Thirty-Seven

Sandon led Tarlain past the few bodies and fallen Kallathik that remained scattered across the Ka Vail grounds. He had known where to look. He’d found the boy — no, young man — in the very place he himself had been held, what seemed so many months ago. It was not that long, but it seemed it. It seemed somewhere way in the distant past. As they entered the house, Sandon watched him. Tarlain’s grim expression grew even grimmer.

“So much waste,” he said, shaking his head as they stepped inside. He took in Yosset Clier hunched in one corner, Jarid Ka Vail’s body on the floor, and Markis, sitting staring blankly into space.

Sandon held back, allowing him the room. He could see echoes of his father’s more thoughtful moments in the young man’s expression.

Finally Tarlain turned. “So tell me, Sandon. Tell me how all this happened.”

With those words, the other two looked up, waiting to hear what he was about to say. Sandon paused, considering, taking in the scene one more time, trying to judge exactly what had happened here.

“The Guilds didn’t expect a night attack at all. They forgot, or simply didn’t understand the capabilities of the Kallathik night vision. In the end, it was short work. There weren’t too many casualties. We can thank the Prophet that it was mercifully quick.”

“Good,” said Tarlain with a heavy sigh. “We can be grateful for that much. There have been enough losses. Now, we have to work out how we are going to try and rebuild.”

He looked around the room, looking as if he was trying to decide. Finally, he crossed to a chair, and sat heavily.

“There is more news, I fear,” said Sandon, remaining where he was. “Your sister.”

Tarlain looked up and simply nodded.

“She was caught by the first wave of Kallathik. Ky Menin was with her,” Sandon continued. “They must have tried to fight.”

There was a gasp from Clier and he buried his face in his hands.

“I’m sorry, Yosset. I understand your loss, but we have all lost in this terrible tragedy,” said Tarlain. Sandon listened to the boy’s words, his tone; there was a maturity there that he barely expected.

The Guildmaster made no response. He sat where he was, silent shudders running through his shoulders as he kept his face hidden in his hands.

Tarlain looked thoughtful. “Has there been any news of Din Baltir?” He said.

“No,” said Sandon. “Nor I fear of your father. There’s been no word of the Principal at all.”

Tarlain looked down. “We lost him in that first battle. I saw it happen. It was quick. At least he is finally at peace now.”

Sandon frowned and tilted his head, barely comprehending what Tarlain had just said. Men Darnak gone? No. It couldn’t be true. There was a deep hollow opening up inside him. “Y-you’re sure?” he said.

“Of course I’m sure, Yl Aris. I saw it. I saw it with my own eyes. Kovaar too. He was one of the first.”

“Kovaar! May he rot,” said Sandon, his teeth tightly closed.

“What?” said Tarlain, looking up. “What are you saying, Yl Aris?”

Sandon took a deep breath. “Alise told me. Kovaar had been trading with the Atavists for certain herbs, dealing mainly with her husband, Lothan. When I first described his condition to her, she knew of something similar, but had nothing to connect it. After our discussion, she took the trouble to discuss it with her husband, who is also a healer. Of course, we have no proof of it now, but I believe that cursed priest may have been responsible for the Principal’s deterioration. He was the only one with the opportunity, the reason, and he had the means.”

Tarlain sat up straighter. “Why would he do that, Yl Aris?”

“You must realize that there were elements of the Church of the Prophet aligned with the Atavists. I witnessed one such meeting while I was traveling with them. Whatever they were doing, whatever the ultimate purpose, they were attempting to undermine the stability of the Guilds. What better way to achieve that than by targeting the Principal himself?”

Tarlain shook his head, rose and started pacing. “No, I find that hard to believe.”

“Think about it, Tarlain. Kovaar was as hollow as the Church he claimed to represent, and there was always something not quite right about him. I watched the man. I even suspected that he knew who I was all the time I was traveling with them. What purpose could he have had in keeping that knowledge to himself if it was not for a further chance of instability, hoping that I was there to also cause some mischief for your father? I don’t know what he would be thinking, but maybe he thought I was there to seek some sort of revenge.”

Tarlain stopped his pacing and looked up slowly. “But you see plots wherever you look, Yl Aris. Don’t you think you’re taking this too far?”

Just for a moment, Sandon doubted what he was saying, but then he shook his head. “Why would I? Again, think. Think about how the Guilds operate. Think about how the Principate functions. All of it is subterfuge and positioning, has been for years. Your father taught me very well. To use an old expression, he taught me everything I know. You must recognize that. I see plots because they’re there. Your father…your father…was the master.” Sandon’s breath caught. He pushed the rising emotion down, forcing himself to continue. “But what I really don’t understand is the Kallathik. What interest could they have?”

Tarlain crossed back and resumed his seat. Clier slowly lifted his face from his hands and looked across at the young man, the marks of tears evident beneath his reddened eyes. The sudden interest touched Sandon’s awareness, and he watched the Guildmaster as Tarlain started to explain.

“It took me some time to find out, but it’s all about the ajura. It’s that simple. The restrictions in Primary Production, the tariffs involved in the trade, the monopoly, all of them mounted up. The wood is sacred to them. They don’t appear to perceive action and time in the same way we do. For years, they were prepared to wait it out, hoping that we’d eventually just go away, but finally they decided, collectively, to take action. It took a great deal of bargaining to restrict the action they were prepared to take. I have agreed to make sure that the trade restrictions are lifted, and that they have free access to what they need. The miners joining with us was the final proof of our faith. It was the only way they could be controlled.”

Clier’s eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly, but he saw Sandon watching and looked quickly away.

“Once we had the miners on side, the rest was easy,” Tarlain continued. “Not without cost, but easy. They had a common purpose in easing the conditions which the Guilds had imposed on them.”

“Yes, it makes sense,” said Sandon. “But the Church, the Atavists?”

Tarlain sighed. “It’s all there in that blessed book you were carrying around Sandon. Return to simplicity. The Return all the time. That’s what they wanted. It was belief. Misguided belief, but belief all the same. They saw how greedy and controlling the Guilds were becoming, and decided it had gone on too long. If they didn’t act, there was a threat that Guilds such as the Technologists — particularly the Technologists — would impose their way of life.”

“And what of the Guild of Technologists?” asked Sandon. “With Ky Menin dead, how do we manage them?”

Yosset Clier cleared his throat. “There is more you should know, both of you. Ky Menin has been holding back technology, keeping it to a select few. These new weapons were a part of that. I’m sure there’s more, much more. We can only suspect how much.”

Sandon chewed at his lip. “That’s not going to be easy. There’s no clear line of succession within the Technologists. The same is true for some of the other Guilds too. If we are going to try and re-establish some sort of order among the Guildsmen, we are going to have to manage it carefully.”

Clier nodded. “We are going to have to manage them all carefully. I can offer what support I can in the Guilds, within the Principate. At least I have an established position, and with Markis, we can build a block of influence. Those within Primary Production will fall to both of us working together.”

Markis looked at the portly Guildmaster, held his gaze for a moment or two, and then took a deep breath.

“Yes,” said Markis finally. “But what about my father?” There was a pleading look in his eyes.

“He is being cared for by the Atavist healers,” said Sandon. “I don’t expect him to be very active any more. It’s going to be a long recovery, if he ever fully recovers.”

Markis grimaced, but nodded his understanding.

“There is work still to do with the Atavists and the Kallathik,” said Sandon.

“But we can do it, Tarlain,” said Yosset.

Tarlain looked thoughtfully at his sister’s husband, and then turned back to Sandon. “We have so much work yet to do. I’m going to need you more than ever, Yl Aris. I never thought I’d say it, but I think I understand that now,” he said.

Sandon looked across at Yosset Clier. The Guildmaster returned the look, for once unflinchingly. Sandon finally broke the gaze. He looked back at Tarlain, saw the care etched in his tired face, the hints of his father’s bearing already evident.

“Yes, I think you probably are,” Sandon said quietly.

End

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