Path of the Sun: A Novel of Dhulyn and Parno

by Malan, Violette

  Finally he blinked and cleared his throat. “I didn’t Find anything,” he said. “At least—” but he shook his head. “Perhaps with the bowl.”

  Dhulyn squeezed the young Scholar’s shoulder, giving him back his reins as her eyes turned to her Partner. “The trail’s getting cold as we debate it,” she said. “Do we follow it, or have guards posted to catch the man when he comes to strike again?”

  “If he comes to strike again,” Parno pointed out. It was a sensible suggestion, but one that stuck in his throat. “And guards to be posted for how long? Told to look for what?” He shook his head. “I know we were discharged, but Cleona of Arderon was in our care five days, and it could be seen as a black mark on us and perhaps on our Brotherhood if we do not track down her killer.”

  Dhulyn’s eyes danced, but only Parno knew her well enough to know that inside she was smiling. “Alaria won’t like the idea of leaving guards, that’s certain,” she said. “And if, as we think, our own Brothers came to this same conclusion and have already walked this Path, key or no, so must we.”

  “Mercenaries,” the Tarkin began.

  Dhulyn turned back to him. “Have people entered the Path of the Sun and returned successfully? Even without a key?”

  “There are stories of such feats, yes. But, Wolfshead, these same stories tell us that you must at least wait for tomorrow’s dawn. ‘In with sunrise, out with sunset,’ is what they say.”

  “That makes sense,” Gundaron said. “After all, it must have been given its name for some reason. What better time to start the Path of the Sun than at dawn?”

  “Gun says the Path itself must be a Caid artifact,” Dhulyn said as they prepared for bed in the rooms they’d been given in the palace. Falcos Tarkin had wanted to give them every comfort, and Alaria in particular had wanted them close. “He’s seen drawings of mazes in the documents left from their days. From what he says, they were used for gardens, not as defensive works. Can you imagine?” She looked at him over her shoulder. “It would be like building a wall so that vines could climb up it.”

  “An artifact of the Caids,” Parno said under his breath. “How lovely. I wonder what this one is supposed to do?”

  Dhulyn smiled her wolf ’s smile. “You never know, my soul. The odds say one of their artifacts must prove to be of beneficial use some day....”

  “Well, you’re the gambler, but somehow I don’t think this is the day.” Parno grunted as he shifted to give her more room.

  Dhulyn paused just as she was lifting her legs onto the mattress. “What? Is the bed too soft?”

  “My back hurts,” he said.

  “ ‘Don’t buy that red saddle,’ I said.” Dhulyn rolled over until she could press her back up against him. “ ‘But it’ll look so pretty on my horse,’ he said. ‘Don’t do it,’ I said, ‘It’ll hurt your back,’ I said. ‘How could it hurt my back, he said . . .’ ”

  Parno put his hand over Dhulyn’s mouth.

  GUNDARON OFVALDOMAR IS ON HIS HANDS AND KNEES, RETCHING. MAR IS ON HIS FAR SIDE, WHITE-FACED, AND HER DARK BLUE EYES ARE ROUNDER THAN DHULYN HAS EVER SEEN THEM. GUN SITS BACK ON HIS HEELS, WIPING AT HIS MOUTH WITH HIS SLEEVE. THEY ARE IN THEIR SCHOLARS’ DRESS, BROWN LEGGINGS, BLUE TUNICS, SO DHULYN JUDGES THIS SCENE IS LIKELY TO BE IN THE FUTURE. SHE LOOKS AROUND, BUT ALL SHE CAN SEE IS A SEA OF WILD GRASS , HEAVY WITH SEED....

  IT IS A GRANITE WALL, WEATHERED AND IN PLACES CRACKED BY THE PASSAGE OF TIME. BUT IT IS WORKED, HUMAN-MADE, AND OBVIOUSLY CREATED BY THE HAND OF SOME MASTER STONE MASON AMONG THE CAIDS. THE SHADOWS ARE SUCH THAT IT TAKES A MOMENT FOR DHULYN TO SEE THE ROCK HAS BEEN CARVED. A FACE STARES BACK AT HER FROM THE WALL, WIDE-BROWED, POINTED OF CHIN, THE NOSE VERY LONG AND STRAIGHT, THE LIPS FULL CURVES. THE EYES ARE EMPTY....

  A SMALL BOY IS SQUATTING ON HIS HEELS IN THE GRASS, DANGLING A PIECE OF WILLOW OSIER FOR AN ORANGE KITTEN. AS THE KITTEN LEAPS AND JUMPS, THE BOY TOUCHES IT, AND THE KITTEN FALLS, PANTING, ITS EYES GROWING MILKY AND DARK. HE TOUCHES IT AGAIN, AND IT LEAPS UP, BLINKING, AND THRASHING ITS LONG TAIL. THE BOY DANGLES THE OSIER AGAIN, AND ONCE MORE THE KITTEN POUNCES, AND ONCE MORE, SMILING, THE BOY REACHES OUT TO TOUCH IT....

  THE TALL THIN MAN STANDS BEFORE HIS MIRROR THAT IS NOT A MIRROR. THIS TIME IT SHOWS HIS REFLECTION. HIS WHEAT-COLORED HAIR IS LONG AND UNKEMPT. IT APPEARS HE HAS NOT SHAVED IN MANY DAYS, NOR EATEN. HIS EYES ARE NO LONGER THE COLOR OF OLD ICE BUT THE COOL GREEN OF JADESTONE. HE HAS THE SAME LONG SWORD IN HIS HANDS, AND HE CUTS DOWNWARD, SLASHING AT HIS IMAGE IN THE MIRROR FRAME. IT IS AS IF HE LOOKS AT HIS REFLECTION IN A POOL OF WATER. THE SWORD PASSES THROUGH IT AND LEAVES IT RIPPLING AND DANCING UNTIL IT SETTLES AGAIN. DHULYN WONDERS AGAIN WHY THIS OLD VISION SHOULD BE COMING TO TROUBLE HER NOW. A MESSAGE, BUT WHAT? AND FOR WHOM?...

  A CIRCLE OF WOMEN, EACH WITH HAIR THE COLOR OF OLD BLOOD, DANCE FIRST ONE WAY, THEN THE OTHER. THEIR MOUTHS MOVE IN THE CHANT, BUTDHULYN CANNOT HEAR THEIR VOICES. DHULYN HAS SEEN THISVISION MANY TIMES; THESE ARE THE WOMEN OF HERTRIBE, BEFORE THE BREAKING. BUT WHERE IS HERMOTHER? . . .

  GUNDARON FALLS TO HIS KNEES IN THE LONG GRASS AND VOMITS. . .

  THE STONE FACE SMILES AT HER, ITS PUPILS INLAID IN GREEN STONE. . .

  PEOPLE WORK IN A FIELD OF HAY. RAGGED PEOPLE, FACES DRAWN WITH EXHAUSTION. MOUNTED GUARDS PATROL THE PERIMETER OF THE FIELD, THEIR FACES MARKED WITH THE SAME FATIGUE. ONLY THE FACT THAT THEY ARE FACING OUTWARD TELLSDHULYN THAT THEY ARE GUARDING THE REAPERS FROM EXTERNAL DANGER, NOT FROM ESCAPE. IN THE DISTANCE THERE IS A SMALL FORTRESS, WITH A WALL MUCH TOO LARGE FOR IT . . .

  A THIN MAN WEARING A GOLD RING IN EACH EAR IS BENT OVER A CIRCLE OF STONES, USING A SPARKER TO SET DRIED GRASS AND TWIGS ALIGHT. A PILE OF BROKEN BRANCHES SITS TO ONE SIDE READY TO BE PLACED IN THE FIRE. HIS LARGE HANDS HAVE PRONOUNCED KNUCKLES, LONG FLAT FINGERS. HIS STRAW-COLORED HAIR IS COARSE AND THICK, CROPPED SHORT. DHULYN’S SHADOW FALLS ACROSS HIM, AND HE LOOKS UP. “HERE,” HE SAYS, STRAIGHTENING TO HIS FEET AND REACHING TOWARD HER. “LET ME HELP YOU WITH THAT.” . . .

  AN OLD MAN, HIS HAIR STILL SHOWING STREAKS OF RED THE COLOR OF OLD BLOOD, PEERS AT HER. SHE CAN SEE THE LINES FANNING OUT FROM BESIDE HIS EYES, AND THERE IS WHITE IN HIS EYELASHES. FROWNING, HE RAISES A HAND WHOSE FINGERS ARE TWISTED, JOINTS SWOLLEN, AND TRACES A SYMBOL ON HER FOREHEAD.

  “What did you See?”

  Obviously she hadn’t been quiet enough. Or, perhaps Parno’s Pod sense had made him more sensitive to her Visions.

  Dhulyn described the stone face again. “I think it must be a piece of the Path of the Sun. We will have to watch out for it.”

  “And an old bit of carving made you jump in your sleep?”

  She made a face, knowing that he couldn’t see her in the dark. “I saw a most unpleasant child, some people harvesting in time of war. The Green Shadow again, and you know that repetition is significant.” She paused, breathing deeply. “I Saw a Red Horseman.”

  “Avylos?”

  Dhulyn shook her head. “And not my father either. At least, I don’t think so.” She settled herself against him more snugly. “Oh, and I should warn Gun to be careful of what he eats.”

  The sky to the west was a dull pewter, barely lighter than the vault above them, where no stars showed through the thick cloud cover. The moon had set hours before, but Dhulyn and Parno had not had any difficulty finding their way to the entrance of the Path of the Sun. Parno had dismounted to retie a thong that had come loose on his saddlebag and now swung himself once again into his saddle. He’d gone back to the old one, Dhulyn noticed with a smile.

  From on the ground in front of it, the entrance to the Path of the Sun looked like no more than a pair of wide boulders surrounded by thick hedges, taller than a person on horseback and far enough apart to allow two such persons to pass between them. But a closer look showed Dhulyn that the “boulders” were far too even and regular to have occurred naturally, and that there was even the suggestion of a long-ago fallen arch in the way the top of the left one seemed to reach out toward the one on the right. Caids’ work, for certain.

/>   “We might have lost the trail anyway,” Parno said, looking up. “From the look of those clouds, there’ll be rain before long.”

  “Not before the sun rises,” Dhulyn said. She turned to look behind them. The others were waiting where the trail divided, one fork leading to where they stood, the other fading away into the Caid ruins. Overcast or not, the slowly growing light of dawn showed her Falcos Tarkin and the Princess Alaria, booted and cloaked against the morning’s chill, and between them Epion Akarion on a tall black gelding.

  Dhulyn touched the spot on her quilted vest where she had sewn the pearls Alaria had given her. The jewels, effectively priceless to those from a landlocked country, were Alaria’s personal property, and their use as payment made it clear who had hired the Mercenaries. Falcos Tarkin may have put all his resources at their disposal, but it would be to Alaria that they would report when they returned.

  Behind the nobles, and off to one side where their view could not be obscured, Gundaron and Mar-eMar stood with their ponies. Or rather, Gun stood. Dhulyn grinned. No wonder his riding didn’t improve—the boy took every chance he could to get down off his mount. She hadn’t teased him about it this morning, however. He’d had no luck Finding a key to the Path, not even using Mar’s scrying bowl, and he was feeling incompetent enough.

  “Well?” Parno said.

  Dhulyn looked over at him and smiled. “Well enough.” She turned back to those waiting and touched her forehead with her fingertips. Mar and Gun returned the salute, and the others nodded in acknowledgment. Dhulyn turned Bloodbone’s nose toward the entrance, waited until Parno drew up beside her.

  “Half a length behind me,” she reminded him.

  “Teach your grandmother,” he said, and followed her in. “In Battle,” he said as she passed through the stones.

  “And in Death,” she answered.

  It was unreasonable, Mar-eMar knew, this feeling that they should wait exactly where they were until Dhulyn Wolfshead and Parno Lionsmane reappeared—that somehow, if she and Gun waited here, it would help the Mercenaries in some unknown way. But Wolfshead and Lionsmane would not return before sunset—and probably not today’s sunset at that. It could be days before they came out again. Or weeks.

  “They will come back,” she said.

  “What was that?” Gun still had to use all his concentration to get up into the saddle, otherwise the hill ponies they’d bought for their expedition to the Caid ruins were likely to play some trick on him. Mar repeated herself.

  “Of course they will.” Gun tried to stand in his stirrups to get a better angle on the entrance to the Path, but his pony shifted and he sat down again.

  “Their not coming back wouldn’t be the worst of it,” Mar said. “After all, they expect to die some day. The worst would be not knowing what happened to them.”

  “Well, they wouldn’t know what happened to us, either.”

  Mar reached over and patted Gun on his knee. “That’s right, stay logical.” But she knew that logical or not, Gun was just as worried about Wolfshead and Lionsmane as she was herself. She thought of them as her own kin, and she knew that Gun felt much the same. Parno Lionsmane actually was a distant cousin of hers—though because of the Common Rule they didn’t speak of it much to others.

  “Mar.” The quiet warning note in Gun’s voice drew Mar’s attention to the approach of the Tarkin’s party. With plenty of warning, Gun could get his pony off the path and out of the way of the nobles without too much trouble. The last thing Mar wanted was to draw the attention of Epion Akarion. They had started off badly with him when they’d first come to get the Tarkinate’s final approval on their researches. They’d arrived after a voyage almost the full length of the Midland Sea to find that Lord Epion had already prepared a schedule for them, outlining exactly how they should proceed to examine the ruins and containing a list of artifacts he wanted them to find, in order of importance. All this despite the fact that all these details, and more, had been firmly agreed upon already.

  Mar had had to be very clear about the rights and duties of themselves as Scholars and of Valdomar as their Library. Epion had changed his tune, turning warm and helpful, welcoming them, showing how deep his interest, how sincere his concern that they have all they needed to accomplish the work. But Mar couldn’t forget that he’d first tried to intimidate them. After all, the man was half brother—and legitimate at that—to one Tarkin and uncle and first counselor to another. How could it possibly matter to him what a couple of traveling Scholars thought?

  A fine thing, she thought now, when experience taught you to be wary of friendliness. Still, she couldn’t shake the feeling that Menoin had really dodged the arrow—to use an old Mercenary expression—when the birth of Falcos Akarion had bumped his father’s half brother into a lower spot in the line of succession.

  “Well, Scholars.” It was typical of Epion Akarion that he would address them both together, though Gundaron had the senior rank. Mar felt that courtesy required her to smile back at him. She wished she could make her lip curl up as Dhulyn Wolfshead’s did. “Back to your researches now, is it?” the man continued.

  There might be some people, Mar thought, who would see his courteous enquiry as genuine interest, the mark of a man who took thought even for those people who stood only on the periphery of a crisis. But it made Mar uneasy; it seemed too studied to be real.

  Falcos Akarion’s behavior was more natural, she thought. He had ridden past them with only a nod, preoccupied with his own serious concerns, giving them only what courtesy required. Only when Alaria of Arderon drew rein next to Epion did Falcos stop as well and look back.

  Princess Alaria studied them for a moment, her gold-blonde brows drawn down. “You are their friends, are you not? The Mercenary Brothers? It was with you that Wolfshead and Lionsmane went, to share your meal rather than eat with the soldiers in the palace.”

  “We count them as our kin,” Mar said.

  “But the Mercenary Brotherhood have no kin,” Epion said with a smile.

  It was all Mar could do not to roll her eyes and heave a great sigh. From the way Alaria’s mouth twitched, Mar thought the princess might feel the same way.

  “We have the kinship of blood between us,” Gun said. “Though not blood kinship, if you follow me.”

  “I think you are quite clear,” Alaria said. “Will you come with me? Stay with me at the palace?” Epion began to speak, but Alaria turned to Falcos Tarkin. “I may do this? Please?” He was nodding, his eyebrows raised, but Alaria had already turned back to Mar. “I have no one with me but Cleona’s two servants. No sisters or cousins. No one who is . . .” Here Mar thought Alaria was about to say “on my side,” but the princess must have realized what that would sound like. “No one who is my friend,” was what she finally said, her lips pulled back in a strained smile. “We have the friendship of the Mercenaries in common; perhaps you would extend me your friendship as well?”

  It almost seemed that Epion Akarion was about to answer before the Tarkin could, though Mar noticed that his warmly encouraging smile did not quite reach his eyes, but the Tarkin was already speaking.

  “An excellent idea,” the younger Akarion said. “There is certainly plenty of room in the Tarkina’s wing.”

  “This is very kind,” Mar said, more because she was aware that an immediate answer was required than because she knew what she wanted that answer to be. She glanced at Gundaron and saw that he had the index finger of his left hand extended. “Of course, we would be delighted to accept your hospitality, Princess of Arderon.” Mar hoped she’d done right. In wording her acceptance so carefully, she was making herself and Gundaron part of Alaria’s official party—and putting themselves under whatever protection that afforded them.

  In response she received three smiles, each different and each telling in its own way. Alaria’s was genuine and showed some degree of relief, as if she hadn’t been quite sure what Mar’s answer would be. That relief, however, did not in any way
disturb the marks of sorrow—yes, and of anger and fear that still remained on the princess’ face. Falcos Tarkin seemed pleased enough, his handsome face easy, as at a minor problem solved. As for Epion Akarion, Mar was certain his smile had faltered a little before reestablishing itself, broader and warmer than ever, though his eyes seemed to have narrowed even further.

  “If we may, we’ll fetch our things from the inn,” Mar said to Alaria, “and join you later in the day.”

  Mar waited until the royal party had proceeded a span or so down the trail toward the city before she turned to Gundaron.

  “Whatever your plan is,” she said, “I hope you realize we’ve just put ourselves plainly into the Arderon camp. Whatever happens to Alaria can happen to us as well.”

  “What could be worse than what happened to her cousin?” Gun’s voice was quiet, though steady. “And that’s not likely to happen to any of us.” He looked back along the trail to where they could just make out the Path of the Sun. “Not now that we know it can.”

  Mar pressed her lips together and frowned. “I suppose you’re right. Still, you must have had something in mind when you signaled me.”

  Gun rode along in silence for several minutes, twitching at his reins unnecessarily. “Can you see us, a day or two from now, going to the palace and requesting an audience with Falcos Tarkin in order to ask him what news has come about Dhulyn Wolfshead and Parno Lionsmane? I don’t think we’d get very far past the Deputy Steward of Keys, do you?”

  “If that far,” Mar said, beginning to see where Gun was going. “But if we are right in the palace . . .”

  “Attending upon the very person who has the most right to ask questions and have them answered,” Gun continued, “then our questions are answered as well.”

  “This is why I love you,” Mar said.

  About three horse lengths in, just as Dhulyn had seen from the vantage point on the cliff, the Path of the Sun divided sharply to the right and left. Falcos had said the path to the left was known to be a false one, so Dhulyn and Parno turned right. The walls of the labyrinth closed out all sound from without, as if they had entered a tightly closed room and shut the door behind them. Dhulyn dropped immediately into the basic Hunter’s Shora, but that only made her more aware of the breathing of the horses and of the sound of her own heart, beating in time with Parno’s.