Five

Tarlain looked around his simple room running an array of choices through his head. The anger was gone now. It had faded, changed, transforming into something more like concern. As he performed the mental inventory of his possessions, details and memories washed up to fill his thoughts. There were memories here aplenty: the souvenirs gathered on various trips; his books; a painting of the twin suns he'd done during his artistic phase. He remembered his father leaning over his shoulder, offering advice as he put the finishing touches on the work. A deep sigh came unbidden from within. None of it mattered any more. None of it.

He'd noticed a change in the old man over the past few months. He had become more distant, more removed, locked up in his own thoughts and political machinations seemingly without any more time for his children. Over the years Leannis Men Darnak had been a caring, gentle father, always eager to take time from the affairs of the Principate to wile away the time with them, guiding, listening to their dreams, telling them stories. Tarlain supposed there really was a time when you grew beyond that, but the distance he felt now was different, strange. It was almost as if something had stepped between them, blocking the man he knew from clear sight, obscuring the light and turning the memory into something darker. There was another thing that worried him; his father had always been volatile, but this was different, something not quite rational, almost…unbalanced.

Tarlain sighed again. He wasn't sure where he would go, but go he must. If he was to achieve anything, he had to get out from under the watchful gaze of both Roge and his father's network of informants. Particularly that Sandon Yl Aris. The man was everywhere, listening, observing, smiling, taking note. He had no doubt it was Yl Aris who had reported his discussion with Din Baltir. Tarlain hadn't even noticed the man's presence. He really should have known better than to speak openly at a public gathering, but the damage was done now and there was certainly no taking it back.

Wherever he wound up, he knew he could maintain his contact with Karnav Din Baltir. The Guildmaster was sympathetic to many of the ideas for change that Tarlain had discussed with him long into the night. Welfare was the ideal place to promote that change, but it was going to be much harder now with Roge having been ceded the reins of power. It only remained to work out how much of that power was really his. His elder brother had always cared for little but himself. As eldest son, as successor, he had been molded to expect nothing less than what he, Roge Men Darnak, wanted, whether it was the hunting trips, or the large rowdy parties he was so fond of. Let alone the affairs of the Principate.

Tarlain grimaced. In the past, his father at least would listen to reason. His years of controlling the Guilds, of experiencing what a wrong choice could mean, had made him more open — or had done until recently. Roge, on the other hand, had none of the same sense born of experience; he was headstrong and capricious, and the worst thing was, his father would not hear a word against him.

A chime at his door brought Tarlain back to the moment. He glanced in a nearby mirror making sure his features betrayed nothing of the thoughts and emotions working inside his head. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath to further compose himself before speaking.

“Enter,” he said wondering who might have taken the trouble to follow him to his chambers. If it was that Yl Aris…

His sister slid in the door and closed it behind her. “Tarlain, what happened? I just heard.”

He waved a hand. “Nothing. It doesn't matter.”

“But Yosset said that father had just — ”

“What? Thrown me out? Beaten me with a stick? Damned me for all time? What?” Tarlain spat the words. He had no love for Karin's husband, and that the news had come to her via his lips made matters no better.

Karin looked at him with a frown. “There's no real need for that, Tarlain. What actually happened? I came here because I wanted to hear it from you.”

He returned her look warily. As the middle child, Karin had always played both sides of their relationships to her advantage. She always seemed to know which one of the other two children to side with. Reluctantly deciding that he could trust her for now, he sat with a sigh and told her what had happened.

“But that's ridiculous,” she said, frowning again. “Is it true? Did you really say those things? And who told him anyway?”

“Not that it matters, but most likely it was Yl Aris. You can't say anything when he's in the same room without it getting back to Father. You know that. And as to whether I said them...it was just talk, wasn't it?” He shrugged. “As for acting against Roge, well that's just stupid, isn't it? As if I'd even consider it.”

“Oh, Tarlain. Can't you see what you've done?”

“No. What have I done other than simply have a conversation with someone? You tell me, Karin.”

“Now. Right now,” she said, exasperation in her tone. “Together, you, me and Roge, we could have had everything we wanted. You know what happens in Storm Season. With everything falling apart, we could have picked up the pieces and made things work how we wanted them to. We could put everything back together to work for us. For us, Tarlain. Don't you see what that means? We've been waiting too long for this, and working together...each one of us in the major Guilds...” She shook her head. “You've just made everything so much harder. You have to talk to him. You have to talk to Father and make it right again. Roge needs us. We need each other.”

Tarlain looked up at her, barely able to conceal the slight narrowing of his eyes that would betray how he felt. Karin was only worried about her own position within the Principate. He should have expected little else. Fine. Let her believe he was willing to go along with whatever she suggested. He'd pretended to be easily led by her more than once in the past. And of course, she’d said absolutely nothing about how their father had encouraged them, helped to position them. It was just like Karin not to see or acknowledge his gentle guidance.

He fought to keep his voice even. “But you've seen how he is lately. What am I supposed to say? He virtually threw me out. It's not that easy.”

She crossed and placed a hand on his shoulder. “You've always had a special place in his affection. I'm sure you can get past this. We really need you to talk to him, Tarlain. Will you do that for me?” She gave his shoulder a slight squeeze.

Tarlain slipped from beneath her touch and stood, crossing the room to look out the window. “I don't know. It's really not that easy.”

“Of course it is,” she said, walking over to stand behind him. “With news of the announcement starting to spread, he won't be going very far. He’ll be locked away somewhere, avoiding the fuss. Go and see him in his chambers. Talk to him. Try and get him alone. He'll talk to you.”

“I'm not sure that he will.” Tarlain looked out over the squat block buildings stretching down the hill from the Principal's residence. The even structures broken into tidy lines stepped down the slope, the pattern only broken by the larger, blockier shape of the nearby Church of the Prophet. Perhaps he should do what Karin suggested after all. It couldn't hurt. They had both spoken in anger. Everyone had been tense leading up to the announcement, and afterward the hangover of that tension had remained, coloring the way they all reacted. Now that the gathering was over, that everything had calmed down a little, his father might actually be more willing to listen.

Karin still stood behind him, waiting for a response. “I'll see what I can do,” he said without turning around. She patted him on the shoulder and gave a brief sound of approval. She hovered there behind him for a moment more, then, when it was clear he wasn't going to say anything else, said goodbye and slipped from the room. He stood staring out of the window, considering for several minutes after she had left.

#

Tarlain crossed the vast paved courtyard, hurrying toward the steps. Most of the groundcars had long since departed, carrying their passengers, and their messages back to the various Guilds. The square was unusually still. One or two tourists from far-off towns wandered past, gawping at the buildings, but most leisure travel had already been curtailed. Storm Season was no time to be far from home. The Principal's announcement had effectively cleared the center of Yarik, sweeping away everything that normally marked the flurry of preparation that came as precursor to the Minor Twin's true ascendance. With the lesser sun's deep orange light painting everything with a somber russet wash, the square felt eerie, like some painting rather than the center of a thriving city. Tarlain was filled with the sense of its unreality.

He headed straight for the Principal’s chambers, nearly colliding with a functionary as he turned a corner into the long corridor. The man barely acknowledged Tarlain's apology and hurried off about his business. That was a good sign. Apparently, there had been no general announcement about his status yet. Perhaps Karin was right and there really was time. He took a deep breath, flung the large door wide and stepped into his father's offices.

Sitting behind the broad desk was the person he least expected to see, especially not engaged in peering at his father's screen. Witness Kovaar looked up at the unexpected entry, Tarlain's own surprise reflected on his gaunt features.

“Tarlain, what are you doing here?” He quickly shut down the display, trying to make the action as unobtrusive as possible, and then folded his hands in front of him. “Can I help you?”

“Where's Father?”

“He's in consultation with Roge. They've asked not to be disturbed,” said the priest.

“Well, where are they? I need to talk to him.”

“The Principal has made his wishes quite plain. If you would like me to relay a message to him...”

“No. I don't want you to relay a message to him. I want to see him. Now where is he?”

Kovaar stared at him impassively across the table, his features unreadable.

“Fine. If you won't tell me...” Tarlain crossed the room heading for his father's private library and threw open the door. The room was dark. Tarlain strode across to the other side heading for the door where the sleeping quarters lay, noting with annoyance the slightest hint of a smirk on the priest's face. His father's private chambers were empty too.

“Dammit, Priest. Where have they gone?” He walked quickly back to the desk.

Kovaar slowly shook his head. “Principal Men Darnak made his intentions quite clear. They are currently involved in the business of the Principate. As your father told you, you have no further interest in those matters.”

Tarlain could barely believe what he was hearing. With difficulty, he restrained his urge to step around the edge of the broad table and grab a fistful of Witness Kovaar's robes. By what right...? He fought for calm. Taking it out on the priest wasn't going to achieve anything.

“Would you please convey a message to my father? I need to speak to him. I will wait here in his chambers until he's ready to see me and his business with Roge is done.” Kovaar sat where he was, waiting. “Now!”

Taking his time, Kovaar got to his feet. He stared blankly at Tarlain for a moment or two, and then walked unhurriedly out the door, closing it quietly behind him. It was a full half hour before he returned and by then, Tarlain had barely managed to regain some of his composure.

“I gave him the message as you asked,” said Witness Kovaar.

“And?”

Kovaar held his hands outstretched with a shrug, and then proceeded to take up his place behind the desk. He said nothing further.

Tarlain nodded and settled back in the chair to wait. He used the time to look at the man who had become his father's constant shadow over the past few Seasons. The Church of the Prophet was an essential part of all of their daily lives, but with Leannis Men Darnak, it had always been more form rather than substance, and so it was with many of the more powerful Guildsmen. But now, what of the priest? What was it that drew a man to a life such as that? Surely, it had to be more than mere religious conviction, particularly with a man like Kovaar. There was something about him that hinted at things other than religious belief, things that Tarlain wasn’t sure he liked. The priest returned Tarlain’s gaze unflinchingly. The aesthetic look, the fine-boned hands and face, they all gave the impression of someone barely of the world, let alone in touch with it. The wait grew longer and longer and the silence stretched between them.

Finally, when Tarlain had almost given up hope, the door opened behind him. He sat where he was, not trusting himself yet to meet his father's face.

“So, Priest, what is this about Tarlain?” His father's voice.

Witness Kovaar gestured to the chair where Tarlain sat.

Principal Men Darnak grunted, then crossed to sit next to Kovaar behind the desk. He fussed with things on the desk's top for a moment or two, before finally lifting his gaze and meeting Tarlain's eye. He looked distracted. Finally, he frowned.

“Tarlain. What is it?”

It was as if their previous confrontation had never taken place. Tarlain didn't know where to start.

“Father, I...”

“Yes, what is it?”

“Father, can we not be alone? I'd prefer to have this discussion in private.” He looked pointedly at Witness Kovaar.

Leannis Men Darnak glanced from his son's face to Witness Kovaar and back again. He paused, as if considering, and then, with a slight frown, he said, “No. He stays.”

“But can't you just — ?”

“Just what?”

Tarlain sighed. “All right. Fine, he stays. Seriously, Father, on the matter of our earlier disagreement, I know things got a little heated. I apologize. I would ask you to reconsider.”

“Reconsider what, Tarlain? Tell me exactly what it is I should reconsider?” The Principal’s tone was short, clipped.

“Everything. What you said about my role in the Principate. We both spoke in haste. Don't let what that Sandon Yl Aris said influence you, Father, I beg you. Together, Roge, Karin and I can make the Principate stronger, not weaker.”

“Stronger? Just as you would have made it stronger by acting against Roge, I suppose.” Men Darnak shook his head. “What I have decided, I have decided, Tarlain. This has nothing to do with Yl Aris. Nothing. Yl Aris has been relieved of his position.”

Tarlain sat back in his chair, stunned. “But Sandon has worked for you for years. He’s always been like a rock to you. What could he possibly — ?”

Men Darnak waved his hand to cut off Tarlain's speculation. “Nothing that need concern you. What's done is done.”

Tarlain looked from his father's face to Kovaar's and back again, but there was nothing to be gleaned from either of them.

“Fine,” he said. “But I can still be useful in the Principate, Father. Surely, you must see that. We've been trained for this. All of us. You’ve always taken the care and trouble to teach us what’s right, how to act. You’ve been a good teacher, Father. Don’t throw that all away.”

Men Darnak fixed him with a long hard stare. “Perhaps trained too well, Tarlain. I cannot risk your, your...” A frown flickered across his face, then disappeared. He shook his head and the frown was back again. “It's done, Tarlain. It is done. You should leave now.” The last was filled with a depth of tiredness Tarlain had rarely heard in his father's voice.

“But — ”

“No.”

Tarlain looked desperately at the priest, seeking support where ultimately he knew he'd find none, but blank disinterest met him in return. He looked back at his father, but the old man was no longer looking in his direction. He was staring down at the desk, his forehead cupped in one hand, gently rubbing his brow.

Tarlain pushed the chair back and stood. “So there's nothing I can say.” Anger was starting to creep into his voice.

“Nothing. No, nothing. You disappoint me, Tarlain. That’s all.” There was no anger in return, only weariness.

Tarlain stood waiting for his father to lift his gaze and meet his eyes, but the old man remained sitting as he was. Closing his eyes, and taking a deep breath, Tarlain turned and stalked from the room. He had tried. There was nothing further to be done. Karin would be disappointed.

Outside the door, he stood and took stock. Roge. He had to see Roge, tell him of his decision. Despite the underlying tension between them, he could not just leave. Where was Roge likely to be? There was no point going back into the room and asking. That leave taking was done. He didn’t know where Roge might be, but he could guess. The main business center of the Principate was the most likely choice. Knowing Roge, he would be quick to cement himself in the seat of power. Tarlain headed up the corridor in that direction.

Roge was exactly where Tarlain thought he would be. He looked up as Tarlain entered the central offices. Large desks, screens, a few low tables and couches filled the room. This was the nexus of the Principate's business affairs, and there, planted behind the central desk in the heart of the Principate buildings sat his brother, looking already at home.

“Tarlain. I did not expect to see you.”

Tarlain took a few moments, considering, his brother looking at him expectantly. “No, I don't suppose you did,” he said finally.

Tarlain was torn. His father and Roge would have already talked about him, already made their judgments. He could have pleaded, asked Roge to intercede on his behalf. It was what Karin wanted, but it was unlikely that Roge could think far enough ahead to worry about that or even consider the implications. Karin had always been more of the thinker.

“Roge, I'm leaving.”

His brother nodded. That was all. He simply nodded.

“Did you understand what I said?”

“Of course I did. What do you want me to say, Tarlain? You've made your choice. Father and I have already discussed what it means for us. We will do what we need to do to fill the gap.”

Tarlain bit back his first reply. “Do you really think it was my choice? Do you really think this is what I want?”

Roge waved his hand dismissively. “You’ve shown it by your actions, little brother. What do you want me to say? Father told me exactly what you'd been planning. Do you think I’m just going to ignore that?”

“But I wasn't…”

“Of course you'd say that.”

Tarlain stepped forward and placed his hands flat on the desk, leaning across the surface and bringing his face closer. Roge leaned back in his chair, moving away, looking slightly uncomfortable.

“By the Prophet, Roge,” said Tarlain. “What do you think I am? Will you stop and think for a minute? Listen, I’m worried about father, the way he’s behaving. You must have noticed it too. Doesn't that matter to you?”

Roge avoided meeting his gaze. “Of course it matters. It matters because we need to be strong now. Father's time is done. He's had some good years. Now, it's time for him to step aside. We can't afford your naïve little ideals, Tarlain. There's too much to do.” He looked up at Tarlain, then, the accusation clear in his face. “You should care about now. You should care about what we have to do. I can't afford to let you make any more trouble. You'll have to work things out for yourself. We will just have to make do without you. I always thought you weren’t really good enough for the job anyway.”

“Do you care about anything but your grand plans, Roge?”

“Of course I care.” His brother stood. “I care about what matters for the order of things, for the Guilds. What do you want me to do for you? Just forget about all that?” He moved around behind the chair, placing one hand on its back, the chair's body serving as an extra wall in addition to the desk.

Tarlain looked at his brother, hope starting to fade. “Will you at least talk to Father?”

Roge shook his head slowly. “It's too late. Far too late. Why the hell should I?”

Tarlain looked at his brother for a long time, then narrowed his eyes. “All right. That's how you want it. I wish you luck, Roge. I wish you all the luck in the world.”

“It won't be me who needs luck, little brother.”

Tarlain shook his head, rubbed the back of his neck, then sighed. “Fine. Then I'll say goodbye.” The words were spoken quietly.

Roge simply nodded and Tarlain turned, his steps filled with heaviness as he crossed to the door. Just before opening it, he turned back to look at Roge, but his brother was already seated back in the chair, keying commands into one of the screens. He glanced up briefly.

“Well, what do you want now?”

Tarlain slipped from the room and closed the door gently behind him.

Chapter Six