uncertain, but determined all the same.
Everything was happening too quickly, and Mikhail knew that his part was over for now. Still, he wanted to hold on, to help in some way. What an idiot he was—he could hardly stand on his own two feet! Mikhail watched Betha look down at her matrix stone and focus. She shuddered
all over, and there was a deep sound somewhere in the keep, a booming noise that shook the stones around them.
What, the . . . ?
Betha's a firestarter, Angelo, but I do fear she has overdone it a bit.
Davil was supporting Mikhail, who swallowed hard and winced at the pain of just standing. This was a very rare laran, and one to be feared, for it often consumed its creators. He had never actually encountered anyone who possessed it, and he glanced at Betha with unease.
Everyone started for the stairwell. Marguerida slipped her shoulder under Mikhail's arm and Davil released his hold as the sound of explosions continued. Mikhail kept one hand on the wall of the stairs and the other around his wife. Despite Marguerida's efforts, he still felt disoriented. He was afraid that they were going get burned alive.
At the bottom of the stairs, they could hear shouts and the dreaded crackle of a fire raging. It seemed-to be on the other side of the entry door, so they turned down the corridor. There was another boom, and the stones around them shook. Then there was a cracking noise, and the ceiling above them began to tremble. With Davil supporting Mikhail's other side, they raced along the corridor past their rooms as the ceiling began to collapse behind them, great and small blocks of masonry tumbling down on all sides.
The door at the end of the corridor was closed, and Mikhail knew it was barred from the opposite side. Marius pulled at the knob, his face twisting with frustration. Now they were all crowded together, trying to escape the falling debris. There were screams, and shouts. A rafter crashed down, catching one of the men on the shoulder.
Marius was white and panicky now, and Mikhail could see him scrabble at the wood of the door, clawing it with his long fingers. It was futile. The door had been solidly built, intended to keep people in or out. Marguerida leaned against him, and he could sense her mind racing. She narrowed her eyes to slits, her expression grim. Then he heard the bar pulled back.
The door swung back. One of the silent servants stared at them. He did not try to stand in their way, but just
remained there, looking dull-witted. He glanced at Marguerida. She must have used the Alton Gift to compel the man to open the door. Then there was the sound of another explosion, and no more time to think. They raced through the next corridor, and the man who had opened the door followed behind them.
The huge kitchen was almost deserted. One of the servants rose from the hearth, looking very puzzled. The whole building was quaking around them.
One of the leroni urged the servant ahead with little shooing gestures. They started for the door of the kitchen. Mikhail knew, from his explorations of the past few days, that it opened into a small courtyard that backed on the stables. They entered the space, into a world of flickering orange light and billows of black smoke. Sparks filled the air, and he could hear the voices of men shouting for water. The smoke made his lungs ache, and horses neighed frantically. There was another smell, an acrid stench he recognized. Explosives! That bone-rattling boom a few minutes before must have been the armory going up.
They rushed into the stable, and everyone pulled open stall doors as they fled down the length of it. The horses were frantic, but the presence of humans seemed to calm them a little, and only a few reared dangerously. It was a frightening experience, but he was strengthened by adrenalin and when he found his big gelding, he grabbed the hackamore on his muzzle, and dragged the large animal along with him.
Mikhail looked for Marguerida then, and found her on his heels, her face white and strained. With a quick movement, he pulled himself onto the horse, then leaned down and helped her up behind him. Then he bent low over the horse's long neck, and the steed bolted toward the far end of the stable.
Exiting the barn into the yard where they had arrived, they were surrounded by terrified, hysterical animals, guards in various states of undress, and some of the leroni. A few had managed to duplicate Mikhail's feat and were mounted, and he could see Marius and Betha pulled up behind him. But it was too chaotic for him to count people, and he kneed his horse through two staring guards, who only jumped aside at the last second.
Beside him, a horse reared and struck out at one of the men, screaming with panic. He pulled the gelding aside, cursing the clumsiness of the hackamore, and risked a glance over his shoulder. Marguerida was clinging to him, holding him tightly around the waist, her huge eyes reflecting the orange lights of flames. What remained of the top floor of the Tower blew at that moment, releasing the energy remaining in the matrix screens in a blast that shook the earth and nearly knocked them both off the animal.
The shock wave sucked the air from their lungs, and then it struck the second tower. There was a great thunder of falling stonework, and the ground trembled beneath the horse. Mikhail's only thought was to escape while they could. He headed toward the high wall that surrounded the keep, aware of the leroni around him, but so focused on the task of keeping his horse steady that he was not certain everyone had escaped.
Several figures ran toward him, and he caught the flash of swords in the ruddy glow of the fire. He saw the slender face of Dom Padriac among them, his features twisted with rage. He ran straight at Mikhail's horse, clearly intending to skewer the animal, and Mikhail barely managed to pull the horse aside before he did.
Dom Padriac turned gracefully, and Mikhail yanked at the horse's mouth, trying to escape the sweep of the sword. He felt the tip of it whisper past his soft slippers, and wished he were not weaponless. With two riders, the gelding lacked the power to move quickly, and he knew that the unmounted man actually had a small advantage.
Davil seemed to appear from nowhere and charged toward their attacker. He lifted something oblong and brought it down on Dom Padriac's skull, a glancing blow. Mikhail saw it was a rolling pin, from the kitchen. How ignominious, he thought, elated.
Dom Padriac staggered, and his knees buckled slightly. Then he shook his head, regripped his sword more firmly, and headed toward Mikhail again, shouting something as he did. In the roar of the fire, and the screaming of the animals, his words were lost.
There was a rush of wind past Mikhail's head, and some-
thing dark flew into Dom Padriac's face. In the flare of the fire, Mikhail saw the sea crow dig its talons into the proud face, then pierce an eye with its sharp beak. Dom Padriac's words turned to incoherent shrieks, and he clawed at the crow with his free hand, then brought his sword up in a sweep of metal. It caught the great sea crow across the rise of its wings, and even in the poor light, Mikhail could see a line of blood appear on the black feathers.
The crow
fluttered, struggling. He heard a rough caw, and saw the great talons sink into the throat of Dom Padriac El Haliene, piercing the flesh. Blood spurted out, gushing over the dying bird. For a moment, Dom Padriac remained standing. His hand closed around the crow and pulled it free, dropping it onto the now blood-slicked stones at his feet. He stared at Mikhail and Marguerida from his remaining eye, gurgled, and fell headlong beside the dead bird.
Mikhail felt heartsick at the loss of his avian friend. He forced himself to pay attention to the men milling nearby, to the leroni who were grouping themselves around him, like some honor guard. He turned the gelding toward the gate again, and saw the guards hesitate at the sight of their dead liege.
Then there was another rumble of collapsing masonry, and the fire seemed to enlarge and consume the remaining floors. One man, more clearheaded than the rest, turned to his fellows and said, "Let's get out of this accursed place. Open the gates!"
"But, Raol," another protested.
"The dom is dead—we are finished here! Do you want to die, Fredrik?"
Several of the men did not wait to hear his answer, but ran to the huge gate and began to slip back the great wooden bar. They pulled the gate back with ropes, and pushed through it without a backward glance. Mikhail breathed a lungful of smoky air, and then kneed the gelding. He coughed a little as he went beneath the arch of the gate, and into the flickering darkness.
The Shadow Matrix Page 57
