Authors: Marion Zimmer Bradley
The sounds of the uproar seemed to have penetrated into the kitchen, for a moment
later, Mathias, Tomas, and the rest of the men burst into the dining room, their hands
on their hilts. They drew to a halt, took in the unconscious woman in Lady Elhalyn's
chair, and seemed uncertain what to do. Mikhail was glad to see they were alert and
ready to leap to his defense.
Now that things were calmer, he glanced around the room, leaning Alain back in his
chair. He saw Liriel holding Mira against her generous bosom, stroking the girl's hair
gently and speaking so softly he could not hear her words. Duncan was standing in the
doorway from the kitchen, holding a tray of cooked grain in his hands, his eyes
shocked. Then his old hands trembled, and the food fell to the floor.
Valenta patted Emun's hand, but her eyes were dancing still, full of delight and glee.
Then she said, "You were wonderful, Mikhail! If I had known that a plate of chicken
would do that, I would have thrown one at Emelda long ago."
"I am sure you would."
Alain stirred against him, lifting his head and looking disoriented. The oldest boy
glanced down at the front of his tunic. "How did I get so messy? Mother will be angry.
These are my best clothes. Daryll helped me pick them." He sounded bewildered and
unfocused, and had the querulous voice of a much younger boy.
Mikhail patted Alain's shoulder, reflecting that the shabby tunic was ready for the
ragbag, and had been even before it had gotten food all over it. He, who had never paid
much attention to his own clothing, except to choose the appropriate garment for the
occasion, felt an outrage at the young man's attire. Priscilla was unfit to see to these
children. This was not a new realization, but one he had had several times previously
and forgotten.
How had the soothsayer done it? he wondered. He was. a trained telepath, an able one,
though not in any way remarkable. Mikhail found himself feeling uneasy now,
doubting his own abilities again, because he was certain he should have known what
Emelda was doing and stopped it. It had been subtle, but that did not seem to him to be
a decent excuse for not realizing the nature of his continued befuddlement. He had had
to get his sister to intervene, What kind of man did that make him? He felt outraged at
everyone, including himself.
But his mind felt clear, really clear, almost for the first time. Unfortunately, the clarity
was mercilessly critical of his slowness to grasp the nature of his mental fog. Marguer-
ida had told him he seemed different, but he had not paid her enough attention, had not
listened as he might have. He had been so intent on proving himself capable, that he
had not noticed that he was behaving oddly, was missing things, forgetting things. It
was as if he had awakened from a terrible dream into a nightmare of failure. The relief
he had felt a few minutes before at the clarity of his thoughts now turned to fury at his
own stupidity.
Then, realizing the futility of such ruminations, he looked down at Alain again. The
young man was staring into space, slack-jawed and vacant. The too brief awareness he
had shown was gone, as if it had never existed. His rage at himself shifted and changed
to fury at
Domna
Elhalyn. How could Priscilla have permitted . . . ?
Emelda stirred, and Mikhail stopped his musing. He was not sure quite what she was,
except that she was some sort of telepath he had never encountered before. What he
was certain of was that she was a danger to the children. He
had made a terrible muddle of everything so far, but now he could redeem himself a
little.
Get her stone—now!
Liriel's command was abrupt. He moved without thinking,
reaching the far end of the table in a few strides. He extended his hand, swallowing his
disgust, and closed it around the thong that lay around the scrawny neck of the
soothsayer.
Emelda's eyes snapped open, and she clawed at his hand, tearing his skin with her
nails. One hand raked his cheek as he yanked the thong, and tore away the hidden
stone. "How dare you!" she shrilled.
It took more effort than he imagined, and he was revolted. All his life he had been
trained never to touch the matrix stone of another, or even to consider such an act. It
went against everything he believed. But he held the thing, dangling from the broken
string of leather, away from him.
Emelda tried to grab it, but Mikhail held the object out of her reach. The bag that held
the stone was only a few layers thick, he saw, much thinner than was usual, and the
stone was somewhat visible beneath the silk. It was not bright blue, as he had
expected, but dull and clouded. He would sooner have touched an adder.
Mikhail saw Liriel's hand close around the thong, well above the dangling stone, and
take it from him. Emelda was screaming now, abuse streaming from her lips like
poison.
"Give it back, you bastards! You have no right to touch me—I will kill you! I will see
you die slowly—filthy bastards." She tried to snatch the object away, but Liriel, so tall
compared to the short woman, pulled it out of reach, almost teasingly.
What are we going to do? If we touch the stone, it will kill her, and if we don't... .
Leave this to me,
Liriel answered. Then she turned around and cast the skimpy pouch
into the fire. It fell on the flames, and the silk burned away in a moment, while the
stone itself nestled unharmed on a blazing log.
Emelda threw herself away from the table, and rushed to the hearth. She tried to reach
for the stone, but Mikhail grabbed and held her. She was strong for all that she was so
small, and she fought him like an animal, clawing and
scratching and screaming. He expected her to collapse as her matrix stone glowed in
the fireplace, but she disappointed him by remaining not only conscious, but ready to
scratch his eyes out if she could only reach them.
Mikhail held Emelda firmly for a moment, then balled one hand into a fist and struck
her pointed chin. It hurt his already bruised knuckles, and he loathed the pleasure he
had as his fist made contact. The soothsayer went slack. He had wanted to do just this
for weeks, he realized, feeling ashamed of himself.
"She will be all right," Liriel informed him reassuringly, "or as well as she ever was."
"But won't she be injured by the burning of her matrix?"
"The heat of the fire will not actually harm the stone, and she clearly is not going to go
into shock from losing it. But the fire will clarify the stone."
"Clarify? What do you mean?" Mikhail had never heard the term, and wondered if his
sister had taken leave of her wits.
"Trust me."
That thing is a piece of some old trap-matrix, and how this hedge-witch
found it, I don't know. Recently, I've come across knowledge of some things better left
alone. There is a cache of records at Arilinn no one has looked at in generations, and
rightly so. I found it while I was helping Jeff try to discover what we might do for
Diotima Ridenow. After Marguerida left Arilinn, I elected myself as researcher, and I
discovered this fascinating old manuscript, so faded and worn it was almost
impossible to read. And I learned something about trap-matrices no one has suspected
or used for generations.
You are an amazing woman, sister.
Yes, I am.
"Pick her up, will you?"
"I'd rather not." He was stunned by his sister's calmness and assurance. She had
changed, become more certain, since he had last seen her. She had never shown the
least tendency to boastfulness, and had certainly not regarded herself as remarkable.
Was. it because of Marguerida, or something else? He wanted to know, needed to
know, because it was exactly that sort of certainty he found he now lacked.
Abruptly, Priscilla Elhalyn appeared at the door of the dining room, her face quite pale
and her hair disordered.
"What is this? What have you done to Emelda?" Her eyes had a strange light in them,
part fury and part terror.
"We have stopped her from terrorizing your children," Liriel answered. "What were
you thinking of, to allow this creature to—"
"How dare you!" Priscilla drew herself up to her full height, which was still very much
shorter than Liriel or Mikhail. An expression of dignity played across her face, one
Mikhail had not seen there since his arrival. "You have no right to tell me anything,
you stupid cow." Then she stepped over and picked up the shoulders of the soothsayer,
kneeling and pulling the woman into her lap. "I want you out of here at first light—
both of you. If you do not leave, I will turn the Guardian loose, and—"
"You will do nothing of the sort," Mikhail interrupted. He found himself completely
disgusted with this odd woman. More, he was tired of being threatened. He had
reached some limit he did not know he possessed. If he did not control himself, he was
very likely to do violence, if only to release the sense of outrage he felt for the
children.
Ever since he had knelt in the foyer of Armida, above the injured body of Domenic
Alar, his feelings toward children had changed. He no longer regarded them as mucky
annoyances, but as curious creatures who could be rather interesting. His nephew
Donal, for instance, was as bright a lad as could be wished for.
He had never felt emotionally attached to children before, not even Danilo Hastur, who
was probably the one he knew best. But since he arrived at Halyn House, and found
himself faced with the Elhalyn children, he had grown more attached to them. It had
not happened at once, but each day had brought him a sense of purpose, muted by
Emelda's interference, but there nonetheless. Now it was present in full force, and he
was very angry at the woman crouching on the floor. She was hugging the still form of
Emelda against her as she should have held her children, and he wanted to put his
hands around her throat and squeeze until the breath left her.
Priscilla glared up at him, almost as if she was aware of his rage. "I want you to get out
of my house!" she shrieked.
"Be quiet, woman! You have allowed your children to be manipulated by that
miserable creature. How could you?"
"You don't understand! You cannot understand. Emelda told me ..."
"A great many foolish things, in all likelihood. Why have you let this little hedge-witch
nearly destroy your children?"
"No, no—she was strengthening them for their change!"
Mik, it is useless to argue with her. She is not sane any longer
—
if she ever was. She
seems to think that soon the children will be transformed into . . . well, angels is the
best I can come up with. Some sort of immortal, as much as I can gather from what she
is thinking.
Wonderful. What should I do?
Your responsibility is to these children. Alain is never going to be well again, but we
might be able to salvage the rest. We must get them away from this dreadful place
now!
What about Priscilla and Emelda? And, for that matter, this Guardian thing they keep
talking about?
Burning Emelda's stone has neutralized her for the moment, though I suspect she is so
far gone that she will return to her former habits as soon as she can.
Who is she? You seem to know her.
I do, though it took me a while to recognize her. She was a blonde when I knew her,
and weighed about twenty pounds more. She came to Tramontana about three and a
half years ago, wanting training, and the Keeper tested her. I don't know the details,
but she was rejected.
But she is a capable telepath. I find it hard to believe that the
leronis
let her leave.
I am unclear about that part. She just vanished one night. As to what happened, we
may never know.
Priscilla staggered to her feet, letting Emelda slip back to the floor. She was breathing
shallowly, and her eyes were like great pools of ice. "I will not permit you to continue
as Regent for my children! If you try to take them away— I know that you are going to
try—I will unleash the Guardian, and nothing can stand up to it! It is more powerful
than any mortal, and more loving." She pressed shaking hands to her modest bosom.
"Now, children, come to your mother. We are going to go to my rooms until these
people leave tomorrow."
Only Alain stirred at all, and he with great reluctance.
He shifted in the chair, half rose, then looked confused. The rest of the youngsters
hung back, seeking guidance.
"Be still, Alain," Vincent barked. "I feel as if I had just awakened from a terrible
dream."
"Domna
Priscilla," Mikhail began, determined to at least attempt to discover why she
had done the things she had, "why did you agree to Regis' proposal to begin with?"
"Why, Emelda told me to. She said it would not make any difference one way or