"All right. What about your son, then?"

"What about him? It's funny. Your voice sort of reminds me of him. Even more to punish me by the Prophet's Will." He gave a low moan, and then subsided into silence again.

Fearing that the old man was truly in pain, Markis made to get to his feet, but the old man spoke.

"No, stay where you are. There's nothing you can do. I will die here this night."

"You will not," said Markis. "I may be naught more than a simple worker, but it seems pretty clear to me. You're boy's pretty important to you. I'm sure that he cares for you as well." He fought back what he was feeling, struggling to continue. Finally sure that he had his voice under control, he continued. "You won't be helping your son by lying here and dying. If you want to do something for him, the only way you're going to do that is by fighting against what's been done to you. Then you can help him, eh? Then you can help him. You won't do nothing for him lying dead in some hut in the middle of nowhere. Let us get to Darthan, and then we'll see, eh?"

There was a faint noise from the opposite corner, and then silence. Markis hoped, prayed that his words might be getting through to the old man. He could only wait until morning to see. Somehow, knowing his father over all the years, through countless struggles big and small, he thought there was a strong possibility. Silently, looking up into the darkness, he made his own, hesitant prayer to the Prophet. He didn't really know whether he'd be heard, but he thought it was worth the chance that he would.

Markis and his father had been traveling for a mere two days when they finally came upon the first signs of the camp. They must truly have been a pathetic sight; not one challenge did they receive as they approached, though they pa.s.sed miners and Kallathik alike, clearly gearing up for some sort of battle. Markis led the old man, carefully, slowly. He was still weak, and as each day had pa.s.sed, Aron Ka Vail seemed to be fading in strength.

As they neared the outskirts of where Markis thought the encampment proper must lie, he noticed a small cl.u.s.ter of men, standing off from a solitary figure huddled on the ground in front of them. He knew their dress, their colors. Men Darnak's livery and an old man with them, it could be n.o.body else. There was something not quite right about the scene. As they neared, the details became clearer and Markis felt his heart lurch with the first true sight of the old man hunched on the ground before them. Stained pale robes, torn in places, fell around an almost emaciated form. Straggly hair fell in clumped strands about an unkempt beard. The old man rocked back and forth, muttering to himself, drawing patterns in the mud with one hand. Occasionally the voice rose, the words becoming comprehensible, but there was little sense in them. It was Men Darnak, he knew, but the transformation...

"That is Princ.i.p.al Men Darnak's voice," Aron said. "Take me to him."

"Sir, we're heading that way, we are."

Aron Ka Vail grunted to himself, seemingly satisfied with the response.

Markis was in two minds. With his father's frailty, and the condition of Men Darnak, he didn't know what effect it might have, but for once he was thankful that his father could not see the full extent of the Princ.i.p.al's state.

"Princ.i.p.al Men Darnak," said Aron, as they neared.

The old man looked up, his face questing for the voice as if he didn't know who had spoken.

"Who is that? Is that Roge? Roge, what are you doing here? Have you come to join me?"

"Princ.i.p.al, it is I, Aron Ka Vail."

Men Darnak turned away. "Leave me, Roge. You have no place here, as I have no place. You should be gone. I know about you, about your lies. The storm told me. It told me everything. Everything." He continued rocking back and forth. "You, Karin, all my children. All of them."

Aron Ka Vail swiveled his head, trying to focus on the voice. "Princ.i.p.al? It is you, Leannis, isn't it?"

Men Darnak leaped to his feet. "Here!" He pounded at his chest. "It is the father, the man, the Princ.i.p.al." He swung his arms wide. "Every bit. Can you not see?"

Men Darnak's sudden aggressive stance prompted Markis to step hurriedly between them. Aron lifted a hand to feel in front of him, met Markis's arm and slowly ran his hand up to the shoulder. "Why are you standing there?" the Guildmaster asked. "Let me go to him. We need to talk."

"No, wait, please, Guildmaster."

"Guildmaster?" said Men Darnak. "What do you think? Do you think that action achieves its own reward? By the Prophet, it is strange. The actions you perform run without control through your offspring. That's the way it works. It doesn't matter what you do. It doesn't matter. Your children take your message to existence." He threw back his head and laughed.

Markis looked to the other men standing nearby; a couple of them were watching interestedly, the rest had their attention elsewhere. There was no help or explanation to be had from that quarter.

Men Darnak had lowered his face and was peering at them again. "You," he pointed at Aron. "You, hiding there. Do you know where it comes from? Is it the evil that comes from a man, springs forth from his seed and runs through the world? Is that it? Where did my children come from? Where did yours come from? I know. I know. There is no answer there. I have looked you know." He took another step closer. "I have looked. The world is our child, our manifest destiny and the flesh that walks we put there through our actions. But what about the Prophet, hey? What about him? Where and why and how and when? It's justice, not will. Not will, not justice. They're sent to taunt us you know. Our children. Our children are our punishment. See, see here!" He pointed at Markis.

Markis drew his father back a step. "Come, Guildmaster. We should go."

Aron resisted the pull. "No," he said. "What has happened? Leannis, my old friend, what have they done to you?"

Just for an instant, Men Darnak stopped the wild swinging of his head, held himself steady, and fixed his gaze on the man who had spoken to him.

"This is justice," he said. "Can you not see this? Can you not see what happens when you bring these -- these things into the world? The Prophet? Ha! What is the Will of the Prophet, eh? Aron. I'm sorry. It's hard. You have to be patient with me. There is no order any more. That's what he said, what he used to say. That man. That priest. Maintaining the order of things leads to an ordered life. Empty words from an empty church. An empty life."

Men Darnak seemed to lose focus again, his gaze wandering away.

"Leannis," said Aron. "What can we do? How can we help?"

Men Darnak spun back. "Put a curse on all you have brought into this world, for they are tainted. Put a curse on them as they have cursed us." He laughed, throwing out his arms and tilting his face up to the sky. "We are worse than the beasts. Do you hear me? Prophet, where are you? Do you hear?"

Aron strained against Markis's restraining hand. "We must do something."

"What can we do, Sir? I be thinking that there's not so much we can do."

A shout came from nearby. Another group of men had just crested the hill to the right. They were dressed in livery that Markis did not recognize.

"There he is," said one, pointing down at them. They quickened their pace toward the group.

As they neared, another spoke. "We come from Tarlain Men Darnak with instructions to bring his father back with us."

The sound of his son's name brought Men Darnak upright. He stood straight, firm. "Tarlain?" he said. "Tarlain. Tarlain..." The words trailed off.

"Princ.i.p.al Men Darnak," said one of the men as they drew closer.

With a sudden laugh, the old man turned. The next instant he was dashing away across the valley, calling out behind him. "Tarlain, Tarlain, Tarlain!"

"Princ.i.p.al Men Darnak, wait!"

Both groups of men rushed after him, leaving Markis and Aron standing alone apart from two of the new group who had remained behind. Within moments, all the others had disappeared from view over an intervening rise. Their shouts could still be heard over the hills.

One of the other two men approached them shaking his head. "It's terrible to see what's happened to the old man," he said. "Who are you?"

"This be Guildmaster Aron Ka Vail," said Markis. "I am taking him to the camp of Tarlain Men Darnak."

The man nodded after a pause, taking in their appearance. It seemed that there was nothing that could surprise anyone any more. "The camp's back over that way," he said, gesturing back over his shoulder. "But you'd best be quick. They're getting ready to move. We should go after the others. Can you find your way?"

Markis nodded. The two remaining guildsmen headed off in the direction that Men Darnak had taken.

"What would you be wanting, Guildmaster?" said Markis.

Aron sighed deeply. "I thought to be able to find Leannis and offer him what little support I could. I fear the only thing that can help him now is the Prophet himself."

"So, what would you?" asked Markis again.

"Take me to the camp," said Aron. "Take me to the camp."

Markis took the Guildmaster's arm and started leading him in the direction that Tarlain's man had indicated.

Markis led his father slowly into the camp. Somewhere he would find someone to look after the old man, and then, then when the time was right, he would reveal himself. That time was not yet though. As they moved through the cl.u.s.ters of men and Kallathik, preparing or simply standing around, he watched with interest. Everything he knew about the Kallathik made this sudden organization and focus surprising. What was it that had spurred them to such action?

Over to one side, he noticed some more men wearing the colors he now recognized as those belonging to Tarlain Men Darnak. These were not your cla.s.sic Guildsmen. They were a rough collection of people, workers, miners, others, obviously pulled together under Tarlain's name for a single common purpose. In his current garb, he looked just as much a part of the motley collection. That Tarlain had the power to draw such a group together spoke of deep feeling running through the people, feeling he could have hardly imagined existed.

"I had no idea," he said to himself.

"What? Idea of what?" said Aron.

Markis realized he had voiced the thought aloud and he grimaced.

"Oh, it be nothing, Guildmaster," he said. "There's just so many of them."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, there's Kallathik here, and lots of them, and miners and others. They must have come from miles around to be here."

The old man grunted, seemed to think about this for a moment, then nodded. He stopped and doubled as a series of coughs shook his frame. "Where are we going?" he asked, finally, when he had regained his breath.

"I am going to try and find Tarlain Men Darnak, Guildmaster. If he's here, he'll know what to do."

As they neared the group of Tarlain's men, they got little more than curious glances. Everyone was a stranger, except for those who had come here together in their own smaller groups, and they cl.u.s.tered in small gatherings all around the camp. A couple of Tarlain's men looked up as the pair approached.

"I am looking for Tarlain Men Darnak," said Markis.

One of the men nodded and pointed back behind him. "Try that tent over there.

He thanked the man and led his father over in that direction. Two men stood in front of the tent and they stepped in front to block their pa.s.sage.

"Who are you?" asked one, looking Aron Ka Vail and Markis up and down suspiciously.

"This is Guildmaster Ka Vail," said Markis. "He has come to see Tarlain Men Darnak."

"Guildmaster?" said the other. "Well, we're honored, I'm sure. He doesn't look like any Guildmaster to me."

Markis sighed. "Is Tarlain Men Darnak here? We saw his father a few minutes ago. Nothing looks the same any more, does it?"

The man who had spoken looked dubious. It was clear he wasn't going to move. Markis restrained the urge to yell at the man get out of their way. He wasn't used to people refusing him. He was just about to start to reason with him, when a familiar face poked out from the tent behind them.

"What is this?" said Tarlain Men Darnak. He saw the two of them standing there and stepped fully out of the tent. "Guildmaster Ka Vail! What has happened?" He strode rapidly toward them, pushing past his men. The shock was evident on his face. He grasped the old man by the shoulders, looking carefully at his face.

"What have they done to you?" he said, the shock turning to anger. "Who has done this?"

He turned to Markis. "I know you," he said. "You're Markis. What has happened to your father? What have they done?"

"M-Markis?" Aron said haltingly, his sightless face turning toward him. He thrust out a hand, seeking support. "Markis? No. It can't be..."

"Come," said Tarlain. "Come inside and tell me what's happened."

Tarlain sat at one end of the large tent, the others arrayed around the sides. They had sent for the Atavist woman healer -- her name was Alise -- to look at his father. She had done what little she could, but her expression had been grim. With her had appeared another surprise -- Sandon Yl Aris. For some reason, he was dressed in Tarlain's colors, and he now sported a neatly trimmed beard. He'd done something to his skin, as well. It was strangely dark. Whatever had happened to him in the intervening time had marked him in other ways too. A deep scar ran across one cheek and across his nose. Markis watched him with interest as the discussions proceeded. He had not expected to see the Princ.i.p.al's chief information man here, right in the midst of the Kallathik camp. Things were aligning in strange ways, in a fashion that he could barely have imagined. And then there was the Princ.i.p.al himself. What had happened to him? He put a cap on his speculations and turned his attention back to the discussions.

"So, we can presume that Ky Menin and Karin are working together. Wherever Karin is, then Yosset is bound to follow. How much support can you muster in Primary Production?" It was Tarlain speaking.

Aron shook his head. "Jarid is there. I can only think that he has enough to rally the rest of Primary Production. You know as well as I do that our Guild members have been strong traditionalists. They're bound to support the current order, no matter what shape that may be."

Another bout of coughing cut short anything else he was going to say. Markis made to rise, to go to his father, but the Atavist woman waved him down. She put an arm around the old man's shoulders, speaking to him quietly. He nodded slowly in response. Markis sat back down.

"Well, we have no choice," said Tarlain. "We must act quickly before they have a chance to prepare properly. There's nothing we can do now to make it any better. They won't expect everything we can throw at them."

"But what of the Church?" said Yl Aris.

"The Church is with us," said Tarlain. "Along with the Atavist community. With the miners and the Kallathik, we have more than they can possibly deal with. There are bound to be casualties, and I wish there was some peaceful way to resolve this, but we no longer have any choice. We've seen what they're prepared to do."

Markis was impressed with what he was seeing. Tarlain Men Darnak spoke with strength and authority. There was no hesitation in his words or his manner. Were it not for tradition, thought Markis, he would be a fitting figure to inherit the mantle of Princ.i.p.al. It was hardly the boy he remembered from the Princ.i.p.ate gatherings he had attended over the years.

"So when, Tarlain?" said Yl Aris. "When do you plan to act?" Even Yl Aris was deferring to Tarlain's authority.

Any answer was cut short by a commotion outside the tent. All heads turned to face the noise. Two men burst through the tent flaps, dragging another between them. Tarlain stood.

"Edvin," he said. "Well, fate works in very strange ways. Hold him there."

Tarlain advanced on the man, a hard expression on his face. "Where did you find him?"

"He was found about three miles from here. He was carrying this." The man who spoke held up a sealed message tube.

"So, how is my darling sister?" said Tarlain. "And what is that? Is that a message for me?"

In response, Edvin tried to shake free of the grip of his captors. "I'm not telling you anything."

"Edvin?" Aron pushed himself to his feet. Alise rose with him, holding him with one hand, her other arm still around his shoulders.

Edvin seemed to notice the tent's other occupants for the first time. "Why aren't you dead, old man?" he spat. He pulled against the restraining hands. "They should have killed you while they had the chance."

Tarlain's arm flashed out, and he struck Edvin across the face with a resounding slap. "That's enough," he hissed.

Edvin drew back, glaring. He scanned the rest of the a.s.sembled faces. "You're all here, aren't you?" he said. "All of you. Yl Aris too. Every one of you will get what you deserve." He spat blood to one side.

Tarlain gestured to the man who was holding the message tube, never letting his gaze falter from Edvin's face. "So, let us see what little errand my sister has sent you on." He quickly broke the tube's seal and withdrew the paper contained inside. He only broke his gaze to look down and scan the message. When he looked up again, he gave a Edvin a slight smile.