Aron frowned. There was a possibility of collusion, but he needed confirmation. He needed to wait until they had met with Karryl Ky Menin, and then he would decide. "We can't let him get away, Jarid," he said.
"I know. I know. I'm really sorry, Father. I didn't expect?"
"No, Jarid. I am sorry." He reached out a hand and patted the boy gently on the top of his leg. "Don't worry. I am going to make this right. Markis is clearly unfit to hold his position." He looked out into the distance, thinking. "But we have to stop him before he does any real damage. More than he's already done. Thank the First Families that he didn't manage to hurt you. We don't have the resources to track him down."
"No, you're right. But we're meeting with Ky Menin this afternoon. The Guild of Technologists has more at their disposal. We don't know -- perhaps they have something which will help."
"Yes, yes, of course," said Aron. The boy was always so quick. "We will speak to Ky Menin. You're right. In the meantime, I will send some of the men to see if there's any clue where Markis may have been headed. And no, I can't see Ky Menin now. Not now." He motioned to one of his men. "Send word to Ky Menin. Something's come up. I will meet with him out on the estate, the evening after next."
Aron was still staring into the distance. How could it have come to this? Why had he not seen it? He failed to notice the slight self-satisfied quirk to his younger son's lips.
Eighteen
As he eyed the churning muddiness that boiled between its banks, Sandon couldn't help thinking about the current state of his life, of all their lives. The Men Darnak party hugged the river for nearly two weeks en route to their destination before they struck out inland toward the estates of the great and good within the Guild hierarchies. Who could say where all this would lead? Getting close to Men Darnak had not been a problem. Witness Kovaar had soon sought him out personally and suggested, no insisted, that he join them for the meager meals they shared each evening. His constant fear that the priest might penetrate his identity still remained, but as time went on, it seemed less and less of an issue. Each night, Sandon would join them and Kovaar would talk long into the evening about the teachings of the Prophet and lessons to be learned from his words. More than once, he deferred to Tchardo, seeking support for what he'd said. It was just as well Sandon had kept the Book of Words given to him by the old Atavist, and he took to carrying it to their nightly meetings, ready to flick to one reference or another, knowing well by now the passages that Kovaar drew from. In a way, it was yet another proof of who Sandon really was -- Tchardo the Atavist.
The priest fussed around, helping with the preparations of their evening repast, brewing herbal infusions to see the Principal to his rest. There was nothing that gave Sandon any specific cause for alarm. And yet, despite everything, Leannis Men Darnak seemed to be slipping away from them. Gone was the spark; gone was the fire that lit his eyes, the certainty of action. Oh, there were flashes of it, but there were just as many times that Sandon caught the old man staring at him blankly, as if trying to grasp something he'd forgotten. The first time it had happened, Sandon felt the bottom of his stomach drop, but Men Darnak had eventually turned his gaze away, just as devoid of expression as before. He had had the urge, that first time, to blurt out his true identity, to reveal to the old man that he was here, ready and willing to assist, but he held it back. He had to know more, understand what was happening. It was time for Sandon to truly pay Men Darnak back. He would show the Principal that he had been worth the effort. So, he kept quiet and he watched, trying to divine as much as he could.
