Eleven

“Principal, I’m not sure that this is wise,” said Witness Kovaar quietly. His gaunt features seemed even more shadowed than usual, even allowing for the fading light. Men Darnak peered at him.

“And why is that, Priest?”

“I don’t know what benefit you hope to achieve. If you want the Principate to function properly, you must let the children start to make their own way. Interfering in what they’re doing is going to do nothing more than unsettle that process.”

Men Darnak snorted and the padder shuffled nervously beneath him. “Interfering is it now?” He shrugged off Witness Kovaar’s look. “Do you not think I know what I’m doing? Whose children are they anyway?”

They stood before the outer gates of Karin’s private holdings. Broad sand-colored walls swept off to either side, too high to see beyond at this angle. Behind them lay outbuildings, stables, the main residence, all concealed from direct view. What went on behind these walls generally remained a mystery to the general population. The holdings were self-sufficient, enough to outlast even the worst that Storm Season could throw at them. There was no sign of life near the main gates, nor beyond. Men Darnak chewed at his bottom lip, frustrated at the lack of response. The animals were starting to become restless. He glanced up at the threatening sky, and then motioned to one of the men behind him.

“Go and see if you can stir up some action. We stay out here any longer and it’s going to come down on our heads.” As if to underline his words, there was a rumble in the distance and a quick gust blew his cloak around him, slapping against the padder’s sides.

The man dismounted and strode to the gate, reaching for the entry-phone. He spoke quietly and stood back, allowing the camera to focus on him.

“I still don’t think this is a good idea, Principal,” said Witness Kovaar quietly.

Men Darnak snorted again and returned his attention to the gates. “Why is there no one in attendance? Most strange. This is not the time of year to leave things unwatched.”

The man at the gate nodded, and then turned back to the intercom. There was another exchange, and he turned. He did not look pleased. “They say we have to wait.”

“They what!”

“Principal...”

“Don’t they know who we are?”

“Yes, Principal,” said the man at the gate.

“They said someone would be along to let us through in due course.”

“Dammit, man. What do they expect us to do — remain out here and get blown away?” He shook his head.

“I don’t know, Principal.”

Witness Kovaar maneuvered his beast closer and placed a restraining hand on his arm. “Patience, Principal. There will be someone here. Perhaps we should reconsider.”

Men Darnak shook off the Priest’s hand and moved his own padder two steps forward, then growled deep in his throat. There had to be something diverting his daughter’s staff. Perhaps it was the preparations. He hadn’t been expected, after all. Still, it was most unlike Karin to behave like this. He would have words with her later. He glanced up at the sky again trying to judge how long it would be before the threatening rain arrived. The clouds were definitely feeling heavier, grayer and there was a charge present in the air around him, prickling his senses. Curse the girl; he was not used to having to wait. He shifted again in his saddle. Something must be holding them up, some problem with the household preparations that required her personal oversight. In any case, he would talk to her about her staff.

“Witness Kovaar, will you go and see what the delay is?”

The Priest gave him a long steady look, saying nothing, but sat where he was.

“Did you not hear me, Priest?”

Any response was forestalled by the appearance of one of Karin’s own people at the gate. The man stepped through the small side door and motioned the party forward, as the broad gates swung inward. Men Darnak frowned at the man as he urged his padder past, but the uniformed functionary returned the gaze unflinchingly. Men Darnak shook his head and turned away, his jaw clamped tight.

Leannis Men Darnak had equipped all of his children well. Their property holdings extended over broad rich land, many-roomed dwellings sprawling across the inner enclosures. There were separate quarters for stabling, and for living quarters to accommodate the many household staff. Neatly sculpted gardens and pathways meandered between all. Yosset Clier had done very well out of his attachment to the Men Darnak daughter — position, lands, political influences far beyond the worth that his family name might at first indicate. There was more than one way to move beyond familial heritage on Aldaban, but it was not the norm. Clier’s position existed simply because of Karin, and ultimately, it was she who ran the man, and thereby the Guild to which he was attached. Men Darnak had never really found much to admire in the oily little spineless upstart, but the marriage had been expedient, helping to solidify the Men Darnak influence over the Guilds themselves, and so he’d approved it. Thus far, there had been nothing to prove him wrong. Thus far…

They reached the stables, and he swung himself from the saddle, looking about while the rest of the party dismounted. By now, someone should be here to greet them, to guide them to the reception rooms, but still no one had appeared. He frowned with annoyance. Kovaar returned his look.

“Where are they, Priest?”

Even the man who had opened the gates had disappeared, leaving the entourage alone in the vast courtyard in front of the stables.

“I don’t know, Principal. You would think — ”

“Yes, you would, wouldn’t you?” he snapped, cutting the priest off in mid sentence. “Come. Let us see what is keeping my loving daughter from treating us with the proper politeness we are due.” He turned to the rest of the group giving them a distracted wave. “The rest of you wait here.” He turned back, and motioned Kovaar to follow, striding off in the direction of the main hall.

Karin had always been the most capable of his children — ambitious, clever, able to read the nuances of political byplay with little effort, growing up with that innate sense of the machinations at work behind the scenes. There had been times when he had cursed the societal traditions handed down by the First Families. Karin had every capability, if not the right, to take up a position within the Principate’s hierarchy, but he just couldn’t ignore the fact that tradition dictated otherwise. And now, because of her arm’s-length relationship with the hegemony, she needed all the support she could get. With Tarlain out of the picture, her platform would be less stable, less solid. He rubbed the back of his neck and grimaced. Perhaps he had been a little too hasty in his actions with the boy, after all.

Waiting until the Priest caught up with him, he flung wide the glass doors at the end of the audience hall that led through the neatly tended garden they had just passed. The garden was neat, just like everything inside these dwellings. Karin was almost obsessive about having things in their place. Sometimes he almost pitied Yosset Clier his life with her. He stepped into the long room, glancing about at the furniture covered in tidily arranged protective covers. Even the edges of the covers trailed in neat lines, following the borders of the wide stone flags making up the floor. He knew that she would even have people coming in during the entire length of Storm Season, sweeping accumulated dust, or straightening anything that had been shifted out of place by any tremors. No. Better Clier, than he.

The chamber was dim. He turned to...

What was he doing?

He had come to see Karin. But what was she doing here? She shouldn’t be here.

“Sandon, why are we here? We’re not using these residences at the moment. Why is Karin here? Sandon? Where are you Yl Aris? I need you to…”

He looked at the gaunt figure standing behind him. “But you’re not Sandon. Where’s Sandon?”

The man spoke evenly, calmly, in a high, reedy voice. “Principal, we are here to see Karin. You want to see how she’s settling in with the transition.”

Men Darnak blinked a couple of times, and thought about what the man was telling him. The man? Who was...

Witness Kovaar?

Yes, whatever Kovaar had told him seemed right. The transition. He turned back to the room. Where was everyone?

“Go and see if you can find some signs of life, Priest.”

He crossed to one side of the room and freed one of the broad armchairs placed evenly along the wall from beneath its protective cover. He tossed the dustsheet carelessly on the floor. There’d be hell to pay from Karin, but that was the least of her worries at the moment. Turning, he lowered himself into the armchair’s deep padded support and resting his arms on each side, steepled his fingers in front of his face. “Well, Priest? What are you waiting for? I will remain here.”

Kovaar hesitated for a moment more, then ducked his head and disappeared up the other end of the room and through a connecting door. Men Darnak was left alone with his thoughts.

He really should attempt to find out where Tarlain had gone. After the argument, the boy had simply packed his things, taken his groundcar and left. That was a concern, for if there were problems with the transition, particularly with Tarlain no longer in the mix, then he’d have to take more care, more of a guiding hand to make sure things went smoothly, not only with Karin, but also with Roge too. He felt a momentary pang of guilt. Perhaps he had not spent enough time with the boy, given him enough attention. What with the affairs of the Principate... But no, he’d always been a loving father. Always. And he did love the boy. Nobody could deny him that.

So why had he let him leave like that? And where the hell was he now?

A deep furrow grew in his brow. What had he been thinking? He didn’t even know where Tarlain had gone. He tapped his two forefingers rhythmically against his lips. Perhaps he had spoken with Karin or Roge before leaving. He was sure that Karnav Din Baltir would have some idea where he might have gone. And he’d be damned if the Guildmaster would not tell him. Approaching Din Baltir would be awkward, particularly after the confrontation, the way Din Baltir himself had been drawn into it. Better to approach it from another angle. He could get Sandon to…but no, he couldn’t even do that any more. Hopefully Karin would know. He frowned again. They really ought to be here by now.

Levering himself to his feet, he glanced about. The room was far too dim for his liking. He looked for a light switch, but considering the time, thought better of it. He wandered up the side of the room to a large wood cabinet set against the wall. He remembered the cabinet; he had installed it in this very spot himself when the children were still young. He slid the dustcover from it and let it slide to the floor. Opening the leftmost top drawer, he ran his hand inside. Yes, just where he had left it. There wasn’t a thing wrong with his memory after all. He lifted the flint triumphantly, crossed to one of the bracketed lamps set into the wall and proceeded to spark it into light. He dropped the flint back into the drawer, admiring the way the soft yellow glow picked up the highlights in the rich wooden panels. Such a fine piece. He stood back and admired it, his hands clasped behind his back. It was a good piece. A fine piece of craftsmanship. He stepped forward and rubbed one hand up the side, feeling the smoothness of the rich polish. Sometimes it was easy to forget the finer things that had come with his former life.

“Father?”

He glanced up to see Karin standing in the doorway, Witness Kovaar hovering behind her. She quickly glanced around, took in the two crumpled dustsheets lying tumbled on the floor, the open drawer, the lamp upon the wall and her lips pursed in disapproval. Her gaze returned to him.

“What are you doing?”

“Waiting for you, Karin.”

“But what are you doing here?” She crossed to stand in front of him. Kovaar scurried across the stone-flagged floor to stand beside her.

“That’s a fine welcome for your father,” said Men Darnak.

Her lips remained set in a firm line, and a vague frown appeared on her face. She nodded and lifted one hand to touch his shoulder.

“But the preparations…” she said, as if that was explanation enough.

“Well, surely you can take a little time,” he said. “You have people enough to look after them for you.”

“Yes, yes, I suppose so. But you should come inside. We’ve already cleared this room.”

He nodded and followed as she turned and led the way. Witness Kovaar followed behind, not having said a word.

Karin led them into one of the inner rooms, a large dining room set with a long table and several high-backed chairs. Family portraits hung on the walls. The bracketed lamps were already lit, and the room was bathed in a welcoming warm glow. She gestured to the chairs and crossed behind the table to seat herself, folding her hands on her lap before her.

Men Darnak sat, looking across at his daughter, slightly put out by the reception. Not a word of how he was. Just an impassive gaze, as if waiting for something. He returned her gaze and waited.

Finally, she spoke. “Well, Father, what is it? What can I do for you? We’re awfully busy.”

He narrowed his eyes. “I understand you’re busy. We’re all busy.”

“Yes, but what with the transition, and the preparations, and everything else...”

He glanced up at Kovaar, who cleared his throat and looked away.

“Well, you can take a little while to talk to me, can’t you?” He glanced at Kovaar again. “Dammit, man. Sit, will you? You make me nervous hovering there just out of my sight. At least stand where I can see you.”

The priest looked sheepish, then pulled out a chair and sat, looking down into his lap, his eyes averted.

Men Darnak turned back to face Karin. “So, how are the preparations proceeding?”

Karin nodded slightly. “Well enough, I suppose. You know yourself that the quakes are strangely sporadic this season. Their lack of predictability is making it hard.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “I suppose so. But things are in hand.”

“Of course they are,” she said a little peevishly.

“And what of your brother?”

“Oh, Roge is fine. He’ll take appropriate advice when I think he needs it. He has his own things to worry about in Technologists at the moment. Trying to explain why they’re having so much trouble predicting the quake activity is hard enough, let alone the storms. He has people looking after the trivial things.”

“I wasn’t talking about Roge.”

“Tarlain?” She paused for a moment as this sank in. “Why, we haven’t heard from him. After what happened, I wouldn’t think — ”

“Wouldn’t think what?” he snapped. “Wouldn’t think that I’d be worried about him? That I didn’t care? Of course, I’m worried about him, Karin. What I did may have been for the best interest of the Principate, but I still care about Tarlain. Why wouldn’t I?”

He paused, trying to read her expression, but her lips were pressed tightly together, her face a mask.

“All right,” he said, lifting a hand, then lowering it to the arm of his chair. “I’m worried for other reasons too. The balance within the Guilds. The structure. Cutting Tarlain out of the equation has more impact than I first realized. You should realize it to. Roge has the Principate; he has Technologists. But you have what? The connection to Primary Production is only through Yosset.... Where is he by the way?”

“Oh, he’s off attending to something…”

“Yes ... to what?”

She shrugged. “He’s worried about his precious groundcars or something. Wants to supervise the final storage himself. I don’t know.”

“All right. But we know how much real influence Yosset has in the Guilds. Then there’s Welfare. We have to be assured of their support.”

Karin rolled her eyes. “Roge and I have already discussed all that. Tell me something important.”

Men Darnak leaned forward. “It doesn’t pay to become overconfident. So, you’ve already talked about it. Very good. And now what?”

Karin crossed her arms. “I don’t think that’s any real concern of yours now, Father, is it?

“What?”

“I said, I don’t think it’s any real concern of yours any more. I know what I’m doing. Yosset knows what’s good for him, and Roge will see the logic of what I intend. What more do you need to know?”
He stared at her incredulously.

Witness Kovaar lifted his gaze and cleared is throat once more. “Principal, if I may suggest — ”

“Shut up, Kovaar! Just, shut up!” He braced himself, ready to stand. “Karin, I cannot believe you’re saying this.”

“Father, just sit down, will you? Sit down and listen. You passed the title of Principal to Roge. When you did that, you stepped into the background. You must have expected us to be able to perform the task you set us. You must have believed we had the capability. There is no way you could have taken such a decision without that faith. Make no mistake, Principal Men Darnak, you taught your children well.”

He eased himself back into the chair. He turned to Witness Kovaar, seeking advice, a reaction, anything, but the priest had his gaze fixed firmly back in his lap. Again, he suffered a pang of regret. If Sandon had been here…

Slowly he turned to face his daughter again. “You cannot mean that.”

She frowned again, this time leaning forward. “Of course I mean it.” Then her features softened. “It is time, Father. It’s time for you to step back, to relax. It is time for you to take some well-earned rest. Since Mother died, I’ve watched you. You’ve driven yourself, never stopping, never taking the time you need to come to terms with her passing. You have been a good teacher. You’ve been a good parent, despite the burdens of the Principate. We have watched and learned from you. You have prepared us well. Now it’s time for you to rest. It’s time to let us take the load.”

He felt all the strength leave him for a moment, and he slumped back into the chair. She was right. He stared across at her, the clean features, the honey-brown hair and he glanced up at the wall behind her. There, mirroring Karin’s coloring, the steady gaze, the clear open features, hung a portrait. Twelve, fifteen years old, the painting was still the woman he had wedded. Sadness and loss welled up inside him, but he pushed it down. Instead, he just felt suddenly weary. Gavina had always been the voice of reason, his steadying hand. He swallowed and pressed his lips together, seeking composure.

“No, Karin, you’re right. But you cannot blame me for wanting to take a part, to help. I can’t just step away.”

She placed her hands gently on the table edge before her. “No, of course I don’t blame you. And I know you can’t. But if we need help, we’ll come to you.”

He looked down at his old, pale hands and pressed the fingers of one with the other. “I’m still concerned about Tarlain,” he said quietly. “Have you heard nothing?”

“Roge and I talked about it. We think that the most likely place for him to have gone is the mines. He’s spent so much time there over the last few months that it makes sense. He and his beloved Kallathik.”

He glanced up at that, but let it pass.

“But why would he go there?” he said.

“Does it matter? He’ll be as safe there as anywhere, and if he wishes to continue any of the work he started in Welfare, then that’s the place for him to do it.” Her voice had become all business again. He peered across at her, assessing. Sometimes he wondered at just how much hardness nestled inside her.

“So, what now, Father?” she asked. “Will you go back to your estates?”

“Well...” He considered for a moment. “I thought we might stay here for a few days. Rest up. Then, I think we might head out to the mines and find your brother. He can still be useful to you.”

She shook her head emphatically. “I’m afraid that’s impossible. Edvin has already told me you’ve got about thirty men with you. I have nowhere to put them. Not now. There’s enough with getting ready for the move without my household having to put up with thirty more, and their animals and everything else. I’m not equipped for that. We’re not equipped.”

Again, he was forced to look at her in disbelief, then shake his head. “But we have just traveled from the estates. You don’t expect us to camp in the grounds do you?”

“Absolutely not. More than thirty of you? If you had announced you were coming, I would have tried to discourage you. As it is, there’s no way I can accommodate that number of people. I don’t know what you were thinking, but there is simply no way. I don’t know why you think you need such a large collection of hangers-on anyway.”

He sat where he was, unmoving, unable to find the words.

“I believe, Principal, we might be better heading for the mines, if that’s your plan,” said Witness Kovaar, finally. “We should make the journey before the storms really set in.”

Men Darnak answered, still staring across at Karin. “Yes, Priest, I believe you’re right.” He pushed his chair back and stood, still without moving his gaze from his daughter’s face. “Come, we should get the group ready to leave.” He turned, striding from the room, not even bothering to check if Kovaar was following, leaving Karin sitting there with a self-satisfied expression across her face.

He barely knew what he was feeling as he marched through the audience chamber. He reached out a hand and dragged the dustcover from another chest as he passed, letting it billow and fall on the stone flags behind him. At the end of the long room, he threw wide the doors and stepped out into the cloud-filled gloom. He’d already walked half a dozen paces before he noticed it was raining. He stopped, his teeth clamped firmly together and turned his face up to the sky, letting the large heavy drops beat against his face.

“Principal.”

“What is it, Priest?” he said from between clenched teeth.

“We should get out of this weather. Get the men together.”

Men Darnak slowly lowered his face and looked at the pathetic figure huddled beside him, stepping nervously from foot to foot. Damn him. Damn all of them.

“Yes, you’re right” he said, and with a frustrated sigh, headed off toward the stables.

Chapter Twelve