The Shadow Matrix (60 page)

into sight.

"Look!"

Mikhail turned around, saw the Tower, and shivered. "This is it, I know it."

"Yes. Are you afraid, my dearest?"

"I am. But at the same time I feel it's right. Very strange."

They started moving toward the Tower as someone shouted behind them. There was a

rumble of hooves, and Mikhail's horse screamed a challenge and charged the oncoming

riders, making them scatter. Dorilys spun, reared, and lashed out at the air, just missing

the closest Guardsman as they ran.

"By the Gods, what is that?"

"It's the Tower! How?"

"Get them—we can worry about the Tower later. They are going to get away!"

"Regis will have our heads if ..."

"Damn Regis and damn Mikhail Hastur! Get them!"

Margaret stumbled and slid behind Mikhail, racing across the ground separating them

from the shining building. There was an open door, and light spilled from it. Someone

stood just inside; the shadow of a woman falling on the earth outside the Tower.

Mikhail grabbed her right hand, and pushed her ahead of him. Her outstretched arm

reached into the light. Margaret met a subtle resistance, as if a veil stood there,

invisible

and adamant. She pressed, then hesitated. There was a flutter of dark wings over her

head, and the great sea crow flew into the resistance she sensed, and into the yellow

light beyond.

Margaret felt herself move through the veil, like stepping into honey. There was no

sound for a moment—the wind was gone. The woman whose shadow she had seen

backed up, her eyes wide, as Mikhail passed through beside her.

She turned and looked over her shoulder. Margaret could make out the shapes of

horses and men, but she could no longer hear them. She could see Dorilys trying to

pull away from an unfamiliar hand, and Charger stamping. She saw mouths move, and

knew they were shouting at her, and then suddenly they were gone.

24

Mikhail shook his head, trying to dispel the confusion and dizziness which nearly

overwhelmed him. A glance at Marguerida showed him she was disoriented as well.

What had they done? Were they mad? Then he realized that the great pressure in
his

mind, the dreadful compulsion, was gone. He was so weary after three hours of hard

riding he could barely appreciate it.

He glanced around, first at the room they had entered, then at the woman who had

opened the door. She had thin red hair, and eyes as golden as Marguerida's. She was

robed in gray, and a shawl was looped haphazardly over her shoulders, as if she had

grabbed the first thing to come to hand. Her age, he guessed, was somewhere between

thirty and forty. She had an air of authority, but there was something
defeated
about

her. Who was she? Mikhail studied her anxious eyes and restless hands. Her shoulders

were hunched and tense.

The stone-walled entry chamber was bare of hangings. Even in the dim light, he could

see that the mortar was black in many places, and there was a persistent smell that

suggested smoke to him. Surely, there had been a fire here, although not recently.

There was another smell, too, but it was not the familiar ozone scent of matrix screens.

It took him a moment to recognize it as the stink of burned flesh, and he swallowed

hard. It almost seemed that the stones themselves retained the scent.

Beside him, Marguerida stood trembling. Somehow he could tell that it was not the

sight of the burned stones which disturbed her, but Mikhail could not tell what it was.

Her mind was closed, as if she were trying to make herself invisible. She was

frightened, but of what?

Only the sea crow seemed unperturbed. It stood on a narrow shelf and gazed around

with glowing red eyes. It made a rough comment, stretched its wings, then settled them

back into place and started preening its feathers.

Mikhail took a few shallow breaths, smelling the sweaty, horsey odor on his body, and

the sharp tang of adrenaline and wondered what to do. Lady Linnea had once told him

that when in doubt, he should always behave with courtesy. Good advice. Mikhail felt

an impulse to act, but while he had the will, he was nearly paralyzed with unease.

Finally his tongue found words. "Greetings,
domna."
He made a bow. "I am . . ." his

voice trailed off. Who was he now, in this place and time? If he was indeed in Hali

Tower, then he and Marguerida were deep in the past and Mikhail Hastur was someone

yet to be born. The complexity of it was too much for a moment.

Marguerida huddled beside him, drawing her cloak around her again, for the entry way

was very chilly. "Well met,
domna,
I hope. Thank you for opening the door."

"I had, no choice, did I?" The woman's voice was shrill, and the words grudging. Her

eyes bulged with tension. "Welcome to Hali Tower. I am Amalie El Haliene, and I am

Keeper here. Underkeeper, to be precise, but since I am the only
leronis
present, I do

not think it is wrong to give myself the title I have so long deserved." She made a

small gesture toward the ceiling with a six-fingered hand, and a bitter laugh escaped

her narrowed lips.

At first her words made little sense. From the expression on Amalie's face, it was clear

she expected them to know what she meant. But Mikhail could not concentrate

properly. Something was wrong about the Tower, and he wanted to put his finger on it

before he spoke again. Then somehow he knew that the Tower was, for all purposes,

empty of any but themselves. It gave him a very strange sensation, for he had never

been in a Tower that was not abustle with human thought. It was not the stillness of the

building, but the mental silence that made his skin go rough with fear.

"I am Margarethe, and this is Mikhalangelo."
Mik, remember in the dream, those were

the names we were called!

He was so relieved to hear her voice in his mind that he almost did not understand her

words. She had been gone

for several minutes, frightened by something, but had apparently overcome her fears. If

only he could do the same.
Were we? I didn't recall. And what are our family names?

Dammit! If we claim to he
...

I
know! This is rather more complicated . . . though I don't really know what I

expected. The Hasturs and the Al-tons are going to be well-known families to her, so

we'd better not say those names. She is afraid of us, and angry, too. And where is

everyone?

Perhaps she will tell us, if we can calm her fears. What I want to know is
when
the hell

are we?

I wish I knew, Mik.

"Why had you no choice but to open the door,
Domna
El Haliene?" Mikhail suspected

that whatever had compelled them had likewise influenced her.

"That is an interesting question. Let's not stand about down here. There is a fire in my

sitting room. Come along. You'd best keep your cloaks on, though. The Tower is ... and

leave that bird here. It reminds me of the sea, and my childhood, and brings me no

cheer." She had her eyes focused on Mikhail, and she ignored Marguerida as

completely as possible.

"As you wish, Lady. I cannot speak for the bird. He goes

where he chooses."

• .

Amalie sighed, a comfortingly human noise, and the rigidity of her posture seemed to

unbend a little. "Oh, well. Everything else does as they please, so the crow can, too."

What is he, and why does that ill-omened bird come with him? Mikhalangelo? Surely it

cannot be
—
for he is dead some twenty years in the dungeons of Storn. She had him

killed, just as she had anyone else who opposed her.
The woman turned as these

thoughts crossed her mind, as if too dispirited to conceal them. She walked ahead of

them to the staircase, her slippered feet making a soft sound on the cold stone floor.

Mikhail gave Marguerida a look, knew she had overheard the
leronis'
thoughts as well,

then shrugged, and followed. The frigid walls of the spiral staircase felt as if they were

exhaling ice. There was a smell, too, of damp and must. And something more.
Pain,
he

thought. The stones reeked of suffering. He felt his belly tighten with a new dread, and

bit his lip as he climbed.

Mik!

What?

I think we are in the wrong place
—
at the right time, whatever that might be.

Are you having another vision?

Not exactly. It isn't clear, like a proper vision. But I think that whatever drew us here

had no other available entryway. Hali is only a gateway, not our true destination. That

is the best I can manage. A poor Gift, this Aldaran heritage. Mik, there is something

very
wrong
here.

I have the same feeling. I know she was expecting someone, but I am not sure it was

us. And she does not like
you
one bit.

No, she does not, and the feeling is mutual. I think I remind her of someone she hates,

but I am so tired and unnerved that I cannot trust myself. I will jump at any shadow

right now.

Jump away, dearest
—
right now all we have is our instincts.

They arrived at the landing, and Amalie showed them into a room on one side. It was a

small chamber, with a fire burning in the grate, comfortable couches, and several

highbacked chairs. Opposing walls were hung with tapestries, Hastur on one, and

Cassilda on the other, so they faced one another across the room. They were unlike any

versions of these historic-people Mikhail had ever seen, less human and more mythic

in some way he could not quite describe. And new as well, for he could see the faint

outline of some other larger hanging that had been removed. There were dark lines,

unmistakable marks of fire, on the walls here, darker than those on the lower floor, and

the stench of old burning was stronger.

The spicy smell of mulled wine rose from a cauldron hung above the fire, but it did not

conceal the older odors. The room was cool, as if the hearth could not even warm a

chamber this small, and he was glad he was still wearing his cloak. His belly growled,

and Mikhail realized he was hungry, that he had missed the feast, and all that had

sustained him this evening were a few glasses of wine, and some meat-filled pastries,

now several hours in his body's past. And centuries past as well.

"I cannot offer you much in the way of hospitality,"

Amalie El Haliene began. "I am alone here." Her tone was bitter, but there was fear in

it as well. She took a heavy mug from a little table beside the fire, ladled some hot

wine into it, and offered it to Mikhail. She started to sit down, then gave herself a little

shake. Reluctantly, Amalie forced herself to take another mug up and fill it. She put it

on a table beside Marguerida's chair, then backed away anxiously.

"Where is everyone—your monitors and technicians?"

"Gone, all gone," Her face was empty of expression.
Who are they? What do they want

from me? These are not the ones I summoned
—
if I did. I must have been mad. . . . If

only J were not alone here, and the others . . . 1 must not think on it!

When she did not continue, Mikhail asked, "Gone where?"

Amalie stared at him vacantly for a moment, as if she could not completely grasp his

question. She remained silent, and he could sense confusion in her mind, as if she were

grappling with something too vast to understand. At last she burst out. "You must stop

them! They cannot be allowed to destroy—"

"Stop who?"

"Hali Tower must not be ruined!" Her voice was harsh with hysteria now, but her face,

remained expressionless. It sounded as if she had said the words over and over in her

mind, and was voicing them without any expectation of relief.

"Why should the Tower be ruined?" Mikhail demanded, the hairs on his nape bristling.

The destruction of Hali Tower was a part of history, but it had not occurred to him that

he might be present at the event.

Amalie gaped at him. "The warlords—Don't you know what you are doing here? Did

you not come to aid me?" She was fixated on herself, and the Tower, and he knew she

was unable to comprehend any other purpose for him and Marguerida.

"What warlords? And why should they want to destroy the Tower?" Mikhail knew that

it was not this woman who had drawn them into the past, but he wondered if they had

really been brought to help her. What if Hali Tower
were
saved? He held back a

shudder as he imagined the impact of that possibility on the world that he knew.

Her eyes blazed, and her thin face twitched around them. "I see that you know nothing!

You are useless to me!"

"Why don't you tell us, slowly, what you mean. Forgive our ignorance,
domna,
and

begin at the beginning." Marguerida spoke quietly, her voice radiating calm. Mikhail

felt himself ease at the sound of it, awash in a momentary serenity he wished could last