The Forbidden Circle

by Marion Zimmer Bradley

  Lorill Hastur said, “Do you solemnly declare that to the best of your knowledge you are fit to assume this responsibility? Is there any man who will challenge your right to this solemn wardship of the people of your Domain, the people of all the Domains, the people of all Darkover?”

  Kneeling, Damon thought, Who would be truly fit for such a responsibility? Not I, Aldones, Lord of Light, not I! Yet I will do the best I can, I swear it before all the Gods. For Valdir, for Ellemir and her child.

  He said aloud, “I will abide the challenge.”

  Danvan Hastur, commander of the Honor Guard for the Council, strode to the center of the room, where Damon still knelt, the rainbow light playing over his face. Sword in hand, he called in a loud voice, “Is there any to challenge the wardship of Damon Ridenow-Alton, Regent of Alton?”

  Into the silence a young voice said, “I challenge.” Damon, startled, feeling Andrew’s consternation even from where he sat at the very back of the Alton seats, raised his head to see Dezi step forward, take the sword from Lorill’s hand.

  “On what grounds?” Lorill inquired. “And by what right? You are not known to me, young man.”

  Dom Esteban looked at Dezi in dismay. His voice trembled. “Do you not trust me, Dezi, my son?”

  Dezi ignored the words and the tenderness in them. “I am Desiderio Leynier, nedestro son of Gwennis Leynier by Esteban Lanart-Alton, as the only surviving grown son of the lord of the Domain, I claim the right to act as guardian to my brother and the unborn son of my sister.”

  Lorill said sternly, “We have no records of any acknowledged nedestro sons of Esteban Lanart-Alton save for the two sons of Larissa d’Asturien, who are without laran and thus by law excluded from this Council. May I ask why you were never acknowledged?”

  “As for that,” said Dezi, with a smile that barely escaped insolence, “you must ask my father. But I call the Lady of Arilinn to witness that I am Alton, and bear the gift of the Domain in full measure”

  At Lorill’s question, Leonie rose, her frown showing her distaste for this proceeding. “It is none of my affair to designate heirships in Comyn, yet since I have been called to witness, I must state that Desiderio speaks truth: he is son to Esteban Lanart and bears the Alton gift.”

  Esteban said heavily, “I am ready and willing to acknowledge Dezi as my son if this Council will have it so; I brought him here for that purpose. But I do not feel him the most appropriate Guardian for my young son or my unborn grandson. Damon is a man of mature years, Dezi but a youth. I ask Dezi to withdraw the challenge.”

  “With all respect, Father,” Dezi said deferentially, “I cannot.”

  Damon, kneeling, wondered, what would happen now. Traditionally the challenge could be settled by combat, a formal duel, or one challenger could withdraw, or either one could present evidence to be examined by Council, purporting to prove that the other was unfit. Lorill was explaining this.

  “Have you reason to think Damon unfit, Desiderio Leynier, nedestro of Alton?”

  “I have.” Dezi’s voice was shrill. “I submit that Damon attempted to murder me, to make his own claim more secure. He knew me Esteban’s son, while he was but son-in-law to Alton, and therefore he stripped me of my matrix. It was only my own skill at laran which kept him from blood-guilt on a brother-by-marriage.”

  Oh, my God, thought Andrew, feeling the breath catch in his throat. That bastard, that Goddamned stinking young bastard. Who but Dezi could cook up something like this?

  Lorill Hastur said, “That is an extremely serious accusation, Damon. You have honorably served the Comyn for many years. We need not even listen to it, if you can give us some explanation.”

  Damon swallowed and looked up, conscious of the eyes of all of them on his face. He said steadily, “I was sworn to Arilinn; I took oath there to prevent misuse of any matrix. I took it from Dezi under that oath, for he had misused laran by forcing his will upon my sister’s husband, Ann’dra.”

  “True,” Dezi said defiantly without waiting for the challenge. “My sister Callista is besotted by this come-by-chance from nowhere, a Terranan. I sought only to get rid of this fellow from nowhere who has cast such an evil spell on her, so that she may make a marriage worthy of a Comyn lady, not disgrace herself in the bed of a Terranan spy.”

  General uproar. Damon sprang to his feet, enraged, but Dezi stood facing him, defiant, slightly mocking. It seemed that everyone in the Crystal Chamber was talking, shouting, questioning at once. Lorill Hastur again and again vainly commanded silence.

  When some semblance of order was restored he said, looking grave, “We must inquire into this matter privately. Very serious charges and counter-charges have been laid. For now, I bid you to disperse, and not to discuss this matter among yourselves. Gossip will not better it. Beware of careless fire in the forest; beware of careless talk even among the wise. But be assured, we will look into the rights and wrongs of this matter, and present it for your judgment within three days from now.”

  Slowly the room emptied. Esteban deathly pale, looked sadly at Damon and Dezi. He said, “When brothers are at odds, strangers step in to widen the gap. Dezi, how can you do this?”

  Dezi set his jaw. He said, “Father, I live only to serve you. Do you doubt me?” He looked at Ellemir, clinging to Damon’s arm, then said to Callista, “Some day you will thank me, my sister.”

  “Sister!” Callista looked Dezi full in the eyes, then, deliberately, she spat in his face and turned away. Laying her fingertips on Andrew’s arm, she said clearly, “Take me out of here, my husband. The place stinks of treachery.”

  “Daughter—” Dom Esteban pleaded, but Callista turned her back and Andrew had no choice but to follow. But his heart was pounding, and his thoughts seemed to echo the troubled rhythm: What now?

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  In their own rooms, Callista turned to Andrew, saying vehemently, “He killed Domenic! I do not know how he managed it, but I am sure of it!”

  “There is only one way it could have been done,” Damon said, “and I am afraid to believe he was that strong!”

  Ellemir asked, “Could he have forced Cathal’s mind, made him strike Domenic at a vulnerable spot? He has the Alton gift and can force rapport . . .” But she sounded hesitant, and Callista shook her head.

  “Not without killing Cathal, or inflicting so much brain damage that Cathal’s very condition would tell the tale.”

  Damon’s face was bleak and unreadable. “Dezi has the talent to do a Keeper’s work,” he said, “we all saw that when I took his matrix from him. He can handle or modify another’s stone, adapt it to his own resonances. I think, left alone with Domenic, injured, but alive, he could not resist the temptation to have one in his hands again. And when he took Domenic’s from his throat”—he flinched, and Andrew saw that his hands were shaking—“Domenic’s heart stopped with the shock. A perfect, undetectable murder, since there was no known Keeper there, and most people did not know Domenic even possessed a matrix. And it would explain why Dezi is barricaded from me.”

  Callista’s voice shook. “Among telepaths he must go barricaded till the day of his death, a dreadful fate indeed!”

  Ellemir said savagely, “Not half so dreadful as the death he gave Domenic!”

  “It is worse than you realize,” Damon said in a low voice. “Do you think, now that he knows his power, that Valdir is safe? How long will he spare Valdir, now that only Valdir lies between him and the heritage of Alton? And when he has Dom Esteban’s ear and perfect trust, who else lies between him and the lordship of the Domain?”

  Ellemir turned white, her hands going to her body as if to shield the child who cradled there. “I told you you should have killed him,” she said, beginning to cry. Callista looked at Ellemir in consternation.

  “It would be all too simple, a few fragile blood vessels to sever, and the unborn child bleeds to death, his link to life gone.”

  “Don’t!” Ellemir cried.

  “Why do you
think we are so careful, in teaching psi monitors?” Callista asked. “Women in the Towers are careful not to get pregnant during their term of work, but it does happen, of course. And Dezi learned there to monitor—Avarra’s mercy, it was I who taught him! And learning the vulnerable spots, learning how not to damage mother or child, makes it easy to learn to violate them.”

  “I wouldn’t put it past him,” Andrew said, speaking for the first time, “but I wouldn’t hang a dog without more proof than we have here. Will there ever be any way to prove it?” Even if Dezi had killed Domenic by taking the matrix from the stunned and unconscious boy, he had only to fling away a bit of dead crystal.

  Damon’s face was set. “I believe Dezi’s own weakness will expose him. True, he could have disposed of the proof, but I do not believe he could give up that kind of power. Would he be able to resist the temptation to have one again in his own hands? Not if I know our Dezi. And he could modify the stone to his use, which means there is still a witness against him. Silent. But a witness.”

  “Fine,” said Andrew sarcastically. “We have only to go to him and say hand over the matrix you killed Domenic to get, like a good boy.”

  Damon’s hand clutched his own matrix as if for reassurance. “If he is carrying a modified matrix the relay screens in Arilinn and the other Towers will show it.”

  “Fine,” Andrew said again. “How far is Arilinn from here? A tenday’s ride, or more?”

  “It is simpler than that,” Callista told him. “There are relay screens here in the Old Tower of Comyn Castle. In time past, so they say, technicians could teleport themselves between Towers by use of the great screens. It isn’t done much anymore. But there are also monitor screens, attuned to those in the other Towers. Any mechanic can link into those and trace any licensed matrix on Darkover.” She hesitated. “I cannot . . . I have given back my oath.”

  Damon was impatient with this technicality. Such a loss to the Towers, such a loss to Callista, but whatever Keeper or mechanic was now in charge of the Old Tower, she would observe the prohibition, and there was nothing to be done.

  “Who keeps the Old Tower, Callista? I cannot believe that the Mother Ashara would receive us on such an errand.”

  “No one within living memory has seen Ashara outside the Tower,” Callista said. “I think she could no longer leave it if she would, she is so old. I myself have never seen her, except in the screens, nor, I think, has even Leonie. But when last I heard, Margwenn Elhalyn was her under-Keeper; she will tell you what you want to know.”

  “Margwenn was psi monitor at Arilinn when I was Third there,” Damon said. “She went from us to Hali; I did not know she had come here.” Technicians, mechanics, monitors were moved from Tower to Tower, as the need was greatest. If Margwenn Elhalyn was not precisely an old friend, at least she knew who he was and it saved lengthy explanations about what he wanted.

  He had never been inside the Old Tower of Comyn Castle. Margwenn admitted him to the matrix chamber, a place of ancient screens and lattices, machinery whose very existence had been forgotten since the Ages of Chaos. Damon, his errand forgotten for a moment, stared at it in avid curiosity. Why had all this technology, the ancient science of Darkover, been allowed to sink into obscurity? Even at Arilinn he had not learned to use all these things. True, there were too few technicians and mechanics even to staff the relays which provided communications and generated essential energy for certain technologies, but even if matrix workers were no longer willing, in these self-indulgent days, to give up their lives and live guarded behind walls, surely some of these things could be done outside!

  Strange heretical thoughts to be thinking in the very center of the ancient science. When their forefathers forbade that very thing, they must have had their reasons!

  Margwenn Elhalyn was a slim fair-haired woman of unguessable age, though Damon thought she was a little older than he was himself. She had the cold with- drawnness, the almost hieratic decorum, of all Keepers. “The Mother Ashara cannot see you, her mind sojourns elsewhere much of the time in these days. How may I serve you, Damon?”

  Damon hesitated, unwilling to explain his errand and charge Dezi, without proof, of what he suspected. Margwenn had not attended the Council, though she had every right to do so. Many technicians were not interested in politics. Damon had once felt that way himself, that his work was above such base considerations. Now he was not so sure.

  Finally he said, “Some confusion has arisen about the whereabouts of certain matrices in the hands of the Alton clan, legitimately issued, but their fate uncertain. Are you familiar with Dezi Leynier, who was admitted to Arilinn for something under a year, some time ago?”

  “Dezi?” she said without interest. “Some bastard of Lord Alton’s, wasn’t he? Yes, I remember. He was dismissed because he could not keep discipline, I heard.” She went to the monitor screen, standing motionless before the glassy surface. After a little time lights began to wink, deep inside it, and Damon, watching her face without attempting to follow her in thought, knew she was linked into the relay to Arilinn. Finally she said, “Evidently he has given up his matrix. It is in the hands of a Keeper, not inactivated, but at a very low level.”

  In the hands of a Keeper. Damon, who had himself lowered its level and put it into a locked and sealed box, metal-bound and tamperproof, understood that perfectly well.

  Hands of a Keeper. But any competent technician could do a Keeper’s work. Why should it be surrounded with taboo, ritual, superstitious reverence? Concealing his thoughts from Margwenn, he said, “Now can you check what has become of the matrix of Domenic Lanart?”

  “I will try,” she said, “but I thought he was dead. His matrix would have died with him, probably.”

  “I had thought so too,” Damon said, “but it was not found on his body. Is it possible that it is also in the hands of a Keeper?”

  Margwenn shrugged. “That seems unlikely, although I suppose, knowing Domenic unlikely to use laran, she might have reclaimed it and modified it to another’s use, or to her own. Although most Keepers prefer to begin with a blank crystal. Where was he tested? Not at Arilinn, surely.”

  “Neskaya, I think.”

  Margwenn raised her eyebrows as she went to the screen. It took no telepathic subtlety to follow her thought: At Neskaya they are likely to do anything. At last Margwenn turned and said, “Your guess is right, it is in the hands of a Keeper, though it is not in Neskaya. It must have been modified and given to another. It did not die with Domenic, but is fully operative.”

  And there it was, Damon thought, his heart sinking. A small thing for positive proof of a cold-blooded, fiendish murder.

  Not premeditated. There was that small comfort. No one alive could have foreseen that Cathal would strike Domenic unconscious as they practiced. But a sudden temptation . . . and Domenic’s matrix survived him, to point unerringly to the one person who could have taken it from his body without himself being killed by it.

  Gods above, what a waste! Had Dom Esteban been able to overcome his pride, admit to the somewhat shameful circumstances of Dezi’s begetting, had he been willing to acknowledge this gifted youngster, Dezi would never have come to this.

  Damon thought, with wrenching empathy that the temptation must have been sudden, and irresistible. For a trained telepath being without a matrix was like being deaf, blind, mutilated, and the sight of the unconscious Domenic had spurred him on to murder. Murder of the one brother who had championed his right to be called brother, who had been his patron and friend.

  “Damon, what ails you?” Margwenn was staring at him in amazement. “Are you ill, kinsman?”

  He made some civil excuse, thanked her for her help, and went away. She would know soon enough. Zandru’s hells, there would be no way to hide this! All the Comyn would soon know, and everyone in Thendara! What scandal for the Altons!

  Back in their rooms, his drawn face told Ellemir the truth at once. “It’s true, then. Merciful Avarra, what will this do to ou
r father? He loved Dezi. Domenic loved him too.”

  “I wish I could spare him the knowledge,” Damon said wretchedly. “You know why I cannot, Elli.”

  Callista said, “When Father knows the truth, there will be another murder, that is sure!”

  “He loves the boy, he spared him before,” Andrew protested. Callista pressed her lips tightly together.

  “True. But when I was a little girl Father had a favorite hound. He had reared it by hand from a puppy and it slept on his bed at night, and lay at his feet in the Great Hall. When it grew to be an old dog, however, it became vicious. It took to killing animals in the yards, and once it bit Dorian and drew blood. The coridom said it must be destroyed, but he knew how Father loved the old dog, and offered to have it quietly made away with. But Father said, ‘No, this is my affair.’ He went out into the stables, called the brute to him, and when it came he broke its neck with his own hands.” She was silent, thinking of how her Father had cried afterward, the only time she ever saw him weep, except when Coryn died.

  But he did not ever shrink from doing what he must.

  Damon knew she was right. He might have preferred to spare his father-in-law, but Esteban Lanart was Lord Alton, with wardship, even to life and death, over every man, woman, and child in the Alton Domains. He had never dealt out justice unfairly, but he had never failed to deal it out.

  “Come,” he said to Andrew, “we must lay it before him.” But when Callista rose to follow them, he shook his head.

  “Breda, this is an affair for men.”

  She turned pale with anger. “You dare speak so to me, Damon? Domenic was my brother, so is Dezi. I am an Alton!”

  “And I,” said Ellemir, “and my child is next heir after Valdir!”

  As they turned to the door, Damon found a snatch of song running in his head, incongruous, with a sweet, mournful memory. After a moment he identified it as the song Callista had begun to sing, and had been rebuked: