The Shadow Matrix (34 page)

The soft light of a winter morning crept through the windows of the dining room,

rousing the sleepers who had remained there through the night. The fire was nearly

out, and the sour smell of the stale food remaining on the table pervaded the chamber.

There were other odors as well, for Alain had soiled himself during his seizures, and

one of the girls had vomited. No one had the energy to cope with the mess.

Mikhail looked around, swallowing in a dry and foul mouth. His muscles ached, and

the place where Emelda had scratched him itched furiously. He was filled with a

profound sense of failure and shame. It took all his will to banish these emotions and

order his weary mind to function. He knew that as tired as he was, if he gave in to his

jangled feelings, he would make even more mistakes.

The Guardsmen seemed the least affected by the events of the previous night. They

were waking up, with the exception of Daryll who had managed to remain alert and on

watch until dawn, stretching their legs, yawning, grunting, and generally behaving as if

the dining room of Halyn House were a barrack. Mikhail rallied himself enough to

direct his mind to the tasks at hand.

"Get the horses fed, and prepare to leave in a few hours."

"What are we going to do about her?" This was Tomas, and he was pointing at the

snoring figure of Emelda, still bound in her chair. She looked small and harmless.

"I haven't decided yet."

Valenta was sitting up in her bundle of blankets, watching Mikhail with red-rimmed

eyes. "She killed Ysaba, you know. Pushed her down the stairs."

"What? You . . . you told me she went away."

"That's what we were supposed to say. They both killed her—my mother and Emelda

—and buried her under the hedge. They thought no one knew, but I saw them. That's

why the crows keep coming around. They can smell the—" Suddenly Valenta's small

face crumpled into tears. "I liked Ysaba!" she whimpered.

"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 miserable 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.