“And that doesn’t help, because you feel that you did.”
“Yes.”
Zelianora reached across the small space that separated their two chairs and laid her fingers, the signet of the Tarkina twinkling in the light of the lamp, on top of Mar’s clenched hands. “She is right. You can only be betrayed by someone you trust. In that pure sense, a Mercenary can only be betrayed by another of their Brothers, because she would never give her trust to anyone else.”
“That’s what I thought she meant.” Mar hung her head so as not to meet the Tarkina’s eye. Zelianora hadn’t seemed like one of those lecturing grown-ups who pointed out the obvious as though it was wisdom’s best pearl. She twisted her mouth to one side. Must come from being a parent.
“We have a saying in my homeland: ‘there is more than sand in the desert.’ Dhulyn Wolfshead may tell you she is not angry with you, and it could be so. It could be herself she is angry with, and in her strict honor, she refuses to be angry with you.” Zelianora lifted her hand and sat back in her chair. “But I don’t believe it. I was one of those watching, and I saw her face when she told us you were with Dal-eDal. The Wolfshead was happier to know you safe with him than she should have been, seeing you are no Brother of hers. Somehow during that journey through the mountains I have heard of, she grew to trust you. It’s hard to sleep with someone you don’t trust.”
“We only lay together for warmth.”
“Lie down together, yes. Even with your arms about one another, with certainty. Even guards traveling with prisoners have been known to do this, when it was their duty to return alive. But sleep? With the prisoner unbound? No, my dear.” Zelianora shook her head, and Mar glanced at her out of the corner of her eye. “Mercenary Brothers would never have fallen asleep in the arms of someone they did not trust.”
“So I did betray her, and she knows it.” Mar took another deep breath. “Why do I feel better?”
“Well, it seems you are important to her, after all. And since she is angry with you, whether she believes it or not, it will be possible for her to forgive you.” The Tarkina stood. “If we all live long enough.”
Mar stood up, too, smiling for what felt like the first time in days. “Then we’ll just have to live long enough.”
Gundaron selected another waxed strand of cotton and held it up into the shaft of sunlight that hung, warm and bright, from an opening high in the wall across from his bench. He threaded it through the finest curved bone needle in the sewing kit Alkoryn Pantherclaw had given him. These weren’t the best bookbinding tools he’d ever seen, but he’d been taught at his Valdomar Library to make use of materials at hand when a book needed to be mended. He’d no idea where this quantity of paper, cut and folded to table-volume size, had come from, but no one here in Mercenary House had the knowledge or skill to turn the paper into a proper book. And Alkoryn wanted one to make a portable set of maps. This was good useful work, Gun knew, tapping together the first bundle of sheets… only not needed, or important, or even wanted particularly urgently. Except as a way to keep him out from underfoot, while the real work was done. Now that he’d told them what he knew, given them his warning, there wouldn’t be anywhere he was really needed, or wanted. Not after what he’d done.
He sighed, letting his hands fall into his lap, the pages slipping from slack fingers. Neither he nor Mar was considered physically dangerous to anyone here, that was obvious enough from the way they were treated, but he didn’t miss the point that they’d been put into the one chamber that was, for the sake of the Tarkina, constantly guarded. So he and Mar could be watched at the same time, with no wasted effort.
Zelianora Tarkina had been pleasant to Mar, asking for her help with tutoring the Tarkin-to-be, but with him the Berdanan princess was distantly polite, like an upper Scholar whose classes you were not yet a part of.
Gun told himself he was happy that Mar was being accepted more easily. After all, she’d only been tricked and lured into a mistake in judgment-a mistake, what’s more, she’d set out immediately to correct as soon as she had learned of it. It was obvious to everyone, even to himself, finally, that what he’d done was far worse. He hadn’t set out to betray or destroy anyone, but he’d ended up betraying and destroying everyone.
Even himself. There was no doubt in his own mind who was to blame. How many times had he been told while still in his Library not to become too focused, too narrow in his methods and his theories? Too sure of himself and his abilities? To do his best to keep the greater whole always in view? In his zeal to track down the ancient Shpadrajha, and connect them with the modern Espadryni, he’d done a good job of forgetting that particular lesson, and making himself an easy tool for-he shivered. For Beslyn-Tor. For the Green Shadow.
He picked up the pages and rescued the needle from where it had fallen into the crack between two flagstones and found himself staring at the bone implement’s sharp point, wondering how large a hole it would make in a vein. There were other needles in the kit. How large a hole would he need?
He gripped the needle fiercely, eyes shut. He might as well stop playacting. He was too big a coward to solve his problems that way.
“Didn’t anyone ever teach you how to hold a needle?” Mar’s head popped up over the ladder from the lower level of caves.
“What are you looking so cheerful about?” Gun pushed the needle carefully through the scrap of soft cloth that held its brothers.
“The Tarkina says that Dhulyn Wolfshead will probably forgive me.”
“May the Caids continue to smile on you.” Gun was sorry as soon as the words left his lips, even before her face fell. He knew he should be happy for her, but…
“I’m sorry,” he said, shifting over on the bench and indicating the space next to him. “I mean it, I really am happy for you. It’s just hard to tell you so when I’m feeling so sorry for myself.”
“Well, if you know you’re feeling sorry for yourself, you’re already well on the path to recovery.”
“If you’d like to stop talking like someone’s nurse, maybe you could actually be of some use.”
“Or I could go and find better company if you can’t be civil.”
Gun took a deeper breath, let it out slowly. “I’m sorry, really, I am.”
“Yes, you’ve said that,” Mar said dryly, but Gun looked up in time to catch the sparkle in her eyes before she turned her head. “You know it isn’t me you need to apologize to-well, yes, it is, and I forgive you, just don’t do it again-but there are others who need your apology. For… what happened, I mean.”
“You mean for helping a madman hunt down and destroy innocent people?” Gun waved away her protest. “I knew what you meant.” He squinted up at the lowering sun. No one seemed interested in accepting his apologies anyway. “I am sorry,” he finally said. “But who am I going to tell?” Certainly not the Marked he’d help find and turn over to the Green Shadow.
To his surprise, Mar was actually considering his question seriously, resting her elbows on her knees and her chin in her hands. He was even more surprised when her brow cleared and she smiled.
“Tell the Tarkina.”
“What?”
“I’m serious. She’s the representative here of the Tarkin, or I suppose Bet-oTeb is, really, but she’s still so young. Tell them both. Tell them… tell them everything.” Gun looked away; he knew she meant his Mark. “Ask them what you can do to make amends. You can help them, you know.”
“They won’t care. They don’t trust me.”
“Give them a reason to.”
Gun sighed. Isn’t that what Parno had said? He looked up to find Mar watching him, her eyes warm, but the corners of her mouth turned down. He found himself sitting up very straight. He thought he had faced what he was capable of when he admitted to himself what he’d done in helping Lok-iKol. But like the Wolfshead, he’d been hiding a part of himself that could be useful. A part that could help.
“Mar, you’re wonderful.”
“Did I help?” She was smiling, her dark blue eyes shining.
Gun took her by the shoulders, spilling the papers to the ground, and kissed her on the mouth.
The call of the Racha bird told Dhulyn that Cullen had been able to leave Gotterang unmolested and reach Yerloa’s Spring. The Cloudman himself was nowhere visible, however, only Dal-eDal, Karlyn-Tan and two guards, pale-faced strangers alike enough to be brothers. All four wore dusty clothing in the Tenebro colors of black and teal. The breeze penetrating into the small copse of trees promised a warm day, bringing smells of damp earth, and, from somewhere nearby, the scent of apple blossoms.
Karlyn-Tan was evidently looking out for her, and as Dhulyn had made no attempt to hide her approach, stood as soon as she came into view. He held his place, however, making no move toward her. She smiled in the darkness. No one’s fool, she thought. The less movement, the less noise.
“Your Cloudman has not come, Dhulyn Wolfshead.” Dal-eDal’s was the hunter’s soft murmur. “Will you take one of our horses, or ride double with one of us?”
Dhulyn smiled her wolf’s smile and there was evidently enough light to see by, for the Tenebro lord backed off a pace.
“Cullen,” Dhulyn called softly. Dal-eDal snapped his head around and one of the two brothers swore as Cullen stepped out from cover so thin even Dhulyn had trouble believing he’d hidden there.
“Your horse is on the far side of the spring, Dhulyn Wolfshead,” Cullen said. “Disha tells me no one is near.”
Dhulyn measured the light in the east with a practiced eye. They were little more than an hour from Gotterang’s main gate, enough time, once she’d fetched Bloodbone, to finish her preparations.
She was leaning over from her saddle, practically upside down, tying her bent left leg to the saddle leathers in such a way that she looked safely trussed up, when Karlyn-Tan came to her, soft cloth bag in his hand.
“Well, Karlyn-Tan,” she said, before he had a chance to speak. “Once again, we meet under strange circumstances.”
“Once again, Dhulyn Wolfshead, you seem to be bound.” He answered her smile with a careful one of his own. His faded more quickly. “I’m afraid this time you’ll be blindfolded as well. I regret the necessity, Wolfshead,” he said, as he handed her up the cloth hood. “But best to put this on well before we get to the gates.”
Dhulyn shrugged. “I thank you for your concern, Karlyn-Tan, but a blindfold won’t unnerve me at all. We’ve had occasion, Parno Lionsmane and I, to learn how to fight blindfolded.”
“I’d like to hear that story.”
“If we live, I’ll be sure to tell you.” She looked over her shoulder. “Pull on that thong, would you? It needs to be tighter.”
“It seems far too tight already,” he said, though he reached to comply. “You are not meant to be truly bound.”
For answer Dhulyn thrust downward with her left leg, heel out as if she were kicking someone in the throat, and all the bindings that held her leg fast to her saddle fell away as if by magic.
“Any more observations, Karlyn, and we shall miss our appointment.”
Fanryn looked around from staring out the window at Swordsmiths Street and stepped over to help Alkoryn Pantherclaw strap the last packing case shut.
“That will be the lot of them,” he whispered, the light from the windows picking out every line and wrinkle on a face suddenly old.
Fanryn straightened up and looked over her Senior with her surgeon’s eye. Like his namesake the panther, Alkoryn had been pacing the room since Dhulyn had left before midnight, and the grayness around his mouth and eyes testified to that. She picked up a glazed jug of ganje from its place on the strangely naked worktable, poured out a cup, and placed it in front of Alkoryn’s customary seat.
“I was surprised when the Racha man offered to go with Dhulyn,” she said. “From the look on his face when he learned Dhulyn’s a Seer, I don’t think he’ll be parted from her until all this is over.”
“The Clouds have claimed since the times of the Caids that the Marked are under their personal protection. The fact that until recently the Marked needed no special protection has never changed their attitude.”
Fanryn picked up her own mug of ganje and tossed it off in one swallow. She made a face.
“Cold,” she said.
Before Alkoryn could do more than smile, Thionan came striding in, Oswin Battlehammer, one of the two Semlorian Brothers in Gotterang, in tow. “I hope this is the last,” she said, tapping the travel case with the side of her foot. “We’re starting to run out of room.”
“It is. As soon as you have it safely stowed, Parno will want us in the common room.”
Thionan glanced at the window, checking the amount of light showing above the rooftops. “They’ll still be in the copse. We’ve got the better part of an hour before they come through the gate, and at least two until they arrive at the Carnelian Dome.”
“When you reach my age,” Alkoryn said, “you’ll realize that you can never have too much time.”
Fanryn glanced at her Partner over their Senior Brother’s head. She knew Thionan’s grin was a mirror for her own. And she knew why. Neither of them expected to reach Alkoryn’s age.
Almost an hour later Parno stood beside Tek-aKet in the Mercenary House’s small whitewashed common room and counted over in his mind the group assembled there. Half a dozen Brothers only, including Fanryn and the two Semlorians, but not Thionan who’d gone off to watch for Dhulyn’s party to come through the north gate.
“You’ve all seen the maps,” he said. “There’s only one tricky part, so watch the walls for our marks.” Parno indicated the man leaning against the trestle table to his left. “The Tarkin and I will be first, with Jessen and Tonal of his Personal Guard. Oswin Battlehammer and Tyler Nightsky will follow next, and then the rest of you behind us by twos.” He tapped a small sand clock he’d borrowed from the kitchen. “Use this to time yourselves, we can’t afford to get bottled up. We’ll be going through the northwest passage, exiting in the Steward’s room behind the main dining hall.”
“Remind me to brick that up when all this is over,” Tek-aKet said with a smile twisted sideways. Parno waited for the laugh to finish before he went on. It wasn’t much of a joke-in fact he was sure that Tek meant every word of it-but anything helped to relieve the tension.
“Fanryn, you and Thionan-”
“If she ever gets back,” Fanryn said, rolling her eyes and shaking her head.
Parno grinned. “When she gets back,” he said. “You’ll stay with Barlen Jadestar and Noshun Icehawk. Try to make it look like there’s still twenty of us here, and keep the Tarkina safe until…”
“Until you send for us,” Fanryn said. “Or until you don’t.”
“If it should be that we don’t,” the Tarkin said in a quiet voice that nevertheless reached every ear, “will you see that she reaches her sister in Berdana.”
“We’ll do it ourselves, Lord Tarkin, my Partner and I,” Fanryn said.
Instructions given, Brothers and Guards started to leave the common room, some laughing or whistling, some studying the floor with narrowed eyes as they went. Everyone reacts differently, Parno thought. It was something he’d seen before, every experienced soldier had. He saw the look on Tek-aKet’s face and smiled. Every experienced soldier. Tek looked like he didn’t know whether to be scandalized at their levity, or to laugh himself.
All thoughts of laughter vanished as Barlen Jadestar burst into the room.
“Fanryn,” Barlen said. “Come quickly, it’s Thionan.”
Parno wasn’t very far behind Fanryn as she ran down the short corridor that led to the entrance courtyard. There would be only one reason, he thought, his heart heavy, that Fanryn should come quickly. A small, selfish part of his soul sagged with relief that Barlen had not come calling for him. Still, he cursed himself when he reached the outer courtyard and found Fanryn taking Thionan into her arms, easing her Partner down onto the bench under the plu
m tree, and pushing Thionan’s hands away from the bloody rag she held to her chest with both hands.
Parno sucked in his breath when he saw the blood-darkened arrow shaft sticking out between Thionan’s hands. She’d been surprised coming back from the gate, and not too far away, judging by how far she could walk with that shaft in her chest. And the Healer who’d fixed his arm long gone.
“Traitor’s soldiers surround the House,” she said, blood bubbling through her lips as she breathed.
“That dung eater Dal-eDal has sold us to the Shadow,” Parno said.
“No.” Thionan coughed and tried again. “Not here for Tarkin. Looking for Dhulyn.”
“They don’t know she’s at the gates with Dal?”
“Save your strength, just nod,” Fanryn said, her own teeth clenched.
Thionan nodded. Her lips formed the words “passed” and “gate.” Parno looked at the angle of the sun. This changed all their plans-and yet it couldn’t. They couldn’t leave Dhulyn and Dal-eDal to enter the Dome alone. He looked up as a shadow touched him to see Alkoryn studying his face.
“Pasillon, after all,” the Senior Brother said with a sour smile.
Parno nodded, grim-faced. “They’ll wish it was only the Sleeping God they had to worry about, when we are through,” he said. He turned back to Fanryn and Thionan. “Can you cut it out? Or can we move her?”
Fanryn shook her head. “It’s in the lung.” She turned her face toward him, though her eyes never left Thionan. “And it’s barbed.”
A war arrow, then, not the kind the City Guard would normally use on citizens. This was war, the kind of death they all expected-for many, the death they hoped for. Parno could imagine many worse ways to spend his final moments than in Dhulyn’s arms, her cheek against his forehead.
So long as it was not the other way around, he thought. Please all the Caids, demons and fates, not the other way around.
After passing through the gate in the city wall it took Dhulyn a few minutes to place her companions once again. Linn, the guard who’d eaten onions yesterday, had moved from his position behind her and slightly to the left, and was now directly behind her. His brother, Joss, whose saddle gave off a rhythmic squeak, was still directly ahead. Dal-eDal’s horse had a distinctive wheeze in its breath-nothing serious, but the horse probably shouldn’t be used for racing-and the sound placed the noble in the lead, where he should be.
The Sleeping God Page 37
