Path of the Sun: A Novel of Dhulyn and Parno

by Malan, Violette

  It had taken them a few minutes of arguing, when they were still standing over the body of the assassin, but they had finally persuaded Falcos that using the throne room, or any other exit within the palace itself, was a bad idea.

  “Look,” Alaria had finally said. She’d been pointing to the crest sewn on the man’s blue tunic. The crest that was identical to the one Julen had on her own tunic. “Even if we knew which rooms are safe from assassins, you won’t know which of your own guards can be trusted. We must get you away from the palace entirely. You say the sunburst symbol will lead us out?”

  Falcos was shaking his head. “What’s to prevent Epion from having guards there to apprehend us?”

  “What’s to prevent him from having guards anywhere?” Mar had said. “That argument applies to any exit.”

  “Maybe.” Gun had been rubbing at his upper lip, a sure sign of thought. “Epion must know by now that we are not in the Tarkina’s suite. If these passages are not flooded with guards loyal to him in the next few minutes, we can be sure that either Epion does not know the mechanisms for all the entrances or that he would prefer to keep the passages . . . well, secret. The conditions we’ve seen, the dust for example, support that idea. He’s sent this one man in, not a squad.”

  “Then we will have a chance,” Alaria had said. “And a better one, as I’ve said, if we try for this outer exit.”

  “If you’re outside, and safe,” Julen had argued. “I can go to House Listra. Once I take this uniform off, no one would be looking for me.”

  “And if House Listra cannot be trusted?” Falcos had said. But he spoke more in the spirit of someone who wanted to go on arguing than as someone who really meant what he said.

  “The worst that will happen,” Julen had pointed out, as if she was taking Falcos’ question seriously, “is that I will be captured. You will still be free and able to rally your own support. But Listra is the most important House next to the Tarkinate itself. She is chief of the council and has her own allies and connections. She, if anyone, can call for a full investigation and examination of the truth. It is a chance worth taking.”

  So they had gone on, still with Falcos in the lead, but now heading for the exit outside the walls of palace and town.

  “How far outside of Uraklios will we be?” Mar asked. As far as she could tell, this passage was running straight, and it was the longest they’d been in so far.

  “My mother never told me.”

  “And you never tried to find out?” Mar wouldn’t have been able to stop herself from trying to explore the secret passages, once she knew they were there.

  Falcos glanced back over his shoulder. “Do not think I never looked. You saw for yourself that it took Gundaron to Find the mechanism in my mother’s bedroom. I do not think the triggers are such things as can be found by accident.”

  “And a Tarkin-to-be’s time is kept quite full,” Alaria said. “He is watched more carefully than you might think and is hardly ever left alone.”

  Interesting, Mar thought. Not what Alaria said but that she felt motivated to say it. Clear enough whose side she’s on.

  Mar had made up her mind that they would likely have quite a walk ahead of them, so it was a pleasant surprise when Falcos stopped at another set of steps, these leading upward. The young Tarkin, holding his upper lip in his teeth, looked up and around them, back the way they had come, and up the stairs.

  “Unless I’m completely turned around, I think we’re under the olive grove to the west of the palace,” he said. “Gundaron, where is the Path of the Sun?”

  “There.” Gun pointed up, and to the right.

  Falcos nodded. “As I thought. There’s a small shrine to Mother Sun in the center of the grove, and I’d wager we are under it now. Gundaron?”

  “Third stone up from the top step, left-hand side.” Falcos started up the steps. “But if I might make a suggestion?”

  Halfway up, Falcos stopped and turned back.

  “The Mercenaries say that you plan for what can happen, not for what might happen. The possible, not the probable.” Gun jerked his head toward the exit. “Remember what we said. It’s possible Epion knows there’s an exit here and that someone is waiting above.”

  Falcos sat down on the steps, rubbing at his forehead with his fingers. “So there is no escape for us this way, after all,” he said finally.

  Mar’s heart felt like lead in her chest. This didn’t seem like the kind of answer Gun’s Mark could Find for them.

  “Not necessarily.” They all turned to look at Julen. “Epion has guards who are willing to detain you based on the suspicions he has created, but he cannot have many. As you pointed out, he sent in only the one assassin—though he may have had good reason for that. We have here three swords and a formidable bow. Even the Scholars have daggers, and I’d wager that the friends of Mercenary Brothers have learned a trick or two. Luck has been with us so far.”

  Falcos stood up again. “Any more suggestions, Scholar?”

  Gun’s eyes swiveled sideways until he was looking at Mar. She knew as much about strategy as he. “We’re prepared to fight, and we should also prepare for capture,” she said. “If Gun and I were soldiers, I’d say that Alaria and the Tarkin should go back down the passage, far enough to be outside the circle of light, while the three of us went ahead. As it is, we’re the least use in a fight, so we should be the ones to hang back. If things go well, we rejoin you—”

  “And if they don’t go well, you are still free and the most likely to find your way out to help,” Julen finished for her. The guard turned back to Falcos. “I agree, my lord. This is a good plan.”

  It was hard to sit quietly in the dark, ears straining to pick up any noise that might tell them the fate of their friends. It was easy to imagine noises that weren’t there. If they’d had Mercenary training . . .

  “I wish we knew one of the Hunting Shoras,” Gun said, almost echoing Mar’s thoughts.

  “If we did, we’d be up there with swords in our hands, not back here in the dark,” she said. She got to her feet, unable to stay sitting down, no matter how much more sensible it was to rest. “What’s taking so long?”

  Gun stood also and, feeling for her in the dark, put his arm around her. “It always feels longer when you are the one waiting,” he reminded her. “Julen’s cautious; she’ll be making sure Falcos and Alaria are safely hidden before she comes back for us.”

  Mar nodded, but her heart wasn’t in it. “I have a bad feeling about this,” she whispered.

  Moments later footsteps in the dark seemed, at first, to deny her fears, but then Mar realized that the footsteps came unaccompanied by any light. Gun squeezed her to him and then stepped away. Mar licked her lips and, as silently as she could, drew the dagger she had at her waist, using the space Gun had given her. She felt cautiously for the wall and oriented herself next to it. They might not be soldiers, but they could at least try to defend themselves. She might even remember one or two of the moves Dhulyn Wolfshead had once shown her.

  “Scholars?” came the whisper in the dark, and Mar relaxed. Finally, Julen had come for them. “Scholars?”

  “Here.” There was no point in moving from where they were; they would only bump into the guard in the dark.

  “Have you a light?”

  Mar heard scraping, and then had to shut her eyes against the sudden glare of Gun’s candle. What she saw brought her hand to her mouth.

  Julen was bleeding from a cut on her sword arm, and her left arm hung limp from her shoulder.

  “It’s only dislocated, I think.” Julen bared her teeth in a parody of a smile. They showed bloody. “There was almost a squad waiting.” She spat to one side, grimacing. “So much for all our logic. Falcos managed to shut the opening, and as he does not know the trigger from the outside, they cannot come in after us.”

  Gun had handed Mar the candle and was now supporting the guard with his own shoulder under her good one. “Epion knows at least one other en
trance,” he reminded them.

  “Which is why we’ll have to get out as quick as we can, Scholar.”

  “No,” Mar said. “Give these people time to get back and Epion time to call off his other guards. Now that he has Falcos and Alaria, he doesn’t really care about us. He might leave one or two people to watch, but no squads as he had here. That will give us a better chance.” They’d been wrong once already, but surely logic couldn’t always be wrong?

  “But Mar, Julen’s hurt.”

  “The stables,” Julen said, jaws clenched. “I know the place like my tongue knows my teeth. There’re only so many places the entrance can be, and the sensible place to put watchers ...” she shut her eyes as if she were trying to visualize the area she was describing. “We would have good odds, I think. And my father will be there to help us.”

  “To help you,” Gun said. Julen twisted her head to look at him. “Think about it,” he said. “We’ll get you there and get the door open, but I think there’s a better place for Mar and me to go.” Even as he was talking, he had gestured to Mar to lead the way back to where the side passage led to the stables. Mar picked up Gun’s pack and set off, holding her pace to what Julen could manage.

  “You’re to go to House Listra, according to the Tarkin’s instructions; she’ll at least be able to put a stop to any further assassination attempts. But I’m afraid the only people we can absolutely trust to help us have gone where neither you nor the House can find them,” Gun said. “And by the time they get back with the real killer, it may be too late for us.”

  Mar nodded without turning around. She saw where Gun was going. “We need the Mercenaries.”

  “I agree,” Julen said. “Judgment given by Mercenaries would be acceptable to most if not all of the council. But they have gone through the Path of the Sun, where we cannot follow.”

  “Ordinarily, I’d agree, but I think I could Find Dhulyn Wolfshead,” he said. “No matter what was between us, I think I could Find her.”

  Mar’s lips spread in a wide smile, and she had to catch herself from walking faster.

  Dhulyn sat cross-legged on a pile of fleeces facing the Cloud Shaman, Singer of the Grass-Moon. Spring-Flood, the Horse Shaman, sat to the old man’s right. Star-Wind and Scar-Face sat close behind the Shamans. Grass-Moon reached out toward her, and Dhulyn placed her hands in his. It was the first time, she realized, that any of the Salt Desert People had offered to touch her.

  “My daughter,” Grass-Moon said, “the news that you give us of our Seers—there is no manner in which I can convey our gratitude. It has been many years, since I was a young man, that the Seers have spoken regularly of the one who would come to make them whole. We had long given up hope that those old Visions would ever come to pass.”

  “There is no way to know if I am that person,” Dhulyn protested. “We Saw nothing just now that gave us such an answer.”

  The old man inclined his head, gripping her hands more tightly. “I have spoken with Winter-Ash, Night-Sky, and Feather-Flight, and they agree that the Seers who appeared to you stated that you have the answer. It seems clear to me that it will be only a matter of time until it becomes apparent.”

  The White Twins had told her she had the answer, Dhulyn thought. So there was something she had already Seen that would provide a clue, if only she could think what it was.

  Grass-Moon leaned forward and kissed the back of her left hand, his lips cool and papery against her skin. “Only telling us that the Seers are whole while in Visions gives us so much hope, that we could live upon it for years, if that should prove necessary.”

  “If I could experience Visions with them again,” Dhulyn said. “Perhaps, now that I know the answer is there, I could revisit the Sight with fresh eyes.”

  “I have asked, of course I have.” The crease of his forehead showed Dhulyn what answer he’d received. “They say no, their interest and curiosity in this matter have passed, and we would not force them, even if we could.” He gave her hands a final squeeze and released her. “But as I said, you have given us so much to hope for, and I will remain optimistic. In the meantime, you have your own mission here; do you pursue it, and perhaps our Seers will change their minds, or, and this seems to me very likely, the Seers of one of the other Tribes will be inclined to join with you.”

  Dhulyn leaned back, letting her wrists fall to rest on her knees. It would almost be a relief, she thought, to return to something as relatively uncomplicated as finding a killer.

  “What can we do to help you with your mission?” Spring-Flood asked.

  Dhulyn exchanged glances with Parno. This was the first time the Salt Desert Tribe had offered active help. Until now, they had merely been given the freedom to go where they would.

  “The person we look for is someone who can pass through the Sun’s Door,” Parno said, “but whose comings and goings are not watched over.”

  “It is most unlikely to be a man of the Espadryni,” The old Singer said. Again, Dhulyn and Parno exchanged looks. They had been reluctant to make such a suggestion themselves, it was a relief to have it so calmly addressed for them.

  “Not so many of us know the clue of passing through the Door,” Spring-Flood said. “And it is clear to those who can who their brethren are—the ability cannot be hidden. And except for someone who is performing the vigil and meditation for the attempt, no Espadryni is alone.”

  “Your pardon,” Parno said. “We have been told that one does not have to be a shaman to pass the Door and that the clue is sometimes shared.”

  The two men exchanged smiles. “Truly, anyone who knows the clue may use the Door, though they do not always return,” Grass-Moon said in his thin voice. “But in order to discover the clue, one must have the true magic.”

  “Then a shaman is somehow involved,” Dhulyn said. “Do the people of fields and towns have any Mages among them?”

  “Not that we have ever heard,” the Horse Shaman said. “I believe we would have, but in truth our connection with them is limited.” He paused, frowning slightly. “What of the trader, Bekluth Allain? He travels widely, and his schedule is not so regular that we would greatly question when he comes and goes.”

  “The Visions show that he’s to be of some help to us,” Dhulyn added.

  “Nothing makes greater sense,” Grass-Moon said. “He is not a Mage, that I can assure you, but he may have seen or heard something the significance of which has not yet struck him.”

  “The Long Trees boy, Ice Hawk,” Parno said. “He was doing his vigil at the time of the last killing, and he never mentioned seeing the trader, or anyone else. It seems far more likely that the killer was able to avoid the boy’s notice.”

  “Making it more likely that he is a Mage of some sort.”

  “Well, we have dealt with Mages before,” Dhulyn said. “We will deal with this one.”

  Singer of the Grass-Moon made a signal, and Star-Wind came forward to help him to his feet. “Do you consider what your next action will be, my daughter. In the meantime, I cannot delay longer sharing the knowledge and hope we now have with the other Tribes.”

  Delos Egoyin felt once more around the pastern of the black horse’s off hind hoof. His fingers moved as of their own accord, while his eyes, seemingly squinched up in concentration, allowed him to watch the guard standing in the courtyard without attracting any notice. He lowered the hoof to the ground and straightened with his hands to his lower back before patting the horse’s rump. He nodded to the groom Melos, who held the black’s head, and stood watching as the horse was led away.

  Five guards, half a squad, had appeared just after the midday meal, spread themselves out through the stable precincts and tried to look as though they were doing nothing but lounge in the sun. Delos had known better. He’d already heard the rumors that were flying—ridiculous stories that Falcos was mad, that the old Tarkin’s line was cursed, that Falcos had been the one who killed the Princess Cleona, and even that the boy had killed his own father.


  Delos snorted. As if anyone who knew the boy would believe such a thing. You had only to see him around the horses and other animals to know Falcos was not mad—or cursed either for that matter. Humans could be fooled, some very easily, but animals? That was something altogether different. By the Caids, even the barn cats liked him, and they cared for no one.

  Delos began to rub his hands clean on the piece of old cloth he carried for that purpose, hanging from his belt.

  Eventually another guard, this one in what everyone now considered Epion Akarion’s colors, had come and sent the other guards away and stayed here himself.

  Where was Dav-Ingahm, Delos wondered. Surely it was the job of the Steward of Walls to station the guard, not Epion Akarion. Something was definitely going on. Something more than met the eye. Which undoubtedly meant something wrong. Delos tucked the cloth away again and followed after Melos and the black horse, but only far enough to stand in the shadow of the open stable door.

  There. The guard was moving again now he thought no one was looking. Going to pass through the circuit he’d done twice already. Into the main stable block, where young Thea had seen him go right back to the farthest corner, past where the Arderon queens were still settled, awaiting the birth of the last foal. He’d hovered there a while, seeming to check the stonework, before coming out again into the courtyard and then to the old hound kennels, empty now that the dogs had been moved to a section closer to the outer wall. Out from the old kennels and into the mews, where he must have moved quietly enough not to disturb the hunting birds.

  The guard’s movements resembled nothing so much as a patrol, but what could he be watching for in these older parts of the stable buildings? Nothing good, Delos would wager. There was no longer a large staff working under him, but every youngster was handpicked, and Delos had several of them strategically placed through the buildings, hidden in spots that would allow them to watch the guard’s movements. As the man passed this time, Delos eased out of the shadow of the door to follow.