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 go according to your plan." In spite of these words, she did not sound at all sure. The tone of her voice, and the way she held her body spoke of fear and a deep desperation.
We seem to have jumped from the frying pan into the fire. Mik, I have a bad feeling about this.
Very aptly put, but I don't see anything we can do about it at present.
1 am not what she expected, nor what Dom Padriac did either.
I guessed as much. Let us hope that will keep them off-balance until we can find out what is going on. He intends some great wrong, and these women are helping him.
"Welcome to El Haliene Tower. Now come along" the woman said quietly, as if she assumed they would obey her immediately. "I am Amirya Haliene. I will show you to your quarters." She turned her back and started back across the cobblestones. After a moment, Mikhail and Marguerida followed her.
They entered a dim chamber, as spare as a barrack. Two torches flickered inadequate light around the room, and there were no hangings on the walls. It was cold and unwel-
coming, and smelled nasty. Marguerida gave a little shudder and moved closer to her husband.
Mikhail could see a narrow stairwell rising from the back of the room, curving upward to the floors overhead. The damp smell of must was everywhere, and also the pungent scent of matrix screens. It was eerily still, but he could sense the presence of people nearby.
They followed her in silence. Again Mikhail was startled that she did not ask their names. He also wondered at the variance of hers—he had never heard Haliene before—and wondered if she were a full sister of Padriac, or something else. They were similar in appearance, but they could easily be half siblings.
Amirya led them behind the curving staircase, into a narrow corridor that ran toward the back of the building. It was dark and oppressive, and the stench of mold was everywhere. It was also very chilly, and Mikhail was glad of his cloak, even though it was rather damp from the rain. He felt Marguerida draw closer to him, slipping her hand over his elbow. The smell of lavender from their attempts at washing wafted across him, and he felt somewhat less anxious. As long as he had Marguerida, he decided, he was prepared to face anything.
The corridor had several doors along its length, and Amirya opened one. "This will be your room," she told Marguerida. "Yours will be at the other end of the hall."
"We are man and wife, and we do not sleep apart from one another," Mikhail almost snapped. He didn't want Marguerida separated from him by even one wall, let alone several.
Amirya just stared at him. Then she looked at his wrist, and saw the circlet on it, and frowned as she noticed the matching one on Marguerida's arm. "Married? But . . ."
"But what?"
"How can this be? This will ruin everything. I don't understand this—it was not what I foresaw at all! No wonder Padriac was . . . oh, damn!"
"What will it ruin?" Marguerida asked, her voice tense.
"Nothing. It does not matter. It will all be over soon."
"Stop speaking in riddles, Amirya." There was a hint of command in Marguerida's voice, enough to make the other woman stiffen slightly.
"We ... my brother . . ." She paused, drew a deep breath, and began again. "I am the Keeper here, in El Haliene Tower, and I found you when I was seeking a · means to destroy the King's Champion. I would not be Keeper if our cousin Amalie had not been so clever and escaped us. She should have let us into Hali when we came, and joined us, but she has no loyalty," I am loyal to Padriac, and I will be rewarded. And I am glad that Amalie escaped, for if she was here, I should not be Keeper.
"I have never heard of any El Haliene Tower," Mikhail answered slowly.
"I am not surprised, for we have been working in the greatest secrecy for over a year, creating the screens and preparing for ... There has never been a Tower such as ours. It is even greater than Hali, I am sure."
"You do not sound sure, Amirya," Mikhail said. "You sound as if you were whistling past the graveyard. And are you not quite young to be a Keeper?"
To his surprise, Amirya grinned. "That is the best of it, for no one expects someone as young as I am to be able to handle the energies, so we were able to continue unsuspected. Well, almost. I think Varzil Ridenow had a hint or two, but he was too old and toothless to do anything about it."
At that moment, Mikhail had the sense of distant laughter. He knew that whatever Amirya had foreseen, Varzil's hand was in it. The old laranzu might be dying, or dead already, but toothless he was not.
He felt the ring tingle on his finger, and found his mouth stretching into a wolfish grin. Mikhail could sense something strong and dark stir within him, flexing like a great beast. He wanted to release it, but sensed he must restrain his impulse to destroy this place for another time. Still, the promise of it heartened him in a wonderful way.
Marguerida looked through the open door into the room. "I think we can manage in here. The bed is a little narrow, but neither of us is plump."
Amirya was shocked and upset. "You can't intend to . . . accandir—when you are working the screens! I insist ..."
"You can insist all you like, domna. It will not make any difference to us." Then Marguerida smiled at Amirya. "Besides, we do our best work when we accandir. Don't
we, cario?" She gave Mikhail a look that spoke volumes, all of them lusty. For a woman who had never known any man two days before, she had, after her initial uncertainty, taken to the whole thing with great and exhausting enthusiasm.
The woman peered at Marguerida, then at Mikhail. "What are you?"
"At the moment, we are two very tired people. There was mention of a bath, I believe." The coolness of Marguerida's voice was chilling, even to Mikhail who knew her so well.
"You keep shifting before my eyes—what are you!" The panic was unmistakable now.
I think you are better off not knowing. Mikhail sensed his wife shift to forced rapport, and felt the power within it, and the threat as well.
Shifting? What do you think she means, Marguerida?
I'm not sure, but I suspect that we are not anchored in this time, and to someone with Sight, it might appear that we move in and out of view.
Amirya's face looked haggard and uncertain. She bit her lip and clenched her hands into dainty fists, her freckles standing out in the dim light
of the corridor. "I will make-you tell! I dare not risk failing my brother. We will use truth spell, if we must."
"I do not think that would be wise of you," Marguerida replied. "And it might be fatal to any who tried. But that is your decision, Amirya, not mine. You had us brought here, and must suffer the consequences."
"What am I going to do?" It was the wail of a young woman stretched beyond her resources. "It isn't supposed to be like this! You are not what you seem, and if I tell Padriac that, there will be the devil to pay. If he does not get what he wants ... I can't bear to think of it!"
"Perhaps you might consider, then, if giving your brother what he thinks he wants is such a good idea. Constructing a secret Tower, keeping leroni in unwilling servitude—none of that sounds very wise to me. This place reeks of darkness, and I believe you know it, Amirya. I think you know you are doing something wrong, and I think it gnaws at you."
"If only ... if only I could be sure," she whispered, her slender body trembling.
"There is no way to be sure of anything except that the sun will rise in the morning, and there will be snow in winter. The rest is choice, and consequences. I know our fates are entwined for the present, and that you can change the outcome, if you really wish to. But keeping your brother happy may not be possible."
Tears sparkled in Amirya's dark eyes, glistened on her light-colored lashes, and then slid down her cheeks. "I am so afraid. I thought I was afraid before, but . . ."
"I know. We both know. But if we do not get some food soon; we are both going to drop in our tracks, and that will most assuredly displease your brother."
Mikhail knew that Marguerida was not using the voice of command now, but was somehow influencing the vulnerable girl all the same. He noticed that her left hand was making tiny movements against her body, and would have laughed aloud if he dared. She was doing some manner of healing on the wretched girl, calming her fears. And he knew enough of human nature to suspect that Amirya · would promptly persuade herself that she had overreacted, or only imagined that she 'had seen them shifting in front of her eyes.
He watched some of the terrible tension drain away from Amirya's body. "Yes, of course. I will have a servant bring you a tray of food. The bathing chamber is the second door down—do not open any of the other doors! I do not want the others disturbed while they are resting. They need their strength. And I will see that some clean, dry clothing is brought."
Amirya turned and fled down the corridor, as if she wanted to put as much distance as possible between them. I will keep them in their room—I dare not use them, not now. What am I going to do!
Marguerida went into the narrow, gloomy chamber, took off her cloak and hung it on a peg, then sank onto the edge of the bed. Her shoulders drooped with exhaustion as Mikhail sat down beside her. "At least we are out of the rain," she muttered miserably.
The stillness seemed to grow, and Mikhail felt himself fall into a relaxed frame of mind. There was nothing he
could do for the moment, and it was good to be in from the weather. Marguerida was right.
He felt his senses begin to tingle, as if they were spreading out from his body, like lines of light. It began slowly, and was so subtle that he barely noticed it until he encountered the presence of another person. It was not Marguerida, but a complete stranger, and a sick one at that. Where was he?
After a moment Mikhail knew the person he was sensing was two doors down the corridor. He got nothing else except the sense of some terrible fatigue and sickness—no personality. He could not even tell if the man was young or old.
He let his awareness expand and roam freely. He did not like what he found. All around them, there were exhausted people, all of them with laran, and many of them not only tired, but also injured in various ways. He sensed several burns, one person who hovered on the brink of madness, and someone who was very near to death. He wrenched himself away quickly.
Mikhail started. He had never been able to do that before, just reach out and observe. In theory it was not that different from monitoring a circle. The actuality was astonishing. He knew that he could explore the entire keep, from attic to cellar, easily and completely. But not just then. He would have to be cautious, he decided.
What was he becoming? The query rose in his mind, and the hairs on the back of his neck bristled. He turned to speak to Marguerida, and found she had slipped onto the thin pillow, and was asleep. He stared at her for a moment, seeing how her face relaxed in repose. He should sleep too, until food was brought. But he was not really tired. He wanted to know what he was turning into.
No, that was not the right question. What were they becoming was better. It had something to do with Marguerida, with the inexplicable way in which their energies had woven together during the bizarre wedding ceremony. Mikhail was fairly certain that while he had inherited Varzil's matrix, he had not absorbed that man's laran. At least there was no hint in any record he was aware of that it was possible to transfer laran powers from one person to another.
How much of Varzil's great knowledge was riding on his
finger? And how was he going to discover its secrets? Or did he already know the secrets, but was unable to bring them into his mind? I have my own shadow matrix now.
Mikhail looked down at Marguerida's hand, covered in the worn silk mitt. Even through the fabric he could sense the lines that ran along her flesh, and could feel the resonance of them in his own body, and in the matrix he wore.
Yes, that was part of it. We really are two parts of a whole. The realization rocked him, but he knew it was true. He began to understand why the whole thing had depended on Marguerida, on her own unusual" matrix. He felt a little dizzy as he tried to grasp the implications of the thing, and after a moment, he had to give it up. It was too much to contain in the mind. At the same time, he knew in his bones and sinews that he now possessed a greater power than he had ever imagined possible, let alone that he might be master of. No—not master. That might come in time. For the present, he was still 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 spoon
s 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?