Smelled now, not just Parno’s familiar smell, but the garlic in the sauce of the partridge they’d eaten for luncheon, the wine he’d had, and the bay leaf in the water he’d used to cleanse his hands. She felt and heard Parno slip the makeshift bar free and eased herself through the opening, moving only enough to allow him to shut the door behind her. She could hear two sets of breathing now-two?-and stilled her own to listen better. From the left. Low, steady, almost a snore. Unconscious, then, and neither help nor hindrance. And the second? Above.
Dhulyn stepped to the right in time to feel the displacement of air as the body of her assailant landed to her left, his grunt sounding loud to her sensitive hearing. She ducked under the blow she sensed sweeping toward her head, felt the air push past her face and seized the wrist instead of dancing away as instinct and training demanded. She continued her turn into her opponent until she had it back against the wall, her forearm against its throat, and her knife buried in its chest.
Dhulyn eased the body to the floor, pulled her knife out of the wound and wiped it clean on her breeches before carefully feeling upward with her free hand and covering the dead eyes. Many fights were lost through too early belief that they were won. No point in being careless now. She took a moment to allow her breathing to return to normal, to release herself from the discipline of the Shora before laying the knife down behind her and using that hand to dig her fingers into the side of the throat, under the jaw. Nothing, no pulse. The blood had stopped moving from the wound. She made sure the eyelids were closed before she recovered the knife, inserted it with care between her skin and the blindfold, and sliced the strip of cloth free of her face.
“I fulfill my oath, Tarkin of Imrion,” she whispered, touching her forehead with her fingertips.
She rose to her feet in one movement and advanced in the direction of the other breathing she’d heard. She stopped when two legs, one folded under the other, came into her view on the far side of the dais. She advanced even more slowly, certain that she recognized those soft-soled boots with their intricate embroidery. Her lips formed a soundless whistle as she knelt, sheathed her knives, and pulled loose one of the braided leather cords that were woven into her vest. Two important questions leaped immediately to mind.
What had Cullen of Langeron been doing in the Throne room? And was this still Cullen of Langeron?
Dhulyn had just finished trussing the unconscious Cloudman when the doors of the throne room were flung open behind her. The rapid footsteps stopped only paces into the room, and then advanced once more, slowly. The last knot secure, Dhulyn looked around, knowing already who she would see.
Zelianora Tarkina sank to her knees by the corpse of her husband, laying her fingers lightly on his closed eyelids. When she looked up, her dark brows were like splashes of ink on her face.
“Did he speak, once the Shadow had departed?”
Shaking her head, Dhulyn rose to her feet and approached the other woman. She stopped when Zelianora held her hand up, palm toward her.
“Leave me, please,” she said. “You stood by your word and for that I thank you, but leave me now. Please.”
Dhulyn hesitated, looking from the kneeling Tarkina to the trussed Cloudman. Parno left his post by the door to take her by the elbow.
“Come,” he said.
“We must bring Cullen,” she said.
Parno shrugged and bent over to grasp the front of Cullen’s tunic, hauling the unconscious man upright enough to sling him over his shoulder.
“Don’t know why you bothered tying him. The Tarkin wouldn’t have been attacking you if the Shadow’d left him. Logic tells us Cullen must be clean.”
“Logic’s killed people before. Better careful than cursing.”
At the doorway Dhulyn stopped and looked back into the room. There was something wrong. The throne room showed no signs of the encounter, just the body of Tek-aKet, with his grieving Tarkina kneeling over it. Dhulyn drew in a deep breath through her nose, tasting blood at the back of her throat. But there was something else. Something she couldn’t put her finger on.
The new Tenebroso, Dal-eLad, coughed, found himself leaning over the neck of his horse, and straightened, rubbing at the start of a headache over his left eyebrow.
“Dal, are you all right?”
A few blinks assured him he was looking into the blue eyes of Karlyn Tan, riding beside him. He held the focus until he was sure his vision was clear.
“Felt dizzy for a moment.” He looked away, rubbing the side of his face.
“You looked as though you were about to faint.”
“I’ll be fine,” Dal said, shrugging away Karlyn’s concern. They had no time for any of this, they had to get to the Dome as quickly as possible. “Let’s go.”
“But I don’t understand.” Mar sat next to Gun on Dhulyn Wolfshead’s bed, drawing comfort from the warmth of his body so near hers. She looked between the two Mercenaries. “You did exactly as the Tarkin asked you to do.”
Parno Lionsmane closed and tied the silk bag that held his disassembled pipes. “Not everyone will feel that way. The fact remains, little Dove, that my Partner has killed the Tarkin of Imrion, and even though it was at his order… well, there’s no way to know which way the Houses will jump, if they find out. If we ask for permission to go and are denied,” he shrugged, “better to explain, and defend ourselves if necessary, from the mountains.”
Gun took her hand. “We’d have to go anyway,” he said. “We don’t know where the Shadow is now, but we do know we need the other Marks. And the only other Marks we know about are in the mountains. Before Wolfshead killed the Tarkin, we could have sent Cullen’s Racha bird for them-what did I say?”
Dhulyn Wolfshead had frozen in the act of folding her long riding cotte. “Disha,” she said. “That’s it.” She turned to Parno Lionsmane. “When did Disha return?”
“Two nights ago, the same night Gun found Tek-aKet. What of it?”
“Cullen was in the throne room without Disha.” The two Mercenary Brothers looked at each other tight-lipped.
“She could be anywhere,” Parno Lionsmane said finally. “He could have sent her with a message, or just away, if he suspected something was wrong with Tek. We won’t know anything until he comes to himself.”
“If he comes to himself.” The Wolfshead chewed on her lower lip, the half-folded cotte twisting in her hands.
“That mistake won’t be made again, you can be sure,” Parno Lionsmane said. “Cullen’s well-guarded and, unlike Tek, has no authority to order himself freed.”
“It seems hard to go to the Cloud people without him.” Dhulyn Wolfshead frowned at the cotte she still held.
Mar looked down at her hands, clasped in her lap. Here we go again, she thought, surprised to find her hands so steady. Once more on the run. Had she spent longer than three days anywhere since she’d first set eyes on the Mercenaries? She got to her feet, mentally reviewing what she should take with her. No point in packing any of the court gowns Rab-iRab had found for her. However much nicer they were than the clothes she’d had at Tenebro, they wouldn’t be much use on horseback. The sound of her own name made her look up.
“Mar can stay here with Zelianora Tarkina,” Gun was saying.
A cold shock buzzed in her ears. Did he really mean to go without her? “Not likely,” she said, thrusting herself between Gun and Parno. “It’s my bowl you need, remember!”
“But, Mar, you’re safer here if we-”
“Best if you waste no time arguing.”
The voice from the doorway stopped Gun before he could finish giving Mar his excuses. Dal-eLad and Karlyn-Tan had come with them from Tenebro House, but while she and Gun had come straight to the Mercenaries’ rooms, the Noble House had gone to the Tarkina. Dal’s glance fell to the open packs. “Good. I should have known you would be ahead of me. The Houses are already arriving. Penrado happened to be here when you came riding in and he’s called the others.”
“And if we’re
asked for?” Dhulyn Wolfshead did not stop packing to ask.
“Zelianora has told them you’ve gone after the murderers of the Tarkin,” Dal said. “She’s said that he told you enough to set you on the trail with his dying words.” He entered the room far enough to shut the door behind him. “There is good comes of this, if we are careful. Tek deposed and dead was one thing, the Houses were willing for Lok-iKol to be Tarkin rather than begin a civil war. But Tek assassinated is another. Anyone who steps forward to claim the Carnelian Throne will be suspect. The Penradoso is speaking against a Ballot, and calling for Bet-oTeb to be declared Tarkin, with an appropriate Guardian, of course, and many of the other Houses are listening.”
“Enough?”
Dal shrugged. “It will be easier for Zelianora to ask for the Guardianship herself if…” Dal stopped, his unspoken words hanging in the air.
“If she’s seen to have acted decisively in sending us after the assassins,” Dhulyn Wolfshead finished for him. He nodded to her, clearly relieved that she understood. “These youngsters have yet to pack. Meanwhile we can saddle the horses-”
“You misunderstood me,” Dal said. “There were those who wished to question you themselves, and Zelianora has told them you have already gone. You will not ride out of the front gates now without making her a liar, and raising the very questions we wish to avoid.” Dal shrugged. “I can have your horses, and even your saddlebags sent after you to the Tenebro summerhome outside of Gotterang.” He turned to Parno Lionsmane. “You remember?”
When Lionsmane nodded, Wolfshead turned to Mar and Gun.
“Go, you two, quick as you can and meet back here. Small packs only, Mar, but leave nothing you cannot afford to lose. Be sure to bring the bowl.” Dhulyn Wolfshead fastened the last buckle on the straps of her saddlebag.
“And speaking of that.” Dal had been carrying a small case made of time-darkened wood with a brass handle set into the lid. “I’ve brought the vera tiles for you, Dhulyn Wolfshead. They seemed to work at least somewhat…”
“I’ll see they come back to you safely.”
“Keep them. I can have a new set made.” Dal looked at Gun, and then at Mar herself as if he would say something in particular to them, but finally he bowed and left them.
As Mar was pulling the door shut behind them, she heard Dhulyn Wolfshead say, “I wonder. Can the Shadow enter the Racha?”
“I hope neither of you are afraid of heights.” Dhulyn looked with approval at the packs Mar and Gun were carrying. The little Dove’s bag was much the same style-if better quality-as the one she’d had on the trail, but without winter clothing, it was less than half the size. Parno was tying their packs to a climbing rope, light but strong, taking care that they would hang true, without twisting or binding. “Boots off, my Doves, put them into the front of your harness.”
“I thought we’d go through the old kitchens,” Gundaron said, handing his pack over at Parno’s gesture and sitting down to get at his boots.
“We’d have to pass through too much of the Dome to get there,” Parno told him. “We’re supposed to be gone already, remember.”
“We little thought we’d be taking you with us this way, my Doves,” Dhulyn said, looking out the window of their bedroom. “But it’s not so difficult. If you don’t look down.”
She looked with longing at her saddlebags. Everything she couldn’t do without-including the set of vera tiles-had been transferred to a travel pack, but uncomfortable wouldn’t begin to describe their journey if, by ill luck, they lost the bags. And there was her second-best sword, to say nothing of the axes and the longbow. She gave a mental shrug, put her most cheerful smile on her lips. Either Dal-eLad would get them their horses and saddlebags, or he wouldn’t. No point in giving the youngsters anything more to worry them. Under her breath, she ticked off a list of weapons. Knives-in boots, wrist sheaths, back sheath under her shirt and the public one at her belt-with short sword, throwing star pouch, and disassembled crossbow, all attached to vest harness, and tied down so as not to snag on anything or tangle the ropes. Parno had, in addition to his own body weapons and sword, the cavalry recurve bow that came apart into three pieces, and the arrows they’d brought back from the Great King’s court, steel arrows that unscrewed, patterned after relics of the Caids. Everything else was either too heavy or too long to take by this route. She’d just have to hope that Dal came through for them. She turned her back on the pile of books and scrolls stacked neatly on the room’s side table. If she didn’t look, she wouldn’t think about them. Much.
Her inventory finished, she helped Parno move the roped packs to the window.
“I’ll get these up now,” he said. “And come back to help with the youngsters.” He was out the window and up the wall in a moment, trailing the rope with the packs attached behind him. Dhulyn knew he’d reached the roof when the rope grew taut, and she eased the packs over the windowsill, watching them rise as Parno pulled them up.
She turned back into the room and smiled when she saw Mar and Gun eyeing herself, and the window, in disbelief.
“If you’re ready,” she said, attaching ropes to the front and rear of Gun’s and Mar’s harnesses, until they were strung out, herself to Gundaron, Gundaron to Mar. “The ledge is wider than it looks. Follow me out, then Parno will lead us all.”
As if hearing his cue, Parno swung himself back into the room and, seeing they were ready, linked himself to Mar with the rope he’d used to haul up the packs. He looked up with a nod as he finished checking the knot.
“Ready?” Instead of just stepping out onto the ledge as she would have done if she were alone, Dhulyn sat on the edge of the window casement, swung her legs out, turned to face into the room, and, gripping the edge of the casement tightly, lowered her legs until her toes felt the ledge.
“You see?” she said. “Just like that. I’ll be out here to steady you.”
Gundaron followed her out, trying his best to ape her actions exactly. He had a shaky moment when his toe couldn’t find the ledge, but once Dhulyn had guided his foot down, he managed well enough.
“Move over here, Gun, and mind the ropes,” she said, allowing him to pass between her and the wall. “Let Mar out.”
Anyone would have thought that Mar had been climbing out of fifth-story windows all her life-as, indeed she may have been, for all Dhulyn knew to the contrary. The little Dove slid out of the window onto the ledge and over next to Gun without hesitation or sign of nerves. Parno followed her out, drew the casements shut behind him and, using a bit of wire tied onto the end of a string, pulled the latch over as he did so. From the inside, at least, there’d be no sign that they’d left via the windows.
“Eyes on me,” Parno said. His tone was even and calm, the same tone, Dhulyn thought, that he’d used to coach Mar in table etiquette when they were on their way to Gotterang. “Watch where I put my hands and feet, and you put yours the same. Don’t start up until you see me wave at you. I’ll be anchored, so you can’t fall, but be careful all the same.”
As Dhulyn knew from her own reconnaissance, there were no windows directly above theirs, so Parno could climb straight up until he’d cleared the two stories above them, and reached the battlements at the top of the tower. These were decorative only, intended to match the style of an older tower, with no place for guards or archers to stand behind them, Dhulyn knew, only the shallow-pitched peaked roof of the tower itself. Parno swung himself over the edge of the stone, and after a few moments, they could see his hand waving.
“Up you get, children, fingers and toes now.” Dhulyn had tested the route herself only the day before, and knew that there were many finger- and toeholds in the rough stone wall, and more than a few places where the whole foot could be placed to take the weight off the hands.
This time Mar went first, scrambling up the wall like one of the monkeys Dhulyn had seen in the jungles of the northwest. Gun lifted his arms to start up almost as soon as he had room to do so.
“Wait.
” Dhulyn said, her hand on his shoulder. “Let her reach the top; you would pull her down as well if you fell.” And me with the two of you, she didn’t say aloud. No point in frightening the boy any more than he was already.
Still, his fear didn’t stop him from starting up as soon as Mar had cleared the top, and Dhulyn found herself nodding in approval for the first time. He’d learned somewhere not to let his fear stop him. He might make a worthwhile human yet.
Halfway up, he froze, and Dhulyn bit back her thought. “Don’t look down,” she told him. “I’ll be right there.” She pulled herself up until she was nearly on top of him, covering his legs with her body, careful not to tangle the ropes. “Take a deep breath and move up. Parno’s there, see him? He’s got the slack of the rope. You can’t fall, just help him bring you up, don’t let him do all the work.” When he still didn’t move, she added, “Look within, Find your courage.”
Dhulyn’s fingers were just beginning to feel the strain when the boy nodded as though his neck were made of oak, and began to move, first his right hand, then his left, his right foot, his left. Dhulyn held herself back a moment, checking the rope, keeping out of the way of his lower limbs, but not letting Gun get so far ahead that he couldn’t feel her presence between him and the long fall.
“Keep breathing,” she said. “Let the air move in and out, in and out.”
It could not have been more than minutes later that Parno was helping Gun roll over the battlement onto the roof, but Dhulyn was sure that it felt much longer to the boy.
“Not to worry,” Parno was saying. “We’re only going to walk along this wall to that other tower you see there. No more climbing.” Mar had hold of the boy’s hand, and his grip on hers was so tight her fingers looked white.
Gun swallowed, but whatever he wanted to say didn’t make it out of his lips.
“We’ll still have the ropes,” Dhulyn said, in her most matter-of-fact tones. “There’s still no way for any of us to fall. You keep your eyes on the spot where your rope attaches to Mar, and you’ll be fine.”
The Sleeping God Page 47
