"There you are. Stay there, Princ.i.p.al. I will come to you."

The Priest's reedy voice drifted and whipped away. Men Darnak snorted and turned away. Yes, let him come.

Kovaar cantered down the hill and drew his mount up beside.

"Princ.i.p.al," he said, a tone of admonition in the voice. "Where did you think you were going?"

"Did you not hear me? I'm looking for Roge."

"But what made you think you would find him out here? There's nothing here, Princ.i.p.al. Roge will have returned to his estates, or perhaps gone to Karin's. Would it not have been better to find out where he'd gone before charging out into the weather, especially so close to the end of the day. It will become dark soon, and I am sure the Prophet would not will you to be out here in this weather."

Men Darnak turned to face him. "So, you know the Prophet's will now, do you, Priest? You speak for the Prophet, do you? And I suppose you can tell me where my son is too. Perhaps you can explain to me his mind as well?"

Kovaar shook his head. "There is no point, Princ.i.p.al. You have already seen what's happened with your daughter. Why would you expect the others to be any different?"

Men Darnak sighed heavily. "I expect something. Something. I don't know what I expect." He looked up at the sky. The weight was growing in him, building darkly like the cloud ma.s.s above. He looked back at Kovaar. Reaching out with one hand, he grasped a handful of the Priest's robes. "You're a man of the Prophet, Kovaar. Tell me. Tell me what to do. Tell me what the Prophet wills. Let Him make this right."

Kovaar reached up and gently removed his hand. "It is not our place to demand of the Prophet. He guides us. He shows us the way. You can listen to his wisdom, deep inside. His will shapes things into what they must be."

"Pfah! No, no more. d.a.m.n you Priest. Where is Roge? We have to find Roge." He turned away, scanning the empty hills as if to find his eldest son sitting waiting for him. Kovaar sat watching him and he turned back to face him. "d.a.m.n you, Priest."

He dug his heels in and whipped the reins savagely. He headed the padder toward the hillside in front, urging it faster.

"Princ.i.p.al, wait!" yelled Kovaar behind him.

Sandon walked quickly past the still-open garage and headed for the stables. The broad door was closed, presumably against the weather, and he pulled at its edge, trying to ease it open far enough to slip inside and find his padder, if it was there at all. He'd have to saddle it, find the rest of his belongings. Who knew what they might have done with them? Inside, he was still cursing fate. Every time he seemed to get anywhere near the Princ.i.p.al, something conspired to wrest him away. There had to be a reason for that. There was a reason for everything. He was putting his weight behind the door, heaving against its bulk when one of Ka Vail's men appeared around the corner, looking pale.

"You," he said. "Where's my padder?"

The man stopped, looked blankly at him and shook his head. "I can't help you, Atavist," he said. "Such terrible news." He shook his head again.

"What is it?" asked Sandon, pausing in his efforts.

The man stared into nothing. "Princ.i.p.al Men Darnak. The new Princ.i.p.al."

"What? What is it?"

"No, of course you couldn't have heard. There's been an accident. He's been killed."

Sandon felt the ground move beneath him, but it was no quake. "What do you mean? How could he...?"

The man kept shaking his head. "For some reason he took a groundcar when he left the other night. What possessed him to do that, I don't know. The Guildmaster's youngest son was with him. It must have failed. The storms. Jarid Ka Vail has just managed to get back with the news not a few minutes ago."

Sandon's mind was running in confused circles. None of this made sense.

"What are you talking about? Tell me what happened."

"I told you. An accident. The groundcar. Jarid is unhurt, thank the Twins, but Roge Men Darnak didn't survive. According to the boy, there was no chance for him. I don't know what we are going to do. The Guildmaster has sent out a group to try and help, but there's nothing to be done, apart from retrieving the body. We need a firm hand in the Princ.i.p.ate, not this. To lose him so young, and so soon into his time as Princ.i.p.al, it's shocking."

Sandon felt himself unable to move. He was barely able to close his mouth. He had to do something. The Princ.i.p.al. The real Princ.i.p.al -- Leannis Men Darnak. He couldn't possibly know.

"Has anyone been sent to tell the old man?"

"Which old man?"

"Princ.i.p.al Men Darnak. The boy's father. What old man do you think?"

The man looked confused. "No, no, I don't think so."

"No, of course not," muttered Sandon, then to the man. "Quick, help me find my padder."

The man didn't seem to register that he was suddenly being ordered about by a bedraggled looking Atavist, and he moved to help Sandon with the door. "This way," he said, leading him toward the back of the stables. All the while, Sandon's mind was racing. The Princ.i.p.al had not been acting himself for some time. His headlong flight into the countryside in search of Roge, the insistence upon coming here himself, none of it made sense. The implications for the structure of the Guilds was enough on its own. How was Men Darnak going to take the news of his son's death? It really didn't matter now; he had to be told. Sandon had a duty to tell him.

Sandon's padder was in a stall right at the end. It looked up at their approach and grumbled, then gave a mighty snort. His belongings had been bundled unceremoniously into one corner. He was thankful, at least, that the padder had not seen fit to use the things as a place to leave a nice reminder about its digestive processes.

"Here." Ka Vail's man had disappeared and returned shortly after with Sandon's saddle. He a.s.sisted getting it on, then tying the pack to the animal's rear. Sandon led the padder out of the stall, thanked the man, and then headed outside, an empty hollowness ringing inside him. Roge Men Darnak dead. What could be worse? The Princ.i.p.ate and the Guilds would be in chaos. The old man would have to step back in if they were going to restore some sort of order.

Which way would he go? He looked around, remembering the path that Men Darnak had taken and grimaced to himself. Where would he be? The men had taken off after him. Witness Kovaar was in pursuit, but the landscape, full of rolling hills and valleys, stretched for miles about. He had no idea where the Princ.i.p.al might be. "Where the Prophet wills," came unbidden to his mind, and he gave a wry, humorless grin. All right. It was time for the Prophet to start doing some good. It was all he had left to hope for. He mounted and urged the padder into a brisk trot. A glance at the heavens revealed thickening cloud, pregnant with heavy moisture, and the light was fading fast, what little there was of it. So, here he was, yet again on a fool's errand, and liable to be soaked to the skin before the evening was out. Were the Twins really in such poor alignment at the time he was born?

Inside the house, Aron Ka Vail watched the lone Atavist heading up the road and away, presumably in search of the others including Men Darnak. Poor fool. If only he knew. He turned to face Jarid, who stood behind him, apparently waiting for something.

"What is it, Jarid," he said. "Haven't you done enough?"

"I don't know what you mean, Father."

Aron sat heavily and sighed. "No, no, I suppose I have no right to blame you. It isn't right though. None of this is right."

Jarid took a chair opposite. "How can it not be right, Father? The Guild needs stability and a firm hand. You know we had no choice in it. To do nothing would have left us exposed, and with the situation as it is, we cannot afford such exposure."

Aron raised a hand to his forehead and closed his eyes. He didn't really want to hear what the boy was telling him.

"What with Markis, and Roge, Yosset Clier...," Jarid continued. "Things were simply becoming too unstable. You had no choice. You've simply helped to introduce some stability into the equation, as is your duty. I've heard you talk often enough about Order."

Aron slowly withdrew his hand from in front of his eyes. "That doesn't justify the treatment of Leannis Men Darnak and his people. Or perhaps you think it does, Jarid? The old man was a fine Princ.i.p.al. He saw us through difficult times more than once." He sighed, then hardened his expression. "I know well enough what it's like to have your children turn against you."

Jarid was looking down at his hands clasped in front of him. Aron wondered. Had he used those hands to do what he had done? "No, Jarid. We have another duty. Leannis Men Darnak has been good to me over the years. We need to give him at least something, even if it's mere refuge from the Season. He needs our support. With what's happened now, we may need more from him in the weeks and months to come. Leannis Men Darnak has always known what is right for the Guilds, understood the intricacies of their workings better than anyone else. Now that we have this void..."

Jarid looked up quickly. "But you heard what Ky Menin said. We should leave him be. He'll hear about the accident soon enough one way or another. Didn't you see the way he was acting?"

"Of course I did, but by the First Families, that doesn't excuse what's happening to him, what we're doing to him. I'm not going to continue on this path. Regardless of anything else, whatever else is happening, if Leannis Men Darnak needs help, then he will get it from me."

Jarid stood, now frowning as well. "I don't think that's a very good idea, Father."

"Jarid, I don't care whether you think it's a good idea or not. A have my duty, and as the Prophet wills, I will perform it. Men Darnak deserves that level of respect, and so d.a.m.n it, do I!"

Jarid stared at him, saying nothing, his jaw working slightly. Without another word, he turned and stalked from the room. Aron watched him go. Such anger. Perhaps the boy would learn.

Karryl Ky Menin had a lot to answer for. Now, with Roge no longer there, the choices were distinctly limited. Karryl Ky Menin. No, d.a.m.n him. He would not have the Guilds. He would not have the Princ.i.p.ate. If that meant bringing Men Darnak back, then that's what they'd have to do, but how they'd do it was another question, particularly now. He glanced outside, and barely registered another sole figure riding out from the estate. It looked like Jarid. Briefly, just briefly he wondered where the boy might be going.

Twenty-Three.

"Now you see," said the Kallathik.

Long lines of the creatures cl.u.s.tered in the central chamber. Each held two double-headed, sharpened spears in their twin sets of arms. Lanterns had been lit, out of some bizarre concession to his presence that he still did not understand. The yellowish light seemed as if it had sparked a glow in the serried ranks of scaled bodies and in the deep shine of the polished ajura spears.

Tarlain swallowed. "But no, I don't see," he said one more time.

The Kallathik went motionless, but it only lasted for a moment. It swiveled its vast head and looked down at him. The scrutiny was expressionless. How could it have an expression? He had thought he was starting to understand these beings, but that was before.

"Is this all?" said Tarlain.

"We gather in all our places," said the Kallathik finally.

Tarlain had no real idea how many of them there might be, but if all the cave systems around the area bounded by Yarik and Bortruz held gatherings like this, then the Guild hierarchy was in real trouble. The traditions of the First Families dictated harmony and order. There had never been resolution by direct action. Never. Even the way they had left the homeworld. Rather than fight, they had spent years maximizing their resources, and when the time came, the simply packed all they needed and left. They had nothing to combat this, nothing.

"There has to be a better way," he said. "Can't you wait?"

"We have waited long enough. These creatures are here to stay. We will change it now."

Tarlain frowned. His heart was beating rapidly and his mouth was dry. He had no idea how much he dared, here in this, their place.

"But you must wait. We have to work out a way to make this right. Can't we discuss this?"

The Kallathik face turned away from him, seeming to ponder the ranks of its own kind. There was another long pause. It clacked low in its throat, or where its throat should be, and in a sudden rush that again took Tarlain's breath away, there was another standing beside them.

"We have discussed," said the first Kallathik. "Tell this Tarlain Men Darnak, Guild of Welfare."

Another pause, and then the new Kallathik swiveled its head to face him. More and more, Tarlain was starting to suspect that their communication went well beyond anything he, or any of his kind understood.

"The forests are not for us or of us. Still, they take the wood. They use the wood. They make us do things. More things every season. These animals, these creatures want more than they need. They take the wood."

Tarlain frowned. "I don't understand."

The new Kallathik continued. "There are two new creatures on our world. One wants what it needs, like us. The other wants more. They are one but they are two. The mines. The holes in the earth. The forests. Their cities." It stopped. Tarlain was about to ask it to explain one more time, but then it started speaking again. "The creatures will not go away, though we have waited. Now the Kallathik must make this change. We will find the ones that cl.u.s.ter in their own hives and drive them out and then we will be rid of them." As if to emphasize its point, the Kallathik thrust downward with its sharp wooden spear. Tarlain took a step back.

The first Kallathik lifted its head to gaze up at the ceiling. "We watched them come. We watched the tiny caves that flew through the sky. We watched the ones fall and break. We watched the others."

The other Kallathik continued. "Such tiny animals that emerged." It gave the amus.e.m.e.nt sign, and the one standing next to him echoed it. "We thought they would go soon. We would go back to our places. Keep to our mines. Not let them see us. We could watch them. They would go away."

He wasn't quite sure, but Tarlain was starting to understand what the creature was saying. Over five centuries. That was a long, long time to wait. How long did these creatures live? Whatever it was had something to do with the ajura forests and their monopolization by the Guilds. He knew the wood was sacred. But the creatures had seemed so compliant, so pa.s.sive apart from the irregular restive periods that came with the approach of Storm Season.

The first Kallathik made another clacking sound, and just as suddenly, the second creature was gone, rejoining its fellows in the ranked ma.s.s filling the chamber's center. Tarlain shivered.

Humanity could not be so ignorant. Tarlain's memory was full of motionless statue-like individuals, or a low shuffling gait through corridors and outside the burrows. He chewed at his bottom lip. Or perhaps these creatures were just much, much smarter than they seemed.

There had to be some way to reason with them.

"What do you mean there are two sorts?"

This time the reaction was instantaneous. The vast head swiveled to face him. Two sets of eyes fixed him with a gaze that pinned him to the spot. "You saw the others," the Kallathik hissed and clacked. "You saw us joined together, here."

Tarlain frowned. The Atavists. It had to be referring to the Atavists. Whatever they had planned, they had planned together. Sudden intuition dawned. The Atavists had every reason to want to see the structure of the Guilds tumble around them. And now it appeared the Kallathik had reason as well. He wondered how long they had been planning together, how long they had been holding these discussions, and more, he wondered how much the Atavists knew. The Kallathik had been waiting over five centuries, over one-hundred-and-fifty full seasons. He closed his eyes and let out a slow breath. All of this had been happening beneath their very gaze, beneath the gaze of everyone in the Princ.i.p.ate and the Guilds, and it had gone unnoticed, or had it? What a fool he'd been. What a fool to think that he, small insignificant Tarlain, could have done anything.

A deep grinding sound came from the Kallathik beside him and one by one, was caught by the others in the chamber. The vast hollow s.p.a.ce filled with sound echoing from the walls, issuing from hundreds of Kallathik throats and chests. It bounced from the flat metal surfaces, growing and deepening in intensity. Wincing at this new a.s.sault, Tarlain covered his ears with his hands, but the sound poured over him and through him, pulsing in vast waves through his body and being and deep within his mind's lower reaches. One by one, the files of Kallathik started leaving the chamber, shuffling up the side corridors with an unhurried gait. The low animal rumble was now joined by the sound of hundred of thickly plated hides sc.r.a.ping along metal-clad walls. Tarlain clamped his jaw tight shut, watching as the chamber slowly emptied, the sound pounding at him, till eventually it faded, leaving him standing there alone, unsure of what he was going to do next, the echoes of the cacophony still ringing within him. Slowly, he lowered his hands from his ears, staring at the empty chamber.

There was nothing he could do to halt what the Kallathik planned. He could try and warn the Guilds, but that wouldn't achieve anything. It was unlikely they'd even listen to him. He'd already seen what happened when he'd tried to discuss the Kallathik. It was, after all, why he had ended up here in the first place.

He closed his eyes. "Prophet guide me," he said silently. Slowly he opened his eyes and looked around the empty chamber. He turned for the tunnel leading to his own burrow and headed out of the chamber, reaching automatically to find his mark on the tunnel entrance. There were a few things he needed before he left. And he was leaving, he was sure, of that much if nothing else. Perhaps there would still be time.

Twenty-Four.

Sandon struggled forward. The darkness had teeth, but they were teeth made of air and ice. The wind tore at the air around him, billowing under his hood and pressing his beard flat against his chin. He squinted through the rushing gale, his eyes tearing, blinking with each new blast, trying in vain to pierce the all-encompa.s.sing gloom.

"Princ.i.p.al Men Darnak!" he called, knowing it was useless. Even if they were close enough to hear, the wind tore the words from his mouth and scattered them across the barren slopes. Daggered shards of cold chilled through his robes, helping the ice touch creep into his body and bones. Sandon worked to pull the robe tighter about him, trying to find some way to guard the coa.r.s.e open-weave holes from the wind's probing fingers. The Atavists couldn't live like this. He shivered, and then suddenly remembered the weatherproof coat the he had gotten from Milana and Benjo. He turned in the saddle, reaching behind to fumble in the pack. After several struggling attempts with fingers made numb and aching with the cold, he managed to pull the coat free and then pull it on over his head. It snapped about him with the wind, but at least it offered a little more protection.

"Princ.i.p.al Men Darnak!" he called again. "Witness Kovaar!"

He must really look a sight -- a bedraggled Atavist in homespun and weather coat screaming into the wind. He gritted his teeth. How had he, Sandon Yl Aris come to this? It was mere weeks ago that he had been sitting calmly in the main Guild room of Primary Production in discussion with Ka Vail, talking about the horrors of the Return. He steered the padder up the next slope, cresting the hill and drew it to a halt. Up here, the wind was worse, but at least it gave him a vantage point.

Over there, a vague flickering in the darkness. There was someone out there carrying a lantern. He grunted and kicked his padder into motion. It might not be Men Darnak, but at least it would be someone. Whoever it was might just have seen the Princ.i.p.al and his men.

He caught up with the two men in just a few minutes and breathed a sigh of relief. It was a pair of Men Darnak's men. They were riding against the wind, their lantern held high, shielded well enough to withstand the worst of the onslaught, but still fluttering and flaring with the occasional strong gust. He was pleased to see that one of the pair was the young man, Fran.

"Fran," he shouted against the wind.