"So why, Jarid? Why?"
Jarid worked his jaw before answering. "I told you. Markis is impatient. He's said more than once that he is sick of doing all the work without having any of the status. He says that he can't believe you're going to retire any time soon. To be honest, I can't see you stepping down tomorrow, either."
Aron rubbed one palm over the smooth wood. "No, you're right. Markis isn't ready yet. I'm not ready yet." He looked up and narrowed his eyes. "And neither are you." Jarid was keeping his face expressionless. Aron had a sudden thought. "So what part have you had in all of this?"
The boy looked suddenly aggrieved. "I've told you about it, haven't I? I didn't have to say a thing, did I? I didn't need to tell you anything. What do I have to gain anyway?"
Aron considered. "No, of course." Aron nodded. He closed his eyes with a deep sigh, then slowly opened them again. "At least I can rely on you."
Jarid's expression softened. "Of course you can, Father," he said. "You can always rely on me. Always."
Aron nodded, looking away. "Now, leave me. Go and attend to things. I need to think."
Jarid pushed his chair back and stood. "You let me know if you need anything," he said. "I will do whatever you require."
Aron nodded again and watched Jarid thoughtfully as he strode purposefully from the chamber. Let him know if he needed anything. Certainly. It was hard to know what he needed right now. He shook his head. What could he possibly need?
"Jarid, wait," he said.
Jarid stopped and turned slowly. "Father?"
"There is something. Find out everything you can about Markis's plans. But do it subtly. I want to be in a position of strength when I finally decide what I'm going to do. Find out how he means to do it, and when. That way I can be prepared."
Jarid nodded, turned, and left the chamber, leaving Aron to chew over the things that he could barely now believe. There was a deep hollow sitting in the depths of his stomach as he stared blankly across the table.
#
Just outside the room, Jarid leaned back against the corridor wall and closed his eyes. He bit his lower lip, trying to suppress the grin that kept threatening to overtake his face. Step one accomplished. The Atavist had been a stroke of sheer brilliance. Who would dare to question the word of an Atavist? Hopefully the man would be gone, far from the Guild Halls, his payment enough to keep him quiet for the time being. A position of strength. That was what he'd said. If Jarid knew his father well enough, the old man wouldn't bother with verifying the man's story, and even if he did, he wouldn't find him. He'd be looking for a real Atavist. And if he questioned Markis, so what? It was his word against the word of Jarid, and now that the seed had been sown....
He pushed himself from the wall and headed down the corridor, letting the grin finally take shape.
Nine
Sandon and his three companions wound their way into the Atavist camp proper. The padder's motion beneath him was not exactly uncomfortable, but the animal smell was all around him, making his head feel thicker than it already was. The Atavists walked on in silence; during most of the journey, the only thing to disturb the quiet progress had been the occasional grunt and snort from the padder. Sandon watched the three men as he rocked gently along, trying to pick up any clues, but their gazes remained fixed ahead, the hoods partially concealing their faces, leaving him nothing to play with, though he was barely in the mood for it the way he was feeling. They seemed intent only on reaching their destination, wherever that might be in the midst of the approaching cluster of tents, wagons and cookfires.
Although there seemed to be many Atavists gathered here, the greetings between members of the camp were few. A brief nod, a slight lifting of the hand, that was it. If Sandon's head would just stop throbbing for two minutes, he might be able to pick up some relevant details, but it was all a confused jumble of impressions, of strangeness. He'd never been even close to an Atavist camp, let alone right slap bang in the middle of one.
"Here we are," said Badrae, drawing the padder to a halt.
