Path of the Sun: A Novel of Dhulyn and Parno

by Malan, Violette

  “Josh.” One of the others had been looking out from the circle. “Here are their tracks,” he said. “They have indeed come from the direction of the Door of the Sun.”

  Mar’s heart leaped. Here was proof, the Red Horsemen would believe them, and all would be well.

  “They may well have,” Josh agreed. “Did we not see the smoke?” He pointed with the knife still in his left hand to where Gun lay on the ground. “Doubtless this piece of inglera dung set the fire when he found he could not escape through Mother Sun’s Door.” He released Mar and squatted next to Gun.

  “For that we will burn him ourselves.”

  “Josh.” The pensive tone came from one of two men still on horseback, guiding their mounts with their knees to keep the ropes around Gun taut.

  “What now, Tel-Banion?” Josh-Chevrie’s tone was clearly impatient.

  “Are we sure? He seems to care about the girl, to want her to save herself. A Marked one, a broken one, would not do such a thing.”

  Mar’s heart lifted with hope.

  “Unless he is trying to trick us,” another of the Horsemen said.

  “Gun would never hurt anyone,” Mar said. “Never.”

  “If these have come through Mother Sun’s Door, perhaps they are like the Mercenary woman we have been told of.” Once again it was the Horseman called Tel-Banion.

  “Wonderful.” Josh-Chevrie threw his hands into the air. “Now all broken people will simply claim to be from the other side of the Door. I lead here,” he said. “And I have decided.”

  “You lead here so long as we agree,” Tel-Banion corrected. Something told Mar he’d had to make that distinction before. “Why not at least cloud speak? Get the assistance of those who have had to make this decision in the past.”

  Josh strode over to where Gun was kneeling on the ground and pushed off the headscarf, grabbing a fistful of his sandy hair. The Horseman looked at each of his companions, and he evidently did not care for what he read on their faces. For a moment Mar thought that Josh would simply cut Gun’s throat, and she covered her mouth to keep from crying out.

  Finally he lowered his knife hand, and thrust Gun away from him.

  “Very well,” he said.

  The next morning, when the sun was creeping toward the middle sky, Dhulyn Wolfshead was a handful of spans away from the pit, examining the ground as she rode in ever widening circles.

  “What is she doing?” Bekluth tapped his thigh with the fingers of his left hand. He could see even from this distance how the light shone right through her. There’s no darkness in her, not even a spot.

  “There’s quite a mix of tracks here, immediately around the orobeast trap,” Parno Lionsmane said. “My Partner is looking farther afield for the tracks of our two Brothers, to determine the direction they were coming from when they fell into the pit.”

  Bekluth’s hands tightened into fists, and he forced them to relax and open again. He could still see the element in this man that turned away, that spoke to something other than the light. I’ve got to get away, he thought. He needed his cache of brandy if he was going to have a chance of helping these two.

  “And what will their direction tell her?” he said aloud.

  The Mercenary Brother tilted his head and looked at Bekluth from under his golden brows. The corner of his mouth quirked up. The tattoo on his temples flashed red and gold in the sun. “Traders usually show more patience.”

  Bekluth gave the man his brightest smile and touched him lightly on the shoulder with his closed fist. “Ah, but I’ve learned the value of information,” he said. “So what is it the Wolfshead hopes to learn?”

  “Their direction, the manner in which they rode, the speed. Other things. If, for example, they rode side by side, then they were traveling, not tracking. Or if at high speeds, they were chasing.”

  “So you are hoping they were either riding in single file, or quickly.” He took his lower lip between his teeth and furrowed his brow, to show how deep his interest was.

  “Exactly. We already know they were following tracks, so the direction they came from would tell us where we should look for the tracks they were following. And how close they felt they were to their quarry.”

  “And you mean to say she can tell all of this from their tracks? How fast they were riding and all the rest of it?”

  “Most Mercenary Brothers could, yes,” the man answered with a grin. “It’s part of our Schooling, though my Partner is exceptionally skilled. Much of tracking is a question of applying experience to your interpretation of what the signs you find tell you.”

  “It’s very complicated to be a Mercenary Brother, I must say. No wonder you’re all so open—you haven’t time to be devious,” he added putting a carefully judicious expression on his face.

  “It might be that,” Parno Lionsmane agreed. “Myself, I think it’s more likely that we kill the dishonest ones in Schooling.”

  Bekluth let his eyebrows rise in shock. “Kill them, you say?”

  Parno shrugged. “We’re a Brotherhood. We can’t trust anyone else. We have to trust each other.”

  Bekluth tilted his head to one side and affected a studious expression. “Yes,” he said finally. “I can understand that.”

  All the while they were talking, Parno Lionsmane was watching Dhulyn Wolfshead, not taking his eyes from her for more than a few seconds at a time. Bekluth had seen this look on the man’s face before, in the faces of other men. He’d tried wearing that look himself, and with some success if he was any judge. Still, how could a man with hidden darkness truly Partner a woman who was made of light?

  Unless, of course, someone helped to rid him of that darkness.

  At that moment Dhulyn Wolfshead raised her arm, and her Partner nudged his horse forward with his knees.

  “They came from that direction,” she said, pointing to the southwest, “and were heading that way.”

  “Toward the Path of the Sun?”

  “I know of nothing else in that direction,” Dhulyn Wolfshead said. “They were side by side,” she added. “Riding at a good pace and sure of the trail they followed.”

  “And are you sure?”

  Bekluth looked from one of the Mercenaries to the other. Dhulyn Wolfshead regarded her Partner with her blood-red brows raised and her mouth twisted to one side. The look said, “I love you, but you make it difficult.”

  “Sorry,” the man said, grinning. “I forgot who I was speaking to.” His look said, “I love you, but you have no sense of humor.” Bekluth stored away both expressions in his mind.

  “Age will do that to a man,” Dhulyn Wolfshead said, with the same kind of teasing expression on her face. “I have seen a mark that occurs with some regularity, at least five times, and not, before you ask, in conjunction with the tracks of our Brothers.”

  “So what now?” Bekluth asked.

  “Now we ride round to the far side of the pit. With luck, we’ll find these marks there, and we will be on the same trail our Brothers were on when the pit intervened.”

  “Well, I wish I could come with you,” Bekluth said, squinting at the ground. “This is all so interesting. But,” he straightened, “goods don’t trade themselves, and I’m off.” He gave the Lionsmane an expression of particular acknowledgment, lifting his eyebrows and pressing the center of his lips together. “It has been a pleasure passing time with you,” he said. “Good luck in your hunting.”

  Whistling, he watched them ride out of sight. They’d be easy enough to find. After all, it wasn’t as though Bekluth didn’t know where the trail they were following led.

  Twenty

  “IT’S NO USE.”Dhulyn got up from her knees, and dusted off her leggings with a few sharp slaps. “I can’t be sure,” she continued, still frowning at the ground. “They’re as likely to be the wrong marks as the right ones.” As she straightened, she rubbed the small of her back with her fists in a way that Parno found familiar.

  “Is it your women’s time?” he said. />
  Dhulyn looked at him with narrowed eyes. “How is it that you remember a sore back means my women’s time is coming, and I always think it’s just a sore back?”

  “You’re keeping count of the days,” he pointed out. “Or at least you usually do. I have to keep track by other means.” She shot him a look that was half annoyance and half amusement. That was familiar too. “I know you don’t believe me when I say I hate to ask you this, but as your women’s time is so near, do you want to try using the tiles? You may get a more useful Vision than you did the other night.”

  Her blood-red brows drew down into a vee. “You may be right,” she admitted. Hands still at the small of her back, she bent, twisting first one way then the other. She shrugged and walked back to where Bloodbone waited for her, swinging herself into the saddle. “I could have a good, clear Vision with Winter-Ash and her friends, if they would only agree. As good a one as I ever had with the White Sisters.”

  “But even without help your Sight is improved, isn’t it? Since the White Twins I mean. Or am I mistaken?”

  She looked over at him, eyes still narrowed. “You are not. It is. But perhaps it will take me a little time to think of it that way, after so many years of my Sight being more burden than help to us.”

  Dhulyn wouldn’t say the word fear aloud again—fear of what might happen to her, fear of what she might See—not even to him. Of course, he was the only one she didn’t need to say it to.

  Still, Parno was not surprised, when they stopped for a meal several hours later, that Dhulyn brought out the silk bag in which she kept her box of vera tiles and set it down next to her as she ate. “The fear behind you eats your spine.” That was the Common Rule. Only a fear you faced couldn’t hurt you. He let her sit silent as he cut off rations of dried meat pressed with raisins and seeds and set them on large slices of the pan bread they’d been given by the Espadryni. When she was ready, Dhulyn would tell him.

  Finally she took a last swallow from the water bag, took a little more to clean her hands, and, opening the ties of the bag, pulled out the plain olive-wood box that held her tiles. Parno got to his feet and fetched Dhulyn his bedroll, spreading the heavy cloth on the ground in front of her, to give her a kind of tabletop. She nodded her thanks without speaking, set aside the Lens tile in its tiny bag, and began searching through the loose tiles for a Seer, a Healer, a Mender, and a Finder. As she set the last one aside, she hesitated, finally looking up at him.

  “Bekluth Allain wanted to buy these, or borrow them. He said he could make a good profit if he found someone to make them.”

  “What of it?”

  “If they are unknown here, how did he know they are called vera tiles?”

  Parno frowned. “Did he know, or did one of us use the term?”

  Dhulyn shook her head, her lips twisted to one side. “I do not believe so, but . . .” She shrugged. “Whose tile shall I use this time?”

  “Yours or mine, I should think,” he told her. She was nodding even before he finished speaking, her long scarred fingers searching through the remaining tiles for a Mercenary of Swords, which would do, in a pinch, for either of them. She then returned all the loose tiles to the box, set the Mercenary of Swords face up in the center of the cloth and, starting with the Marked tiles, began to lay out, facedown, the pattern she called the Seer’s Cross, drawing tiles from the box as she needed them.

  Then, one by one, in the prescribed order, she turned each tile over. A pattern began forming as she turned the final three tiles, colors shifting . . .

  GUNDARON OFVALDOMAR IS ON HIS KNEES, A NOOSE AROUND HIS NECK. A YOUNG MAN WITH BLOOD-RED HAIR AND A GHOST EYE ON HIS LEFT CHEEK STANDS OVER HIM, A LONG KNIFE IN HIS HAND. . . .

  SHE IS RUNNING DOWN A WIDE ALLEY, OPEN TO THE SKY. NO, SHE IS RIDING BLOODBONE, SHE CAN FEEL THE HORSE MOVING UNDER HER EVEN THOUGH SHE CANNOT LOOK DOWN. BLOODBONE’S HOOVES CLOP AS THOUGH THEY RIDE ON PAVEMENT. THERE IS A RED BRICK WALL ON HER RIGHT AND DENSE, THORNY HEDGES ON HER LEFT. THE AIR IS WARM AND SMELLS LIKE SUMMER, THOUGH THERE ARE SPRING FLOWERS ON THE BRIARS. THE ANGLE OF THE LIGHT, THE TWISTED QUEASINESS OF HER STOMACH, TELL HER THAT SHE IS ON THEPATH OF THE SUN. BUT SHE HAS NEVER SEEN THIS PART BEFORE. IS SHE LOST? . . .

  BEKLUTH ALLAIN’S FACE IS LINED NOW, AND HIS FOREHEAD HIGHER. HE IS SITTING AT A SQUARE TABLE, ITS TOP INLAID WITH LIGHTER WOODS, WRITING IN A BOUND BOOK. THERE IS A TALL BLUE GLASS AT HIS RIGHT HAND ANDA MATCHING PITCHER JUST BEYOND IT, HALF-FULLOFLIQUID. DHULYN CAN SEE THE WINDOW ON HIS FAR SIDE, ACROSSFROM WHERESHE’S STANDING , AND IT IS DAYLIGHT NOW, THE SUN SHINING . THE WINDOW LOOKS OUT ON RUINS, WATCHTOWERS FALLEN, BRIDGES CRUMBLED INTO THE RIVER, STREETS FULL OF RUBBLE. THE MAN LOOKS UP, SAYING, “HOW CANI HELP?” . . .

  DHULYN STANDS AGAIN ON THE ROCKY OUTCROP, THE THREE ESPADRYNI WOMEN ARRANGED AROUND HER. THEY ALL STAND WITH THEIR ARMS AROUND EACH OTHER, SMILING, BUT WITH SADNESS IN THEIR EYES. . . .

  “SISTER.” DHULYN TURNS AND BEHIND HER, GESTURING HER FORWARD WITH BECKONING HANDS, ARE THE WHITE TWINS , THEIR COLORLESS HAIR AND SKIN , THEIR PINK EYES , IDENTICAL EXCEPT FOR A FLECK OF GOLD COLOR IN THE LEFT EYE OF THE WOMAN TO THE RIGHT. BEHIND THEM SHE CAN SEE THE FLOOR OF THEIR ROOM, SCATTERED WITH TOYS. “TAKE CARE,” THEY SAY. “LOOK WELL AROUND YOU. YOU KNOW. YOU HAVE ALREADY SEEN THE ANSWERS.” . . .

  GUN IS RUNNING IN FRONT OF HER, LOOKING BACK OVER HIS SHOULDER TO BECKON HER ON WITH A GESTURE NOT UNLIKE THAT OF THE WHITE TWINS. THIS TIME SHE RECOGNIZES THE WALLS OF THE PATH OF THE SUN. A FACE STARES BACK AT HER FROM THE WALL, WID E-BROWED, POINTED OF CHIN, THE NOSE VERY LONG AND STRAIGHT, THE LIPS FULL CURVES. THE EYES HAVE BEEN FINISHED WITH TINY CHIPS OF BLACKS TONE, SO THAT THE FACE DOES INDEED APPEAR TO BESTARING.. . .

  “Nice of the White Twins to tell us to be careful, but I don’t think that gives us as much help as they might have wished. And what answer is it that you’ve already Seen?”

  “It strikes me that if I can connect with the White Twins while in Vision, my Seer’s world has just become a much larger place.” She might not need to be physically with other Seers, she thought. It might be enough to speak with them while within the Visions themselves. “That may be the answer for the Espadryni as well. Perhaps I could see them in a Vision, whether we are together or not.”

  “It’s a big perhaps, and you are usually the one who says better cautious than cursing.”

  Dhulyn nodded, but slowly, finding herself unwilling to give up the possibility that she was not completely alone with her Mark. “If I See them again, I’ll try to speak with them; perhaps that will give me proof, one way or another.”

  “And in the meantime, is there anything useful we can glean from what you Saw?”

  “Bekluth Allain still offers us his help, even as an older man—do you think that means we shall still be here?” Dhulyn did not wait for Parno’s answer. “Visions of the past have always had special importance for me, but seeing the Path as it must have been in the time of the Caids . . .” She shook her head. “How is that useful?” She looked up. “I Saw Gundaron again.”

  “On the Path or with the Red Horsemen?”

  Dhulyn looked over to him sharply, but Parno was doing his automatic check of ties, buckles, and straps, preparatory to mounting Warhammer. So he hadn’t realized what he’d just said.

  “That is how I’ve Seen him,” she acknowledged. “Both on the Path and with the Horsemen.” She shoved her box of tiles into her top pack and tied it shut so fast she almost cut herself on the leather thong. She swung herself into the saddle. “Quickly,” she said. “He’s come through the Path, and the Espadryni have found him.”

  “And so?” But Parno was already in the saddle himself, already urging Warhammer to follow her at the horse’s top speed.

  “So he’s a Finder,” she shot over her shoulder, and was rewarded with a look of instant comprehension.

  Alaria crept out of the bedroom with her clothes and boots in her arms, leaving Falcos sleeping. She let the door swing quietly shut behind her. She was sorry to leave hi
m like this, but she wasn’t certain she would be able to say good-bye again.

  I wouldn’t be saying good-bye at all, she thought, her nose wrinkling at the thought of dealing with Epion, if it wasn’t for the queens. Quickly she pulled her tunic on over her head and tugged it straight before picking up her trousers. Her responsibility to the Arderon horses was a real one, weighty enough that she was not justified in putting her own safety first. Exactly the kind of responsibility she would have to the people of Menoin if she ever became their Tarkina.

  When, she told herself. When I become their Tarkina. What Falcos had said was very likely true. No, was definitely true. She, herself, had nothing to fear from Epion. And who knew? Once out and free, she would find a way to free Falcos as well.

  Like stick a knife in Epion. She smiled grimly as she pulled on her boots.

  Heading for the door, she found her footsteps hesitating. What if they didn’t let her out? She straightened her tunic again and pushed back her hair. Only one way to find out.

  Alaria took a deep breath and crept up until she could bring her lips close to the edge of the outer door.

  “Hello?” She winced as her voiced trembled and cracked. She only wished she were acting. She cleared her throat.

  “Is there anybody out there?” she said. “Hello?”

  Alaria sat back on a padded and cushioned settee while a Healer took her pulse. As she’d hoped, the guards Epion had left outside the door had been instructed to let her out if she’d asked them to, and one had escorted her to Epion’s own sitting room, where the Healer had been quickly summoned.

  Footsteps sounded in the anteroom, and the guards with her straightened more carefully to attention as Epion Akarion entered the room.

  Alaria leaped to her feet, pulling her hand away from the Healer.

  “My lord,” she said, using the possessive for the first time. “Oh, my lord, can you forgive me? Oh! I have been so foolish!” She put one hand on Epion’s arm and covered her face with the other. She had said she wasn’t a good enough actress to fool anyone, but it was easier to put a catch in her voice and tears in her eyes than she would have expected. And, with luck, Falcos was right—Epion would want to be fooled.