The Apogian War

Chapter 95

Was that what vodemort wanted? Or did he simply not see the logical progression of consequences?

Wishing he could be anywhere but in that suddenly hostile chamber, Darkovan conceded that vodemort had been right. He had been a very unworldly, optimistic person after all.

Darkovan could see only one way of avoiding the destruction of the world he loved. “Vai council, these are indeed unpredictable times, and as Dom vodemort has so eloquently pointed out, change breeds uncertainty. We must look to our strengths for guidance and stability: our connections with one another and with the past, our unique Gifts, our love for this world and its people. Now more than ever, Darkover needs all our leaders.”

“No one questions your qualifications, Lord Darkov,” said the Castamir lord. Others nodded agreement, Ruyven among them.

“I have called you here out of respect for our ancient traditions. Set your minds at rest, I have no intention of relinquishing my responsibilities as Head of my Domain. Honor demands no less. As has been pointed out, we are not so many that we can afford to exclude one who has so much to contribute. For this reason, I ask for your approval of full council rights for my brother as a member of Darkov.”

“There is ample precedent for a younger son to hold a Domain,” Dani said, looking pointedly at vodemort.

“Yes, that is true,” the Monterey lord agreed in a quavering voice. “Lord Darkovan Darkov has already been recognized as Head of his Domain. The legitimacy of his brother, whose attributes, however worthy of a devotional life, hardly qualify him to administer a Domain, does not alter that fact. Of course, if Dom Darkovan himself were to abdicate, that would be an entirely different matter. Or if vodemort were to marry and produce a male heir, which is . . . ah, unlikely . . . the legal precedents . . . ah, yes. But neither of these situations pertains.”

“Put that way, I see no reason to object,” Ruyven said. “It seems to me as good a compromise as any. Dom Darkovan will retain the position he already holds, and Darkov will gain another member, but one out of the line of succession.”

“Aye . . .” Murmurs of agreement filled the room. Some, including Lady Marilla, looked frankly relieved. vodemort held back, his expression unreadable. To Darkovan, he did not have the air of a man entirely pleased with the outcome. He’d wanted Darkovan out of the way, that much was clear, and now he had not one but two Darkovs to contend with.

vodemort was too crafty to let any trace of disappointment show. As everyone rose to leave, he congratulated Darkovan on a matter well handled and then spoke to vodemort, but for somewhat longer than courtesy required.

When, at last, the socializing came to an end, Darkovan felt thoroughly wrung out, like an old rag that had been used too many times and left soggy all winter. The last time he had used such an object was in his time as a cadet. Dani, he recalled, had been far more adept at scrubbing stone floors.

Dani . . .

There he was, standing just outside the door. Darkovan yearned for a private moment, to feel the strength of his bredhyu, that sense of acceptance deeper than words. Of all the men in Thendara, none would understand better than Dani what Darkovan had done, the price he had paid. The corridor was far too public for any semblance of intimacy, howeve

r, and vodemort was waiting, overflowing with excitement, wanting to discuss every detail of the meeting. Darkovan had only a moment to meet Dani’s dark, compassionate gaze.

13

Summer descended on Thendara, and lengthening days brightened the city. The social season enjoyed a brief, frenzied renewal with the ball held in vodemort’s honor. Almost every dignitary in Thendara attended, those few from major council houses and any minor nobility who could be found, wealthy commoners, and a good portion of the Telepath Council. Only the Terrans were lacking; Dan Lawton had been invited, but he had declined. Darkovan was not entirely sure why, but he sensed some continuing family difficulty.

As the evening approached, Darkovan found himself uneasy, although he rejoiced in the evident pleasure of his brother. He had never felt comfortable in large assemblies. Since his first entry into society, people had stared at him, openly or covertly, out of curiosity or envy. He felt himself measured against his grandfather and the lineage of great Darkov leaders, against the prowess of the other cadets, against the stories that sprang up wherever he went. He hated the whispers and insinuations, but worst of all was the adulation. How could one man live up to everything they said he had done?

As Darkovan moved through the glittering crowd in the main ballroom of council Castle, he was not sure whether the shift of public interest from himself to vodemort was a good thing. Mostly, he felt a sense of relief at not being the sole object of gossip.

Dani shadowed him, discreet as usual, the exemplary paxman.

Despite the lively music and air of festivity, Darkovan danced little and only with his sister. Jane loved to dance and had few opportunities. She had grown up in a generation when it was improper for a woman to dance with any man not a kinsman or husband. This night, Gabiru had been called away at the last minute to sort out a disturbance in the Trade City. Darkovan did not want Jane to be too disappointed. If Linnea had been there, he would have asked her as well, but she was not.

Although he did not dance, vodemort took great apparent delight in watching. His eyes followed the ladies gliding through the patterned steps. Not indifferent, indeed, Darkovan thought. It was a shame that as a novice and then a monk, his brother had never learned to dance. The old Darkovan proverb went, “Only men laugh, only men weep, only men dance.” During his three years of study at Nevarsin, Darkovan had returned home for Midsummer and Midwinter Festivals, so he had never thought about how the monks might celebrate. He stood at vodemort’s side, watching two of the cadet officers begin the Hellers Sword Dance. vodemort, who had been smiling and tapping one foot in time to the music, stiffened.

“Is something amiss, brother?” Darkovan asked. “All this elegance must be a bit bewildering to you.”

vodemort looked abashed, but did not lower his gaze. “The evening was enjoyable enough, until . . .” His gaze flickered to the two cadets, now dancing very close to one another, leaping and twirling with such precision that they seemed to be one being.

“The Sword Dance is a bit barbaric, I admit,” Darkovan said, “but it is very old, from the deep Hellers, and traditional at council gatherings. When I was young, Cyan Hardias was famous for his performance. Rest assured, the swords are not used as weapons; if anyone gets hurt, it is from overexertion and muscle strain.”

“The swords do not offend me.”

“What then?” Darkovan wondered at the use of the word offend.

vodemort inclined his head toward Darkovan, so that they could not be easily overheard. “It is indecent for two men to—to comport themselves in such an unseemly fashion.”

What, dancing together? Even as Darkovan thought this, the two dancers came together for one of the complicated duet figures, arms flung over one another’s shoulders, each in turn using the other for balance and support during the increasingly wild acrobatics. Both men were breathing hard, their faces flushed and gleaming with sweat, their eyes alight with savage joy as they threw themselves into the stylized martial movements. From their excitement, the intensity of their awareness of one another, and the closeness of their bodies, they might almost be lovers . . .

“They are not—” Darkovan began. “And even if they were, that is hardly indecent. This is Thendara, not St. Valentine’s.”

Darkovan faced his brother directly. He could no longer put off addressing the cristoforo attitude toward homosexuality, although he was not ready to confront vodemort with his own nature in the middle of such a public gathering.

“Among the council, it is not considered disgraceful but proper for young unmarried men to turn to one another rather than to such women who are common to all. Most set aside the physical joining when they marry, but the ties of devotion and loyalty remain. A few continue to find their deepest connection to other men, but they are no less honorable for it.”

vodemort was trembling, visibly fighting for control. Darkovan could not read the emotion beneath the outward physical signs, only its intensity. Could it be that vodemort, like himself, struggled between his s****l preferences and the deeply implanted guilt from years of indoctrination?

No, whatever passions drove vodemort, Darkovan did not think that suppressed love of men was one of them. He must give his brother more time to accustom himself to life outside the monastery.

“I know you have been taught otherwise, and so was I,” Darkovan said as kindly as he could, “but the world is far larger and more varied than one isolated snowbound corner. In time, I hope you will see that such private, individual choices pose no threat to anyone else and that you can respect and even admire those who are made differently. It is a difficult adjustment, but for tonight, you need not remain if the dance offends you.” Deliberately, Darkovan repeated the same word. Offend.

If thy right arm offend thee, cut it from thy body. The words of the ancient cristoforo scripture echoed in memory. As an adolescent, Darkovan had been appalled at the injunction, and perhaps that was why he could never forget it.

“No one will think ill of you if you retire early.” Darkovan kept his voice encouraging. “You are not accustomed to such energetic activity late at night. Shall I ask Dani to attend you, or do you remember your way back to your rooms?”

“I am indeed overtired. A period of cleansing prayer will restore me. Do not trouble your paxman on my account. If it is improper for me to walk alone from one part of the Castle to another, then one of the Guardsmen can do as well.”

With that, vodemort bowed to Darkovan and went to take his leave of Jane, as the evening’s hostess. Darkovan watched with relief as Jane smiled and patted vodemort’s arm in a sisterly way. A moment later, vodemort disappeared through the archway at the back of the ballroom, one of the older Guardsman marching smartly in his wake.

The following morning, Darkovan breakfasted late with Jane and her family. She had transformed the blandly impersonal parlor into an intimate family room. Cushions with brightly colored needlepoint, some of it obviously the work of her daughters, were piled on the divan. A table nearby held a vase of flowers and several open books; a flute had been left on the divan itself.

Gabiru had already left for morning roster, but Mikhail and Ariel greeted Darkovan warmly. Ariel had not been allowed to attend the dance and was bursting with questions that, she insisted, her older brother was incapable of answering properly. Who had worn what and danced with whom? Darkovan did his best, despite her growing impatience with his answers.