The Shadow Matrix by Marion Zimmer Bradley Read Free Book Online Page A

as if she were someone special. She had spent too many
    years being Ivor Davidson's assistant, taking charge of luggage and travel itineraries,
    dealing with petty bureaucrats and customs agents with larcenous hearts, or coping
    with academic rivalry and jealousy, to turn into a comynara overnight. No matter how
    she was treated, she still felt she was only Margaret Alton, Fellow of the University,
    not Marguerida Alton, heiress to a Darkovan Domain, a noble in almost any Terran
    hierarchy she could think of.
    It was a little disheartening, knowing that with the best intentions in the world, she was
    probably never going to be able to behave in a manner that would please her
    formidable aunt Javanne Lanart-Hastur, or other matrons of her generation. She
    remained too independent, too headstrong, and lacked either the will or the capacity to
    defer to males or pretend to be stupid and meek. Within the confines of Darkovan
    society, she was an outsider and seemed likely to remain so, no matter how hard she
    tried.
    Since she could not change her character, however, Margaret decided that she would
    just have to make the best of things, and go for a nice ride on a fine autumn day. It was
    almost fifty degrees, and the wind was only a cool draft, smelling of leaves being
    burned for potash, and the drifting scent of bread from the Arilinn bakery.
    Martin brought Dorilys, saddled and almost dancing, across the cobblestones to the
    mounting block. Behind him another groom had a comfortable cob, and she realized
    with a start that Martin intended to accompany her. It would do no good to ask him not
    to—she was a female,
    and females, unless they were Renunciates, did not go for horseback rides alone. He
    would not understand, and, worse, he would be hurt. She knew that she was altogether
    too sensitive, and that she could be manipulated by Martin or any other servant, so she
    shrugged, stepped onto the mounting block, and threw her leg over into the saddle.
    Dorilys threw her head back, and half-reared, expressing her delight at having
    Margaret around. The little filly did not seem to mind the grooms riding her, but she
    always made it clear who her preferred rider was. She began to dance around,
    impatient to be out and about. Slapping the reins lightly against the satiny neck of the
    horse, Margaret started out of the stableyard, with Martin following her.
    Arilinn Tower stood on a plain that ran down to the river, so there was a great deal of
    flat ground. Much of it was covered with trees—similar to maples, elms, quickbeam,
    and other hardwoods—not the conifers so typical of the lands farther north. But there
    were several open areas which afforded a good ride.
    There were fields around the little town near the Tower, but they were empty now, the
    harvest over, The stands of trees around the fields were ablaze with autumn color: red,
    orange, russet, and gold. The soft breeze brought the smell of leaves and fallow earth
    to her face, accompanied by the pleasant scent of burning foliage. There was a small
    enclave of charcoal makers nearby, and she knew they were busy at their work.
    Margaret had discovered, much to her own surprise, that the quiet rhythm of the
    agricultural year was very soothing. She loved to escape from the confines of the
    Tower, to be away from the tremendous energy of the place, and ride among the fields.
    She had watched the farmers tend those fields, then seen them bring in the grain. She
    had been to the mill along the River Valeron where the grain was ground for flour. A
    little to the west of the mill there was a lumber operation, and beyond it a settlement of
    dyers who used the waters of the great river in their work. -She let Dorilys move into a
    moderate trot, longing to give her her head and run, but aware that Martin's cob would
    be left eating dust if she did. Margaret fell into the steady rhythm of the horse, and
    slowly the persistent headache began to fade. The ruddy sun warmed her