Don’t play. Dhulyn closed the words in behind her teeth. End it quickly.
“I give you my death, Parno Lionsmane,” Delvik said, pointing his sword to the sky and touching his trembling fingertips to his forehead.
Parno returned the salute. “Delvik Bloodeye, I receive it. In Battle.” He plunged his sword into Delvik’s heart.
Dhulyn took one step forward, but Delvik only fell to his knees, Parno moving so that the blade did not pull free. Delvik put his left hand on top of Parno’s blade, his right hand still held his own. “Or in Death,” he whispered, finishing the salute.
His eyes closed, and his hand opened. Dhulyn caught his sword before it touched the ground.
Parno pulled his blade free.
The Espadryni got to their feet, and Star-Wind approached them. “The doorway has been prepared for your Brother,” he said. “Will you need help to move him?”
Dhulyn cleared her throat, but Parno answered for her. “No, we thank you. We will carry him ourselves.”
Parno wiped his blade clean and sheathed it before taking his pipes from Dhulyn and slinging them over his own shoulder. They laid Delvik’s body out straight on the blanket they’d brought from his bed. Dhulyn tucked his hands into his belt so they wouldn’t fall loose. She smoothed back his hair and straightened the cloak she had given him. Since Parno had waited to draw out the blade, the wound showed very little blood.
“Show us the place,” she said when she straightened to her feet, moving to stand at Delvik’s feet.
“If you will follow me.” Parno lifted his end of the blanket, and Dhulyn followed suit. The mass of men watching parted for them as Star-Wind led them east of the camp—toward where, in this world, the sun would rise. Here the Espadryni had constructed a narrow platform made of crisscrossed poles and lathes, perhaps shoulder height on a tall man.
Among the other things that had been decided the evening before, Dhulyn had agreed to have Delvik’s body disposed of in the manner normally used by the Espadryni. Delvik had expressed no preference for burial or burning, and it was within the dictates of the Common Rule that the bodies of Mercenary Brothers could be treated according to the practices of the land in which they died. Delvik’s body would be exposed to Mother Sun and Father Moon, Stars, Cloud, Wind, Rain, and Snow, until there was nothing left of it.
Dhulyn and Parno lifted their dead Brother up onto the framework, and Parno stood back two paces. Dhulyn took hold of the pole nearest her and looked up, as if to speak to Delvik.
“I did not know our Brother well, Delvik Bloodeye, called the Bull, Schooled by Yoruk Silverheels. I met him for the first time in the lands beyond the Path of the Sun. He sought a killer of men, to do justice and to keep to his oaths. Delvik Bloodeye, called the Bull, died in the best fashion. On his feet, his sword in his hand, killed by the blade of his own Brother.” Dhulyn’s voice was strong, but she felt the sting of salt in her eyes.
“So may it pass with all of us. In Battle or in Death,” Dhulyn added, and Parno echoed her. She stepped back, leaving Parno closest to the body. He adjusted his pipes, and began to play, using drones as well as chanter, which drew the admiration of the Horsemen who had followed them to the site.
“We would have left weapons with him,” Star-Wind said, approaching her quietly from her left side.
“Better they should go on and serve other Brothers.” Dhulyn looked sideways at the young Espadryni. “Delvik takes with him the weapons no Mercenary is without.”
“May he rest with the Stars now,” Star-Wind said. “And with Mother Sun and Father Moon.”
Dhulyn nodded without speaking and let the music of Parno’s pipes wash over her.
Thirteen
“THIS IS GOOD,” Gun said to the carter. “I can walk from here.”
“You sure, boy? I can easy take you as far as the main square.”
Gun didn’t take offense. The man was more than old enough to call anyone “boy.” He’d rarely seen anyone as old who was not a Healer. The amazing thing was that the man was spry enough to manage his cart.
“I’m certain, sir. I’ve kept you from your business long enough.” And there was no way Gun wanted the old man to take him as far as the palace. Too many explanations, including why he thought that a Scholar, dirty, wet, and with scratches on his face, would be allowed in at this time of night. Gun had met the old man on the west road, not far from the sea where the tunnel out of the old Caid ruins had ended in a rocky grotto, half full of cold seawater. The old man was coming in early for the morning’s market, planning to spend a few hours in the home of his granddaughter and meet his new great-grandchild and namesake. Gun couldn’t believe his luck; not only did he have a ride to save him the long walk back to the city, but the old man was so interested in his own news he had no curiosity left over to question Gundaron’s appearance in the middle of a lonely road.
Tired as he was, the thought of a hot fire and dry clothes helped Gun make good time up through the narrow streets to the palace. He avoided the main gate and entered with the scantiest of explanations through the gates to the stable yards, anxious to get to Mar and relieve her worries as quickly as possible. Again luck was with him; many of the junior guards knew him and Mar from their frequent visits to the palace, and everyone senior enough to question him more closely was asleep.
The guard at the entrance to the royal wing was another matter.
“Scholar, you look as though the cat swallowed you and vomited you up into a mud puddle.” The man’s face was familiar, but Gun had never heard his name. What was clear from his dry tone and his narrowed eyes was that no one was either looking for Gun or worried about his absence. So Epion had raised no alarm.
Gun hesitated, knowing that the longer he took to answer, the more suspicious he would look. And yet this was not the time or place to make accusations against the Tarkin’s uncle. Blooded nobles, he said to himself. When was he going to learn? His hands formed into fists. He thought he’d been cured of trusting people just because they came from a High Noble House—but evidently not. He hadn’t wanted to believe it, but the cave-in had been no accident.
“Her husband came home unexpectedly,” he finally said. It was the one excuse he could think of that would account for his bedraggled appearance and the lateness of his arrival—and his hesitation.
The guard’s lip pulled back. “I’m sure your own wife will be pleased to hear that,” he said, disgust heavy in his voice.
Gun ducked his head and sidled past, his ears burning. The guard’s low opinion was just something he’d have to live with. Fortunately he reached the door to his and Mar’s rooms without meeting anyone else he had to lie to. As he would have expected, the thin line of light along the bottom edge of the door showed that Mar was still up. Gun lifted the latch with fingers suddenly stiff with cold and entered the sitting room.
“Mar, I—”
Suddenly there were soft lips pressed tight against his mouth and Mar’s warm body wrapped around his. As he returned her kisses, he felt his eyes stinging and a trembling begin in his knees.
Then Mar stopped kissing him as suddenly as she’d begun. “You’re wet to the skin,” she said, pulling him toward the brazier glowing in the center of the room. “Caids, where have you been? How did you get wet? Did you Find it? Where’s the book?”
Her soft musical voice was low and controlled, but all the time she was speaking, Mar was touching him, hugging his arm, cupping his face in her hand, and from that Gundaron knew how frightened she had been. So happy was he to see her—to be in their rooms—that it took him a long moment to realize the odd noise he heard was his teeth chattering.
“Out of those wet clothes, quickly.” Mar turned away and ran into the bedroom, where the open door let him see her rummaging through their packs.
“I don’t f-feel cold,” he said, as he pulled his wet tunic off over his head and tossed it on a nearby stool.
“I’m not surprised.” Mar handed him a soft towel as big a
s the bed sheets in cheaper inns and took his wet garments as he peeled them off. “It’s a wonder you can feel anything at all.”
Gun scrubbed at his face and his goose-pimpled arms. The heat from the brazier was just beginning to make itself felt. “Why wasn’t there someone looking for me? The guards at the gate didn’t even seem to know I was missing.”
The corners of Mar’s mouth turned down. “I’m so sorry. I spent most of the day with Alaria, helping her prepare for the wedding, and I didn’t even start getting worried until it was almost sunset.” She held her lower lip in her teeth before continuing. “I went down to the stable, and your pony was there, but no one seemed to remember when it came in. I was on my way to ask the Steward of Walls’ help when I ran into Lord Epion, and he said he would take care of it.”
Gun stuck his head through the neck of his tunic, pulled it straight, and sat down to pull on his leggings. “He did, did he? Well he’d just about taken care of me already.” As he finished dressing, Gun told Mar what had happened at the ruins. He spoke as coolly as he could manage, but she was still white-faced at the end of his narration, her deep blue eyes like stains on ivory. Without saying anything, she went into the bedroom and fetched a blanket, wrapping it neatly around his legs before she sat down in the other chair, but still close enough to be able to reach out and touch him.
“Epion said he’d send someone to look for you,” she said, eyes narrow and focused on the memory. She glanced up at Gun. “Though he didn’t tell me he’d gone with you in the first place.” Her lips pressed into a thin line. Gun knew that look and was grateful it wasn’t meant for him. Mar looked away again, tapping the arm of the chair with the palm of her hand. “What about the book?” she said finally. “Did you Find it?”
“I had to leave it, I didn’t know what damage the water might do. There was a ledge, just a bit downstream from the trapdoor, and I left it there. Caids grant the tide doesn’t raise the water level so far inland.” He stuck a hand out of the blanket and rubbed at his upper lip. “I can Find it again if I have to.”
Mar gave a brisk nod that was at odds with the abstracted look on her face and went to the fireplace, where she had a kettle simmering on the hearth. She poured the warmed water into one of the beautifully glazed cups that matched a jug on the mantelpiece and was bringing it to Gun when a light knock, barely a brush against the door panels, made them both look to the door.
The thick pine, paneled and painted in hunting scenes, eased silently open. Mar froze, still holding the cup in both hands at breast level. When Gun saw who it was, he struggled with the folds of the blanket, wanting to be on his feet.
“Gundaron! The guards have just told me you came in.” Epion strode forward, hands outstretched, all the angles of his craggy face turned down in misery. “Thank the Caids you got back safely.”
“No thanks to you, I understand, Lord Epion.” Normally Gun would have been more polite—or at least more circumspect—but he found he was tired of being polite to nobles who were trying to get him killed. From the look on Mar’s face as she set down the cup of warmed water, she felt exactly the same way.
“I came as soon as I heard—” Epion thrust both hands through his hair. “Caids, what you must be thinking.” He looked from Mar to Gun and back again, his eyes dark and staring in a white face.
“I think you started a rockfall that trapped me in the underground chamber.” Gun was pleased to hear how steady his voice was. He didn’t want Epion to know just how close he was to collapsing on the floor.
“And even if that was an accident,” Mar said, taking up the attack just as though she realized how little energy Gun had left, “you certainly left him there to die. When I went to you for help, you did nothing. Worse than that, you pretended to know nothing of it.” Epion squeezed his eyes shut. Mar waited. “Well, Lord Epion?” she said finally. “Is this what you expected us to think?” It was at moments like these, Gun thought, that Mar’s awareness of her own High Noble status came to the fore. Gun would never have spoken to Epion in that tone.
Epion put his left hand down on the back of the chair Gun had vacated and scrubbed at his face with his right. Finally, he lowered himself into the chair. If Gun had known the man better, he would have said he was trying hard not to cry. Gun looked over at Mar, and from the look on her face, she was as confused as he.
“You had better tell us what you are about,” she said. She waved Gun forward into the chair she’d been sitting in and remained standing, leaning her hip against the table. “If what we think isn’t correct—or isn’t the whole story—now is the time to tell us.”
Epion raised his head. “I can’t—” he scrubbed at his face again, then shook himself all over like a dog just out of a lake. “I have to tell someone. I wish the Mercenary Brothers were still here.” He pressed his lips together, took a deep breath in through his nose and let it out again, relaxing his shoulders as he did so. Gun shot a look at Mar and saw she was watching Epion with a neutral face. Whatever was coming, it seemed she was prepared to meet it with an open mind. Gun wasn’t sure he could say the same. But sometimes a willingness to listen, genuine or not, obtained more information than the most careful interrogation.
“Did you cause the rockfall?” he asked the nobleman.
Epion started nodding before he looked up. “Yes, I think so,” he said. He sat up straighter and squared his shoulders as if he had made up his mind to something. “But it was an accident, I swear it. I tripped over a loose bit of pavement, and when I put my hand out to steady myself, the rocks moved and crashed down. I called out, I kept calling for you, but I heard nothing. Then I thought I should waste no more time but get back here for help. I even left one of my guards there, with instructions to keep calling your name until I returned.”
“What changed your mind?” Mar’s voice was now quiet and warm, as if she were interviewing a shy child.
“I didn’t change my mind.” Epion’s voice hardened. “I had it changed for me.” He glanced at them both in turn before continuing. “I needed the Palace Guard, not just my few men, and for that I needed Falcos. I went straight to him in his private chamber and told him what had happened.” Here Epion swallowed and Mar handed him the cup of cooling water she’d placed on the table. He nodded his thanks and tossed back half the contents of the cup before returning his gaze to the floor between them. “He told me, Falcos told me, to let it be,” he said without raising his head. “He said with you gone there was one less complication.”
Gun blinked heavy lids and pulled his blanket tighter around him. Despite the brazier, he couldn’t seem to get warm. And his brain seemed just as cold and sluggish. Falcos had said this? The same Falcos who, when his father was still alive, had sat up with them after his duties were done, drinking wine until the early hours and talking about the Caids? That Falcos?
I really have to stop trusting nobles. “Did he send you along to kill me, or at least to make sure I wasn’t coming back?” he said.
“Not exactly.” Epion looked up. “I was to watch you. To see if you found the book and to take it from you if you did.”
“But why?” Gun shook his head, then wished he hadn’t when the room spun a bit before settling down again. “It was for his sake I was Finding it.”
Epion’s glance flicked between them. “Was it? Someone hid the book in the ruins. We have only his word that Falcos does not already have the key. Why did he send the first Mercenary Brothers away? Why did he let Alaria send your good friends after them? He has some plan, but I cannot see what it could be.”
Gun rubbed at his upper lip. Did Falcos know about the underground chamber? Had all the interest he had shown in their work been with an ulterior purpose?
Mar was shaking her head. “You didn’t tell me any of this when I was looking for the Steward of Walls.”
“How could I? Falcos is my family, the only family I have left. And even if he wasn’t, he’s my Tarkin.”
“So why are you telling us now?
” Gun asked.
“When I heard you were back—when I saw you—I couldn’t let you think . . .” He hung his head again. “I didn’t know it would be so hard.”
“It’s hard to know that you’ve killed someone dishonorably,” Mar allowed. “But you’re right, it is harder when others know about it.”
“This is not the worst,” Epion said. He sat leaning forward in his chair, his square-fingered hands clasped together and hanging between his knees. He looked dejected, as well he might, Gun thought. In telling them this, the man had taken the first step against his nephew and Tarkin.
“Not the worst? Leaving someone to die is not the worst?” Mar’s gentle voice was beginning to harden. “What could be worse?”
Epion was nodding, as if she’d said something he could agree with. “I keep thinking how angry he was with his father. He says now it was because he wanted to go to Arderon, but that was not the impression I had at the time.” He pressed his lips tight. Gun glanced at Mar, but there was no doubt Epion was speaking of Falcos. “And then I think about how my brother’s body looked—you saw it, you know—not as bad as what happened to Cleona, you said—”
“As if the killer had been interrupted,” Gun said, remembering.
“Or as if it were a different killer,” Mar put in. “Someone who had only heard of the mutilations.”
“You think it was Falcos.” Gun said. “You think Falcos used the other murders to make it look as though his father’s death was just one of a series of killings?” The way Epion’s face crumpled was answer enough. He had wanted it said without being able to say it himself.
“But what about Princess Cleona?”
“From what you and the Mercenaries have said, that must have been the work of the real killer, if I may call him so.” He rubbed at his face with his hands. “Falcos could not be so evil, I cannot believe it. We are still under a curse from the gods.”
Path of the Sun: A Novel of Dhulyn and Parno Page 23
