"What's done is done, Princ.i.p.al. Tarlain has gone. You know that. And what is done is done for the better. It is a time for strength. Forgiveness can come later."

Men Darnak shook his head. "We shall see, Priest. We shall see."

"Perhaps so, Princ.i.p.al, but now you should come inside. The hour is getting late and I have prepared your tea."

"I don't want the cursed stuff. Why do you keep insisting that I drink that foul brew?"

"Princ.i.p.al, you know we have to take care. You need to maintain your strength. There are difficult times ahead and you need to be in a proper state to face them."

"All right, all right. Just don't fuss. I'll be in a moment."

Witness Kovaar nodded and withdrew, just the barest hint of a satisfied look on his pale, gaunt face.

Far in the distance, a large bird soared and spiraled, riding the air currents preceding the approaching storm front. Men Darnak had other doubts now, doubts that he could barely talk to Witness Kovaar about. Sandon Yl Aris. He had sent Yl Aris away as well as Tarlain. He couldn't take that back now. Not now. He had to remain strong. But he would miss Sandon's quick observation, his unfailing loyalty. Roge and Karin both could have made use of his man's services to keep a watchful eye on what went on within the Guilds. Perhaps it was better for them to find their own way, but he couldn't help feeling uneasy. He just hoped his rash outburst wasn't going to prove too big a mistake. Time would tell. He watched the spiraling bird for a few minutes then turned to follow the Witness inside.

Roge stared out across the now empty offices and buildings, feeling safer, more in control. He had encouraged the move, though the old man had been reluctant at first, protesting, wanting to stay, to help Roge settle in to his new position, he had said, there to act as counselor, as a guide to his every move. It was the last thing Roge wanted. With the old man gone, he felt less like someone was breathing down his neck. And as for Witness Kovaar -- good riddance. Old Vapreth Face gave him the creeps. With Tarlain gone as well, things could hardly be better. Karin and he had discussed Tarlain's involvement long before the announcement and they'd agreed. Though Tarlain might have been useful in maintaining control, he was a risk, and they could only afford to tell him so much. Now, together, both of them were free to act without constraint.

Karin and he had much to talk about. They'd earmarked a few key individuals within the Guilds who were likely to be useful, as well as those who were likely to present a threat over the coming weeks. Roge knew that she had a better feel for such things, and accordingly, he was willing to rely on her judgment. It was funny in a way. It was almost exactly as their father had planned it, and yet...

Roge stood, smoothed down the front of his uniform and walked slowly around the office, trailing his hand over surfaces, lightly tapping a shelf with his hand, then a desk. All his. All of it his. Princ.i.p.al Men Darnak. Princ.i.p.al Roge Men Darnak. He stopped the circuit and drew himself to his full height, took a deep breath and glanced at his half reflection in the window. Yes. Princ.i.p.al Roge Men Darnak. He practiced the slight tilt of his head that was so often captured in official pictures of his father, matching it in his mind's eye. He pulled at the ends of his sleeves, making sure they were straight and set the pose again. He decided that for the first few weeks, he would wear the dress uniform, until he got settled at least, until they all accepted his new authority. It was better if he looked the part. There would be time to relax later.

A cough from the door made him turn.

"Roge, what are you up to?" asked Karin. She waited for him to respond before fully entering the room.

"Nothing. Just thinking," he said, beckoning her in. He tried to ignore the doubtful expression on her face; instead, he made a show of smoothing the front of his uniform one more time. "I'm going to miss Tarlain. He would have been useful, but I suppose we've done the right thing."

"Yes." She nodded and crossed to sit in font of the central desk. "You're right, he would have been useful, but I think he would have given us trouble too, and that's something we don't want at the moment. Anyway, I'm sure he'll be around."

"Are you? Do you even know where he's gone?"

She looked at him a moment before answering, considering. "No I don't, but he's probably just off somewhere sulking. You know how sensitive he is. He'll come round sooner or later. And by then, we'll have things well in place enough for him not to make any trouble. Don't worry about him. We have more important things to think about."

"I can't help feeling slightly guilty."

"Well don't. Why should you? You didn't do anything. It was Father who made the decision. It was Father he had the argument with."

"But I could have said something, couldn't I?"

"And what good would that have done except to put more doubts into the old man's head? Anyway, forget it. It's done. I told you I spoke to him before he left. He was as stubborn as ever."

Roge shrugged and nodded, then pulled out a chair and sat. "So, what do we have to discuss?"

"What do you think, Roge? With Tarlain gone, we have to work out what we're going to do about Welfare. I'm not convinced we can rely on Din Baltir. He's clever. Far too clever."

Roge frowned. "Surely he has to realize that it's in his own interests to work with us. What can he gain by refusing to cooperate? He needs our support now just as much as we need him."

Karin leaned forward. "I'm not saying he won't cooperate. I just think we need to watch him. He hasn't gotten to where he is without some smart maneuvering."

"Oh come on. The man's totally inoffensive."

"That's just it, Roge. If he's totally inoffensive, how did he manage to become head of one of the most powerful Guilds on Aldaban? He's clearly filled Tarlain's head with a lot of nonsense. It wouldn't surprise me if he'd engineered this whole situation."

Roge looked at her blankly. "I don't understand."

"Well, think about it. Who stands to gain with Tarlain out of the picture? Not us. We have less influence in Welfare now. Din Baltir takes the role that Tarlain could have played by default. He's not going to want changes to the power structure of the Guild. He's worked too hard to get them to where they are today."

He chewed at his lip thinking about what she was suggesting. "So, instead...we're going to have to negotiate with him."

"Of course we are. I'm not saying that's what happened, but it's a possibility isn't it? Think about it. With Tarlain there, we would have had much more influence. Anyway, it amounts to the same thing. I just think we're going to have to keep a close eye on him."

Sometimes Roge marveled at the twisted routes his sister's mind took. He leaned his head to one side and scratched at his temple with a grimace, still considering what she'd said. "But what about Father? He didn't seem to have any trouble with Din Baltir, did he?"

Karin fixed him with a hard look. "Would you expect him to? How many years, how many Seasons did he control the Guilds? Do you think one among so many was going to give him any real trouble? Father always had things firmly within his grasp."

Roge grunted, still unconvinced. "All right, so let's say you're right. What do you suggest we do?"

"Nothing for now, but bear in mind that we need to watch him. Make sure we don't have any discussions with him separately. If you're going to talk to Din Baltir, make sure I'm there. Remember, we have to stand together in this, Roge."

Karin was leaning forward, almost as if eager to enter into a fresh debate with him, ready to pounce on the next thing he might say. He sat back, watching her. "Listen, Karin, do you really doubt that?" he said with a frown.

She too sat back after a moment and then sighed. "No, of course I don't doubt it, but we have to be careful, Roge. I just think you need to be aware of just how careful."

"Yes, yes, I know."

She seemed satisfied. "All right, what about the others?"

"Who for instance?"

"Well ... Yosset has Primary Production pretty well tied up in the areas that count, but there's an element there we have to watch for."

"Who?"

"Aron Ka Vail."

"What about him? He's going to retire soon, isn't he?"

"Yes, it does look like it, but I'm not sure that Yosset is positioned well enough to counter the Ka Vail sons. And besides, as far as we know, that's just rumor for now."

Roge pursed his lips. "Hmm. I wouldn't worry about the older boy. Markis, isn't it?"

Karin nodded. "No, you're right, but it wasn't Markis I was thinking about. It was the other one, Jarid."

"I don't see..."

"What, because Markis is going to take the position? Don't discount the other one. I haven't seen that much of him, but he always struck me as a player. Anyway, Ka Vail hasn't announced any intention of retiring, has he? As I said, it's just rumor." She looked down at her lap, smoothing her clothes over the flat of her thighs, then looked up again. "Ka Vail hasn't retired yet. So, until he does, the sons are an unknown. They're shielded by the presence of the old man. We can't afford to have unknowns either. You and I need to be sure, Roge."

Roge looked out of the window, out over the flat city skyline, thinking. She was right, there were far too many unknowns already. Karin always knew what she wanted, always knew what she had to do to get it. She'd been waiting for this time for years, putting things in place, making alliances, but now...? How could she possibly believe that she could control so many things at once? How could anyone control so many things at once? He liked things to be simple. He knew there was no real hope of that as Princ.i.p.al, but to take it to the extreme that Karin did. And how had Father managed? Roge couldn't imagine that the old man had made everything so complicated.

"Roge?"

"What?" he said, turning back to look at her.

"What are we going to do about the Ka Vail boys?"

"I don't know. I don't know. Why don't you get Yosset to deal with it? You can do that can't you? He's your husband, after all."

"Yes, yes, I know. But it's intricate. The way Primary Production is split makes it harder. The Ka Vail's have control of the mines and factories. Yosset is only involved in agriculture and transport. There are some crossovers, but not as many as you might think. Sometimes it's as if they were completely separate guilds, you know?"

It was Roge's turn to sigh. "Yes, I know that. I'm sure he can do something. The rumors have to be enough of an excuse, don't they? Let him talk to the Ka Vail boys, find out what they're thinking. Then you and I can talk about what we need to do."

She nodded. "Yes, you're right of course. Just sometimes..."

"What?"

"No, nothing. It doesn't matter."

"So ... what else?"

"Technologists."

"Yes."

"Well, what are we going to do there?"

He hated the way she did that, jumping from subject to subject. "What do you mean, what are we going to do? I'll look after it. It's my Guild, Karin."

"Yes I know it is. That doesn't mean we can ignore it."

He felt the resentment rising inside. "I'm not ignoring it."

"So tell me what you're doing."

"I'm looking after it." He closed his jaw firmly and took a sharp breath. What made her presume he wasn't capable of dealing with it?

She fixed him with a long calculating look. "All right, Roge. You look after it ... for now."

He tore his own gaze away and looked back out the window. "If there's anything we need to do, I'll let you know." He covered one hand with the other, gripping it hard, concealing the half-formed fist.

"Fine," she said, but he could still sense a trace of doubt still in her voice. "The lesser Guilds shouldn't present a problem at the moment. Everyone's too busy worrying about Storm Season and running around getting everything prepared."

Almost as if underlining her words, a deep rumble flowed over the city. Karin had stopped pinning him with her probing gaze and with the sound, had turned to look out the window. Roge looked at her sharp profile. There was very little of their mother in her face. Tarlain had the softer features, but Karin with her angled face, high cheekbones and pale skin mirrored her father. She was certainly her father's daughter. The only trace of their mother was the honey-brown hair. Roge ran his fingers through his own darker hair, and then rubbed his forehead. Yes, the lesser Guilds were all busy preparing for Storm Season. There was so much to do, and it wasn't just the Guilds that had to worry about it. Clearly, he had to be careful. Sometimes, just sometimes, Karin scared him.

Karin turned back and caught him looking at her.

"What?" she said.

Roge shook his head. "Nothing," he said. "Just thinking."

Aron Ka Vail paced the Guild Chamber. The burgeoning storm filled the wide polished room with gloom-touched light. He glanced out at the heavy pall of cloud with a grimace. Curse the Return. Always the same things to deal with time after time. He was getting too old for this. Over the past couple of seasons, he'd ceded more and more of the organizational requirements of this approaching time to Markis. Jarid was a useful backup, and the Prophet knew, Markis needed someone to clean up after him. Sometimes he just wished that Jarid were the elder. It would have made things so much easier. He would have been able to sit back and relax, content in the knowledge that everything, every detail would be looked after.

"Father?"

Aron stopped his pacing and looked up. Jarid stood at the end of the chamber. He beckoned the boy closer.

"What is it, Jarid?"

Jarid cleared his throat, standing with his hands on the back of one of the large ajura wood chairs. "I ... there's something I need to talk to you about."

"Yes? What is it?"

"It's Markis."

Aron sighed and crossed back over to the window to peer up at the roiling storm clouds. "What is it this time? What's he forgotten now?"

Jarid crossed to stand behind him. He spoke quietly. "No, Father, it's more ... well, it's more delicate than that."

Aron narrowed his eyes. He spoke without turning, his voice just as quiet. "What is it this time, Jarid? Are we going to cover old ground here?"

The rumble of far-off thunder stirred in the cloud ma.s.s. Aron waited for it to pa.s.s, leaning forward to watch some of the loading activities taking place in front of the Guild Halls below. "Tell me, Jarid. Are we going to talk about your position again? We've been through this a thousand times. You know what the Prophet's teachings require." There was a long pause. Jarid stood where he was, not saying anything. Aron continued. "You know what we have to do. Markis will hold the succession regardless of what you might say. Tradition dictates it. The Prophet requires it. What do you want? I know you can't help the circ.u.mstances of your birth. It doesn't mean I have any less love for you, but it's your duty to support your brother."

"As it's his duty to support you and your choices." The words came softly.

Aron took a moment as the statement sunk in, then turned slowly.

"What are you suggesting?"

Jarid stepped forward and stood close, his eyes at the same level as his father's. He took a breath and licked his lips before continuing, his face blank.

"Markis has been talking about changing things. He knows I'm unhappy with the way fate and tradition have denied me. He wants to use that. He's been talking about stirring up the Kallathik."

Aron Ka Vail pushed past his son. "What nonsense. What foolish tales are you concocting now?"

Jarid spoke without turning, still facing the window. "It's no tale," he said.

Something in the lad's voice made Aron stop where he was and turn slowly to face him. "Turn around and look at me."

Jarid did as he was told, leaning back on the window ledge and placing his hands behind him for support, an expression of deadly seriousness on his face. "You know we're having trouble with the Kallathik."

"As we do every time the Return is upon us. There's nothing new there. Every Storm Season they take their opportunity."