Roge leaned forward again. "The Guildmaster is right, Karryl. Such loyalty is something we should value. It's something we need within the Guilds."

Ky Menin gave Roge a slightly curious look, held it for a moment, and then turned to address Jarid.

"Princ.i.p.al Men Darnak is right in what he says. Such loyalty is to be commended. Perhaps you would benefit from some time within the Guild of Technologists. We can always use those who know where their true loyalties lie. I'm sure we could find an appropriate place for you." He inclined his head in Aron's direction. "Of course, with your father's support."

Jarid shook his head slowly. "Thank you, Guildmaster Ky Menin, but my proper place is here, supporting my father. Primary Production needs its own strength, particularly now."

Ky Menin nodded and sat back, folding his hands once more across his lap. "Speaking of Primary Production, Aron, we have some other matters to discuss. Of course we'll do everything we can to a.s.sist you with the boy, but we have another problem right now. Word has come to me that Clier is planning to build a voting block against me in the Princ.i.p.ate. Roge and I have spoken about it, but until I brought it up with him, he had no knowledge of what was going on."

"Do you think Clier could be linked with Markis?" said Aron. He was far more inclined to trust Ky Menin's a.n.a.lysis of the situation.

"It's possible, but I don't think so," Ky Menin responded. "The action seems too undisciplined. The Prophet knows, Clier has never been one to act without Karin's instruction, but that's what's strange. If Karin had been planning something, normally she would have at least told Roge, if not simply confided in him. No, there is something that doesn't feel right here."

Roge stood and started pacing around the room. Aron tracked him as he walked. Finally, Roge stopped and turned. "It is because of Father that Yosset Clier is where he is. He always said that. Always said that if he needed anything in Primary Production that Clier was his way in. Yosset has to feel some sort of debt to him. I can just imagine..."

"Roge, be calm. Think about what you're saying." It was Ky Menin again. This time his frown was getting deeper. Aron himself could barely believe what Roge had said.

Roge started pacing again. "No, no. That's it. They're trying to destabilize things. They know that things within the Princ.i.p.ate aren't firm yet."

Aron echoed Ky Menin's frown. He wished the boy would stand still. This was simply no way to conduct business.

Ky Menin finally stood. He stepped in front of Roge and held up his hands. "Roge. Princ.i.p.al Men Darnak. Don't you think Karin would have told you if that was the case? Do you really think Clier would act without Karin's knowledge?"

Roge stopped, thought for a moment, and then frowned. He tugged at the ends of his sleeves, and then glanced around at all the faces looking at him. Finally, he took a deep breath. "No," he said. "Of course you're right." He nodded and allowed Ky Menin to steer him back to the chair with a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"So, what are we to do?" said Ky Menin once he was comfortably seated back in his own place.

"It seems clear to me that we need to counter any threat within the Princ.i.p.ate itself," said Aron. He looked pointedly at Roge, then back at Ky Menin. Karryl nodded slowly.

"Yes, I see what you mean," he said quietly. "And you're quite right of course. Primary Production and Technology will have to work very closely together to deal effectively with the situation, without causing too much upset."

"I agree," said Aron, avoiding looking at the Men Darnak boy.

Jarid, who until this time had remained quiet, stood and moved from his place in the background. He crossed behind Roge's chair and placed his hand lightly on its back.

"So, what are we going to do to deal with the problem, Princ.i.p.al Men Darnak?" he said, looking first at Ky Menin, then across at Aron.

Aron had to admit, the boy was good, very good. Perhaps he really had been wrong. Tradition could dictate only so much.

Roge glanced up at Jarid standing over him. "I don't know yet. I have to think."

"I agree with Father, though," said Jarid as he wandered slowly back to his chair. "We will have to work very closely on this."

Roge nodded. "I should speak to Karin."

"Yes, of course that's the answer," said Jarid from his half-shadowed chair. "And the sooner the better, don't you think?" He leaned forward so that Aron could see his face, a question clearly there.

Aron considered the question, and hesitated. What they were thinking of was not right. It couldn't be right. Jarid quickly looked over at Ky Menin. The Guildmaster returned the look and barely nodded his head once.

"Princ.i.p.al?" said Jarid.

Roge, currently lost in thought and still intermittently tugging at the ends of his sleeves, looked up and smoothed the front of his jacket. "Yes?"

"If you want to make the journey tonight, I will go with you. I know it's late, but you're right, the sooner we get this resolved, the better for all of us. The way will pa.s.s more quickly if you have company. I don't mind."

"Yes, yes, of course," said Roge standing. "It gives me an excuse to see Karin anyway. In her message, she said that Father might head my way with his -- what did she call it? That's right -- with his performing troupe. It's better if I'm not there at all. He can barely make a case if I'm not there to greet him. I'd rather not see him now, anyway. If you really don't mind, Jarid...?"

Jarid also stood. "No, I don't mind at all." He glanced at Ky Menin, and then looked over at Aron. "I am glad to be of service."

Aron looked at the calm expression on his son's face, at the easiness of his stance, and he swallowed. Was he in a position to stop this now? He looked over at Ky Menin, but found no answers there.

"So," said Roge. "Let us go then. And you're right, the quicker the better."

Finally, Aron looked at the eldest Men Darnak child, knowing that there was no other solution if they were going to maintain true order within the Guilds. And in the words of the Prophet, order came from order. He bowed his head feeling the helplessness of the inevitable. As the new Princ.i.p.al left the room with Jarid close on his heels, Aron could not bring himself to look at him. Keeping his head lowered, he lifted his eyes enough to watch the shadowed reflection retreating up the staircase behind him.

"Now that is dealt with," said Karryl Ky Menin, "let us talk proper business."

Slowly lifting his head, Aron met the Guildmaster's eyes. The pale stare met his own without a flicker.

"Yes," Aron said with a sigh. "I suppose we really should, shouldn't we."

Jarid walked with Roge out into the darkness, heading for the stables and garages.

"This way?" asked Roge.

"Yes, and I've been thinking, Princ.i.p.al. It may be better if we take a groundcar don't you think?"

Roge stopped, looking troubled. "I'm not sure if that's a good idea."

Jarid stepped closer and took him by the upper arm. "It's this way, Princ.i.p.al. You said yourself, the sooner we took care of this, the better, and if we take padders, then we won't be there until the early hours of the morning. We're hardly likely to get anything settled then, are we?"

Roge was still frowning, resisting Jarid's gentle pressure on his arm. "But what about my men?"

"They can follow. We'll send word."

"Yes, you're probably right. Anyway, Karin will know what we should do. We should get there quickly before things get further out of hand."

Jarid nodded and smiled, leading Roge gently to where the groundcars were parked ready for Storm Season. He had no doubt about the implication of Guildmaster Ky Menin's words, nor of his father's complicity. He just had to work out what he was going to do.

He slid the garage doors aside as Roge stood and watched, not even bothering to lend a hand. He stepped inside, pulled a dust sheet from one of the flyers and bunched it into a ball, shoving it to one side on a nearby bench. Glancing around, he saw the tools there, some for vehicle maintenance, others for general work around the estate.

"What are you doing, Jarid?" said Roge from outside.

"I'll be with you in a moment, Princ.i.p.al." He reached up, snagging a solid screwdriver from one of the racks and dropped it into his pocket.

Slipping into the groundcar, he started it and backed it slowly out of the garage, waiting while Roge opened the door and got in the other side. Jarid slipped the screwdriver out of his pocket and rested it gently down beside the seat.

"I'll just shut the doors, Princ.i.p.al," he said, opening his own door and stepping out to do just that. He was back in a moment, his door sliding shut behind him.

"Because of the Season, I'm going to have to use manual control."

"Yes, of course. Do what you have to," said Roge.

"Oh, I will, Princ.i.p.al. I will," said Jarid, glancing at Roge Men Darnak's impa.s.sive face. He headed the groundcar out toward the hills and away.

Twenty.

Sandon grunted as the padder stumbled and made yet another misstep. d.a.m.n the animal, d.a.m.n the weather, d.a.m.n the Season. And d.a.m.n Men Darnak and his whole cursed family. A gust of wind slashed rain into his eyes and he tried in vain to blink the water away. When that failed, he tried wiping at his face with the edges of his hood, but all that succeeded in doing was spreading the greasy moisture around some more. The padder grumbled again, and for once, he felt some empathy with the beast. For the past hour, he'd been running over the message he was to deliver to Roge Men Darnak. Well, that had been the plan. As soon as he'd reached the Men Darnak estates -- strange to think of them like that, belonging to a different Men Darnak -- he found himself headed back out into the bl.u.s.tering wind and sharp-toothed rain...again. Roge had not been in residence. One of the local landsmen, once he'd gotten over the shock of dealing with a bedraggled and shivering Atavist, had pointed him in the direction of the Ka Vail estate. Sandon had taken the news with a deep sigh and headed back out.

Aron Ka Vail. He mulled over the last time they'd met. How different would this meeting be? It was strange how things played out.

Blinking away yet another watery skein from across his eyes, he tried to make out something of the way ahead. A sudden white-orange flash, and immediately thunder rumbled not too far away. The wind tugged at his beard, at his clothes, staggered the animal beneath him and plucked at his temper. He couldn't take too much more of this. The occasional lightning flash only served to confuse the landscape in front of him, turning it into a meaningless smudge while his vision had to continually readjust to the variations. He leaned forward, gripped the front of his saddle and attempted to pierce the gloom. There. Was that a vague light up ahead? He wiped at his eyes. Yes, there was a definite light further down the valley. Right then, the padder chose to stop dead in its tracks, its feet disappearing into muddy pools in what was left of the roadway beneath it.

"d.a.m.n you, animal. Not now!" he shouted through the wind, digging his heels into its flanks. "Don't do this to me. Haven't you already done enough, you --?"

He picked a few more terms, but the padder simply refused to budge. Sometimes Sandon really, really hated the Return. Muttering to himself, he slid from the animal's back, his feet landing heavily in a puddle and splashing muddy water all the way up his calves. Gritting his teeth against the wind that buffeted him from every direction, he sloshed around the padder's front and started to pull. It almost had the desired effect; the padder shifted, but only enough to face its back to the driving rain. Sandon rolled his eyes, looked up at the sky and immediately regretted it. Oh, d.a.m.n Leannis Men Darnak. If only he could see what he had wrought. Shaking streaming water from his nose, he went back to trying to shift the truculent beast.

Again, the animal refused to budge. He tugged and pulled, cursing it, but all he managed to do was land flat on his back in a mud puddle. If he hadn't known any better, he might have thought that the padder was grinning at him. He climbed to his feet, his teeth bared, and retook the reins. There was something about leading animals that he'd forgotten. Someone somewhere had told him something. What was it? He gritted his teeth and uttered a growl at his own stupidity. You were supposed to face away from them. Looking at their face was like a confrontation, and of course, they'd resist. He turned around and tugged gently as he took a step forward. Reluctantly, the padder took a step. Sandon took two more, and the beast started following. They were underway again, Sandon's sodden robes slapping about his legs.

He peered through the curtain of rain, trying to make out any more detail. He'd never actually visited the Ka Vail estates before. The continuing rain made it virtually impossible to determine anything clearly, but he did note something strange. Down and off to one side, something snagged his attention. There was a sudden flash of brightness. It was too bright for a lantern, and it was made indistinct by the sheets of water refracting the source. The light blinked out, then appeared again. It seemed to fade, grow strong, and then disappear off behind the buildings. Sandon frowned. If he didn't know better, he would have said it was a groundcar heading off into the night. But that was impossible. n.o.body used groundcars this far into Storm Season. Curious. He put it from his mind. Who knew what he was seeing in the midst of all this. Shaking his head, he continued his trudge down the hill. When he was about halfway down, the rain eased, sputtered and trickled to a final halt. Typical, he thought. He couldn't even claim shelter, as was his proper right.

He led the padder through the outer gates and up the broad roadway across tufted seasonal gra.s.ses. Further ahead, it divided into two smaller paths, one leading off to the left to the cl.u.s.tered stables and storage garages, the other leading to the house proper. He thought for a moment about stabling the beast, but the less time he spent here the better. He could find the Men Darnak boy, deliver the message and be on his way, back to locate the Princ.i.p.al and resume his observation. He'd worry about when he was finally going to get some rest later.

The pathway split, and he took the right bend. Shortly after the paths divided, he found a broad railing. He cinched the padder's reins and headed for the house.

He hoped he'd not spent all that time riding through the downpour for nothing. Another thing he really hated about the Return. If you wanted to deliver messages to anyone, then someone had to make the journey. Storms, wind, rain, quakes, tremors -- none of it mattered, and Princ.i.p.ate business was all about communication of one form or another. He reached down and flapped his robes about his legs, trying to shake some of the moisture and the weight from the cloth. He would have loved nothing better than to be able to pull off the homespun, ring it out and get into something dry, but he couldn't even afford that small luxury these days.

The back section of the house sat in darkness. Some scant light seemed to be coming from around the front, so he headed that way. As he rounded the corner, a figure strode up toward him out of the gloom in the direction of the garage buildings.

"What are you doing here, Atavist," said a pompously familiar voice. Sandon stopped and turned to face the figure. What was Edvin doing here? The stocky and officious little functionary from Karin's household was the last person he'd expected to see. Edvin bustled up to him and planted his hands firmly on his hips. "Well?"

Sandon just stared at him.

"You will get nothing here, you know," Edvin continued. "The rain's stopped. You can't call for shelter. Guildmaster Ka Vail wants nothing to do with your sort. Now I suggest you take your mangy excuse for an animal and get out of here."

Edvin seemed not to have recognized him, and why should he?

"And I suggest you hold your tongue," said Sandon quietly.

"What?" Edvin's jaw dropped. "You have no right to be here. If you know what's good for you, you'll be on your way." He stepped forward and put his face right up close. "I know all about your sort, and nothing would give me greater pleasure than to help you."

Sandon had just about had enough of the self-important idiot's bl.u.s.ter. He was tired, he was wet, and he'd been running all over the countryside on some mad errand to deliver a simple message. He reached out and grabbed a fistful of Edvin's shirt.

"And I told you to hold your tongue little man. You'll shut your mouth, or by the Prophet, I'll shut it for you."

Edvin struggled to break the grip, but Sandon had a good handful of cloth, and he drew him closer. "Do you understand me?"

Edvin blanched, continuing to struggle. "Help! Out here!" he screamed in a high voice. "There's a mad Atavist out here. He's got me."

Sandon leaned in closer and shook him. "Shut up, I said!"

A commotion from the front brought running feet. Two more household staff appeared at the corner. They quickly a.s.sessed the situation and raced to Edvin's aid. With a deep weariness, Sandon suddenly realized how stupid this was. He released the handful of cloth and stepped back.

"He's mad. Get me free," said Edvin. The staff members closed in on Sandon, one on either side and grabbed his arms. Edvin fussed about with the front of his clothing.

Sandon sighed. The man was going to make everything of this that he could.

"What are you doing here?" asked one of the men restraining him, tightening his grip.

"I have a message for Roge Men Darnak."

The man's grip loosened slightly.

"From the Princ.i.p.al."

Edvin pointed at him. "See! What did I tell you? He's mad."

Sandon tried to shrug free from the two holding him. There was nothing that would have given him more satisfaction than grabbing Edvin by the throat and shutting him up properly.

"What's wrong with you, you idiot?" he said.

"What's wrong with me? What's wrong with me? Roge Men Darnak is the Princ.i.p.al you fool. Get rid of him," he said. Now he was even ordering around the Ka Vail staff.

"Wait," said Sandon. "Not that Princ.i.p.al. Princ.i.p.al Leannis Men Darnak. His father. I have a message for Roge from his father."

Two more figures appeared at the side of the house. "What's all this noise out here? What's going on?" Sandon recognized the voice of Aron Ka Vail. Beside him was another figure. Was it Roge? No, too slightly built for Roge.

"Guildmaster," said Sandon. "I have a message for Roge Men Darnak."

"Message?" said Ka Vail. "Who is that?" He wandered forward, peering through the gloom. "Who has a message?"

"There is no message, Guildmaster," said Edvin. "This Atavist has clearly taken leave of his senses. You've seen the sort."

Ka Vail came closer. "You," he said to his men. "Let him go." He stepped closer, his head slightly forward, eyes narrowed. "An Atavist, hey? And why would an Atavist be bearing a message for Roge Men Darnak?"

"Send him on his way with a well-placed foot, Guildmaster," said Edvin from the side.