The Forbidden Tower

by Marion Zimmer Bradley

  Damon flinched away from the question. She could not have meant it, not as he thought she meant it.

  They were not living in the days before the Ages of Chaos, when the Keepers were mutilated, even neutered, made less than women. Oh, yes, the Keepers were still trained, Damon knew, with a terrible discipline, to live apart from men, reflexes deeply built into body and brain. But no longer changed. And surely Leonie could not have known… or, Damon thought, he was the one man she would never have asked that question. Surely it was innocent, surely she never knew. He steeled himself against Leonie’s innocence, forced himself to look at her, to say in a low voice, “Willingly, Leonie, if I loved as Andrew loved.”

  As hard as he fought to keep his voice steady and impassive, something of his inward struggle communicated itself to Leonie. She looked up, quickly and for a bare moment, a second or less. Their eyes met, but Leonie quickly looked away.

  Ellemir, Damon reminded himself desperately. Ellemir, my beloved, my promised wife. But his voice was calm. “Try to meet Andrew without prejudice, Leonie, and I think you will see that he is such a man as you would willingly have given Callista in marriage.”

  Leonie had mastered herself again. “All the more for your urging, Damon. But even if all you say is true, I am still reluctant.”

  “I know,” Damon said, looking down the road. They were now within sight of the great front gates of Armida, the hereditary estate of the Domain of Alton. Home, he thought, and Ellemir waiting for him. “But even if all you say is true, Leonie, I do not know what we can do to stop Callista. She is no silly young girl in the grip of infatuation; she is a woman grown, Tower-trained, skilled, accustomed to having her own way, and I think she will do her will, regardless of us all.”

  Leonie sighed. She said, “I would not force her back unwilling; the burden of a Keeper is too heavy to be borne unconsenting. I have borne it a lifetime, and I know.” She seemed weary, weighed down by it. “Yet Keepers are not easy to come by. If I can save her for Arilinn, Damon, you know I must.”

  Damon knew. The old psi gifts of the Seven Domains, bred into the genes of the Comyn families hundreds or thousands of years ago, were thinned now, dying out. Telepaths were rarer than ever before. It could no longer be taken for granted that even the sons and daughters of the direct line of each Domain would have the gift, the inherited psi power of his House. And now, not many cared. Damon’s elder brother, heir to the Ridenow family of Serrais, had no laran. Damon, himself, was the only one of his brothers to possess laran in full measure, and he had been in no way specially honored for it. On the contrary, his work in the Tower had made his brothers scorn him as something less than a man. It was hard to find telepaths strong enough for Tower work. Some of the ancient Towers had been closed and stood dark, no longer teaching, training, working with the ancient psi sciences of Darkover. Outsiders, those with only minimal Comyn blood, had been admitted to the lesser Towers, though Arilinn kept to the old ways and allowed only those closely related by blood to the Domains to come there. And few women could be found with the strength, the psi skill, the stamina—and the courage and willingness to sacrifice almost everything which made life dear to a woman of the Domains—to endure the terrible discipline of the Keepers, Who would they find to take Callista’s place?

  Either way, then, was tragedy. Arilinn must lose a Keeper—or Andrew a wife, Callista a husband. Damon sighed deeply and said, “I know, Leonie,” and they rode in silence toward the great gates of Armida.

  * * *

  Chapter Two

  « ^ »

  From the outer courtyard of Armida, Andrew Carr saw the approaching riders. He summoned grooms and attendants for their horses, then went into the main hall to announce their coming.

  “That will be Damon coming back,” Ellemir said in excitement, and ran out into the courtyard. Andrew followed more slowly, Callista close at his side.

  “It is not only Damon,” she said, and Andrew knew, without asking, that she had used her psi awareness to guess at the identity of the riders. He was used to this now, and it no longer seemed uncanny or frightening.

  She smiled up at him, and once again Andrew was struck by her beauty. He tended to forget it when he was not looking at her. Before he ever set eyes on her, he had come to know her mind and heart, her gentleness, her courage, her quick understanding. He had come to know, and value, her gaiety and wit, even when she was alone, terrified, imprisoned in the darkness of Corresanti.

  But she was beautiful too, very beautiful, a slender, long-limbed young woman, with coppery hair loosely braided down her back, and gray eyes beneath level brows. She said as she walked at his side, “It is Leonie, the leronis of Arilinn. She has come, as I asked.”

  He took her hand lightly in his own, though this was always a risk. He knew she had been trained and disciplined, by methods he could never guess, to avoid the slightest touch. But this time, although her fingers quivered, she let them lie lightly in his, and it seemed that the faint trembling in them was a storm which shook her, inwardly, through her schooled calm. He could just see, faintly, on the slender hands and wrists, a number of tiny scars, like healed cuts or burns. Once he had asked her about them. She had shrugged them away, saying only, “They are old, long healed. They were… aids to memory.” She had not been willing to say more, but he could guess what she meant, and horror shook him again. Could he ever truly know this woman?

  “I thought you were Keeper of Arilinn, Callista,” he asked now.

  “Leonie has been Keeper since before I was born. I was taught by Leonie to take her place one day. I had already begun to work as Keeper. It is for her to release me, if she will.” Again there was the faint shivering, the quickly withdrawn glance. What hold did that terrible old woman have over Callista?

  Andrew watched Ellemir running toward the gate. How like she was to Callista—the same tall slenderness, the same coppery-golden hair, the same gray eyes, dark-lashed, level-browed—but so different, Ellemir, from her twin! With a sadness so deep he did not know it was envy, Andrew watched Ellemir run to Damon, saw him slide from his saddle and catch her up for a hug and a long kiss. Would Callista ever be free enough to run to him that way?

  Callista led him toward Leonie, who had been carefully assisted from her saddle by one of her escorts. Callista’s slim fingers were still resting in his, a gesture of defiance, a deliberate breaking of taboo. He knew she wanted Leonie to see. Damon was presenting Ellemir to the Keeper.

  “You lend us grace, my lady. Welcome to Armida.”

  Andrew watched intently as Leonie put back her hood. Braced for some hideous domineering crone, he was shocked to see that she was only a frail, thin, aging woman, with eyes still dark-lashed and lovely, and the remnants of what must have been remarkable beauty. She did not look stern or formidable, but smiled at Ellemir kindly.

  “You are very like Callista, child. Your sister has taught me to love you; I am glad to know you at last.” Her voice was light and clear, very soft. Then she turned to Callista, holding out her hands in a gesture of greeting.

  “Are you well again, chiya?” It was enough of a surprise that anyone could call the poised Callista “little girl.” Callista let go of Andrew’s hand; her fingertips just brushed Leonie’s.

  “Oh, yes, quite well,” she said, laughing, “but I still sleep like a nursery-child, with a light in my room, so I will not wake to darkness and think myself again in the accursed caverns of the catmen. Are you ashamed of me, kinswoman?”

  Andrew bowed formally. He knew enough of Darkovan manners now not to look at the leronis directly, but he felt Leonie’s gray eyes resting on him. Callista said, with a little thrill of defiance in her voice, “This is Andrew, my promised husband!”

  “Hush, chiya, you have no right to say so yet,” Leonie rebuked. “We will speak of this later; for now I must greet my host.”

  Recalled to her duty as hostess, Ellemir dropped Damon’s hand and conducted Leonie up the steps. Andrew and Callista follo
wed, but when he reached for Callista’s hand she drew it away, not deliberately but with the absent habit of years. He felt she did not even know he was there.

  The Great Hall of Armida was an enormous stone-floored room, furnished in the old manner, with benches built in along the wall, and ancient banners and weapons hung above the great stone fireplace. At one end of the hall was a fixed table. Near this, Dom Esteban Lanart, Lord Alton, was lying on a wheeled bed, flattened against pillows. He was a huge, heavy man, broad-shouldered, with thick, curly red hair liberally salted with gray. As the guests came in he said testily, “Dezi, lad, put me up for my guests,” and a young man seated on one of the benches sprang up, skillfully piled pillows behind his back and lifted the old man to a sitting position. Damon had thought at first that the boy was one of Esteban’s body-servants, then he noticed the strong family resemblance between the old Comyn lord and the youngster who was lifting him.

  He was only a boy, whiplash thin, with curly red hair and eyes more blue than gray, but the features were almost those of Ellemir.

  He looks like Coryn, Damon thought. Coryn had been Dom Esteban’s first son, by a long-dead first wife. Older than Ellemir and Callista by many years, he had been Damon’s sworn friend when they were both in their teens. But Coryn had been dead and buried for many years. And he had not been old enough to leave a son this age—not quite. The boy is an Alton, though, Damon thought. But who is he? I’ve never seen him before!

  Leonie, however, seemed to recognize him at once. “So, Dezi, you have found a place for yourself?”

  The boy said with an ingratiating grin, “Lord Alton sent for me, to come and make myself useful here, my lady.”

  Esteban Lanart said, “Greetings, kinswoman, forgive me that I cannot rise to welcome you to my hall. You lend me grace, Domna.” He caught the direction of Damon’s gaze and said offhandedly, “I’d forgotten you don’t know our Dezi. His name is Desiderio Leynier. He’s supposed to be a nedestro son to one of my cousins, though poor Gwynn died before he could get around to having him legitimated. We had him tested for laran—he was at Arilinn for a season or two—but when I needed someone around me all the time, Ellemir remembered he was home again, and so I sent for him. He’s a good lad.”

  Damon felt shocked. How casually, even brutally, Dom Esteban had spoken, in Dezi’s very presence, of the boy’s bastardy and his poor-relation status! Dezi’s mouth had tightened but he kept his composure, and Damon warmed to him. So young Dezi also knew what it was to find the warmth and closeness of a Tower circle, and then be shut out from it again!

  “Damn it, Dezi, that’s enough pillows, stop fussing,” Esteban commanded. “Well, Leonie, this is no way to welcome you under my roof after so many years, but you must take the will for the deed and consider yourself bowed to, formally welcomed, and all courtesies duly done, as I should indeed do if I could rise from this accursed bed!”

  “I need no courtesies, cousin,” Leonie said, coming closer. “I only regret to find you like this. I had heard you were wounded, but did not know how serious it was.”

  “I didn’t know either. It was a small wound—I’ve had deeper and more painful ones from a fishhook—but small or large, the spine was damaged, and they say I will never walk again.”

  Leonie said, “It is often so with spinal injuries; you are fortunate to have the use of your hands.”

  “Oh, yes, I suppose so. I can sit in a chair, and Damon devised a brace for my back so that I can sit without drooping like a baby too small for his high chair. And Andrew is helping to supervise the estate and the livestock, while Dezi is here to run errands for me. I can still run things from my chair, so I suppose I am fortunate, as you say. But I was a soldier, and now…” He broke off, shrugging. “Damon, my lad, how went your campaign?”

  “There is little to tell, Father-in-law,” Damon said. “Such catmen as are not dead have fled to their forests. A few made a last stand, but they died. Beyond that, nothing.”

  Esteban chuckled wryly. “It is easy to see you are no soldier, Damon! Even though I have reason to know you can fight when you must! Some day, Leonie, it will be told everywhere, how Damon bore my sword into Corresanti against the catmen, linked in mind through the matrix—but another time for that! For now, I suppose if I want details of the campaign and the battles, I will have to ask Eduin; he knows what I want to hear! As for you, Leonie, have you come to bring my foolish girl back to her senses, and take her back to Arilinn where she belongs?”

  “Father!” Callista protested. Leonie smiled faintly.

  “It is not as easy as that, cousin, and I am sure you know it.”

  “Forgive me, kinswoman.” Esteban looked abashed. “I am remiss in hospitality. Ellemir will show you to your rooms— damn the girl, where has she gone to now?” He raised his voice in a shout. “Ellemir!”

  Ellemir came hastily through the door at the back, wiping flour stained hands on a long apron. “The maids called me to help with the pastries, Father—they are young and unskilled. Forgive me, kinswoman.” She dropped her eyes, hiding her floury hands. Leonie said kindly, “Don’t apologize for being a conscientious housekeeper, my girl.”

  Ellemir struggled for composure. She said, “I have had a room made ready for you, my lady, and another for your companion. Dezi will see to the housing of your escort, won’t you, cousin?” Damon noted that Ellemir spoke to Dezi in the familiar mode, that of family intimacy; he had also noticed that Callista did not. Damon said, “We’ll see to it, Ellemir,” and went with Dezi to make the arrangements.

  Ellemir led Leonie and her lady-companion (without whom it would have been scandalous for a woman of Comyn blood to travel so far) up the stairs and through the wide halls of the ancient house. Leonie asked, “Do you manage this great estate all alone, child?”

  “Only in Council season, when I am alone here,” Ellemir said, “and our coridom is old and well experienced.”

  “But you have no responsible woman, no kinswoman nor companion? You are too young to bear such a weight alone, Ellemir!”

  “My father has not complained,” Ellemir said. “I have kept house for him since my older sister was married; I was fifteen then.” She spoke with pride, and Leonie smiled.

  “I was not accusing you of any lack of competence, little cousin. I meant only that you must be very lonely. If Callista does not stay with you, I think you must have some kinswoman or friend come and live here for a time. You are overburdened already, now that your father needs so much care, and how would you manage if Damon made you pregnant at once?”

  Ellemir colored faintly and said, “I had not thought of that…”

  “Well, a bride must think of that, soon or late,” Leonie said. “Perhaps one of Damon’s sisters could come to bear you company—Child, is this my room? I am not used to such luxury!”

  “It was my mother’s suite,” Ellemir said. “There is another room there where your companion can sleep, but I hope you brought your own maidservant, for Callista and I have none to send you. Old Bethiah, who was our nurse when we were little, was killed in the raid when Callista was kidnapped, and we have been too heartsore to put anyone else in her place as yet. There are only kitchen-women and the like on the estate now.”

  “I keep no maidservant,” Leonie said. “In the Tower, the last thing we wish for is the presence of outsiders near to us, as I am sure Damon must have told you.”

  “No, he never speaks of his time in the Tower,” Ellemir answered, and Leonie said, “Well, it is true, we keep no human servants, even if the price is having to look after ourselves. So I will manage very well, child.” She touched the girl’s cheek lightly, a feather-touch in dismissal, and Ellemir went down the stairs, thinking, in surprise, She’s kind: I like her! But many things Leonie had said troubled her. She was beginning to be aware that there were things about Damon she did not know. She had taken it for granted that Callista did not want servants about, and humored her twin sister, but now she realized that Damon’s years in t
he Tower, those years of which he never spoke—and she had learned that it made him unhappy if she asked about them—would always lie like a barricade between her and Damon.

  And Leonie had said, “If Callista does not stay with you.” Was there a question? Could Callista actually be sent back to Arilinn, persuaded against her will that her duty lay there? Or—Ellemir shivered—was it possible that Leonie would refuse to release Callista from the Tower, that Callista would be forced to carry through her threat, desert Armida and even Darkover, and run away with Andrew to the worlds of the Terrans?

  Ellemir wished she had even a flash of the occasional precognition which turned up, now and again, in those of Alton blood, but the future was blank and closed to her. Try as she would to throw her mind forward, she could see nothing but a disquieting picture of Andrew, his face covered with his hands, bent, weeping, his whole body shaken with unendurable grief. Slowly, worried now, she turned toward the kitchen, seeing forgetfulness among her neglected pastries.

  A few minutes later, the lady-companion—a dim and colorless woman named Lauria—came to say, deferentially, that the Lady of Arilinn wished to speak alone with Domna Callista. Reluctantly Callista rose, stretching her fingertips to Andrew. Her eyes were frightened, and he said in a grim undertone, “You don’t have to face her alone if you don’t want to. I won’t have that old woman frightening you! Shall I come and speak my mind to her?”

  Callista moved toward the staircase. Outside the room, in the hall, she turned back to him and said, “No, Andrew, I must face this alone. You cannot help me now.” Andrew wished he could take her in his arms and comfort her. She seemed so small, so fragile, so lost and frightened. But Andrew had learned, painfully and with frustration, that Callista was not to be comforted like that, that he could not even touch her without arousing a whole complex of reactions he did not yet understand, but which seemed to terrify Callista. So he said gently, “Have it your way, love. But don’t let her scare you. Remember, I love you. And if they won’t let us marry here, there’s a whole big world outside Armida. And a hell of a lot of other worlds in the galaxy beside this one, in case you’d forgotten that.”