The Apogian War

Chapter 88

“Vai dom, he is not my brother, but yours. Therefore, your opinion is the only one that counts.”

Darkovan frowned. “Don’t go all vai dom on me! It’s clear you don’t like him, but I don’t understand why. He was perfectly polite.”

“He was perfectly glib.”

“What the devil do you mean by that?”

“Darkovan, you can’t have it both ways. If you ask for my opinion and I offer it against my better judgment, you have only yourself to blame if you dislike what you hear. Or would you have me bow and scrape and agree with every blockheaded thing you say, like a courtier?”

“I expect—” Darkovan realized he was on the edge of losing his temper. What was wrong with Dani? Why was he acting this way? Darkovan drew in a breath and began again. “I expect you to give my brother a fair chance, taking into consideration his lack of worldly experience. If you won’t do it as a matter of fairness, then do it as a personal favor to me. He’s going to have enough difficulties adjusting to his new life without you censuring him before you even know him!”

With a snort of exasperation, Dani got up and went to the door leading to the bedroom. From where he sat, Darkovan could see four narrow beds, straw-tick mattresses on simple wooden frames, a washstand and a couple of chairs. Their baggage had been stacked neatly beside the nearest bed. Without another word, Dani began unpacking and making up two of the beds with a precision that would have made a Cadet Master proud.

Darkovan poured himself a mug of jaco and sipped it, staring into the fire. Why could there not be peace between the people he loved? Why did it always come down to a choice?

Darkovan was still turning over these depressing questions when Brother Valentine arrived. Dani, having finished preparing for the coming night, joined them in the sitting room.

At the insistence of Darkovan, Valentine took one of the chairs. He smiled as he settled against the cushions, clearly enjoying the unaccustomed comfort.

“You may not remember me,” the monk said, once they had resumed their conversation, “but I have kept myself informed about you, little brother. Although they call me Valentine, after the holy saint who founded this order, I was named vodemort. You may call me that if you would claim me as kin.”

“I am in need of kinsmen, for we are so few,” Darkovan said with a sigh.

“Tell me, have you thought—would you be willing to come with me to Thendara, to take up your place as a Darkov?”

vodemort regarded him with those strange gray eyes. “Until your message arrived, I never expected to enter the world. I understood there is little acceptance for one such as I.”

“I intend to have you formally legitimatized,” Darkovan said quickly. “Then no one will question your right—”

“No, no, that is not what I meant.” vodemort protested. “Our grandfather could have done the same, but he chose not to, for reasons that seemed good to him.”

“Your . . . difference, you mean.”

“You are too courteous to ask,” vodemort said, “so I will tell you straight out. I would not have you think I withheld the truth in order to curry your favor. We do not speak of such things here at St. Valentine’s, but I believe I am emmasca. That is, I am shaped as other men, or I could not live among the brothers. Although I admit to being curious, I have never had the opportunity to lie with a woman, but I am not indifferent to the prospect. As to fathering a child, who can say, but from everything I know about my condition, I cannot believe it possible.”

Darkovan looked away. So his first impression was correct. Yet to be born emmasca and without laran would be very strange indeed, since the telepathic genes ran so strongly in their chieri ancestors.

vodemort paused. “Do you wish to withdraw your offer, now that you know what I am?”

“We are not living in the Ages of Chaos, when a man’s value was measured by his pedigree, his laran, his ability to father children, or anything else except the quality of his character,” Darkovan said with feeling.

vodemort gave him a long, measuring look. “Bare is a brotherless back, as they say?”

“As they say. Darkov does not need another stud horse to breed heirs, but I have need of a brother.”

“It seems that I am indeed called to be of service in the outer world. To my family . . . to my brother,” vodemort inflected the word with a warmth that brought a rush of pleasure to Darkovan. “In that case, I will petition Father Master for a release from my vows. He has already indicated he would do so if I wished.”

“I welcome you to the family with a joyful heart,” Darkovan said.

vodemort bowed his head in a gracious gesture. “As you know, we monks are not permitted to own property. Even my robe and sandals and the wooden bowl and spoon I eat with do not belong to me. You must provide me with clothing suitable to my rank and a means of transportation.”

Was there a hint of reproach beneath the words delivered with all civility? Although of equal blood, Darkovan had e

njoyed all the privileges and luxuries that the Heir to a Domain might expect, while his brother had languished in obscure poverty.

“It will be my pleasure to furnish you with all that you require,” Darkovan gently assured his brother. “Dani, I leave the matter in your capable hands. There must be a stable or horse market where you can obtain a mount for my brother.”

“You can ride, I suppose?” Dani asked vodemort, a little stiffly.

“I have made sure I could, although I learned on a stag- pony, not a proper horse. I will do my best not to disgrace you.”

As they sat at their ease, Darkovan went on, “I am afraid that any clothing to be found in Nevarsin will fall short of the elegance proper to a son of Darkov. Once we reach Thendara, I will order an appropriate wardrobe for you.”

“That is most generous of you, little brother.”

“It is no more than you deserve,” Darkovan returned with a smile.

“You have convinced me,” vodemort replied. “I believe you are right. I deserve the best, even if I must wait to receive it.”

In the presence of the monastery community, gathered together in the chapel, the Father Master performed the ceremony that formally released vodemort from his vows. He would no longer bear the name of Brother Valentine or be bound by the rules of the order. If only, Darkovan thought, there were such a council ritual for himself.

The monks embraced their former brother for the last time, exchanging blessings and wishes for peace. The ceremony concluded with a speech by the Father Master exhorting vodemort and every other man present to faithfully and scrupulously adhere to the principles set forth by the holy saints, to emulate the Holy Bearer of Burdens, to keep themselves pure through the Creed of Chastity, and to redeem their sins by acts of charity and penance.

“Never stray from the path of righteousness!” The Father Master’s thunderous voice filled the chapel. “Accept your burdens . . . no, rejoice in them! Remember always—Righteousness flourishes under the lash of discipline!”

A lifetime of sitting through formal events had given Darkovan the ability to look interested no matter how bored or irritated he felt. He allowed the lecture to wash over him, paying little heed to its content. He was a guest here, an observer only But Dani, who was an adherent to this faith, what must this tirade be like for him? Darkovan stole a glance at his companion, sitting a short distance away. Dani’s cheeks had gone pale.

As they made ready to depart, Dani was taut and silent. He answered Darkovan in monosyllables. Darkovan did not press the issue. Dani would speak to him in his own time or deal with his feelings in his own way.

vodemort was in high spirits, excited by every aspect of the journey. When he was presented with his mount, however, he seemed less than pleased. The horse Dani had found for him was almost as small and shaggy as the local ponies. The rust-brown gelding had a scrawny neck and a loose, hanging lower lip, but the slope of his shoulders and the sturdy bone beneath the knee promised an easy gait. Darkovan knew enough of the mountain breeds to have confidence in the animal’s ability to carry a large man over rough terrain and to thrive on poor forage. This horse was a practical choice, if less than beautiful.

Dani had also obtained warm, serviceable clothing, trousers, jacket, and riding cloak of mixed sheep and chervine wool for extra water repellence. Neither the garments nor the boots were new; the pants were stained, and the leather was worn to softness that would minimize blisters.

Darkovan caught a flash of quickly masked disappointment in his brother’s face. It was gone in an instant, as if it had never been, a faint tightening of eyes and mouth, a glace at Dani. Darkovan opened his mouth to explain that such clothing and such a horse were the best that could be had and would be far more comfortable than anything new or flashy. He stopped himself. What was he doing, making excuses for Dani? Surely, vodemort could see the true quality of these things, and when they were settled in Thendara, more elaborate garb, suitable for a Darkov Lord, could readily be ordered.

11

Several days later, the party set off from Nevarsin, traveling at an easy pace. As a peace offering to Dani, Darkovan suggested that they break their return journey at sint, Dani’s ancestral home.

“There’s no need to hurry back.” Darkovan did not need to add that it might be a long time before he had another opportunity to escape the city and the weight of his new duties.

“I would appreciate that,” Dani replied. “Since my father’s death, I have had few opportunities to oversee the estate. My coridom manages well enough, but it is still my responsibility to examine the accounts and ascertain for myself that all is in order. It—” and here a shade of emotion crept into his voice, “—it will be good to be home again.”

vodemort responded with easy-going cheerfulness to the change in plans. Darkovan supposed that his brother had traveled so little in the world that any new place must be a pleasure. Despite his disappointment at being given worn clothing and an ugly mount, vodemort was a pleasant traveling companion. Darkovan never heard him utter a syllable of complaint.

sint lay half a mile off the road to Edelweiss, where Jane and her family had once lived. The manor was situated at the end of a valley, leading downward to the lake country around Mariposa. Grass grew lush along the road. Mice and rabbithorns scurried away at their approach. Cattle grazed in the fields, lazily swishing away flies. One of the Guardsmen, a fine baritone, began an old ballad from the Kilghard Hills.

As they traveled through a little village, Dani was instantly recognized and welcomed. Drawing near the main house, the party passed orchards of apple, pear, and ambernuts. The trees looked well-pruned and healthy, laden with fruit.

“It will be a good harvest,” Darkovan commented.

Dani, who had been riding silently at his side, turned to Darkovan with an expression of bittersweet contentment. “Yes.” But I will not be here to see it.