The Shadow Matrix

The Shadow Matrix

A Novel of Darkover

Marion Zimmer Bradley

DAW BOOKS, INC.

DONALD A. WOLLHEIM, FOUNDER

375 Hudson Street, New York, NY 10014

ELIZABETH R. WOLLHEIM

SHEILA E. GILBERT

PUBLISHERS

Copyright © 1997 by Marion Zimmer Bradley and Adrienne Marline-Barnes.

All Rights Reserved. Cover art by Romas Kukalis. DAW Book Collectors No. 1065. DAW Books are distributed

by Penguin Putnam, Inc.

Book designed by Stanley S. Drate/Folio Graphics Co. Inc.

All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is strictly

coincidental.

First Paperback Printing, January 1999 56789

ISBN: 0886778123

DAW TRADEMARK REGISTERED U.S. PAT. OFF. AND FOREIGN COUNTRIES —MARCA REGISTRADA

HECHO EN U.S.A.

PRINTED IN THE
U.S.A.

To Susan Rich who read all the drafts and asked for more

PROLOGUE

Tell me again why we came out here to visit Priscilla Elhalyn," Dyan Ardais muttered

as he went down the staircase ahead of Mikhail. "And why we agreed to attend this ...

thing?"

Mikhail Lanart-Hastur looked at his companion, at his dark hair and fair complexion in

the flickering light of lampions and started to reply. A flash of lightning illuminated the

worn carpet beneath his feet as a boom of thunder rattled the walls of Elhalyn Castle.

There was a rush of rain against the panes of the windows

"We were a little drunk at the time," he finally said, when the noise abated. "And there

were all those girls in Thendara, making themselves pretty for us."

"Well, we aren't drunk now, and going to a séance is not my idea of a good time!"

"How do you know? How many séances have you been to?"

"None! I think talking to dead people, or trying to, is a perverse idea."

Mikhail laughed softly. Young Dyan Ardais, whose paxman he was, was a rather

nervous man of eighteen. "What? Are you afraid that medium of Priscilla's will conjure

up your father?"

"Gods! I hadn't even thought of that! I never knew him when he was alive, and I don't

want to make his acquaintance now!"

Mikhail had had several days to regret the impulse that had brought them to the

decaying pile that was Elhalyn Castle. He knew he was old enough not to do such

things, and that Dyan was his responsibility, his charge. If only they had not both been

so bored, and ripe for mischief. Well, there was no help for it. They were the guests of

Priscilla Elhalyn, the sister of Derik Elhalyn, the last king of Darkover, and they could

hardly get on their horses and ride off into the storm.

"Most likely it will be a total failure, Dyan, and they will not bring the ghost of Derik

Elhalyn down from the overworld. Or her father, or my grandmother Alanna Elhalyn

either. Although I wouldn't mind seeing her. She died a long time ago, and I have

always been a little curious about her. I'll bet we won't even have a good tale to tell

when we get back."

"That would be fine with me." Dyan sounded less fretful, calmed by Mikhail's good

humor. "So far it has been a pretty dreary time, hasn't it—unless you count meeting

those retainers of hers. I never knew that anyone gave houseroom to bonereaders and

mediums before."

"The Elhalyn have always been rather eccentric."

"What you mean is that Priscilla is only slightly less crazy than her mad brother, don't

you? That Burl fellow gives me the creeps, and I am sure it is his doing that we have to

attend this ghost-calling."

Mikhail laughed again, but he shared Dyan's opinion of the bone-reader. It was an

activity that was found in the marketplaces of any of the cities of Darkover, but not one

normally encountered in the home of a
comynara.
Still, he knew that trying to see into

the future was a perfectly human desire, and he suspected that Burl merely possessed a

small talent, a
laran
not unlike the Aldaran Gift of foreseeing.

The other of Priscilla's confidants, the woman Ysaba, was, in his opinion, the stranger

of the two. Mikhail had seen bone-readers and other diviners before, but a medium was

beyond his experience. He sensed she had
laran,
but it was not of a kind he had ever

encountered before, and he suspected the woman had never trained in any Tower. He

wished he could ask her outright, but that would have been very impolite.

The two young men walked through a dusty corridor, and were met by Duncan

MacLeod, who was in charge of the stables but did duty as
condom
as well. He was a

grizzled fellow, his face weathered, and his eyes sharp with suspicion. Still, the stables

were in good repair—better than the castle itself, which had been let go to ruin under

Priscil-

la's careless stewardship. Priscilla's staff was old, and few in number. There were no

young maids to keep up the rooms, and no lads learning to manage the stables, which

was puzzling as well. Elhalyn Castle was nearly empty of people, with a hollow

quality that was unnerving.

In fact, it was the most peculiar household Mikhail had ever seen. Priscilla had lived

there, alone except for her children and her few servants, for the years since the Sharra

Rebellion, and the unfortunate events which had left so many members of the Comyn

either dead or insane. She seemed perfectly happy in her solitude, a little vague at

times, but not obviously mad as her brother had been. The Elhalyns were often

unbalanced, he knew.

Mikhail had a good many questions that he could not ask without appearing rude, not

the least of which was the parentage of Priscilla's five children. There was Alain, who

was nearly fifteen, Vincent at thirteen, and Emun ten, as well as two daughters,

Miralys and Valenta, shy girls of nine and eight. Priscilla had never married, and

whatever lovers she had taken over the years remained unnamed and unknown. Since

the Elhalyn women had
comynara
status, they had a freedom of choice not permitted

to most females, but he still found the whole thing rather unsettling. He had never

thought of himself as stuffy, but he nonetheless found himself unsettled by her

irregular style of living.

Duncan led them through a narrow passage which connected the main portion of the

castle to the narrow dungeon that was the remnant of a much earlier time in Darkovan

history, when the land-holding families waged terrible wars with one another. It

smelled of age, of old stones and the bones of the earth beneath it, and he tried to shake

off the feeling of oppression it gave him.

At last Duncan opened a heavily timbered door, and a gust of cold air billowed out.

Just then there was another shock of thunder, and the roof of the passage trembled,

shedding a fine rain of rotted wood and flakes of whitewash down onto the sleeves of

his tunic. Dyan made a disgusted noise and ran nervous fingers through his hair, then

brushed the litter away.

They followed Duncan into a round room that would have been almost cozy if it had

not been quite so chilly. There was a small fireplace, and it was lit, giving off the

smell of balsam logs, though it was not enough to warm the room. The walls were

stone, and they were damp with moisture. Mikhail could see patches of mold on their

faces, and the pleasant scent of the logs barely concealed .their musty odor. A few

sputtering candles were set on a small table in the center of the room, making eerie

shadows on the walls and the decaying tapestries that were hanging there.

Mikhail tried to imagine the room during the past, with long dead Elhalyn sheltering

there, under siege from their foes. But the room was too shabby, too cold, and too

dreary for any romantic notions. The place was just a relic of another time, and one

that he was glad was gone.

Priscilla and her medium, Ysaba, entered the room, interrupting his reverie. The little

Elhalyn woman seemed more excited than Mikhail had seen her before, her golden

eyes gleaming in the nickering light. There was an air of anticipation about her; she

seemed to be expecting something wonderful to occur. Her hair was the color of

apricots, and her skin seemed nearly golden in the light. No one would ever have

called her a beauty, but she seemed quite pretty in her undisguised eagerness.

"Please, sit at the table," she invited, gesturing gracefully.

Mindful of his manners, Mikhail held a chair for her, and saw that Dyan was

performing the same office for the medium, his distaste for the task apparent. They

took the remaining seats, and he wondered where Burl, the bone-reader, was.

The table had been polished recently, and it shone in the golden light, the smell of

beeswax rising pleasantly beneath his forearms. Mikhail turned his attention to a large

globe of quartz sitting in the middle of it. It had a faint bluish cast, but it was not the

intense blue of a matrix crystal. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Duncan throw

something into the fireplace, and there was a brief flare as it began to burn. A thick,

flowery scent began to fill the room, something similar to the incenses his sister Liriel

used, but heavier and not as pleasant. It made his eyes prickle, and his fingers started to

feel rather numb.

Ysaba gazed into the globe, her pale eyes vacant. She was a plain woman, with the

very fair coloring of the Dry Towns, and he was not sure of her age. There was

thunder,

and a flash of lightning shone through the high, narrow windows, blinding him for a

second. The wind gusted against the walls of the ancient dungeon, but the structure

barely trembled under the fury of the storm.

The chamber was silent, except for the crackle of the fire, and the sobbing of the wind

outside. Mikhail felt a draft along the floor, from the door behind him, and wriggled

his toes in his boots. He hoped this was not going to take very long. The somewhat

shabby room he and Dyan were sharing was at least warm, and he wanted to return to

it, and go to bed!

"Join hands, please," Priscilla said, interrupting his thoughts.

Dyan gave a little start, then reluctantly slipped his hand into Mikhail's right one. He

extended his free hand reluctantly, and Ysaba clasped it. Mikhail felt Priscilla take his

left hand, and put her other hand into that of the medium. It was surprisingly warm and

soft.

"You' must not break the circle," the medium said quietly.

Why did I let you talk me into agreeing to this, Mik?

We could hardly deny Priscilla's request, could we?

If either of us had any spine, we certainly would have!

Mikhail could sense the younger man almost squirming with discomfort. Although he

was mildly uneasy, he did not share Dyan's emotions, for his ever-lively curiosity was

now fully engaged., This was going to make a wonderful tale to tell!

There was a moaning sound, and after a moment Mikhail realized it was not the wind,

but the medium. It was a very strange noise, something he could hardly believe was

coming from a human body. The thick, acrid odor from the fireplace seemed to