Authors: Marion Zimmer Bradley
learned a little of the history of Halyn House since his arrival, that it had been built for
the mother of some Elhalyn who could not abide her daughter-in-law, four generations
before. One of the workmen from the village had said that the long dead woman still
walked, and swore he had seen her. By all accounts, Maeve Elhalyn had been a
determined woman, one who brooked very little opposition, the terror of her children
and grandchildren. It might be her ghost, he thought, or that of the handmaid she had
purportedly murdered in a fit of fury. The place was so isolated that Maeve could have
slain a bevy of servants without anyone's being the wiser.
Sometimes he had the feeling that the place really was haunted, as Armida was, though
all the Alton spooks seemed to be benign. He had seen, things drifting through the
corridors a couple of times that made the flesh on his arms go bumpy, and heard some
moans that were not the product of childish mischief. He was not overly imaginative,
so he tried to find logical explanations, such as the house
settling, or the wind coming in oddly. But he could not deny that the Halyn House was
an eerie place, with the smell of sulfur from the springs coming when the wind blew
from the north, and all the shadows.
"Was it a dream or something else?" Mikhail asked the question very quietly. He
reached behind Emun and plumped the pillows, then leaned the boy back against them.
Becca came over with a cracked mug full of sweet smelling tea, and set it on the table
by the bed. The old woman tugged the covers straight, giving Mikhail a glance that
suggested he was not competent for such, then tucked them around Emun's shallow
chest, clucking under her breath. The stink of toothrot wafted from her mouth, and
Mikhail tried to ignore it.
"There was something in the room—a spook—and it was
trying to get me," Emun replied. He took the mug off the
nightstand and drank a large mouthful, then coughed as it
went down the wrong way.
"*
Mikhail patted the lad on his thin shoulders. When Emun managed to catch his breath,
he asked, "Why would a spook try to get you, Emun?"
"It was angry," the boy answered, as if this explained everything.
"I see. Angry at you, or just angry."
Emun considered the question and settled more comfortably into the pillows. He
seemed to be relaxing, and Mikhail was grateful. There had been several nights
recently when nothing had calmed him except powerful herbs, which left him dull and
stupid the next day. "It felt like it was trying to eat me up," he finally said.
"Eat you?" This was new, and Mikhail was alarmed.
"Like a banshee."
"Emun, banshees don't come this far from the mountains."
"I know that, Mik!" He went from being a terrified boy to being a normal adolescent in
a flash, and tried to grin feebly. "I said 'like' a banshee!"
"Yes, you did. But since you have never seen a banshee, I don't know how you can
make a comparison."
"Well, I can. Vincent told me all about them."
"And how many banshees has Vincent met?"
Emun laughed at this. "None, of course. I don't know anyone who has ever seen one,
unless you have."
"No, I have not, for which I am sincerely glad. My father saw one, when he was high
up in the Hellers years ago, and from his description, it is a thing I am happy to have
forgone."
Emun smiled wanly at Mikhail's words. "Maybe it was the ghost of banshee." He
looked now like a very ordinary lad, not the completely terrified boy he had been a few
minutes before.
Mikhail reflected for a moment on the strangeness of this conversation, but all he was
really concerned about was calming Emun and getting back to sleep. No, there was
something he had to do first. Why couldn't he remember what it was? "That is a pretty
scary idea—and I don't think you came up with it yourself. Did Vincent tell you that
banshees had ghosts?"
"Yes," Emun admitted reluctantly. "He said nothing could stop the ghost of one."
"I have never heard of anything like that! And I believe I would have. Now put the
dream out of your mind, young man. Just finish your tea, and go back to sleep."
"I muh tend to these cuts, first,
Dom
Mikhail," Becca interjected. "They be bad, and I
dun' want young Emun to take a inflammation. Yur the apple of my eye, Emun, and
dun't you furget it," She pinched his thin cheek in her bony fingers, and Emun looked
as if he would have liked to have throttled her for treating him like a baby.
"Yes, of course," Mikhail answered, looking away to spare Emun the embarrassment of
having a witness. He could sense that the lad was feeling stronger from his anger at the
old nurse, and that this was restoring what little vigor the boy possessed. It was as
much as he could hope for. "I will leave you to it."
Mikhail left the boy's room quickly, glad that this nightmare had not given the boy fits.
He was going to have to do something about Vincent Elhalyn, but he was not sure
what. The logical thing would be to send him to Arilinn, if it was not too late for that
already. He frowned at the idea of bullying Vincent encountering
Mestra
Camilla
MacRoss. But Priscilla, while she had urged him to take Vincent and go, was
absolutely adamant that he should not enter a
Tower for training. It was almost as if she were afraid that something would be
discovered about the lad, or that something would happen to him. And, as with her
other strictures, she offered no reasonable explanation. Indeed, he should have gone
there, or to another Tower, as soon as he showed his
laran.
Val had warned him just a few hours before that Vincent would find a way to get
revenge for being sent from" the dining room, and he had not taken her seriously. He
was a fool, and a failure. He couldn't even manage to discipline an adolescent! What
good was he? How could he have ever imagined he was fit to rule!
As he trudged wearily back toward his room, Mikhail decided he simply must get
some help, and right away. It gave him a hollow feeling of failure, that he could not
manage the simple task of testing the Elhalyn children and discovering which of them
would make a suitable king without the aid of others. Then he remembered something
Lew Alton had told him, one day while they walked together in the day garden at
Arilinn. The two of them had spent a lot of time together there, and they had become
close in a way Mikhail had never been intimate with his own father. How annoyed
Dom
Gabriel Alton would have been if he had known, and how betrayed he would
have felt.
"It is a wise man who knows his own limitations," Lew had said. Then he had added
with a certain dryness, "It has taken me several decades to understand that."
That memory reassured him, and the sense of failure faded. He wished he could talk to
Lew again, because he was sure the older man would .offer him wise counsel. Where
was he? In Thendara, likely, or at Arilinn visiting Diotima. Mikhail paused, hesitant as
he was so frequently these days. He couldn't bring himself to run to Lew Alton or
anyone else with his problems. There had to be another way.
The back of his neck itched then, and he reached up to
scratch it. After a second, Mikhail realized it was not physical itch, but a mental one.
Liriel!
The
image
of
his
sister
danced in and out of his consciousness, like a shimmering
veil. It was as if just the thought of her caused his mind to
scatter like leaves in the wind. ,
Grimly, he concentrated, making the picture of his sister
stronger in his mind. He thought of her full-fleshed body, soft and yet quite strong.
Mikhail remembered the way her garments always smelled of mountain balsam mixed
with one of her incenses—a sharp, refreshing scent. He felt his hands curl into fists as
he passed Mathias sitting in the hall. The Guardsman gave him a look, lifted an
eyebrow in curiosity.
"How's the lad?"
"As well as he can be with being frightened all the time."
"I am glad. He is a good boy, you know, when he isn't shivering in his bedclothes."
"Yes, I do know, and it goes to my heart that he is so plagued. I tell you, Mathias, this
place is . . ."
"Cursed, my lord?"
"I was going to say unhealthy, but cursed will serve."
"Are we going to remain here?"
"I don't really know." Again, he felt possessed by indecision.
"We will be snowbound in a couple of weeks, you know." Mathias spoke the words
with his usual ponderous-ness, as if trying to convey some vital information without
quite saying it.
"Yes, I know."
And I don't know if I can survive an entire winter in this house.
Mikhail opened the door to his room, and went inside. He stood before the fading fire
for a time, his hands clasped behind his back in an unconscious imitation of Regis.
Now he felt less unsure of himself, and his sense of resolution increased as he waited.
He would contact Liriel, who had much more experience in these matters, and ask her
advice. Mikhail found his mouth drawing into a slow smile. He had never asked Liriel
for anything before, but somehow he knew she would be very pleased.
He added a few pieces of wood to the fire, sat down, and drew his matrix stone from
beneath his nightrobe. His fingers fumbled at the drawstrings of the silken pouch, and
he nearly dropped it. He sensed a mental pressure, just a hint of something, so vague
and subtle he could hardly believe it was real. Mikhail ignored it, focusing all his
thoughts and energy on just getting the jewel into his palms.
As Mikhail stared into the faceted depths of his matrix, he found himself thinking not
of his sister, but of Marguer-
ida. He glanced at his rumpled bed and frowned. The covers should be tossed with
love. He wondered if it was ever going to be possible to marry the woman he loved so
deeply, longed for with every breath.
It was a delightful distraction, to think of Marguerida, but he suspected that he would
regret it later. The important thing now was to reach Liriel. Slowly, with enormous
concentration, he forced his mind to empty of any thought except the need to contact
his sister.
Liriel!
What! It is the middle of the night! You seem to be calling from the wrong end of a
well,
bredu.
He found his mouth trying to widen into a grin. The tense muscles of his face felt taut
and unwilling to move in this now foreign manner. Liriel was a deep sleeper and a
slow awakener. He could sense her grumpiness, and discovered that it had a quality of
refreshment, for it was a simple emotion, without any secret meanings.
Forgive me,
Liri.
What do you want?
He hesitated, unsure again.
Help. Advice.
From me? You never asked my advice except on the best diet for ferrets in my whole
life. Mik, are you well?
Not really. There is something going on here that is beyond my abilities, and I truly
need you. Can you come to Halyn House?
Come
to ...
are you giddy? No, I suppose not. You have never asked for my help before,
so it must be very serious. Why me?
That cuts to the heart of it, Liri.
Is it something to do with the children? Marguerida told me you call them the
Elhellions. Are they obnoxious?
I wish they were. I could bear some healthy brattiness, but this . . . they are being
frightened to death, Liri. Something terrible is going on in this house, and I. . .
What do you mean?
Mikhail considered his next thought, and felt a mild confusion that lasted only a
moment, but left him chilled and anxious.
It is difficult to put into words.
Mik, what just happened? You . . . faded for a second.
That is pan of the problem. Priscilla has this woman here, Emelda, who dresses like a
leronis
and . . .
She does what?
Liri, if you keep on interrupting me, I will never be able to tell you anything!
Sorry, Mik. You know how I am when I am awakened suddenly.
Yes, I know. Anyhow, this woman seems to have some influence over Priscilla and the
children, and I have no idea what to do about it. She has
laran,
but more than that I
cannot tell you. She says she is an Aldaran, but I rather doubt that.
He hesitated again.
I
think she has been muddling my mind.
Do you mean that you have been living in a house with another telepath, and you
never thought to mention it to anyone?
She sounded very put out.
I
do. Every time I start to think about
... 7
get so . Liri, help me!
By Zandru's hells! You sound enthralled!
I think you might be right. Will you come?