Binary Part 15

"Yes, yes, of course," said Aron. The boy was always so quick. "We will speak to Ky Menin. You're right. In the meantime, I will send some of the men to see if there's any clue where Markis may have been headed. And no, I can't see Ky Menin now. Not now." He motioned to one of his men. "Send word to Ky Menin. Something's come up. I will meet with him out on the estate, the evening after next."

Aron was still staring into the distance. How could it have come to this? Why had he not seen it? He failed to notice the slight self-satisfied quirk to his younger son's lips.

Eighteen.

As he eyed the churning muddiness that boiled between its banks, Sandon couldn't help thinking about the current state of his life, of all their lives. The Men Darnak party hugged the river for nearly two weeks en route to their destination before they struck out inland toward the estates of the great and good within the Guild hierarchies. Who could say where all this would lead? Getting close to Men Darnak had not been a problem. Witness Kovaar had soon sought him out personally and suggested, no insisted, that he join them for the meager meals they shared each evening. His constant fear that the priest might penetrate his ident.i.ty still remained, but as time went on, it seemed less and less of an issue. Each night, Sandon would join them and Kovaar would talk long into the evening about the teachings of the Prophet and lessons to be learned from his words. More than once, he deferred to Tchardo, seeking support for what he'd said. It was just as well Sandon had kept the Book of Words given to him by the old Atavist, and he took to carrying it to their nightly meetings, ready to flick to one reference or another, knowing well by now the pa.s.sages that Kovaar drew from. In a way, it was yet another proof of who Sandon really was -- Tchardo the Atavist.

The priest fussed around, helping with the preparations of their evening repast, brewing herbal infusions to see the Princ.i.p.al to his rest. There was nothing that gave Sandon any specific cause for alarm. And yet, despite everything, Leannis Men Darnak seemed to be slipping away from them. Gone was the spark; gone was the fire that lit his eyes, the certainty of action. Oh, there were flashes of it, but there were just as many times that Sandon caught the old man staring at him blankly, as if trying to grasp something he'd forgotten. The first time it had happened, Sandon felt the bottom of his stomach drop, but Men Darnak had eventually turned his gaze away, just as devoid of expression as before. He had had the urge, that first time, to blurt out his true ident.i.ty, to reveal to the old man that he was here, ready and willing to a.s.sist, but he held it back. He had to know more, understand what was happening. It was time for Sandon to truly pay Men Darnak back. He would show the Princ.i.p.al that he had been worth the effort. So, he kept quiet and he watched, trying to divine as much as he could.

During the day, Sandon traveled on his cantankerous padder, complaining about the beast nearly as much as the beast itself grumbled about everything. He helped with the camp setup during the evening or its breakdown in the morning. Their progress across the vast, flat, featureless plains was quick enough, but the landscape was mind numbing, the low flat-leafed vegetation giving scant relief to the dull sameness made even duller by the fading orange light. He kept a constant eye out for Men Darnak, but the Princ.i.p.al had taken to riding in one of the more ornate wagons, shielded from view. He saw enough of Witness Kovaar, as the priest would appear throughout the day, riding his own animal, or striding rapidly issuing directions here or there. Once or twice, Sandon caught him watching him with a lingering gaze, but pretended he didn't see, pulling his hood closer about his face. Whatever was going on in the priest's head, he would have sorely liked to know.

As they wound their way past the curves and bends of River Bodrum, Sandon sought out the young man Fran and struck up conversation in order to pa.s.s the time. The boy was eager for the tales of Atavist life, of the places far away, and he would listen, his blue eyes wide and a rapt expression on his broad, open face. He would pepper the conversation with questions, wanting to know more, for although he was in Men Darnak's retinue now, this was his first real journey outside his native homestead. Fran came from good farming stock, but had tired of farm life, eager for adventure as a young man often is. He had seen the call to Men Darnak's service as the perfect opportunity to expand his horizons.

Sandon found himself liking the young man, his simple honesty, and he wove him tales of the Atavist lifestyle, even of his time with Milana and Benjo in the bar in Bortruz and how their easy charity had shown them to be the good folk they were. He spoke of the miners too -- how beneath their grime-streaked exteriors, despite the hardships they faced, that they too were simple, honest folk. He had learned much in his time in the bar from the s.n.a.t.c.hes of conversation and the pa.s.sing arguments. Through it all, Fran listened, always eager, always wanting more. It did more than wile away the time.

As the party headed inland from the river's course, the landscape slowly changed. The broad flatness gave way to slowly undulating hills, and then croplands. The occasional homesteading stood off in the distance, surrounded by expansive fields, now with the primary thrusting shoots of root crops turning the soil and thrusting in long lines, questing for the paltry light from the dancing Twins above. Sandon could see their struggle, see the long, long weeks and months of growth, only to be torn rudely from the soil, stacked and stored in dank cellars all across the countryside.

Gradually, the seasonal fields gave way to more traditional croplands, the grain fields now for the most part lying fallow. His own estates would look like these. Sandon's own holdings could not be too far off. He toyed with his beard as he wondered what had happened to them now. He imagined the estates were still being tended, still functioning, but to whom did they belong? Some distant nephew or cousin would have done well out of Sandon's disappearance, for enough time had pa.s.sed that clear a.s.sumptions would have been already made.

Two days out from their destination, a realization came to Sandon with Leannis Men Darnak's appearance riding in company with Witness Kovaar at the party's head. He noted with great interest that there seemed to be something more infusing the Princ.i.p.al's carriage; he was more erect in his saddle, more a.s.sured in his stance; something of the old spark and presence seemed to be back. The Princ.i.p.al looked about himself with an alertness missing over the last few weeks. So, what was it that had brought Men Darnak back to life? There was something plucking at Sandon's memory, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. When he could stand the frustration no more, he headed his padder in Fran's direction, having spied him trudging beside a wagon, keeping an eye on the wheels as he walked.

"Fran," he said.

The young man tore his gaze from the revolving wheels and looked up. "Yes, Tchardo, what is it? I think I was going mad here watching this wheel going round and round."

Sandon smiled. "Do you know where we're headed?"

"Sure. It's the Men Darnak daughter's holdings. Karin. She and her husband live here."

That was it! That was why the place looked so familiar. These farmlands used to belong to the Princ.i.p.al himself before he had ceded ownership to his daughter. Sandon found it interesting that Fran, like so many others spoke of Karin first and Yosset Clier more as an afterthought. Well, that was the way of it, wasn't it? So, it was plain; Men Darnak had not managed to see his youngest child, but he was returning to the middle one.

"But from what I hear, Tchardo, the Princ.i.p.al received less than a warm welcome last time he visited his daughter," said Fran.

"How do you mean?"

"The way I hear it, she virtually threw him out." Fran shook his head. "Sent him packing. He used this trip to the mines as an excuse. Couldn't deal with the way she'd treated him so went off to do something else."

"Truly?" said Sandon.

Fran nodded gravely. "I hear she's a really scary woman."

Well, Fran had that much right. Just sometimes, he was grateful that he'd never been blessed with children, but then his marriage to the Princ.i.p.ate had seen to that. He thanked Fran and moved back to his position in the procession, trying to slot the information into place.

Two days more and they entered the grounds of Yosset Clier's estates. After the weeks of travel, and the marks of that travel, Sandon was barely concerned about discovery. If everything he'd heard about Men Darnak's behavior since his own dismissal, everything he'd seen since joining the party was true, then no one was going to be very surprised that the old Princ.i.p.al had acquired a wandering Atavist as a member of his ragtag group. Sandon was actually looking forward to this visit. He expected it was going to be very revealing.

He glanced up at the sky. Deep ochre clouds swelled ominously above the skyline, flashes of light illuminating them from within, looking like glowing networks of veins where the cloud ma.s.s pushed together less densely. A sharp tang permeated the air, stirred by sluggish gusts full of damp, cold humidity. It looked like they were in for a pleasant night.

One by one, the wagons drew up outside a wide wooden barn set on the side of a low hill overlooking the main residence. Sandon dismounted and stood beside his padder, casting a cautious eye to the cloud-filled sky above. Another cold gust blew around his robes, flapping the hood around his face and tugging at his beard. He stood back, not wanting to interrupt, waiting till Leannis Men Darnak, Kovaar and a couple of the men discussed something ahead, standing close to the broad barn doors. Men Darnak seemed to be instructing one of the men to go down to the house and announce their arrival. Sandon glanced down the hill. It looked like the man was going to be saved the trip, for striding up the hill with two others in tow came Edvin, Karin's head of the household. This should be amusing, thought Sandon, because the way Edvin was bustling up the hill, he was a man on a mission, and Sandon had no doubt whatsoever from whom that mission had originated.

"You! You there! What do you think you are doing?" Edvin called as soon as he was in earshot. He strode officiously up to the front of the party and repeated his question.

"What do you think we're doing, you fool," said Men Darnak, regaining some of his composure and authority. "I have come to visit my daughter. We will require suitable lodgings and feed and care for the animals. "See to it, man."

Edvin spluttered. "You were told last time you were here. Was it not clear enough then?"

Men Darnak stepped forward a pace. "Do you know who you're talking to?"

"Of course I do. You are the Mistress's father and I am under her instructions. Either you comply with her requests, or I'm afraid you will have to leave." He stood firm. "There is simply no way we can accommodate this group of ... vagabonds and..." He scanned the a.s.sembled members of the entourage. "And an Atavist too! What do you think this is?"

Sandon had seen enough. Edvin was talking to the man who had fostered everything they had, who had guided and built their affluence for years, who had cared for the welfare of the people, made sure that the entire world ran smoothly. This pompous functionary was stepping well beyond his station. He stepped forward.

"In the Name of the Prophet, you should show some respect, man. This is not just your lady's father; he is the father of your people."

Edvin's jaw fell open, but he quickly clamped it shut. "You! You! Who gave you the right to speak? One of those loose-minded madmen wandering the countryside, no doubt, preying on the charity of others. Well, you'll get no free meals here. Get out."

Kovaar, glancing at Sandon and giving the faintest grin, turned back to Edvin. "It is I who gave him permission to speak, and I give it again, for what he says is right. Do you not understand the respect written into the Words of the Prophet? Have you forgotten your teachings?"

"I need no schooling from a priest, nor from a wandering Atavist," said Edvin dismissively. He turned back to Men Darnak. "If you will not do as instructed, you will have to take it up with the Lady."

"And I need no counseling from a puffed up bureaucrat such as you," growled Men Darnak. "Take me to see my daughter. Take me to see Karin. Now!" He turned to Kovaar. "You come with me, and bring the Atavist as well. Let it be seen that I will choose my own company."

Kovaar, the slight grin having faded, gestured impatiently to Sandon, who quickly fell into step behind them. And so, Sandon found himself striding down the hill toward Karin Men Darnak's estate house in the wake of Edvin and in the company of Leannis Men Darnak and Witness Kovaar. Had it not been for the circ.u.mstance, and his appearance, it could have been any other visit on any other day. The thought brought a wry smile to his lips. But it wasn't any other day. His expression quickly sobered.

All the way down the hill, Kovaar was muttering to the Princ.i.p.al. "See what you get, not listening to the rights of proper position in society? Out of proper order comes order. You reap what you sow by not following the words of the Prophet. Children are meant to respect those who brought them into the world." The monologue went on and on. "What had happened to him? By giving up control of the Guilds, he had given away control of himself. He had to show his daughter her proper place in things if he had any hope to save her from what he had already wrought."

Sandon frowned as he listened. What was it that Kovaar was trying to achieve? Surely there could be no good to come from such words -- ever--but he was in no real position to say anything.

Edvin led them into the main rooms and brusquely told them to wait. It had been a long time since Sandon had last visited this place and he stood uncomfortably looking around, seeking familiarity in the large square room. He noted very quickly that most of the furniture was the same as he remembered, a few of the decorations and details might be different, but Karin had kept it much the same room that it had been in her father's day. So little had changed, that when Karin burst through the central doors with Edvin in her wake, it was painfully clear there was something new in the Men Darnak house.

"What are you doing here, Father? Didn't I tell you last time you came to see me? Yet again you turn up with a bevy of clowns and fools." Her face was livid, her fists held in tight b.a.l.l.s beside her. "And what's this?" She waved in Sandon's direction. "Edvin told me, but I thought he was joking. What are you doing bringing that in here."

"Karin..." Men Darnak took a step forward.

"This is not a circus!"

Men Darnak held out his hands. "I have reduced the number of my men. What do you want me to do? I still have the needs of one in my station."

"Your station?" Karin stepped close to him. "What station is that? You are my father, nothing more. You gave up the rights to anything else when you gave up control of the Princ.i.p.ate, and you'd do very well to remember it. The only reason you have anything is because I permit it."

Men Darnak looked at her aghast. "What sort of daughter are you?" he said, stepping back.

Karin followed, matching his pace as he retreated. "The daughter you raised me to be, Father. Would you expect anything less?"

Men Darnak finally stopped retreating and stood eye to eye with her. "Do you know what you're doing, child?" he said in a low voice. "Do you really know?"

She stepped back and laughed, her hands on her hips. "Oh, I know what I'm doing, old man. More than I think you know. What are you doing, running all over the countryside on some fantasy sliding around in the inside of your head? Whatever you have, you've brought on yourself. You're the one who sent Tarlain away. You're the one who gave up the Princ.i.p.ate. It's time for you to truly give it up, old man. We've had enough of your meddling."

By this time, the portly Yosset Clier had appeared in the doorway. He stood, hesitating, watching the scene in front of him.

"Karin?" he said.

"What is it, Yosset? Not now."

"But I think perhaps -- "

She spun to face him. "You don't think, Yosset. Neither do you speak unless I ask you too. I'm talking to the old man. Now either shut up, or leave."

Clier clamped his mouth shut and stood where he was. She whirled back to face Men Darnak. "If you've had enough now, Father, I suggest you gather your men and your strange companions together and find somewhere else to go. You're in the way here."

Sandon gasped despite himself. Men Darnak's shock was evident. "You're no daughter of mine," he said, shakily.

"Oh, I'm very much your daughter. What are you going to do now -- disown me like you did Tarlain? Well, it's a bit late for that."

Witness Kovaar took a step toward them, but Karin waved her hand. "And you stay where you are too, Priest. You've got nothing to add to this conversation."

Men Darnak spoke, the evident anger building in his voice. "I've still got one child left. Roge has better sense than to treat his father like this."

"Go! Go running to Roge! See how far you get."

Men Darnak grabbed for her wrist, but she wrenched it free. "Don't even try it," she hissed. With one last flash of her eyes, she spun on her heel and strode from the room, slamming the door behind her.

Leannis Men Darnak was left standing in the room's center, looking down at his open palms. Sandon could already see the tears starting to well in his eyes.

The old man turned, looking directly at Sandon. "You," he said. "You go to Roge. You tell him I'm coming." His face was white as a sheet.

"But, Princ.i.p.al..." said Sandon.

"Just do it."

"Can I wait at least until the morning?"

"You will leave now!"

"As the Prophet wills," said Sandon, spreading his hands and glancing at Kovaar who was staring at him with a strange expression. There would be no further argument.

He headed for the stables and then took his time getting ready. Already he'd spent the whole day on the back of that grumbling, bony beast, and it looked like he had hours ahead. All for nothing. All his carefully worked plans for nothing. He grumbled to himself, as he cinched the straps holding his pack to the beast's rear and checked everything was in place. Sometimes fortune worked in strange ways. He glanced up at the forbidding heavens. The storm had not yet broken, but he was sure it would before long.

Nineteen.

Deep in Aron Ka Vail's estates, the old man paced the room. His heart was heavy. How could he have been so wrong about his sons? He paused before the panoramic front window staring out over his lands, but not really seeing them. Outside it was dark, the occasional actinic flash lighting the landscape. His reflection, lit strangely by yellow lantern light, stared back at him. A deep distant rumble sent a tremor through the gla.s.s, and the image danced then stilled. He tilted his head a little to one side, trying to imagine how he had looked as a younger man, but there were only traces left. He was tired -- so tired. Running the Guild of Primary Production, living, breathing it every single day, Season in and Season out. It had taken its toll. He turned away from the shadowed figure and sat heavily, staring off into the distance. Ambition was one thing, but for his own son to turn against him...

A reflected movement in the gla.s.s in front of him caught his attention. Jarid arrived at the bottom of the stairs and Aron turned to wave him over, giving him a weak, half-hearted smile. Jarid ignored the gesture and stayed where he was.

"They'll be here any moment," Jarid said. "Are you ready?"

"Yes, I'm ready," Aron said with a sigh. Despite everything, the business of the Guilds would go on. "As ready as I need to be."

Jarid entered the room before speaking again. "Let me talk. They're bound to have questions."

"No, no. I can handle it. I'll be fine," said Aron. He glanced back up at his own reflection, looking for certainty, but saw none. He pursed his lips and looked away. Old fool, he thought, you have brought this on yourself.

One of the household staff appeared announcing the party's arrival, but there was a surprise. Karryl Ky Menin was not alone. Roge Men Darnak was with him. Of course, the Men Darnak boy -- no, Aron corrected himself, Princ.i.p.al Men Darnak -- was attached to the Guild of Technologists, and so had every right to be here. Aron signaled to have them shown in, adjusting his position so that he was sitting a little straighter in his chair. It would do no good to have them see him looking slumped and defeated. Moments later, the two were ushered down the stairway. Jarid crossed to meet them and led them to the room's center.

"Please, sit," said Aron. "Jarid, you over there."

Roge Men Darnak wore his uniform. He sat stiffly at the edge of one chair, looking slightly uncomfortable. Karryl Ky Menin took the other seat, relaxing easily into its bulk and stared across at Aron, a question on his face. When Aron refused to be led, Ky Menin spoke.

"So, Aron, tell me. Is it true about Markis?"

Aron hesitated before answering. "Yes," he said reluctantly. "I fear it is."

Ky Menin shook his head. "Who would have thought?" He folded his thin hands in front of him, fixing Aron with a pale stare. "That a son could show such disrespect to his father..."

"I really don't wish to discuss the details of it, if you'll understand," said Aron. "Karryl, I may need your help in finding him before he does any more damage. Your people have ways of communicating, ways of tracking things. We don't have the resources in Primary Production. But it is in all our interests that Markis is found."

Ky Menin nodded.

Roge, who had continued to sit stiffly, occasionally tugging at the ends of his sleeves, suddenly leaned forward.

"I can guess why he did it," he said.

Ky Menin gave him a glance clearly meant to still the outburst, but Roge either failed to notice it, or was simply oblivious to it; Aron could not hazard which.

Roge continued, clearly caught up in what he was saying. "He's been out at the mines, hasn't he? Out at the mines where my father's people have been. They're continuing to make trouble. Ever since he stepped down, he's been unable to leave things alone in the Princ.i.p.ate, interfering here, stirring things up there. It would not be beyond him to set his people to rallying some sort of ridiculous support. I bet Markis has been talking to my father's people, letting them influence him. Why, only this afternoon I received a messenger from Karin saying that they'd been over at her estates making trouble. He can't leave well enough alone. It's just not right."

Aron glanced at Ky Menin who gave a brief frown. "Roge...I should say... Princ.i.p.al," he said. "I'm sure that there are other reasons for Markis's behavior."

"But still, I'm just saying..."

"Yes," said Aron. "We understand. You obviously have your own concerns. We understand, Princ.i.p.al. It still doesn't stop us working to solve the question of Markis himself." He thought briefly, quickly, but his options were few. He shook his head and sighed. Now it was out, he had little choice. "I could barely believe it, Karryl. I still have real difficulty coming to terms with what the boy's done. After all I've done for him, he turns around and betrays me. Not like Jarid here. Jarid has tried to defend me, to support me, and for what? Jarid stands to gain nothing special from this. We all know the rights of succession."

Jarid's face was devoid of expression. Aron looked over and gave him a half smile. "I do not know what I would have done without you, Jarid."