The Shadow Matrix

  "You mean Arilinn? Or Darkover?"

  "Arilinn. I love Darkover, although I find some of its customs pointless. I went riding earlier, and because I am a woman, one of the grooms insisted on coming with me, which meant that I could not gallop across the fields like a fiend, which was what I wanted to do. But I am not at ease here, despite all the efforts of Jeff and Liriel and some of the others to make me comfortable. I cannot sit in a Tower circle because being in a room with lots of matrices is still impossible for me. And several of the students seem to regard me as some sort of monster. They stare at this," she said, holding up her left hand, "and try to see through the silk. They do not like to work with me, and one of the older healers, Berana, has outright refused to have anything to do with me. The word 'abomination' floats across her mind like an oil slick. Ugh! She makes me feel as if I were dirty or something." ' "I see. Why haven't you said anything sooner?"

  "Well, as long as Mikhail was here learning how to test for laran, it was not so bad. It wasn't good, but I could look forward to taking rides with him, to talking to him

  about . . . well, anything. And I didn't want to whine and complain. I kept thinking it would get easier when I learned more, but instead it has become harder every day. My sensitivity to the crystals has, if anything, increased. I have to spend a great deal of energy just keeping myself together, because my impulse is to blast the damn things to flinders."

  "I wouldn't worry about that," Lew answered calmly. At the same time, he shifted in his chair as if uneasy.

  "Oh, wouldn't you?" she snarled. "I do, because I have some idea of what I am able to do. This thing," Margaret went on, shaking her fist at her father, "is not like any matrix that has ever existed before, because it is not from anything in the material world. I've spent a lot of sleepless nights talking with Jeff, and with Hiram d'Asturien, who knows more about the history of matrix science than anyone else alive, trying to figure out what is going on. What I have, Father, is a portion of the overworld engraved on my flesh. Not only that, it was once the keystone of the Keep of Ashara Alton, who was the most powerful leronis who ever lived, even taking into account the natural exaggeration that is bound to accrue to historical figures. I suspect that if I lost my temper, I could blast Arilinn off the face of the world. I wouldn't be surprised, even, if that is not what might have happened at Hali centuries ago."

  "I see you have given this a great deal of consideration, chiya. And I must say you have shown a great deal of patience and endurance. Much more than I was capable of at your age." He sighed.

  "Maybe," she said hesitantly. Then she took a deep breath and plunged ahead, determined to tell him what she must while she still had the courage. "Father, I just don't know if I can stay here much longer. Javanne is going to show up, looking daggers at me for just existing, and Ariel is likely going to get hysterical if she even catches a glimpse of me, since she still blames me for Domenic's accident. And it is just killing me. I feel as if I have a chest full of broken glass most of the time. I thought, a few months ago, that I had come home, but now I am starting to doubt it. I feel as estranged at Arilinn as I did before I came back to Darkover."

  "You should have been an actress, Marguerida, because I never suspected how unhappy you were here."

  "Well, there is no help for it, since I don't really want to be a wild telepath. I don't want to be any sort of telepath at all, frankly. I'd give anything to undo the past. Well, maybe not anything. I would not give up Mikhail, or you. But it is not enough. I need some peace, some quiet!"

  "You wanted to go to Neskaya, and study with Istvana Ridenow, before you were persuaded to come to Arilinn. Do you still wish that?"

  "If I must be in a Tower, I would rather be with Istvana than anyone. She never makes me feel as if I have two heads and a tail!"

  "Good. I think I can manage that much, daughter. It is the least I can do for you."

  Margaret stared at Lew, too astonished to speak for a second. Her heart gave a leap of delight, of release. Then she steeled herself, afraid that she would be disappointed. It could not be this easy! "Can you, really?"

  Lew looked at her solemnly, but with just the hint of a twinkle in his eyes. "I am not without influence, you know."

  Margaret laughed and then found herself crying again. The sobs rose in her chest, swelled up into her throat, and broke out of her mouth in spite of her efforts to silence them. She bent over, holding herself, hugging her arms around her, wailing her grief and loss. It was a dreadful noise, and she was ashamed of it, but she could not stop, and Lew made no effort to halt it. Instead, he just sat and waited, as if he understood how needful it was.

  It was completely dark by the time she finally managed to stop weeping, and her face felt sore. She mopped her cheeks for the hundredth time, blew her nose, and sank back against the chair, exhausted. And, to her disgust and surprise, hungry. The smell of dinner wafted through the room, and Katrin appeared in the doorway, a white dab of flour on her short nose. She looked at Lew, grinned a little, and only said, "I had better set another place."

  Margaret chuckled softly". "One good thing about Dark-over—meals always seem to appear on time, and frequently."

  "Yes, they do. Now go wash your face." He grinned suddenly. "I used to tell you that on Thetis, didn't I? Your face always seemed to be dirty."

  "Yes, Father, you did, and it was. Thank you very much."

  "For what?"

  "Just thank you." And then she retreated quickly, for the tears were threatening to begin again. She could not speak all the words that were brimming in her heart, her love for this man, this father she had so lately discovered. There would, she hoped, be time to say them, but not with a dirty face and an empty stomach. It would have to keep.

  3

  Halyn House was so well concealed within a grove of tall trees that Mikhail and his Guardsmen almost rode by without realizing they had reached their goal. Only a thin stream of smoke above the trees indicated human habitation, and Daryll's keen eyes spotted it. At twenty-three, he was the younger of Mikhail's two companions, and by far the more lively minded, always ready with a jest and not in the least intimidated by Mikhail's position. Mathias, the other Guardsman, was nearly forty, and of a slow and sober disposition. Mikhail had known him since he was a child, for he was from the Alton Domain. He knew he could trust them both completely, and was reassured by their presence, since the feeling of unease he had had along the road seemed to be getting stronger the closer they came to their journey's end.

  They found their way through the trees with difficulty, for there were many fallen branches on the little path, wood that should have been collected and set to dry for the coming winter. As they finally emerged into the stableyard, Mikhail frowned, filled with quiet despair. Duncan, the old man Mikhail remembered from his previous visit, crept from the shadows of a rather dilapidated building, alerted by the sound of their steeds. The sour smell of rotting hay was everywhere. Shakes were missing from the roof, so the stables must be leaking, and other evidence of disrepair was apparent. One trough was tilted on its side, and the other had a green and scummy look, as if the water had been standing in it for several days.

  Mikhail could now see the roof and upper story of Halyn House itself, though a large hedge prevented him from seeing the rest, and he was more than a little shocked. The upper windows were empty of glass, boarded over in some

  places, but left open in others. Tiles were missing from the peaked roof, and one chimney sagged and looked as if it might fall over at any moment.

  Duncan simply stared at the three, as if they were some type of apparition. The man had aged a great deal in four years, and looked as if he had lost weight as well. His clothing was worn, his boots so thin at the toes that one stocking was visible. The old man's hair was filthy, matted against his skull, and his teeth were rotting.

  Before Mikhail could speak, the wind shifted, and a smell of sulfur blew into his nostrils. It was a hot, acrid scent, and it came from somew
here beyond the house itself. It took him a minute to identify the odor. He had not known there was a hot spring in the area until now.

  "Hello, Duncan. How are you keeping these days?" he began, speaking with more cheer than he felt.

  "Welcome, vai dom. I'm as well as I can be." Then he hesitated, looked at the ground, and shuffled his feet anxiously. "Are you expected?" He cackled eerily. "Last time you wasn't."

  "Yes, I am." What if Priscilla had changed her mind, arid had not bothered to tell anyone? What if he had learned how to test for laran and made this journey for nothing? Regis Hastur had assured him just a few days earlier that things were fine, but something could have happened, he supposed. No, he would have been told.

  "Mestra Emelda did not inform me," Duncan muttered, his humor evaporating as he rubbed his gnarled hands together. "There is no place prepared for all these horses. There is no feed."

  Mikhail ignored the man's inhospitable words and dismounted. He was tired and hungry, and his temper was starting to fray. The smell of the stables disturbed him, and the sense of wrongness about the place plucked at his nerves. He had no idea what was going on, but he was determined to get to the bottom of things immediately.

  "Who is Mestra Emelda?" He had never heard of this woman, but the tone of Duncan's voice made him uneasy.

  "Mestra Emelda," the old man repeated, as if it explained everything.

  Daryll dismounted and took Charger's reins, since it was clear that Duncan had no intention of doing anything but

  stand there and look bewildered. "I'll see to the horses, Dom Mikhail. We have enough feed for tonight—though from the smell of the place, there isn't a scrap of clean hay to be had. Whew!" He curled his nose a little and grimaced in distaste. "Tomorrow I can ride over to that village we passed about five miles back, and have some sent over."

  "Tomorrow?" Duncan looked at the Guardsman suspiciously. "Surely you are not staying! She won't like that a bit."

  "Of course my men are staying," Mikhail snapped, exasperated.

  "No, they won't," the old fellow growled, now looking almost hostile.

  The feeling of unease which had plagued him the closer he got to Halyn House burst into a sudden moment of fear. He stamped it down roughly and studied Duncan more closely. The man he remembered had been crochety, but never rude. And he had been neat in his person, and intelligent as well. This fellow seemed to be another person entirely—a sullen and rather stupid man. His eyes seemed glazed now that Mikhail was near enough to see them.

  Mathias was off his steed and walking toward the stables, his broad shoulders stiff, as if he expected the worst. He disappeared beneath the shadowed door of the barn, and Mikhail heard a curse. A moment later he emerged, his sober and normally tranquil face red with rage. "That's no way to treat good stock!" he thundered, and looked ready to knock Duncan down.

  Mathias had grown up with the horses for which the Alton Domain was famed, and had a passion for the animals that most men reserved for women. The expression on his normally pleasant face was outraged. The situation in the stables must be worse than Mikhail had assumed.

  "What do you mean, Mathias?"

  "I only took a glance, but it was enough! Some of the animals are standing in ditches up to their hocks, and the stalls are filthy. I never saw anything like it."

  "I don't have time to take care of those animals," sniveled Duncan, looking a little ashamed. "It's all I can do to just keep the wood chopped for the fire, and . . ."

  "It's going to take a lot to muck out those stables," Ma-

  thias interrupted, "and the roof needs repair. This place is a disgrace!"

  Mikhail agreed with him, and hoped that the house itself was in better shape. He had spent enough time at Armida to know the ins and outs of good management, and was rather surprised to realize how much he had learned without knowing it. He had mucked out stalls, curried his horses, sat up all night with foaling mares, broken his own steeds, and dealt with cases of colic and other equine troubles. But the stables at Armida were very well run—Dom Gabriel Alton would not have permitted anything else— and the horses were well-treated. It made him sick to think of the poor animals within this stable.

  It was still an hour to dusk, and he felt an enormous reluctance to go into Halyn House now. It was a strange sensation, a kind of prickling of his skin, a chilliness that had nothing to do with the cooling of the air. Instead, he turned to Daryll and Mathias, nodding. "Let's see what we can do to make the place livable before dark."

  Daryll and the other Guardsman exchanged a look. It was one thing for Mikhail to do chores while they were on the road, and quite another now, the look suggested. And under ordinary circumstances, they would not have been reduced to stablehands either, for there were always grooms around, and boys learning their craft. It was clear they were uneasy about the situation, trying to balance Mikhail's dignity with the need to make some order.

  He did not wait for them to agree, but marched into the dank and gloomy building. Mikhail was glad his belly was fairly empty, for the stink was enough to make his gorge rise. He went to the nearest stall, slipped alongside the miserable horse there, and took the hackamore from its hook along the wall. He slipped it over the horse's head and carefully backed the animal out.

  The beast was too disspirited to offer any resistance. There were sores on its legs. It had not been farried in a long time, so the hooves were grown out, and the poor thing was cowhocked. The skin hung along its ribs, and the animal was listless, too weak to show any spirit. He recognized the horse as one that Vincent had ridden four years before, a fine animal that deserved good treatment. Mikhail turned it around slowly, then led it out of the stable and

  into the yard. He looped the lead over a rail, and gave the horse a pat on the neck. It looked at him with enormous dark eyes, then shifted uncomfortably from hoof to hoof, as if its legs were painful.

  "Can either of you clip his feet? I never quite got the knack of it."

  Mathias grunted, went to his own horse, and took a leather bag off the back. In a few moments, he had a sickle-shaped knife in his callused hand. "I always carry this— you never know when you will need it." Then he bent down and took the nearest hoof and started to slice off the excess cartilage.

  Daryll had followed Mikhail's example, and brought out another animal, a nice little colt. In a few minutes, they had gotten all the horses out of, the stable, and Mathias was cutting off the overgrown hooves with a vengeance. He swore softly as he worked, gentling the horses, though they were all too feeble to give him much trouble. There were six animals in all, .none of them in any better shape than the first. Duncan just stood and watched, his dull eyes following their movements.

  Mikhail and Daryll found rakes and shovels, and started to clear out the worst of the mess. The smell of ammonia was overpowering. The rotten hay was full of worms, mostly earthworms, but there were some parasites as well. And they disturbed several families of rats, who ran squeaking into the shadows.

  It was backbreaking labor, foul and stinking, but Mikhail found it helped him shake the sense of rage and powerlessness that had arisen in him. There were stalls that had not been used in years, and in these the earthen floor had not been worn into troughs by the restless movement of overgrown hooves. Indeed, they were fairly clean, and only needed a fast raking to set them to rights. Daryll climbed into the loft and found a bale of hay that had not yet mildewed, then spread it around sparingly.

  "I don't blame ol' Mathy for bein' in a fury, one bit. Those are decent horses, and it isn't right to treat 'em so badly," the Guardsman said. Then he glanced up, toward the ceiling. "The rain will come in if we don't see to it."

  "I know. I've never seen anything like this. What a shambles!"

  "I'll go for fresh hay at first light, and see if I can find a workman who can fix the roof. That is . . ." he paused, ordering his thoughts, "if we are going to remain. Are we?"

  "We don't seem very welcome, do we?"

  "Not if th
at old geezer is anything to judge by, we aren't. Look! Here's some horse salve! Just the thing for those sores."

  "Good. We need to get the trough clean, for I don't think fouled water will do them any good. I suppose that old Duncan has been watering them with a bucket, for while they look half starved, they don't appear to be dehydrated. Take the salve to Mathias, will you, while I look around and see if there is any feed. Those animals look like they haven't been fed in a week."

  "We've got enough oats on the mules for tonight, Dom Mikhail. For ours and these poor, starved beasties. It goes right to my heart to see them. When I took that palfrey out of her stall, I swear she said 'Thank you' and would have fallen on my neck with gratitude, if she had arms instead of legs."

  Mikhail grinned at the Guardsman's words, and felt his tension abate. Daryll was imaginative, although he tried to hide it. A good man. Both of them, he reflected, were fine men. The situation was not what he had expected. When he had visited Elhalyn Castle four years before, the household had been somewhat ramshackle, but the stables had been in decent order, and if the linens on the bed were worn, at least they were clean and decent. The unease which had almost vanished while he labored returned, and his smile faded. If the condition of the stable was any measure, then Halyn House was likely to be dreadful.

  "When you go to the village, see if you can find a lad or two to help with the horses. I suspect that there is no staff—though I am damned if I can figure out why! When I visited four years ago, at the castle, there were not many servants, and Duncan was doing the duties of the condom, even though that was not his job."