The Shadow Matrix (76 page)

something very cold in the single word, and Mikhail held back a shiver.

"Well met,
vai dom,"
he answered.

"I am Padriac El Haliene." He looked from one of them to the other, raised an eyebrow

at the heavy bracelet on Marguerida's wrist. A puzzled look came into his haughty

face, as if he had expected something, but not that. "Whence come you?"

"From the north." That was true as far as it went. Mikhail and Marguerida had

discussed what, if anything, they should tell people, and tried to construct some story

that would pass cursory examination. She had chosen to be Marja Leynier, and he had

decided to use Danilo, the name he had been called when he was first Regis' heir,

before Dani Hastur had been born. But Danilo who? He had not been able to choose a

family name, no matter how he tried. It was as if some part of him resisted the name,

or perhaps what he called himself was of greater importance than he had ever

imagined.

Dom
Padriac did not speak for a moment. Mikhail was sure he was listening to

someone, not actually thinking. "Whose
leroni
are you?" The question was sharp, a

bark which brooked no denial.

Mikhail hesitated, uncertain how to respond. He had not realized how very different

the Ages of Chaos were until that moment, for the question was one that did not arise

in his own time. The form of it implied possession, not allegiance, and he understood

that the
laran
he had rendered him some sort of property. It was unimaginable, and he

was angry and dismayed at the same time. But for the eight silent creatures that

watched them with empty eyes, he would have liked to knock
Dom
Padriac out of the

saddle and give him a thrashing.

Mik
—
he is the one who got Amalie's folk away from Halt
—I
am sure of it! And there is

someone else
. . . _

"Whom do you serve?"
Dom
Padriac snapped when neither of them answered.

He remained silent, considering Marguerida's thought. Then he sensed a subtle

pressure in his mind, and had the impulse to speak his name. It was revolting, and all

too reminiscent of Emelda's presence. A truth-spell! Mikhail held back a shudder,

trying to remain calm. That was a form of coercion almost unknown in his time, but he

had heard about them while he was at Arilinn.

There was a bray, and a little donkey trotted out from beneath the shadows of the trees.

A woman, whose legs almost brushed the wet ground, sat awkwardly on it. She

rode up beside
Dom
Padriac and gave him a furious glance.

He returned it with glittering hatred. Dom Padriac lifted his riding quirt and snapped it

across the little woman's shoulder. The heavy wool of her tunic softened the blow, but

she tottered and nearly slipped from the sidesaddle where she perched uneasily.

"Incompetent bitch! Whose are they? Why can't you make them answer." The little

leronis
made no answer, but just looked miserable as the rain trickled down her round

face.

"It matters not," she hissed. "They are strong enough to b*e useful in the work." She

glanced at Mikhail, and her eyes widened a little. Then she shook her head, as if to

dispel some perturbing thought. He could almost hear her mind refuse to believe what

she saw.

Before he could make any sense out of the look, Marguerida interrupted.
Mik—I am

having one of my damnable flashes again. Our fates are somehow entangled with that

funny little lady, and with
Dom
Padriac as well. Just go along for the present

It is not as if we had a choice, is it?
Mikhail felt he had not had many opportunities to

choose since he had been called to ride to Hali in the middle of the night, and he had a

stab of resentment.

No. These men
—
well, they are not men, precisely
—
would capture us. And the woman

keeps trying to get into my mind, and yours as well. She's very curious about us, but

too terrified of him to dare say anything.

I know.

Dom
Padriac gave a little sniff, and a shrug. Then he said, "You will do my bidding

without question. Is that understood?" He turned his horse away before either of them

could reply, as if he expected to be obeyed instantly.

Resigned for the moment, Mikhail spurred his horse forward. Then he realized the

crow had vanished, and wondered where it had gone. He glimpsed a dark shape in the

trees as they rode past the copse, and a flash of white feathers. The bird could take care

of itself, he decided, and only hoped he could do the same.

After two hours of riding, a structure came into view, a castle of such proportions that

Mikhail marveled even as

his heart sank. There was no fortress on the Darkover he knew to equal it. But what

struck him most deeply was that he did not even know of the remains of such a place.

True, he had never completely explored the lands of the Elhalyn Domain, but he was

certain that if the ruins of this monstrous pile were to be found, he would have heard of

it. Even hundreds of years of farmers scavenging the stones would not have erased it

entirely.

This could only mean that it had been utterly destroyed, wiped out of memory and

history. His heart sank as he looked at the two great towers rising above the high wall

surrounding them. A strange sense of fatedness possessed him. He knew, down in his

bones, without even a vestige of the Aldaran Gift, that he was part of the destruction

of.« this place. The feeling was as inescapable as the fortress itself appeared to be. Had

Varzil brought them all this way to have them die here?

He glanced at Marguerida. Her face was shadowed by the hood of her cloak, but what

he could see of it was grim, Mikhail could sense her mind, narrowly focused. She Was

defending herself against the donkey-riding
leronis,
he decided, and something more.

What? Trying to disguise her
laran,
as the ring he wore seemed able to hide itself.

Mikhail looked down at his hand, gloved and concealing the ring. He could sense the

power that rested on his hand, but knew he had not the ability to use it.
Yet.
Each time

he slept, Mikhail felt the ring, as if it had a voice and spoke to him. Each waking was

confused, as if his mind had been crammed with information, too much to grasp

quickly. It was unlike anything he had ever experienced before, frightening and

invigorating at the same time. It would be years, he thought, before he would truly

understand the nature of this inheritance. First he had to survive whatever lay behind

those looming walls, and somehow get himself and Marguerida safely to the
rhu fead

at the right time. It was a daunting prospect, made worse by an empty stomach and

damp clothing.

Mikhail forced his mind away from these overwhelming thoughts. Instead, he studied

the keep. He saw the stern battlements of stone, and counted the men who stood on

them. He noted how the gate was barred, and how many men it took to shift the

enormous log which secured it. He

might never need to know these things, but he was not sure he would have another

chance to study the fortress which could easily be their prison.

Grooms darted out into the rain, real men, not eerie identical creatures like Padriac's

riders. They were an unhealthy-looking lot, and nervous as well. Mikhail dismounted,

and stepped over to help Marguerida down, but
Dom
Padriac was there before him,

reaching out a soft hand toward her. Marguerida remained in her saddle, and looked

down at
Dom
Padriac as if he had just crawled out from under a rock. Her expression

was queenly, stern, and dignified. It reminded Mikhail of Javanne Hastur at her

proudest, and he decided that his beloved could very well look after herself for the

moment.

Mikhail slipped around the now gaping lord, and held up his hand. Marguerida grasped

it and descended. Then she turned to
Dom
Padriac, her golden eyes aglitter with barely

concealed fury. "I did not know that manners in the south were so crude. No one may

touch me but my
husband!"

Dom
Padriac's pale face went completely white. His eyes grew large. His narrow

mouth twisted, and it was clear he was not used to being spoken to in that way,

especially by a woman. His hand gripped the riding quirt, and for a second Mikhail

thought he was going to strike her, as he had the pitiful female on the donkey.

Then
Dom
Padriac loosened his hold, relaxed, and grinned without humor or warmth,

his earlier assurance returning. "I can touch anyone I please," he began silkily. "I do

not believe you understand that I now
own
you, and I can do anything I like ..."

The portly
leronis
slipped off her mule, and scurried over, almost squealing with

urgency. She plucked at
Dom
Padriac's sleeve. "Let her be!" she hissed. Her eyes were

bulging, and the expression on her face was one of near terror.

"What!"

The outraged lord turned on her. Although she was trembling visibly, the tiny woman

held her ground. "Please, lord—be careful. She is something I have never encountered

before, some new
laran
they have bred in the north, no doubt." She had his complete

attention now. "And is it not said that only a fool makes enemies of his
leroni?"

"Enemies?"
Dom
Padriac turned this over in his mind for a moment. "Do they say that?

I cannot remember hearing it before. But, perhaps you are right." Then he shook his

head a little.
A pack of parasites, these
leroni.
They expect to be treated like princes, to

have the best food and the warmest rooms. They have made us dependent on their foul

sorceries. I would cheerfully kill all of them, down to the last one, if I could. And when

I get hold of Hali Tower, and have done what I must, and driven the Hastur-kin out, I

just might. We would be better off without them
—
even
her!

The thoughts came into Mikhail's mind like a whisper from the end of a long corridor,

but there was no mistaking the intent. As Mikhail stood on the slimy cobbles, his

previous sense of destiny returned again. He hoped it included the chance to kill this

man.

The wind shifted, and he forgot everything as his belly tried to revolt. The green scum

under his feet stank, but the smell came from somewhere else. It was disgusting. But

more than that, it was
wrong,
not the unpleasant scent of moldering that was often

found in stonework, but something decidedly unhealthy. No wonder the grooms all

looked unwell.

Mikhail was growing more puzzled by the second. The whole situation was bizarre.

Dom
Padriac had never asked their names, for which he was grateful. They had been

kidnapped and were being pressed into service to destroy Mikhail's own ancestors, if

he had heard the thought rightly. Why? And how? He knew he had most of the pieces,

but he could not put them together into a coherent picture.

The courtyard was shadowed by the two towers, and he could see other buildings as

well. There was a small stone house with red doors on one side, and another that had

the smell of a tannery wafting from it. Beside the stench from the cobbles, it was a

pleasant, normal smell.

The door at the bottom of one of the towers opened then, and a woman emerged. She

was young, in her late teens or early twenties, and her red hair glinted in the gray light

of the day. There was a sprinkling of freckles over her pert nose, and her soft mouth

was suited to smiling. But it was drawn taut, and her eyes were narrow and wary. "Oh,

you found them!" She glanced at Mikhail, but her attention was all for Marguerida.

She searched the face of his wife,

and her dark gray eyes seemed to cloud at what she saw. A faint look of alarm passed

over her face, and she glanced at the squat
leronis.
Mikhail saw something pass

between the two women, a look of fear. They were afraid of Marguerida, he was

certain. And more, they were afraid to tell their lord why.

Dom
Padriac gave a brief nod. "Yes, I found them, just as you told me I would, sister. I

trust you are satisfied now, because I have better things to do with my time than wait in

the rain for
leroni,
however useful they might be."

"Of course you do, Padriac." Her voice was sweet, cozening, but there was tension in

it. She sounded as if she were used to humoring the man, and Mikhail had the sense

that he was stepping into a tangle, a thistle patch of conflict, between them. "Come

along, you two. I can see you need a bath and some clean clothing, and a hot meal."

"They must begin working by morning," Padriac insisted. "We cannot wait any longer

to start."

"Yes, brother. I do know what I am doing. We will have them in the screens and all will