The Shadow Matrix

  While Danilo poured them each a goblet of firewine, Mikhail leaned back in his chair and stretched out his long legs. He looked at the worn brown curtains that hung before the window, at the carpet whose pattern was almost indistinguishable now, and at the single decoration in the room, a portrait of Lady Linnea done some twenty years

  before. She had a few more wrinkles around her blue eyes these days, and her face had become heavier. She had been a very pretty girl, and now she was a grown woman, but the eyes of that young girl remained with her.

  Mikhail forced himself to relax, refusing to begin the conversation. He had spent much of the journey planning what he would say to his uncle, scenarios that ranged from furious to cold, but now, faced with the actuality, they all vanished from his mind. He noticed Danilo observing him with barely concealed amusement, as if he knew it was a waiting game, and wanted to see who would be the first to speak. They smiled at one another as the paxman offered him a goblet.

  After perhaps five minutes of silence, Regis, always a little restless, began to look uncomfortable. He fidgeted with his glass, shifted in the high-backed chair, and looked around the room, as if hoping to find some topic to begin with. "I am glad you are back," he said at last.

  Mikhail found he was determined not to give an inch. "And I am glad to be here. After the trials of Halyn House, this seems like heaven to me."

  "I did you an ill service, sending you there with so little support. But I did not really understand the situation—I still don't."

  "Priscilla Elhalyn was hardly going to tell you she was in the power of a hedge-witch."

  "Tell me about her—what was her name—Esmerelda?"

  "Emelda, and she claimed to be an Aldaran. I almost asked Dom Damon if he knew of her, but good sense prevailed." From the look on his uncle's face, Mikhail was glad he had restrained his lively curiosity. "Liriel says that she came to Tramontana for training a few years back, and vanished under some sort of cloud. You would have to ask the Keeper there for the details." It was odd to hear his own voice, calm and almost severe, speaking these words. The anger which had burned in him for weeks had turned to ice, it seemed. He did not want to shout at Regis—well, only a little.

  "I shall. I should have been told, but I try to leave the running of the Towers to the leroni. Mestra Natasha felt no need to inform me. It disturbs me greatly to think that there might be other untrained telepaths running around.

  Laran is rare, but not that rare, and it is now starting to pop up in the most unlikely places."

  Mikhail nodded. "That is hardly surprising, considering how often men of the Domains share their favors with any comely female they can seduce."

  "That is severe, Mikhail."

  He gave a sharp snort. "If you want severe, discuss the topic with my cousin Marguerida. She will explain to you more than you ever wished to know about the evils of masculine . . . what does she call it ... privilege! It has almost made me ashamed to be a man. But I warn you that you must be ready to lose the argument, since she is a fierce debater and takes no prisoners."

  Danilo turned away, and Mikhail could see his shoulders shake with laughter. "That hardly strikes me as a suitable topic of conversation for you to be having with Marguerida," Regis answered, trying to look serious, but failing.

  "We talk about everything, which is one of the many things I treasure about her, Uncle Regis. She is completely unafraid to tackle the most forbidden of subjects, to dissect them, sort out the parts, and come to her own conclusions. I think, had things been somewhat different, that my mother might have been the same, and that she dislikes Marguerida because they are alike rather than for any other reasons."

  "Yes, Javanne was always clever." He fell silent, musing, and sipped at his wine. "Tell me more about Emelda," Regis said finally, unwilling to continue to talk about either his sister or Marguerida Alton.

  "When I arrived, she was wearing the clothing of a leronis—well, as much as she could manage. The cloth was red by courtesy more than reality, and poorly dyed at that. This struck me as ;odd, since household leroni are no longer common. But everything about Priscilla's household was peculiar! It was a minor thing, and I had critical problems to think about—broken windows, chimneys that did not draw, stables that needed repair. I don't know if the children would have survived another winter in that place— but since the domna was planning that they should accompany her, I don't suppose she gave it any thought."

  "Accompany her? Where was she going?" Regis leaned

  forward in his chair, and Mikhail realized that Liriel had not given his uncle any details.

  "When Dyan Ardais and I went to Elhalyn Castle on a lark, about four years ago, she had, in addition to a few elderly servants and the children, a bone-reader, and a medium from the Dry Towns in residence." Mikhail paused, considering the oath he had given to Priscilla. She was dead, as was Ysaba, and he was not sure how binding a promise given to a ghost might be. Still, it bothered him to speak of the event. "We even attended a séance where the shade of Derik Elhalyn may or may not have been present."

  "You never told me!"

  "Dyan and I were sworn to secrecy, and I am not a man who breaks his word! Besides, no one knew we had gone off to visit the Elhalyn, and I thought that if I mentioned the trip, I might get into trouble. Truthfully, I think both of us wanted to forget the entire thing. It was . . . unsettling."

  "But you should have . . ."

  "Uncle, I do not break my word." Mikhail was surprised by the steadiness of his voice, and rather startled at the undertone of danger in it.

  "I see." Regis looked thoughtful—and also a little troubled.

  "At the time, it seemed like the harmless eccentricity of a lonely woman. I just put it down to the general oddness of the Elhalyn line, since I do not really believe in ghosts— even the ones at Armida." He smiled at himself, realizing that he had just said something quite contradictory. "But on that occasion, there was mention made of something called the Guardian. I remember that I would think about it from time to time, and wonder what the devil it was. If I had been wiser, a great deal of tragedy could have been avoided. I probably should have told you about the séance before I departed—but I had given my word!"

  "You seem to have learned the lesson of keeping your own council all too well, Mikhail."

  "I had a good teacher," he snapped back, glaring at Regis.

  "He has you there," Danilo commented.

  "You are enjoying my discomfiture rather a lot," Regis

  retorted. Though he smiled at Danilo, his words barely concealed his mild outrage.

  "I have so few opportunities," murmured the paxman.

  This broke the tension, and all of them laughed. When they had stopped, Regis said, "Now, go on with your tale— and leave nothing out."

  Mikhail took a deep breath and began. He talked until his mouth felt dry, documenting the peculiarities, and real dangers, of the prior months, and reliving the horror of the last night at Halyn House. When he was finished, his uncle and Danilo looked at one another, and something passed between them that he could not interpret. Regis looked sad and tired, and did not move, appearing to be lost in thought.

  Then he asked, "This Emelda creature did not arouse your suspicions?"

  "Yes and no. I kept finding myself mentally confused, and would think she might be the cause. Then I would somehow forget. It was really quite subtle, and there were days when I walked around in a fog, but I did not know it. Liriel says I was enthralled! What I do know is that if I had gone alone, without my Guardsmen, things would have turned out very differently. She had limitations, and the greater the number of people present, the less capable she was. I have never empathized with Marguerida's overshadowing so much as I do now. It is a monstrous thing to do to anyone." He hated to admit that the little woman had managed to bewilder him for weeks. The excellent meal he had just eaten lay like lead in his stomach.

  "And you had no clear idea of what was happening?"

  "
None. Part of that was my own stubborness, however. I was determined to complete the task you had given me, even though I never wanted the Elhalyn Regency. I just kept trudging along, like a damn fool. Marguerida commented on my general fuzziness of mind a few times, and asked if I were ill, but she didn't manage to penetrate the fog I was in. It was a very humbling experience." There. He had made a clean breast of it. Why did he feel no relief? Why did he feel that he was being tested—and failing badly?

  "What was it like?"

  "That is rather hard to describe. If I had a doubt-—and

  I discovered I had a great many—it swelled up in my mind like a wet cask. It was as if she had the talent to magnify all my fears into great monsters, so I tried to keep my attention on broken windows and other physical problems instead of anything else. Those, at least, were things I could fix."

  Danilo cleared his throat, and both Regis and Mikhail looked at him. They had almost forgotten his presence, so quiet had he been. "That must have been painful for you, Mikhail. And it must have been very subtle, too, for you not to have been conscious of it." There was a strain in his voice, and Mikhail knew that Danilo was remembering his early encounters with the elder Dyan Ardais, who had coerced him with the Alton Gift when Danilo had been in the Cadets.

  "I alternated between thinking I was losing my mind, believing I was imagining the entire thing, and feeling worthless." The tension had returned, and he wanted to break it, but he found he dared not.

  "But why didn't you contact me?" Regis sounded angry and frustrated. "I still don't understand that!"

  Mikhail looked directly at his uncle, narrowing his eyes and trying to control his anger. "Whenever I thought about you, I became filled with . . . self-loathing. I felt that if I asked for help, I would have failed you. It took all my strength to send for Liriel, and I do not believe there is another person on Darkover I could have asked. Not even Marguerida. The ill service you did me, Uncle, was not in appointing me Elhalyn Regent and sending me out there, but in failing to know the circumstances completely. I don't believe you had thought it all through." The bitterness in his tone was unmistakable, and Mikhail flinched inwardly. Who was he to be telling Regis Hastur such things? He must sound like a man trying to shift blame, when clearly it was he who had failed.

  "That is what I told him," Danilo commented, then turned and poured himself a goblet of firewine.

  Mikhail gaped at the paxman, relief seizing him. He could feel the rigidity of his shoulders, and saw that his free hand was clenched in his lap. He made himself shrug, forcing his muscles to relax. Perhaps things were not as bad as he imagined.

  Regis frowned, then shrugged. "If I did not know you were both completely loyal to me, I would feel as if I were nursing vipers at my breast. But I am wise enough to realize I made a grave mistake, and grateful that it worked out as well as it did. Now tell me more about the children." The matter was closed, and Mikhail was left feeling more than a little frustrated. But at least he was not being lectured.

  "There is not a great deal I can say. Alain, the eldest, is hopeless. Any chance he had for recovery from the neglect of his upbringing was ruined by the effect of the Guardian's intrusion. Vincent, too, was injured, although I do not know how badly. He was not a wonderful person to begin "with, for his mother had filled his mind with all sorts of nonsense, and he imagined he would be the Elhalyn king and, I think, thought it was a more powerful position than it actually is. He was given to violence and cruelty before the incident, and while he has become more docile since, he had some fits on the road that frightened all of us. Poor Liriel. Trapped in a small carriage with a large adolescent trying to tear out the windows. I never suspected he was Elhalyn of Elhalyn, either, and I cannot imagine who his father was if Emun is correct. The whole situation was ... impossible." It took an effort to remain focused on reporting, and he could feel his weariness more with each passing moment.

  "Yes, I know. The healers have examined both of them, and Vincent has suffered a trauma to his brain that cannot be mended. But what of the youngest, Emun Elhalyn?"

  "I don't know. It would be some years before he could assume the duties of the throne. His laran is an unknown quantity, and I never did have a chance to actually test any of the boys. He seemed to be ready to manifest it, for he showed some symptoms of threshold sickness, but it never really began. I think that somehow either Emelda or Priscilla prevented it, and I can only imagine what sort of damage that might have done."

  Regis looked as uncomfortable as Mikhail had ever seen him. He took a little more wine, felt it loosen his tongue further, and wondered if he ought to go on. When he was young, he had been so close to his uncle that Mikhail was surprised at how he felt—the sharp criticism that hovered at the tip of his tongue. He had a second's longing for that other time, for the innocence and trust that was their past

  together. But now he was a man, not a boy, and he had changed. More, Mikhail realized, his uncle had changed over the years as well. They were not strangers, but they were both different people than they had been.

  "Priscilla was so caught up in her plans to become immortal, she barely seemed to know the children existed, except that she believed she had to take them with her when she went to join the Guardian. I can only guess at the workings of her mind. As for Emun, if he recovers from all he has gone through, being terrorized by Vincent, manipulated by the hedge-witch, and all the rest, then it might be possible to restore the throne. But I confess I rather doubt he will."

  "Why?"

  "It is a feeling, nothing more." Mikhail paused, trying to put into words the sense he had about the youngest boy. "I think you might have to wait another generation, Uncle, to see your plans come to fruition. And I believe your best prospect lies with the children of Miralys or Valenta, not with Emun. Since they are Elhalyn, and have comynara status, any children of theirs will have the best claim to the throne."

  "You understand what this means?"

  They had come to the crux of the matter at last, and Mikhail did not answer immediately. He could feel Danilo observing him with his usual care, the cool objectivity that the paxman seemed to bring to every situation. "If you mean do I understand that I am going to get stuck with being more than Elhalyn Regent, yes. But I will warn, you that I am not going to take kindly to it."

  "Why not? You are able, sane, and you were trained to rule." Regis was more puzzled than angry.

  "And that is the problem. Do you really think that I would be able to be a figurehead, or answer to Dani for the next ten or twenty years? The one thing I understand at last is that I cannot do that. Let one of my brothers do the task. It is not for me, Uncle."

  "You will do as you are told."

  Bredu, you raised him to be his own man! You cannot change that—he is! How can you ask of him that he bow to Dani?

  Damn it! I loathe it when you are right! What a sorry mess I have made of things.

  Mikhail was too caught up in his own emotions to really register what · he was overhearing. No—not just his own feelings, but those of the other two men in the room. He felt slightly uneasy, being a party to such an intimate moment between the two older men. And he was surprised to find Danilo championing him. Perhaps he had not failed after all.

  "We don't have to decide anything now, do we?" Mikhail asked the question that rose in his mind. He had an inner sense that he had to hold back events, for his own sake, but also for Regis'. Once again, he had a sense that his uncle was moving too quickly, for reasons that he did not understand. More, he had the strongest feeling that it was his duty to slow events down. For the first time in his life, Mikhail felt almost wise. It was a peculiar sensation, not entirely unpleasant, and different from anything he could remember.

  "No, you are right," Regis admitted grudgingly. "I suppose I am feeling my mortality, feeling the pressure of time to order things . . . which is rather foolish. And I do so hate feeling foolish!"

  Danilo, in the middle of swallowing his wine, began to lau
gh, then to cough. Regis rose and banged him between the shoulder blades, looking a little concerned and perplexed at the same time. When Danilo had recovered his breath, he looked at Regis and shook his head. "No one can escape being foolish from time to time."

  Regis made a comical face. "Oh, And I did so hope to be the exception!"

  This set Danilo off again, and Mikhail joined in the laughter, aware that the moment had passed, that nothing of great importance would be decided that night. It was an enormous relief.

  He could feel the division within himself, between his loyalty to Regis, to Hastur, and his desire to pursue his own ends. Since he was part of the power structure, he knew he was supposed to put his own needs second to those of the Domains. That was difficult, perhaps impossible, and he admitted it to himself.

  Then he saw a troubled expression on his uncle's face. "What is it?"

  Regis frowned. "I am trying to escape the feeling that if

  I had paid more attention, had even thought of Priscilla and her children, none of this might have happened. But if I had started to meddle in her affairs, then all the other Domains would have begun to wonder if I might not try to arrange theirs. I do feel guilty, I confess."

  This was too much. The firewine had relaxed him just enough to throw caution to the winds. "I like that! You would not meddle in Priscilla Elhalyn's affairs, but you seem perfectly willing to do so in mine!"