"When did this happen?"
"This spring. They told everyone she had left suddenly, but I knew that she was dead in the garden." She began to sob in earnest, and Liriel, rubbing sleep from reddened eyes, reached out to comfort the younger Elhalyn girl.
Mikhail was stunned now. He did not doubt Val's tale, for it was all too consistent with the general madness of Halyn House. He was lucky, he realized, that he had not come to a similar fate, remembering the way his mind had clouded when he was at the quintain. It would have seemed an unfortunate accident, and no one would have suspected anything.
With or without her bit of crystal, Emelda was clearly a dangerous person. But for all practical purposes he was the law here and could dispose of her as he chose. Mikhail had never been in such a position before, and found he did not like it at all. The power of life and death did not rest easily on his shoulders, and he knew that he would never be suited to that responsibility.
Duncan, who had slept in the kitchen, appeared, his lined hands trembling. He seemed to have aged a decade during the night. But he drew himself up, and looked at Mikhail. "You take the children away, and I will take care of the domna."
"The domna is dead, Duncan," Mikhail answered.
"I know that. It is the kindest thing for her. I will dig her a grave before the ground is too hard, and put her to rest. I put her on her first pony, and her father before her. I owe her . . ." His voice trailed off for a second. "She was not always so. Once she was a fine woman."
"But you -cannot remain here, you and the nurses and Ian."
"Oh, we'll manage. We can always go to the village." He looked at the children, who were white-faced, and exhausted, and shook his head. "Take them away from here, vai dom."
"I intend to." He hesitated for a moment, then asked, "Duncan, do you know what the Guardian is?"
The old retainer frowned. "It's the father of them girls, it is." He gestured one gnarled hand at Mira and Val. "I think it is, anyhows." He seemed reluctant to continue.
That explains a great deal, Mik. A chieri—a very old one I suspect. The Ghost Wind must have . . .
Yes, it does, Liriel. But how did she ever convince herself that it would make her immortal?
At the risk of seeming prejudiced, I will only say that she was Elhalyn to the bone, dear brother. And we will never know the entire story—a shame, really.
You are right. But at least part of the mystery is solved, and now we can leave the poor old thing in peace and quiet.
The rest of the early morning was- spent in preparing for the journey. Clothes were gathered, and blankets as well. They ate a hasty meal of unhoneyed and creamless porridge in silence. Afterward, the Guardsmen began loading the carriage. The children were tense with apprehension, even Vincent, and Mikhail was uncertain what he ought to say to them. They seemed to understand that their mother was gone, but there was no emotional reaction he could discover, unless it was relief. He would deal with it later, he decided.
It was a chaotic morning, after a frightening and tiring night, and his nerves were strung to the breaking point. Only Mikhail's great sense of responsibility kept him from snapping at the men, at Liriel, or from doing violence to Emelda. He had never wanted to injure another person; his seething rage startled him, and disturbed him more than a little.
What should I do about Emelda, Liri?
That's a good question, and one that I don't have a ready answer for. If we leave her here, she will likely find some further mischief to get into, and I don't fancy a trip back to Thendara with her.
Quite! And what should we do with that crystal of hers? I dislike the idea of leaving a trap-matrix just lying around. Even if the fire neutralized it, I suspect it could be used again.
Hmm, yes. My brain feels full of lead this morning, brother. And my eyes itch! I think the starstone must be
destroyed, first of all. A hammer on the anvil should be good enough.
But what will that do to Emelda?
Smash the stone! If she dies, she dies!
Liriel!
I lack the patience to worry about anyone except the children. I monitored them last night and they appeared well enough, considering. But this morning Vincent is showing signs of a head injury—from banging his noggin against the wall, most likely—and there is nothing I can do about it! It could be a mild concussion, or something much more serious. And Alain . . . is gone.
Gone? He looks all right to me.
Oh, his body is fine, but I think when his mother died, he nearly died, too. His mind was very fragile to start with. I believe that it was destroyed when ...
Mikhail was overwhelmed with a fresh rush of feeling. He felt the leaden weight of responsibility for the sudden death of Priscilla Elhalyn, for Alain's ruined mind. The sense of failure he had managed to repress during their morning's preparations returned, and he felt as if he were fighting with that part of himself that knew how worthless he truly was. He struggled to silence the voice of that other Mikhail, wondering how he was going to explain the death of Priscilla to Regis Hastur. If only he could banish his shadow self—but it refused to be dislodged. Mikhail felt trapped in a dark cave of fear and disgust at his own shortcomings.
The mire of misery within him lasted for several minutes. Then, summoning all his willpower, he pulled himself together, used the fire tongs to remove the shining crystal from where it sat among the ashes, and stomped out through the kitchen, toward the stables.
The sky was clear, but he could see thick clouds toward the north. Weatherwise as he was, he hoped the storm would hold off for the rest of the day, and perhaps into the next. The snow from the previous storm was marred by the boots of the men, churned and soiled; this evidence of people other than himself was immensely heartening. The air smelled clean after the smoky atmosphere of the house, and the cold of it chilled his face. He stopped and
drew deep breaths, letting the cold 'air brace him. It felt good.
As he approached the hedge which separated the garden from the way to the stable, he saw the great sea crow regarding him with a bright eye. It lifted its wings, so the white of the edges flashed in the pale sunlight, then gave a deep caw.
"I wish I had been able to understand you," Mikhail told the bird, feeling mildly embarrassed to be speaking to it. The crow withdrew its wings and hunched them back against its body, so it appeared to shrug. It seemed to be saying, "You did the best you could."
It was such a human gesture that Mikhail laughed, the sound startling in the stillness of the morning. It felt good to laugh, and the crow did not appear to mind. Then it flew away, and he continued on his way to the stables.
The stables smelled of manure and straw, and the warm scent of horses. He could hear the voices of the men nearby, and the welcoming neigh of Charger. It was all reassuringly ordinary. Things like ancient chieri and trap-matrices belonged to the night, not the day. His way was clear at last. And as curious as he was to discover more about the being that lived at the springs, Mikhail had no wish to disturb it further.
He was glad that he had the children to look after. It was almost miraculous that they had survived. He was grateful that they had come through that dreadful night alive. And once he broke the matrix dangling from .his fingers, Emelda would be no more trouble.
He walked toward the anvil which stood at the far end of the stable. His horse nickered as he passed by, a disappointed noise. "I'll see to you soon, I promise," he told the big bay.
Mikhail placed the shining stone on the dark iron of the anvil, and picked up a medium hammer that was nearby. Even in the dimness of the stable it shone with its own light, clear evidence that while the fire might have cleansed it, it was still potent. He could smell the forge, where the horseshoes were made, a pleasant, ashy odor. He hefted the hammer, then paused. He was reluctant to complete his task. Choices were easy, he thought, but consequences were not. And hadn't he made a royal mess of things, without
adding to it by possibly killing that miserabl
e little woman who remained bound and gagged in the dining room.
It was not that he had never killed before, for he had hunted bandits in the hills above Ardais with young Dyan. But those were men, and dangerous ones at that. This was different, not because Emelda was a woman, though that feature bothered him more than a little. Mikhail had been taught to treat matrix stones with respect, and he had never considered destroying one before. Then he remembered what he knew of the Sharra Rebellion, and how that ancient matrix had nearly destroyed Darkover, and decisively brought his arm up, then down, hard.
The hammer struck the gleaming stone, and it shattered into several small shards. Mikhail smashed these into dust, feeling a rush of liberty, as if he were at last free of something which had held him in check. Then he swept the twinkling bits into the ashes of the forge, and stirred them in. As he put the hammer back on the wall, where it belonged, he felt released from his waking dream. He was once again Mikhail Hastur, and had duties to attend to.
Everything was ready by midmorning. Mikhail, mounted on Charger, turned back in his saddle for one last look at Halyn House. Already it looked sad and deserted, although Duncan and the rest of Priscilla Elhalyn's servants were still within. There was a faint wisp of smoke rising from the kitchen chimney. He was not sorry to be seeing the last of the place, but he wished that things could have turned out less tragically. Priscilla Elhalyn was dead, and Emelda, while she still breathed, was no longer any danger to anyone. Destroying the stone had left her witless, as mindless as poor young Alain Elhalyn seemed to be. He could only hope that the healers at Arilinn could do something for the boy. Mikhail had considered dragging the soothsayer back to Thendara, but the carriage was crammed already, and he did not really think his resources could be stretched any further. Good servant that he was, Duncan would probably look after her for as long as she remained alive. And Regis would certainly send people there to attend to matters.
Mikhail turned back and signaled the driver to start out. At that moment he heard a rush of wings, and the great crow flew toward him, cawing noisily. "Have you come to
say good-bye to us?" he called. He ignored the surprised looks from Tomas and Will, and the grin he got from Daryll and Mathias. They thought the bird was a fine jest.
Then the sea crow alighted on the top of the carriage, settling its great talons into a bundle of baggage. It moved its feet back and forth, as if seeking a firm purchase, muttering to itself in crow, lifting a wing. When it had arranged itself to its satisfaction, it gave Mikhail a serene look from its red eyes.
"I think it likes you, dom," Daryll announced, barely holding back a fit of laughter.
Mikhail sighed a little, then chuckled. "I am afraid you are right, and I hope you will enjoy cleaning the droppings off the baggage when we halt for the night, Daryll."
The irrepressible Guardsman grinned. "To be sure, my lord. Cleaning off bird dropping is one of my favorite jobs."
The weather held through the first day of the journey back, and they made decent time, in spite of conditions on the road and the slowness of the heavily loaded carriage. Liriel rode inside with the children, and Mikhail and the men accompanied them on horseback. The crow showed no inclination to abandon them either, but rode on the top of the carriage or flew ahead, seeming to inform them of various points of interest along the way.
They stopped for the night at an inn about fifteen miles from Halyn House. It felt wonderful to get off the horse, to warm hands before a good fireplace, to smell roasting meat and the slightly yeasty scent of the landlord's brew which floated in the smoky air. Mikhail was glad of a tankard of the stuff, a dark, rich beer, for there had been nothing at Halyn House but some .bad wine.
They fell to with good appetite. Mikhail watched with some astonishment as Miralys disjointed a roasted chicken with her dainty hands, consumed both breasts and one leg, then belched with satisfaction as she wiped her mouth on her now greasy napkin. Her pale skin gleamed in the flickering light from the fireplace, and two spots of soft pink glowed along her slender cheeks. Her sister was no less eager in her eating, and Emun, who usually picked at his food, consumed a goodly portion. Daryll, as he had done so often before, fed Alain soup, looking at the boy with sad eyes.
Vincent, normally a hearty trencherman, picked at his food and almost fell asleep in his chair. He had been quiet during the journey, unlike the blustering youth he had been a day before. The lad kept rubbing his brow along the left temple, as if he had a headache. His sudden biddability concerned Mikhail, and he almost wished for the return of the bragging lad who bellowed at everything. Mikhail hoped that Vincent was merely quiet from a headache, and not something more serious. If only they had a proper healer, for though both he and Liriel could do small things, neither of them had that particular gift. And there was no healer in the neighborhood.
Everyone retired early except Mikhail. Liriel took the girls with her, to her chamber, and Daryll carried Alain up the narrow stairs, with Emun and Vincent trailing behind him like ducks. Mathias looked at Mikhail, as he sat before the fireplace, his legs stretched out, and a tankard in his hand, started to speak, then shrugged. He took up a position at the door of the common room and settled himself to wait.
Mikhail sat and sipped his beer. He felt alone—:alone and dismal. He wished there were someone he could talk to, but his sister was asleep, and she needed her rest. He did, too. His eyes itched with fatigue. But he could not rest. How was he going to explain to Regis the mess he had made of things?
The inn grew still, and the fire fluttered around the logs in the fireplace. He could hear the faint sighing of the wind outside. It might rise during the night and make the rest of the trip more difficult. He felt mildly blessed that this first day had been so reasonable. Finding something to feel hopeful about made him feel slightly less terrible, and he sipped at his beer.
He savored his weariness, letting the beer relax his aching muscles. He was keyed up still, too restless to sleep yet, though his body yearned for its release. Finally, he drew his matrix from around his throat, removed the silken coverings, and directed his mind toward the one person he thought might understand his turmoil.
Marguerida, beloved!
Mik, darling! How lovely! But I can barely make you out. These hangings that Istvana put in my room are fine for
protecting me from too much matrix energy, but they play
hell with telepathy. I'll go down to the parlor—just a
moment. ' ·
She sounded cheerful and happy, as he had not heard her sound in all her time at Arilinn. Some coil of tension in his chest unwound. He had not even known it existed until it left his body.
Here I am again! How are things at Halyn House? Are the Elhellions still waking you up at night?
We left Halyn House this morning, chiya. Priscilla Elhalyn is dead, and I am taking the children back to Thendara.
What happened?
It is a long story, and a sad one. Mikhail began to tell her everything, not sparing himself. He could sense her presence, could almost picture her intense concentration as she listened. So I failed to protect the children from . . . whatever the Guardian was, from their mother, or from that wretched Emelda. Alain Elhalyn is as close to witless as makes no difference, and both Liriel and I are worried about Vincent. I can only hope he has nothing more dangerous than a mild concussion. I made a complete mess of everything and ...
Mik, don't be such an ass!
The tart words were like a bucket of icy water poured into his mind, bracing and chilling at the same time. He was almost too stunned to reply. What do you mean?
I mean you did the best you could in an impossible situation, and the only thing you didn 't do was get help sooner. And now, at least, I understand why you seemed so peculiar.
Peculiar?
Unfocused and sort of evasive. I was starting to imagine all sorts of foolish things.
Such as?
Well, Emelda was a woman. ...
Margu
erida, there is no one but you for me.
Good! Now stop blaming yourself. Let my father do that. He does enough to himself for all of-us, and he has had a lot more practice!
I'll be sure to tell him that when I next encounter him. I am certain he will be delighted.
I've told him myself a few times, and so has Javanne! Listen, you are tired, and everything seems worse when you
are exhausted. Get some sleep. You'll have several days on the road, and you need all your strength for that. You can beat yourself over the head some other time!
How practical you are, my beloved. I suppose you are right.
And it almost kills you to admit it!
I can't fool you for a moment, can I?
Mikhail Hastur, you are a wonderful man, even when you are behaving like a goose.
I haven't told you about the crow.
The what?
He had the satisfaction of surprising her, and it felt delightful. When I arrived at Halyn House, there was a large sea crow that kept watching me. Every time I left the house, there it was—watching me like a hawk.
Good trick—a crow acting like a falcon.
Hush, or I won't tell you the tale. There were quite a lot of crows at Halyn House of the ordinary variety. I got used to the sound of their feet on the roof every morning. But this one was different. It seemed to take a great interest in me, and, when I was tilting at the quintain, it saved my life, or at least kept the damn thing from knocking me into the next week. My men think the animal is a fine joke. When we left, the beast just climbed onto the top of the carriage and came along for the ride. It is the most peculiar thing.