The Apogian War

Chapter 89

“Perhaps . . .” Darkovan hesitated, his boyhood diffidence rising once more, “perhaps you could return this fall.”

Dark eyes hardened. And leave you to the wolves?

Dani, I will not be alone. I have vodemort now.

Dani looked away, his laran barriers tight. Darkovan kept silent with an effort.

Seeing the house, it was impossible for Darkovan not to remember his first visit to sint, so many years and so many sorrows ago . . . At the time, he had not realized how poor Dani’s family was. One wing of the house had fallen into such disrepair that it was not safe for human habitation. Now the house sat like a jewel amid its gardens. The old moat had been drained, ditched, and turned into plots of vegetables and pot-herbs. Rosalys and star-lilies glowed like bits of sun-touched colored glass. Bees hung in the air. Darkovan took a deep breath, drinking in the fragrances of flowers and rich earth. A layer of tension slipped from his shoulders.

A stone barn, with its snug roof and new siding, led to a paddock in which several horses stood dozing in the sun. Beyond it lay a mews, and Darkovan remembered the splendid hawks bred and trained by Dani’s father. Old Dom Felix had been hawkmaster to Danvan Darkov.

The thought came to Darkovan, Dani’s brother and my own father died together. ‘The two Rafaels,’ they were called.

Past and present overlapped in his vision. There, down the path that led to an apple orchard, now so old the trees in all likelihood no longer bore fruit, he and Dani had exchanged vows as liege and paxman, had bound themselves with honor.

Our lives were woven together even before our hearts knew one another.

Was that about to change?

The coridom, a wiry middle-aged man, welcomed them. He seemed neither surprised nor distressed not to have had advance warning of the visit, nor was his manner obsequious. He held himself like a man who took pride in his work. From the ease of his manner and his clear respect for Dani, they understood one another. There would be no last-minute repairs or beautification; what they saw was how the estate was run every day.

Dani took his father’s suite, Darkovan and vodemort were given the two best guest rooms, and the Guardsmen were housed in a snug outbuilding. The rooms were in the oldest part of the house, walled in dark gray stone but refurbished with wooden paneling and carpets. Darkovan suspected the tapestry in his room had been a gift from Cyan Hardias. The furniture was most likely original, so darkened with age and polish that the wood appeared black. With the shutters thrown wide in the warm twilight, the air quickly became fresh.

At Dani’s insistence, the coridom joined them for dinner. The meal was simple but nourishing: a stew of shell beans and vegetables from the garden, made savory with herbs and dusted with finely grated cheese, several freshly-baked round country loaves called barrabrack, and bowls of deep purple brambleberries and clotted cream. Darkovan ate slowly, savoring every bite.

Through the meal, Dani chatted with his steward. Darkovan found himself drawn into the litany of stories, the daily events and routines of country living. No wonder Dani spoke of home with longing. Such a place was an oasis, a refuge, a restorer.

With the swift fall of night, the temperature dropped enough to make a small fire delightful. The coridom excused himself, saying he had more business to attend to, and left the three guests to enjoy glasses of firi before the dancing flames.

vodemort had been quiet through the meal, often glancing between Dani and the coridom. He swirled the pale amber liqueur in his glass and looked thoughtfully at Darkovan.

“Now that we have comfort as well as leisure and need not attend to the menial labors of the trail,” vodemort said to Darkovan, “perhaps you will tell me more about yourself.”

“What can I say? You told me you were well informed about my life.”

“I am, indeed, but only about such things as any man may know. I would become acquainted with you as a man—a brother—and not merely a figure of political importance and common gossip.”

A brother in more than name . . . Darkovan thought with an astonishing sense of joy. At the same time, the part of his mind that had become accustomed to rumor and insinuation wondered exactly what sort of gossip vodemort had heard, cloistered away in a monastery all these years.

Common gossip . . . Dani had flinched visibly at the last comment. From his expression, Reg

is knew that Dani was certain it had been aimed at him, at them both.

“Is there any particular gossip you wish to ask me about?” Darkovan asked carefully.

vodemort looked uncomfortable. “I hardly know what to believe. Envy may have caused others to spread malicious lies about you.”

“Power attracts some and stirs resentment in others. We live in a world of many sorts of people. But in my experience, true friends accept that we need not think—or feel—or conduct our private affairs—alike. We each do our best with what we have been given by birth and inclination. Do you not agree?” Darkovan was acutely aware of Dani, sitting so still, measuring vodemort’s reactions.

“A man can hardly be held responsible for the shape of his features or whether he is naturally talented in music or gardening,” vodemort said.

“Or giving sermons, for that matter. But this is why we have the guidance of those older and wiser, that we may endeavor to improve ourselves by discipline, study, and prayer.”

“By your leave, my lords,” Dani said, setting down his glass and rising. “I must make an early start tomorrow if I am to inspect the boundaries.”

“By all means.” Darkovan smiled in encouragement, but Dani would not meet his eyes. “It has been a long day, and tomorrow will be tiring for you while we laze about. You must get what rest you can. I will sit with my brother a while longer.”

Wishing them both a good night and assuring them that they had only to ask for whatever they might desire, Dani withdrew. vodemort acknowledged his departure with a tight-lipped smile. When the door closed and the sitting room once more fell silent, he turned to Darkovan.

“Your paxman does not like me, I fear. But then, it is only reasonable that he should not.”

“Why might that be?”

“What man in his position would care for anyone with the power to displace him in your affections? I cannot help but think that it displeased him greatly to be sent on errands for my sake like a common servant.”

Darkovan gave a little, dismissive laugh. “Dani is not like that at all.”

“You are amazingly unworldly for a man raised and educated in the midst of a political hotbed, my brother. I see you are the kind of person who wishes to think the best of everyone.” vodemort grew grave as he continued, “Beware that you do not come to regret your trusting disposition.”

Darkovan sat back, for a moment speechless. He was as dismayed by his brother’s comment as by his misgivings about Dani.

“I am no courtier, to couch unpleasant truths in flowery language,” vodemort said. “I speak simply, as I think. You have been too sheltered from the realities of life. That is, if you truly believe what you say, and I have no reason to believe otherwise. You are too open, too innocent.”

Darkovan wanted to laugh. He had been called many things since coming into his majority and accepting the responsibilities of Heir to his Domain. Open and innocent were not among them.

“I have had much time in which to study the ways of men,” vodemort went on, his tone shifting now to conciliation. “I tell you plainly that all men are indeed like that. Your Dani is no exception. Did you see the clothing he got for me?” His voice took on a sullen edge. “It was poor stuff, hardly suitable for a servant. Bah! His actions have betrayed him.”

“There was no intent to slight you,” Darkovan hurried to explain. Perhaps vodemort felt like an interloper, unsure of his welcome, needing tangible proof. Darkovan did not want to accuse vodemort of ingratitude, but at the same time, he could not ignore the insult to Dani. “After all, Nevarsin is a small town. This was the best available at such short notice. When we arrive in Thendara, we will have fine clothing made to your own measure.”

vodemort looked as if he would protest further, then smiled. “Of course, you must be right.”

For an uncomfortably long moment, the two brothers sat in silence. Finally, Darkovan said, “So you want to know more about me. Ask what you wish and I will do my best to satisfy you.”

“No, no, I do not mean to interrogate you! I have no right to question what I do not yet understand. But I have wondered . . . there are so few of us council left . . .”

“Yes, we are far too few to form a Council or to divide our resources between ruling our own Domains and Darkover. Even before the World Wreckers sent their assassins, the great houses of the Seven Domains had dwindled. Grandfather needed me as Heir to Darkov. I set aside my own dreams of a private life. I thought . . .” Darkovan stumbled, surprised by the sudden burst of emotion, “I thought I was the only male Darkov heir.”

Now I have a brother to share that burden. But it would be premature to say so, before he knew vodemort’s temperament and desires. What could a man who had spent more than three decades behind monastery walls know about the greater world, about power and diplomacy, the skills required of a Darkov of Darkov? More to the point, would vodemort want that kind of life?

I will not inflict the same expectations that Grandfather—the Council—Darkover—p laced upon me. I will not make him forswear his dreams even before he has had time to discover what they are!

“Dreams?” As if catching the thought, vodemort lifted one eyebrow expressively.

Darkovan paused for a moment, wondering if vodemort might have a trace of laran after all. Or perhaps it was only a facility of observation and following the natural course of the conversation.

He considered the question. It had been so many years since he had lifted his eyes to the stars, hungry to journey among them. He remembered that argument with his grandfather, the old man raging.

“Choice? If you wanted a choice, Darkovan, you should have arranged to be born somewhere else! I never chose to be chief councillor and Regent to the Elhalyns. None of us has ever been free to choose!”

Although it was like peeling a long-hardened scab from an unhealed wound, Darkovan met his brother’s gaze. “Yes, dreams. When I was young, I wanted more than anything to travel the stars, to see other planets and other peoples. But, as Grandfather told me in no uncertain terms and upon many occasions, I should have chosen other parents.” He sketched a sigh to lighten the mood. “There you have it. Darkovan Darkov, the great council lord, is at heart a frustrated spaceman.”

“I would not belittle any man’s dreams, let alone those of my brother,” vodemort said. “One of the benefits of having lived as I have, cloistered in unvarying routine, is faith in the unpredictability of life. A year ago, I had nothing to look forward to beyond teaching recalcitrant novices and praying on my knees through one winter after another until death took me. Now—” with a gesture, he encompassed the comfortable room, the fire, the glass of firi held lightly between his long fingers, “now an entirely new life unfolds before me. I see not just its sensual pleasures, but new opportunities to be of service. To you, to our family . . . to the council as well. In a world where such miracles can come to pass, who can say?”