“You saw the scarring on her back. Did that look like a jest? Her people were killed and she was taken for a slave when she was a small child. The way her people count their ages, she’d only seen the Hawk Moon eleven times when Dorian the Black Traveler captured the slave ship she was on and offered her a chance to be Schooled as a Mercenary Brother.”
He glanced up at his Partner, and his voice softened. “Seeing what she had been, and the use that is made of slave children, it was an offer she accepted gladly.”
Zania knelt down next to Parno and began handing him the items that had come out of the saddlebag. “What use is made of slave children, then?”
Parno sighed. He’d no wish to broaden the girl’s horizons in this way, but truth was truth, and warnings made good armor. “For the most part,” he told her, “children don’t make good servants; they’re not strong enough for labor, and not yet skilled enough for anything else. People who buy slave children use them as bed partners.”
Zania’s hand froze with a second packet of road bread halfway to the saddlebag. He’d shocked her, sure enough, if her white face and wide eyes were anything to go by. As good an actress as she was, she couldn’t control the movement of the blood under the skin. But she was, as she’d said so many times, a player. She shook herself and rallied, pasting an almost natural smile on her face. After taking a good deep breath she sat back on her heels and pitched her voice in the coy manner of a lady engaged in flirtatious concerns.
“And you, Parno? What is your story?” She laid her hand on his arm and stroked his skin ever so lightly with the tips of her fingers.
“Oh, I’m the natural son of the Great King of the West,” he said. He looked down at her hand. “And you can stop touching me like that. Even if you actually meant it, you’re too young for me.”
“You’re just teasing about the Great King.” She did drop her hand, however. “I could tell you were from a Noble House. She’s an Outlander. So cold. Can’t even express a true feeling. You have more culture and learning than she.”
“It’s Dhulyn who’s the Scholar. And the fact that she expresses her truest feelings with a weapon means I’ve seen plenty of them.” He put the last of the bundles back into the saddlebag and drew the laces shut once more. The girl was still far too close to him. He turned to face her.
“Zania, listen to me. I’ve not seen so many performances as you, but I know an act when I see one. Do you think no paid companion has ever approached me in a tavern? I’m not sure what your goal is, but it’s a mistake to play this game. You can’t come between Dhulyn and me. We’re Partnered. There is no ‘between’ where you can fit. You’ve called her cold. Well, if she’s cold, I am her ice.”
The girl blushed a deep red, and then paled again just as suddenly. “I don’t know what you mean, I wasn’t trying to come between you.”
“That was clumsily said; no audience would believe it. Zania.” Parno sat back on his heels. “Let me tell you what I see. First, you’re not truly interested in me as a man—much as it hurts my ego to admit it. Second, you’re not as worried by Dhulyn’s acting as you claim, or you would be helping her to better it, instead of leaving it up to Edmir. Third, it’s Edmir you actually want, and you think my Partner is standing in your way.”
Zania stared back at him, her mouth open, but without giving her a chance to answer, Parno called out to the two rehearsing on the far side of the clearing.
“Dhulyn, my soul, I’ve found the throwing daggers and Zania wants to see a demonstration.”
A piece of scenery that was normally stored against the bottom of the caravan was judged suitable for the trial, and Parno stood it upright against the rear steps. Edmir looked ready to offer himself as the test subject, but Parno stepped in before the boy could speak.
“No offense, Edmir, my lad,” he said, putting out a hand to hold the boy back. “But the audience will care far more about it if a beautiful young woman is at risk than a young man, however handsome. Go ahead, Zania. Take your place against the board.”
With a very firm jaw—no doubt clenched to show she wasn’t afraid—Zania pressed her back against the board and held her arms out, away from her body.
“Where do you want my arms—”
THUCK THUCK THUCK THUCK THUCK THUCK-THUCKTHUCKTHUCK THUNK
Zania froze, her words still hovering in the air, the blood draining from her face, leaving two red spots isolated on her cheeks. She looked to one side, then the other, saw the handles of the knives protruding scant fingerwidths from her skin. She took a single, measured step away from the board, turned to look at her silhouette outlined in knives. She touched one with the tip of her finger.
“It’s like magic,” she breathed.
“Don’t think that because you’ve seen her clumsy and inept in one thing, you’ll find her clumsy and inept in all things,” Parno said. “You players have your skills, and we Mercenaries have ours.”
But it was clear Zania was no longer listening to him. Her eyes were opened wide now, and the smile on her lips was pure pleasure as she turned to Dhulyn, her hands outstretched.
“We’ll announce you as a royal assassin,” she said, taking Dhulyn’s hands and tapping out a few dance steps. “Exiled from the Great King’s court. You’ll wear a black wig and we’ll paint your eyes in the western fashion.”
Edmir wrinkled his brow. “But they’ll know she’s not from the Great King’s Court, they’ll have seen her already, wig or no wig.”
“Of course they will, lad,” Parno said. “It’s because they’ll know she’s not from the Great King’s court that they’ll know it must be a trick. It won’t occur to them it’s skill and skill alone.”
Zania nodded. “They’ll be wondering how we’re faking it. We can ask for volunteers from the audience, as ‘proof’ that we’re not.”
“And that will convince them all the more.” Now it was Edmir’s turn to nod.
“The cleverer they think us, the less likely they’ll think we’re actually doing it.”
Zania still held Dhulyn’s hands. “Do you think you can fumble a bit? Make it look as though it’s much harder for you? Squint at the target? We’ll need to stretch the action out a bit, at the very least, to increase the drama.”
“Certainly, my little Cat. This is the kind of drama I understand.”
The smile vanished from Dhulyn’s face just as Parno caught the sound himself. They both turned at the same time, Dhulyn dropping Zania’s hands and Parno reaching for his sword before he remembered he wasn’t wearing one. He slapped the dust off his leggings in an effort to cover the movement and didn’t look up until the soldiers who were entering the clearing spoke.
“Don’t tell me what you’re doing,” the woman in the old-fashioned helmet said. “I don’t think I want to know.”
Eleven
“THE BRIGHTEST OF GOOD days to you armsmen, and welcome!” Zania bounced over to the woman who was obviously in charge of the unit of six soldiers and gave her a deep and showy curtsy. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Dhulyn sweep forward, hips swaying in a most obvious manner, to give a curtsy of her own. Parno and Edmir stayed back, though Parno stepped away from the board that held the knives, and both gave good stage bows, sweeping the ground with their hands.
Dhulyn linked her arm through Zania’s—and calm swept over her as her hands stopped trembling and her smile became relaxed. How does she do that? Zania thought, unaware until that moment that she’d even been frightened.
Dhulyn lifted her free hand to shade her eyes from the sun. “Welcome, indeed. Will you share our camp, Commander? We’ve no fresh meat, but there’s water, dried fruit, and road bread to share.”
The woman lifted off her leather helmet and hung it by its strap from the pommel of her saddle, revealing a grinning face and gray-streaked, sweat soaked hair. “I’m no commander, thank the Caids. Just a simple unit leader. Thanks for your offer, but we’ve no time to stop, worse luck. That was a fine trick you were doing just no
w, and I wouldn’t mind seeing it again.” She looked with interest at the knives stuck into the board at the foot of the caravan.
“Don’t spoil it for us, Mira!” one of the other soldiers called out, and the unit leader—Mira—laughed.
“Not such a fool. Players, are you? Been camped here long?”
Obeying a slight pressure from Dhulyn’s arm, Zania winked at the woman and spoke up. “As you can see, Unit Leader Mira. We’re Troupe Tzadeyeu—players, singers, and dancers—at your service. My Uncle Parryn, my Aunt Dilla, my husband Edan, and myself.”
As if they had been rehearsing this all morning, Dhulyn chimed in. “Camped here since yesterday evening, practicing away from the prying eyes of our public.”
“Heading where?”
“To Jarlkevo, my dear Unit Leader. Sure we can’t interest you in a shared meal? We don’t have time for a full performance, but we could sing and play. You won’t hear finer this side of Beolind.” Dhulyn’s voice was full of sunshine, and her smile was just as warm. Why can’t she do this on stage? Zania thought.
One or two of the soldiers had perked up at this renewed offer and even Unit Leader Mira hesitated before slowly shaking her head.
“I believe you, Dilla Tzadeyeu, but we’ll have to take our chance that you’ll still be in Jarlkevo when our patrol is over. We’re due back to our guard tower tonight, like it or not.”
“Is the House in residence, then?”
“She is,” the unit leader said. “You won’t find Valaika Jarlkevoso off in Beolind like many of your fine Houses, with the Steward of Keys left in charge. And good thing for her people, seeing what’s happened in Probic—and for you as well, seeing as she’s very fond of plays and music.”
“What’s your errand, if you don’t mind my asking?” Parno had come forward and slipped his arm around Dhulyn’s waist.
The unit leader’s face turned sour for a moment, but her displeasure was not, Zania was sure, aimed at them. When she heard the woman’s answer, however, she was glad of Dhulyn’s warm arm through hers.
“You’ll have heard of the devastation of Probic?”
“It is true, then?” Parno said. “We were told, but we found it hard to believe.”
“It’s true enough, some of us have been there. The very stones are melted in the streets. But some few escaped the Blue Mage’s fires, and we’re looking for two Mercenary Brothers. Have you seen any such at your performances, or encountered them on the road?”
“Mercenary Brothers?” Dhulyn’s voice had just the right hint of confused curiosity. “We understood the Brotherhood was banished— why, almost a moon ago now. Are these stragglers, then, you look for?”
“I wish that’s all it was, Lady.” The unit leader shook her head. “A bad business. Word came from Beolind these two in particular are wanted for questioning in the death of Lord Prince Edmir. Them and a young man they might have with them.”
Perfectly all right to look shocked and dismayed, Zania thought. Perfectly normal. She glanced at Dhulyn and saw her lick her lips.
Parno shifted to his left, until he had his arms around both of them, squeezing their shoulders. “What’s unexplained about a death in battle, even at the hands of Mercenaries?”
“Ah, but it’s said this wasn’t such a death, but rather a case of kidnap and murder by a pair of Mercenaries gone rogue.”
“Rogue Mercenaries? Is that even possible? By the Caids, what’s becoming of the world?” Parno shook his head, but the hand on Zania’s shoulder tightened enough to hurt.
Dhulyn patted Parno’s arm. “There, there, my dearest, I’m sure there’s some simpler explanation than the end of the world. Should we be worried?” she added, turning to the unit leader. “Is there news of them, hereabouts?”
“No, there isn’t, for which we’re thanking the Sleeping God, I can tell you.” There were shrugs of agreement from among the soldiers at her back. “But formal complaint and a request for outlawry’s gone from Kedneara the Queen to the Mercenary House in Lesonika, that’s for certain, with banishment for all in the meantime.” A grumble came from the soldier who’d spoken up before and there were sidelong looks. Zania had the feeling none of them were looking forward to finding or detaining any Mercenary Brothers.
“Well, best of luck to you, Unit Leader. The Caids bless you, and the Sleeping God keep you in his dreams.”
“And the same to you, players.”
“Oh, Unit Leader,” Dhulyn piped up just as the woman was turning her horse aside to lead the way through the south side of the clearing. “What should we do if we run into these Mercenaries?”
The unit leader frowned, suddenly looking much older. “Do the same you did with us,” she said. “Offer to feed them and sing them a song. With luck, you’ll get the same answer. In the meantime, if you head southwest from here, you should reach the village of Luk before nightfall, if you’d rather not camp alone.” With that, she put her helm back on. The others in the unit nodded as they went past, the second last one giving Zania an appreciative look as he went by.
“Well.” When the sounds of movement through the trees had died away, Parno hugged them closer for a moment before stepping back, his hand still on Dhulyn’s shoulder. “The banishment’s real, then, for all that not everyone we’ve met has heard of it. But outlawry? Sons of blooded demons and perverts. Has there ever been a Mercenary Brother outlawed?”
Dhulyn rubbed her face, let her hands fall back to her sides. “I believe so. Long ago, perhaps even before Pasillon, the scroll I read was unclear on that point. The Common Rule’s supposed to prevent it.”
“Wonderful. Blooded Common Rule’s what’s got us into it this time.” Parno strode over to the board and pulled a knife free. Edmir looked up as Parno passed him, a furrow between his eyes, his lips pressed tightly together.
Too many hard faces, Zania thought. Let’s have a change of subject. She turned to Dhulyn and confronted the older woman, hands placed firmly on her hips.
“And how was it you found it so easy to put on an act for those soldiers? You who can barely walk across the stage without tripping over your own feet?”
Dhulyn raised her bleached eyebrows. “But they were soldiers. I understand them and what it takes to . . .” her voice trailed away.
“They were people,” Zania spread her hands. “And so are the audiences who come to see us every day.” Dhulyn gave a slow whistle. “That’s it, my dear ‘Aunt Dilla,’ now you’re beginning to understand. You’ll be a fine actress yet, if you stop thinking and just be.”
Smiling, Dhulyn shook her head at Zania’s words, and joined Parno at the knives. “To think it’s come to this,” she murmured. “My head turned by a few scraps of praise from a half-fledged girl. And this time last year, I was a god.”
Parno snorted. “Don’t get above yourself. You were only part of a god.” He raised his voice so the others could hear. “Zania, what would your people have done, if they’d heard the soldier’s news?”
“We’d have gone to the village,” Zania answered. “Though to be honest, we probably would have gone anyway, business being business.”
“Then let’s get packed up. We’ll be off to Luk as soon as we’ve eaten.”
Parno waited until Zania had turned away before pulling out another knife. He glanced at his Partner’s face as she knelt and unrolled the heavy canvas pouch, ready to slip the knives back into their sleeves. For all of her joking a moment before, now that no one was looking at her, Dhulyn’s face was set like stone. She was younger than he, but she’d been longer in the Brotherhood. That made her Senior Brother, and that was all it meant, most of the time. But every now and then, and this seemed to be one of those times, something happened to remind him that for Dhulyn, there had been nothing outside the Brotherhood but loss and slavery.
“I’ve been Cast Out,” he reminded her. “It is possible to survive it.”
“Your Noble House didn’t come looking for you, nor was every hand turned against you,”
she said, mildly enough.
“We’re not outlawed yet, my heart. You won’t get careless, will you?”
She fixed him with a sharp look from her steel-gray eyes. “And why should I be careless?”
“My heart, it’s one thing to know that the Nisveans are accusing us of murder, it’s another thing entirely to know that we’ve been denounced to our own House, and that we stand in danger of being Outlawed.”
“And as you said yourself, we’re a long way from that yet.” Dhulyn returned the throwing knife he handed her to its pocket in the canvas pouch. “This whole thing started as a way for us to hold by our Common Rule, to keep our honor, and the honor of our Brotherhood. Though it’s true we don’t look very honorable now.”
“There’s an easy way for us to clear our names.”
“And what is that?”
“Show that Edmir’s still alive.”
Dhulyn sat back on her heels. “So far, that’s got him denied by one who’s known him since childhood, and on the run for his life.”
“I was afraid you were going to say that.”
“Parno, my soul. I’m very much afraid there’s no easy way out of this. Any and all might give us the same reaction we had from Tzanek in Probic. They won’t know him.”
“I don’t like what you’re saying.” Parno pulled out the last knife with more force than necessary.
“It’s no longer merely a question of restoring Edmir safely to his home—which the Common Rule still requires of us—now we must clear ourselves as well.” She held out her hands for the last of the knives. “There might be only the one way to do both.”
“The Blue Mage.”
She nodded. “The Blue Mage. My soul—”
He held up his hands. “I’m not arguing, I just don’t like what you’re saying . . .”
But she’d stopped listening. And she’d stopped putting away knives. Instead, Dhulyn was looking at Edmir and Zania.
“You were very quiet when the soldiers were here.”
Edmir shook himself and blinked. “It’s one thing to know that you’ve been declared dead,” he said. “You can persuade yourself it’s some kind of mistake. But when soldiers come looking for you . . .” His lips were a thin, tight line. “The Mercenaries were right. This must be Avylos.”
The Soldier King Page 18
