Thunderlord

by Marion Zimmer Bradley

  “M’lady, forgive me if I don’t bow proper. Me old bones have opinions of their own.”

  “Think nothing of it, Mestra—?”

  “Tarva,” Zefano answered, “the headman’s grandmother.”

  “Well, Mestra Tarva, you are welcome—”

  “Eh, never mind the pretty titles! Yon lummock rousted me from me bed, and I’d like to get back to it as soon as may be. He says there’s a woman needing a healin’ granny?”

  “Yes, this way.” Certain that anyone who talked like that must know what she was about, Alayna led the way to the bedroom. “Thank you, Zefano. Get some rest yourself.”

  Tarva lifted Dimitra’s arm and ran her fingers over it, pausing to test the pulses at the wrist. Then she folded back the comforter and began feeling Dimitra’s abdomen through her shift, pressing here and there. Dimitra moaned and turned her head from side to side. Sweat gleamed on her brow.

  Tarva went on like that for some time, unheeding Dimitra’s increasing signs of distress. Finally, Tarva made a clucking sound and pulled the covers back up. “There, there, me dove. I know it hurts, but I couldna tell the matter without a bit of poking. Rest now. I’ll leave ye be.”

  Tarva prescribed a mixture of herbs to be taken with wine, and Alayna sent the page off with the orders, after listening to the lad recite them back twice to make sure he’d memorized them correctly. He returned in a surprisingly short time, and Tarva coaxed Dimitra to swallow the potion. “Poor dove, she’ll sleep better now. Lady, we must talk.”

  Back in the sitting room, Tarva lowered herself to the divan and faced the two younger women. “Is she kin, this lady?”

  “No,” Alayna answered, “but she is of my household, and as chatelaine of this castle, I am responsible for her.”

  “Well, she’s in a bad way, I’m sorrowed to tell ye, and not likely to get any less so.”

  “You’d best tell me the truth.” Alayna decided it was better to receive bad news on her feet. Perdita stood against the wall by the door, hands clasped together in front of her.

  “’Tis a growth, not a babe, that swells her belly so. Mayhap it arises from her womb or nearby parts. There’s no telling sure. I’ve buried four husbands and as many sons, and birthed more babes than I can count, and in all my years I’ve seen but two cases like this.”

  “A growth? You mean a tumor?” Alayna said. “And it’s bad?”

  “M’lady asked for the truth straight out, and here it is. ’Tis more than bad. ’Tis her death.”

  For a long moment, the words hung in the air. There was no other sound, except for the faint rattle of Dimitra’s snoring from the other side of the bedroom door.

  Dimitra isn’t dead yet. It’s only this woman’s word. None of us can know the will of the gods.

  “There must be something you can do for her,” Alayna said, her voice turning stern. “You’re the midwife of the village, aren’t you? You know how to treat women’s ills.”

  Tarva shook her head, and her words carried genuine regret. “There’s nawt that any medicine I know can do, save to ease her pain.”

  Alayna crossed her arms and began to pace. “Any ordinary medicine, you mean . . .” Her words trailed off as she remembered how her own life had been saved, not by medicine but by the mental powers of the Tower healers. “What about laran?”

  The old midwife’s expression was suddenly guarded. “I know nawt of such things, nor should ye. ’Tis not for the likes of us, that vile sorcery.”

  Alayna paused, momentarily taken aback. “Why do you call it vile?”

  “Ye are young, and new-come to these lands. I remember well how it was when the old lord marched on Aldaran. Lightning rained from the sky, not from any natural storm but from spells and brewings. The land itself broke open and swallowed men up, and those that returned had better died.”

  “Surely you can’t blame every leronis in the Domains for that.”

  “If you say so, m’lady.” Tarva heaved herself to her feet, using her cane for support. “Ye asked, and I have answered. Now, if ye have no more idle chatter, I’ll be on me way to the kitchen to brew up more of the numbing draught. That one,” with a jerk of her chin toward the bedroom, “will be needin’ a quantity of it ’ere long.”

  “Please do,” Alayna replied with stiff dignity. “And thank you for coming.”

  Alayna sent Perdita along, in case Tarva should need anything or slip on the stairs, she didn’t know what. Wrestling her emotions under control, she forced herself to stand still before the hearth, where the warmth of the fire washed over her. She could not send to Thendara for Lady Arielle or any of the other matrix workers at Hali Tower, not at this season. Scathfell had no leronis, but Aldaran, their nearest neighbor, might. Kyria had said that Lady Renata, Edric’s mother, had trained at a Tower. And there was Edric himself, Edric who had reached her in the Overworld when her disembodied spirit wandered there. Edric who had brought her back to the world of the living. I do not know if he or any man—or woman, for that matter—has the power to heal Dimitra, but if I do not ask, she will surely die.

  The problem was going to be the asking. Even if she could get a message to him, would Gwynn permit him to come to Scathfell? And if Gwynn invited him, would Edric place himself in the power of his old enemy for the sake of a woman he did not know?

  Alayna found the men’s parlor deserted, except for the servants sweeping the floor and returning the furniture to its usual arrangement. Not a trace remained of the food and drink. Within the hour, everything would be as if the evening’s concert had never happened. And if Dimitra died, she wondered, would life at Scathfell go on just as if she had never existed?

  Alayna made her way to Gwynn’s quarters. The hour was now so late that he must have retired to his private sitting room. As she approached his door from the hallway, she heard his voice, muted, and then Ruyven’s. Ruyven. Of course. Ever the faithful friend in times of distress.

  Gwynn and Ruyven looked up from where they sat, chairs facing one another on either side of the fireplace. A goblet sat before Ruyven on the little table, undoubtedly wine left over from the evening’s gathering, but Gwynn cradled his in one hand. Ruyven got to his feet and bowed to Alayna, the salute of a high ranking counselor to his lord’s wife. Gwynn remained as he was.

  “My lady,” Ruyven said, “what news? How fares Domna Dimitra?”

  The enormity of what she was about to attempt dampened Alayna’s courage. “She’s not at all well, I’m afraid.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” Gwynn said.

  Taking a seat, Alayna related how Tarva had come from the village at Zefano’s behest. Gwynn’s expression turned grave when Alayna came to the diagnosis. “Tarva has only a midwife’s skill, but she has seen cases like this before. Although she ordered a sleeping draught and can prepare others to ease Dimitra’s pain, she offers nothing in the way of hope.”

  For a long moment, no one spoke. Then Gwynn said, “Dimitra hid her illness so well, and she was so skillful at carrying out her duties, we must not blame ourselves for not having suspected.”

  “Yes, and we were away in Thendara for a long time,” Alayna said. “I never asked if she wanted to come with us. I blame myself for not noticing how ill she was.”

  “You had your own troubles to contend with, my lady,” Ruyven said. “If this disorder, this cancer, is as Tarva describes, then it is entirely possible that no treatment would avail Dimitra.”

  “No ordinary treatment, perhaps,” Alayna said, looking not at Ruyven but at Gwynn. “But there are other methods. If she had come with us to Thendara, she would have had access to the same laran healing that I did. Perhaps Tarva is right, and Dimitra’s cancer is too far advanced to do anything except keep her comfortable as she dies. But I will not admit that there is no hope at all, not when I see in my own mirror the living proof.”

  Gwynn’s eyes
darkened, as if a shadow passed over them. “The healers of Hali Tower are powerful,” he said slowly, “but they are there and we are here. Dimitra could not make the journey in her present condition, not even in high summer. If Jerana were still with us, the situation might be different. We will do what we can for Dimitra in her final days, and next spring, when the passes open again, we will send to a Tower for a replacement for Jerana. Will that satisfy you, my wife?”

  Alayna sat up straighter in her chair. “We have no leronis, it is true. And it is also true that we cannot send to even the closest Tower in time to help Dimitra. But we have a neighbor whose household might well include someone with Tower healing skills.”

  “Near—? You mean Aldaran? I cannot believe he would send aid to us.”

  “When has he offered you anything but friendship?” Alayna asked. “Our wedding gift, his good wishes—his overtures at King Allart’s court? Gods, if his past behavior is an indication, he will outdo himself at the chance to be of service to Scathfell.”

  Gwynn stared at her as if she had sprouted wings. In a quieter voice, she went on, “You have been told the healers at Hali Tower saved my life. That I would have died without their help.”

  “Yes . . .”

  “That is not the whole truth. They tried, but they could not reach me. I had strayed into the Overworld. It was Lord Aldaran who found me there and brought my spirit back to the land of the living.”

  For a long moment, no one said anything.

  “Think of it as a test, my husband,” Alayna urged. “I know you do not trust Lord Aldaran, even with all he has done for us, but we have nothing to lose by asking. If he refuses, then Dimitra will die, just as if we had not asked. Lord Aldaran will have revealed the falsity of his words. But if he acts out of friendship, he may not only save our loyal servant but take an enormous step beyond the old feud. Is that not worth a simple request?”

  “Is this what you truly believe?”

  “It is,” she admitted.

  “And you, Ruyven? What is your counsel in this matter?”

  Ruyven considered for a moment. “Lady Scathfell makes an excellent point. Even so, there are practical matters to consider. Someone would have to go to Aldaran Castle to present the request, and we have no trained Voice. An ordinary messenger cannot be entrusted with so diplomatic a mission. Even more importantly, a journey over such a distance and in weather such as this will take time. Whoever Aldaran sends, assuming he accedes to our request, may need time to prepare and, if it is a leronis, she may not be able to travel at speed. We must consider whether Domna Dimitra will survive long enough for help to arrive.” Here he looked directly at Alayna.

  “I—I cannot say, not being trained in healing.” She glanced at Gwynn, pleading silently with him. If it were me, you would take even a small chance . . . or you would have once. Reading no answer in his eyes, she struggled on. “The midwife said nothing about Dimitra’s passing being imminent. Instead, she mentioned the future need for a pain-numbing draught. Tonight Dimitra sleeps soundly. Let us see if tomorrow brings any improvement. I believe that if there is a chance, we must try. As you said, my husband, Dimitra has been a member of this household for a long time. She may not have always behaved as we might have hoped, but I do not believe she has ever wished me—us—ill. And despite her single lapse,” Alayna concluded, lifting her head high, “she does not deserve a death sentence, not when there is anything we can do to help her.”

  Gwynn set aside his goblet and held out his hands to Alayna. “You are no longer the timid girl who enchanted me at that first ball. You have grown into a lady of honor, a lady who returns service with loyalty and is unafraid to speak her mind.”

  Alayna slipped her hands into his and felt his fingers tighten. If only I could tell you everything. For the present, however, she must content herself with small victories: help for Dimitra and an opening to better relations with her sister’s new family.

  Gwynn gave her hands another squeeze. “Tomorrow we will see, and if the lady is not worse, I shall send to Aldaran.”

  “I will go, vai dom, if you will it,” Ruyven said. He clearly wasn’t happy about travel in the winter—Alayna remembered how he had complained during the journey from Rockraven—but there was no one better suited to such a diplomatic mission, and they all knew it.

  “My old friend!” Gwynn exclaimed. “You never fail me.”

  “I am ever at your service, my lord. And now, I will take my leave and go to my own rest. I may need all my strength for tomorrow.” With a bow, Ruyven left them.

  Alayna felt suddenly so shy, she could not bring herself to look directly at her husband. As long as she did not, she could still hope. She heard the rustle of his garments and felt his warmth on her face, then the brush of his lips on her cheek.

  “Go to bed, my love,” he said in a husky voice. “I’ll join you shortly.”

  29

  Alayna rose slowly from sleep, then more rapidly as she realized she was not in her own bed. Dawn glimmered through draperies but from the wrong direction. The mattress beneath her shifted and a muscular arm clad in winter-weight linex wrapped around her, pulling her close to an equally muscular body. Half afraid that she was dreaming and would awaken alone, she rolled over. Her own nightgown had somehow become rucked up around her waist.

  “Aren’t you glad you stayed?” Gwynn whispered, shifting to nibble on the side of her neck.

  She sighed, for a moment too caught up in the delicious sensation of his lips on her skin to speak. “I thought you joined me in my own bed.”

  “Mmm. I did, as you may recall, but it was too small. You agreed with me at the time.”

  “Ouch! I’m sore from last night.”

  “Sorry. Got a bit carried away.” He sounded happy, if still a bit sleepy.

  Like a newlywed. And I’m no better, I suppose.

  Both of them had responsibilities, and hers would not wait. Much depended on how Dimitra fared this morning.

  “Time for both of us to stir,” Alayna said. “I’ve a patient to check on, and you have an estate to run. And a travel party to get together, assuming the best. Up with you! Ruyven will not appreciate a late start due to his lord suddenly turning into an indolent sleepy-head.”

  “Here’s a fine thing, you schooling me on a lord’s responsibility.”

  Alayna kissed him on the nose to prove she had not become entirely stuffy, then flipped the comforter back. She paused at the door leading to her own bedroom. He was already sitting up and reaching for the trousers he’d left on the floor.

  “Will you break your fast with me?” she asked.

  “I’ll join you for jaco in an hour, nothing more.”

  Alayna attended to her morning needs, then pulled on her old green tunic and underskirt, and soft indoor boots. Just as she emerged into her sitting room, Sadhi entered through the outer door, carrying a tray with the usual pitcher and basket of freshly baked nut rolls.

  “Just jaco for now,” Alayna said, pouring a mug and sweetening it to her taste. “I’ll want more, and a couple of meat pastries and some soft-cooked eggs as well, in a couple of hours. This will hold me for the time being.”

  “Vai domna?”

  “Yes, Sadhi?”

  “We’re all praying to Evanda for Domna Dimitra’s recovery.”

  It had not occurred to Alayna that the servants might be worried, especially those under Dimitra’s supervision. “That’s very good of you. When she is better, I will convey your well wishes to her.”

  Alayna made her way to Dimitra’s chamber without a single wrong turn. Scathfell Castle, with its twists and turns and ancient architecture, had imprinted itself on her bones. Dimitra was still sleeping, although a fire had been lit, and a platter of cheese and sliced apples sat on her bedside table, proof that one of the maids had been here. Someone had put a cap trimmed with a narrow band of lac
e on her head and tucked the comforters around her body, snug under her chin.

  Alayna tiptoed closer and inspected the pitcher: water, not jaco, but with a pleasantly medicinal, herbal aroma. Dimitra’s breathing seemed easier than it had the night before, and regular. Her color looked better, too. Alayna watched for a time before placing one hand gently on the older woman’s shoulder.

  “Dimitra, I’m sorry to wake you, but I need to speak with you.”

  Eyelids fluttered open. For a moment, Dimitra looked confused, her gaze unfocused. Then her eyes steadied on Alayna. “Vai domna!” Hands pulled at bedding. “Your pardon for this unseemly sloth. You should not have to—I should have been about my duties—”

  “No, you must not get up, not yet.” Alayna gently pushed Dimitra back against the pillows. “You were taken ill last night—do you remember?”

  “Please, it is not my lady’s responsibility to care for—”

  “Nonsense. It is exactly my responsibility to personally ensure the well-being of the women in this household,” Alayna interrupted. “Especially one who has cared for me, one who faithfully continued her duties even when her own health failed.”

  Dimitra flushed. “So you know.”

  “After you fainted last night? Did you think I would let such a thing happen and not learn the reason? We sent for the midwife from the village. Dimitra, do you understand what is wrong with you?” Alayna captured the older woman’s gaze and would not look away.

  “I have suspected for a time. What could I do? I know perfectly well there are no herbs for something like this, and I have never been one to put my faith in superstitions. All that was left to me was to continue my life as I have lived it, executing the tasks given to me for as long as I could, and once my strength failed and the pain took hold, to pray for a speedy end.”