The Shadow Matrix (31 page)

suspicions—Priscilla was not his charge, only the children were. Or had he refused to

inquire further because Emelda was so clearly hostile, and vigilant toward her

mistress? It was too late to wonder about the past. What was he going to do about the

present?

Suddenly he remembered sitting in the garden at Arilinn with Marguerida, during her

first days there. "I do wish there was a textbook—several would be better! Studying

matrix science without any references is making me crazy! The records in the

scriptorium are not my idea of useful, for where they are not obscure, they resort to

vagueness!" Then she had smiled at him, and he had felt his heart leap.

Now, recalling, these words, Mikhail found he wished he had a book of some sort

which told him what he could do, as Regent, and what he could not. He had never

before been in any situation where he did not know exactly where he stood in the

scheme of things, and he found he did not like it at all. He had never understood so

well as now the frustrations that Marguerida must have experienced, trying to learn the

customs of Darkover without the sort of materials she was used to.

And just at that moment, a nice text on the ins and outs of
laran
would have been very

useful. If he possessed such a thing, he likely could have dealt with Emelda on his

own, without running to his sister to bail him out of the situation. As glad as he was of

her presence, Mikhail felt that she would not have had to make a long and wearisome

journey if he had not failed at his assigned task.

Mikhail noticed again that his mind was less muddled, though his emotions remained

conflicted. Why was Emelda present, and why was Priscilla absent? He somehow

knew the answer almost as soon as he formed the question. Emelda could only

influence people in small numbers, and the arrival of Liriel and four men had likely

upset her control. She dared not allow Priscilla to be present, or be out of the room

herself. Emelda had to be there, for her own purposes. But did she really imagine she

could control Liriel, who was well trained and skillful?

Mikhail smothered an impulse to walk up to the head of the table, grab the tiny woman

by the arm, and show her out of the room. It was bad enough that she was sitting in her

mistress' place, when she was, technically, no more than a servant. But he found he

was curious as to what she was up to. If she was going to try to corrupt Liriel's mind,

as she had done his, she was in for a nasty surprise!

He found Emelda watching him closely, her dark eyes narrow with suspicion. Mikhail

ignored her and took his seat, as if nothing was the matter. He shrugged, put all his

troubles out of his mind, and passed the bowl of leeks, with a few carrots added

tonight, in celebration, he assumed, of. Liriel's presence.

"I trust you will not remain here long," Emelda announced, looking at Liriel much too

directly to be polite, "since your presence is a disturbance, and you are not welcome. In

fact, the
domna
wishes that both of you depart tomorrow, or the day after at the latest.

All of you!" She glared at Daryll, who was sitting beside Alain, serving him a portion

of boiled grain.

"What utter bosh," Vincent answered her, his loud voice ringing around the room. "Just

yesterday she told me she was looking forward to having someone new to talk to."

"She never said anything of the sort," Emelda answered, drawing her dark brows

together.

"Emelda," Mikhail began, "I am Regent for the Elhalyn. For all practical purposes, this

is my house, not yours, nor Priscilla's."

"Oh, that!" The soothsayer was almost sneering. "The
domna
has decided that she has

changed her mind—there will be no Regency, and . . ."

"The hell you say," roared Vincent, his pale face reddening with rage. "You interfering

old biddy—shut your face before I shut it for you!"

Liriel swallowed her mouthful. "I do not think that I can finish testing the girls in so

brief a time, and I do not expect to leave in the next few days."

"No testing! I will not permit it," Emelda snarled.

"You do not have any say in the matter," Mikhail said quietly. He could sense a

coldness in the room that had nothing to do with the temperature. Emelda was trying to

influence him—a cold, creepy feeling in his brain. He felt

a shiver and realized that the girls and Emun were silently terrified. Alain appeared

unaffected by the tension in the room, chewing his grain with calm and slow

deliberation, and staring off at the fireplace, his light eyes vacant.

The silence in the room seemed charged with energy. Mikhail glanced at Daryll, who

was keeping an eye on Alain, and thought he was either a fine actor, or he could not

comprehend the whole matter. The steadfast presence of the young Guardsman was

immensely reassuring.

Liriel swept the board with a calm glance. Mikhail watched her, enjoying the sense of

her authority, and also knowing that he had support at last. "Any untrained telepath is a

danger, and it seems to me that this resistance to discovering the nature of the gifts of

these children is quite foolish. I do not understand
Domna
Priscilla's behavior. I do not

believe you have any right to speak for her."

Emelda drew her lips back in a snarl. "When the four moons conjoin at Midwinter, the

Guardian will do any testing necessary and . . ." She stopped abruptly, realizing she

had said more than she intended. A bead of sweat shone on her forehead, and she was

quite pale, her shoulders stiff with barely concealed rage. He watched her bite her lip.

Miralys shivered and moved closer to Liriel. "Don't let the Guardian have me," she

whimpered.

Mik, these children are terrified, except Vincent, who cannot feel anything but his

egotism. What is this Guardian?

I have told you everything I know, sister.

"There,
chiya,
we won't let anything happen to you," she said aloud.

"It will eat us up," Emun announced suddenly, his thin face twisted with anguish. "No

one can protect us."

"You stupid whiner," Vincent sneered at his younger brother. "There is nothing to fear

—not from the moons or the Guardian."

Mikhail took a deep breath. "I think that we are getting ahead of ourselves here," he

began with more certainty than he felt. "There is nothing harmful that can come from

testing. Liriel will examine the girls, and I will do the same for you boys, and we will

get things settled." He could sense something from Emelda, an energy he had never

experienced before, as if his brain was on fire. Mercifully, it only lasted a moment.

Before he could analyze the sensation, Vincent interrupted his thoughts. "There is no

need for testing—I am the only one who can take the throne, and I want it!"

Emelda glared at Vincent, then at Mikhail, half rising in her chair, then settling back.

"The Guardian does not want to have any testing. It is very angry already—and it will

kill you if you remain here. I insist that you and your sister leave immediately

and . . . !"

"That's enough!" Mikhail was surprised by his own vehemence. "You forget your

place, Emelda. We are not leaving until I say so."
Liriel, this situation is getting out of

hand!

I am quite aware of that, brother. That female is doing her very best to overshadow

both of us
—
I'm surprised she didn 't try it sooner.

Maybe she did. I realize that I have had a great deal of trouble making decisions
—I

wonder if Alain's feebleness • does not come from that. Whenever I started to get

things moving, I lost my concentration.

What do you mean?

Even ordering workmen here to fix up the house was an enormous effort, as if I were

dragging myself through mud. I've been here for months, but it wasn't until last week

that I managed to think of asking for help with the girls
—
logically, I should have done

that within a tenday.

Hmm. Yes. I feel it, too. It is as if something were sapping my strength, something very

subtle and gossamer, and I think if I had been here alone, I would not have noticed it

for quite some time. I think we must find this Guardian, whatever it is. It has the

feeling of a trap-matrix, but yet it isn't. I've never encountered anything like it.

Emelda was watching them with large, dark eyes, and her small hands were curved

like claws. "You have no idea what you are doing," she jeered. "You are going to die."

Then she laughed, as if she enjoyed the prospect. "Your pitiful talents are no match for

the Guardian."

"And yours are?" Liriel asked with deceptive calmness.

"I am a servant of the Great One. I can see the future, and I know what will happen."

"Then you are deluded. No one knows the future. The best we can get is glimpses, and

those are always a matter-of interpretation. Why, you did not even know that I would

come here, until Mikhail told you." The contempt in Liriel's voice Vas acidic, and, to

everyone's surprise, Emelda shrank back.

"I know you will die," muttered the little soothsayer.

"You know nothing of the sort. You only wish I would, so that you can continue in

your nasty little game." Liriel's face underwent a sudden change, her expression going

from bland to alert so quickly that Mikhail tensed in response. "I know who you are,

Emelda, and I know what you are!" Liriel's voice was stern and strong, and she seemed

to Mikhail like someone he had never known before.

"What?" The little soothsayer looked alarmed, her eyes growing wide. Fresh sweat

glistened on her brow, and she drove her nails into her palms while she gnawed at her

lower lip, looking like a stoat.

"You are a hedge-witch, and nothing more.
Stop that!"

Mikhail had the momentary impression that a darkness was beginning to extrude from

the top of Emelda's head, a churning of the air he had seen before, 'but forgotten about

almost immediately. When Liriel spoke, the air stilled immediately. He would have

thought he imagined it under any other circumstances.

How did you do that!

Ever since that terrible night at Armida, when she used the command voice, I've been

practicing with Marguerida whenever I had the opportunity
—
helping her learn some

control of it. No one else at Arilinn was very interested in it, but it seemed to me that

focusing entirely on her shadow matrix was a mistake. Much to my surprise, I

discovered that I could do the trick from time to time.
He could feel her pleasure in'

accomplishing that, a sense of triumph.

But I thought it could not be learned.

I did, too, when I began. Marguerida is a trained singer, so it is no surprise she can

use the Voice almost instinctively. But I now know it can be, to some degree, studied

and developed by anyone with
laran. I'll
never be very good at it, but I have actually

made Mother be still a few times.

Emelda had shrunk back in her chair, looking startled and angry. The children were

watching her, fearful and anxious, but also curious. It was clear from their expressions

that they felt no sorrow in seeing the soothsayer humiliated,

but instead were quite relieved that someone could stop her.

Then the tiny woman seemed to gather herself, and she leaned forward again. She

focused her eyes on Liriel, and Mikhail saw the churning begin again, the smoke from

the fire giving it form and substance. It looked thicker than before, and seemed to have

more energy. At the end of the table, Alain suddenly pitched forward into his plate, and

began to convulse. At the same moment, Emun shuddered, and clapped his hands to his

narrow head, howling with pain.

Mikhail acted without thought, grabbing his plate off the table, still burdened with the

unappetizing boiled fowl. Mikhail disked the clumsy object out of his hand, the way he

had skipped stones across the lake at Armida when he was young, spilling food onto

the board. It wobbled, then skimmed over the top of Emelda's head, dripping grease on

her hair, and sliding through the disturbance like a wooden blade.

There was a flash, like distant lightning, and the soothsayer collapsed. Her eyes were

open, rolling back into her skull, and her mouth lolled, drooling, as the fat from the

fowl dribbled down her cheeks. The small body was slack, the hands alone twitching.

"Well done!" caroled Valenta, banging on the table.

12

Mikhail stood up quickly and went to Alain, drawing him upright in his chair. He

cradled the boy's head against his chest and checked his pulse. The seizure was over,

and Alain's breathing seemed normal. Even his color was better than usual. Emun had

stopped his desperate howling, too, and looked a little embarrassed at his outburst.

Only Vincent seemed unmoved, continuing to shovel food into his mouth as if nothing

unusual had occurred.