One of the charging Kallathik had stopped. It turned slightly, lifted its spear arms and shook them. For a moment, Tarlain didn't comprehend what he was seeing, the white bundle held aloft by a set of twin spears, the sudden red stains swelling across the white. The Kallathik shook the object free, and then turned and charged off toward the knots of men before it, leaving a splayed figure tossed aside on the ground behind it. And then Tarlain knew and his mouth fell open.
This could not be happening.
"No," he breathed. "Father. Not you. Not now." The words shuddered from his throat.
All around him, down below, battle raged, but he could see none of it. All he could see was a lone, pathetic crumpled figure, stained and lying sprawled on an empty field.
One by one, the Kallathik fell, the lines broke, and the creatures started to retreat up the hillside. Groups of Guild functionaries followed, gradually increasing their pace. Over somewhere, out of sight for now, there were Atavists, and mineworkers and others, but Tarlain gave them no thought. He gave no thought to anything, but the solitary figure lying still on the empty field. It was all he saw as the Guildsmen reached his position and surrounded him.
Thirty-Six
Jarid slipped into the cool room and retrieved a bottle, then climbed the stairs, humming to himself. Using the stock of new weapons that Ky Menin had supplied, they'd beaten back the troublesome Kallathik easily. On top of that, they'd managed to take the youngest Men Darnak. It was much better than he could have expected. Strangely though, he felt little for their victory. It had been easy -- far too easy.
He fished around in a drawer, found an opener, then leaned back on one of the counters, lifting the bottle to his lips and took a healthy swallow. At least his father had always made sure that they were well supplied during Storm Season. He took another mouthful, and quickly caught himself as a dribble ran down his cheek and over his chin. Using the back of his arm, he wiped his chin dry. He took the next swallow with a touch more caution. Because his father laid so much importance on the preparations, he wouldn't have to do anything else for the estates for months. It left time to concentrate on the important things.
The Prophet only knew where Markis might be. It didn't matter though. Markis had ceased to register as a threat for some time. Jarid was so close he could almost taste it now. Tilting the bottle up, he took another healthy swallow. All right, he had convinced Ky Menin that he was an obedient player in the Guildmaster's game, but that wasn't quite enough. He glanced around. All this was effectively his now. It was a start, but he wanted more. The only trouble was, if he was to play Ky Menin's game, he'd have to wait, and waiting was the hardest thing of all. How many years had he already spent? How many seasons waiting in his brother's shadow, biding his time? Well the time for waiting was nearly over.
On the other hand, there was Karin. Now that they'd taken the Men Darnak brat, Karin was the only one of the lineage who amounted to anything worth considering, and she was certainly worth the consideration. He rubbed his neck, thinking about her face, her body, the way her fingers lingered on his arm when she touched him, the deep looks that she gave him. There was little wonder she showed interest when she had to put up with what she had. How could a disgusting lump like Yosset Clier keep such a woman satisfied? She had to have had interests elsewhere. Ky Menin? No. Ky Menin didn't seem to be the type. The only thing he was in love with was his blessed power and his influence on the Principate.
He pushed himself from the counter and wandered into the living room swinging the bottle from his fingers as he walked. He'd have to make some changes here. The whole decoration was old and stuffy. Formal presence -- that was what his father had always been about. Well, not any more. But that would keep for later. It was a pity he'd not managed to catch up with the old man.
