Authors: Marion Zimmer Bradley
increase, and he had a sudden urge to sneeze. Mikhail wriggled his nose and managed
to stifle the reflex.
The globe in the center of the table began to darken, as if it were filled with smoke. A
shape started to form, and Mikhail felt the hairs on the nape of his neck stir with awe.
Part of his mind was sure it was some peculiar sort of
laran.
But another portion of it
was filled with the memory of ghost-tales he had heard as a child.
The shape thickened, and something pale and wispy
seemed to seep out of the quartz. It was a long, convoluted, ropy object, and after a
moment of hovering in the air, it bent toward the medium. Mikhail could hear Dyan's
breathing, noisy and harsh, and glanced at him. The younger man had his eyes firmly
closed, his hand quivering in Mikhail's grasp. Even with the stifling incense, he could
smell the scent of sweat—his own and Dyan's. He gave his friend what he hoped was a
reassuring squeeze just as the specter touched Ysaba's chest.
There was silence for a moment, and then a voice emerged from the medium's throat.
"Who are these strangers?" It was a rather feeble tenor, reedy and unpleasant.
Mikhail felt Dyan's hand twitch in his grasp.
What sort of ghost doesn't know who we
are?
Derik
—
if it is he
—
never met us.
Oh. I suppose.
His mental tone was unconvinced, and Mikhail agreed, but was willing
to wait upon events. Now that he had gotten over his initial fear, the entire event was
becoming interesting. How was Ysaba producing that voice, he wondered.
"Brother, may I present
Dom
Mikhail Hastur, son of Javanne Hastur and grandson of
Alanna Elhalyn, and
Dom
Dyan Ardais, son of Dyan-Gabriel Ardais." She sounded
like a proper hostess, not someone speaking to a specter, and Mikhail found himself
admiring her air of calm.
"Why are they here? What do they want from me?" There was a whining tone in the
words that set Mikhail's teeth on edge.
"They came to see me, which was very kind of them, for we have very little company
at Elhalyn Castle. Were it not for the children and Ysaba and Burl, I would be very
lonely."
"They are spies!"
"Nonsense! They are only young men!" Priscilla looked more animated as she
answered than she had since they arrived, as if she enjoyed arguing with her dead
brother. "They have played with the children and ridden over the estate, and made
themselves at home."
"Send them away. They disturb me!"
"Derik, I am weary of my loneliness," she responded petulantly. "It is so pleasant to
have someone to talk to."
"Send them away! They want to injure me."
"Derik—how could they hurt you?"
While this exchange continued, Mikhail took a long look at Ysaba in the flickering
light. He watched her throat, trying to see if the muscles moved when Derik spoke, and
found that they did not. Where the devil was the sound coming from? Were they really
listening to a ghost?
Then, above the medium's head, Mikhail saw something move in the air. It was a
wispy motion, like a curl of smoke, and he could just barely make out the features of a
man. The room felt colder, and as he watched, the wisp thickened, becoming opaque,
so that the wall behind Ysaba was no longer visible.
"Dyan Ardais was no friend to me," the thing said. "They are all my enemies, sister, all
of them. You are my only friend. And I have something to tell you!" There was a
conspiratorial quality in the words, and Mikhail sensed something in them that seemed
both promising and unpleasant.
"But, Derik—you must tell me. I have been waiting for months!" •
"There is a plot against me. It is not these men, but . . . others. And these boys will tell
everything ... all will be ruined! They will try to stop us from. ..." The voice trailed off
into silence.
Priscilla considered the words for a moment, peering at Mikhail and Dyan with her
gray eyes. Her brows knitted into a frown for a moment, then she relaxed. "Mikhail,
promise Derik you will never speak of this to anyone." She seemed used to her
brother's fears, and sounded as if she were humoring a cranky child. At the same time
there was a husky quality in her tone that seemed very unsisterly to his ears.
Mikhail considered. He had always taken giving his word very seriously, and he did
not want to swear a binding oath if he did not intend to keep it. He realized that if he
mentioned this incident to anyone, he would be thought as mad as Derik. No one knew
that he and Dyan had come to Elhalyn Castle, so it would not be difficult. And he was
curious enough about what the ghost might say to make the promise. "I swear I will
never speak of this to anyone."
Beside him, Dyan shifted in his chair. "I swear I will never mention anything to
anyone." There was a vehe-
mence in his voice, and Mikhail knew he meant it.
I am going to forget this ever
happened as fast as I can!
"You see?" Priscilla asked, looking pleased.
"Oaths can be broken."
"Why should they? They bear you no malice, dear brother."
There was a lengthy silence, and the smoky figure above the medium swirled in the air,
shifting and changing subtly. The effect was dazzling. Then, without any warning, the
shape rushed at them, trailing long streams of vapor. Mikhail felt a mist brush across
his brow, and he shrank back, his heart pounding against his ribs. Beside him, Dyan
gave a yelp of pure terror, and clamped his hand so hard he nearly broke Mikhail's
fingers.
It was over quickly, and the mist withdrew, but Mikhail found he was gasping for air,
and that in spite of the cold of the chamber, he was drenched with sweat. Beneath the
table, his legs were trembling.
"Their hearts seem good enough," the spirit admitted grudgingly.
"Of course their hearts are good. They are very nice boys."
In spite of his terror, Mikhail nearly laughed at being called a boy. Priscilla was
perhaps eleven years his elder, but she acted like a crone most of the time. He sucked
in his cheeks and swallowed the chuckle that threatened to burst from his mouth. He
had always had a tendency to laugh when he was frightened or alarmed, and his
mother had sometimes said he would likely laugh on his way to the gallows.
Slowly, his fear dissipated, and with it, the urge to giggle. Mikhail swallowed in a dry
throat, wishing for a 'glass of wine. If all the ghost could do was surround him with
mist, there really was nothing to be afraid of. And it was a shame he had given his
word never to speak of the incident, because it would make such a good tale.
Mikhail was lost in his own thoughts, so he almost missed Derik's next words. "The
Guardian wants you. It is time!"
"At last!" Priscilla looked delighted, even in the poor light of the fire. Her thin face
was alight with pleasure, and she looked more like a girl than a woman with five
children. But there was also something unhealthy about her reaction,
and Mikhail lowered his eyes quickly. Guardian? What was that? "Soon we will be
together again, brother," she whispered just loud enough for Mikhail to hear.
Despite his intense curiosity, he decided he did not want to know any more than he did
already. Be together? Was Priscilla planning to die? It did not sound like it. Then he
shrugged, to ease his tension and banish his own sense of embarrassment. He had
stumbled into something that was none of his business, and the sooner he was out of it,
the, better.
The shimmering shape above the medium began to fall apart, and then the globe on the
table clouded up again. Ysaba's hands opened, releasing her grip on the others, and she
slumped forward, onto the table. She banged her head against the shining surface with
an audible thump, and he winced with empathy.
Duncan, who had remained in the shadows until now, stepped forward. He had a glass
of wine in one hand, and he lifted the woman up by her shoulder, and held it against
her lips. Then his eyes met Mikhail's, and there was an expression of shame and
loathing in them. The mouth of the medium opened a little, and some wine trickled
into it, though more dripped down her chin.
From the corner of his eye, Mikhail could see Dyan wipe the hand which Ysaba had
held against his trousers. His young face was twisted with distaste, and Mikhail felt a
stab of guilt. He never should have brought his friend to Elhalyn Castle.
Mik, I feel filthy! I never want to go through anything like this again! Let's leave at
first light
—
please! This is a terrible place!
I think you are right. But I wonder what this "Guardian" is?
I don't care if it is Aldones himself
—I
just want to get away from here!
Mikhail silently agreed with Dyan's sentiment. The following morning, in spite of the
rain, they rode back to Thendara. They did not speak of the strange event, as if by
silent agreement, then or afterward. But, from time to time, Mikhail thought about it,
and wondered if he had really heard the voice of the ghost of Derik Elhalyn, and asked
himself who the Guardian might be.
1
Mikhail Lanart-Hastur rode along the banks of the River Valeron enjoying the fine
autumn day. The breeze ruffled the golden hair on his brow, and his blue eyes mirrored
the color of the water. The air was crisp, and the trees along the banks were clothed in
golds and russets which reminded him of a certain pair of penetrating eyes that
belonged to his cousin Marguerida Alton. Of course, he realized, almost everything
reminded him of her, and in fact it was difficult not to think of her instead of focusing
on the task before him.
He was returning to the Elhalyn lands he had visited briefly four years before. Then he
had been the paxman of Dyan Ardais and the nominal heir of Regis Hastur—as indeed
he still was. Now he had been appointed Regent to the Elhalyn Domain, charged With
the responsibility of testing the sons of Priscilla Elhalyn to determine if any of them
was mentally stable enough to take on the largely ceremonial but important task of
being king.
Mikhail remembered his previous encounter with Priscilla, which had ended in a
séance, and shook his head a little. He wondered if Burl, the bone-reader, and Ysaba,
the medium, were still her companions. He knew the Elhalyns had left the castle
shortly after he and Dyan had been there, and had removed to Halyn House. That was
where he was going, accompanied by two Guardsmen, Daryll and Mathias. He should
have had a larger entourage—his new and unwanted position demanded it. Priscilla
had wished that Mikhail should come alone, but as eager as his uncle was to restore the
Elhalyn kingship, that was out of the question. Regis had sent the Guardsmen, and
Mikhail was glad of their company.
Whenever Mikhail thought about the meeting in the
Crystal Chamber in Comyn Castle just before Midsummer, his spirits sank. He had
gone over and over the events, trying to unravel them. First his Uncle Regis had
announced that he was disbanding the Telepathic Council, which had helped govern
Darkover for more than twenty years, and was restoring the traditional Comyn
Council. Then, without warning or consultation, he had appointed Mikhail as Regent to
Elhalyn, and Mikhail had accepted the position out of his sense of duty. He had not had
time to think it over, to weigh the merits or consider the ramifications. He really had
had no choice but to accept.
The anger that had simmered within him for months stirred in his belly. Mikhail had
never had reason to be angry with his uncle until now, and he hated feeling this way.
But he could not avoid the realization that Regis had manipulated him into a position
he did not want, for reasons he refused to explain. Only his own deep sense of duty had
made him submit, grinding his teeth with frustration. There was something going on
that he was unable to understand. His only comfort was that he was not alone in his
feeling—no one, except perhaps Danilo Syrtis-Ardais, knew what Regis Hastur was up
to at present.
Mikhail knew his uncle to be a clever and canny man, a man who had managed to
guide Darkover through a terrible period in her long and bloody history. He had always
trusted Regis, but now this trust was besieged by his own emotions, and doubts as
well. He had analyzed the problem as well as he was able, and found within it enough
contradictions to give him concern. He had even permitted himself to wonder if Regis
Hastur knew what he was doing— only briefly before he choked off the thought and
banished it to the back of his mind.
Mikhail thought about his most recent interview with Regis, just before he had set out.
His uncle had seemed tired and distracted, and he had felt very uncomfortable asking
for Regis' time and attention. The Elhalyn Regency was a small matter compared with
restoring the Council, the problem of the contested heirship of the Alton Domain, or