Eight

Over distant hills, clouds gathered, forming and reshaping, deep and brown in the copper light. The taste of electricity sat subtly beneath, ever present, upon the gentle breeze. Veins of light throbbed within the burgeoning cloud mass, illuminating the pregnant shapes from within, and then re-fading into darkness. Leannis Men Darnak stood, watching, listening as the sound of herd beasts drifted up from the fields below. A voice called, then another, and the sound was broken by the whine and buzz of a groundbike, quickly fading away into the distance. Another call, and the sound of animals replaced the sound of machine, clanking bells indicating the movement of the animals on their way back in from pasture.

A wide low veranda ran all around the edge of the residence, one of the Men Darnak numerous country holdings. This, one of the smaller estates, was a place where he came to relax, far removed from the details of the Principate. Here, he had space to think, to channel his thoughts without them being pulled in all the directions of the Guild Business, changing from hour to hour; he could sit back and assess, uncluttered. The breeze stirred his hair and he closed his eyes, letting the cool wind breathe upon his face. Had he done the right thing? He thought he had, but here, away from the heart of things, he was starting to wonder. He was tired now, tired of the daily demands, the decisions, the constant power plays, but he wasn't ready to give up yet. There was still too much left to arrange. With Roge in his new role, he would need to keep a gentle guiding hand in the background, be available to lend counsel when the situation demanded it. The Prophet knew, Roge would need it. With Karin’s support, it would be easier. Karin was attuned to the nuances of political life in a way Roge could never be, but with her to advise, to observe, his eldest son would be stronger. He grimaced. Karin, as good as she was, however, was not quite enough. What Tarlain had said was right. Roge needed to be tempered, to develop beyond his first inclination to selfishness.

And what of Tarlain? Where was the boy now?

“Principal?”

Men Darnak opened his eyes, letting his gaze wander one more time across the horizon before answering. “Yes. What is it?”

“You seemed preoccupied, Principal.”

“A little, Priest. A little. There is so much more to do.”

“Yes, but things are set in place now. As they should be.”

Men Darnak sighed and turned to face Kovaar. “But how can I be sure that I've done the right thing?”

“There are choices to be made in life. Some follow the ways of the Prophet, and some do not. Tarlain's choice did not. You have chosen the right path.”

“So you say, Witness Kovaar. So you say. But he's my son, just as much as Roge is. Just as much as Karin is my daughter. I cannot deny him that. Would you have me deny it also?”

“No, of course not. The path you have taken leaves him choices, leaves him status within the Guilds, but the time is not right for any disruption to the order of things in the heart of the Principate itself. It is Roge's place as eldest child to take the lead. As the youngest, Tarlain should have accepted that lead and listened to what you said. He chose not to. It is as it has always been since the traditions handed down by the First Families. You know this is right. You have no need to question your actions now, Principal. In the Prophet’s words, following the right order gives an ordered life.”

“Hmmm,” said Men Darnak, looking back out over the rolling fields. “I can't help thinking Tarlain would have added an extra spark of energy, a different slant to handling things within the Guilds. Especially now, with Storm Season approaching and Welfare coming into its own. We really could have used him there. We could also have used a different viewpoint just to offset Roge's approach to things.”

“What's done is done, Principal. Tarlain has gone. You know that. And what is done is done for the better. It is a time for strength. Forgiveness can come later.”

Men Darnak shook his head. “We shall see, Priest. We shall see.”

“Perhaps so, Principal, but now you should come inside. The hour is getting late and I have prepared your tea.”

“I don't want the cursed stuff. Why do you keep insisting that I drink that foul brew?”

“Principal, you know we have to take care. You need to maintain your strength. There are difficult times ahead and you need to be in a proper state to face them.”

“All right, all right. Just don't fuss. I'll be in a moment.”

Witness Kovaar nodded and withdrew, just the barest hint of a satisfied look on his pale, gaunt face.

Far in the distance, a large bird soared and spiraled, riding the air currents preceding the approaching storm front. Men Darnak had other doubts now, doubts that he could barely talk to Witness Kovaar about. Sandon Yl Aris. He had sent Yl Aris away as well as Tarlain. He couldn’t take that back now. Not now. He had to remain strong. But he would miss Sandon’s quick observation, his unfailing loyalty. Roge and Karin both could have made use of his man’s services to keep a watchful eye on what went on within the Guilds. Perhaps it was better for them to find their own way, but he couldn’t help feeling uneasy. He just hoped his rash outburst wasn’t going to prove too big a mistake. Time would tell. He watched the spiraling bird for a few minutes then turned to follow the Witness inside.

#

Roge stared out across the now empty offices and buildings, feeling safer, more in control. He had encouraged the move, though the old man had been reluctant at first, protesting, wanting to stay, to help Roge settle in to his new position, he had said, there to act as counselor, as a guide to his every move. It was the last thing Roge wanted. With the old man gone, he felt less like someone was breathing down his neck. And as for Witness Kovaar — good riddance. Old Vapreth Face gave him the creeps. With Tarlain gone as well, things could hardly be better. Karin and he had discussed Tarlain's involvement long before the announcement and they'd agreed. Though Tarlain might have been useful in maintaining control, he was a risk, and they could only afford to tell him so much. Now, together, both of them were free to act without constraint.

Karin and he had much to talk about. They'd earmarked a few key individuals within the Guilds who were likely to be useful, as well as those who were likely to present a threat over the coming weeks. Roge knew that she had a better feel for such things, and accordingly, he was willing to rely on her judgment. It was funny in a way. It was almost exactly as their father had planned it, and yet...

Roge stood, smoothed down the front of his uniform and walked slowly around the office, trailing his hand over surfaces, lightly tapping a shelf with his hand, then a desk. All his. All of it his. Principal Men Darnak. Principal Roge Men Darnak. He stopped the circuit and drew himself to his full height, took a deep breath and glanced at his half reflection in the window. Yes. Principal Roge Men Darnak. He practiced the slight tilt of his head that was so often captured in official pictures of his father, matching it in his mind's eye. He pulled at the ends of his sleeves, making sure they were straight and set the pose again. He decided that for the first few weeks, he would wear the dress uniform, until he got settled at least, until they all accepted his new authority. It was better if he looked the part. There would be time to relax later.

A cough from the door made him turn.

“Roge, what are you up to?” asked Karin. She waited for him to respond before fully entering the room.

“Nothing. Just thinking,” he said, beckoning her in. He tried to ignore the doubtful expression on her face; instead, he made a show of smoothing the front of his uniform one more time. “I'm going to miss Tarlain. He would have been useful, but I suppose we’ve done the right thing.”

“Yes.” She nodded and crossed to sit in font of the central desk. “You're right, he would have been useful, but I think he would have given us trouble too, and that’s something we don’t want at the moment. Anyway, I'm sure he’ll be around.”

“Are you? Do you even know where he's gone?”

She looked at him a moment before answering, considering. “No I don't, but he's probably just off somewhere sulking. You know how sensitive he is. He'll come round sooner or later. And by then, we’ll have things well in place enough for him not to make any trouble. Don't worry about him. We have more important things to think about.”

“I can't help feeling slightly guilty.”

“Well don't. Why should you? You didn't do anything. It was Father who made the decision. It was Father he had the argument with.”

“But I could have said something, couldn't I?”

“And what good would that have done except to put more doubts into the old man's head? Anyway, forget it. It's done. I told you I spoke to him before he left. He was as stubborn as ever.”

Roge shrugged and nodded, then pulled out a chair and sat. “So, what do we have to discuss?”

“What do you think, Roge? With Tarlain gone, we have to work out what we're going to do about Welfare. I'm not convinced we can rely on Din Baltir. He's clever. Far too clever.”

Roge frowned. “Surely he has to realize that it's in his own interests to work with us. What can he gain by refusing to cooperate? He needs our support now just as much as we need him.”

Karin leaned forward. “I'm not saying he won't cooperate. I just think we need to watch him. He hasn't gotten to where he is without some smart maneuvering.”

“Oh come on. The man's totally inoffensive.”

“That's just it, Roge. If he's totally inoffensive, how did he manage to become head of one of the most powerful Guilds on Aldaban? He's clearly filled Tarlain's head with a lot of nonsense. It wouldn't surprise me if he'd engineered this whole situation.”

Roge looked at her blankly. “I don't understand.”

“Well, think about it. Who stands to gain with Tarlain out of the picture? Not us. We have less influence in Welfare now. Din Baltir takes the role that Tarlain could have played by default. He's not going to want changes to the power structure of the Guild. He's worked too hard to get them to where they are today.”

He chewed at his lip thinking about what she was suggesting. “So, instead…we're going to have to negotiate with him.”

“Of course we are. I'm not saying that's what happened, but it's a possibility isn't it? Think about it. With Tarlain there, we would have had much more influence. Anyway, it amounts to the same thing. I just think we're going to have to keep a close eye on him.”

Sometimes Roge marveled at the twisted routes his sister's mind took. He leaned his head to one side and scratched at his temple with a grimace, still considering what she'd said. “But what about Father? He didn't seem to have any trouble with Din Baltir, did he?”

Karin fixed him with a hard look. “Would you expect him to? How many years, how many Seasons did he control the Guilds? Do you think one among so many was going to give him any real trouble? Father always had things firmly within his grasp.”

Roge grunted, still unconvinced. “All right, so let's say you're right. What do you suggest we do?”

“Nothing for now, but bear in mind that we need to watch him. Make sure we don't have any discussions with him separately. If you’re going to talk to Din Baltir, make sure I’m there. Remember, we have to stand together in this, Roge.”

Karin was leaning forward, almost as if eager to enter into a fresh debate with him, ready to pounce on the next thing he might say. He sat back, watching her. “Listen, Karin, do you really doubt that?” he said with a frown.

She too sat back after a moment and then sighed. “No, of course I don't doubt it, but we have to be careful, Roge. I just think you need to be aware of just how careful.”

“Yes, yes, I know.”

She seemed satisfied. “All right, what about the others?”

“Who for instance?”

“Well ... Yosset has Primary Production pretty well tied up in the areas that count, but there's an element there we have to watch for.”

“Who?”

“Aron Ka Vail.”

“What about him? He's going to retire soon, isn't he?”

“Yes, it does look like it, but I'm not sure that Yosset is positioned well enough to counter the Ka Vail sons. And besides, as far as we know, that's just rumor for now.”

Roge pursed his lips. “Hmm. I wouldn't worry about the older boy. Markis, isn't it?”

Karin nodded. “No, you're right, but it wasn't Markis I was thinking about. It was the other one, Jarid.”

“I don't see...”

“What, because Markis is going to take the position? Don't discount the other one. I haven't seen that much of him, but he always struck me as a player. Anyway, Ka Vail hasn't announced any intention of retiring, has he? As I said, it's just rumor.” She looked down at her lap, smoothing her clothes over the flat of her thighs, then looked up again. “Ka Vail hasn't retired yet. So, until he does, the sons are an unknown. They're shielded by the presence of the old man. We can't afford to have unknowns either. You and I need to be sure, Roge.”

Roge looked out of the window, out over the flat city skyline, thinking. She was right, there were far too many unknowns already. Karin always knew what she wanted, always knew what she had to do to get it. She'd been waiting for this time for years, putting things in place, making alliances, but now...? How could she possibly believe that she could control so many things at once? How could anyone control so many things at once? He liked things to be simple. He knew there was no real hope of that as Principal, but to take it to the extreme that Karin did. And how had Father managed? Roge couldn't imagine that the old man had made everything so complicated.

“Roge?”

“What?” he said, turning back to look at her.

“What are we going to do about the Ka Vail boys?”

“I don't know. I don’t know. Why don't you get Yosset to deal with it? You can do that can't you? He's your husband, after all.”

“Yes, yes, I know. But it's intricate. The way Primary Production is split makes it harder. The Ka Vail's have control of the mines and factories. Yosset is only involved in agriculture and transport. There are some crossovers, but not as many as you might think. Sometimes it's as if they were completely separate guilds, you know?”

It was Roge's turn to sigh. “Yes, I know that. I'm sure he can do something. The rumors have to be enough of an excuse, don't they? Let him talk to the Ka Vail boys, find out what they're thinking. Then you and I can talk about what we need to do.”

She nodded. “Yes, you're right of course. Just sometimes...”

“What?”

“No, nothing. It doesn't matter.”

“So ... what else?”

“Technologists.”

“Yes.”

“Well, what are we going to do there?”

He hated the way she did that, jumping from subject to subject. “What do you mean, what are we going to do? I’ll look after it. It's my Guild, Karin.”

“Yes I know it is. That doesn't mean we can ignore it.”

He felt the resentment rising inside. “I'm not ignoring it.”

“So tell me what you're doing.”

“I'm looking after it.” He closed his jaw firmly and took a sharp breath. What made her presume he wasn't capable of dealing with it?

She fixed him with a long calculating look. “All right, Roge. You look after it ... for now.”

He tore his own gaze away and looked back out the window. “If there's anything we need to do, I'll let you know.” He covered one hand with the other, gripping it hard, concealing the half-formed fist.

“Fine,” she said, but he could still sense a trace of doubt still in her voice. “The lesser Guilds shouldn't present a problem at the moment. Everyone's too busy worrying about Storm Season and running around getting everything prepared.”

Almost as if underlining her words, a deep rumble flowed over the city. Karin had stopped pinning him with her probing gaze and with the sound, had turned to look out the window. Roge looked at her sharp profile. There was very little of their mother in her face. Tarlain had the softer features, but Karin with her angled face, high cheekbones and pale skin mirrored her father. She was certainly her father's daughter. The only trace of their mother was the honey-brown hair. Roge ran his fingers through his own darker hair, and then rubbed his forehead. Yes, the lesser Guilds were all busy preparing for Storm Season. There was so much to do, and it wasn't just the Guilds that had to worry about it. Clearly, he had to be careful. Sometimes, just sometimes, Karin scared him.

Karin turned back and caught him looking at her.

“What?” she said.

Roge shook his head. “Nothing,” he said. “Just thinking.”

#

Aron Ka Vail paced the Guild Chamber. The burgeoning storm filled the wide polished room with gloom-touched light. He glanced out at the heavy pall of cloud with a grimace. Curse the Return. Always the same things to deal with time after time. He was getting too old for this. Over the past couple of seasons, he'd ceded more and more of the organizational requirements of this approaching time to Markis. Jarid was a useful backup, and the Prophet knew, Markis needed someone to clean up after him. Sometimes he just wished that Jarid were the elder. It would have made things so much easier. He would have been able to sit back and relax, content in the knowledge that everything, every detail would be looked after.

“Father?”

Aron stopped his pacing and looked up. Jarid stood at the end of the chamber. He beckoned the boy closer.

“What is it, Jarid?”

Jarid cleared his throat, standing with his hands on the back of one of the large ajura wood chairs. “I ... there's something I need to talk to you about.”

“Yes? What is it?”

“It's Markis.”

Aron sighed and crossed back over to the window to peer up at the roiling storm clouds. “What is it this time? What's he forgotten now?”

Jarid crossed to stand behind him. He spoke quietly. “No, Father, it's more ... well, it's more delicate than that.”

Aron narrowed his eyes. He spoke without turning, his voice just as quiet. “What is it this time, Jarid? Are we going to cover old ground here?”

The rumble of far-off thunder stirred in the cloud mass. Aron waited for it to pass, leaning forward to watch some of the loading activities taking place in front of the Guild Halls below. “Tell me, Jarid. Are we going to talk about your position again? We've been through this a thousand times. You know what the Prophet's teachings require.” There was a long pause. Jarid stood where he was, not saying anything. Aron continued. “You know what we have to do. Markis will hold the succession regardless of what you might say. Tradition dictates it. The Prophet requires it. What do you want? I know you can't help the circumstances of your birth. It doesn't mean I have any less love for you, but it's your duty to support your brother.”

“As it's his duty to support you and your choices.” The words came softly.

Aron took a moment as the statement sunk in, then turned slowly.

“What are you suggesting?”

Jarid stepped forward and stood close, his eyes at the same level as his father's. He took a breath and licked his lips before continuing, his face blank.

“Markis has been talking about changing things. He knows I'm unhappy with the way fate and tradition have denied me. He wants to use that. He's been talking about stirring up the Kallathik.”

Aron Ka Vail pushed past his son. “What nonsense. What foolish tales are you concocting now?”

Jarid spoke without turning, still facing the window. “It's no tale,” he said.

Something in the lad's voice made Aron stop where he was and turn slowly to face him. “Turn around and look at me.”

Jarid did as he was told, leaning back on the window ledge and placing his hands behind him for support, an expression of deadly seriousness on his face. “You know we're having trouble with the Kallathik.”

“As we do every time the Return is upon us. There's nothing new there. Every Storm Season they take their opportunity.”

“And this time there's a reason for that.”

“What? You're telling me that Markis has something to do with it. Come on, Jarid. You can do better than that.” He moved back to join his son at the window. “What could he possibly have to gain from doing something like that? You really expect me to believe such stupidity this time.”

Jarid nodded. “You will when I tell you what's been happening.”

“So tell me. Let's see how much I believe of your little story then.”

Jarid nodded slowly. “Markis has been spending a lot of time at the Kallathik burrows. It hasn't been to pacify them. I believe it's been to incite them, to take advantage of the current confusion. He's told me all about what he plans. He wants you to retire, to lose control, one way or another, so he can take over fully. He's sick of waiting for you to announce your retirement. He's asked me to work with him in return for a greater share of the power and his inheritance. With the Return here, with a Kallathik revolt, you'd be forced to travel to the burrows yourself to sort things out. No communication. Poor transport. Accidents happen in Storm Season, don't they?”

Aron looked at his younger son aghast. “How can you even suggest such a thing?”

“Because it’s true.” Jarid spoke in a flat tone.

For once in his life, Aron felt lost for words. He clamped his jaw shut and crossed back to the table. He pulled out a chair and sat heavily. He didn't know which was worse: to believe that Markis should become involved in a plot to unseat him by whatever means, even to the extent of his life, or that Jarid should concoct such a tale just as a way of bettering his position. Why now?

“Jarid, come here and sit down.”

“No, Father. Before I do, there's something I have to show you. Wait here.”

Aron frowned. What was the boy playing at now?

Jarid crossed the room rapidly and disappeared from the chamber. He returned a moment later with another person in tow. It was an Atavist! Jarid had brought a scruffy, dirty Atavist here, into the heart of the Guild, into the Guild Chamber itself. Jarid stopped with the Atavist a pace behind, looking around nervously.

Aron made to lift himself from the chair, his knuckles whitening on its arms, but Jarid lifted a hand, waving him down.

“No, wait. Listen to what he has to say. You don't believe me. Then listen to what he has to say. Go on.”

The Atavist bowed his head. “It is true. I have been present at meetings where Markis Ka Vail has spoken to Kallathik elders, talking of action against the Guilds.”

“What meetings? What are you talking about?”

“Over the past few months, Guildmaster, there have been a number of meetings in the Kallathik settlements.”

“And how do you come to know about this?”

“You must know that there are links between our communities and the Kallathik people. We trade. On occasion, we work together to mutual benefit. From time to time, we have reason to be in the same location.”

Aron shook his head. No, this was too unbelievable. “And why should I believe you?”

The Atavist lifted his head and looked him straight in the eye. Aron held the gaze and then finally looked back down at his hands. This was an Atavist. He didn't need to ask.

“Get this creature out of here,” he said quietly. “Now!”

Jarid rapidly ushered the Atavist from the Chamber and promptly came back to stand in the same position, a self-satisfied look on his face. Aron waved vaguely at a chair opposite. Jarid hesitated, then nodded and pulled the chair back to sit.

“So why, Jarid? Why?”

Jarid worked his jaw before answering. “I told you. Markis is impatient. He's said more than once that he is sick of doing all the work without having any of the status. He says that he can't believe you're going to retire any time soon. To be honest, I can't see you stepping down tomorrow, either.”

Aron rubbed one palm over the smooth wood. “No, you're right. Markis isn't ready yet. I'm not ready yet.” He looked up and narrowed his eyes. “And neither are you.” Jarid was keeping his face expressionless. Aron had a sudden thought. “So what part have you had in all of this?”

The boy looked suddenly aggrieved. “I've told you about it, haven't I? I didn't have to say a thing, did I? I didn’t need to tell you anything. What do I have to gain anyway?”

Aron considered. “No, of course.” Aron nodded. He closed his eyes with a deep sigh, then slowly opened them again. “At least I can rely on you.”

Jarid's expression softened. “Of course you can, Father,” he said. “You can always rely on me. Always.”

Aron nodded, looking away. “Now, leave me. Go and attend to things. I need to think.”

Jarid pushed his chair back and stood. “You let me know if you need anything,” he said. “I will do whatever you require.”

Aron nodded again and watched Jarid thoughtfully as he strode purposefully from the chamber. Let him know if he needed anything. Certainly. It was hard to know what he needed right now. He shook his head. What could he possibly need?

“Jarid, wait,” he said.

Jarid stopped and turned slowly. “Father?”

“There is something. Find out everything you can about Markis's plans. But do it subtly. I want to be in a position of strength when I finally decide what I'm going to do. Find out how he means to do it, and when. That way I can be prepared.”

Jarid nodded, turned, and left the chamber, leaving Aron to chew over the things that he could barely now believe. There was a deep hollow sitting in the depths of his stomach as he stared blankly across the table.

#

Just outside the room, Jarid leaned back against the corridor wall and closed his eyes. He bit his lower lip, trying to suppress the grin that kept threatening to overtake his face. Step one accomplished. The Atavist had been a stroke of sheer brilliance. Who would dare to question the word of an Atavist? Hopefully the man would be gone, far from the Guild Halls, his payment enough to keep him quiet for the time being. A position of strength. That was what he'd said. If Jarid knew his father well enough, the old man wouldn't bother with verifying the man's story, and even if he did, he wouldn't find him. He’d be looking for a real Atavist. And if he questioned Markis, so what? It was his word against the word of Jarid, and now that the seed had been sown....

He pushed himself from the wall and headed down the corridor, letting the grin finally take shape.

Chapter Nine