The Sleeping God

by Violette Malan

  Karlyn started off to the left, heading for the far corner. “If it was, this is the place to look, right enough. Private blades-family blades that is, or anything jeweled should be along here.”

  “Do you remember my father?”

  Karlyn nodded, without turning around. “I met him once, just before I became Walls. A big man, golden-haired like a lion.” Karlyn turned to look more carefully at the other man. “Like you. You must look quite like him, though I won’t lie to you, I don’t remember his face. That would be, let me think… I’ve been Steward of Walls in Tenebro House for fifteen years, and served almost as many before that, since my father brought me here. So close to twenty years ago.”

  “The Tenebroso never objected to your father bringing you?”

  “Because he was her husband, you mean?” Karlyn shook his head. This was a question he’d answered many times over the years. “His children by other women did not affect the succession. And she liked me,” he added, seeing that it was Dal he spoke to. “Trusted me enough to make me Walls when old Norwed-Gor died, though my father was gone himself by then.”

  “A man’s made Walls of a House as much for his judgment as for his skills,” Dal said. “I think we may have need of your judgment now.”

  Karlyn heard Dal’s last words, but at first they did not register. He had reached the section of the tables where the swords were laid out in wooden racks, hilts first. He had stopped at a particular sword about one third of the way down the rack on the left. A sword lacking the patina of dust worn by those around it. A sword he knew.

  Dal’s father might very well have had a sword like this one; forged by a master, perfectly balanced, sharp along the full bottom and back perhaps two thirds of the top edge. But this was not Dal’s father’s sword. Karlyn knew this sword. Knew the horsehead pommel, knew the very slight nick in the guard. He’d had this sword in his hands within the last three days. And if her sword was here, then the red-haired, gray-eyed Mercenary and her companion had not, after all, left Tenebro House two days ago-Karlyn-Tan struck his thigh with his fist and turned on Dal-eDal.

  “What do you know about this?”

  “Little more than you.”

  “You helped him, don’t deny it.”

  Karlyn saw Dal consider reprimanding him for his tone, saw the noble’s face relax as he changed his mind.

  “My cousin the Kir doesn’t always leave me in a position to refuse when he commands-as you very well know.”

  Yes, Karlyn knew. Dal had come to the House a frightened boy, hostage for the good behavior of his mother and the safety of his sisters. The women were gone now, dead or married off, but the habits of years were not so easily shaken away.

  “I heard the same story as you. The Mercenaries gone from the guard after the incident of the bad food, as their Common Rule requires. Mar-eMar’s escort seen leaving Gotterang by the North Gate. I was relieved when I learned that they were gone.”

  “Looks like your relief is short-lived,” Karlyn said. And mine, he added to himself.

  Dal was nodding, as he brushed the dust off the sword next to Dhulyn Wolfshead’s with a fingertip. “Lok’s not impressed by the Curse of Pasillon, you know. He says the power of the Brotherhood has passed, and there are too few of them left in the world to pose such a threat.”

  “He’s a great one for logic, is the Kir,” Karlyn said, his anger rising hot enough to burn his throat. “But logic’s a two-edged blade, and can cut both ways.” He hefted the Mercenary’s blade for emphasis. “Even in these times, people have a way of dying when Mercenaries go missing or abused. How’s this for logic? If their numbers are fewer in these years, would they not be all the more careful of each other?”

  “What is so important that Lok would put the whole House into danger this way?”

  Karlyn spat to one side. “It’s that snake spawn Beslyn-Tor behind this.” Dal’s head jerked up, and his eyes narrowed as he studied Karlyn’s face. “Did you think I didn’t know? I’m Walls, for the Caids’ sake. That poison’s been coming to the House for months now.” Karlyn laid the sword back down in the rack. He’d never regretted having to let anyone into the House as much as he regretted having to let in the leader of the New Believers. Not that he much liked the Jaldean’s underlings either. Hard to make out which was worse, bona fide poisonous snakes, or their tail-kissing followers.

  “What will you do?”

  This time Karlyn did not trouble to hide his disgust. “I am Steward of Walls of Tenebro House,” he said. “My oath, and my responsibility are not to you, Lord Dal, nor to Lok-iKol, nor even to the Tenebroso herself. My Oath is to the House. And it is the House I will protect.”

  Karlyn-Tan swept by him so brusquely that Dal had to take a step back to keep from being shoved off his feet. The hand that he put out to steady himself knocked against the rack of swords, setting the blades of some ringing like bells. The nearest blade was knocked from the rack entirely, its dusty tip rapping the tabletop sharply. This sword was marginally shorter than the Mercenary’s weapon, slightly curved and sharp on only the bottom edge. However, it, too, had an animal’s head for a pommel, this time, a mountain cat. One of the cat’s ears had been hammered flat, when the pommel itself had been used to strike a blow. Dal sucked in a breath, wrapped his hand around the cat’s head.

  This was his father’s sword.

  IT IS COLD. THE WOMEN HAVE ROSY CHEEKS IN PALE FACES; A FEW HAVE COVERED THEIR BLOOD-RED HAIR WITH SCARVES OR HOODS. THEY STAND IN A CIRCLE, HOLDING HANDS, EYES CLOSED. ALL CHANTING THE SAME WORDS, OVER AND OVER. ONE OF THEM APPEARS TO BE HERSELF, OLDER, BUT WHERE IS HER MERCENARY BADGE? SHE TREMBLES…

  AND SEES THE FIRE. THE MOB MILLING ABOUT IN FRONT, THE FLAMES LICKING AT THE WINDOWS. THERE ARE CHILDREN INSIDE, AND UNLESS SOMEONE ARRIVES IN TIME TO SAVE THEM-

  Blood. And. Demons. Dhulyn turned on her side, hugging herself in the feathery warmth of the bed. That was the Finder’s fire in Navra, certain sure, so why should she be Seeing that now? And as for the circle of women… Espadryni women. Herself older she’d Seen, many times, but never without her tattoo. Dhulyn blinked. Not herself without her Mercenary badge, but her mother.

  Not the future, but the past.

  Could this be the work of the fresnoyn? Or had she been having Visions of the past all along, and never known it? Dhulyn laughed aloud. No wonder the Sight had been of so little practical use to her-she’d have to look at each one more carefully than before. She squeezed her eyes shut. Perhaps the fair-haired boy she’d seen was not Parno’s child, but Parno himself?

  Dhulyn shook her head and took another, deeper breath. She had no time to fully consider these questions now. First things first. They had looked for her, old One-eye and his leashed Scholar. Looked for her specifically because she was who she was… what she was.

  Dhulyn’s eyes flicked open. Because the women of her Clan-no, of the Tribe were Seers. She frowned, digesting this information. So the Mark had not fallen on her from the clear blue sky, as she’d always thought. Her mother had been Marked as well, and the other women of her tribe. Seers all.

  And I have seen your face, Mother.

  Gone. All gone. Not just her mother, her father, aunts, uncles, cousins. Her Clan, and likely her whole Tribe. Everyone who might have helped her when her Mark came. Everyone who might have had some answers. Why hadn’t the Sight helped them?

  Why hadn’t the Sight helped her? Kept her out of Lok-iKol’s hands? Dhulyn rubbed at the still-numb skin of her face. Had they asked her anything else? For a moment the smoky darkness, the face of a man turning purple as he choked to death threatened to rise again, but she gritted her teeth against it.

  The Tarkin, she thought, remembering the color of his tunic and the golden circlet around his brows. The Tarkin of Imrion was going to be poisoned, by the Sun and Moon, and she knew who would gain by it. Though not for long. This was information she should take to Alkoryn Pantherclaw-if she could think of a way to explain how she came by it.

&nb
sp; Dhulyn blinked. The important thing right now was escape. She pulled her hands out from under the warm covering and ran her fingers over her head. Contrary to how it felt from the inside, it was in one piece, though her scalp, like her face, felt numb. That was the fresnoyn and the poppy still in her blood. Her hair was untouched, neither unbound, nor cut nor shaved. She started to sit up and stopped abruptly, hissing at the throbbing of her head. This was not good.

  She gritted her teeth. Pain or no, she had to get up, get out, find Parno. And all without finding herself again in that chamber, with the fresnoyn fresh inside her, when they’d thought of better questions to ask her.

  The shape of the present room told her nothing. Alkoryn’s floor plans had shown dozens of squarish rooms. Heavy hangings covered the walls entirely, the only furniture her bed, and, just within reach on the floor, a glazed pitcher with a matching cup. She scrubbed her hands over her face and again ran her fingers over her hair, this time feeling carefully at the beads and baubles, ribbons and thongs, all intact, tied and woven through it. She touched the wire she was looking for and released a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

  All right. She must put aside her fear, her anger, and be patient. Her Clan might be gone, even her Tribe, but she was not alone. As Dorian the Black Traveler had once promised her, she had a House, Brothers, a place to stand in the world. She would hold fast to that and she would not fail them. Nor would she fail herself.

  As soon as this cursed drug wore off, she would find Parno. She would free him. They’d kill the One-eye. And maybe his Scholar boy as well. Then she and her Partner would return to their own House.

  Lok-iKol, Kir of House Tenebro, signed his name to the bottom of a letter, adding the glyph that indicated he had indeed signed it himself, and not given it to one of his clerks.

  “Just these three more, my lord,” Semlin-Nor, Steward of Keys murmured, selecting another sheet of paper from the sheaf she held in her hands to place on the table in front of him. Lok glanced over the list on the paper before him, mentally comparing figures and amounts to what his Keys had already reported to him. He did not trouble to look up when the door opened.

  “My lord Kir, the priest Beslyn-Tor-”

  Lok raised his eyebrow as the Jaldean did not wait to be further announced, but entered the room before the page had finished speaking. Lok pressed his lips together, but stifled the major part of the annoyance he felt. His need for the services the Jaldean and his fanatic followers had been providing, and were still to provide, brought him to his feet, and turned what could have been a gesture of dismissal into a signal for Keys to bring another chair that his guest might join him at his worktable.

  “It has been some days since I have heard from you, my lord Kir,” Beslyn-Tor said, standing in front of the chair brought for him.

  Lok repressed another grimace at the sound of the Jaldean’s honeyed voice, the kind of honey that caught unsuspecting listeners in a golden trap. Surely the priest must know by now that Lok was anything but unsuspecting. He took up his pen and, leaning back in his chair, began to turn it over in the fingers of his right hand, making it dance down toward his smallest finger, and back again.

  “I have not sent for you, Beslyn, no,” Lok said, deliberately using the diminutive of the man’s name. “But now that you are here, will you not sit?” Lok allowed himself a small smile. The chair that Semlin had brought forward for the priest was the very chair that Dhulyn Wolfshead had been sitting in. Two of the silk scarves which had been used to bind her wrists were still draped over the left arm. Lok lowered his eyes to the papers in front of him and without turning to her said, “Semlin, would you be so kind as to bring our guest some wine?”

  The Jaldean’s raised hand stopped her when she had only half turned toward the door.

  “I have very little time this evening,” the honeyed voice said. “I was the more surprised not to hear from you, Lord Kir, given the arrival of your recent guests.”

  At moments like these, Lok welcomed the advantages of his injury. It was almost impossible to register any emotion at all-even when he wished to-and equally impossible to give anything away. So he could be certain that the shock that struck him like a blow to the heart at the priest’s words never showed on his face. Who among his household was selling information to the Jaldean?

  “If our guest needs nothing, Semlin, perhaps you might return to your other duties?” The woman’s well-trained face remained expressionless as she made her courtesies and left the room.

  “We have an agreement, Lord Kir.”

  Lok turned to the Jaldean, setting his quill pen down to the right of the documents on his table. Beslyn-Tor was sitting on the forward edge of the chair, statue-still, as he always did. The man didn’t fidget, didn’t scratch, didn’t chew his nails or rub at his hands. It seemed at times as though he didn’t sweat.

  “I have met my part,” Lok reminded the motionless man. And he had. Eleven Marked had been found by the Scholar Gundaron-though only nine had been turned over to the Jaldean. Until a moment ago, Lok would have sworn that Beslyn did not know about the Healer and the Mender secreted in the Tenebro summerhouse. But he also would have sworn the man didn’t know about Dhulyn Wolfshead.

  “As I will meet mine. You will not sit on the Carnelian Throne without my help.”

  Lok inclined his head in a shallow bow. But once I’m there, he thought, that will be help I no longer need. Especially if he was the only person in the country-perhaps the peninsula-with Marked in his service. Especially if one of those was a Seer. The Jaldean was a fanatic and, like all fanatics, out of his depth when dealing with an equally ruthless but rational man.

  “We have had some arrivals, as you say, but it is merely our cousin Mar-eMar, with her bodyguard.”

  “And that bodyguard? I had heard one was an Espadryni woman.” A warmth lit up the jade-green eyes until they seemed almost to glow. “I have been given the benefit of your Scholar’s theories.”

  Lok sat back and waved his hand in the air. “She answered the physical description,” he said, using his most reasonable tone. “But it is not so unusual. We were able to fully account for her background. She is not Espadryni.”

  “You are certain?”

  “As certain as we can be. We used fresnoyn in her food.”

  The Jaldean nodded. “The chance of a Seer,” he said, so softly he might have been speaking to himself. “There are so few.” He raised his head and once more Lok had the benefit of his level jade-green stare. “It was necessary to be sure.”

  “I believe the woman and her companion have already left Gotterang,” Lok continued, once more picking up his pen.

  “What of the Mesticha Stone?”

  “According to my last report, the ship had left Navra on its way to the shrine on the Isle of Etsanksa to retrieve it. We cannot expect to hear again for some weeks.”

  “He is a good tool, your little Scholar.”

  “He is,” Lok agreed. “I could not part with him.” Certainly not, Lok thought, until I find out what you want with all these relics he’s located for you, and why the Mesticha Stone is so important.

  “Are you sure you will not have some wine? Can I offer you other refreshment?”

  Ten

  IN THE MIDDLE of the first watch of the night, while most of the Household were seeking their bedrooms, Karlyn-Tan checked that he had his set of master keys hanging from his belt and set off down the corridors and passageways of Tenebro House. As he inspected the watch-something he did often, if irregularly-he could take the most roundabout and quiet route to the room that held the Wolfshead.

  His first checkpoint was a young guardsman standing with a drawn sword in her hand, her back to a tapestry that depicted, in fading colors, a boar hunt. Word had it that the Tenebroso herself had worked the tapestry as a young woman, before the deaths of her two older siblings had made her Kir, and turned her attention to other matters. The tapestry hung at the apex of a long curving corridor, wh
ere the guard who stood before it could see down both sides.

  “All quiet, Steward of Walls.” The young woman standing watch at the tapestry saluted with her sword as he passed her, giving her nothing more than a nod of acknowledgment. He knew her well, as he knew all of his own people. He even knew what special feat in practice had won her the honor of standing guard inside the walls and not out. The honor was always a coveted one, but especially on very hot nights when the stone walls gave some cooling to the House. Or on nights like this one, when spring’s cool drizzle misted the battlements.

  The thought that Lok-iKol would endanger this young woman, and all her fellow guards as well as everyone else in the House-Karlyn’s hand had touched his sword hilt before he brought it back, relaxed, to his side.

  Karlyn nodded to four more guards before he finally reached the room that held the Wolfshead. He waited for several minutes, listening and taking deep breaths, before he unlocked the door and stood on the threshold.

  The first thing he saw was the bed placed against the middle of the far wall, and Dhulyn Wolfshead sitting cross-legged upon it, composed, and smiling merrily.

  “It is Karlyn-Tan, Steward of Walls,” he said in a voice that would reach her ears without traveling down the hallway.

  “I remember you,” she said. She still sat softly smiling, her blood-red eyebrows slightly raised. Suddenly, her smile broadened. “Have you come to release me, Steward of Walls?” she asked.

  Karlyn took three paces into the room until he was no more than the length of a sword from the woman on the bed. He cleared his throat. “Yes.”

  The look of blank astonishment on her face, though quickly masked, made the Mercenary woman look younger. “You surprise me, Steward of Walls. Did you not think that my Partner and I left the city through the north gate?”