Free The Shadow Matrix by Marion Zimmer Bradley

emerged into the stableyard, Mikhail frowned, filled
    with quiet despair. Duncan, the old man Mikhail remembered from his previous visit,
    crept from the shadows of a rather dilapidated building, alerted by the sound of their
    steeds. The sour smell of rotting hay was everywhere. Shakes were missing from the
    roof, so the stables must be leaking, and other evidence of disrepair was apparent. One
    trough was tilted on its side, and the other had a green and scummy look, as if the
    water had been standing in it for several days.
    Mikhail could now see the roof and upper story of Halyn House itself, though a large
    hedge prevented him from seeing the rest, and he was more than a little shocked. The
    upper windows were empty of glass, boarded over in some
    places, but left open in others. Tiles were missing from the peaked roof, and one
    chimney sagged and looked as if it might fall over at any moment.
    Duncan simply stared at the three, as if they were some type of apparition. The man
    had aged a great deal in four years, and looked as if he had lost weight as well. His
    clothing was worn, his boots so thin at the toes that one stocking was visible. The old
    man's hair was filthy, matted against his skull, and his teeth were rotting.
    Before Mikhail could speak, the wind shifted, and a smell of sulfur blew into his
    nostrils. It was a hot, acrid scent, and it came from somewhere beyond the house itself.
    It took him a minute to identify the odor. He had not known there was a hot spring in
    the area until now.
    "Hello, Duncan. How are you keeping these days?" he began, speaking with more
    cheer than he felt.
    "Welcome, vai dom. I'm as well as I can be." Then he hesitated, looked at the ground,
    and shuffled his feet anxiously. "Are you expected?" He cackled eerily. "Last time you
    wasn't."
    "Yes, I am." What if Priscilla had changed her mind, arid had not bothered to tell
    anyone? What if he had learned how to test for laran and made this journey for
    nothing? Regis Hastur had assured him just a few days earlier that things were fine, but
    something could have happened, he supposed. No, he would have been told.
    "Mestra Emelda did not inform me," Duncan muttered, his humor evaporating as he
    rubbed his gnarled hands together. "There is no place prepared for all these horses.
    There is no feed."
    Mikhail ignored the man's inhospitable words and dismounted. He was tired and
    hungry, and his temper was starting to fray. The smell of the stables disturbed him, and
    the sense of wrongness about the place plucked at his nerves. He had no idea what was
    going on, but he was determined to get to the bottom of things immediately.
    "Who is Mestra Emelda?" He had never heard of this woman, but the tone of Duncan's
    voice made him uneasy.
    "Mestra Emelda," the old man repeated, as if it explained everything.
    Daryll dismounted and took Charger's reins, since it was clear that Duncan had no
    intention of doing anything but
    stand there and look bewildered. "I'll see to the horses, Dom Mikhail. We have enough
    feed for tonight—though from the smell of the place, there isn't a scrap of clean hay to
    be had. Whew!" He curled his nose a little and grimaced in distaste. "Tomorrow I can
    ride over to that village we passed about five miles back, and have some sent over."
    "Tomorrow?" Duncan looked at the Guardsman suspiciously. "Surely you are not
    staying! She won't like that a bit."
    "Of course my men are staying," Mikhail snapped, exasperated.
    "No, they won't," the old fellow growled, now looking almost hostile.
    The feeling of unease which had plagued him the closer he got to Halyn House burst
    into a sudden moment of fear. He stamped it down roughly and studied Duncan more
    closely. The man he remembered had been crochety, but never rude. And he had been
    neat in his person, and intelligent as well. This fellow seemed to be another person
    entirely—a sullen and rather stupid man. His eyes seemed glazed now that Mikhail
    was near enough to