“You might have been better to come afoot,” Karlyn-Tan said. “You’d attract less attention.” He threw a pointed glance around at the patrons of the barroom, only some of whom were minding their own business. Others seemed to think that a well-dressed and mounted nobleman, even with two guards, was their business.
“I will not be in Gotterang long enough for attention to harm me,” Dal-eDal said, turning to sit sideways in his seat.
That was enough to make Karlyn look up once more from his polishing, as Dal-eDal must have known it would.
“My House and lord, Lok-iKol,” Dal said quietly, his eyes now idly drifting over the room, “has an errand for me outside the city.”
“Lok-iKol wishes you to leave Gotterang?”
Dal-eDal inclined his head once.
Karlyn-Tan relaxed, allowing his shoulders to rest against the wall behind his bench. No one in the House had thought it strange that this younger cousin had been kept on a short leash. Younger cousins who were part of the succession, even if they had no apparent ambition, were always a danger to heirs, and best kept where they could be carefully watched. This was no less true now that Lok-iKol was calling himself Tarkin. And yet Lok-iKol was now sending Dal away?
Karlyn let his eyes drift over to the two men watching from the bar. “Is he so sure of himself, now that he is Tarkin?”
Dal shook his head impatiently. “It’s more than that. He…” Dal looked across the table from under his brows. “I’ve been long a coward, Karlyn-Tan, or so I thought. But yesterday I saw something that makes me understand what fear is. I need help.”
Karlyn raised his eyebrows, his lips parting of their own accord. He quickly lowered his own eyes back to the bits of buckle, the polishing paste and rags on the tabletop. Dal had to be afraid, to say such a thing aloud.
“I appreciate the help you have given me,” he said slowly. “But I remind you that I am no longer a Steward of Tenebro.”
Dal stopped turning his wine cup on the table and took a long draw from it, setting it back on the table with a sour twist to his mouth. Serves him right, Karlyn thought. This isn’t the kind of place you should order wine.
“This is a greater concern than who is Tenebro and who is not. We speak now of the fate of Imrion.” Dal wiped his lips with the back of his hand. “You haven’t asked about my errand.”
Karlyn-Tan waited.
“He sends me to find the Mercenary Brother, Dhulyn Wolfshead. I feel it is imperative that we find her, if only to learn why Lok-iKol wants her. If only to use her ourselves.”
Karlyn-Tan felt himself go perfectly still. And kept perfectly silent.
“How?”
“How else? Against Lok-iKol.”
Ah. Karlyn drummed the tabletop with his fingers. The fate of Imrion, indeed.
“Can we rid ourselves of the two men with you? I have someone I think you should meet.”
Dhulyn looked out through the spy hole and nodded slowly, almost unable to believe what her eyes told her.
“He does not lie,” she said to Tyler Nightsky, the Brother who had called her to the gate. “That is Karlyn-Tan, last seen as Steward of Walls at Tenebro House.” She turned to Tyler. “I will speak with Alkoryn. In the meantime, allow him to enter the outer courtyard.”
Karlyn-Tan had been told to stand at the end of the courtyard nearest the gate. Dhulyn let herself into the yard from the kitchen end and waited, without moving. Except for the missing Tenebro crest, he looked very much the same as the last time she had seen him, eyes narrow, lips unsmiling.
“Dhulyn Wolfshead,” he said, taking half a step toward her before remembering his instructions and standing still.
“I did not think it possible that my ears and eyes both should deceive me,” she said. “And yet here you are.”
“You are not deceived, Wolfshead,” he said. “I am here.”
“And your Walls?”
“Are mine no longer. I am Cast Out.”
For a moment Dhulyn could think of nothing to say that was adequate to what he’d told her. Finally, she nodded. “For whom do you speak?”
“To you, I speak for myself,” Karlyn glanced away before returning his eyes to hers. “I rejoice to see you well, and alive. And I bring you warning that Lok-iKol Tenebroso seeks everywhere for you.” She bowed toward him. That was certainly no news to her, whatever he thought, but his goodwill in warning her had to be acknowledged.
Karlyn took a deeper breath. “To Tek-aKet, Tarkin of Imrion, I speak for Dal-eDal Tenebro, who comes with news, and brings himself and eight others as a token of the force of allies he can add to the Tarkin’s strength.”
“You bring messages here for Tek-aKet Tarkin?”
“I do. Mercenary Brothers helped him escape, and he is either with you, or his whereabouts are known to you.”
Dhulyn kept her face still as stone, giving nothing away. Of course Dal-eDal knew they had been in the Carnelian Dome, helping the Tarkin. Did anyone else know? Were the tunnels secure enough for the Tarkin and his family? Alkoryn certainly believed so, but better careful than cursing, Dhulyn thought.
“Does Dal-eDal hope to become Tenebroso? And will you then be restored to your Walls?”
“We have no such hope or expectation,” Karlyn-Tan said. “There is too much future for us to see what will come.”
Dhulyn narrowed her eyes, but it was clear his words were innocent of any hidden meanings as he continued with his message.
“Our purpose is to remove the usurper Lok-iKol Tenebro from the Carnelian Throne, and restore the Culebro Tarkin, Tek-aKet.” He cleared his throat, giving her a chance to respond, but she only smiled her wolf’s smile. “If we live, there will be time to see what will follow.”
Dhulyn crossed her arms and, with her head to one side, studied the former Steward of Walls. If their House was being watched, no one, not even Karlyn-Tan, could simply enter and not be seen to come out again. Fortunately, Alkoryn had thought of even this contingency when she’d gone to consult with him.
“When the moon has set, bring Dal-eDal to the Fountain of the Rivers. You will be met and taken to the Tarkin.”
“There are two others I believe you will want as well, for the information they may have, Mar-eMar Tenebro, and the Scholar of Valdomar, Gundaron.”
She raised her eyebrows. They were alive, then, and likely to stay that way if Karlyn-Tan had taken them under his wing. Still, she told herself, she had no wish to see either the Scholar or Mar-eMar Tenebro again.
“The Scholar, at least, was intimate with Lok-iKol, and has information that may be of use.”
Dhulyn sighed. Of course he did. And she was a blooded fool not to think of that herself. “Very well, you may bring them.”
Dhulyn found Parno and Alkoryn already seated with Tek-aKet at the table farthest from the low entrance, with Fanryn and Thionan half-sitting on the edge of another table against the left wall. This was another one of the many caves that honeycombed the earth under Mercenary House and even the Great Square itself. Dhulyn had no idea what its intended use had been, perhaps a storeroom for contraband; the uneven ceiling was low enough in places that she had to duck her head, and those taller than she, including Parno and Tek-aKet Tarkin, had found themselves seats as quickly as they could to remove the strain of standing hunched over. The Tarkin had chosen the two shortest of his guard to stand against the rock wall behind him. Dhulyn hoped the sweat on the face of the blond on the left came from too much clothing, and not the enclosure sickness.
Instead of a large council table, such as could be found in the public meeting room in the House above them, here were half a score of small round tables, scattered over a floor leveled with sand and inlaid cobbles, each with chairs or stools to allow three or four to sit, making the place resemble nothing more than the taproom of a small tavern. All it lacked were windows and a serving bar. Ganje, water, bread, and dried fruit had already been laid out on the tables.
Dhulyn was alerted by noises in the p
assages behind her to the arrival of Cullen of Langeron, a lean, wiry man with steel-gray hair and the feather tattoo covering the left side of his face. The ceilings did not allow for Cullen’s Racha bird, Disha, to ride in her accustomed place on his shoulder, and Dhulyn was intrigued to see that the bird nevertheless accompanied her Partner, walking on the ground almost under his feet in the manner of a playful cat. The Cloud went immediately to Tek-aKet and saluted him with the formal bow of an ambassador.
“Don’t stand on ceremony, Cullen of Langeron,” Tek-aKet said. “At the moment I’m Tarkin of nothing but this room.”
“On the contrary, Tek-aKet Tarkin,” the Cloudman said sharply. “It is precisely because you are Tarkin of more than this room, that ceremony will be observed.” The two men locked gazes, and after a moment Dhulyn saw a loosening of the tension of Tek-aKet’s shoulders, a lessening of the darkness in his eyes. Guard yourself better, she thought, make your thoughts harder to see. The Tarkin of Imrion nodded, just once, as if in answer to her thoughts, and gestured to seats at the nearest tables.
“I have just been telling our host that most of the army is away on the borders to the south and west, keeping the Kondrians honest. I don’t know how many might come to us.”
“I believe we may have time to put that to the test,” Alkoryn said. He signaled to Fanryn Bloodhand.
“The latest news,” Fanryn began, “is that the Anointing and Dedication scheduled for the new moon has been postponed. Lok-iKol has sent for the Mesticha Stone, and tells people he’ll wait for its arrival. What this means, no one knows, but it’s only the last and strangest of the changes the latest days have brought us. As we know,” Fanryn said, tossing her hair back out of her face and accepting the cup of ganje Thionan had brought her, “the first few days found the Houses of Jarifo and Esmolo coming and going in the precincts of the Dome, giving themselves airs about the court and the city itself.”
“It seems there was to be a wedding,” Thionan added, “between Lok-iKol and Riv-oRiv Esmolo.”
“She’s young,” Tek-aKet said. “Too young to marry in any case.”
“Too young to marry, but not too young to be promised in marriage.” Parno drew their attention as he leaned forward, elbows on the table. “It’s a good move,” he added. “Buys the support of an important House without really committing himself to anything.” He shrugged. “A great deal can happen between now and the time the girl can actually marry.”
“Well, the wedding’s no longer spoken of,” Fanryn said. “Now both those Houses have taken down their flags and flowerets, pulled their men off the streets, closed up their enclaves. Like those other Houses who were neither for you nor against you, Lord Tarkin, they now bide their time, waiting to weigh Lok-iKol’s power, waiting to see who they should salute. What’s changed them, though, that we can’t find out.”
Disha the Racha bird suddenly hopped from the floor to the back of an unoccupied chair. As if it were cause and effect, Cullen spoke, his soft voice cool and dry.
“So the Houses are playing their tiles carefully. There’s nothing new in that,” he said.
“But if the Houses have withdrawn their support, it may be we have a chance to regain the Throne if we act quickly. I’ve sent out word through the old network,” Alkoryn added, “letting people know that you’re alive, Lord Tarkin, and that you will return. Soldiers and guards alike are presenting themselves at safe contact points. One who’s come to us quietly with no fanfare and on foot so as to draw no attention is Fen-oNef Penradoso. He says to tell you that he doesn’t forget his promise to your father, nor yet the one he made to you. If you want Lok-iKol dead, say the word.”
Tek-aKet exchanged looks with those around the table, returning Parno’s broad smile with one of his own. Tek-aKet’s skin looked less bleached, Dhulyn thought, and the muscles of his face had regained their youthful firmness. This was what he needed to hear; that there were those who had believed in him, who were willing to support him still.
“He’s a tough old man, Fen-oNef,” he said, still smiling. “And I’ve no doubt that he would try. But it’s too dangerous.”
“Exactly what I told him. And it’s too dangerous for him to house the would-be soldiers who keep turning up. One of the things we must think of, is a place to gather troops.”
“What of the Jaldeans,” Dhulyn said, leaning forward. “And the Marked?”
Fanryn’s eyes flicked at the Cloudman, her question as clear as if she’d spoken it aloud. How much did they know? Dhulyn shrugged. It no longer mattered, she thought. As the Clouds revered the Marked, she was probably safer with them than with anyone besides her own Brothers.
“There’s a mystery there somewhere.” Fanryn shook her head. “At first, there was great rejoicing from the Jaldean Shrines, and people were talking about the dream of the Sleeping God as if they were about to join it.
“But now petitioners are being turned from the shrines, told to come back, and when they do, they’re turned away again with excuses and soft words. There are no services or meditations, and the priests aren’t seen in the streets. Beslyn-Tor has not been seen in over two days-not even by his own people-and some others who were believed touched by the god are also conspicuous by their absence. People are wondering what has happened to the promises the Jaldeans were making before the fall of Tek-aKet Tarkin. The very people who were so quick to support them, are now murmuring against them.”
“Helped by the rumors we and the Scholars are spreading, of course,” Thionan said with a grin.
“And the Marked?” Tek-aKet asked.
Thionan’s voice came low and rough. “Two days ago they started being taken to the Carnelian Dome, and not to the Jaldean Shrines. None have been seen, city or country, since.”
The silence in the room was as thick as inglera fleece.
“We will hope there are some in hiding,” Cullen of Langeron said, as his bird Disha nodded.
Thionan cleared her throat. “There’s something else, though it’s hard to know how significant it is,” she said. “I’m sorry to say, Lord Tarkin, that your counselor, Gan-eGan, was yesterday found hanged in his private chambers. Hanged by his own hand, it appears. It seems a small tragedy in the face of everything else, and in the face of what the Marked have had to endure, but we thought perhaps you would want to know.”
Dhulyn shut her eyes, seeing again the two images of the skinny, overjeweled old man, one with green eyes, the other standing behind, weeping. She blinked. Green eyes again. Like the Mage in her Visions. And the Scholar. Who was on his way even now with information. Perhaps more information than he knew.
Dhulyn glanced at Tek-aKet. He was pale again, his face fixed and resolute. But before she could ask any questions a young woman appeared in the cave’s entrance. Dhulyn recognized her as the same one, Rehnata by name, who had greeted them when they first arrived in Gotterang. Since then, the dark brown hair above her temples and ears had been removed in preparation for the tattooing of her Mercenary badge.
“They are here, my Brothers,” she said to Alkoryn, acknowledging Dhulyn as well with a bob of her head. “Shall we bring them?”
“By all means,” Alkoryn said.
“Watch your head.”
From the sound, the warning had come just a second too late for Karlyn-Tan, Gundaron thought. He himself was too short to worry about bumping his head, but being led blindfolded through passages and tunnels meant bashed elbows and stepped-on toes, no matter how careful your guides. As things were, however, Gun was grateful to have sore elbows and bruised toes to distract him from what was coming. He knew Mar and Karlyn-Tan were right-this was what he had to do. But just at the moment, he was more than half convinced he’d been persuaded against his will.
Finally the blindfolds came off. They’d had them on so long that even the soft light of the lanterns carried by their guides was enough to have all four of them blinking and squinting. Gundaron tried not to hang back as they approached the open doorway of the undergro
und meeting room. Not that he could do much more than drag his feet a bit since there were Mercenary Brothers both in front of and behind him. From what Karlyn-Tan had said, he’d expected Dhulyn Wolfshead herself to lead them to Tek-aKet, but it had been two black-haired Mercenary Brothers with Semlorian accents. The smiles they’d given him when they’d met them at the fountain made the skin on the back of his neck crawl.
Dhulyn Wolfshead would be inside the room, he thought, watching Dal-eDal pass through the entrance. Along with the Brother he hadn’t met, her Partner Parno Lionsmane.
The first Brothers he saw as he followed Mar into the room weren’t the two he was dreading the most, however, but Fanryn Bloodhand and Thionan Hawkmoon, who went so far as to lay her hand on her sword hilt and grin at him. Gun looked away and, seeing Mar’s face, followed her line of sight to where Dhulyn Wolfshead stood to the left of Tek-aKet. Mar stepped toward the Outlander woman with her hands lifted, reaching out, but hesitated, coming to a stop as the Wolfshead gave her the half bow that was the very knife edge of courtesy among the Noble Houses. Such would be the greeting-Gun had seen it many times-between two nobles who had some long-standing grudge, but were forced to be civil in some public gathering. Dhulyn Wolfshead straightened and turned her eyes away, and Gun braced himself… but her stone-gray eyes moved over and past him as if he was not even there.
He immediately looked down, heart thumping. It seemed he had nothing to fear from Dhulyn Wolfshead. It seemed that as far as she was concerned, he didn’t exist. He found himself hugging his arms around his chest, to convince himself he was there, he was.
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