Free The Shattered Chain by Marion Zimmer Bradley

waiting-women. As for Gwennis, she seemed almost like a little girl herself, not much older than Jaelle, or Rohana’s own daughter.
    Jaelle smiled at Gwennis and said, “You would be beautiful if you let your hair grow long.”
    It was Rohana’s own thought. Gwennis said with a kindly smile, “Why, perhaps so, little sister, but why should I want to be beautiful? I am not a dancer, or an actress, or a lyric performer, that I should need so much beauty!”
    “But if you were beautiful, you could make a good marriage,” Jaelle said, “and you would not need to be a soldier or a hunter to earn a living.”
    “But, little one,” said Gwennis, laughing, “I do not want to make a marriage, not even a good one.”
    “Oh?” Jaelle pondered this for a moment; it was easy to see that this was a new idea to her. “Why not?”
    “For many reasons. Among others,” she said deliberately, “lest I should find that my husband sought to keep me in chains.”
    Rohana felt it like a blow; Jaelle put her hand to her mouth and bit at the knuckle. Her face went white, then a desperate, agonized crimson. She made a small, strangled sound, turned away and ran to her mother’s side, flinging herself down on the blanket beside her and burying her head in her arms.
    Gwennis looked almost as dismayed as the child. She said, “My Lady, I am sorry, I should not have said that.”
    Silently, Rohana shook her head. She said at last, “She had to know.”
    Suddenly Jaelle has realized what this is all about. Before this it has been an adventure, safe because her mother is here; but she has not truly understood. And now — now she knows.
    And a shock like this, to a girl just on the threshold of womanhood … a girl with extraordinary telepath potential … Rohana was not sure just how she knew this, but she was sure of it. What will it do to her? Slowly, Rohana went and laid herself down in the shade beside Melora and Jaelle. Melora slept heavily. Jaelle’s face was buried in the blanket, her thin shoulders trembling violently. Rohana reached out to draw her close, comfort her, as she would have done with one of her own children; but Jaelle resisted her stiffly, and after a moment Rohana let her be. I am almost a stranger to her, she thought in despair. I can do nothing for her. Not yet.

    Chapter
    FOUR

    Three days and nights had passed, and Rohana had given up expecting pursuit or capture. If there had been pursuit at all, it had taken the wrong direction or been left hopelessly behind. Or else Melora was right, and Jalak’s heirs, finding him dead or wholly disabled, were busily dividing up his remaining wives and his property.
    Gradually the character of the land had changed: the first days had seen dry, burning, gritty sand, broken only by scruffy thorn bushes and feathery spicebush; now there were endless, trackless leagues of low, rolling dunes, covered by grayish Dryland bracken, with now and again a sharp black outcrop of rock. As if, Rohana thought, recalling the old tale, when Zandru made the Drylands, even the very rocks rebelled and broke through their cover, thrusting up in rebellion … the very bones of the world refusing to be covered in these barren leagues of desert and sand. …
    It was nearing twilight; the fierceness of the sun was tempered by the lengthening angle of the shadow. All that day they had seen no living thing, and Kindra had cautioned them to drink sparingly from their water-skins. “Should anything delay us,” she had warned, with a sharp glance at Melora, “we might not reach the next water hole this night … and we cannot carry too much in reserve.”
    Melora rode just ahead of her, head down, braced stiffly in her saddle. She had not spoken since they left the site of their noonday rest, and when Rohana would have felt her forehead for fever, she had turned away, refusing the touch, refusing even to meet Rohana’s searching eyes. Rohana was desperately worried about her. This trip was far too