Authors: Marion Zimmer Bradley
himself, Mikhail Hastur, and he had a great deal to learn.
A shuffling sound came down the corridor,* and then a servant appeared at the still
open door of their room. It was a middle-aged man, carrying a heaped tray. Rich smells
rose from it, and Mikhail could see two roasted fowl, a bowl of boiled grain, and most
of. a loaf of bread. There were a couple of rather soiled napkins, and wooden spoons as
well.
The servant did not speak, but just thrust the tray toward Mikhail. He took it and put it
down on the end of the bed, since the only table in the room was occupied by a pitcher
and bowl for washing, and watched the fellow shuffle away. There was something
disquieting about his behavior, but he could not imagine what.
"Wake up, sleepy head. There is food."
"Uhm?"
Marguerida roused, and peered at him owlishly for a second. She sniffed and grinned.
"It smells good."
Mikhail put the tray between them and she drew a napkin over her lap, and reached for
one of the birds. She tore it in two, then yanked the leg off the breast, and sank her
teeth into it. A gobbet of fat ran down her chin, and she rubbed it aside with her wrist,
hitting herself with the bracelet. Mikhail hardly noticed, being too involved with
satisfying his own hunger. By the time the second servant
appeared, carrying clothing, he was quite greasy, and did not really care. He was going
to bathe as soon as he finished eating, and he was looking forward to that.
The servants came and went in complete silence, and he wondered if they had been
ordered not to speak. It was puzzling, but he was still too hungry to think about it.
Mikhail tore off a slab of bread and took a large bite. It tasted slightly wrong, and he
made a face. There was something sour in it. Any other time he would have spat it out.
Instead he chewed, swallowed, and wished there was some wine or beer to wash it
down. He spent a moment thinking of the fine beer that
Mestra
Gavri brewed in her
inn near Ardais Castle, in an old building that had not even been constructed yet, and
then shrugged. He took one of the spoons and tried the boiled grain. It was
overcooked, thick and pasty and without any particular flavor, and reminded him of the
dreadful meals he had endured at Halyn House.
Marguerida had finished half her fowl, and tried the grain. She made a face. "The cook
must be having an off day," she muttered.
Mikhail wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. "Or else the Elhalyns just never hire
good ones. I wonder why the servants did not speak."
"Yes, I noticed that, too. I think they were compelled to silence—at least I felt
something like that when the man brought the food. I think that strange woman who
was with
Dom
Padriac is doing some things that would make Istvana furious, if she
knew."
While you were taking a nap, I did a little exploring
—
all without leaving the room.
There are
leroni
all around us, and they are in terrible shape. Something dreadful is
going on in this place, and I wish I knew what it was.
Exploring without leaving the room?
A new trick I seem to have gotten with Varzil's ring.
Can you teach me? It sounds useful. Gah! This grain is disgusting. Have you ever
thought that the wonderful thing about telepathy is that you really can talk with your
mouth full?
No, and if you make me choke with laughing, you will likely kill me. What do you make
of all this, Marguerida?
No you can't teach me, or no you never thought of that?
You have thought of something, and you don't want to tell me what it is.
How did you know?
Because you always try to distract me from unpleasant things with your jokes,
caria.
I
suppose I do. A deplorable character flaw. Very well. I think that
Dom
Padriac is
trying to get fissionable materials.
What! How did you leap to that idea?
Several things. I noticed just a bit of a glow on the stairs leading up from the entry,
when we came in. It set me thinking. And I remembered that when I was trying to read
the entire scriptorium at Arilinn, and driving the archivist nearly mad, I came across a
few documents that suggested to me that at one point, low-yield atomic devices were
used
—
during the time we are in now. Damn! My mind feels befuddled. One of the
things that Varzil did was put a stop to that, but the knowledge still exists, and I think
Dom
Padriac intends to use it.
But why?
Mikhail was aware that there were a few places on Darkover which still
glowed in the night, and which were avoided by everyone. And his Terranan education
had given him a rudimentary knowledge of physics. He was not surprised that
Marguerida had a better grasp of it. What science he knew was that of the matrix, not
of chemistry or physics as used by the Federation.
From the little that Amalie told us, I think he has some dispute with the Hasturs in
Thendara. Now, Mik, if your foe was in a certain place, and you had the capacity to
destroy that place, what would you do?
Mikhail was too stunned for a moment to reply. It went against everything he believed
in. To strike an enemy from a distance was cowardly and dishonorable. But
Marguerida was right. During the Ages of Chaos, before the making of the Compact,
that was exactly how the small, warring kingdoms had behaved.
That is horrible! Surely if that had happened . . . there would be some record
...
Mik, I don't pretend to understand it
—
but we know it did not happen, and perhaps the
reason is that we were the ones to prevent it. But, right now, what we have to do is
learn what is actually going on in this Tower, and then figure out what to do. The real
question is whether our actions change the future, or preserve it.
He felt his heart sink. But he looked at her, her lower
face greasy with fat, her hair tangled, and her golden eyes surrounded by dark circles
of fatigue, and felt it lift again. He leaned across the tray between them and planted a
messy kiss on her mouth. As long as Marguerida was with him, he was sure he could
face anything.
Mikhail bit into his bread again, and felt his mouth pucker. Was the grain moldy or
something? And why was he feeling woozy, with food in him? Weak and stupid. He
spat it out. He rose and poured some water from the pitcher on the stand into his hand
and cupped it into his mouth.
Marguerida was looking at him, her eyes unfocused. She . looked down at the food for
a moment. "I'll have her guts for garters!" She spoke in Terran, not
casta,
and Mikhail
had to struggle to translate the words. "The food is drugged! Or poisoned." She made a
gagging noise, staggered to her feet, and leaned over the bowl on the stand, retching
and spewing.
Mikhail gripped her shoulders, supporting her. She was right, and he spent a futile
moment being furious. Then he felt his hand warm beneath his ring, and he sensed a
flow of well-being course along his body. Whatever had been in the bread, and perhaps
the boiled grain, changed. He watched it transform, amazed and fascinated.
Marguerida stiffened in his grasp, and he knew she, too, was feeling the incredible
sensation of being cleansed. And it was from him, not from her. He, too, could heal.
For no reason he could bring to mind, this pleased Mikhail inordinately. She spat once
more into the bowl, rinsed her mouth and face, and stood up, leaning against his
shoulder. '•'Whatever you just did, I feel better."
"I do, too. And as for that woman's guts, you are going to have to share them with me!"
Marguerida laughed and slipped her arms around him. He could sense the roil of her
emotions, and knew she was laughing to hold the other feelings at bay, the rage and
helplessness. "Here we are, hungry enough to eat a bear, and the food is toxic. And
stuck in a dreadful castle as well. Why am I not completely terrified?"
"I don't know, beloved, but I am glad that you are not. And if I can just discern how, I
think I can do something about the food. The fowl is safe, and it is the bread and
grain which have been poisoned. We will manage, somehow." Mikhail knew he should
be afraid, and part of him was. Together they could solve the problem—not separately,
but as one. As they were meant to be. And somehow they must survive.
32
"t
M wonder if Amirya is just going to let us sit here, eating our heads off and being
bored until the end of the world," Marguerida complained on the fourth afternoon of
their confinement.
"You didn't seem bored an hour ago," Mikhail replied, smiling at her.
"We can't spend-the rest of our lives making love and sleeping, Mik!"
"I can think of worse fates, but you are right. It's amazing we haven't gotten on each
other's nerves. This room seems to get smaller every time I look at it. But, while you
were having a nap earlier, I did some more mapping. I am getting rather good at it."
'.'Find out anything useful, or were you just eavesdropping?"
Mikhail shifted on the narrow bed, trying to find a more comfortable position. He was
sitting with his back against the wall, with his legs tucked up tailor fashion, and he
ached for freedom. He had learned much during the enforced confinement, though he
did not understand all of it yet. "I discovered there is a large cache of explosives on the
other side of the Tower—in that stone building with the red door we saw when we
arrived."
"How did you manage that? I still don't understand how you do this mapping trick—do
you?"
"No, I "don't. I assume it is a function of the matrix, and just accept it. All I know is
that I can sort of feel spaces, which I could never do before, and sometimes I can sense
what is in them. For instance, I know there is a proper banqueting hall in the other
tower—very grand, if a little chilly.
Dom
Padriac spends a good bit of time there,
dream-
ing of destroying Thendara, I suspect. I did not stay long, for fear my presence might
be noticed."
"I am more interested in getting out of here."
"That won't be easy. This corridor we are on is locked at the end where it goes into the
kitchens, from the other side. There is a cook and several servants, but none of them
talk very much, so I haven't been able to pick up gossip. Still, there is an air of
anticipation that I have noticed, a kind of general anxiety, so I think things are coming
to a head. If we could somehow get through that door, and past the kitchen, the stables
are about a hundred yards beyond. Then there is the gate, which we could not open
between us."
"Oh, I don't know." Marguerida flexed her left hand and narrowed her eyes. "I think, if
I could get to it, I might be able to do something."
Mikhail studied her. She slept a great deal, and was quiet for long periods, which was a
difference that worried him at first. The Marguerida he knew was much more alert and
active. Now she seemed dreamy much of the time. But he knew that she was doing
some sort of work, for while she was sleeping, he got impressions from her mind that
were very complex. Her contact with Varzil's matrix had clearly provoked changes in
her that she needed time to integrate. He had the same problem, and had been glad that
Amirya had ignored them, instead of putting them to work, as she had promised her
brother she would.
"Yes, you probably could. If we could get there. Which we cannot at present." He
shifted again. "I've tried to map the whole place, and the one area I can't penetrate is
right over our heads. I can sense a lot of screens, but it is so well dampered that it
makes the Crystal Chamber seem like a sieve. And I know that the people in the other
rooms go up there, and that they are sick. I've never seen anything like it, Marguerida.
They are wasting away."
On the second night, he had heard the shuffling of many feet outside his door. He had
felt their illness, and the silence of their minds as well. They did not seem to know
their own names, and there was none of the normal hum of thoughts that he expected.
They did not speak either, which was even more disturbing.
He followed them with his mind, and was surprised when
they all seemed to vanish completely a few minutes later. It was then he had
discovered that the upper floors of the building were protected by telepathic shields
that made it impossible to see beyond them. It was as if the upper stories were
invisible, although he knew they were there.
"I know, and it makes me furious. They are drugged into submission, and I expect
Amirya assumes we are as well. But I don't think the drugs are the cause of what ails
them—there is some poison in this place and I am not sure we will not fall ill if we
remain here much longer. A pity we can't just blast our way out of here."