The Apogian War

Chapter 41

"Do you know anything about Julian-cadet MacAran, sir?" "MacAran? Yes, he has a concussion, they took him to the infirmary, but he'll be all right in a few days. They sent for his friend to come and stay with him there. His wits were wandering, and they were afraid he'd climb out of bed andra told him to keep quiet and stay put, they say he went to sleep quiet as a baby. Con cussion's like that sometimes." Darkovan said he was glad to hear Julian was no worse, and went in to his bed. His end of the dormitory was almost empty, with Damon and Julian in the infirmary. Danilo's bed, too, was empty. He must be on night duty. He felt regretful, having hoped for a word with him, a chance, perhaps, to find out what was troubling him, make friends again. He was wakened, an hour or two later, by the sounds of heavy rain on the roof and raised voices at the doorway. The night officer was say ing, "I'll have to put you on report for this," and Danilo answering roughly, "I don't give a damn, what do you think it matters to me now?" A few minutes later he came into the room with blundering steps. What is the matter with him? Darkovan wondered. Was he drunk? He decided not to speak to him. If Danilo was drunk enough, or agitated enough, to be rude to the night officer, he might make another scene and find himself in worse trouble yet. Danilo bumped into Darkovans' cot, and Darkovan could feel that Danilo's clothing was soaked through, as if he had been wandering around in the rain. By the dim light leftnd hurt himself. But he recognized Damon's voice. He didn't seem to hear anyone else but when MacAn in the washroom at night Regis could see him blundering around, flinging his clothes off every which way, heard the bump as he threw his sword down on his clothing chest instead of hanging it on the wall. He stood under the window for a moment, n***d, hesitating, and Darkovan almost said something. He could have spoken in a low voice without attracting attention; with Damon and Julian both out of the barracks, they were a considerable distance from the other cadets. But the old agonizing fear of a rebuff seized him. He could not face the thought of another quarrel. So he remained silent, and after a time Danilo turned away and got into his own bed. Regis slept lightly, fitfully, and after a long time woke with a start, bearing again the sound of weeping. This time, although the vibration of misery was there, direct to his senses, Danilo was awake and he way really crying, softly, hopelessly, miserably. Darkovan listened to the sound for some time, wretchedly torn, unwilling to intrude, unable to endure such grief. Finally his sense of friendship drew him out of bed. He knelt beside Danilo's cot and whispered, "Dani, what's the mat ter? Are you sick? Have you had bad news from home? Is there any thing I can do?" Danilo muttered drearily, his head still turned away. "No, no, there's nothing anyone can do, it's too late for that. And for that, for that Holy Bearer of Burdens, what will my father say?" Darkovan said, in a whisper that could not be heard three feet away, "Don't talk like that. Nothing's so bad it can't be helped somehow. Would you feel better to tell me about it? Please, Dani." Danilo turned over, his face only a white blob in the darkness. He said, "I don't know what to do. I think I must be going mad-" Sud denly he drew a long, gasping sob. He said, "I can't see-who-Damon, is that you?" Darkovan whispered, "No. Damon's in the infirmary with Julian. And ev eryone else is asleep. I don't think anyone heard you coming in. I wasn't going to say anything, but you sounded so unhappy. . ." Forget ting their quarrel, forgetting everything except this was his friend in some desperate trouble, he leaned forward and laid his hand on Da nilo's bare shoulder, a shy, tentative touch. "Isn't there anything I He felt the explosion of rage and something else-fear? shame?-run ning up his arm through his fingers, like an electric shock. He drew his hand away sharply as if it had been burned. With a violent, tigerish movement, Danilo thrust Regis angrily away with both hands. He spoke in a strained whisper. "Damnable-filthy-Dover, get the hell away from me, get your stinking hands off me, you-" He used a word which made Darkovan, used as he was to Guard hall coarseness, gasp aloud and draw away, shaking and almost physically sick. "Dani, you're wrong," he protested, dismayed.

"I only thought you were sick or in trouble. Look, whatever's gone wrong with you, I haven't done anything to you, have I? You'll really make yourself ill if you on like this, Dani. Can't you tell me what's happened?" Tell you? Sharra's chains, I'd sooner whisper it to a wolf with his eth in my throat!" He gave Darkovan a furious push and said, half aloud, You come near me again, you filthy ombredin, and I'll break your stinking neck Regis rose from his side and silently went back to his own bed. His beart was still pounding with the physical shock of that bunt of violent nge which he had felt when he touched Danilo, and he was trembling with the assault on his mind. He lay listening to Danilo's strained breathing, quite simply aghast and almost physically sick under that bunt of hatred and his own failure to get through to him. Somehow he had thought that between two people, both with laran, this kind of misunderstanding could not possibly arise! He lay listening to Danilo's gasping, heard it finally subside into soft sobbing and at last into a rest less, tossing sleep. But Regis himself hardly closed his eyes that night.

Heavy rain after midnight had turned to wet snow; the day I was to leave for Aldaran dawned gray and grim, the sun hidden behind clouds still pregnant with unfallen snow. I woke early and lay half asleep, hear ing angry voices from my father's room. At first I thought Marius was getting a tongue-lashing for some minor naughtiness, but so early? Then I woke a little further and detected a quality in Father's voice never turned on any of us. All my life I have known him for a harsh, hasty and impatient man, but usually his anger was kept on a leash; the fully-aroused anger of an Alton can kill, but he was tower-disciplined, control normally audible in every syllable he spoke. Hastily I put on a few clothes and went into the central hall. "Cyan, this isn't worthy of you. Is it so much a matter of personal pride?" Lord of Light, it happened again! Well, at least, if I knew that note in Father's voice, he wouldn't get off unpunished! Cyan's voice was a heavy bass, muted to a rumble by the thick walls, but no walls could filter out my father's answering shout; "No, damn it, Cyan, I won't be party to any such monstrous-" Out in the hall I heard Dyan repeat implacably, "Not personal pride, but the honor of the Dover and the Guards." "Honor! You don't know the meaning of-" "Careful, there are some things even you cannot say! As for this-in Zandru's name, Ken, I cannot overlook this. Even if it had been your own son. Or mine, poor lad, had he lived so long. Would you be willing to see a cadet draw steel on an officer and go unpunished? If you cannot accept that I am thinking of the honor of the Guards, what of discipline? Would you have condoned such conduct even in your own bastard?" Must you draw Lno into every T'm trying not to, which is why I came directly to you with this. I do not expect him to be sensitive to a point of honor." My father cut him off again, but they had both lowered their voices. Finally Cyan spoke again, in a tone of inflexible finality. "No, don't speak to me of circumstances. If you let the respect due to the Dover be eroded away in times like this, in full sight of every insolent little cadet and bastard in Vandart, how can you speak of honor?" The violent rage was gone from my father's voice now, replaced by a heavy bitterness. He said, "Cyan, you use the truth as other men use a lie, to serve your own ends. I've known you since we were boys, and this is the first time I've come close to hating you. Very well, Cyan. You leave me no choice. Since you bring me this complaint officially, as cadet-master to commander, it shall be done. But I find it hard to be lieve you couldn't have kept it from coming to this." Dyan thrust the door open and came striding out into the hall. He gave me a brief contemptuous glance, said, "Still spying on your bet ters?" and went out. I went to the door he had left open. My father looked up at me blankly, as if he could not remember my name, then sighed and said, "Go and tell the men to gather after breakfast in the main Guard hall. All duty-lists suspended for the morning." "What...?" "Disciplinary assembly." He raised his thick, knotted hands, gnarled and stiff from the joint-disease which has ravaged him since I can re member. "You'll have to stand by. I haven't the strength for a sword breaking any more and I'm damned if I'll leave it to Cyan." "Father, what happened?" "You'll have to know," Poseidon said. "One of the cadets drew his sword on Cyan." I felt my face whiten with dismay. That was indeed something which could not be overlooked. Of course I wondered-who wouldn't?-what provocation Cyan had given. In my own cadet year, he had dislocated my arm, but even then I had known better than that. Even if two ca dets in some childish squabble drew their pocketknives, it would have been sufficient to have them both expelled in disgrace. I was amazed that my father had even tried to interfere. It seemed that for once I had misjudged Cyan. Even so, I made a quick guess at what had happened. If the MacAran boy had died of his concussion and Damon held Cyan responsi ble-three different officers had told me of the event and all of them agreed Cyan had been inexcusably rough-then Damon would have held himself honor-bound to avenge his friend. Both boys were moun tain-bred and friendship went deep in the Kilghard hills. I did not blame the boy, but I was angry with Cyan. A kinder man would have understood; Cyan, being what he was, might well have shown under standing of the love between them. Father reminded me that I would need full-dress uniform. I hurried with my tunic-laces, wanting to reach the mess hall while the men were still at breakfast. The sun had broken through the cloud cover; the melting snow lay in puddles all over the cobblestone court, but it was still gray and threat ening to the north. I'd hoped to leave the city shortly after daybreak. If it started snowing again later, I'd have a soggy journey. Inside the mess room there were sausages for breakfast, their rich spicy smell reminding me that I had not eaten yet. I was tempted to ask the orderly for a plate of them, but remembered I was in full-dress uniform. I came to the center of the crowded tables and called for at tention. As I announced the assembly, I glanced at the table where the cadets were seated. To my surprise, Julian MacAran was there, his head heavily bandaged, but there and looking only a little pale. So much for my theory about what had happened! Darkovan was there, looking so white and sick that for a moment, in dismay, I wondered if he were the dis graced cadet. But no, he would have been under arrest somewhere. My way back led me past the first-year barracks room and I heard voices there, so I stopped to see if I should repeat my message to any one. As I approached I heard the voice of old Domenic. He should have been cadet-master, I thought bitterly. "No, son, there's no need for that. Your sword is an heirloom family. Spare your father that, at least. Take this plain one." in your I had often thought during my own cadet years that old Domenic was the kindest man I had ever known. Any sword would do for break ing. The answer was soft, indistinguishable, blurred by a pain which, even at this distance, clamped around me like an iron band gripping my forehead. Hjalmar's deep voice rebuked gently, "None of that now, my lad. I'll not hear a word against Comyn. I warned you once, that your temper would get you into trouble."