Twenty-Four

Sandon struggled forward. The darkness had teeth, but they were teeth made of air and ice. The wind tore at the air around him, billowing under his hood and pressing his beard flat against his chin. He squinted through the rushing gale, his eyes tearing, blinking with each new blast, trying in vain to pierce the all-encompassing gloom.

“Principal Men Darnak!” he called, knowing it was useless. Even if they were close enough to hear, the wind tore the words from his mouth and scattered them across the barren slopes. Daggered shards of cold chilled through his robes, helping the ice touch creep into his body and bones. Sandon worked to pull the robe tighter about him, trying to find some way to guard the coarse open-weave holes from the wind’s probing fingers. The Atavists couldn’t live like this. He shivered, and then suddenly remembered the weatherproof coat the he had gotten from Milana and Benjo. He turned in the saddle, reaching behind to fumble in the pack. After several struggling attempts with fingers made numb and aching with the cold, he managed to pull the coat free and then pull it on over his head. It snapped about him with the wind, but at least it offered a little more protection.

“Principal Men Darnak!” he called again. “Witness Kovaar!”

He must really look a sight — a bedraggled Atavist in homespun and weather coat screaming into the wind. He gritted his teeth. How had he, Sandon Yl Aris come to this? It was mere weeks ago that he had been sitting calmly in the main Guild room of Primary Production in discussion with Ka Vail, talking about the horrors of the Return. He steered the padder up the next slope, cresting the hill and drew it to a halt. Up here, the wind was worse, but at least it gave him a vantage point.

Over there, a vague flickering in the darkness. There was someone out there carrying a lantern. He grunted and kicked his padder into motion. It might not be Men Darnak, but at least it would be someone. Whoever it was might just have seen the Principal and his men.

He caught up with the two men in just a few minutes and breathed a sigh of relief. It was a pair of Men Darnak’s men. They were riding against the wind, their lantern held high, shielded well enough to withstand the worst of the onslaught, but still fluttering and flaring with the occasional strong gust. He was pleased to see that one of the pair was the young man, Fran.

“Fran,” he shouted against the wind.

Fran leaned close to him and shouted back. “Tchardo, what are you doing out here? We thought we’d lost you.”

“Fran, I have to find the Principal.”

“So do we!” Fran shouted back.

“What do you mean?”

“We found a lodge. We were going to hole up against the storm.” He screwed up his face against the wind and leaned closer. “The Principal took one look and headed out into the night. The Priest went after him.”

“Come on. I’ll help you look. We have to find him.”

Fran clearly saw something in Sandon’s face. “What is it?” he said.

“Later, Fran. Later,” he yelled, trying to make himself heard above the wind.

Fran nodded and kicked his padder into motion.

It took them another hour battling against the winds before they came upon Men Darnak and Kovaar huddled in a small decline. Witness Kovaar was standing over the old man, holding the reins of both their animals while Men Darnak sat hunched over, grasping at handfuls of the scant vegetation and tearing them from the ground, then tossing them into the wind. Kovaar was clearly trying to get him to stop and return, presumably back to the lodge.

“There!” Fran yelled, pointing.

“Yes, I see them,” said the other man.

They spurred their animals into a quick canter, and Sandon quickly followed up behind.

“What’s he doing?” Fran said over the wind as Sandon drew abreast. Sandon shook his head. He didn’t know, but it didn’t look good, he thought grimly. He needed the Principal at full strength right now.

Something alerted Witness Kovaar to their approach, for he looked up, an expression, half concern and half relief on his gaunt features. As soon as they slowed, Sandon slid from his animal and stepped up beside Kovaar, still buffeted by the wind, but less so in this half shelter.

“We need to talk to him,” he said as quietly as he could, virtually impossible with the rushing noise.

Kovaar frowned at him. “What is it?”

“I have news.”

Kovaar fixed him with a querying look, frowned, turned back to look at Men Darnak, still sitting at his feet apparently oblivious to any of them, and chewed at his bottom lip. “We need to get him back out of this weather. I’m going to need help,” he shouted, turning back to look at Sandon.

“Fran, help me get him on his padder,” yelled Sandon.

Together they moved to lift Men Darnak from the ground, each of them with one hand in an armpit, and the other holding an arm. The Principal was like a dead weight between them, but he didn’t resist. Sandon noticed how frail the man’s arm felt, as if he were a mere shade of what he’d been just a few months before. Men Darnak had never been a big man, but he was tall and wiry, with compact muscles. The Principal wavered between them, staring out into the darkness, his beard and long hair flying in the wind. They were out of the direct force of it here, but it was still enough to flap his cloak about him. The flying hair, the vacant expression, none of it augured well for Sandon. Together, he and Fran managed to guide him onto the back of his padder, with Kovaar still holding the reins.

“Which way?” asked Sandon.

Fran pointed back in the direction they had come, and his companion led off. Fran followed closely behind, and then Kovaar, leading Men Darnak’s padder beside him. Sandon brought up the rear.

It didn’t take them long to reach the small lodge. As it hove into view, Sandon doubted whether he’d ever seen a more welcoming sight. The lantern light from within was almost friendly, and inside, there would be heat and shelter. These lodges, province of the more well-to-do Guild functionaries were simple, but usually adequately enough equipped. It would be sheer luxury compared to anything he’d had to put up with for the last few weeks.

As the five of them stepped inside, slapping their arms and huddling into their clothes, the remaining member of Men Darnak’s party greeted them. He had been busy, attending to the facilities inside. A wave of warmth washed over Sandon. There was a wide, open common room with a broad table. Several rough-hewn chairs lay scattered around the room across a broad stone floor scattered with rugs. It had all the rustic appeal of the current fashion. Sandon presumed this was part of the Ka Vail holdings, but there was no way of being sure. In the darkness and the weather, he had lost any concept of direction. In the corner sat a large stove, already blazing. Atop it sat a large steaming pot and nearby a low table with the makings of a fine brew already laid out. Oh, what he’d give for a hot, strong mug of tea right now, but there were other priorities, and he knew it.

“Bring the Principal in,” said Kovaar. “Sit him over there.”

“What?” said Men Darnak. “What are you doing, Priest? Am I a helpless child that I need to be carried and pushed about?” He shrugged off Fran’s guiding hand and drew himself to full height, his eyes blazing. “Know your place, Witness Kovaar. I am your Principal.”

“Yes, of course, Principal,” said Kovaar, bowing his head slightly.

Men Darnak turned on Sandon. “Do I know you, Atavist?”

Sandon felt a sudden chill.

Men Darnak peered at him, held the gaze for a few moments, then shook his head and proceeded to look around the room. “Over there,” he finally said, pointing to a chair near a wall covered by a tall set of shelves. “Bring me tea.”

The other man scurried over to see to the brew and Men Darnak strode across the room and sat, his fingers clasped in front of him. Witness Kovaar sidled over and muttered to Sandon, still keeping an eye on the Principal.

“What has happened? What is the news?”

Sandon chewed at his top lip, and then cleared his throat before answering in a low voice. “It’s Roge Men Darnak. He’s dead. Some sort of accident.”

There was a sharp intake of breath from Kovaar, and he turned to look at him with disbelief on his face. “Is this true?”

Sandon nodded.

“By the Prophet,” said Kovaar, turning back to look at Men Darnak seated across the room. Sandon caught something on the man’s face, almost a look of satisfaction, and then it was gone, leaving him wondering if he’d simply imagined it.

As if prompted by the look, Men Darnak spoke. “What is it? What are you two muttering about?”

Sandon took a few steps toward the Principal, and Kovaar gave a sharp hiss. “No,” he said.

“I must,” said Sandon, back over his shoulder. He approached the seated man and crouched in front of him.

“Principal,” he said. He fought for the words, finding none that were easier than any others.

“There is no good way to say this. There’s been an accident. Your son, Roge ... I’m afraid he was killed in the accident.”

All other movement in the room abruptly stopped. The only sound was that of the wind, rushing around the lodge outside, buffeting the walls as if seeking entrance. Inside, the silence dragged on.

There was a flicker of a frown, then Men Darnak continued to look at him blankly, his face completely expressionless. “Is that so?” he said. “But I was looking for him.” A slight shake of the head. “Accident. My wife was in an accident, you know.” He motioned to the man by the stove. “Is that tea ready yet? Hurry up, man.”

“Principal….”

Men Darnak looked up at him suspiciously. “Who asked this Atavist here, Priest?”

Sandon returned the look with concern. “Principal, your son’s dead. Did you understand what I said?”

“I sent Tarlain away. Something about the Kallathik, I think.”

“Not Tarlain. Roge.”

The blankness continued. “Ah yes, Roge. I was looking for him. He left. I had to find him and talk about Karin. Did you have children, Atavist? Be careful if you do. Be very careful.”

“My name is Tchardo, Principal.” He bit down hard on his next response, but he was rapidly running out of things to say. “Roge is gone. He was killed in an accident.”

“Yes, yes,” said Men Darnak, and glanced back over at the man who was suddenly fussing with the tea preparation. He turned back to Sandon and gave him a long hard look. He lifted one hand. Sandon noted a slight tremor in it. “I do know you. I’ve seen you before. You remind me of…there was someone who worked for me once, a close and trusted friend, I think…” He continued peering at his face, as if trying to worry the memory from the depths of his consciousness.

Sandon got slowly to his feet.

“Principal, I…” he said.

“Enough. I can’t wait for this tea. You’re too slow, man. There’s too much to do.” He shook his head.

Just then, a sudden furious gust shook the entire lodge. Sandon drew air through his teeth and looked over at Kovaar, who was slowly shaking his head. He caught Sandon’s scrutiny, held his look for a moment, and then tilted his head in Men Darnak’s direction.

The Principal was on his feet. Outside, the wind had finally been joined by rain. Large drops were beginning to spatter against the windows and the roof. Sandon glanced outside, but all that was there was blackness. A gust threw a sheet of rain against the side of the lodge, and it drummed against the side wall and roof like hundreds of sharply pointed fingers. A sudden flash lit up the outside, followed a few moments later by a deep rumble, clearly audible over the sound of the wind and rain. He turned back to Men Darnak. The old man was standing there staring into space. His mouth was working. Sandon frowned, leaning slightly forward, trying to make out what he was saying.

It was one word, over and over. “Roge,” he was mouthing. “Roge.”

Without any warning, Leannis Men Darnak dashed for the door. He flung it wide, and stood there, his arms outstretched as a blast of wind and rain whipped against and past him. Sandon, Kovaar and the others shied away from the sudden intrusion of the elements. Then just as quickly, Men Darnak was gone.

“Principal!” called Sandon, but it was too late.

“Damn you, Kovaar,” said Sandon. “Go after him!”

Caught suddenly off guard by Sandon’s outburst, rather than questioning, the priest ducked his head and raced out the door, forcing it shut behind him. It shouldn’t take him long to find the old man and drag him back.

The brief respite against the weather was giving Sandon time to think. A suspicion had been growing, and now, he thought, might just be the time to put it to the test. He believed he could trust the young man, Fran. There was nothing wily about the boy at all. It was about time that Sandon came back. The Atavist, Tchardo, had just about served his purpose.

“Fran,” he said. “Can I talk to you?”

The young man broke off from his worried observation of the door. He was looking as if any moment, Kovaar and the Principal might burst back in and he’d have to deal with some fresh onslaught. Come to think of it, he was looking decidedly shaken. He nodded. Sandon looked around. There were several bedrooms leading off from the wide common room, and he inclined his head in the direction of one of these. Fran gave a brief frown, rubbed his hands on the back of his trousers and then headed for the room that Sandon had indicated. Sandon looked at the other two, but they were now sipping on mugs of tea — how Sandon would have loved one — and peering out the thick windows. He grabbed a lantern, followed Fran into the room, and closed the door.

There was nothing fancy in the room, a bed, some shelves, a cupboard, a lantern on a low table, but it would suit his purposes. What he needed now was privacy. He placed his own lantern down, looked Fran full in the face, and pulled back his hood.

“Fran, I’m going to ask you something, and then based on what you tell me, I might have to ask you to do something for me.”

The boy nodded, his broad features guileless.

“Does the name Sandon Yl Aris mean anything to you?”

Fran thought for a few moments. “No, I don’t think so.”

“Good. But that’s not important for the moment. You’ve seen Principal Men Darnak. You must feel the same way I do. There’s something not right there. He needs help. Do you agree?”

Fran nodded again. “Yes. He’s not good is he? He’s been strange for a while now, and it doesn’t seem to be getting any better. If anything it gets worse every day.”

“We saw him just before he tore off into the night, Fran. The news has taken him badly. We need to do something to help him. And now with Roge gone — ”

“I know. I still can’t believe that.”

“You have to believe it. Anyway, I’m not convinced he’s getting the help he needs from Witness Kovaar, and I think we’re going to need him to be strong over the next few weeks and months.”

“How do you mean?” Fran was looking puzzled.

Sandon paused before continuing, assessing whether he could take the risk. Fran was still looking at him expectantly. “I’m not an Atavist, Fran. I never have been. The Principal was close to it for a moment in there. I thought finally, perhaps, he had seen through those clouds in his head and recognized me. Once upon a time, I was very close to Principal Men Darnak. I used to work for him. I used to work very closely with him. I don’t want to go into explanations now, but you have to believe that.”

Fran was nodding slowly. “Yes, you sometimes acted pretty strangely for an Atavist, I guess. But — ”

Sandon lifted his hand to Fran’s shoulder. “I can’t explain all that now, but I think there’s one way we can help the Principal, but it’s going to need you to do something for me.”

“What’s that?”

“I think the Principal’s other son, Tarlain is somewhere near the mines. Maybe Bortruz, maybe somewhere closer. I don’t know for sure, but you have to find him and tell him what’s happening to his father. You have to tell him about his brother too. You’ve been close enough to the Principal now for Tarlain to believe you. We are going to need Tarlain’s help if we are going to make this right, and I think we have to. Kovaar’s not going to help. Karin is beyond hope. It’s up to us.”

As much as he had gleaned from the past few weeks told Sandon that he was right.

“But how will I find him?”

“He’s the Principal’s son, Fran. People will remember. He has to get supplies; he has to become visible. He’s not going to hide in a cave somewhere.”

Fran nodded, trying to take in everything Sandon was telling him.

“Bortruz?”

“Yes, I think so. It’s a good starting point. Just as a suggestion, there’s a bar in the center of the town. You could ask around there. The people who own it, Milana and Benjo, they’re good folk. If you need to, then trust them, though I wouldn’t trust any of the Principate or Guild official there, despite what you may think. Oh, and one last thing. When you find him, tell him that Sandon Yl Aris sent you.”

“But — ”

“That’s my name, Fran, but I need you to keep that to yourself for now. Can I trust you to do that?”

Fran’s eyes got a half vague, wide look about them for a moment. “I never expected anything like this.”

“I don’t think any of us expected anything like this, Fran. Can you do it?”

“Of course I can, Tchardo, um ... what do I call you?”

“Tchardo’s fine for now. Nobody else needs to know at this stage. I guess you should wait for the storm to ease. Set off in the morning. It makes no sense to go out in this. You know how to get there from here, don’t you?”

Fran stepped back for a moment, looking down at his feet. “Listen, Tchardo, I want to do it, really. But what am I going to say to the others? I can’t just leave.”

“Don’t tell them anything. Let me look after that. It all depends. Do you want to truly serve your Principal?”

He looked up with a touch of slight offence on his face. “Of course I do.”

“Then you’ll do what I’m asking.”

The boy still looked troubled, but he nodded slowly.

“All right,” said Sandon. “We should go out and join the others. I really need some hot tea and I would think you could use some too.”

#

Sandon was starting to become truly concerned. Three hours had passed, and still there was no sign of either Kovaar or the Principal. Outside, the storm still raged, lashing rain against the sides of the lodge, and intermittently blasting the landscape with huge crashing sheets of light. Sandon was starting to eye the others nervously. They surely couldn’t be content to just sit here. Everything seemed to be in turmoil: the weather, the Guilds, the Kallathik, even Men Darnak himself, not to say anything of Sandon’s own existence. But all that was of lesser importance right now. What mattered was what had happened to Men Darnak. He pulled himself to his feet.

“Shouldn’t someone go and try to find them?”

“You can have it, Atavist,” said one of the men. “I’m staying right here. If the old man wants to go wandering off into the night, then that’s his business. I’m staying by the fire. We’ve done enough chasing him all over the countryside.”

His companion nodded. Meanwhile Fran looked up, a slightly guilty expression on his face, but clearly about to leap to his feet. Sandon waved him down. “I’ll go,” he said.

“Do what you want,” said the first man, with a shrug and not without a touch of resentment.

Sandon moved to the door, found his coat and pulled it on. He couldn’t remember seeing whether Kovaar had taken a lantern with him or not. He looked around, located a spare one, lit it and headed back to the door.

“Tchardo...”

“No, you stay, Fran. I’ll be fine.”

Outside the door, the wind threatened to throw him up against the wall. He pulled his coat around, trying to shield the lantern, pulled his head down against the wind and rain, and headed out. He had no idea where they might have gone. He only hoped they might see the lantern, if he didn’t see them first, though seeing anything in this tempest would be like a miracle. The wind howled past his ears, and despite the coat, within moments he was soaked through, streams of water running down his neck and beneath his clothes. Witness Kovaar and Men Darnak had been out in this for hours. What state must they be in by now? Head down, buffeted from every direction, he stumbled forward.

Chapter Twenty-Five