Dhulyn made a face. If possible, the new hand was even worse than the previous one: not a single pair visible out of all the exposed tiles. Perhaps these ancient tiles, made as a tool to focus the Sight, resented being laid out for gambling.
“Vera tiles—are these your own? A follower of the gods of chance, are you?”
“We’re Mercenary Brothers, Bekluth Allain. Our lives are nothing but chance.”
Bekluth squatted down next to her. “Still, you’ve given me an idea. Would you sell me these?” He gestured toward the tiles with his smooth hand.
Dhulyn turned her head to eye him sideways. “No,” she said.
Bekluth froze, his hand still extended. “They are very beautiful—and old, too, if I’m any judge of bone.” Bekluth reached to pick up the tile nearest him, sucking in his breath when Dhulyn shot out her hand and had him by the wrist.
“I apologize for startling you,” she said. “But you would have touched it by the time I had spoken to stop you.”
“And I apologize,” he said. “I should have asked permission. It’s bad in a trader to show so much interest in anything,” he added with an easy smile. “My mother would be ashamed of me.” A shadow flitted across his face as he spoke. Perhaps his mother had died recently, Dhulyn thought, and he still felt her loss keenly.
“There would be a market for such things as these, if I can find someone to make them. Are there many games that can be played with them?”
“I know seventy-two variations,” Dhulyn said. “All of which can be used for gambling, or not, as the players desire. Some are even suitable for children.” She began to gather up the tiles, setting them facedown into their box. She refrained from mentioning their usefulness as a Seeing tool. Or perhaps they would have little use here, where the presence of so many Seers was in itself an aid to focus the Sight. Bekluth Allain either did not know the Espadryni women were Seers, or he pretended not to know, for the sake of his trade. Either way, Dhulyn thought, it’s not for me to enlighten him.
Bekluth had remained silent long enough that Dhulyn looked up. His smile was now a sad one. “I have said you are so open, you and your Partner. It seems a pity to force you to lie to me. As I’ve said, better I ask no questions and see nothing out of the ordinary.” He looked over his left shoulder, smiled and acknowledged a passing Horseman with the lift of his hand.
“May I borrow these?” he said, looking back to them. “The tiles? If you will not sell them, may I have copies made from this set? I believe we can negotiate a fee for use that you would find reasonable.”
Dhulyn looked up and met her Partner’s eyes. There was something about this request that struck her as wrong, though she did not know why. It was more, somehow, than not wanting to let these particular tiles, used for focusing the Sight, out of her hands.
“I’m afraid we don’t know how long we’ll be here or where our mission may take us,” she said. “We cannot lend you the tiles.”
“Perhaps it’s just as well. I don’t have the contacts among the people of fields and cities that I once had.”
Dhulyn noticed that he used the Espadryni’s phrase to refer to his own people. “How is it you came to trade among the Espadryni?” she asked. She would keep him talking, she thought. Somehow the way in which he was to help them would manifest itself. “Even in our world the Tribes were known to shun outsiders.”
Bekluth looked up and away, and for a moment Dhulyn thought he might not answer, that rather than put her off with lies, he might say nothing at all. Then, still looking into the distance, he began to speak.
“I mentioned to you yesterday that I come from a large trading family, one that goes back many generations. It was my family, in fact, that founded the Guild in Norwash, the city of my birth.” He glanced at them, then turned his eyes away once more. “My mother married against the wishes of her brothers and was left widowed very early—but not so early that she had not broken with them. It was only when I became old enough to take my place in the family, to join my cousins and uncles in the business, that my mother renewed her contact with them, though she never agreed to live again in the family compound, preferring to remain in the house my father had made for her.”
He paused, but it was evident he merely looked for the right words to use, Dhulyn thought. She had the impression he had not spoken to anyone about these things for a very long time.
“My mother asked that I not be sent on caravan, that I be given a post close to her, though it meant a smaller share, since I was her only child and she depended upon me. Her brothers persuaded her otherwise, assuring her that she was as much their responsibility as she was mine. They did not modify the training for me, and so I was sent to apprentice in a smaller trading house. At first all went well, and my mother’s fears were allayed; but while I was gone on my first caravan, my mother’s house was entered by robbers, and she was killed.”
He fell silent again, this time blinking. With quiet movements Dhulyn shook out the worn silk bag, brushing off any dirt that it might have picked up from the ground. She slipped the box of tiles back into the bag and pulled the braided ties shut.
“It was months before I was home again,” Bekluth said. “Months. It was all over by then, everyone had put her death behind them. They had even sold the house. My house. No one cared anymore. My grief annoyed and embarrassed them.” He hung his head.
Dhulyn glanced at Parno and found her Partner studying the trader with a look of concentration on his face.
“She died without me.” Bekluth’s voice was quiet. “I found I could not forgive them. They were so callous. They said it could have happened at any time, whether I’d been there or not.” He shrugged. “They just didn’t care. Ah, well.” He scrubbed at his face with his hands, then turned to them with a faint smile. “I left them. I trade on my own now.” He straightened to his feet. “And if I cannot convince you to let me buy or borrow your tiles, I must be on my way. My trading here is finished, and the Red Horsemen do not like me to tarry. Sun shine on you, Mercenary Brothers, until we meet again.”
“Good trading, Bekluth Allain.”
“That’s been weighing on him some time,” Parno said. “I hope telling us will be of some benefit to him.”
“Was there something in his story that might help us, do you think?”
Parno was silent a moment, looking at her out of the corner of his eye. “Again,” he said dryly, “it is occasionally hard to tell pragmatism from heartlessness.”
Dhulyn gave him the smile she saved only for him. “I am lucky that at least you can tell the difference, my soul. But listen, do you think his mother might have been the victim of our killer?”
Parno drew down his brows. “He didn’t mention any mutilations.”
“Would anyone have been cruel enough to tell him such a thing?”
“How ironic. They may have seemed more callous and uncaring than they actually were, in an effort to shield him from the full story.”
Now it was Dhulyn’s turn to look sideways at her Partner. “You are always seeing irony. We do not even know if there is any substance to our speculations.”
They fell silent as another set of footsteps approached. They stood as Star-Wind neared them, escorting the old Cloud Shaman, Singer of the Grass-Moon.
“The Seers are asking for you again, Dhulyn Wolfshead, Parno Lionsmane. Will you come?”
The inside of the secret passage was narrow, so narrow that in places Falcos, with his broad shoulders, had to turn slightly sideways to get through. It wasn’t the space that complicated things so much, Gun thought, as it was the need to be as quiet as possible as they crept away from the entrance that led to the Tarkina’s bedroom. They only had the light from the lamp Julen had grabbed up at the last moment, at least until Gun had a chance to find the candle stub in the kit he went nowhere without. Mar would likely have hers as well. They reached the first turning without hearing any noise behind them and stopped around the corner, where the passage widened. We a
re in the outside wall. Or at least he thought they were. He was a little turned around, and he wasn’t going to be given the chance to stop here long enough to Find his directions again. He supposed it was easier for the Mercenaries, since their sense of direction was constant and natural. He must remember to ask them. He started, blinking, as Mar elbowed him in the ribs.
Alaria was handing Falcos her extra sword, shrugging out of her bow, and the Tarkin was whispering some instructions when Julen spoke up.
“My lord, I should be in front.” Gun and Mar squeezed themselves against the rough wall to make room for the guard to get around them.
“I’ll stay in front, Julen, since I know which way to go.” It was hard to be sure, since their voices seemed hollow and muffled in this narrow space, but Falcos sounded more confident than he had in the bedroom.
“And how is it you know the way,” Mar asked, “when you weren’t sure how to open the entrance?”
Falcos grinned, teeth flashing in the light of the lamp. “Because I know the marks.” He tapped on the wall a little above the height of his own eyes. Gun squinted. From this angle, and his own much shorter height, he could barely make out the symbols drawn on the stone. They were painted, he thought, but the paint was old, and it reminded him of the drawing chalks Mar kept in her kit.
“Can they be wiped away?” he asked. An important question. Not that Gun had any doubt he could Find his way out of here, but what of the rest should they be separated?
Falcos frowned and reached up to rub at the bottom edge of the right-hand mark. The paint was unchanged. “As you see,” he said. “This green crown,” he tapped the symbol he’d tested. “That leads to the Tarkina’s suite.” He pointed the way they had come. “Which we know. And you see here, on the other angle of the wall are two signs, a blue crown, which should lead to the Tarkin’s suite, and a horse head, which should lead to the stables.”
“There’s a secret passage in the stables?” Julen’s tone was ample evidence that she was disgusted at not knowing this already.
“Again, I remind you, secret,” Falcos said. “My mother made me swear I would never tell anyone I knew of the passages, not even my father. I don’t think even she was supposed to know.” He rubbed his eyes. “So, we will stay in the order we have. Alaria you follow after me—that’s a good short bow for these close quarters—then the Scholars, who if I am correct, are not armed, though one of you should take the lamp. Julen, you will take rear guard, if you please.”
And if she doesn’t please, she’ll do it just the same, Gun thought. Though, to be fair, either in the front or in the rear was the best place for the guard to be. Gun hefted one of the packs Alaria had brought from her bedroom, handing the other to Mar. Gun had heard that the Arderons maintained the habits of their nomad cousins, and that included always having a travel pack at the ready. From the weight and size of these packs, he’d heard correctly. Julen waited until Mar had slipped her arms through the straps before passing along the lamp.
The stones of the passage walls continued rough and undressed, showing signs of plaster finishing only where the passage branched or met another. They had already learned, even in the short distance they had come, to walk carefully if they didn’t want to raise too much dust.
Gun hitched the pack a little higher on his shoulder, wishing he’d thought to put both arms through the straps when he’d had a chance. He touched the wall with his free hand. “This is like the underground tunnels in Gotterang,” he said to Mar. He was using the quiet tones Scholars assumed in the study halls, but he knew she could hear him. “Except those were bigger.” Mar nodded without turning around. He refrained from saying that then he’d also been with a full squad of Mercenary Brothers, though oddly enough, he didn’t feel as frightened today as he’d been then. He smiled. I must be getting tougher.
At the next turning a new symbol appeared, what Gun was sure was meant for a cauldron. The way to the kitchens? he thought. The stables, the kitchens, both places where extra comings and goings wouldn’t draw too much attention. Unless you were the Tarkin, of course, then you couldn’t help but draw—
He stopped short. “Um, Lord Tarkin? Where exactly are we going?”
Falcos stopped and looked back. The look on his handsome features told its own story.
“Perhaps we’d better decide before we go any farther,” Gun said.
Falcos leaned his shoulders against the wall and wiped his forehead with his sleeve. It wasn’t particularly warm here inside the stone walls, but heat wasn’t the only thing that could make you sweat.
“It’s all right.” Alaria put her hand on Falcos’ shoulder. “We’re safe, and that’s thanks to you.” She sent a glance at Gun, but the Scholar wasn’t offended. He’d only been able to Find the secret passage because Falcos had thought to look for it.
“You can’t think of everything,” Alaria was still talking. “We have some time now, so take a deep breath.”
Falcos had been through a great deal already this morning, Gun thought. It was no wonder he was a bit shaken. Once they were in the passage and safe, the man’s instinct had been to keep moving, and activity had felt right. But now was the time to think about what they were doing, and where they were going.
“Do you know where, besides the suites, the stables and the kitchens, these passages might lead?” Gun asked.
Falcos looked up at the symbols painted on the bit of plastered wall above his head. “My mother did tell me ...” His eyes closed and his mouth twisted to one side. He seemed to be counting something over in his head. “The crowns are the suites, he said aloud. “The horse head, the cauldron.” He opened his eyes. “If we see a chair symbol, that way leads to the throne room, and a sun symbol leads right outside the palace, to the hillside, I think, on the way to the Path of the Sun.”
“That’s the way to go then,” Mar said, glancing first at Gun and then back to Falcos, where he stood close to Alaria.
“I agree,” Alaria said. “Let’s get right out of here.”
“I cannot.” Falcos was shaking his head. “If I run, it will seem as though what Epion is saying is true, that I am guilty. No, I need to—”
Alaria, her hand still on Falcos’ shoulder, suddenly looked up and to her right. Julen must have heard something as well. She pushed past Gun, murmuring, “Douse the light,” as she edged around Mar, who asked no questions but twisted the wick until it was out.
Gun was beginning to think they’d heard nothing after all, when he made out a faint glow of light from farther down the corridor. Caids, he thought. Alaria has good ears.
Falcos motioned them back around the corner they’d just turned, but Alaria shook her head, holding up her bow. Gun could make them out clearly, silhouetted against the light that was coming toward them. When Falcos in turn shook his head, Alaria pointed at the approaching glow, then at Falcos, then made an unmistakable throat-slitting gesture with her hand. Falcos blinked at her and looked around at them. Gun nodded vigorously, hoping that Falcos could see his agreement from where he stood.
This is exactly what he’d warned Falcos about. Stay alone in the room, he’d said, and Epion will send someone through the passage to kill you. Gun frowned. It was always nice to be proved right, but this also removed any doubt that Epion did know about the passage.
Alaria remained where she had been standing; she pulled an arrow out of the quiver that had been hanging down the center of her back and fitted it to the string. Gun opened his mouth to warn her when he realized that the person carrying the approaching light couldn’t possibly see her yet, whereas the light itself made for a perfect target.
Slowly, smoothly, Alaria drew the bow up and let fly, the only sound the faint thrumming of the string. She had a second arrow fitted and ready, but the distant light had fallen.
This time Falcos allowed Julen to set him to one side with a sweep of her arm. The guard advanced with caution, her crouching form clearly outlined in the light of the other lamp, but she was soon
motioning them forward.
“Have you the Sight as well as Finding, Gundaron of Valdomar?” Julen said when they caught up with her. She was on her knees next to a man with an arrow in his chest.
Good shooting, Gun thought, licking his lips. He didn’t think even the Mercenaries could have done better. The dead man’s eyes were staring, and his blood had already stopped flowing from the wound. Gun pulled his gaze away from the man to look where Julen was pointing. Lying still coiled where it must have fallen from the dead man’s shoulder was a thin green rope, twisted with golden threads.
Alaria, her bow still in her hand, crouched down to touch it with her free hand. “This looks like one of the ties from the hangings in the sitting room,” she said. She also looked up at Gun. “So he was coming to kill Falcos, and it would have looked like suicide.” She turned to face the Tarkin. “We were right not to leave you.”
Bekluth Allain found himself whistling the tune the Mercenary had been playing the night before. He grinned, but he made himself stop whistling. It was hard not to be pleased, however. Pleased at his luck, and pleased with his cleverness in taking advantage of that luck. He was usually more circumspect when speaking of his own past, but there was enough truth in what he’d told the Mercenaries to engage their interest and their sympathy. They’d both lost family, that was easy to see, and now they’d be predisposed to think well of him, to take his side.
And he was usually a great deal more circumspect when he headed for his special hiding place. He never took the same route twice and even avoided using the same beasts to get there, since the Espadryni were such great trackers.
“When they know they have something to track, that is,” he said aloud. The horse he rode flicked its ears at him, but the other two were more used to his ways and just kept walking. Since he was in a hurry this time, however, Bekluth was taking the most direct route.
He laughed, and his horse shied just a little. The fact was he’d always been cautious out of habit, not because it was really necessary. The Espadryni were too used to him to suspect him of anything at all—so much so that the boy Ice Hawk hadn’t even bothered to mention having seen him near the Door of the Sun. How was that for luck?
Path of the Sun: A Novel of Dhulyn and Parno Page 27