The Apogian War

Chapter 20

'Bruuuuuuuu,. Uuuuuuuuu ggggggg, an untold lightning struck the peak at its middle , the Apogee's were shocked, Faltron was quick and swift to first act, her wings went out as she flew and picked Auburn , who was still a little bit in shock, Darkovan was also quick to act his dark mist rose up quick around him as he drifted admistt in mid air , and Clover and Poseidon with him, the other Apogee's flew almost also with their attendants, for those whose power could also reach , as all the Apogee's drifted in mid air , they were no more all the Apogee's and the people of Vandartha, the Apogian had been revived and Apogians were back to the Dark Ages,

DARK AGES

As the riders came up over the pass which led down into Vandart (as it was called in the Dark Ages), they could see beyond the old city to the Persian chathedra, Huge and sprawling, ugly and unfamiliar to their eyes, it spread like some strange growth below them. And all around it, ringing it like a scab, were the tightly clustered buildings of the Persian City which had grown between old Darkov and the spaceport. Darkovan Darkov, riding slowly between his escorts, thought that it was not as ugly as they had told him in Evertin. It had its own beauty, an austere beauty of steel towers and stark white buildings, each for some alien and unknown purpose. It was not a cancer on the face of Dark over, but a strange and not unbeautiful garment. The central tower of the new headquarters building faced the Dover Castle, which stood across the valley, with an unfortunate aspect. It ap peared to Darkovan that the tall skyscraper and the old stone castle were squared off and facing one another like two giants armed for combat. But he knew that was ridiculous. There had been peace between the Persian Empire and the Domains all of his lifetime. The Dakovs made sure of it. But the thought brought him no comfort. He was not much of a Darkov, he considered, but he was the last. They would make the best of him even though he was a damned poor substitute for his father, and everyone knew it. They'd never let him forget it for a minute. His father had died twenty years ago, just a month before Darkovan had been born. Alexandra Darkov had at thirty already shown signs of being a strong statesman and leader, deeply loved by his people, respected even by the Persians. And he had been blown to bits in the Sahara Hills, killed by Illegal weapons smuggled from the Persian Empire.

Cut off in the full strength of his youth and promise, he had left only an Ten year old daughter and a fragile, pregnant wife. Elaine lyn Darkov had nearly died of the shock of his death. She had clung fitfully to life only because she knew she was carrying the last of the Darkovs, the longed for son of Alexandra She had lived, racked with grief, just long enough for Darkovan to

be born alive; then, almost with relief, she had laid her life down. And after losing his father, after all his mother went through, Darkovan thought, all they got was him, not the son they would have chosen. He was strong enough physically, even good-looking, but curiously handi capped for a son of the Mind gaps(the ability to communicate with anothers mind without talking), caste of the Domains, the Dover . A nonmindgap. At fifteen, if he had inherited Chosen power, he would have shown signs of it. Behind him, he heard his bodyguards talking in low tones. "I see they've finished their headquarters building. Hell of a place to put it, within a stone's throw of Dover Castle." "Well, they started to build it back in the Hellers, at Daer Donn. It was old Istvan Darkov, in my grandsire's time, who made them move the Cathedral(a teleportation circle used in the Dark Ages) to Vandart . He must have had his reasons." "Should have left it there, away from decent folk!" "Oh, the Persian aren't all bad. My brother keeps a shop in the Trade City. Anyway, would you want the Persians back in the hills, where those mountain bandits and the damned Alsha could deal with them behind our backs?" "Damned savages," the second man said. "They don't even observe the "Rule" back there. You see them in the Hellers, wearing their filthy cowards' weapons." "What would you expect of the Alsha's" They lowered their voices, and Darkovan sighed. He was used to it. He put constraint on every one, just by being what he was: Dover and Darkov. They probably thought he could read their minds. Most Dover's could. "Lord Darkovan, " said one of his guards, "there's a party of riders coming down the northward road carrying banners. They must be the party from Armida, with Lord Ultron. Shall we wait for them and ride to gether?" Regis had no particular desire to join another party of Dover's lords, but it would have been an unthinkable breach of manners to say so. At Council season all the Domains met together at Vandart; Darkovan was bound by the custom of generations to treat them all as kinsmen and brothers. And the Ultron's were his kinsmen. They slackened pace and waited for the other riders.

They were still high on the slopes, and he could see past Vandart to the spread-out Teleportation circle itself. A great distant sound, like a faraway Seafall, made the ground vibrate like thunder, even where he stood. A toylike form began to rise far out on the Teleportation circle slowly at first, faster and faster. The sound peaked to a faint scream; the shape a faraway streak, a dot, was gone. Darkovan let his breath go. A starship of the Empire, outward bound for distant worlds, distant suns. Darkovan realized his fists had clenched so tightly on the reins that his horse tossed its head, protesting. He slack ed them and gave the horse an absentminded, apologetic pat on the neck. His eyes were still riveted on the spot in the sky where the starship had vanished. Outward bound, free for the immeasurable immensities of space, the ship was headed to worlds whose wonders he, chained down here, could never guess. His throat felt tight. He wished he were not too old to cry. hat the heir to Darkov could not make any display of unmanly emotion in public. He wondered why he was getting so worked up about this, but he knew the answer: that ship was going where he could never go. The riders from the pass were nearer now, Darkovan could identify some of them. Next to his bannerman rode Poseidon , Lord Alton, a stooped, heavy-set man with red hair going gray, Darkovan felt a strange sharp pain in his head as he saw him and flashes of before the "Apogian time" but could not make out the meaning of these images, Except for Danvan Darkov Regent of the Dover, Poseidon was probably the most powerful man in the Seven Domains. Darkovan had known Poseidon all his life; But today these images had appeared: as a child, he had called him uncle. Behind him, among a whole assembly of kins men, servants, bodyguards and poor relations, he saw the banner of the Hardias Domain, so Lord Dyan must be with them. One of Darkovan' guards said in an undertone, "I see the old buzzard has both his bastards with him. Wonder how he has the face?" "Old Poseidon can face anything, and make Darkov like it," returned the other man in a prison-yard mutter. "Anyway, young Lno'snot a bastard; Poseidon got him legitimated so he could work in the Faltron Tower. The younger one-" The guard saw Darkovan glance his way and he stiffened; the expression slid off his face as if a sponge had wiped it blank Damn it, Darkovan thought irritably, 'i can't read your mind, man, I've beard an insolent remark about a Vandart lord" and the guard would t got good, normal ears. But in any case, he realized, he had over have been embarrassed about that. There was an old proverb: The mouse in the walls may look at a cat, but he is wise not to squeak about it. Darkovan, of course, knew the old story. Poseidon had done a shocking,

even a shameful thing: he had taken, in honorable marriage, a half-Persian woman, kin to the renegade Domain of Alsha. Dover Council had never accepted the marriage or the sons. Not even for Poseidon 's sake. Poseidon rode toward Darkovan. "Greetings, Lord Darkovan. Are you riding to Council? Darkovan felt exasperated at the obviousness of the question-where the would he be going, on this road, at this season?-until he realized that the formal words implied recognition as an adult. He replied, with equally formal courtesy, "Yes, kinsman, my grandsire has requested that I attend Council this year." "Have you been all these years in the monastery at Evertin, kins man?" Poseidon knew perfectly well where he had been, Darkovan reflected; when his grandfather couldn't think of any other way to Darkovan off his hands, he packed him away to Saint-Valentine-of-the-Snows. But it would have been a fearful breach of manners to mention this before the assembly so he merely said, "Yes, he entrusted my education to the cris toforos; I have been there three years." "Well, that was a hell of a way to treat the heir to Darkov," said a harsh, musical voice. Darkovan looked up and recognized Lord Cyan Hardais, a pale, tall, hawk-faced man he had seen making brief visits to the monastery. Darkovan bowed and greeted him. "Lord Cyan." Cyan's eyes, keen and almost colorless-there was said to be chieri blood in the Hardais-rested on Darkovan. "I told Darkov that only a fool would send a boy to be brought up in that place. But he never listened.

They keep fires there all year, and you could have had someone to warm your bed if you chose. The students' dormitory at Evertin I give you my solemn word-is the coldest place on Vandartha. Haven't watched those poor brats shivering their way through the offices? Have they made a Caricature of you, Darkovan?" Darkovan said briefly, "No, I serve the Lord of Light, as heir of Darkov." is proper for a Man to know where he stands Poseidon gestured to two lads in the Faltron colors, and they rode forward a little way, "Lord Darkovan," he said formally, "I ask leave to present my sons: Lno-Poseidon Montray-Faltron; Maries Montray-Lanat." Regis felt briefly at a loss. Poseidon's sons were not accepted by Council, but if Darkovan greeted them as kinsmen and equals, he would give them Dakov's recognition. If not, he would affront his kinsman. He was angry at Poseidon for making this choice necessary, especially when there was nothing about Dover's etiquette or diplomacy that Poseidon did not know, Lno Faltron was a tall, sturdy young man, five or six years older than Darkovan,. He said with a wry smile, "It's all right, Lord Darkovan, I was legitmated and formally designated heir a couple of years ago. It's quite per missible for you to be polite to me." Darkovan felt his face flaming with embarrassment. He said, "Grandfather wrote me the news; I had forgotten. Greetings, cousin, have you been long on the road?" "A few days," Lno said. "The road is peaceful, although my brother, I think, found it a long ride.