The Shadow Matrix (23 page)

looking after children was so demanding, and his respect for his mother increased

daily. Just the struggle to get provisions for the coming winter was enormous. Added to

that, the necessary repairs took up most of his time. There were calluses on his hands,

and he had smashed a fingernail trying to hammer a peg into a window frame. And, as

exhausting as his days were, his nights were worse. They were hellish, for all the

children experienced nightmares, and he kept having to get up and tend them. The two

old women, Wena and Becca, did not stir at the screams, and left both the lads and the

girls to themselves.

His men, Daryll and Mathias, were exhausted as well, doing double duties as grooms

and draymen, and even as laundresses and maids. They took turns sleeping outside his

door, but their sleep, too, was disturbed by terrible dreams which left them weary and

anxious. His expectation that people from the village could be hired to help had not '

become a reality. A few came grudgingly to work during the day, but none would

remain through the night. And soon even these refused to come to Halyn House,

insisting that it was an evil place. That he secretly agreed with them did not improve

his disposition. Mikhail was certain that the presence of Emelda was the likely cause of

the reluctance of the villagers to enter Halyn House, but his weary brain could find no

solution to the problem. From a few remarks he had overheard, he realized that the

villagers thought she was an actual
leronis,
not, as he believed, a fraudulent one, and

were terrified of her.

The worst part of it was that Mikhail knew he was having a hard time thinking clearly.

His brain seemed stuffed with Dry Town cotton or perhaps the gluey, overcooked

porridge that was served at breakfast. If he could just find a decent cook to replace the

old fellow who lurked in the kitchens, scowling and refusing to take any orders!

He felt frustrated that he had accomplished nothing, and the feeling of helplessness

grew greater each day. Mikhail tried to fight it, to feel that he was getting the house

into better repair, that the children had better food. But he knew that this was not his

job, that he was not there to fix windows, but to find out if any of the boys could take

the Elhalyn throne.

If only he could concentrate! He tried very hard, but he kept getting distracted by basic

tasks, like keeping the kitchen full of nourishing food. He even thought of sending one

of the Guardsmen to Thendara, to bring" back more people. But where would he put

them? Halyn House was still in such disrepair that it could not hold very many more

than already lived in it. Even when it was new, it had not been intended to house more

than the old lady and a few servants. And he
should
be able to manage a few children

on his own!

He tried to cheer himself up by counting the things he had managed to accomplish.

The chimney in the dining room was unclogged at last, so the room was slightly more

pleasant in the evenings. Glass was sent for and set into some of the windows. The

quality of the food improved

slightly, though the cooking of it remained unpalatable. He had gotten a woman in the

village to sew up some clothing for the children, so they no longer looked like

ragamuffins. The horses were well taken care of. Not much for several weeks in

residence, but something.

Despair ate at him. He could not stand to be in the house another minute! Mikhail

looked through the new windows and saw that it was a pleasant day. Perhaps some

exercise would "clear his mind. He grabbed his sword, strapped it on, and went out

through the kitchen, ignoring the grumbling cook, who was scaling some fish that had

arrived that morning from the village.

The clouds were few and small, and there was a good wind off the sea. It smelled of

brine, a salty scent that seemed to blow away his exhaustion a little. He recognized

another smell. There was snow on the way, and soon. He glanced to the north and saw

dark clouds along the horizon. Yes, winter was on its way. Mikhail held back a

shudder. The idea of wintering in this miserable house was almost more than he could

bear.

Mikhail walked toward the hedge that separated the back of the house from the stables.

He heard the rough voice of a crow, and glanced around. He spotted the flash of white

along the wing edges that he now recognized as a sea crow, and he was certain, the

very bird which-had greeted him the day he arrived. There were a good many crows in

residence at Halyn House, but only the one sea bird. The others were the ordinary

variety, all black, and somewhat smaller than this animal. He had gotten used to the

soft caws with which the flock announced the dawn, the thump of their feet on the roof

over his bedroom, and rather enjoyed the gossipy exchanges he heard every morning.

It was, he thought, about the only normal, pleasant thing at Halyn House.

The sea crow was another matter, for it ignored everyone except Mikhail, and watched

him closely whenever he was out of doors. There was something a little disquieting

about the intensity of this avian interest, and Mikhail could not decide if the bird was

friend or foe. He found it perched in the hedge, almost invisible among the dark

greens, a place the crow seemed to. favor. He waved, just to be polite, and pushed

through the opening in the hedge.

Mikhail walked into the now clean stableyard, where Daryll and Mathias had set up a

small quintain, a man-shaped dummy on a series of ropes and pulleys, so that it would

move. They had weighted the feet with wooden blocks, and some broken horseshoes,

and it was not a bad job. He watched it swing in the wind for a moment, admiring the

cleverness of his men. The two Guardsmen spent a little time every day, either

practicing on the dummy, or sparring with each other, and Mikhail realized he should

have joined them much sooner. It would be good for him.

There was no one in the stableyard at the moment. Even old Duncan seemed to be

absent. He could hear the horses in the now clean and repaired stable, snorting and

stamping in their stalls. He shrugged and drew his weapon, approaching the dummy

and feeling slightly foolish.

Mikhail warmed up with a few feints and parries, enjoying the sensation of muscles

pulling and pushing. He shifted the sword from hand to hand, as his master had taught

him when he was about Emun's age. He really should get Vincent and Emun out here

and start them training. Few men, he knew, could fight as well with either hand, but his

old master, Amday, had been insistent that if he could learn the trick, he should.

Mikhail had hated it at first, feeling clumsy with his left side, but after a time his

muscles had learned, and soon he had become comfortable with it.

After his muscles were limber, he began a concentrated attack on the dummy. Each

blow he landed made the straw-stuffed object shift on its ropes. The wind gusted and

added to the motion, so he had to dance around on the somewhat uneven footing of the

yard. He landed a glancing blow, and the dummy, caught in a gust, shot toward him

instead of retreating.

Mikhail only managed to step aside at the last second. The dummy swung past him,

ruffling his hair. He could hear the ropes creak and strain as the dummy reached their

limit and began to move back toward its post. Something wet under his left foot caused

him slip, and before he knew it, he was on the stones, his legs splayed in a split that

nearly tore his groin muscles. At the same time, the dummy .swung back, coming right

at his head.

Mikhail threw himself down, ignoring the protest of his

hamstrings, and the straw thing passed over his head by no more than a finger's width.

He could feel the heaviness of the wooden blocks ruffle his hair. Maybe it was not such

a clever thing, after all. He scrambled to his feet, breathing shallowly, and moved out

of the orbit of the object. The wind seemed to drag the air out of his lungs; dust rose

around him, so his eyes stung with grit, and his vision blurred.

As Mikhail rubbed his eyes, trying to clear them, he heard a creaking noise. The ropes

holding the quintain strained in the wind. Mikhail spun around in the sudden

whirlwind, trying to move out of the orbit of the noise, but it seemed to be everywhere,

and he lost any sense of direction, his mind blunted. He felt more than heard a rush of

movement in the air, of something coming at him, and twisted around, trying to step

out of the way.

There was another noise, a raucous, rough caw, and he jumped at the sound. He heard

the flap of wings above his head, and looked up. There was a flash of black and white.

The wind dropped, and Mikhail blinked his eyes clear of dirt. A moment later, the sea

crow landed on the dummy's head and deposited a large green dropping on it. The

dummy went still, as if the minor weight of the crow were sufficient to stop its

movements.

The crow regarded him with hot, red eyes, as if trying to convey some important

information. Mikhail looked at the bird, then made a deep bow. "Thank you, Lord

Crow. I think you might have saved me from serious injury."

He felt his neck prickle then, and looked around. The stableyard was still deserted, but

he was sure someone was watching him. He looked back toward the house, and saw,

for only a moment, the white circle of a face in one of the windows on the second

floor. Then it was gone, and he was not even sure he had seen it. And there was no way

to guess who it was.

The crow spoke again, and Mikhail turned back. He slipped his sword into its sheath

and groaned. His thighs were burning with pain, and his left shoulder hurt like the

devil. He noticed he had scraped the palm of one hand when he slipped, and he wiped

it on his tunic.

Mikhail's heart slowed to its normal, steady beat, and his breathing deepened. He had

been terrified when the

dummy came at him, but too busy to notice it. Now he felt the fear course along his

blood like poison dregs, and he started to shake all over.

The sea crow lifted its great wings, the white feathers on the edges flashing in the pale

sunlight. It gave a small hop, flapped, and lighted on Mikhail's shoulder so hard he

nearly staggered. The bird was heavier than it looked. He could smell the odor of fish

as the crow dug its huge talons into the cloth of his tunic.

Close up, the bird seemed enormous. Mikhail was aware of the sharp beak, capable of

taking out an eye, very close to his face. But, despite this, he was not alarmed. Instead

he felt curious for the first time in days, as if his mind at last had cleared.

The animal shifted from claw to claw, and Mikhail extended his left arm. He had

handled hawks all his life, but never anything like this. It moved down the length of his

arm until it stood just above his wrist. Then it opened its yellow beak and wiggled its

tongue, a comical gesture that would have made him laugh if he had not been quite so

awed. There was an air about this crow that demanded respect, and he did not feel his

bow a few minutes before was at all foolish.

Was it the same crow he had seen twice his first day at Halyn House? He had heard its

rough caw several times since then, but had been too tired and too busy to notice. Did

it have some purpose? It certainly was not behaving like any crow Mikhail had ever

seen before—or any other bird, for that matter.

There were individuals, he knew, who had a
laran
that allowed them to communicate

with animals, but he had never shown the slightest hint of it. He could sense something

of its energy—very distantly—and the intelligence that lurked in the small brain. But

beyond that it was only a very handsome bird, and nothing else.

The crow gave a squawk that almost sounded like a word, and Mikhail nearly jumped.

Gisela Aldaran had owned a raven, he remembered, that had been trained to mimic

words, and he wondered if the crow had the same ability.

"What?" It seemed polite to speak, if only that much. The crow repeated the sound, and

it resonated in Mikhail's

ears. "Go? Are you telling me to leave? I would, in a flash, if I had any choice in the

matter, believe me!"

The bird stared at him with its penetrating eyes, then seemed to shrug and launched

itself from his arm. It flopped down on the stones of the yard for a moment, then took

off for the trees. Mikhail stood and watched its flight, wondering what to do. In the

end, he waved to the bird and went back to the house.

The clarity of mind Mikhail had achieved in the stableyard persisted through a hot bath

and a change of clothes. It was still with him when he went down to eat dinner with the

children and his Guardsmen. As had become the custom, Priscilla and her shadow were

absent, eating their food in the little room at the back of the first floor where they spent

most of their time.

"I saw you in the yard," Mira said. She smiled, and two dimples appeared in her now