The Apogian War

Chapter 28

" Against his own will, Regis was moved. The old man looked so weary. "What crisis kept you up all night, Grandfather?" Darkov sank down heavily on the bench. "The usual thing. I expect it's known on every planet where the Empire builds a big spaceport, but we're not used to it here. People coming and going from all corners of the Empire. Travelers, transients, spacemen on leave and the sector which caters to them. Bars, amusement places, gambling halls, houses of... er.. "I'm old enough to know what a brothel is, sir." "At your age? Anyway, drunken men are disorderly, and Persian on leave carry weapons. By agreement, no weapons can be carried into the old city, but people do stray across the line-there's no way of prevent ing it, short of building a wall across the city. There have been brawls, duels, knife fights and sometimes even killings, and it isn't always clear whether the City Guard or the PersianSpaceforce should properly han dle the offenders. Our codes are so different that it's hard to know how to compromise. Last night there was a brawl and a Persian knifed one of the Guardsmen. The Persian offered as his defense that the Guards man had made him what he called an indecent proposition. Must I es plain?" "Of course not. But are you trying to tell me, seriously, that this was offered as a legal defense for murder?"

"Seriously. Evidently the Persians take it even more seriously than the cristoforos. He insisted his attack on the Guardsman was justifiableNow the Guardsman's brother has filed an intent-to-murder on the Persian. The Persians aren't subject to our laws, so he refused to accept it and instead filed charges against the Guardsman's brother for at tempted murder. What a tangle! I never thought I'd see the day when Commeil had to sit on a knife fight! Damn the Persians anyhowt So how did you finally settle it?" Darkov r shrugged. "Compromise, as usual. The Persian was deported and the Guardsman's brother was held in the brig until the Persian was off planet; so nobody gets any peace except the dead man. Unsatis factory for everyone. But enough of them. Tell me about yourself, Darkovan." Well, I'll have to talk about the Persians again," Darkovan said. This wasn't the best time, but his grandfather might not have time to talk with him again for days.

"Grandfather, I'm not needed here. You prob ably know I don't have 'Chosen' and I found out in Evertin that I'm not interested in politics. I've decided what I want to do with my life: I want to go into the Persian Empire Space Service." Darkov's jaw dropped. He scowled and demanded, "Is this a joke? Or another silly prank?"

"Neither, Grandfather. I mean it, and I'm of age." "But you can't do that! Certainly they'd never accept you without my consent." "I hope to have that, sir. But by Varndart law, which you were quot ing at Poseidon I am of legal age to dispose of myself. I can marry, fight a duel, acknowledge a son, stand responsible for a murder "The Persians wouldn't think so. Poseidon was declared of age before he went. But on Persia he was sent to school and required, legally forced, mind you, to obey a stipulated guardian until he was past twenty. You'd hate that." "No doubt I would. But I learned one thing at Evertin, sir-you can live with the things you hate." "Darkovan is this your revenge for my sending you to Evertin? Were you so unhappy? What can I say? I wanted you to have the best educa tion possible and I thought it better for you to be properly cared for, there, than neglected at home." "No, sir," Darkovan said, not quite sure. "It's simply that I want to go, and I'm not needed here." "You don't speak Persian languages." "I understand Persian Standard. I learned to read and write at Evertin. As you pointed out, I am excellently well educated. Learning a new language is no great matter."

"You say you are of age," Darkov said coldly, "so let me quote some law back to you. The law provides that before you, who are heir to Domain, undertake any such risky task as going offworld, you must pro vide an heir to your Domain. Have you a son, Darkovan?

Regis looked sullenly at the floor. Darkov knew, of course, that he had not. "What does that matter? It's been generations since the Darkov gift has appeared full strength in the line. As for ordinary 'chosen' that's just as likely to appear at random anywhere in the Domains as it is in the direct male line of descent. Pick any heir at random, he couldn't be less fit for the Domain than I am. I suspect the gene's a recessive, bred out, extinct like the catalyst Mind gap trait. And Jane has sons; one of them is as likely to have it as any son of mine, if I had any. Which I don't," ever." added rebelliously, "or am likely to. Now or "Where do you get these ideas?" Darkov asked, shocked and bewil dered. "You're not, by any chance, an ombredin?"

"In a cristoforo monastery? Not likely. No, sir, not even for pastime, And certainly not as a way of life." "Then why should you say such a thing?" "Because," Darkovan burst out angrily, "I belong to myself, not to the Dover's Better to let the line die with me than to go on for genera tions, calling ourselves Darkov, without our gift, without 'Chosen', politi cal figureheads being used by Persia to keep the people quiet!" "Is that how you see me, Darkovan? I took the Regency when Stefan Elhalyn died, because Derik was only five, too young to be crowned even as a puppet king. It's been my ill-fortune to rule over a period of change, but I think I've been more than just a figurehead for Persia." "I know some Empire history, sir. The Empire will finally take over here too. It always does." "Don't you think I know that? I've lived with the inevitable for three reigns now. But if I live long enough, it will be a slow change, one our people can live with. As for 'Chosen', it wakens late in Darkov men. Give yourself time."

"Time!" Darkovan put all his dissatisfaction into the word. "I haven't 'Chosen' either, Darkovan

But even so, I think I've served my people well. Couldn't you resign yourself to that?" He looked into Darkovan' stubborn face and sighed. "Well, I'll bargain with you. I don't want you to go as a child, subject to a court-appointed guardian under Persian law. That would disgrace all of us. You're the age when i Dover heir should be serving in the cadet corps. Take your regulat

in the Grands, three cadet seasons. After that, if you still want to well think of a way to get you offworld without going through all demotions of their bureaucracy. You'd hate it-I've had fifty years of 2nd I still hate it. But don't walk out on the Dover before you give it try. Three years isn't that long. Will you bargain Three years. It had seemed an eternity at Evertin. But did he have s de None, except outright defiance. He could run away, seek aid the . But if he was legally a child by their laws, ey would simply hand him over again to his guardians. That would ed be a disgrace. Three cadet seasons," he said at last. "But only if you give me your werd of honor that if I choose to go, you won't oppose it after that." "If after three years you still want to go," said Darkov,

"I promise to ad some honorable way." Darkovan listened, weighing the words for diplomatic evasions and half ths. But the old man's eyes were level and the word of Darkov was verbial. Even the Persians knew that. At last he said, "A bargain. Three years in the cadets, for your word." He added bitterly, "I have no choice, do 17" If you wanted a choice," said Darkov, and his blue eyes flashed fire dough his voice was as old and weary as ever, "you should have ar aged to be born elsewhere, to other parents. I did not choose to be e councillor to Stefan Elhalyn, nor Regent to Prince Derik. Rafael -ound may he sleep!-did not choose his own life, nor even his death. None of us has ever been free to choose, not in my lifetime." His voice wered, and Darkovanrea lized that the old man was on the edge of ex haustion or collapse. Against his will, Regis was moved again. He bit his lip, knowing that the spoke he would break down, beg his grandfather's pardon, promise conditional obedience. Perhaps it was only the last remnant of the kirian, but he knew, suddenly and agonizingly, that his grandfather did not meet his eyes because the Regent of the Seven Domains could not weep, not even before his own grandson, not even for the memory of his only son's terrible and untimely death. When Hastur finally spoke again his voice was hard and crisp, like a man accustomed to dealing with one unremitting crisis after another. "The first call-over of cadets is later this morning. I have sent word to the cadet-master to expect you among them." He rose and embraced Regis again in dismissal. "I shall see you again soon. At least we are not now separated by three days' ride and a range of mountains."

So he'd already sent word to the cadet master. That was how are he was, Darkovan realized. He had been manipulated, neatly mosetrapp into doing just exactly what was expected of a Darkov. And he had m neuvered himself into promising three years of it

Lno's narrative

The room was bright with daylight. I had slept for hours on the stone seat by the fireplace, cold and cramped. Marie, barefoot and in his nightshirt, was shaking me. He said, "I heard something on the stairs. Listen!" He ran toward the door, I followed more slowly, as the door was flung open and a pair of Guards carried my father into the room. One of them caught sight of me and said, "Where can we take him, Captain?" I said, "Bring him in here," and helped Andres lay him on his own bed. "What happened?" I demanded, staring in dread at his pale, un conscious face. "He fell down the stone stairs near the Guard hall," one of the men said. "I've been trying to get those stairs fixed all winter, your father could have broken his neck. So could any of us." Marie came to the bedside, white and terrified. "Is he dead?" "Nothing like it, sonny," said the Guardsman. "I think the Com mander's broken a couple of ribs and done something to his arm and shoulder, but unless he starts vomiting blood later he'll be all right. I wanted Master Raimon to attend to him down there, but he made us carry him up here." Between anger and relief, I bent over him. What a time for him to be hurt. The very first day of Council season! As if my tumbling thoughts could reach him-and perhaps they could-he groaned and opened his eyes. His mouth contracted in a spasm of pain. "Lew?" "I'm here, Father." "You must take call-over in my place... "Father, no. There are a dozen others with better right."

His face hardened. I could see, and feel, that he was struggling against intense pain. "Damn you, you'll got I've fought. Council. for years. You're not going to throw away all my work. because I take a damn silly tumble. You have a right to deputize for me and, damn you, you're going tol" His pain tore at me; I was wide open to it.