Feeling chastened, Sandon looked out over the camp, watching the Atavists finish their preparations for the evening as he recounted carefully everything he could remember about the old man's quick deterioration. Once or twice, Alise interrupted him, asking brief, pointed questions. He told her as much as he could, and when he was finished, he waited for her to answer, keeping his attention on a group of Atavist children playing between the wagons further down the line.

Finally, Alise lifted a hand and placed it on his arm. The touch sent a quick rush through his stomach, but he pushed the feeling away. She left the hand gently resting where it was as she answered.

"I know of preparations that can do that to a person, but I cannot be sure. It takes careful dosing over and extended period. Gradually the medicine poisons the mind, rotting away at the brain. I'm sorry. Stress, conflict, all of these things increase the effect, bring the onset of deterioration more quickly. If it is the case, then the best thing for him is rest. Somewhere quiet. At least that would slow the progress."

"Is there nothing?" he asked.

She shook her head slowly. "I'm sorry. The victim can recover if the Prophet wills it, but in normal circ.u.mstances, there is little hope."

"d.a.m.n it!" he said, and caught himself at Alise's sharp intake of breath. "I'm sorry, Alise. I just have to find some way to help him."

She gave his arm a brief squeeze. "And if the Prophet wills it, you shall."

"So, who is this?" A tall Atavist was striding toward them, his step confident, his bearded face inquisitive, but open. "Alise, will you introduce me to your friend?"

Sandon looked from Alise back to the approaching figure.

"Yes, of course, Lothan," said Alise. "This is Tchardo. I told you about him."

"Ah, yes," said the newcomer. "So this is the one."

Alise stood, and Sandon followed suit. "Tchardo, this is Lothan, my husband. We serve the healing needs of our family together."

Confusion was replaced by disbelief by confusion again in Sandon's mind. Her husband? He stammered out a reply, and then making some quick excuse, took his leave.

"Will we see you later?" asked Alise as he walked away.

"As the Prophet wills," said Sandon. He could think of nothing else to say.

It was over two days later that Tarlain Men Darnak arrived at the encampment. The first people to appear was a ragged group of human mine workers. Sandon stood to one side and watched as they filed in. Following them came Kallathik, line after line of the creatures, all headed up by Tarlain himself, still wearing his Guild livery. Sandon noted the confidence in his step, the pride in his carriage. There was almost something of his father's old bearing in the way he carried himself.

Sandon chewed at the inside of his bottom lip. He wasn't sure whether he should approach Tarlain now, or wait. Alise's revelation was still smarting, and he was suddenly unsure of his own ability to make the right choice. He glanced over to the Atavist site, and as if thinking about her had drawn her forth, he saw her heading toward him. She stepped warily around the end of the column still filing into the camp, holding her skirts up from the mud their pa.s.sage had churned up. Just for a moment, he thought about heading in the opposite direction, but he stayed where he was. She'd already seen him, and there was no point avoiding it any longer. She picked her way across the muddy trail, and giving him a smile of greeting, came to stand beside him to watch the new arrivals.

"There are so many of them," she said, after a few moments silence.

"Yes," he replied. "More than I would have expected."

"More than we could have hoped for," she said.

Sandon nodded, watching her out of the corner of one eye, avoiding meeting her gaze directly. There was nothing to suggest there was anything different about her. Nothing.

"Tchardo?" she said.

"Hmm?" he responded, only half paying attention.

"There's something I wanted to talk to you about."

"I'm sorry, Alise," he said. "It will have to wait until later."

Tarlain was crossing the camp toward the main cl.u.s.ter of Men Darnak retainers. Half because he wanted to avoid the awkwardness he was feeling, half because now was as good a time as any, Sandon headed over to try and intercept the young man. Alise hurried after him. He pursed his lips, but didn't say anything.

When he was a few paces away, he called out. "Tarlain Men Darnak."

Tarlain stopped and lifted one arm to stop the small group of men that were walking with him.

"Yes?" he said, standing and waiting for Sandon to reach them. "Do I know you?" There was even authority in the young man's voice.

Sandon waited until he was right up close before he said anything.

"I need to talk to you," he said quietly, suddenly remembering having said almost exactly the same words to Leannis Men Darnak so many months ago.

Tarlain peered at him, frowned. His eyes narrowed, then quickly widened. "You!"

Sandon nodded, lifting a placating hand. "Please, can we talk?"

Tarlain gestured to his companions. "Wait here," he said.

Sandon quickly drew him out of earshot. "Fran found you," he said when they were far enough away. "He delivered my message."

"Yes," said Tarlain with a sigh. "I could barely believe what he told me. Roge. Is it true?"

"I'm afraid it is." Sandon glanced warily across at the others who were watching curiously.

"My father?" said Tarlain.

"Not good. I don't know where he is right now. He keeps wandering off on half-imagined quests. With the preparations, sometimes it's hard to keep an eye on him all the time. The priest does little enough to help, apart from filling his head with more nonsense."

Tarlain nodded grimly. "We'll send someone to find him. The man you sent -- Fran is it? He gave me some idea of how bad it was. Has anyone done anything?"

Sandon ran a finger through his hair. It was his turn to sigh. "Alise -- that's her over there -- she's one of the Atavist healers. She's not very optimistic."

"d.a.m.n," spat Tarlain. "That's not good enough." He glanced across to where Alise was standing, watching.

"Believe me," countered Sandon. "She has no reason to play with the truth."

Tarlain planted his fists on his hips. "Why should I believe you, Yl Aris? In the Prophet's name, why should I?"

"If you think about it," said Sandon slowly, "you'll realize why. In all the years that you've known me, Tarlain, whom have I served? For whom have I worked? Is it my own interest? And before you say anything, you know the real answer. You have to know that's true." Despite wanting to appear as calm and rational as he could, he could feel the emotion pouring out of his own words. His eyes were threatening with moisture, and he quickly looked away.

Tarlain looked at him for a long time. "You know, as much as I dislike you, Yl Aris, as much as I don't like admitting it, I think you're telling the truth."

"Well, then, I urge you. Find your father. Make sure he's taken care of. Forget what he's done, what he's said."

"Why should I, Sandon?"

"He was not himself. You have to believe that. By the Prophet, you must."

Tarlain gave a deep sigh. "All right. Get the Atavist woman to help you find him. Look after him. He's still my father, after all. In some ways, what is done, is done, but I owe that to him."

Sandon nodded, found himself halfway back to Alise before he realized that he'd just been commanded. There was no other word for it. He stopped in his tracks, and slowly turned to look at the youngest Men Darnak.

Tarlain stood watching him, waiting. After a moment, he spoke, almost as an afterthought. "And clean yourself up, man. Shave that ridiculous beard off and get some proper clothes. There's no reason for keeping up this stupid pretence any longer."

Sandon blinked. As he turned to rejoin Alise and go in search of the boy's father, he realized the young man was right.

Thirty-Four.

Edvin hovered near the door, and Ky Menin finally beckoned him in. He kept Karin's man standing for a few moments more before speaking.

"So, what is it?" he said, finally.

"The Mistress has sent me with a message for Jarid Ka Vail."

"Has she now? Well the Ka Vail boy is no longer here. He's gone off with his men. Preparations. You can give whatever it is to me."

Edvin stood nervously, running his fingers back and forth along the length of a sealed message tube. "I don't think I should do that, Guildmaster," he said.

Ky Menin unfolded his hands and stood. He watched the man, a.s.sessing, and then nodded slowly. "Yes, of course, you're right, Edvin." He took three steps closer. "But you understand how delicately things are balanced at the moment, don't you? Perhaps it would be better if you let me know the contents. We don't have to break the seal. Surely you know what's in it."

Edvin looked around himself, as if seeking support where clearly none lay. "Perhaps, Guildmaster." He swallowed. "Perhaps if you just told me where Jarid Ka Vail is, then I can deliver the message and be on my way."

"I'm afraid," said Ky Menin, "that he's long gone. After his discussions with your mistress, they decided that it was a mistake to let Guildmaster Ka Vail wander around the countryside. In the current climate, it could work against us. He's gone to find the old man and deal with the problem."

Edvin nodded, but looked puzzled. "Why did he just not send someone?"

"Because he wanted to deal with the matter personally," said Ky Menin. "He seems to take a certain amount of pleasure from these things. Now tell me. What's in this message that's so important?" He took a step closer.

Edvin shook his head. "I cannot do that, Guildmaster."

"Look. Jarid is far away by now. Not only does he have to track down the old man, but he's also trying to a.s.sess the strength of the Kallathik and the miners. I have no idea where he might be. It would be better if you just gave the message to me, and I'll determine whether we need to find him or not."

Edvin's grip on the message tube tightened, and he pressed his lips firmly together. "I have to go," he said, backing away.

Karryl crossed the remaining distance separating them and stood, looming over the man. "Don't you think I know what's going on here, Edvin?" he said. "Last time they were together, the tension between that pair was undeniable. Even a blind man could have seen it. Karin has no loyalty to her husband. And you, well, you're closest to her, aren't you Edvin? You know what's going on. If you cannot give me that," he said, waving his hand at the tube clutched in Edvin's hands, "then you can do something else which will help Karin more. And you do want to help her, don't you?"

Edvin said nothing, chewing at his bottom lip, then gave a brief, hesitant nod.

Karryl turned away. "You can return to her and take a message back to her from me. Before Jarid left, he and I reached an understanding. We reached the conclusion that it would be better for him to work with me here, in the Guild of Technologists, rather than trying to take over the operations of Primary Production. We already have effective control of that Guild through Karin's husband, through her. We don't need to upset the order of things any further." He turned around to face the man. "Can you remember that?"

"Of course," said Edvin without any resentment.

"Now," said Karryl. "It's important that you deliver that before she tries anything foolish. Let her know that I understand what she's planning, and we can do this a better way."

Edvin nodded and withdrew, taking the message tube with him.

Karryl pressed his lips together, then finally crossed and sat back on his couch, slowly folding and unfolding his hands. It wasn't the best, but it would do. He would have to keep an eye on that man, make sure he did what he was told, but it was as much as he could expect for the moment.

Markis and the old man made their way painfully across the hills. Markis had to lead him, carefully, watching the ground for any hidden holes or rocks as his father staggered along, leaning heavily on the staff. Aron Ka Vail was still visibly weak, and Markis watched him as they traveled, wondering what there was that he could possibly do to help him. To see his father reduced to this ... it was almost too much. More than once he'd been tempted to tell him exactly whom he really was, but he just didn't know how the old man might react. Would he stumble away, denying him to the end, to finish up collapsing on some rain-swept field? The old man had effectively disowned Markis, after all. No, he couldn't afford that risk with Aron in his current condition. Better to ease him to a point where he could tell him. Perhaps if his sight were to come back...

The thoughts kept coming back as they staggered across the hills and valleys, the weather whipping around them, not knowing where they were really going or what good it could possibly do.

Later that night, Markis tried to locate what shelter he could. Travelers' huts frequently dotted the countryside. It was foolishness to travel cross-country in Storm Season and stay exposed to whatever the elements might throw at you. They didn't even have a padder to ease their path. He'd thought a couple of times about how he might acquire one, but there seemed to be nothing for miles around. Finally, they came across a solitary hut. Rudely cobbled together from a simple frame and ajura planks, it would serve to keep off the worst of the weather. This one had recently been used and maintained, for not only was it still standing, despite the pa.s.sing quake activity they'd had over the past few weeks, but the cracks between the timbers seemed to be relatively small. He bundled his father inside, cinched the door shut, and set about getting them some light and heat. A small oil heater sat in one corner, but the shelves were bare, apart from a lamp, and the remains of some dried supplies that were well beyond usability. A simple pallet sat in one corner, a couple of threadbare blankets heaped together in a pile. He shook them out and laid them across the mattress, and then guided his father over to sit. It was simple, but for now, it would do. With the heater, he figured he could take the worst of the cold. The old man needed the blankets more than he did. Squatting in the opposite corner, he sat to watch, listening to the wind thrashing against the outside of the hut, and thankful that they were inside rather than out. Slowly, as he watched the man that he'd once known as his father, the smell of damp earth and old musty blankets around him, the lamplight dwindled and his eyelids began to droop.

Much later -- Markis had no idea how much time had pa.s.sed -- something woke him. His back was stiff, his neck sore, and the lamp had died completely. Outside, the wind had died, and he wondered what it was that had brought him from the fitful doze. There was a muttering from the opposite corner. Even in the darkness, he recognized his father's voice.

"... and take this pain from me. I have lived long enough. I have served you well, or tried to. Though I know you watch us, and we cannot hope to fathom your Will, there has to be a balance. Take me. But bless my son. Markis has always served you well. He does not deserve the wrongs that have been done to him. As you are our Prophet, take this evil and shape it with your Will. Restore my son to his rightful place."

The old man was praying. Markis, overhearing the words, understanding what his father was asking, was uncomfortable. Prayer should be a private thing.

He cleared his throat. "Guildmaster," he said.

There was silence.

"Guildmaster," he tried again.

The voice was hesitant when it finally came. "Yes, what is it?"

"I can't see as how you'd be doing any good wishin' harm upon yourself. What's there to gain by that, eh?"

Again the silence, then finally a response. "You cannot understand," said the old man.

"And how's that?" said Markis. "Don't you think we all have troubles? What do you think will be served if you simply give up? Look at my people. What do we do? We travel from place to place, trying to find work, trying to find enough to keep us going through the worst of the Seasons, and yet we go on."

There was a deep sigh from the other corner, then a cough that trailed off into silence. Finally, the old man spoke again. "I have wronged my son. Everything I've done is wrong. Had I listened to what was real, what my gut was telling me, then none of this would have happened. Too interested in the politics, in the intrigue. I saw betrayal at every instance, but there was nothing." A pause. "The only betrayal was right under my nose."

"And what of it?" said Markis.

"What of it? Because of what I've done, my eldest son is somewhere, I don't know where. I don't even know if he's still alive. The younger of the two has manipulated things in such a way that he will probably inherit the Guild. I can see nothing else. All of it was because I was so caught up in the changes that I couldn't see. And now. And now I cannot see at all. It's the Prophet's punishment. I don't deserve to live."

"And why should you deserve to die? Is not the Prophet benevolent? Doesn't his Will guide us?"

Aron Ka Vail gave a half-hearted chuckle. "You're the only one guiding me now."