“The cell?-Etkyn! Etkyn, here!” One of Lok-iKol’s personal guard charged in from the anteroom, sword drawn. “Go to the east room immediately and check it.”
“But, my House-”
“Don’t argue, GO!” The man ran from the room.
Dal remained standing at the side of the worktable, watching Lok rap his knuckles against the tabletop. As Heir he was entitled to a chair, but he knew the answer Etkyn would bring, and he thought it best to remain on his feet.
Running feet in the outer room announced Etkyn’s return. His face announced his news. Lok’s scarred countenance darkened even further. “Search the House,” he whispered. “They may not have gone far.”
“My House, hear me.” Lok looked at him as if he had forgotten Dal was still in the room. With a raised hand he signaled to Etkyn to wait.
“Let them go, my House,” Dal said. “They have left without killing anyone. If we let it end here, they may take no action against us.” And we should count ourselves as lucky, he thought better of saying.
The new Tenebroso nodded slowly. “Perhaps you are right, Cousin. Perhaps so.” He sat back in his chair. “Very well.” He picked up the parchment he had been studying when Dal had broken the news. Etkyn glanced at him, and, Dal giving him the slightest of nods, left to return to his post outside the door. Dal prepared to follow.
“Cousin,” Lok said before Dal had managed more than a couple of steps. “I had intended to meet with our little cousin, the Lady Mar-eMar this morning. Would you see her for me and ask her something? Ask her-” Lok broke off, staring unseeing at the ceiling of the room. “Ask her at which inn the Brothers who brought her to Gotterang stayed when they arrived.”
“Certainly, my House.” Dal waited, but Lok returned once again to his parchments.
So much for letting them go. Dal thought, as he, too, bowed and left the chamber. Dal didn’t know what was so important about these Mercenary Brothers that Lok would endanger the House in the first place, and go looking for them in the second. Karlyn-Tan did not know either-though the Steward of Walls had now made it his business to find out. The problem was the number of men-at-arms who reported directly to Lok-iKol, and who were not part of Karlyn’s guard. The Scholar, Gundaron, he would know. And little Cousin Mar might know something as well. Dal began to walk faster.
Lan-eLan had called the younger relatives and senior staff to meet in the south sitting room, with the Stewards of Walls and Keys in attendance. Like Mar, most of those gathered had heard the news already, but this was the official announcement. The two sisters looked pale, Nor-eNor as though she was about to cry genuine tears, Mar thought. Ah, well, they knew the Fallen House. Only right they should really mourn her. This death changed their whole world.
And mine as well, Mar thought, as she watched the older girl wipe her eyes.
As soon as she could, Mar left the assembly and headed back to her room, threading the corridors carefully to avoid getting lost. She was mounting the second staircase when Gundaron caught up with her.
“You’re leaving the House,” he said, so quietly Mar had to tilt her head toward him to be sure she’d heard him correctly. “Your things this morning,” he went on. “You were packing.”
Mar risked a glance at his face. He was frowning, but not the kind of frown that seemed about to raise the alarm.
“That’s nonsense,” she ventured. Her hand slid forward on the banister as she continued up the stairs.
“I’m not going to stop you. In fact,” he swallowed. “I’m coming with you.”
“You are not.” Mar stiffened, her right foot raised for the next step. She couldn’t believe how easily he’d tricked her into giving herself away.
He patted the air between them. “Not so loud, do you want to be stopped after all?” He looked down the staircase behind him, and up to where it curved to the right. “Get your things, come to my room and I’ll explain.”
Mar wasn’t sure exactly how she managed it, but it seemed no time at all until Gundaron was showing her into his room, where she sat gingerly on the edge of the round stool at his worktable, watching him empty books out of stiff canvas bags and arrange them in tidy rows on the shelves.
“Here,” he said, handing her an empty book bag. “Put your things into this.”
“Why?”
“Because neither of us would ever be carrying around bags of clothing in this House, let alone out the gates. But we might be carrying books. I’d be returning them to the Library of Scholars, and you might be interested in coming with me, since you can read. We’ve no duties to perform for the Fallen House, either of us,” he added. “If no one sees us for a while, they’ll just be glad we’re not underfoot.”
Mar swallowed, the words she had to ask trembling on her lips. “Not that ‘why.’ I meant why would you come with me?”
He lowered his eyes, but not before she saw the fear.
“I can’t stay, knowing what I know. I can’t do it again. I could have gone to the Fallen House and resigned. She would have accepted my Scholar’s oath to keep the House’s business to myself. But Lok-iKol…” He turned away, began picking up his own clothing. “If we leave together, it’s like the book bags. Misdirection. We’ve no reason to run away together, so no one will think we are.” Gundaron took a deep breath and stopped, a clean and neatly folded undershirt in his hand. “I don’t want to stay here, and from the look of things, neither do you. We might be able to do together what we’d fail to do alone.”
Mar was aware of a small hollow in the center of her body, where she hadn’t been aware anything existed. He was coming with her because he had to leave the House, and doing so together made logical and tactical sense. Well, of course, she thought, gritting her teeth. What other reason could he possibly have? And yet there was that little hollow inside her.
Gundaron didn’t know how much he was depending on Mar’s agreement until she stood up from the chair and began transferring her clothes and possessions into the book bag he’d given her-and his heart started beating again. Most of what she was shoving into the book bag was clothes and similar bundles, but he recognized the oiled canvas package that held her pens, inks, and spare parchments. Wehave a lot in common, he thought. It makes sense for us to be together. He turned back to his own packing, struggling to keep the smile from his face.
He had been afraid to approach Dhulyn Wolfshead, but after learning of the Fall of the House, he’d left Mar and gone down to the cell in the western subcellar where the other Mercenaries were, hoping to explain and apologize. He’d found it locked, but empty. The Mercenaries had left without killing him. And maybe, just maybe, if he kept his head down, they wouldn’t come after him-they’d be satisfied with Lok-iKol. He and Lady Mar could get away. Together. He was starting to feel good about this.
“Will these really get us through the Gates?”
“I go to the Library often, and there’s no reason for them to stop you, is there?”
The girl shook her head. “They’ve reason to think I wouldn’t dream of running away.”
When she didn’t continue, Gundaron shrugged. Looked like the Lady Mar-eMar had some secrets of her own.
“Where are we going once we get out of here?” she said.
Once again he hesitated, tongue flicking out to lick his lips. “One thing at a time,” he said. “First we get out.”
Karlyn looked up from his desk. If it did nothing else, the Fall of the House created another swamp of paperwork, much of it the kind that could not be delegated to his clerks. He smiled with encouragement at the young woman who was his Deputy.
“You asked for anything unusual, Steward of Walls,” Jeldor-San said.
“I did.”
“The Scholar Gundaron and the Lady Mar-eMar left the House; they claim they go to the Library, and they were carrying book packs.”
“Did you send someone to follow them?”
She grinned. “I sent Ollivan, the new man. They’re neither of them likely to r
ecognize him, but he knows the city well.”
He smiled back at her, pleased with her initiative. This one would make a fine Steward of Walls one day. “Have him report directly to me, when he returns.”
“As you wish, Steward of Walls.” When his Deputy did not move, he looked up at her with raised brows. “The Lord Dal-eDal was looking for the Lady Mar earlier and not finding her.”
“Was he? Never mind, Deputy of Walls, I will speak to him myself.”
Leaving the House had been just as straightforward as Gundaron had thought. Anyone who might normally have exercised their curiosity had other things to think about today. Even the offer to get the Lady Mar-eMar a horse had been perfunctory and easily turned down.
Gun led her away to the left, trying to stride along confidently and keep his relief from showing too obviously in his face.
“Slow down,” Mar-eMar said. “Why are we going this way?”
“We told them we’re going to the Library,” he said, slowing his pace to match hers. “So we’re headed that way.” She was right, though, they should look as though they were out for a stroll, their destination not particularly important. He found himself wishing, as he smelled the sharp bitterness of ganje beans roasting, that they really were just on their way to the Library. They would turn into one of the little shops along the road and sit down, order some ganje or some chocolate, and while away the morning. It wasn’t unheard of that a Scholar and the child of a minor Holding could-Gun felt his face grow hot as he cut off the thought before it could complete itself. No point in daydreaming. They’d go their separate ways; Mar had no reason to stay with him, though Gun found himself wishing he could think of one.
“You’ll tell me which street I need for the Mercenary House? I don’t think I’ll recognize it going this way… what is it?”
“You c-can’t,” Gun stammered, stopping dead in his tracks. She couldn’t have said what he thought she’d just said.
“Oh, I think they’ll still be there,” Mar-eMar said. “It’s only been a few days, and they were going to look for work here in Gotterang, so even if they’ve found it-”
“No, I mean-” A large man carrying an iron bedstead cursed them, and Gun got out of his way, drawing Mar-eMar into the closed doorway of a nearby shop. He hadn’t planned to tell her, he didn’t want to tell her, but how could he live with himself if he let her go to them, knowing what he knew.
“They’ve not been gone for a few days,” he said. “They only escaped last night.”
She pulled her sleeve out of his grasp, her face pale. “What do you mean ‘escaped’?”
He looked away from her suddenly fierce eyes, but there was nothing to help him in the comings and goings of the late afternoon foot traffic.
“Dhulyn Wolfshead-” No, that wasn’t the way. “There was something Lok-iKol wanted from them, something they weren’t likely to simply give him or sell him, so he held them until he could persuade them.”
“Something he wanted from them?” Mar’s brows drew down until they almost met over her eyes. “This is why Pasillon made you so afraid. It isn’t just a story from your childhood.”
Gun clenched his teeth and said nothing.
“It wasn’t just the Marked you were Finding, you Found Dhulyn and Parno as well.” She looked away from him, the corners of her mouth turned down.
“Mar, I-” Her upheld hand silence him.
“They escaped, you said.”
“Yes, but… the House Fell.”
For a moment Mar just looked at him, eyes wide, mouth fallen open. Then she shook her head, lips thinned to a stubborn line. “They wouldn’t have killed her. Lok-iKol, perhaps, but not the House. They’d have known who was to blame.”
Almost against his will, Gun found himself agreeing with her.
“No,” she went on. “It’s Lok-iKol who needs to worry about Pasillon.”
“But, Mar,” Gun said, not noticing until now that he’d twice used the familiar form of her name. “As you say, they’ll know who to blame.” When she still looked at him, a puzzled frown twisting her brows, he went on. “I Found them, and you brought them here.”
“You don’t understand,” Mar said, the words clear despite her clenched teeth. “One person’s already dead because of me, and I don’t want there to be any more.”
“But-” Gun was beside himself. “I only told you about this to prevent you from going, don’t you see? They have every reason to kill you, and you’re going to walk right up to their House.”
“You’re the one who doesn’t see. I’ve got to explain, I can’t have them thinking that I knew-” Her voice cracked, and she took a breath that shuddered all the way in. “That I knew about this. You’ll see. They won’t kill me.”
Gun wasn’t sure if he could explain how thoroughly he wouldn’t be seeing this. “How certain are you?”
Mar swallowed, her lips trembling. Clearly, she wasn’t as sure as she pretended. Her eyes dropped to focus on a pebble at her feet. “They won’t kill me,” she repeated.
“And if you’re wrong?”
Her chin lifted. “According to what you say, it doesn’t matter what I do. This is our Pasillon. ‘Harm one, harm all.’ That’s one of their sayings, isn’t it? If they want to kill me, they’ll find me and do it.” She licked her lips. “Well, I don’t want to live my life that way, hunted, on the run.”
As Mar’s words sank in, Gun swallowed against the acid in his stomach. Hunted. On the run. He was a Scholar, for the Caids’ sake, not a soldier, or a Cloud. Where would he suddenly develop the skills to hide from the Mercenary Brotherhood? Was he ready to spend the rest of his life looking over his shoulder? He squeezed his eyes shut.
“Thank you for being so worried about me,” Mar said. “But I’m sure I’m right.”
Here he’d thought there was no way he could feel worse. “I’m in it just as deeply as you are,” he heard his voice say. “Deeper.”
He felt the gentle pressure of fingers on his shoulder. He couldn’t look at her.
“I’m not as brave as you,” he said, finally lifting his head to meet her dark blue eyes.
Mar looked back at him, her eyes, so warm and expressive moments ago, shuttered now and cold. After what felt like a long time, she spoke.
“Maybe you’re right,” she said, letting her hand fall to her side. “Maybe you’ll never have to face it. Good luck.” Without another word she set off toward the main street that would take her to Mercenary House. Gun watched her walk away, head up, pack shouldered. Once she turned the corner, he’d never see Mar-eMar again.
Maybe he’d never have to face it. Maybe he’d never have to face anything. What, after all, had he ever faced in his life? He couldn’t face being a Finder, he’d wanted Scholarship instead. He hadn’t wanted to face what was going on in Tenebro House-hadn’t wanted to face losing his research. No wonder Beslyn-Tor had found it so easy to make him forget.
She was almost at the corner. She’d begun the turn, he could almost see her profile.
“Wait!”
Thirteen
DHULYN LOOKED WITH INTEREST around the small reception room. It was sparsely but very expensively furnished, and while the chair opposite the entry doors was too small to be a throne, it was decorated with the distinctive red carnelians that were set aside for the exclusive use of the Tarkins of Imrion. The floor, a soft creamy marble, still had its carpets laid down against the winter chill, and likely would for a few weeks yet. The light oak panels on the walls, even the double doors on the left side of the room, were inlaid with silver hooded snakes, the symbol of the ancient House of Culebro, founders of the Tarkinate of Imrion. Two men and a woman stood close to the Tarkin’s chair, and it was the younger man who turned, saluting Alkoryn with a smile and a lifted hand, before taking the seat.
Like the room, Tek-aKet, Tarkin of Imrion, Consage of the Lost Isles, Darklin of Pendamar, and, as it happened, Culebroso, was plainly but richly dressed in the dark red of the Tarkinate. On
his left sleeve were two thin stripes of color, yellow and brown, to show his Culebro heritage. As tall as Parno, but as slim as herself, the man was well-muscled, with his northern father’s dark hair and his southern mother’s fair skin setting off eyes so pale a blue as to be almost colorless. The woman, olive-skinned, her eyes a glowing black, her hair and most of her dark red gown covered by a long veil of purple silk shot with gold, took her place to the Tarkin’s right, and Dhulyn realized that it was the Tarkina herself who was taking part in the audience. Dhulyn hooked her thumbs in her worn leather sword belt, unsure whether the Tarkina’s presence would make things easier… or harder.
The older man, skinny, and wearing more jewelry than either Tarkin or Tarkina, Dhulyn noted with a grimace, also wore the Carnelian badge on his left shoulder, marking him for some upper-level aide of the Tarkin.
“I greet you, Alkoryn Pantherclaw.” The Tarkin’s voice was surprisingly gruff coming from so smooth-looking a man. And there was a smile in it, Dhulyn realized, which explained how Alkoryn had been able to see the Tarkin so quickly. Some connection, whether friendship could be the word or no, existed somehow between the two very different men. “My aide Gan-eGan you know,” the Tarkin said, gesturing at the older man, “and my Tarkina you have met. You say there is a threat against my life?”
“I greet you, Lords, Lady,” Alkoryn said, bowing his head and touching the empty loop on his belt where his sword normally hung. “May I present my Brothers, Dhulyn Wolfshead the Scholar, and Parno Lionsmane the Chanter. It is the Wolfshead who brought this news to me, and I bring her now that you may hear her own words.”
The Tarkin turned his pale blue eyes to her, the strange etiquette of the Carnelian court allowing him to notice her for the first time.
“Lord Tarkin,” Dhulyn said, lowering her gaze for a moment and touching her sword belt in imitation of Alkoryn’s example. Her Senior had heard and approved the version of the story she and Parno had planned, and she began it now. “I have recently been in House Tenebro, and while there I overheard the present Tenebroso speaking with a Jaldean priest. They were discussing your assassination, my lord, and making plans to put the Tenebroso Lok-iKol-the Kir as he then was-on the Carnelian Throne.”
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