Authors: Marion Zimmer Bradley
It took him a minute to identify the odor. He had not known there was a hot spring in
the area until now.
"Hello, Duncan. How are you keeping these days?" he began, speaking with more
cheer than he felt.
"Welcome,
vai dom.
I'm as well as I can be." Then he hesitated, looked at the ground,
and shuffled his feet anxiously. "Are you expected?" He cackled eerily. "Last time you
wasn't."
"Yes, I am." What if Priscilla had changed her mind, arid had not bothered to tell
anyone? What if he had learned how to test for
laran
and made this journey for
nothing? Regis Hastur had assured him just a few days earlier that things were fine, but
something could have happened, he supposed. No, he would have been told.
"Mestra
Emelda did not inform me," Duncan muttered, his humor evaporating as he
rubbed his gnarled hands together. "There is no place prepared for all these horses.
There is no feed."
Mikhail ignored the man's inhospitable words and dismounted. He was tired and
hungry, and his temper was starting to fray. The smell of the stables disturbed him, and
the sense of wrongness about the place plucked at his nerves. He had no idea what was
going on, but he was determined to get to the bottom of things immediately.
"Who is
Mestra
Emelda?" He had never heard of this woman, but the tone of Duncan's
voice made him uneasy.
"Mestra
Emelda," the old man repeated, as if it explained everything.
Daryll dismounted and took Charger's reins, since it was clear that Duncan had no
intention of doing anything but
stand there and look bewildered. "I'll see to the horses,
Dom
Mikhail. We have enough
feed for tonight—though from the smell of the place, there isn't a scrap of clean hay to
be had. Whew!" He curled his nose a little and grimaced in distaste. "Tomorrow I can
ride over to that village we passed about five miles back, and have some sent over."
"Tomorrow?" Duncan looked at the Guardsman suspiciously. "Surely you are not
staying! She won't like that a bit."
"Of course my men are staying," Mikhail snapped, exasperated.
"No, they won't," the old fellow growled, now looking almost hostile.
The feeling of unease which had plagued him the closer he got to Halyn House burst
into a sudden moment of fear. He stamped it down roughly and studied Duncan more
closely. The man he remembered had been crochety, but never rude. And he had been
neat in his person, and intelligent as well. This fellow seemed to be another person
entirely—a sullen and rather stupid man. His eyes seemed glazed now that Mikhail
was near enough to see them.
Mathias was off his steed and walking toward the stables, his broad shoulders stiff, as
if he expected the worst. He disappeared beneath the shadowed door of the barn, and
Mikhail heard a curse. A moment later he emerged, his sober and normally tranquil
face red with rage. "That's no way to treat good stock!" he thundered, and looked ready
to knock Duncan down.
Mathias had grown up with the horses for which the Alton Domain was famed, and
had a passion for the animals that most men reserved for women. The expression on
his normally pleasant face was outraged. The situation in the stables must be worse
than Mikhail had assumed.
"What do you mean, Mathias?"
"I only took a glance, but it was enough! Some of the animals are standing in ditches
up to their hocks, and the stalls are filthy. I never saw anything like it."
"I don't have time to take care of those animals," sniveled Duncan, looking a little
ashamed. "It's all I can do to just keep the wood chopped for the fire, and . . ."
"It's going to take a lot to muck out those stables," Ma-
thias interrupted, "and the roof needs repair. This place is a disgrace!"
Mikhail agreed with him, and hoped that the house itself was in better shape. He had
spent enough time at Armida to know the ins and outs of good management, and was
rather surprised to realize how much he had learned without knowing it. He had
mucked out stalls, curried his horses, sat up all night with foaling mares, broken his
own steeds, and dealt with cases of colic and other equine troubles. But the stables at
Armida were very well run—
Dom
Gabriel Alton would not have permitted anything
else— and the horses were well-treated. It made him sick to think of the poor animals
within this stable.
It was still an hour to dusk, and he felt an enormous reluctance to go into Halyn House
now. It was a strange sensation, a kind of prickling of his skin, a chilliness that had
nothing to do with the cooling of the air. Instead, he turned to Daryll and Mathias,
nodding. "Let's see what we can do to make the place livable before dark."
Daryll and the other Guardsman exchanged a look. It was one thing for Mikhail to do
chores while they were on the road, and quite another now, the look suggested. And
under ordinary circumstances, they would not have been reduced to stablehands either,
for there were always grooms around, and boys learning their craft. It was clear they
were uneasy about the situation, trying to balance Mikhail's dignity with the need to
make some order.
He did not wait for them to agree, but marched into the dank and gloomy building.
Mikhail was glad his belly was fairly empty, for the stink was enough to make his
gorge rise. He went to the nearest stall, slipped alongside the miserable horse there,
and took the hackamore from its hook along the wall. He slipped it over the horse's
head and carefully backed the animal out.
The beast was too disspirited to offer any resistance. There were sores on its legs. It
had not been farried in a long time, so the hooves were grown out, and the poor thing
was cowhocked. The skin hung along its ribs, and the animal was listless, too weak to
show any spirit. He recognized the horse as one that Vincent had ridden four years
before, a fine animal that deserved good treatment. Mikhail turned it around slowly,
then led it out of the stable and
into the yard. He looped the lead over a rail, and gave the horse a pat on the neck. It
looked at him with enormous dark eyes, then shifted uncomfortably from hoof to hoof,
as if its legs were painful.
"Can either of you clip his feet? I never quite got the knack of it."
Mathias grunted, went to his own horse, and took a leather bag off the back. In a few
moments, he had a sickle-shaped knife in his callused hand. "I always carry this— you
never know when you will need it." Then he bent down and took the nearest hoof and
started to slice off the excess cartilage.
Daryll had followed Mikhail's example, and brought out another animal, a nice little
colt. In a few minutes, they had gotten all the horses out of, the stable, and Mathias
was cutting off the overgrown hooves with a vengeance. He swore softly as he worked,
gentling the horses, though they were all too feeble to give him much trouble. There
were six animals in all, .none of them in any better shape than the first. Duncan just
stood and watched, his dull eyes following their movements.
Mikhail and Daryll found rakes and shovels, and started to clear out the worst of the
mess. The smell of ammonia was overpowering. The rotten hay was full of worms,
mostly earthworms, but there were some parasites as well. And they disturbed several
families of rats, who ran squeaking into the shadows.
It was backbreaking labor, foul and stinking, but Mikhail found it helped him shake the
sense of rage and powerlessness that had arisen in him. There were stalls that had not
been used in years, and in these the earthen floor had not been worn into troughs by the
restless movement of overgrown hooves. Indeed, they were fairly clean, and only
needed a fast raking to set them to rights. Daryll climbed into the loft and found a bale
of hay that had not yet mildewed, then spread it around sparingly.
"I don't blame ol' Mathy for bein' in a fury, one bit. Those are decent horses, and it isn't
right to treat 'em so badly," the Guardsman said. Then he glanced up, toward the
ceiling. "The rain will come in if we don't see to it."
"I know. I've never seen anything like this. What a shambles!"
"I'll go for fresh hay at first light, and see if I can find a workman who can fix the roof.
That is . . ." he paused, ordering his thoughts, "if we are going to remain. Are we?"
"We don't seem very welcome, do we?"
"Not if that old geezer is anything to judge by, we aren't. Look! Here's some horse
salve! Just the thing for those sores."
"Good. We need to get the trough clean, for I don't think fouled water will do them any
good. I suppose that old Duncan has been watering them with a bucket, for while they
look half starved, they don't appear to be dehydrated. Take the salve to Mathias, will
you, while I look around and see if there is any feed. Those animals look like they
haven't been fed in a week."
"We've got enough oats on the mules for tonight,
Dom
Mikhail. For ours and these
poor, starved beasties. It goes right to my heart to see them. When I took that palfrey
out of her stall, I swear she said 'Thank you' and would have fallen on my neck with
gratitude, if she had arms instead of legs."
Mikhail grinned at the Guardsman's words, and felt his tension abate. Daryll was
imaginative, although he tried to hide it. A good man. Both of them, he reflected, were
fine men. The situation was not what he had expected. When he had visited Elhalyn
Castle four years before, the household had been somewhat ramshackle, but the stables
had been in decent order, and if the linens on the bed were worn, at least they were
clean and decent. The unease which had almost vanished while he labored returned,
and his smile faded. If the condition of the stable was any measure, then Halyn House
was likely to be dreadful.
"When you go to the village, see if you can find a lad or two to help with the horses. I
suspect that there is no staff—though I am damned if I can figure out why! When I
visited four years ago, at the castle, there were not many servants, and Duncan was
doing the duties of the
condom,
even though that was not his job."
"Why?"
"The
condom
was not in his right mind—a bit past his work—but
Domna
Elhalyn did
not seem to notice. Or care. She is ... eccentric."
"Daft sounds like a better word, if you don't mind my
plain speaking. Not notice!" Daryll looked outraged, his cheeks reddening a little, and
his blue eyes sparkling. "That there Duncan seems a ninny, too—past his work or just
dimwitted.".
"I know. And he wasn't like that four years ago. He was quite capable, and managed
things well enough." <
"You'll set things to right,
dom."
"I rejoice in your confidence, and only wish I shared it."
Daryll chuckled. "I never mucked out a stall with a lord before, so I think if you will
do that, you will get things in order before the cat can polish her ear."
Mikhail experienced a wave of emotion from the Guardsman, a feeling of near
devotion, of immediate loyalty that would become unswerving in time. Until that
moment, he had not realized that he had been evaluated, observed, and judged,
probably by both of his companions. He had never really considered before that those
who followed his orders and did his bidding might have strong opinions. Or, rather, he
had known it, but never felt it. Mathias had served under his father, while
Dom
Gabriel
was still in charge of the Guard, and likely measured him against the Old Man, He
wondered if he had measured up yet. Would he ever? Rather to his surprise, he found
(
he wanted to command the kind of loyalty his father and his uncle did.
He glanced down at his hands. There was a blister starting on his forefinger, and his
palms hurt from the unaccustomed labor. He was warm, sweaty, and he stank almost as
much as the barn. His shoulder ached, and his thighs as well. If he had had his wish, he
would have sat down and .refused to move for an hour.
But Mikhail knew he could not put off going to the house any longer, however much
he might long to. He trudged out of the dimness of the barn, then stopped and washed
his hands under a pipe that ran from the wall, and should have run all the way to the
still scummy trough. A piece of wood that supported it- had broken and lay on the
ground, and from the look of the dirt around it, had been broken for several weeks.
Mikhail shook his head.
Then he spotted some rot in the wood around the pipe, where it came from the wall of
the barn, and made a mental note to get it repaired. He splashed some water over his
sweating face, wiped his sleeve across it, and hoped that
there was a working bath in Halyn House. Then he turned and headed for the hedge
which surrounded the structure.
There was an opening in it, and he passed beneath the thick barrier, to find himself
standing in a rather unkempt garden. The foliage he recognized as the tops of carrots,