Twenty-Two
“No, by the Prophet,
they cannot all desert me. I will not
allow it.” Men Darnak dug his heels once
more into the padder’s flanks, ignoring the fact that he was already at full
gallop. He was Principal. He had been Principal since...
The ground whipped past
him, large fleshy plants and bare patches of muddy ground. A whitish scum marked the bare patches in
places, and he paused in his considerations, just for a moment, to wonder what
it might be. Funny that he’d never
noticed it before. The wind rushing past
him was cold, tinged with ice. He
hunched against it and urged his mount on faster, faster. The padder crested a small hill, then started to slow to a canter. He was on the down slope now. A small valley ran between the two hills,
obscuring his vision of any of the surrounds.
Rising, blasted ground hemmed him in on all sides. Gently he slowed the animal to a walk, and
looked around, but there was nothing, nothing but the same, unchanging landscape. The padder was breathing heavily beneath
him. He could feel its ribs moving in
and out between his legs and with noticing it, he
realized that he too was panting. Up
above, the clouds were thickening, filling with anger and the hate this world had
for its people. But they weren’t its
people, were they? Why wouldn’t it try
and reject them? He pulled back on the
reins and drew the animal to a complete halt.
Yes, he could understand the world trying to reject him, but his own
people, his own family. What was it that
he had done?
He growled at the
uncertainty as it flitted around him with the strengthening breeze. Karin, of all people. Karin was meant to support him, to love him,
to stand by him as he moved into the infirmity of advancing years. Roge had too much to occupy him now, but
Karin...
And then there was
Tarlain. He had always been a good
boy. A little naïve, a
little idealistic, but that came with youth. You grew out of that, in time. He had thought that sending him away was an act
of responsibility, that making him truly work for his
position would have hardened him, given him the strength he would eventually
need to play in the machinations of the Guilds.
Perhaps he had been too harsh.
And now there was nothing for it.
Tarlain was gone, he knew not where, Karin had thrown him to Aldaban’s
unforgiving landscape, and Roge was somewhere.
Roge was somewhere. Roge was
where? He had to talk to his eldest son
and find out what was happening. Where
was Yl Aris when he needed him? Sandon
would have helped. But he had…he
had…what had he done?
“Principal!” The shout came from over one of the slight
hills behind him, far away, distorted by the wind, but it was definitely
someone calling for him. He knew the
voice. It was ... it was ...
Priest. Kovaar. Witness Kovaar was looking for him.
“Principal!” the shout
came again.
He sat where he was,
looking down at the patchy ground, feeling the padder shift beneath him. Let them find him. Or perhaps it wasn’t a ‘them’ after all. He shook his head. Kovaar. What did he want?
“Principal Men Darnak!”
He looked back over his
shoulder. There, silhouetted on the
hilltop was the Priest’s figure astride his padder. Behind him, breaking
through the clouds, the Twins’ merged disks, struggling to force their way
through the heavy blackness that roiled about them. Shafts of ruddy light broke through,
disappeared, and broke through again, framing the solitary figure atop the hill
with a continuously changing pattern of red and orange light. The Priest’s robes stirred in the wind,
adding to the unreality of the picture, shifting light, shifting shadow, the
world turning around him.
“There you are. Stay there, Principal. I will come to you.”
The Priest’s reedy voice
drifted and whipped away. Men Darnak
snorted and turned away. Yes, let him
come.
Kovaar cantered down the
hill and drew his mount up beside.
“Principal,” he said, a
tone of admonition in the voice. “Where
did you think you were going?”
“Did you not hear
me? I’m looking for Roge.”
“But what made you think
you would find him out here? There’s
nothing here, Principal. Roge will have
returned to his estates, or perhaps gone to Karin’s. Would it not have been better to find out
where he’d gone before charging out into the weather, especially so close to
the end of the day. It will become dark
soon, and I am sure the Prophet would not will you to be out here in this
weather.”
Men Darnak turned to
face him. “So, you know the Prophet’s
will now, do you, Priest? You speak for
the Prophet, do you? And I suppose you
can tell me where my son is too. Perhaps
you can explain to me his mind as well?”
Kovaar shook his
head. “There is no point,
Principal. You have already seen what’s
happened with your daughter. Why would
you expect the others to be any different?”
Men Darnak sighed
heavily. “I expect something. Something. I don’t know what I expect.” He looked up at the sky. The weight was growing in him, building
darkly like the cloud mass above. He
looked back at Kovaar. Reaching out with
one hand, he grasped a handful of the Priest’s robes. “You’re a man of the Prophet, Kovaar. Tell me.
Tell me what to do. Tell me what
the Prophet wills. Let Him make this right.”
Kovaar reached up and
gently removed his hand. “It is not our
place to demand of the Prophet. He
guides us. He shows us the way. You can listen to his wisdom, deep
inside. His will shapes things into what
they must be.”
“Pfah! No, no more.
Damn you Priest. Where is
Roge? We have to find Roge.” He turned away, scanning the empty hills as
if to find his eldest son sitting waiting for him. Kovaar sat watching him and he turned back to
face him. “Damn you, Priest.”
He dug his heels in and
whipped the reins savagely. He headed
the padder toward the hillside in front, urging it faster.
“Principal, wait!”
yelled Kovaar behind him.
#
Sandon walked quickly
past the still-open garage and headed for the stables. The broad door was closed, presumably against
the weather, and he pulled at its edge, trying to ease it open far enough to
slip inside and find his padder, if it was there at all. He’d have to saddle it, find the rest of his
belongings. Who knew what they might
have done with them? Inside, he was
still cursing fate. Every time he seemed
to get anywhere near the Principal, something conspired to wrest him away. There had to be a reason for that. There was a reason for everything. He was putting his weight behind the door,
heaving against its bulk when one of Ka Vail’s men appeared around the corner,
looking pale.
“You,” he said. “Where’s my padder?”
The man stopped, looked
blankly at him and shook his head. “I
can’t help you, Atavist,” he said. “Such terrible news.”
He shook his head again.
“What is it?” asked
Sandon, pausing in his efforts.
The man stared into
nothing. “Principal Men Darnak. The new Principal.”
“What? What is it?”
“No, of course you
couldn’t have heard. There’s been an
accident. He’s been killed.”
Sandon felt the ground
move beneath him, but it was no quake.
“What do you mean? How could
he...?”
The man kept shaking his
head. “For some reason he took a
groundcar when he left the other night.
What possessed him to do that, I don’t know. The Guildmaster’s youngest son was with
him. It must have failed. The storms. Jarid Ka Vail has just managed to get back
with the news not a few minutes ago.”
Sandon’s mind was
running in confused circles. None of
this made sense.
“What are you talking
about? Tell me what happened.”
“I told you. An accident. The groundcar. Jarid is unhurt, thank the Twins, but Roge
Men Darnak didn’t survive. According to
the boy, there was no chance for him. I
don’t know what we are going to do. The
Guildmaster has sent out a group to try and help, but there’s nothing to be
done, apart from retrieving the body. We
need a firm hand in the Principate, not this.
To lose him so young, and so soon into his time as Principal, it’s
shocking.”
Sandon felt himself
unable to move. He was barely able to
close his mouth. He had to do
something. The
Principal. The real Principal — Leannis Men Darnak. He couldn’t possibly know.
“Has anyone been sent to
tell the old man?”
“Which
old man?”
“Principal Men
Darnak. The boy’s
father. What old man do you
think?”
The man looked
confused. “No, no, I don’t think so.”
“No, of course not,”
muttered Sandon, then to the man.
“Quick, help me find my padder.”
The man didn’t seem to
register that he was suddenly being ordered about by a bedraggled looking
Atavist, and he moved to help Sandon with the door. “This way,” he said, leading him toward the
back of the stables. All the while,
Sandon’s mind was racing. The Principal
had not been acting himself for some time.
His headlong flight into the countryside in search of Roge, the
insistence upon coming here himself, none of it made sense. The implications for the
structure of the Guilds was enough on its own. How was Men Darnak going to take the news of
his son’s death? It really didn’t matter
now; he had to be told. Sandon had a
duty to tell him.
Sandon’s padder was in a
stall right at the end. It looked up at
their approach and grumbled, then gave a mighty snort. His belongings had been bundled
unceremoniously into one corner. He was
thankful, at least, that the padder had not seen fit to use the things as a
place to leave a nice reminder about its digestive processes.
“Here.” Ka Vail’s man had disappeared and returned
shortly after with Sandon’s saddle. He
assisted getting it on, then tying the pack to the animal’s rear. Sandon led the padder out of the stall,
thanked the man, and then headed outside, an empty hollowness ringing inside
him. Roge Men Darnak
dead. What could be worse? The Principate and the Guilds would be in
chaos. The old man would have to step
back in if they were going to restore some sort of order.
Which way would he
go? He looked around, remembering the
path that Men Darnak had taken and grimaced to himself. Where would he be? The men had taken off after him. Witness Kovaar was in pursuit, but the
landscape, full of rolling hills and valleys, stretched for miles about. He had no idea where the Principal might
be. “Where the Prophet wills,” came
unbidden to his mind, and he gave a wry, humorless grin. All right. It was time for the Prophet to start doing
some good. It was all he had left to
hope for. He mounted and urged the
padder into a brisk trot. A glance at
the heavens revealed thickening cloud, pregnant with heavy moisture, and the
light was fading fast, what little there was of it. So, here he was, yet again on a fool’s
errand, and liable to be soaked to the skin before the evening was out. Were the Twins really in such poor alignment
at the time he was born?
#
Inside the house, Aron
Ka Vail watched the lone Atavist heading up the road and away, presumably in
search of the others including Men Darnak.
Poor fool. If only he knew. He turned to face Jarid, who stood behind
him, apparently waiting for something.
“What is it, Jarid,” he
said. “Haven’t you done enough?”
“I don’t know what you
mean, Father.”
Aron sat heavily and
sighed. “No, no, I suppose I have no
right to blame you. It isn’t right
though. None of this is right.”
Jarid took a chair
opposite. “How can it
not be right, Father? The Guild
needs stability and a firm hand. You
know we had no choice in it. To do
nothing would have left us exposed, and with the situation as it is, we cannot
afford such exposure.”
Aron raised a hand to
his forehead and closed his eyes. He
didn’t really want to hear what the boy was telling him.
“What with Markis, and
Roge, Yosset Clier…,” Jarid continued.
“Things were simply becoming too unstable. You had no choice. You’ve simply helped to introduce some
stability into the equation, as is your duty.
I’ve heard you talk often enough about Order.”
Aron slowly withdrew his
hand from in front of his eyes. “That
doesn’t justify the treatment of Leannis Men Darnak and his people. Or perhaps you think it does, Jarid? The old man was a fine Principal. He saw us through difficult times more than
once.” He sighed, then
hardened his expression. “I know well
enough what it’s like to have your children turn against you.”
Jarid was looking down
at his hands clasped in front of him.
Aron wondered. Had he used those
hands to do what he had done? “No,
Jarid. We have another duty. Leannis Men Darnak has been good to me over
the years. We need to give him at least
something, even if it’s mere refuge from the Season. He needs our support. With what’s happened now, we may need more
from him in the weeks and months to come.
Leannis Men Darnak has always known what is right for the Guilds,
understood the intricacies of their workings better than anyone else. Now that we have this void…”
Jarid looked up
quickly. “But you heard what Ky Menin
said. We should leave him be. He’ll hear about the accident soon enough one
way or another. Didn’t you see the way
he was acting?”
“Of course I did, but by
the First Families, that doesn’t excuse what’s happening to him, what we’re
doing to him. I’m not going to continue
on this path. Regardless of anything
else, whatever else is happening, if Leannis Men Darnak needs help, then he
will get it from me.”
Jarid stood, now
frowning as well. “I don’t think that’s
a very good idea, Father.”
“Jarid, I don’t care
whether you think it’s a good idea or not.
A have my duty, and as the Prophet wills, I will perform it. Men Darnak deserves that level of respect,
and so damn it, do I!”
Jarid stared at him,
saying nothing, his jaw working slightly.
Without another word, he turned and stalked from the room. Aron watched him go. Such anger. Perhaps the boy would learn.
Karryl Ky
Menin had a lot to answer for. Now, with
Roge no longer there, the choices were distinctly limited.