The Apogian War

Chapter 104

“Perhaps,” Darkovan agreed. “But the monastery is not so unworldly as that. There, as everywhere, some men scheme and others collaborate to their own advantage or a***e the trust of others. vodemort may have led a sheltered life in some respects, but he is not inexperienced in the ways of men. Besides, he trusts me and wants my good will. If vodemort is content to have me gone, and if vodemort is then free to seek the guidance and adv

ice of worthy men, the result may not be so terrible after all. And Mikhail will be restored to us.”

But Dani will not . . .

Surely, vodemort will not hold him once he has what he wants, Linnea said to Darkovan mentally.

I—I do not know.

“I do not know vodemort,” Linnea mused, “but I cannot imagine any brother of yours being entirely lacking in firm opinions.”

Jane snorted, and Linnea glanced at Darkovan, a touch of mischief in her eyes, as if to say that proved her point about the Darkov wilfulness.

“It is too soon to tell,” Darkovan said, trying to sound hopeful. “vodemort may find vodemort less malleable than he hoped. Power changes men and none so much as the lordship of Darkov. I admit I will not be entirely sorry to be free of it.”

In answer to Jane’s question, Darkovan added, “The abdication announcement will take place in the Crystal Chamber. vodemort’s delusional if he thinks he can resurrect the council Council, but I don’t expect him to take my word for it.”

At this, Linnea smiled wryly, perhaps remembering the struggles that led to the abandonment of that body and the establishment of the Telepath Council.

“I don’t know if I would do any better in your place, Darkovan,” Jane said after a pause. “What is to become of the rest of us?”

“You and Gabiru and your other children, nothing. I hope vodemort does not mean to overturn all order in Thendara. As vodemort has no wife, he had asked me to convey his hope that you will continue as chatelaine of the Castle. There is no question of Gabiru’s position as Commander of the Guards. Half the city would rise in outrage if he were to be dismissed. Once Mikhail is freed, I will make provision for his safety in case vodemort changes his mind.”

“The estate at Armiday—” Jane began.

Darkovan shook his head. “—cannot be well defended, and I would rather not create a reason for it to be attacked. It would be better to convince vodemort that Mikhail poses no threat.”

Linnea looked at him as if she had had the same thought, that few places in the Domain were truly safe, even if Mikhail had the aptitude for Tower work and could shut himself away at Arilinn or Neskaya.

And Linnea herself, Darkovan thought with a frisson of panic. What if vodemort decides his hold on me is not sufficient and goes after her? If she were still a Keeper, she might defy him, but as she is . . . carrying our son . . .

He thrust the idea from his mind, praying she had not sensed his fear.

Meanwhile, Jane had gotten to her feet, rearranged her hair and skirts, and set about putting the room to rights. Work would steady her, Darkovan thought.

Darkovan departed to make his own preparations for his move back to the townhouse. He dared not ask Linnea to come with him. Her best hope lay in the illusion that he no longer cared for her. How long that deception would hold, he did not know.

18

The Crystal Chamber was the last place Darkovan wanted to be, and he thought it ironically fitting that vodemort Ridenow had chosen it for the abdication speech. The chamber had been the meeting place of the council Council from time out of memory, and it struck Darkovan as nothing short of pretentious for the small remnants to gather as if they were still the ruling faction in the Domains. True, the Telepath Council had not lived up to his hopes of a broadly inclusive fellowship of those with psychic talent, and true, its internal bickering and inertia, its inability to unite in common cause, had paralyzed any hope of effective leadership. As he waited in the private entrance to the Darkov section, Darkovan wondered if a smaller, unified council Council might be able to accomplish something. But was that a good thing or an invitation to tyranny?

Beyond the dusty curtain that once shielded Darkov women from public view, Darkovan heard the sounds of people entering and taking their places in the sections reserved for their Domains. Footfalls echoed, for the chamber held only a fraction of the assembly for which it had been designed. If he closed his eyes and reached out with his laran, he could feel the ghosts of the great council lords and ladies, Keepers, and leroni whose lives had been given meaning in this place. Were they watching him now, waiting to see how he would conduct himself?

Did the spirit of his grandfather watch him as well? For an instant, Darkovan almost believed it.

He felt the assembly waiting—Gabiru by the massive double doors, Jane boldly in the front of the Darkov section, Linnea—ah! Linnea!—in the dim recesses under the Alton banner, vodemort like a glowing ember across the room. The others were phantoms with less substance than the echoes of the great men and powerful Keepers of the past.

The telepathic dampers hummed into life, and he sensed nothing beyond the sickness in the pit of his own belly. Although the waiting was a torment in itself, he held himself still until he heard a booming male voice, one of Gabiru’s lieutenants, rolling out his many names and titles. At any other time, he would have shrunk from such ostentation.

“Darkovan-R afael Felix Alar Darkov y Elhalyn . . . Warden of Darkov . . .”

Darkovan had never wanted spectacle and mythic adoration, and yet these were what his Grandfather had drilled into him, what the people on the street expected. So many times he had longed to be free of it, and now that his wish was granted, he felt nothing.

He pushed aside the curtain and took his seat in the front row of the Darkov enclosure, the same seat his Grandfather had used. vodemort would enter later, on vodemort’s summons.

Darkovan took a moment to survey the Crystal Chamber and the faces washed by the pastel rainbow light from the prismed ceiling. Some looked grave, others confused, a few desolate. He glanced toward the Ridenow area long enough to notice Mikhail there, sitting between two burly men. The boy looked shaken but well enough to stand on his own. vodemort had kept his word.

“Kinsmen, nobles, councilarii,” Darkovan began, “I welcome you to Council.” These were the same words his Grandfather had used. He could think of no more fitting farewell.

After he finished the formal greeting and the roll call of the Domains, such as it was, Darkovan drew out the paper bearing the speech he was to deliver. He had not written it; vodemort had, and Darkovan saw no reason to pretend otherwise. He would read it word for word, giving his enemies no cause to charge him with equivocation. If this was what they required as the price of Dani’s life and Mikhail’s freedom, then they would have it.

The words came awkwardly to his tongue. vodemort was not much of a writer, although the legalistic language was inescapable. There was nothing that could be misinterpreted, no vague stipulations, no euphemisms. All intention was made clear, even as vodemort had commanded.

In his misery, Darkovan had given no thought to how deeply the silence, the horrified listening, would affect him. Not a hand twitched or a murmur breathed during the entire speech.

At last, it was over. The speech had not been a long one. Sweat dampened his neck. He was glad he had not eaten. Then the same officer shouted out vodemort’s name, the great double doors parted with a distant booming sound, and vodemort entered.

To his credit, vodemort carried himself well. Instead of ornate courtly dress, he wore a long belted robe in the Darkov colors, of costly materials but simply cut, subtly evoking the life he was now to leave behind forever. The fabric flowed with his stately strides. He came to a halt under the central prism, facing the Darkov section.

Now came the most difficult part of the ceremony. To Darkovan, it was enough that he state in public the validity of his older brother’s claim. But vodemort insisted on a more powerful symbol of the transfer of power.

Darkovan opened the railing gate, crossed the polished floor and stood before his brother. Then, with numbed dignity, he knelt.

The only saving grace was that Dani was not here to see it. Or Grandfather or Lno, or even Cyan Hardias.

He heard a sob, muffled and indistinct, from somewhere in the Chamber.

The formal oath of fealty was brief. Darkovan had heard it a hundred times, mostly when it was offered to himself. His throat went dry and his voice felt like parchment over stone, but he held steady. He would not disgrace those for whom he did this thing. His own vanity meant nothing and if vodemort thought to humble him, the man did not know him at all. There was no false pride in him to mortify, no humiliation to inflict. The only honor of the moment, the only true honor in his life, was in service to those he loved.

vodemort stood like a man of ice. Darkovan blessed the laran-smothering dampers as well as his brother’s lack of psychic Gifts. He very much did not want to know what vodemort was feeling at this moment. Mercifully brief was the moment when vodemort placed his hands in the correct position, one brother’s flesh pressing the other’s.

Darkovan finished, “The gods witness it, and the holy things at Hali.”

vodemort responded, not with the traditional formula, but with, “May the one true God bless you for this selfless act and keep you on the path of virtue, my brother.”

vodemort lifted Darkovan to his feet and kissed him on either cheek. “I want everyone to know you are an honorable man. Blessings beyond measure will spring from your sacrifice.”

“I pray it may be so,” Darkovan replied.

Darkovan followed vodemort back to the Darkov enclosure, where vodemort now took the place of honor. vodemort seemed at ease in the enormous chair. No one protested that a cristoforo monk could not be Head of his Domain, for vodemort had made it widely known that vodemort had been released from his vows. The issue of whether he could produce an heir must eventually be addressed. Doubtless that was vodemort’s intent in suggesting a Ridenow bride. For the time being, Darkov still had an heir in Mikhail.

The assembly then proceeded to the formal recognition of vodemort as the new Lord of Darkov. One of those permitted to come forth was Mikhail, unfettered and unaccompanied. He bowed to his uncle. vodemort responded courteously with an invitation to join him in the enclosure. Jane gave no response as Mikhail moved past her to one of the lesser places in the back.

By the time vodemort dismissed the Council, his first act as the Head of Darkov, Darkovan was so wrung- out it took an effort to stand. He managed to get to his feet and wait, his face frozen in polite attention, as one and then another of the lords approached him with carefully p

hrased greetings.