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"Yes ... to what?"

She shrugged. "He's worried about his precious groundcars or something. Wants to supervise the final storage himself. I don't know."

"All right. But we know how much real influence Yosset has in the Guilds. Then there's Welfare. We have to be assured of their support."

Karin rolled her eyes. "Roge and I have already discussed all that. Tell me something important."

Men Darnak leaned forward. "It doesn't pay to become overconfident. So, you've already talked about it. Very good. And now what?"

Karin crossed her arms. "I don't think that's any real concern of yours now, Father, is it?

"What?"

"I said, I don't think it's any real concern of yours any more. I know what I'm doing. Yosset knows what's good for him, and Roge will see the logic of what I intend. What more do you need to know?"

He stared at her incredulously.

Witness Kovaar lifted his gaze and cleared is throat once more. "Principal, if I may suggest -- "

"Shut up, Kovaar! Just, shut up!" He braced himself, ready to stand. "Karin, I cannot believe you're saying this."

"Father, just sit down, will you? Sit down and listen. You passed the title of Principal to Roge. When you did that, you stepped into the background. You must have expected us to be able to perform the task you set us. You must have believed we had the capability. There is no way you could have taken such a decision without that faith. Make no mistake, Principal Men Darnak, you taught your children well."

He eased himself back into the chair. He turned to Witness Kovaar, seeking advice, a reaction, anything, but the priest had his gaze fixed firmly back in his lap. Again, he suffered a pang of regret. If Sandon had been here�

Slowly he turned to face his daughter again. "You cannot mean that."

She frowned again, this time leaning forward. "Of course I mean it." Then her features softened. "It is time, Father. It's time for you to step back, to relax. It is time for you to take some well-earned rest. Since Mother died, I've watched you. You've driven yourself, never stopping, never taking the time you need to come to terms with her passing. You have been a good teacher. You've been a good parent, despite the burdens of the Principate. We have watched and learned from you. You have prepared us well. Now it's time for you to rest. It's time to let us take the load."

He felt all the strength leave him for a moment, and he slumped back into the chair. She was right. He stared across at her, the clean features, the honey-brown hair and he glanced up at the wall behind her. There, mirroring Karin's coloring, the steady gaze, the clear open features, hung a portrait. Twelve, fifteen years old, the painting was still the woman he had wedded. Sadness and loss welled up inside him, but he pushed it down. Instead, he just felt suddenly weary. Gavina had always been the voice of reason, his steadying hand. He swallowed and pressed his lips together, seeking composure.

"No, Karin, you're right. But you cannot blame me for wanting to take a part, to help. I can't just step away."

She placed her hands gently on the table edge before her. "No, of course I don't blame you. And I know you can't. But if we need help, we'll come to you."

He looked down at his old, pale hands and pressed the fingers of one with the other. "I'm still concerned about Tarlain," he said quietly. "Have you heard nothing?"

"Roge and I talked about it. We think that the most likely place for him to have gone is the mines. He's spent so much time there over the last few months that it makes sense. He and his beloved Kallathik."

He glanced up at that, but let it pass.

"But why would he go there?" he said.

"Does it matter? He'll be as safe there as anywhere, and if he wishes to continue any of the work he started in Welfare, then that's the place for him to do it." Her voice had become all business again. He peered across at her, assessing. Sometimes he wondered at just how much hardness nestled inside her.

"So, what now, Father?" she asked. "Will you go back to your estates?"

"Well..." He considered for a moment. "I thought we might stay here for a few days. Rest up. Then, I think we might head out to the mines and find your brother. He can still be useful to you."

She shook her head emphatically. "I'm afraid that's impossible. Edvin has already told me you've got about thirty men with you. I have nowhere to put them. Not now. There's enough with getting ready for the move without my household having to put up with thirty more, and their animals and everything else. I'm not equipped for that. We're not equipped."

Again, he was forced to look at her in disbelief, then shake his head. "But we have just traveled from the estates. You don't expect us to camp in the grounds do you?"

"Absolutely not. More than thirty of you? If you had announced you were coming, I would have tried to discourage you. As it is, there's no way I can accommodate that number of people. I don't know what you were thinking, but there is simply no way. I don't know why you think you need such a large collection of hangers-on anyway."

He sat where he was, unmoving, unable to find the words.

"I believe, Principal, we might be better heading for the mines, if that's your plan," said Witness Kovaar, finally. "We should make the journey before the storms really set in."

Men Darnak answered, still staring across at Karin. "Yes, Priest, I believe you're right." He pushed his chair back and stood, still without moving his gaze from his daughter's face. "Come, we should get the group ready to leave." He turned, striding from the room, not even bothering to check if Kovaar was following, leaving Karin sitting there with a self-satisfied expression across her face.

He barely knew what he was feeling as he marched through the audience chamber. He reached out a hand and dragged the dustcover from another chest as he passed, letting it billow and fall on the stone flags behind him. At the end of the long room, he threw wide the doors and stepped out into the cloud-filled gloom. He'd already walked half a dozen paces before he noticed it was raining. He stopped, his teeth clamped firmly together and turned his face up to the sky, letting the large heavy drops beat against his face.

"Principal."

"What is it, Priest?" he said from between clenched teeth.

"We should get out of this weather. Get the men together."

Men Darnak slowly lowered his face and looked at the pathetic figure huddled beside him, stepping nervously from foot to foot. Damn him. Damn all of them.

"Yes, you're right" he said, and with a frustrated sigh, headed off toward the stables.

Twelve

Sandon scratched at his stubbled chin, then gave a wry grin. It was more than stubbled now. The itch was starting to drive him mad. He could barely remember the last time he had gone unshaven for so long. He stood just outside Alise's wagon, waiting impatiently. That was another thing he couldn't get used to. Not a single one of the Atavist community ever seemed to be in any sort of hurry. He could understand why, from spending long hours poring over the passages in the large book left to him by Badrae. Everything with a time and a place. And so said The Words of the Prophet. At first, he couldn't wait to get away, to be off to find what had happened with Men Darnak and the Principate. After the first four or five days -- it was so hard to get any sense of time amongst the Atavists -- instead, the idea that had started working in his back thoughts had started to take real shape.

He'd been here over ten days, now, but there was no real sense of urgency. The day-to-day preparations at his estates would look after themselves. They were used to his long absences on various tasks for Principal Men Darnak. He only really supervised to give himself a sense of comfort. No one would be missing him at the Principate, and the only actual person who really mattered in the equation had effectively banished him. Men Darnak would not be expecting Sandon to show up in defiance. Spending so much time with Alise hadn't hurt either. He could almost feel as if there might be a place for him here. She had ministered to him, showed real concern, even talked to him about life here among her people when pressed hard enough.

He glanced down at the old homespun robes he now wore, then ran one hand over the rough weave. It was coarse, but still slightly soft at the same time. They were much more comfortable than they looked. The thick hood guarded against cold and wind alike, and the shapeless cut hid a multitude of sins. He cleared his throat and scratched the side of his face again.

He could hear noises of her bustling about inside the wagon, getting her things together, but he knew better than to call out to hurry her up. She would take her own sweet time, just as all of them did. He scratched at his chin again -- he had to stop that -- and turned to watch the rest of the camp. Something was different today. There seemed to be more activity, all at the same unhurried pace, but there just seemed to be more.

"Sandon, ah there you are."

Turning his attention from the campsite, he swung to face her. "Yes. I was waiting for you, Alise."

She frowned reprovingly, shook her head, and then smiled. "Always in such a hurry, Sandon. I hope I did not keep you waiting too long."

"Well, no, I suppose not." He gave her a quick smile. "Not too long, anyway."

She half returned his smile, looked slightly puzzled for an instant, then seemed to dismiss whatever was troubling her. "So," she said. "Are you ready?"

He had promised to accompany her to collect some of the plants that grew further inland from the edge of the escarpment, plants that she apparently used in her treatments and remedies. He wanted to learn as much as he could now. He needed to understand the Atavist way of life as best he could in the limited time available to him if he was going to carry out his plan. There were too many dependencies right now, but at least he had a way forward. Going with Alise as she went about her errands would allow him to observe yet another aspect of their life and give him convenient opportunity to ask the hundreds of questions that kept tumbling through his head. He had to sort them out, prioritize them and talking to her helped that process.

"Come, Sandon," she said, leading off, the hand-woven basket she carried held in the crook of her arm.

"Where are we going?" asked Sandon.

She answered without breaking stride or turning around. "Up behind the hills there grows a profusion of plants. If the Prophet wills it, we will find what we need."

Her stride was quick and sure, and Sandon had to hurry to catch up. They moved through clusters of tents, the groups of Atavists performing various tasks. Everywhere, still, despite the unhurried pace of the adult population, the children ran between the tents and the tether lines. Sandon shook his head. Did the onset of puberty release some special chemical