Path of the Sun: A Novel of Dhulyn and Parno

by Malan, Violette

  Eyes turned toward her, some narrowing in calculation, others with simple curiosity.

  Parno cleared his throat, and Dhulyn signaled him with a lift of her left eyebrow. For all that the Horsemen appeared to be willing to follow the guidance of their chiefs and accept her, they would still probably feel more comfortable dealing with a man.

  “If we might see our Brother now,” Parno said to the Shaman.

  “Of course. Star-Wind will escort you. Consider him your guide as you stay among us.”

  Or our guard, Dhulyn thought. Judging from the blandness of his expression, Star-Wind had already known what his assignment was to be. Doubtless why he had been one of the scouts sent to meet them.

  The Mercenary Brother Delvik Bloodeye had been given a small round tent not far from the central fires. No one stood guard, Dhulyn noticed, and the tent flap was tied back. A lamp, smelling oddly of inglera fat, had already been lit inside. There was another smell, a familiar one that made Dhulyn grit her teeth. She nodded her thanks to Star-Wind, ducked her head, and entered the tent. Parno stopped in the doorway and turned so that he could watch both outside and in.

  Crammed into the round space were two pallets with a low stool between them, the collapsible kind made with three thick sticks of wood, a piece of hide and some thongs. The pallets were no more than layers of bedding and skins spread over piles of cut grass. The bed to the left held a man whose skin was sallow under his tan. Even lying down it was obvious he was a huge man, easily a full head taller than Parno and almost twice as big around. At the moment, however, what drew Dhulyn’s notice was the sweat on his skin and the way his mouth twisted from side to side.

  The young man on the stool leaped to his feet as they entered, his blood-red hair tied back with a scrap of thong. He stared at Dhulyn round-eyed, warily taking in her Mercenary badge before looking beyond her to Parno and Star-Wind.

  “He is comfortable,” the young man said. “We have dealt with most of his pain, but the fever we cannot keep away; always it returns.”

  Dhulyn placed the back of her fingers against her Brother’s damp brow. He was fevered, no doubt of it. “You are Delvik Bloodeye,” she said, recalling the information Dorian of the River had given them back on the Black Traveler. “Called the Bull, and Schooled by Yoruk Silverheels. I am Dhulyn Wolfshead, called the Scholar, Schooled by Dorian the Black Traveler. I’ve fought at Sadron, Arcosa, and Bhexyllia. With me is my Partner, Parno Lionsmane, called the Chanter, Schooled by Nerysa Warhammer.”

  “You’re Senior,” Delvik said, his voice like a thread.

  “I am. What happened?” she asked, not that she needed more than the smell to tell her the worst of it.

  “We were heading north—well, south in this place—”

  “We understand,” Parno said from the doorway. “And we know why you are here. Take your time, my Brother.”

  Delvik Bloodeye shut his eyes, took two deep breaths and released them slowly. When he opened his eyes, he was visibly calmer, his eyes clearer. “As you know, my Brothers, there is no mark of any trail when you have completed the Path of the Sun, but our Brother Kesman Firehawk saw prey birds to the south and reasoned there might be water, so we went that way.” Delvik continued, telling how they had found water, but nowhere the marks of the killer they sought. How they had finally met with a trader who had directed them to the camp of the Salt Desert Horsemen.

  “It was while we were on our way here that we crossed another trail, one that we finally recognized, though it was faint. So far as we could tell, it headed back toward the Path of the Sun, or at least where we had been when we came out of the Path. It was as we followed this trail that the ground opened beneath us, and we fell into a pit filled with stakes of wood, sharpened.”

  “It is an orobeast trap,” Star-Wind said. “A fierce cat that during bad seasons will come down out of the western hills to follow our herds. We leave them uncovered and unstaked, and therefore safe, unless there is news of such a beast. We do not know who armed this one, or why.”

  “Someone who realized he was being followed, perhaps,” Dhulyn said.

  “It worked well enough,” Delvik said. “Kesman was killed instantly, a stake passing through his body. I watched him die and was resigning myself to the same fate, since I was under my horse and could not free my leg from the stake that held me, when I heard the sounds of hoofbeats, and the Red Horsemen found me.”

  Dhulyn drew back the covering and hissed when she saw Delvik Bloodeye’s leg. “What has been done?” she asked.

  “Singer of the Grass-Moon saw to him, and at first it seemed that all was well,” Star-Wind said. “And then these lines began to draw themselves upon his skin, and his toes began to darken.”

  “And the Mages can do nothing more for him?” As the young man’s face changed, Dhulyn added, “I mean no disrespect. I ask out of ignorance of your abilities.”

  “They’ve tried, my Brother, I swear they have.” Delvik’s voice shook and his breath was momentarily shallow. He’d seen his birth moon perhaps thirty-five times, Dhulyn estimated, and had probably never been seriously ill a day in his life. He must have gone late into his Schooling to be junior to both her and Parno. He was looking better now than when they had first come into the tent, but Dhulyn knew that this was only from relief, now that he knew he wasn’t going to die alone, away from home and with no Brothers around him.

  “They knit the bone,” Star-Wind was saying. “But this poison of the blood—” he shook his head. “We cannot cure that.”

  “I know this to be true,” Delvik added. “It almost killed the old man when he tried. And as old as he is, he’s still the best Mage they have.”

  “I am second to Grass-Moon,” Star-Wind said, “And lucky to be half the Mage he is, when it comes my time to Sing.”

  “We must get him back through the Path of the Sun,” Dhulyn said. “Somehow, we must get him back.” She looked at Parno over the young Brother’s head. “Without a Healer, he will die.”

  “We won’t get him back in time, Dhulyn my heart, you know that.” Parno spoke softly, but firmly.

  “Then we must take the leg.”

  Eleven

  IT WAS A lucky thing, Gundaron thought, that he had taken the most sedate of their three ponies and that the trail to the Caid ruins was so familiar. Otherwise he might find that riding and having to make conversation with Epion Akarion at the same time was too much to handle. As it was, he considered himself lucky not to have fallen off somewhere along the way. He had expected Mar to come with him as usual, but she had reasoned that one of them had to stay with Alaria. He would never have chosen Lord Epion as his companion, but once the Tarkin’s uncle had discovered where Gun was going—and why—there had been no way to refuse his offer to come along.

  “This concerns the Tarkinate,” was the argument the man had put forward. “And my family in particular. Falcos cannot possibly spare the time to go, but I can and will.”

  Gun had agreed as graciously as he could and had taken some secret amusement in making the older man, and the two guards he brought with him, keep their horses to the pony’s pace. The guards, Gun couldn’t help but notice, were dressed in what he’d come to think of as Epion Akarion’s colors. Instead of the black tunic with purple sleeves that identified the Palace Guard, these men wore blue tunics, with only one purple sleeve. He should change that, Gun thought. These men could so easily be mistaken for the City Watch, in their solid blue uniforms.

  The pony suddenly shied to the left, and Gun clamped his knees together as he felt himself slipping and then had to grab the pony’s mane as she shot forward.

  “You will find,” Epion said, his voice gentle and his tone warm, “that the animal has been trained to increase speed when you press on its sides with your knees.”

  Gun stifled a curse. He’d left his father’s farm to go into a Scholars’ Library and had foolishly thought he’d be leaving all beasts behind him at the same time. “I thought it better not t
o fall off,” he said to Epion. “Of course, it would help if the stupid animal didn’t jump at dry leaves blowing across the path.”

  “She is testing you,” Epion said, still with the same gentle humor. “And I’m very much afraid she’s finding you wanting.”

  Gun laughed. He knew that Mar didn’t like Epion, but Gun didn’t think the man was so bad. An amateur’s enthusiasm was sometimes hard for a Scholar to take, but enthusiasm was all it was, he was sure. “I wouldn’t be much of a Scholar if I could be thrown off my path by someone’s looking down on me,” he said. “Not even the most superior of ponies—” or of nobles, he thought inwardly “—can compare with the upper Scholars and teachers of a Library when it comes to snubbing and finding people wanting. Any student who can’t take being made to feel inferior soon goes home.”

  Finally Gun reached the spot where he and Mar usually tied up their ponies, and the beast would go no farther. There was soft grass here, and once upon a time someone had moved rocks around to turn a trickle of water into a tiny pond. Gun heaved a leg over the pony’s back and thumped to the ground.

  “Did you bring your scryer’s bowl?” Epion asked. He looked with interest at Gun’s pack.

  “Now that I know what to look for, I don’t need the bowl,” Gun explained. “Any more than I would need it to Find Menoin, or this pony, or any other known object, for that matter.” He removed the pony’s saddle and set it on a convenient rock. The beast bumped him companionably with her nose, and Gun, careful of the creature’s teeth, obliged her by taking off the bridle. It was only then that he remembered Mar was not with him to put it back on. Perhaps one of Epion’s guards would do it for him. The taller one, the one with the crossbow, stayed on his horse, but the shorter one with the dark beard dismounted to accompany them.

  “I realize that you now know what to look for.” Epion had dismounted from his own horse and tossed the reins to the taller guard, without doing anything else to make the horse more comfortable. Obviously he didn’t expect this to take very long. “But how does that tell you where it is?”

  Gun looked a little upward, and a little to his left, at the thin gold line no one but he—or perhaps another Finder—could see. Not unlike the golden sunbeam that had guided him through the Library in his mind, the line would lead unerringly toward the book he was looking for, until he either found it or stopped looking. Really experienced Finders, those who made it their full-time occupation, didn’t need this kind of clue, but Gun didn’t feel he was at that stage yet.

  “There’s a line,” he said to Epion. “As though it were painted on the air, that I can follow.” He hoisted his small pack, waited politely for Epion to say or do something further and then set off down the path, following the golden line as it led to the edge of the ruins. Here he turned north and east, heading down a wide flat area with obvious—to the trained eye—smooth patches.

  “Mar-eMar and I think this was one of the main boulevards of the Caid city,” he told Epion as they walked. “These large flat areas are the remnants of paving. There are better examples than these, of course; some of the ones on the Blasonar Plains are almost intact under the grass.”

  “And these little flags?” Epion pointed to the left.

  “They mark the grids of our search squares,” Gun said. “Each one is attached to a metal rod that has been driven into the ground, blue for areas we’ve finished with, red for those we have still to investigate and catalog.” Gun thought Epion’s interest was genuine. After all, the man had tried to direct their research when they’d first arrived, and while he hadn’t come to the site very often, Gun thought that was likely because Mar had made it plain he wasn’t welcome—or as plain as you can make such a thing to the Tarkin’s uncle. Not that Mar was in the wrong, Gun quickly brought his thoughts back into loyal lines. The last thing any Scholar needed was interference from someone who wasn’t even technically their patron. Gun shivered. He’d had enough previous and unlucky experience with people who wanted to guide his researches to last him a lifetime. Just as well Epion had learned to keep his distance. Until now at least.

  “I see a green flag.” Now Epion was pointing off to the right.

  “There are a few,” Gun said. “That shows where I Found something worth digging for, still buried under the surface. Once we’ve finished our preliminary survey, if enough underground artifacts are discovered, a full expedition will be mounted.”

  “And will more Scholars come then from Valdomar?” Epion’s tone was neutral, but Gundaron had dealt with enough politically charged situations to know what the man was really asking.

  “Oh, no,” he replied. “A site like this is far too important to be left to one particular Library. Bids for participation will be asked for from as many as might want to apply, and a final mix will be chosen from the total group of applications. By Valdomar Library in partnership with the court of Menoin,” he added. It was true, but it was also what Epion wanted to hear.

  Even though he didn’t really need it, Gun checked the position of the golden line that led him along. He had recognized that inlaid pattern of moon and stars the moment he had seen it in the bowl, and now that he was here, he could have headed straight for the right spot, relying on his memory of the site alone.

  “This way,” he said, leading Epion off the main road across what might very well have been a public square, toward where a green flag fluttered in the morning breeze. They walked over a section of stone pavement from which the dirt and grass had been partially removed, revealing the worn and broken remains of a large medallion set into the original paving materials, a medallion that incorporated the shapes of a blazing sun and the crescent moon. On the far side of this remnant, perhaps half a span farther away, was the green flag.

  “Look,” Gun said, walking faster and pointing ahead. “Do you see that bush there? It’s been pulled out since Mar and I were here last.” What had been the beginning of a wide staircase—the one he had seen in the bowl—had been partly uncovered by him and Mar about a month earlier. Gun, looking for Caid artifacts in general, had Found something below the dirt, and so the square had been marked accordingly. But someone had been here since and had dug farther than he and Mar had gone, pulling aside even more of the growth and exposing a jumble of rocks that were too even to be anything but broken chunks of ancient paving.

  “They built to last,” he said, tracing the layers of material with his fingertips. “You have to give them that.”

  “What now?” Epion said.

  “My line leads me right inside,” Gun said. “Obviously, whoever moved the bushes and shoved that flagstone over has hidden what we’re looking for in some underground vault of the Caids.”

  “Let me,” Epion said, starting down the steps.

  “Better not,” Gun said. “We don’t know what there is underground, and I may be the only one who can Find it.”

  “Of course.” But Epion did not retreat back to the level of the old square. “But is it safe? Jo-Leggett,” he called to the guard who had accompanied them. “Come and stand here at the top of these steps. Keep a clear line-of-sight to your brother.” Epion pushed at a leaning bit of rock with both hands.

  “Safe enough for whoever has been here before us,” Gun pointed out. “Where underground rooms have been found before, they’ve usually been quite stable. As I said, the Caids built to last, and whatever has not been exposed to the raw elements—” and other things I won’t go into, Gun thought with a shiver—“generally remains intact.” He looked back at Epion. “I don’t know how much room there will be underneath,” he said. And that was true enough. What the bowl had shown him—a small room lined with shelves full of books and scrolled documents—would not necessarily be exactly what was under their feet right now.

  “Fine then, in you go.” Smiling, Epion dusted off his hands on his trousers, heedless of the embroidered linen. Of course, Gun thought as he shrugged off his pack and placed it carefully on the ground, it’s not as if the man had to lau
nder his clothes himself.

  Epion helped him shove one of the smaller pieces of paving to one side until a pointed opening was cleared, made by two stones leaning against each other. Crouching down, Gun duck walked under. The steps were gritty under his boots, and he had to pull his head down almost to the point of pain to fit into the opening. Only the gold line, now quite obvious and necessary in the darkened space, told him he could continue forward.

  Eleven steps farther down, the grit was gone, and Gun was able to straighten out bit by bit, until he was almost upright. He still kept one hand over his head, in case of unseen obstacles. Finally there were no more steps, and the sound of his own footfalls echoed differently, and he realized he must be in the room he had seen in the bowl. He fumbled open the pouch attached to his belt, carefully pulling out his sparker and the stub of candle that he was never without.

  He sparked, once, twice, and the oiled wick caught. Gun waited, eyes shut against the glare, until he could safely open them. There, laid out in front of him, was the room he had seen in the library. Here and now it was covered with dust, much of it, unfortunately, what was left of the books and scrolls that had slowly been disintegrating since the time of the Caids. Gun turned, careful not to disturb the dust any further. This room would have to be very carefully excavated if any of the ancient parchments were to be preserved.

  “Can you see it?” Epion’s voice was startlingly close.

  “Not yet. Someone’s been here, though. You can see where the dust’s been disturbed.”

  “Can you tell who?”

  “Maybe if I were a Mercenary Brother.”

  Gun edged forward, pulling the neck of his tunic up over his nose to serve as a filter against the dust he couldn’t help raising. There. Exactly where he had seen it, only now, instead of standing on end, spine out, tucked in the middle of the row between other books, it was lying on its side, alone on a thick layer of dust. There was the gold spine, and the sunburst on the cover, glittering in the light.