And how is that?
You suck your cheeks in like you had a lemon in your mouth, and your eyeballs bulge.
You are a wicked girl, Val.
What can you expect from a crazy Elhalyn?
Mikhail could formulate no answer to this question. He moved around the stunned Gisela, and took his place in the dance. Liriel had tested Valenta, and said she was going to be. a very powerful telepath indeed. Nonetheless, he was surprised by the strength of her mental voice, and also disquieted. She seemed to be coming into her laran almost too soon, and he felt a chill. Even with the best care in the world, a third of children did not survive threshold sickness.
The music took off and sent the worries from his head. It was a rather boisterous piece that demanded a lot of stamping and foot tapping, and was a favorite of his. He let himself became absorbed in the dance itself. Valenta hefted her skirts a bit, and matched his gestures, grinned at him impishly. Then it was over, and he was bowing over her tiny six-fingered hand.
"That was fun. Did I do well?"
"You are an excellent dancer, Valenta."
"I'm glad. You looked so worried, and now you seem happier."
"Do I?" His moods did seem to be shifting every five minutes, and he felt the stab of unease return again.
"Yes. Thank you very much. Now I am going to go find Danilo Ardais, and find out if he really is the best dancer on Darkover! You didn't see me, but I stood up with Francisco Ridenow, and he has no more idea than a cow how to dance."
Mikhail laughed in spite of himself. "Yes, but it doesn't do to say it."
"Oh, I didn't. I thanked him nicely and said I enjoyed myself. Oh, dear."
"What?"
"Gisela Aldaran is over talking to Marguerida, and she doesn't look happy. By the window."
Mikhail swiveled his head around so fast he almost put a crick in his neck. In the shadows of the long drapes he could just make out his beloved and Gisela, their heads bent toward one another, like conspirators. What he could see of their expressions was dismaying—antagonistic on Gisela's part, and remote on Marguerida's. He knew that face too well.
He moved across the room as quickly as he could, and came up just as Gisela said, "You cannot win, you know."
"I already have," he heard Marguerida answer, her usually pleasant voice chilly and distant, as if she were far away. She turned her head, looking out the window.
The sky was very dark above the lights shining from the port, and the few clouds had blown away. The stars gleamed above the city. The softer lights of lampions and torches in Thendara itself gave a warm glow to everything. It was very beautiful, and very calm.
Then Mikhail noticed that three of the moons stood in what seemed like a line, just above the horizon, their colors blending softly. Mormallor, the smallest and whitest, stood at one end, and mauve Idriel at the other, with Kyrrdis, blue and green, between them. He felt himself stiffen. The dream came back, vivid and immediate!
"You can't! They are going to announce the engagement tonight!" Gisela's voice, usually so silky, was almost shrill now.
"It does not matter," Marguerida replied, so calm she seemed made of stone. "You are deluded, Gisela. You have backed the wrong horse."
Gisela Aldaran stamped her foot and from the movement of her jaws, was clearly grinding her teeth. Mikhail hesitated, wanting to intervene, yet not wishing to get between them. He could feel the anger emanating from Gisela, and a serenity from Marguerida that surprised him. Her eyes seemed a little unfocused, as if entranced by some inner vision.
The blue light of Liriel, the fourth moon, rose above the horizon, just the smallest portion of it visible. And he felt something rumble along his bones, a sound like the earth moving. A voice like a crack of thunder roared in his mind, paralyzing his will.
"TO HALI! NOW!"
23
One moment Margaret was speaking to Gisela, listening to the sullen hissing of her voice, and the next she felt a vast weight press into her mind. It was horrible and terrifying, but part of her remained quite calm. She had an instant of disorientation, as if she were in two places at the same time. Whatever she had been about to say vanished. She struggled to pull away, but whatever it was, it was too strong. Then Margaret felt more than heard the voice from her dream quake through her body, overwhelming all else. TO MALI! NOW!
She turned from the window, her hands shaking. The uncertainty she had endured since the dream was gone, replaced by an urgency that nearly overcame her. Her legs were trembling, and she felt as if there were a collar around her throat, pulling her away from the windows. It was not painful, just inexorable.
Margaret looked into Mikhail's eyes, and knew he felt it as well. She swallowed hard, took his hand, and said, "Come, my dearest. We have an appointment with destiny."
It was not until they had crossed half the great chamber that Margaret noticed no one else was moving. Musicians sat frozen above their instruments, in mid-movement. Regis Hastur' mouth was open, as if he had been cut off in the middle of a word.
She barely had time to take it in before the weight in her mind forced her to keep moving, clutching his hand. Margaret felt Mikhail resist her tug, looking around the room at the immobile figures. Finally, he shook his head, as if to clear it, and matched her strides across the room.
"Appointment with destiny? Did you have to be so melodramatic?" He sounded angry, and she could sense his re-
luctance, in spite of the irresistible compulsion of the repeated words in their minds.
Margaret smiled a little, despite the feeling that she might shatter at any moment. All she wanted was to get away from the dense pounding in her bones. There was no escape, but movement seemed to ease the pressure slightly. "Dio taught me never to waste a good exit line, Mik. Now, come on. We have to get away before they come to their senses!"
She could feel the separation within her mind. The portion which was in the grip of the voice was nearly mad with terror. This was the Marja part of her, the part which had been overshadowed. The other, Margaret, had no tool to use to help her younger serf except her warped sense of humor. It was very strange, and she dared not analyze it. All she could do was accept each moment, and keep going. The other choice was madness, and she refused it.
"You aren't really suggesting that we rush off to Mali in the middle of the night in our dancing clothes, are you?" His anger was obvious now, but she knew it concealed terror. Hardly pausing for fear for her mind, she tried to understand. Fright seemed right, but Rage? Then she realized that the events at Halyn House must be ringing in his mind right now, with all the powerlessness he must have felt.
Unfortunately, Margaret did not have time to explain this to Mikhail—she must keep both of them in motion at any cost. "No. We need to change, then get to the stables as quickly as we can."
"But!"
"Keep going and stop arguing! I had another vision!" She raced down one flight of stairs, as fast as her skirts would let her, and heard the sound of his footsteps behind her.
"What was it?" He nearly knocked her down, his breath warm against her hair.
"Later, you idiot!"
"Yes . . . all right." They bolted down another flight, out of earshot of the ballroom.
They finally reached the corridor leading to the Alton Suite at one end, and the Lanart at the other, and parted. Margaret watched him go to his rooms, then hastily opened the door to her own. She was panting with exertion, her
brow damp, and her head pounding. There was no one there, so she was forced to get out of her finery without help. In her haste, she tore the delicate fabric, her ears straining for sounds of pursuit. Surely someone was going to follow them soon. Her fingers twitched over the closings, and she was clumsy. "I'm going as fast as I can," she muttered at the booming voice in her head.
She put on thick hose, her riding clothes, and her scuffed and worn boots. Then she paused briefly, trying to think of what else to take. A knife seemed like a wise idea, so she grabbed the one she had used on the
trail, and the little pouch with a flint in it, for starting fires. She tugged her cloak off its hook in the closet, and dashed into the hall.
Mikhail was just emerging from his own rooms, dressed in a plain brown tunic and trousers, with a green cloak looped over his arm. He looked taut, as if all his attention had narrowed to a single focus. It was painful to see, and she was very glad she was not an actual empath, because she suspected his emotions were as mixed as her own. He was not a man to be driven, she decided, and wondered how Regis could have believed he could be.
"I think whatever is moving us is keeping the others from coming," Mikhail muttered, his words a little slurred. "Come on—they won't keep still forever."
They charged down the stairs to the stableyard, bumping into one another in their haste, and each of them nearly falling at least twice. They were breathless by the time they reached the cobblestones.
She stumbled then, and shuddered all over. "What's wrong, Marguerida?" Mikhail asked.
"I think Ariel just went into labor," Margaret said, her heart beating faster.
"But she isn't due for at least another . . . tenday, is she?"
"I know. Ariel might not be ready, but the baby has other ideas. And be grateful, since that will distract everyone while we make our getaway!" Men, she thought, could be really stupid, even Mikhail. "I told you she would be born at Midwinter!"
"Yes, you did, and I will never doubt you again. Come on!"
There was no one but a sleepy lad in the stables, and he
just looked at them stupidly while they got their horses. It was not his place to question members of the Domains. Mikhail went to the tackroom and grabbed their saddles. She fumbled on bits and bridles as he dragged them down the straw-strewn floor. It took all her will power not to start running from the stables, down the chilly street, and out of the city. At last, after what seemed an eternity, they were ready to leave.
As Margaret swung into the saddle, Dorilys danced beneath her, almost unseating her. She heard Charger bugle in the night. Then they were riding away, moving toward the arch above the stablecourt entrance.
There was a rush of air and a flutter of wings. From the corner of her eye, Margaret saw Mikhail's crow descend onto his shoulder, cawing raucously. It clung to him, then hopped down onto the pommel.
The sound of their hoofbeats on the cobblestones of the narrow street seemed to echo between the quiet buildings. Margaret wanted to urge Dorilys faster, to ease the weight inside her, but the stones were not meant for rapid movement. She had to let the horse choose her own pace, no matter what. She could not decide if she was afraid they would be caught now, or afraid they would not.
The city was moderately quiet here, but they could both hear distant sounds of celebration when they passed a few houses. When they rode through the little marketplace where Margaret had seen the Travelers' wagons, the space was alight with torches, and a good-sized audience was watching something being performed on the lowered side of a wain. She caught a glimpse of bright costumes in the flickering light, and heard a voice declaiming something.
The rapid sound of hoofbeats made some of the watchers turn to look at the sight of two riders racing through the marketplace. From the edge of her sight, she saw a few startled faces, and heard a shout of inquiry. Then they were heading for the gate to the old North Road.
The air was cold and crisp against her skin, making her shiver, though she was not sure if it was from excitement or the chill of the air. There was a faint smell of snow to come, but the sky remained dark and full of stars. Margaret looked up, for clear nights were a rarity. She gave Dorilys her head, and the little mare stretched out her neck and
ran like the wind. Mikhail's horse, being longer legged, led them by a pace or two. The whole- thing had the quality of a dream now, except for the steady pressure in her mind.
After perhaps an hour of hard riding, they drew their horses into a trot. Dorilys did not appear winded, but she had worked up a sweat. Margaret patted the smooth shoulder with her right hand, and heard a cheerful nicker in response. The horse seemed to find riding off into the night very exciting, and Margaret only wished she shared the feeling.
"I would give a lot to be in two places at once," Mikhail commented. His voice was a little hoarse, dry with riding, and she knew that his apparent ease was as much a pose as her own. They were being driven, and it was an enormous strain, one that could only be relieved by speaking of anything but that which compelled them ahead.
"You mean you actually want to be back in Comyn Castle right now?"
"Yes, and no. If you were right, and Ariel has gone into
labor, in the middle of the ballroom, it is probably chaos.
And perhaps no one has missed us yet. Are you certain
she . . .?" -
"Yes, absolutely. I knew Alanna would be born tonight, as well as I know my own name. Even in the midst of this. I can sense your sister's pain. And I think I have learned one thing about the Aldaran part of my cursed Gift. I don't see everyone's future, only my own. So I know that Alanna Alar will be fine, because she and I are fated to know one another—even though at this moment I don't know if we are going to survive this madness. I know. That makes no sense. I can't tell you if Ariel will be all right, just Alanna." She did not add that the future she saw with Alanna in it was very troubled.
"That makes sense, as much as anything does right now. My head feels three sizes too big, and my jaw aches from clenching it. Tell me, what did you mean when you told Giz that she had backed the wrong horse—I confess that being compared to a stallion did not flatter me very much." In the near darkness, his voice was calm, as if the strain of the past few hours had left him too tired to be angry any longer.
Margaret laughed. "I was standing there, looking at the
stars and thinking about nothing in particular, actually, when she came up and started in at me. Before I could get angry and step on her toes, I got another hint, a small flash. She doesn't know it yet, but she is going to marry Rafael, and be your sister-in-law, no matter what else happens. She was right—she is going to marry a Hastur—just not the one she expected. I suspect that Dom Damon tried to force Regis' hand, and make him promise to announce an engagement between her and you, but he was clever enough to find another solution."
"I see. So that was what Danilo meant." He gave a small sigh. "And will she be happy?"
"I have no idea. Nor do I give a damn!"
"Well, I did suggest to Regis that I was not the only unmarried member of the family, so it makes sense. Poor Rafael. What a woman to be saddled with!"
"I would not repine overmuch. Your brother is a steady man, and I think that what Gisela needs is someone who is immune to her fancies. She seems rather spoiled to me, being the only girl and the apple of her father's eye. Mik, we'd better start to move more quickly now. I am starting to feel hard-pressed again.
"You are right. Kind of whatever it is to give us a respite." With this ironic statement, they broke into a faster pace. The only sounds were the rhythm of the horses' hooves, and the sigh of the breeze in the empty fields. They passed through a dozing hamlet, then another, moving toward the moment they had both known awaited them when they saw the ghost of Hali Tower.
It was, Margaret decided, a peculiar sensation, compelled to be running toward she knew not what. It was different from the way she had felt when she was overshadowed by Ashara, similar and dissimilar at the same time. There was no sense of dread in her bones, no fear except a normal, human fear of the unknown. Something awaited her in the ruins of Hali Tower, something wonderful and terrible. But deep in her aching bones, she felt that whatever she was doing, it was the right thing for her.
Then she suddenly thought of her father, and all her serenity vanished. He would be frantic. What a foolish and thoughtless woman she was! What business did she have, running off in the middle of the night? She had no choice,
but that did not ease her feeling of guilt. It was selfish of her, wasn'
t it?
Father? She sent the thought without much hope of reaching Lew Alton. It was hard to concentrate on horseback, and she was surprised when she felt an answering thought.
Marguerida! Are you all right?
Yes, I am fine, and Mikhail is fine. We are not trying to elope, really, though that is probably what people are imagining. The relief at his mental presence was enormous.
You were not even missed at first. Everyone was too busy seeing to Ariel—until she screamed, we were all standing about like statuary. I can only guess for how long. But Gisela noticed your absence, and raised the alarm. For a woman with a beautiful voice, she has a piercing shriek. And I am going to have a hell of a time thinking of a plausible explanation for your Ida. That is the least of my problems.
I am sorry, Father. We did not plan to dash off like this, really.
1 know that, Marguerida. And at the moment, we have our hands full here. Whatever that was that called you and bewitched the rest of us played havoc with . . .
What! She could tell he was anxious about something that he was not telling her.
Several people were badly injured, Marguerida. I can only hope they can be healed. This is going to be a memorable night, if I survive it. Margaret realized he was not going to give her any details, and she could not decide whether she was relieved or annoyed. But she now knew Lew well enough to be aware that he was not going to budge, once he had made up his mind.