The Apogian War

chapter 27

Now what? He should go and make himself presentable for his grandfather, who would certainly send for him soon. He should get some food and sleep; kirian, he'd been told, expended so much physical and nervous energy that it was essential to compensate with extra food and rest. He should go back and apologize to Lno Faltron, who had only very reluctantly done what Darkovan himself had begged him to do.... But he was sick to death of hearing what he should dol He looked across the city that lay spread out below him.

Vandart the old town, the Trade City, the Terran headquarters and the space port. And the great ships, waiting, ready to take off for some unguess able destination. All he really wanted to do now was go to the spaceport and watch, at close range, one of those great ships. Quickly he hardened his resolve. He was not dressed for out-of-doors at all, still wearing felt-soled indoor boots, but in his present mood it mattered less than nothing. He was unarmed. So what? Persians carried no sidearms. He went down long flights of stairs, losing his way, but knowing, now that he had his wits about him, that all he had to do was keep going down till he reached ground level.

Dover Castle was no fortress. Built for ceremony rather than defense, the building had many gates, and it was easy to slip out one of them unobserved. He found himself in a dim, dawnlit street leading downhill through closely packed houses. He was keyed up, having had sleep after his hard ride yesterday, but the energizing effect of the kirian had not worn off yet, and he felt no drowsiness. Hunger was something else, but there were coins in his pockets, and he was sure that soon he would pass some kind of eating-house where workmen ate before their day's busi ness. The thought excited him with a delicious forbiddenness. He could not remember ever having been completely alone in his entire life. There had always been others ready at hand to look after him, protect him, gratify his every wish: nurses and nannies when he was small, ser vants and carefully selected companions when he was older. Later, there were the brothers of the monastery, though they were more likely to thwart his wishes than carry them out. This would be an adventure.

He found a place next to a blacksmith's shop and went in. It was dimly lit with resin-candles, but there was a good smell of food. He was briefly afraid of being recognized, but after all, what could they do to him? He was old enough to be out alone. Besides, if anyone noticed the blue-and-silver cloak with the Darkov badge, they would only think he was a Darkov's servant. The men seated at the table were blacksmiths and stable hands, drinking hot ale or jaco or boiled milk, eating foods Darkovan had never seen or smelled. A woman came to take Darkovans' order. She did not look at him. He ordered fried nut porridge and hot milk with spices in it. His grandfather, he thought with definite satisfaction, would have a fit. He paid for the food and ate it slowly, at first feeling the residual queasiness of the d**g which wore off as he ate. When he went out, feeling better, the light was spreading, although the sun had not risen. As he went downhill he found himself among unfamiliar houses, built in strange shapes of strange materials. He had obviously crossed the line into the Trade City. He could hear, in the distance, that strange water fall sound which had excited him so intensely. He must be near the spaceport. He had been told a little about the spaceport on Darkover. Darkover, which did almost no trading with the Empire, was in a unique location, between the upper and lower spiral arms of the galaxy, unusually well suited as a crossroads stop for much of the interstellar traffic. In spite of the self-chosen isolation of Darkover, therefore, enormous numbers of ships came for rerouting, bearing passengers, personnel and freight bound elsewhere. They also came for repairs and reprovisioning and for rest leaves in the Trade City. Most of the Persians scrupulously kept the agreement limiting them to their own areas. There had been a few in termarriages, a little trade, some small-very small-importation of Ter ran machinery and technology. This was strictly limited by the Darko vans, each item studied by Council before permission was given. A few licensed matrix ans were set up in the cities; a few had even gone out into the Empire. The Persians he had heard, were intrigued by Darkovan matrix technology and in the old days had laid intricate plots to uncover some of its secrets. He didn't know details, but Ken nard had told him some stories. He started, realizing that the street directly before him was blocked by two very large men in unfamiliar black leather uniforms. At their belts hung strangely shaped weapons which, Darkovan realized with a prickle of horror, must be blasters or nerve guns. Such weapons had been outlawed on Darkover since the Ages of Chaos, and Darkovan had literally never seen one before, except for antiques in a museum. These were no museum pieces. They looked deadly. One of the men said, "You're violating curfew, sonny. Until the trou ble's over, all women and children are supposed to be off the streets from an hour before sunset until an hour after sunrise." Women and children! Darkovan' hand strayed to his knife-hilt. "I am no child. Shall I call challenge and prove it?" "You're in the Persian Zone, son. Save yourself trouble." "I demand "Oh hell, one of those," said the second man in disgust. "Look here, kiddie, we're not allowed to fight duels, on duty anyhow. You come along and talk to the officer."

Darkovan was about to make an angry protest-ask a Dover heir to give an account of himself in Council season?-when it occurred to him that the headquarters building was right on the spaceport, where he was going anyway. With a secret grin he went along. After they had passed through the spaceport gates, he realized that he had actually had a better view yesterday from the mountainside. Here the ships were invisible behind fences and barricades. The space force patrolmen led him inside a building where a young officer, not in black leather but in ordinary Persian clothing, was dealing with assorted curfew violators. As they came in he was saying, "This man's all right; he was looking for a midwife and took the wrong turn. Send someone to show him back to the town." He looked up at Darkovan, standing be tween the officers. "Another one? I'd hoped we'd be through for the night. Well, kid, what's your story?"Darkovan threw his head back arrogantly. "Who are you? By what right did you have me brought here?" "My name's Dan Lawton," the man said. He spoke the same lan guage in which Darkovan had addressed him, and spoke it well. That wasn't common. He said, "I am an assistant to the Legate and just now I'm handling curfew duty.

Which you were violating, young man." One of the spaceforce men said, "We brought him straight to you, Dan. He wanted to fight a duel with us, for God's sake! Can you han dle this one?" "We don't fight duels in the Persian Zone," Lawton said. "Are you new to Vandart? The curfew regulations are posted everywhere. If you can't read, I suggest you ask someone to read them to you." Darkovan retorted, "I recognize no laws but those of the Children of Darkov!" A strange look passed over Lawton's face. Darkovan thought for a moment that the young Terman was laughing at him, but face and voice were alike noncommittal. "A praiseworthy objective, sir, but not partic ularly suitable here. The Darkovs themselves made and recognized those boundaries and agreed to amist us in enforcing our laws within them. Do you refuse to recognize the authority of Dover Council? Who are you to refuse?" Darkovan drew himself to his full height. He knew that between giant spaceforce men he still looked childishly small. the "I am Darkovan Alexandra Felix Alar Darkov y Elhalyn," he stated proudly. Lawton's eyes reflected amazement. "Then what, in the name of all your own gods, are you doing roaming around alone at this hour, Where is your escort? Yes, you look like a Darkov," he said as he pulled an intercom toward him, speaking urgently in Persian Standard. Darkovan had learned it at Evertin. "Have the Dover Elders left yet?" He lis tened a moment, then turned back to Darkovan. "A dozen of your kinfolk left here about half an hour ago. Were you sent with a message for them? If so, you came too late." "No," Dakovan confessed,

"I came on my own. I simply had a fancy to see the starships take off." It sounded, here in this office, like a childish whim. Lawton looked startled. "That's easily enough arranged. If you'd sent in a formal request a few days ago, we'd gladly have arranged a tour for any of your kinsmen.

At short notice like this, there's nothing spectacular going on, but there's a cargo transport about to take off for Vega in a few minutes, and I'll take you up to one of the viewing platforms. Meanwhile, could I offer you some coffee?" He hesitated, then said, "You couldn't be Lord Darkov, that must be your father?" "Grandfather. For me the proper address is Lord Darkovan." He accepted the proffered Persian drink, finding it bitter but rather pleasant. Dan Lawton led him into a tall shaft which rose upward at alarming speed, opening on a glass-enclosed viewing terrace. Below him an enormous cargo ship was in the final stages of readying for takeoff with refueling cranes being moved away, scaffoldings and loading plat forms being wheeled like toys to a distance. The process was quick and efficient. He heard again the waterfall sound, rising to a roar, a scream. The great ship lifted slowly, then more swiftly and finally was gone... out, beyond the stars. Darkovan remained motionless, staring at the spot in the sky where the starship had vanished. He knew there were tears in his eyes again but he didn't care. After a little while Lawton guided him down the elevator shaft. Darkovan went as if sleepwalking, Resolve had suddenly crystal hired inside him. Somewhere in the Empire, somewhere away from the Domains which had no place for him, there must be a world for him.

A world where he could be free of the tremendous burden laid on the Dover, a world where he could be himself, more than simply heir to his Domain, his life laid out in preordained duties from birth to grave. The Domain? Let Jane's sons have it! He felt almost intoxicated by the smell of freedom. Freedom from a burden he'd been born to-and bom unfit to bear! Lawton had not noticed his preoccupation. He said, "I'll arrange an escort for you back to Dover Castle, Lord Regis. You can't go alone, put it out of your mind. Impossible." "I came here alone, and I'm not a child." "Certainly not," Lawton said, straight-faced, "but with the situation in the city now, anything might happen. And if an accident occurred, I would be personally responsible." He had used the casta phrase implying personal honor. Darkovan lifted his eyebrows and congratulated him on his command of the language. "As a matter of fact, Lord Darkovan, it is my native tongue. My mother never spoke anything else to me. It was Persian I learned as a foreign language." "You are Darkovan?" "My mother was, and kin to Dover. Lord Hardais is my mother's cousin, though I doubt he'd care to acknowledge the relationship." Darkov thought about that as Lawton arranged his escort. Relatives far more distant than that were often seated in Dover Council. This Persian officer-half-persian-might have chosen to be Darkovan. He had as much right to a Dover seat as Lno Faltron, for instance. Lno could have chosen to be Persian, as Darkovan was about to choose his own future. He spent the uneventful journey across the city thinking how he would break the news to his grandfather. In the Darkov apartments, a servant told him that Danvan Darkov was awaiting him. As he changed his clothes-the thought of presenting himself before the Regent of Dover in house clothes and felt slippers was not even to be contemplated-he wondered grimly if Lno had said anything to his grandfather. It occurred to him, hours too late, that if anything had happened to him, Darkov might well have held Lno re sponsible. A poor return for Lno's friendship! When he had made himself presentable, in a sky-blue dyed-leather tunic and high boots, he went up to his grandfather's audience room.

Inside he found Danvan Darkov of Darkov, Regent of the Seven Domains, talking to Posiedon Faltron. As he opened the door, Darkov raised his eyebrows and gestured to him to sit down. "One moment, my lad, I'll talk to you later." He turned back to Poseidon and said in a tone of endless patience, "Poseidon, my friend, my dear kineman, what you ask is simply impossible. I let you force Lno on us "Have you regretted it?" Poseidon demanded angrily. "They tell me at Aril that he is a strong Mind gapper, one of their best. In the Guard he is a competent officer. What right have you to assume Marie would bring disgrace on the Dover?" "Who spoke of disgrace, kinsman?" Darkov was standing before his writing table, a strongly built old man, not as tall as Poseidon, with hair that had once been silver-gilt and was now nearly all gray. He spoke with a slow, considered mildness. "I let you force Lno on us and I've had no reason to regret it. But there is more to it than that. Lno does not look Dovern, no more than you, but there is no question in any one's mind that he is and your son. But Marie? Impossible." Poseidon's mouth thinned and tightened. "Are you questioning the paternity of an acknowledged n son?" Standing quietly in a corner, Darkovan was glad Poseidon's rage was not turned on him. "By no means. Buthas his mother's blood, his mother's face, his mother's eyes. My friend, you know what the first-year cadets go through in the Guards...." "He's my son and no coward. Why do you think he would be incom petent to take his place, the place to which he is legally entitled "Legally, no. I won't quibble with you, pos, but we never recognized your marriage to Ely. Marie is legally, as regards inheritance and Domain-right, entitled to nothing whatever.

We gave Lew that right. Not by birth entitlement, but by Council action, because he was Faltron, mind gaper, with full "Chosen". Marie has received no such rights from Coun cil." He sighed. "How can I make you understand? I'm sure the boy is brave, trustworthy, honest-that he has all the virtues we Dover's demand of our sons. Any lad you reared would have those qualities. Who knows better than I? But Marie looks Persian. The other lads would tear him to pieces. I know what Lno went through. I pitied him, even while I admired his courage. They've accepted him, after a fashion. They would never accept Marie. Never. Why put him through that misery for nothing?" Poseidon clenched his fists, striding angrily up and down the room. His voice choked with rage, he said,

"You mean that I can get a cadet relation, or for my bastard son by a w***e of an i***t, sooner than for my own legitimately born younger son commission "Poseidon, if it were up to me, I'd give the lad his chance. But my hands are tied. There has been enough trouble in Council over citizen ship for those of mixed blood. Cyan "I know all too well how Cyan feels. He's made it abundantly clear." Cyan has a great deal of support in Council. And Marie's mother for some poor was not only Persian but half-Alsha. If you had hunted over Vandartha for a generation, you could not have found a woman less likely to be ac cepted as the mother of your legitimate sons."

Poseidon said in a low voice, "It was your own father who had me sent to persia, by the will of Council, when I was fourteen years old. Ely was reared and schooled on persia, but she thought of herself as Vandart I did not even know of her Persian blood at first. But it made no difference. Even had she been all Persian He broke off. "Enough of that. It is long past and she is dead. As for me, I think my record and reputation, my years commanding the Guard, my ten years at Aril, prove abundantly what I am." He paced the floor, his uneven step and distraught face betraying the emotion he tried to keep out of his voice. "You are not a mind gaper, Darkov. It was easy for you to do what your caste required of you. The Gods know I tried to love Caitlin It wasn't her fault. But I did love Ely, and she was mother to my sons." "Poseidon, I'm sorry. I cannot fight the whole Council for Marie he chosen?" "I have no idea. Does it matter so much?" "If he had the Faltron gift, it might be possible, not easy but possible, to establish some rights for him. There are precedents. With 'Chosen' even a distant kinsman can be adopted into the Domains. Without it ...no, Poseidon. Don't ask. Lnois accepted now, even respected. Don't ask more." Poseidon said, his head bent, "I didn't want to test Lew for the Faltron gift. Even with all my care, it came near to killing him. Darkov, I can not risk that again! Would you, for your youngest son?" "My only son is dead," Darkov said and sighed. "If I can do anything else for the boy-" Poseidon answered, "The only thing I want for him is his right, and that is the one thing you will not give. I should have taken them both to Persia. You made me feel I was needed here." "You Pos, and you know it as well as I." Darkov's smile was very are, sweet and troubled. "Some day, perhaps, you may see why I can't do,

what you wish." His eyes moved to Darkovan, fidgeting on the bench. He said, "If you will excuse me, Poseidon... It was a courteous but definite dismissal. Poseidon withdrew, but his face was grim and he omitted any formal leave-taking. Darkov looked tired. He sighed and said, "Come here, Darkovan Where have you been? Haven't I trouble enough without worrying that you've run away like a silly brat, to look at the spaceships or something like that?" "The last time I gave you too much trouble, Grandfather, you sent me into a monastery. Isn't it too bad you can't do it again, sir?" "Don't be insolent, you young pup," Darkov growled. "Do you want me to apologize for having no welcome last night? Very well, I apolo gize. It wasn't my choice." He came and took Darkovan in his arms, press ing his withered checks one after another to the boy's. "I've been up all night, or I'd think of some better way to welcome you now." He held him off at arm's length, blinking with weariness. "You've grown, child. You are very like your father. He would have been proud, I think, to see you coming home a man.