Thirty-Four

Edvin hovered near the door, and Ky Menin finally beckoned him in. He kept Karin’s man standing for a few moments more before speaking.

“So, what is it?” he said, finally.

“The Mistress has sent me with a message for Jarid Ka Vail.”

“Has she now? Well the Ka Vail boy is no longer here. He’s gone off with his men. Preparations. You can give whatever it is to me.”

Edvin stood nervously, running his fingers back and forth along the length of a sealed message tube. “I don’t think I should do that, Guildmaster,” he said.

Ky Menin unfolded his hands and stood. He watched the man, assessing, and then nodded slowly. “Yes, of course, you’re right, Edvin.” He took three steps closer. “But you understand how delicately things are balanced at the moment, don’t you? Perhaps it would be better if you let me know the contents. We don’t have to break the seal. Surely you know what’s in it.”

Edvin looked around himself, as if seeking support where clearly none lay. “Perhaps, Guildmaster.” He swallowed. “Perhaps if you just told me where Jarid Ka Vail is, then I can deliver the message and be on my way.”

“I’m afraid,” said Ky Menin, “that he’s long gone. After his discussions with your mistress, they decided that it was a mistake to let Guildmaster Ka Vail wander around the countryside. In the current climate, it could work against us. He’s gone to find the old man and deal with the problem.”

Edvin nodded, but looked puzzled. “Why did he just not send someone?”

“Because he wanted to deal with the matter personally,” said Ky Menin. “He seems to take a certain amount of pleasure from these things. Now tell me. What’s in this message that’s so important?” He took a step closer.

Edvin shook his head. “I cannot do that, Guildmaster.”

“Look. Jarid is far away by now. Not only does he have to track down the old man, but he’s also trying to assess the strength of the Kallathik and the miners. I have no idea where he might be. It would be better if you just gave the message to me, and I’ll determine whether we need to find him or not.”

Edvin’s grip on the message tube tightened, and he pressed his lips firmly together. “I have to go,” he said, backing away.

Karryl crossed the remaining distance separating them and stood, looming over the man. “Don’t you think I know what’s going on here, Edvin?” he said. “Last time they were together, the tension between that pair was undeniable. Even a blind man could have seen it. Karin has no loyalty to her husband. And you, well, you’re closest to her, aren’t you Edvin? You know what’s going on. If you cannot give me that,” he said, waving his hand at the tube clutched in Edvin’s hands, “then you can do something else which will help Karin more. And you do want to help her, don’t you?”

Edvin said nothing, chewing at his bottom lip, then gave a brief, hesitant nod.

Karryl turned away. “You can return to her and take a message back to her from me. Before Jarid left, he and I reached an understanding. We reached the conclusion that it would be better for him to work with me here, in the Guild of Technologists, rather than trying to take over the operations of Primary Production. We already have effective control of that Guild through Karin’s husband, through her. We don’t need to upset the order of things any further.” He turned around to face the man. “Can you remember that?”

“Of course,” said Edvin without any resentment.

“Now,” said Karryl. “It’s important that you deliver that before she tries anything foolish. Let her know that I understand what she’s planning, and we can do this a better way.”

Edvin nodded and withdrew, taking the message tube with him.

Karryl pressed his lips together, then finally crossed and sat back on his couch, slowly folding and unfolding his hands. It wasn’t the best, but it would do. He would have to keep an eye on that man, make sure he did what he was told, but it was as much as he could expect for the moment.

#

Markis and the old man made their way painfully across the hills. Markis had to lead him, carefully, watching the ground for any hidden holes or rocks as his father staggered along, leaning heavily on the staff. Aron Ka Vail was still visibly weak, and Markis watched him as they traveled, wondering what there was that he could possibly do to help him. To see his father reduced to this ... it was almost too much. More than once he’d been tempted to tell him exactly whom he really was, but he just didn’t know how the old man might react. Would he stumble away, denying him to the end, to finish up collapsing on some rain-swept field? The old man had effectively disowned Markis, after all. No, he couldn’t afford that risk with Aron in his current condition. Better to ease him to a point where he could tell him. Perhaps if his sight were to come back...

The thoughts kept coming back as they staggered across the hills and valleys, the weather whipping around them, not knowing where they were really going or what good it could possibly do.

Later that night, Markis tried to locate what shelter he could. Travelers’ huts frequently dotted the countryside. It was foolishness to travel cross-country in Storm Season and stay exposed to whatever the elements might throw at you. They didn’t even have a padder to ease their path. He’d thought a couple of times about how he might acquire one, but there seemed to be nothing for miles around. Finally, they came across a solitary hut. Rudely cobbled together from a simple frame and ajura planks, it would serve to keep off the worst of the weather. This one had recently been used and maintained, for not only was it still standing, despite the passing quake activity they’d had over the past few weeks, but the cracks between the timbers seemed to be relatively small. He bundled his father inside, cinched the door shut, and set about getting them some light and heat. A small oil heater sat in one corner, but the shelves were bare, apart from a lamp, and the remains of some dried supplies that were well beyond usability. A simple pallet sat in one corner, a couple of threadbare blankets heaped together in a pile. He shook them out and laid them across the mattress, and then guided his father over to sit. It was simple, but for now, it would do. With the heater, he figured he could take the worst of the cold. The old man needed the blankets more than he did. Squatting in the opposite corner, he sat to watch, listening to the wind thrashing against the outside of the hut, and thankful that they were inside rather than out. Slowly, as he watched the man that he’d once known as his father, the smell of damp earth and old musty blankets around him, the lamplight dwindled and his eyelids began to droop.

Much later — Markis had no idea how much time had passed — something woke him. His back was stiff, his neck sore, and the lamp had died completely. Outside, the wind had died, and he wondered what it was that had brought him from the fitful doze. There was a muttering from the opposite corner. Even in the darkness, he recognized his father’s voice.

“... and take this pain from me. I have lived long enough. I have served you well, or tried to. Though I know you watch us, and we cannot hope to fathom your Will, there has to be a balance. Take me. But bless my son. Markis has always served you well. He does not deserve the wrongs that have been done to him. As you are our Prophet, take this evil and shape it with your Will. Restore my son to his rightful place.”

The old man was praying. Markis, overhearing the words, understanding what his father was asking, was uncomfortable. Prayer should be a private thing.

He cleared his throat. “Guildmaster,” he said.

There was silence.

“Guildmaster,” he tried again.

The voice was hesitant when it finally came. “Yes, what is it?”

“I can’t see as how you’d be doing any good wishin’ harm upon yourself. What’s there to gain by that, eh?”

Again the silence, then finally a response. “You cannot understand,” said the old man.

“And how’s that?” said Markis. “Don’t you think we all have troubles? What do you think will be served if you simply give up? Look at my people. What do we do? We travel from place to place, trying to find work, trying to find enough to keep us going through the worst of the Seasons, and yet we go on.”

There was a deep sigh from the other corner, then a cough that trailed off into silence. Finally, the old man spoke again. “I have wronged my son. Everything I’ve done is wrong. Had I listened to what was real, what my gut was telling me, then none of this would have happened. Too interested in the politics, in the intrigue. I saw betrayal at every instance, but there was nothing.” A pause. “The only betrayal was right under my nose.”

“And what of it?” said Markis.

“What of it? Because of what I’ve done, my eldest son is somewhere, I don’t know where. I don’t even know if he’s still alive. The younger of the two has manipulated things in such a way that he will probably inherit the Guild. I can see nothing else. All of it was because I was so caught up in the changes that I couldn’t see. And now. And now I cannot see at all. It’s the Prophet’s punishment. I don’t deserve to live.”

“And why should you deserve to die? Is not the Prophet benevolent? Doesn’t his Will guide us?”

Aron Ka Vail gave a half-hearted chuckle. “You’re the only one guiding me now.”

“All right. What about your son, then?”

“What about him? It’s funny. Your voice sort of reminds me of him. Even more to punish me by the Prophet’s Will.” He gave a low moan, and then subsided into silence again.

Fearing that the old man was truly in pain, Markis made to get to his feet, but the old man spoke.

“No, stay where you are. There’s nothing you can do. I will die here this night.”

“You will not,” said Markis. “I may be naught more than a simple worker, but it seems pretty clear to me. You’re boy’s pretty important to you. I’m sure that he cares for you as well.” He fought back what he was feeling, struggling to continue. Finally sure that he had his voice under control, he continued. “You won’t be helping your son by lying here and dying. If you want to do something for him, the only way you’re going to do that is by fighting against what’s been done to you. Then you can help him, eh? Then you can help him. You won’t do nothing for him lying dead in some hut in the middle of nowhere. Let us get to Darthan, and then we’ll see, eh?”

There was a faint noise from the opposite corner, and then silence. Markis hoped, prayed that his words might be getting through to the old man. He could only wait until morning to see. Somehow, knowing his father over all the years, through countless struggles big and small, he thought there was a strong possibility. Silently, looking up into the darkness, he made his own, hesitant prayer to the Prophet. He didn’t really know whether he’d be heard, but he thought it was worth the chance that he would.

#

Markis and his father had been traveling for a mere two days when they finally came upon the first signs of the camp. They must truly have been a pathetic sight; not one challenge did they receive as they approached, though they passed miners and Kallathik alike, clearly gearing up for some sort of battle. Markis led the old man, carefully, slowly. He was still weak, and as each day had passed, Aron Ka Vail seemed to be fading in strength.

As they neared the outskirts of where Markis thought the encampment proper must lie, he noticed a small cluster of men, standing off from a solitary figure huddled on the ground in front of them. He knew their dress, their colors. Men Darnak’s livery and an old man with them, it could be nobody else. There was something not quite right about the scene. As they neared, the details became clearer and Markis felt his heart lurch with the first true sight of the old man hunched on the ground before them. Stained pale robes, torn in places, fell around an almost emaciated form. Straggly hair fell in clumped strands about an unkempt beard. The old man rocked back and forth, muttering to himself, drawing patterns in the mud with one hand. Occasionally the voice rose, the words becoming comprehensible, but there was little sense in them. It was Men Darnak, he knew, but the transformation...

“That is Principal Men Darnak’s voice,” Aron said. “Take me to him.”

“Sir, we’re heading that way, we are.”

Aron Ka Vail grunted to himself, seemingly satisfied with the response.

Markis was in two minds. With his father’s frailty, and the condition of Men Darnak, he didn’t know what effect it might have, but for once he was thankful that his father could not see the full extent of the Principal’s state.

“Principal Men Darnak,” said Aron, as they neared.

The old man looked up, his face questing for the voice as if he didn’t know who had spoken.

“Who is that? Is that Roge? Roge, what are you doing here? Have you come to join me?”

“Principal, it is I, Aron Ka Vail.”

Men Darnak turned away. “Leave me, Roge. You have no place here, as I have no place. You should be gone. I know about you, about your lies. The storm told me. It told me everything. Everything.” He continued rocking back and forth. “You, Karin, all my children. All of them.”

Aron Ka Vail swiveled his head, trying to focus on the voice. “Principal? It is you, Leannis, isn’t it?”

Men Darnak leaped to his feet. “Here!” He pounded at his chest. “It is the father, the man, the Principal.” He swung his arms wide. “Every bit. Can you not see?”

Men Darnak’s sudden aggressive stance prompted Markis to step hurriedly between them. Aron lifted a hand to feel in front of him, met Markis’s arm and slowly ran his hand up to the shoulder. “Why are you standing there?” the Guildmaster asked. “Let me go to him. We need to talk.”

“No, wait, please, Guildmaster.”

“Guildmaster?” said Men Darnak. “What do you think? Do you think that action achieves its own reward? By the Prophet, it is strange. The actions you perform run without control through your offspring. That’s the way it works. It doesn’t matter what you do. It doesn’t matter. Your children take your message to existence.” He threw back his head and laughed.

Markis looked to the other men standing nearby; a couple of them were watching interestedly, the rest had their attention elsewhere. There was no help or explanation to be had from that quarter.

Men Darnak had lowered his face and was peering at them again. “You,” he pointed at Aron. “You, hiding there. Do you know where it comes from? Is it the evil that comes from a man, springs forth from his seed and runs through the world? Is that it? Where did my children come from? Where did yours come from? I know. I know. There is no answer there. I have looked you know.” He took another step closer. “I have looked. The world is our child, our manifest destiny and the flesh that walks we put there through our actions. But what about the Prophet, hey? What about him? Where and why and how and when? It’s justice, not will. Not will, not justice. They’re sent to taunt us you know. Our children. Our children are our punishment. See, see here!” He pointed at Markis.

Markis drew his father back a step. “Come, Guildmaster. We should go.”

Aron resisted the pull. “No,” he said. “What has happened? Leannis, my old friend, what have they done to you?”

Just for an instant, Men Darnak stopped the wild swinging of his head, held himself steady, and fixed his gaze on the man who had spoken to him.

“This is justice,” he said. “Can you not see this? Can you not see what happens when you bring these — these things into the world? The Prophet? Ha! What is the Will of the Prophet, eh? Aron. I’m sorry. It’s hard. You have to be patient with me. There is no order any more. That’s what he said, what he used to say. That man. That priest. Maintaining the order of things leads to an ordered life. Empty words from an empty church. An empty life.”

Men Darnak seemed to lose focus again, his gaze wandering away.

“Leannis,” said Aron. “What can we do? How can we help?”

Men Darnak spun back. “Put a curse on all you have brought into this world, for they are tainted. Put a curse on them as they have cursed us.” He laughed, throwing out his arms and tilting his face up to the sky. “We are worse than the beasts. Do you hear me? Prophet, where are you? Do you hear?”

Aron strained against Markis’s restraining hand. “We must do something.”

“What can we do, Sir? I be thinking that there’s not so much we can do.”

A shout came from nearby. Another group of men had just crested the hill to the right. They were dressed in livery that Markis did not recognize.

“There he is,” said one, pointing down at them. They quickened their pace toward the group.

As they neared, another spoke. “We come from Tarlain Men Darnak with instructions to bring his father back with us.”

The sound of his son’s name brought Men Darnak upright. He stood straight, firm. “Tarlain?” he said. “Tarlain. Tarlain...” The words trailed off.

“Principal Men Darnak,” said one of the men as they drew closer.

With a sudden laugh, the old man turned. The next instant he was dashing away across the valley, calling out behind him. “Tarlain, Tarlain, Tarlain!”

“Principal Men Darnak, wait!”

Both groups of men rushed after him, leaving Markis and Aron standing alone apart from two of the new group who had remained behind. Within moments, all the others had disappeared from view over an intervening rise. Their shouts could still be heard over the hills.

One of the other two men approached them shaking his head. “It’s terrible to see what’s happened to the old man,” he said. “Who are you?”

“This be Guildmaster Aron Ka Vail,” said Markis. “I am taking him to the camp of Tarlain Men Darnak.”

The man nodded after a pause, taking in their appearance. It seemed that there was nothing that could surprise anyone any more. “The camp’s back over that way,” he said, gesturing back over his shoulder. “But you’d best be quick. They’re getting ready to move. We should go after the others. Can you find your way?”

Markis nodded. The two remaining guildsmen headed off in the direction that Men Darnak had taken.

“What would you be wanting, Guildmaster?” said Markis.

Aron sighed deeply. “I thought to be able to find Leannis and offer him what little support I could. I fear the only thing that can help him now is the Prophet himself.”

“So, what would you?” asked Markis again.

“Take me to the camp,” said Aron. “Take me to the camp.”

Markis took the Guildmaster’s arm and started leading him in the direction that Tarlain’s man had indicated.

#

Markis led his father slowly into the camp. Somewhere he would find someone to look after the old man, and then, then when the time was right, he would reveal himself. That time was not yet though. As they moved through the clusters of men and Kallathik, preparing or simply standing around, he watched with interest. Everything he knew about the Kallathik made this sudden organization and focus surprising. What was it that had spurred them to such action?

Over to one side, he noticed some more men wearing the colors he now recognized as those belonging to Tarlain Men Darnak. These were not your classic Guildsmen. They were a rough collection of people, workers, miners, others, obviously pulled together under Tarlain’s name for a single common purpose. In his current garb, he looked just as much a part of the motley collection. That Tarlain had the power to draw such a group together spoke of deep feeling running through the people, feeling he could have hardly imagined existed.

“I had no idea,” he said to himself.

“What? Idea of what?” said Aron.

Markis realized he had voiced the thought aloud and he grimaced.

“Oh, it be nothing, Guildmaster,” he said. “There’s just so many of them.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, there’s Kallathik here, and lots of them, and miners and others. They must have come from miles around to be here.”

The old man grunted, seemed to think about this for a moment, then nodded. He stopped and doubled as a series of coughs shook his frame. “Where are we going?” he asked, finally, when he had regained his breath.

“I am going to try and find Tarlain Men Darnak, Guildmaster. If he’s here, he’ll know what to do.”

As they neared the group of Tarlain’s men, they got little more than curious glances. Everyone was a stranger, except for those who had come here together in their own smaller groups, and they clustered in small gatherings all around the camp. A couple of Tarlain’s men looked up as the pair approached.

“I am looking for Tarlain Men Darnak,” said Markis.

One of the men nodded and pointed back behind him. “Try that tent over there.

He thanked the man and led his father over in that direction. Two men stood in front of the tent and they stepped in front to block their passage.

“Who are you?” asked one, looking Aron Ka Vail and Markis up and down suspiciously.

“This is Guildmaster Ka Vail,” said Markis. “He has come to see Tarlain Men Darnak.”

“Guildmaster?” said the other. “Well, we’re honored, I’m sure. He doesn’t look like any Guildmaster to me.”

Markis sighed. “Is Tarlain Men Darnak here? We saw his father a few minutes ago. Nothing looks the same any more, does it?”

The man who had spoken looked dubious. It was clear he wasn’t going to move. Markis restrained the urge to yell at the man get out of their way. He wasn’t used to people refusing him. He was just about to start to reason with him, when a familiar face poked out from the tent behind them.

“What is this?” said Tarlain Men Darnak. He saw the two of them standing there and stepped fully out of the tent. “Guildmaster Ka Vail! What has happened?” He strode rapidly toward them, pushing past his men. The shock was evident on his face. He grasped the old man by the shoulders, looking carefully at his face.

“What have they done to you?” he said, the shock turning to anger. “Who has done this?”

He turned to Markis. “I know you,” he said. “You’re Markis. What has happened to your father? What have they done?”

“M-Markis?” Aron said haltingly, his sightless face turning toward him. He thrust out a hand, seeking support. “Markis? No. It can’t be...”

“Come,” said Tarlain. “Come inside and tell me what’s happened.”

#

Tarlain sat at one end of the large tent, the others arrayed around the sides. They had sent for the Atavist woman healer — her name was Alise — to look at his father. She had done what little she could, but her expression had been grim. With her had appeared another surprise — Sandon Yl Aris. For some reason, he was dressed in Tarlain’s colors, and he now sported a neatly trimmed beard. He’d done something to his skin, as well. It was strangely dark. Whatever had happened to him in the intervening time had marked him in other ways too. A deep scar ran across one cheek and across his nose. Markis watched him with interest as the discussions proceeded. He had not expected to see the Principal’s chief information man here, right in the midst of the Kallathik camp. Things were aligning in strange ways, in a fashion that he could barely have imagined. And then there was the Principal himself. What had happened to him? He put a cap on his speculations and turned his attention back to the discussions.

“So, we can presume that Ky Menin and Karin are working together. Wherever Karin is, then Yosset is bound to follow. How much support can you muster in Primary Production?” It was Tarlain speaking.

Aron shook his head. “Jarid is there. I can only think that he has enough to rally the rest of Primary Production. You know as well as I do that our Guild members have been strong traditionalists. They’re bound to support the current order, no matter what shape that may be.”

Another bout of coughing cut short anything else he was going to say. Markis made to rise, to go to his father, but the Atavist woman waved him down. She put an arm around the old man’s shoulders, speaking to him quietly. He nodded slowly in response. Markis sat back down.

“Well, we have no choice,” said Tarlain. “We must act quickly before they have a chance to prepare properly. There’s nothing we can do now to make it any better. They won’t expect everything we can throw at them.”

“But what of the Church?” said Yl Aris.

“The Church is with us,” said Tarlain. “Along with the Atavist community. With the miners and the Kallathik, we have more than they can possibly deal with. There are bound to be casualties, and I wish there was some peaceful way to resolve this, but we no longer have any choice. We’ve seen what they’re prepared to do.”

Markis was impressed with what he was seeing. Tarlain Men Darnak spoke with strength and authority. There was no hesitation in his words or his manner. Were it not for tradition, thought Markis, he would be a fitting figure to inherit the mantle of Principal. It was hardly the boy he remembered from the Principate gatherings he had attended over the years.

“So when, Tarlain?” said Yl Aris. “When do you plan to act?” Even Yl Aris was deferring to Tarlain’s authority.

Any answer was cut short by a commotion outside the tent. All heads turned to face the noise. Two men burst through the tent flaps, dragging another between them. Tarlain stood.

“Edvin,” he said. “Well, fate works in very strange ways. Hold him there.”

Tarlain advanced on the man, a hard expression on his face. “Where did you find him?”

“He was found about three miles from here. He was carrying this.” The man who spoke held up a sealed message tube.

“So, how is my darling sister?” said Tarlain. “And what is that? Is that a message for me?”

In response, Edvin tried to shake free of the grip of his captors. “I’m not telling you anything.”

“Edvin?” Aron pushed himself to his feet. Alise rose with him, holding him with one hand, her other arm still around his shoulders.

Edvin seemed to notice the tent’s other occupants for the first time. “Why aren’t you dead, old man?” he spat. He pulled against the restraining hands. “They should have killed you while they had the chance.”

Tarlain’s arm flashed out, and he struck Edvin across the face with a resounding slap. “That’s enough,” he hissed.

Edvin drew back, glaring. He scanned the rest of the assembled faces. “You’re all here, aren’t you?” he said. “All of you. Yl Aris too. Every one of you will get what you deserve.” He spat blood to one side.

Tarlain gestured to the man who was holding the message tube, never letting his gaze falter from Edvin’s face. “So, let us see what little errand my sister has sent you on.” He quickly broke the tube’s seal and withdrew the paper contained inside. He only broke his gaze to look down and scan the message. When he looked up again, he gave a Edvin a slight smile.

“Well,” he said. “It appears that Karin is acting just as always.” He gave a brief, humorless laugh. He lifted the paper and waved it around. “This, my friends, is a message to Jarid Ka Vail.”

Markis sat straighter, and his father let out a low hissing breath between his teeth.

Tarlain continued. “In it, she says that Yosset is becoming a liability to their plans. If Jarid deals with Clier, then he will earn his reward. And that reward ...” He paused. “Includes cementing their relationship.”

Markis jumped to his feet. “How could he think that?” he said. “How could she think that Jarid would do such a thing?”

“Wait,” said Aron Ka Vail, holding up a hand. “He can do it. He would do it.”

Tarlain turned on the old man. “What do you mean?”

Aron hesitated, struggling with the words. “I have only shame for what I am about to tell you.” He stopped, then started speaking again. “It was Jarid who was responsible for your brother’s death.”

Tarlain was across the intervening space in an instant. He had a handful of the old man’s robes bunched in his hand. “What do you mean? Explain.”

“Leave him!” yelled Markis, taking a step toward the two. Alise put a hand on Tarlain’s shoulder, gently pushing him back.

Aron slowly shook his head. “I’m sorry Tarlain. May the Prophet forgive me, but I knew. Karryl Ky Menin came to the conclusion that Roge was too weak, that if he continued it would work against the Guilds. It was Jarid that arranged for Roge’s ‘accident’ convincing him to travel in the groundcar. I don’t know what he did to make it happen, but it was Jarid who did it.”

“And you knew?” Tarlain said between gritted teeth.

The old man coughed again, saying nothing, just bowing his head. Tarlain turned away, an expression of disgust on his face. Markis sank slowly down to the ground. He stared across at his father, barely able to believe what he had just heard.

“Tarlain, if I might suggest...” Sandon had risen to his feet and was standing close to the young man.

“What is it, Yl Aris?”

“I think that this message may work in our favor, that we can use it to our advantage.”

Tarlain frowned, still looking troubled. “How?”

“If the message were to be delivered to Yosset Clier, rather than Jarid as it was intended, might that not help us?”

“Yes, you’re right. Of course you are!”

Tarlain turned away. He walked slowly to the rear of the tent, his head bowed. He stood before his chair for several moments, and then turned and sat, looking from one to other of the faces gathered about him.

“Sandon is right. We need to find a way to make sure this is delivered to Clier. As always, Yl Aris has teased apart the intricacies. Who can we send without suspicion?”

There was silence, broken only by a brief renewed struggle from Edvin. The men quickly subdued him, but not before he had spat out another curse. “You are lost, all of you. Do what you will. No one can get past the security, especially none of you. And even if you do, they know where your allegiances lie. You’re finished.”

Markis slowly rose to his feet again. “Wait,” he said. “No one knows where I am. I can get to Yosset Clier. I can get there. Yosset would be bound to see me. Our links in Primary Production will let me through. If I know Jarid, he will have forgotten about me. Even if he hasn’t, he would have discounted me. Dressed as I am, I should be able to get close enough to the estates to get through. What do you think?”

Tarlain stroked his chin and glanced at Yl Aris, who nodded. “Yes,” said Tarlain. “It might work. We are about two days from the estates here. It will take us about that long to finalize our preparations. If you can deliver this message, then the division it would cause should feed into our timings well enough. Can you do it?”

“Yes,” said Markis, finally feeling as if he could do something that was not entirely useless.

“So, perhaps the Ka Vail family can do something to redeem the situation,” said Tarlain. “And as for you...” He drew the words out slowly. “Guildmaster Ka Vail. I will think about what to do with you later.”

“Wait,” said Markis, the words coming out laden with emotion, his hand balling into a fist. “Don’t you think enough has been done to him?”

Tarlain whirled on him. “Has it? Has it? You think about that, Markis Ka Vail.” Tarlain seemed to control himself with an effort. “Go,” he said. “Do what has to be done.” He spun to face the back of the tent.

Chapter Thirty-Five