The Shattered Chain Read online

  With the touch of Melora’s swollen hands in hers, Melora’s wet face pressed against her own, the rapport wakened again; Melora’s mind lay open to her, and more: sharp physical discomfort, pain. Rohana thought, panicked, Can she ride? Will she go into labor here and now, in the desert, far from help, delaying us …?

  Gently, Melora loosed Rohana’s hands and the contact lessened. “It is easy to see you know little of the Dry Towns. May you never have cause to know more! I would have been expected to ride, even nearer to my time than this. Don’t worry about me, breda.” Her voice broke in a sob. “Oh, it is so good, just to speak to you in our own tongue. …”

  Rohana was desperately uneasy about her; she was not highly skilled in midwifery, but as mistress of Ardais she had seen many births; she knew Melora needed rest and care. But the Amazons, at Kindra’s signal, were already mounting again, and indeed there seemed no choice.

  Kindra came to inspect, briefly, Nira’s bandaged wound. “So far there is no sign of pursuit, but with dawn someone will certainly find Jalak-or his corpse. And I would greatly prefer not to fight Jalak’s men, or end my days chained in a Shainsa brothel.”

  Even in the dim light Melora’s smile was perceptible. “It may be there will be no pursuit; most likely Jalak’s heirs have found him dead and are already squabbling over his property and his wives, and the tenancy of the Great House. The last thing they would want would be to recapture a son of his with a valid claim!”

  “Aldones grant it be so,” said Kindra, “yet some kinsman of Jalak might seek kihar by avenging him-or some rival might want to make very sure any son with a valid claim did not survive him.”

  Melora gave Rohana’s hands a convulsive squeeze, but her voice was calm. “I can ride as far as I must.” Her eyes went to her sleeping daughter. “Can I have her with me on my own saddle?”

  “Lady, you are heavy; your horse should not carry such a doubled weight,” Kindra said. “Those of us who ride lightest will take turns to carry her, so that she can sleep a little longer. Can she ride? We have a spare horse for her, if she can sit alone on a saddle.”

  “She could ride almost as soon as she could walk, mestra.”

  “That will do for when she wakes, then; for now, she can sleep,” said Kindra, and lifted Jaelle, still sleeping, to her own saddle; she clambered up beside her, while Rohana assisted her cousin to mount. She was fearfully clumsy, and seemed unsteady in the saddle, but Rohana said nothing. There was nothing to say; Kindra was right and they both knew it. She gathered up her own reins, took the reins of Melora’s horse to lead it onward across the desert.

  Melora was gazing wistfully toward the sunrise. “At this hour, I always long for-oh, I don’t know-some snow, or rain, anything but the eternal sand and hot dry wind.”

  Rohana said softly, “If the Gods will, breda, within a tenday you will be back again in our hills and see the snow at every sunrise.” Melora smiled, but shook her head. “I can ride now, and guide my own horse, if you think it better.”

  “Let me lead it, for now at least,” Rohana said, and Melora nodded and leaned back in her saddle, bracing herself as best she could against the motion of the beast.

  The sun rose, and Rohana saw, as the miles went by under the feet of their horses that the character of the land had changed. Flat, barren sand-desert had given way to low, rolling hills as far as the eye could see, and a low scruffy ground cover of thorn-trees and gray feathery spicebush. At first the smell was pleasant, but after a few hours of riding through it, Rohana felt that if she ever again ate spice bread at Midwinter Festival it would choke her. Her throat was dry; she almost regretted the wine she had not been able to drink. Hour by hour Melora seemed more unsteady in her saddle, but she made no word of complaint. Indeed, she did not speak at all, riding head down, her face stony-gray with effort and patience.

  As the sun climbed the light grew fiercer, and the heat. Some of the Amazons drew loose folds of their shifts or tunics over their heads; Rohana did likewise, finding the heat preferable to the direct glare. She was beginning to wonder how long Melora could continue to ride-and she herself was weary and saddle-worn almost to the point of dropping from her saddle-when Leeanne, riding ahead, turned back, held up her hand and called to Kindra, who rode quickly ahead to join her, while the others came to a gradual halt.

  After a moment Kindra came riding back. “In the next ravine there is a water hole; and some rocks for shelter from the sun. We can lie there during the heat of the day.” As they followed her along the path Leeanne indicated, Kindra dropped back to ride beside Rohana and Melora.

  “How is it with you, Lady?”

  Melora’s attempt at a smile only stretched her mouth a little. “As well as I can hope for, mestra. But I don’t deny I shall be glad to rest a little.”

  “So shall we all. I wish I could spare you this. But-” She sounded apologetic, and Melora gestured her to silence. She said, “I know perfectly well that you and yours have put your heads in jeopardy for me, and more. God forbid I should complain about whatever you must do for your safety and ours.”

  Something about the words made Rohana’s breath catch in her throat. Melora had sounded, for a moment, almost precisely her old self: gracious, gentle, with the winning courtesy she had shown to her peers and inferiors alike. She spoke as she would have spoken when we were girls together in Dalereuth. Merciful Evanda, is there really any hope that one day she will be herself again, live out her life happy and free?

  The water hole was a dull, glimmering sheet of water, less than twenty feet across; it looked pallid and unhealthy, but Kindra said the water was good. Behind it was a cluster of blackish-red, forbidding rocks, casting purple shadows on the sand, turning the omnipresent fluff of spicebush to a lavender shadow on the barren space. Even the shadow of the rocks made Rohana think more of snakes and scorpions than cool, inviting rest, but it was better than the burning glare of the Dryland sun at midday.

  Rohana helped Melora to dismount, steadying her uneven steps. She guided her to a seat in the shadow of the rocks and went to lead her horse to the water, but Kindra stopped her. “Care for your kinswoman, Lady,” she said, taking the bridles of their horses, and, lowering her voice, “How does she, really?”

  Rohana shook her head. “So far, she is managing. There is really no more I can say.” She knew perfectly well that anyone skilled in such matters would say that Melora should not ride at all. But Kindra knew that, too, and there was simply nothing to be done.

  She said, “Are there any signs of pursuit?”

  “So far, none,” said Leeanne, and Jaelle, who had slid down from her horse, came up to them, and stopped, shyly, at a little distance. She said, “How do you know we are not pursued, mestra?” She spoke the language of the mountain country with a faint accent, but understandably; and Kindra smiled at the child.

  “I hear no sound of hooves with my ear to the ground; and there is no cloud of sand rising where men ride, within the distance my eyes can see.”

  “Why, you are as good as Jalak’s best trackers, then,” said the little girl in wonder. “I did not know that women could be trackers.”

  “Living in Shainsa, little lady, there is much you do not know about women.”

  Jaelle said eagerly, “Will you tell me, then?”

  “Perhaps when I have time; just for now, do you know enough about horses to know that these must be watered, and cooled?”

  “Oh, I am sorry-am I delaying you? Can I help, then?”

  Kindra handed the small girl the reins of the horse Melofa had ridden. “Walk him slowly back and forth, then, till his breathing quiets and the sweat is almost dry around his saddle. Then lead him to the water and let him drink what he will. Can you do that, do you think?”

  “Oh, yes,” said Jaelle, and walked off, holding the horse’s reins. Kindra followed with Rohana’s horse, and Rohana stood, looking after Jaelle. She seemed tall for her age, lightly built, with delicate bones, her hair flaming red, hanging ha
lfway down her narrow back; she wore the nightgown in which she had been wakened-fine-spun Dryland linen, smoothly loomed and embroidered-although one of the Amazons had put a short jacket, much too big for her, around her shoulders. Her feet were bare, but she walked on the hot sand without apparent discomfort. Rohana could not see that the child resembled Melora, except for her flaming hair; but there was no discernible resemblance to Jalak, either.

  She returned to Melora, who had stretched out her clumsy body on her riding cape, and closed her eyes. Rohana looked at her with disquiet, then composed her face hurriedly as Melora opened her eyes. “Where is Jaelle?”

  “She is helping Kindra to water the horses,” Rohana said. “Believe me, she’s quite safe and well, and seems not over-wearied by the ride.” Rohana lowered herself to the shade beside her cousin. “I wish I had even a little of her energy.”

  Melora stretched out her thin fingers, clasping Rohana’s hand in hers as if hungry for the reassurance of the touch. “I can see how you have wearied yourself for me, too, cousin … How came you into the company of these-these women? You have not deserted husband and children as they do…?” The question was evident without words, and Rohana smiled in reassurance. “No, love. My marriage-as I knew it would be-is well enough: Gabriel and I are as happy as any other couple.”

  “Then how-”

  “It is a long story,” Rohana said, “and not easy in the telling. It seemed to me that everyone had forgotten you; I had all but forgotten myself, thinking you dead or-or resigned to your life.” She added, half defensively, “It had been so long.”

  “Yes, a lifetime,” said Melora with a sigh.

  “When you came to me, at first I thought it a dream. I made the journey to Thendara and spoke to some of the Council; but they said they could do nothing, the time was not right for war with the Dry Towns, and they would send no others to die. I had all but resigned myself to thinking that nothing could be done, when by chance-or who knows, by the work of some Goddess-a little band of Free Amazons met with me on the road. They were hunters and traders, and had a mercenary soldier or two to protect them; and in talk with them, I learned that while their band did not venture into the Dry-Towns, they knew of one who would. So I went to their Guild-house and spoke with Kindra; and she agreed to attempt the rescue. And so-”

  “So here you are,” said Melora, almost with wonder, “and here I am. It was true. I had resigned myself, and when I knew I bore Jalak’s child again, and that child a son-I was ready to die.” Her eyes went to her daughter; Jaelle had finished walking the horse, and was standing beside him as he drank from the waterhole. “She is past twelve; at thirteen she would have been chained. I think if you had not come I would have killed her, somehow, and then myself-”

  Rohana saw the deep shudder that ran through her cousin’s body. She put out her hand quickly to clasp Melora’s. “It is past, love. All past. Now you can begin to forget.”

  Forget? While I bear Jalak’s son? Melora did not speak the words aloud, but Rohana heard them anyway. She said very gently, “Well, for now-you can rest, and you are free, and safe for the moment. Try to sleep, dearest.”

  “Sleep.” Melora’s smile was wry. “I cannot remember when I really slept last. And it seems a pity to sleep now, when I am with you again, and safe … and I am happy. … Tell me all the news of our kinfolk, Rohana. Does Marius Elhalyn still rule in Thendara? What of our people, our friends-tell me everything,” she said yearningly, and Rohana had not the heart to silence her.

  “That is a long story and would take many days and hours in the telling. Dom Marius died the year after you were taken; Aran Elhalyn keeps the throne warm from year to year, and as usual the Lord of Hastur is the true ruler; not old Istvan, he is senile, but Lorill Hastur, who was his heir. You recall that Lorill and his sister Leonie were with us at the Dalereuth Tower, when we were girls; I thought perhaps Lorill would move against Jalak for your sake-”

  Melora sighed. She said, “Even I knew better than that; the Hasturs must think of more important things than the cause of kin, or how are they better than the Dry-Towners with all their feuds and little wars? There is peace otherwise?”

  “Peace, yes … Lorill has brought the Terrans from Aldaran to Thendara; they are building a spaceport there, and he has defended his move before the Council; some of them fought it all the way, but Lorill prevailed, as the Hasturs usually do.”

  “The Terrans,” said Melora, slowly. “Yes, I had heard; men like us from another world, come on great ships from the stars. Jalak told such tales only to laugh at them; in the Dry Towns they do not know that the stars are suns like ours, lighting worlds not unlike our own, and Jalak loved to scoff at such tales and say these so-called off-worlders must be clever rogues indeed to fool the Seven Domains, but that no sensible man from the Drylands would be caught so. … ” She shut her eyes, and Rohana thought, for a moment, that she slept; and was grateful. Knowing that she, too, should try to rest, she closed her eyes, but a shadow fell across her face, and she opened them to see Jaelle standing there, looking down at them. She said in a whisper, “It is you who are my-our kinswoman, Lady Rohana?”

  Rohana sat up and held out her arms; Jaelle gave her a quick, shy embrace. “How does my mother, kinswoman? Is she asleep?”

  “Asleep; and very weary,” said Rohana, rising quickly to her feet. She drew the child away so the sound of their voices would not disturb Melora.

  “I will not waken her, but I wanted to see-” and her voice trembled. Rohana looked down at the small serious face, the wide green eyes.

  Comyn, she thought; she does not look like Melora, but her Comyn blood is unmistakable. It would have been wrong, entirely wrong, to leave her in Jalak’s hands… not only inhuman but wrong!

  Jaelle said, almost in a whisper, “She should not ride now; the baby will be born so soon. … “

  “I know that, dear. But we are not safe here, except for a little rest. When we reach Carthon, we will be back in Domain country; and out of Jalak’s reach forever,” Rohana said quietly.

  “But-what will it do to her? The riding, the weariness-” Jaelle began hesitantly, then dropped her eyes and looked away. Rohana thought, Has she laran? Even in the telepath caste of the Comyn, the Gift did not begin to show itself much before adolescence; a trained leronis could make educated guesses about a child Jaelle’s age, but it had been so long since Rohana had used her telepath training that she could not even guess about Jaelle. Now, when I need to know, the Gift deserts me. … Why must women have to choose between the use of laran and all the other things of a woman’s life?

  She looked down at Melora, wiped out in exhausted sleep, and thought of the time when they had been young girls together, in the Tower at Dalereuth, learning the use of the matrix jewels that transformed energies; working as psi monitors, in the relay nets that kept communications alive in the vast spaces of Darkover, learning the technology of the Seven Domains.

  There had been three of them, all the same age: Rohana, and Melora, and Leonie Hastur, sister to that Lorill Hastur who ruled now behind the throne at Thendara. Rohana’s family had insisted that she marry, and she had left her work in the Tower-not without regrets-and gone to marry the heir to the Ardais Domain, to supervise the great estate there, to bear sons and a daughter to that clan. Leonie had been selected Keeper; a telepath of surpassing skill, she was now in charge of the Tower at Arilinn, controlling all the working telepaths on Darkover. But Leonie had paid the Keeper’s price; she had been forced to renounce love and marriage, living in seclusion as a virgin all her life. …

  Melora had been given no choice. Jalak’s armed men had seized her and carried her away to imprisonment and chains … rape and slavery and long suffering.

  Rohana’s weariness was giving her strange thoughts. Did Jalak really change her life so much? Do any of us have choice, really? At our clan’s demand, to share a stranger’s bed and rule his house and bear his children … or to live isolated from life, in lonel
iness and seclusion, controlling tremendous forces, but with no power to reach out our hand to any other human being, alone, virgin, worshiped but pitied. …

  Jaelle’s small hand touched hers lightly, and the little girl said, “Kinswoman … you are so white. … “

  Rohana quickly returned to reality. She said matter-of-factly, “I have eaten nothing. And in a little while I must wake your mother and see that she eats something, too.” She went with Jaelle to where the Amazons were sharing out food and drink; this time she diluted the wine with water from the well and found it sour but drinkable. Kindra went to look at the sleeping Melora and came back, saying, “She needs rest more than food, Lady; she can eat when she wakes,” and looked at Jaelle, saying, “You will be sunburned and saddle-sore if you try to ride in that nightgown, chiya. Gwennis, Leeanne, Devra, you are smallest, can you find the little one some clothes?”

  Rohana was surprised and warmed to see how immediate the response was; all but the tallest of the women went at once to their saddlebags, searching, sharing out what they had, an under vest here, a tunic there, a pair of trousers (Leeanne’s, and even these had to be rolled up almost to the knees). Camilla, whose feet were slender, brought out a pair of suede ankle boots, saying, “They will be too big, but laced tightly, they will protect her while she is riding and keep her feet from the sand and thorn bushes.” They were embroidered and dyed, evidently her own holiday gear, and Rohana was more surprised than ever; a neuter, she would have thought, could hardly have maternal feelings.

  Jaelle let Rohana undress her and clothe her in the strange garments, looking around hesitantly toward her mother but forbearing to disturb her. She did say shakily, as Rohana belted in the bulky long trousers, and began to lace up the pretty, dyed-leather boots, “I have always been told it is not seemly for a woman to wear breeches, and-and, I am almost old enough to be called a woman.”