“They won’t be watching him carefully enough.”
“Carefully enough for what? Why should it prove so much more dangerous for Dal to be with me than with you?”
He stared at her for a long moment before speaking, his breath coming short and fierce through his nostrils. “Because Dal has no reason to want me dead. He may think he has such a reason for you.”
She looked up at him, eyes widened in surprise. “Nice to know I make enemies so easily.”
“I told you we met and spoke in the Dome. I didn’t tell you that, like the Fallen House, Dal wants Lok dead, and me to become Tenebroso. I told him I would not leave the Brotherhood. I would not leave you. What if he thinks my answer would be different if you were dead?”
“The old woman,” Dhulyn said. “The House-that-was. She thought I would make a fine consort.”
“And so you would, if we were not Partnered, and Mercenary Brothers. That life is gone.”
She nodded, rubbing the small of her back with both hands. “Parno, my soul. Would you fetch me warm blankets, please?
Parno put down the pipes on which he’d been rhythmically playing the same seven notes over and over and smiled his thanks at the young Brother standing in the doorway with a pile of heated blankets in her arms. Glancing at Dhulyn’s face, he saw she was well and truly asleep; neither the interruption in the playing nor the arrival of the blankets had disturbed her. He laid his pipes aside and rose to take the blankets from the youngster. The mountain wool had been folded twice, as he’d asked, and he laid them, warm and heavy, across Dhulyn’s lower body and legs.
Parno glanced at the open doorway, sensing the youngster still hovering, obviously torn between courtesy and curiosity.
“You’re Rehnata, aren’t you?” he asked, straightening from the bed and walking cat-footed closer so she wouldn’t have to raise her voice. “Go ahead, ask.”
The girl licked her lips, and pulled herself up straighter.
“Two things, Parno.”
Parno needn’t have worried about moving closer, she’d been well-trained in the nightwatch whisper.
“First, if this were the morning of a battle, what would the Wolfshead do for her pains?”
“First,” Parno said quietly. “When there is training, pain can be ignored, as I’m sure you already know. But in order to ignore pain, there must be a distraction. When there is no fighting, distraction of a kind can be found in drugs. Your herbalist can tell you which are best. The Wolfshead does not like drugs. She says that the pain exhausts, but the drugs make you stupid. Better tired than stupid, she says.” Parno smiled. Dhulyn had never been any great fan of the stupid. “As for the day of battle, the necessity to kill others is often in itself a powerful distraction.” He turned and looked again at Dhulyn. She slept, but under the weight of blankets she still moved and shifted as if, even in her sleep, she sought relief in movement for overtaxed muscles.
“And the second?” he said, turning back to Rehnata.
“Is she,” here the girl looked away, not wanting Parno to see what was in her eyes, “is she Seeing?”
Parno frowned. This would be the first of many such questions, now that Dhulyn was no longer hiding her Mark. “I think so. She has not said it, but it seems when there is more pain, there is more Sight.”
A TALL THIN MAN WITH CLOSE-CROPPED HAIR THE COLOR OF WHEAT STRAW, EYES THE BLUE OF OLD ICE, DEEP ICE, SITS READING A BOUND BOOK LARGER THAN ANY SHE HAS EVER SEEN, TRACING A LINE ON THE PAGE WITH HIS FINGER,
HIS LIPS MOVING. STANDING, HE TAKES UP A HIGHLY POLISHED TWO-HANDED SWORD, AND HIS LONG LILY-SHAPED SLEEVES FALL BACK FROM HIS WRISTS.
HE TURNS TOWARD A CIRCULAR MIRROR, AS TALL AS HE IS HIMSELF, REFLECTING A NIGHT SKY FULL OF STARS. HIS LIPS MOVE AND DHULYN SEES THE WORDS FROM THE BOOK. ******* HE SAYS, AND **********. HE MAKES A MOVE FROM THE THIRD PASSAGE OF THE CRANE SHORA, AND SLASHES DOWNWARD THROUGH THE MIRROR, THROUGH THE SKY, SPLITTING IT, AND THE GREEN-TINTED SHADOW COMES SPILLING IN LIKE FOG THROUGH A CASEMENT…
CHILDREN TURNING A LONG ROPE; ONE RUNS IN, TIMING IT JUST RIGHT TO BE ABLE TO JUMP OVER THE ROPE AS IT SWINGS UNDER HIS FEET, OVER HIS HEAD, UNDER HIS FEET. HE SINGS A CHANT, AND ANOTHER CHILD, A CHILD WITH HIS OWN DARK COLORING, RUNS IN AND JUMPS WITH HIM. THEY BOTH SING, AND ANOTHER GIRL JOINS THEM…
MAR SITS DOWN, FROWNING, HER DELICATE BROWS DRAWN AS FAR DOWN AS THEY WILL GO, HER MOUTH TWISTED TO ONE SIDE AS IF SHE IS CONCENTRATING WITH ALL THE STRENGTH OF HER MIND. SHE WEARS A LIGHT LINEN SLEEPING SHIRT THAT HAS BEEN TORN ON THE LEFT SHOULDER AND CAREFULLY MENDED BY A HAND SKILLED WITH THE NEEDLE. SHE BREATHES HEAVILY THROUGH HER NOSE AND STANDS UP, STILL LOOKING DOWN AT WHAT NOW APPEARS TO BE THE TOP OF A TABLE. THERE IS SOMETHING ROUND AND WHITE ON THE TABLETOP, BUT IT ISN’T UNTIL MAR RESTS HER HANDS ON IT THAT DHULYN CAN SEE IT IS MAR’S BOWL. AT THIS TOUCH THE WATER IN THE BOWL SHIVERS AND MAKES THE REFLECTED IMAGE OF CANDLE FLAME DANCE. SO IT IS NIGHT. AS DHULYN HAS THIS THOUGHT, MAR LOOKS UP AND TO HER OWN RIGHT, AND DHULYN SEES THAT THE SCHOLAR GUNDARON STANDS NEXT TO HER, AND HE ALSO IS LOOKING INTO THE BOWL. AND SHAKING HIS HEAD. HIS HAND GRIPS MAR’S SHOULDER MORE TIGHTLY, AND THEY BOTH TURN TO LOOK OFF TO THEIR LEFT PAST WHERE DHULYN IS STANDING WATCHING THEM. THEY DO NOT SEE HER. WHEN DHULYN TURNS TO SEE WHAT THEY ARE LOOKING AT, SHE SEES…
A GREAT THRONE IN A ROOM VAST WITH DARKNESS. NOISE AND MOVEMENT AROUND HER, BUT MADE OF SHADOWS ONLY, NOT OF THIS TIME. THE ONE-EYED MAN SITS ON THE THRONE OF TIME-DARKENED WOOD AND DULL RED GEMS, LOOKING AT HER WITH TWO GREEN EYES. DHULYN PLUNGES HER SWORD INTO HIS HEART. THE FINE TELISCAN BLADE PASSES CLEANLY THROUGH HIS BODY AND PINS HIM TO THE THRONE AND HE CANNOT MOVE. THE BLOOD SOAKS INTO THE WOOD, AND WILL NEVER COME OUT. HIS EYES ARE GREEN. HIS EYE IS BLUE. SUDDENLY IT IS NOT LOK-IKOL SITTING ON THE CARNELIAN THRONE, BUT TEK-AKET, AND YET SHE IS STILL THERE, SWORD IN HAND. ARE HIS HANDS BOUND? THE TARKIN LOOKS AWAY OVER HER SHOULDER, HIS EYES FOCUSED FOR THE LONG DISTANCE, AND WHEN SHE TURNS TO LOOK, SHE SEES…
A GRAY DAY, A COLD GRANITE CLIFF, CRAGGY AND HIGH ENOUGH TO HAVE SNOW THOUGH THERE IS NONE TO BE SEEN. A MAN WITH A FACE TATTOOED BLUE WITH FEATHERS FALLS, PLUMMETING STRAIGHT AND TRUE AS A STONE FALLS, AND SO SHE KNOWS HE IS ALREADY DEAD. A BIRD FALLS WITH HIM, BLUE-TIPPED WINGS HELD TIGHT AGAINST ITS BODY, AND DHULYN KNOWS THAT THE BIRD HAS TIME-MORE THAN ENOUGH-TO SPREAD ITS WINGS AND SAVE ITSELF,
BUT SHE KNOWS THAT IT WILL NOT, THAT THOUGH ITS HEART BEATS AND ITS EYES ARE CLEAR, IT, TOO, IS ALREADY DEAD.
Dhulyn sighed and tried to turn over, opened her eyes when she found the weight of bedcoverings impeding her. Mountain wool blankets, from the weight, and the sharp smell. She snaked one hand free and felt it caught by Parno’s, larger, rougher, but as familiar to her as her own.
“Have I been asleep long?”
“A few hours. Is the pain better, or worse?”
“Better, I think.”
Parno turned her hand over and kissed the palm. She pushed herself up on one elbow, and, using her grip on Parno’s hand for leverage, managed to roll onto her side so she was still lying under the covers, but able to see her Partner without twisting her neck.
“Anything?”
“More discussion, but they’re agreed. Dal will meet you at Yerloa’s Spring at the hour the moon sets tomorrow night. That will bring you to the north gates of the city just as they open, and we’ll meet inside the Dome just as the morning watch is settling in and getting complacent.”
“What of the Tarkina?”
“She’ll stay here where it’s safer. Mar and that Scholar boy as well.” He took the hand he still held, and bumped it softly against his lips before adding, “Well-watched, as you advise, but I still say you should let me kill the twisted little book reader.”
Dhulyn sighed. “It is the purpose of Scholars to learn, and this one has learned something of the world that his Library neglected to show him. Let him live with that knowledge, and with the knowledge of the evil he is capable of. And let us not forget, we may yet learn something from him ourselves.”
&n
bsp; Parno shrugged, though his own smile did not touch his eyes. “It’s your decision, I suppose. Let me know if you change your mind, though. I’d be happy to kill the little dung eater later.”
Dhulyn tugged his hand. “I’ve Seen Gun helping Mar. They were both looking into that bowl of hers.”
Parno sat back, releasing her hand and placing his own on his thighs. “They’ve been wondering, the Tarkin especially, whether you’ve Seen anything. I don’t think they’re going to care much about Mar and her bowl.”
“Daresay you’re right.” Dhulyn began pushing back the blankets that covered her. “I saw Lok-iKol again, and I killed him again. Sometimes he had two eyes, sometimes one.”
“But you still See his death, so that’s to the good. Nothing we’ve done so far changes that?”
“Evidently.”
“What aren’t you telling me?”
“I Saw Tek-aKet on the Carnelian Throne.”
“So why don’t you look happy about it?”
She shrugged as best she could lying propped up on one elbow. “I was standing next to him with my sword out.”
Parno nodded his understanding. “Armed in the presence of the Tarkin is one thing, but weapons out in the throne room? That’s not likely.”
“Exactly what I thought. The throne room might have been just an overlap from the image of Lok-iKol, but…”
“You don’t know for certain.”
“I don’t know for certain.”
When she looked into Parno’s eyes, she saw there the same knowledge he would see on her face. She couldn’t know for certain. She never had, and this is what the loss of her tribe really meant-not just her mother and father, but the loss of all and any who might have taught her to School her Visions, to read them properly, even to guide them. That had always been the drawback, the flaw, to using her Sight. But with so much, and so many, relying on her now, what else could she do?
“I need to know more about how the Sight works,” she said. “I can’t go on hiding from it.” She looked up at him. “That’s the lesson the Scholar has taught me.”
“When this is over, we’ll go looking for some answers.”
“It seems the Scholar might have answers.”
“You just don’t want me to kill him.” Parno’s swift grin faded just as swiftly. “There’s something else, isn’t there?”
She nodded, lower lip caught between her teeth. “The Green Shadow fears the Marked, for reasons unknown to us. It follows that the Shadow has knowledge of the Marked, also unknown to us. In killing it, might I be destroying the source of the very information I seek?”
“Do we have a choice?”
She kept her eyes down.
“You Saw Tek on the throne, so that has to be good,” Parno said, in the firm tones of a man telling the surgeon to go ahead and cut.
“I Saw him on the throne,” she agreed.
“Watch Dal, my soul,” he said after a moment’s silence. “I’ve made it clear he’s not to think of me, but… watch him.”
“I do not like these Houses of yours,” Dhulyn said, taking his offered hand and letting him pull her out of the bed.
“They’re none of mine,” he said.
But Dhulyn had noticed that he’d called Lok-iKol-and even the Tarkin himself-by their diminutives, Lok and Tek. As if he felt somehow free to speak of his old kin as he must have done when they had all been young together.
When Mar saw Parno Lionsmane run down the steps and into the entrance on the far side of the inner courtyard, she immediately abandoned the stone bench where she’d been told to wait for the Tarkina, and flew up the stairs the Lionsmane had used. Earlier, he’d been carrying blankets, and the only person Lionsmane would be carrying blankets for would be the Wolfshead. And that meant she was up these stairs. Mar went directly to the only closed door on the floor above and opened it without knocking.
“Dhulyn Wolfshead.”
The Wolfshead had her heel hooked on the sill of the window casement, and was leaning over, stretching out the long muscles in the back of her leg. The older woman looked over her shoulder, lowered her heel to the floor, and straightened to her full height.
Heart still pounding from her run up the stairs, breath still coming short, Mar took one look at the Wolfshead’s face and flung herself into the Mercenary’s arms.
“Dhulyn, I’m so sorry,” Mar said, sobbing out the words. “This is all my fault.”
Mar felt the Wolfshead relax, ever so slightly. The muscled arms came up, and the long-fingered hands took Mar by the shoulders and held her away.
“Sun and Moon, Lady Mar.” The words were kind, but the tone, and the face when Mar had courage to look up at it, were cool and closed. “Don’t make yourself so important, child,” the Wolfshead continued. “You didn’t make the Jaldeans insane, and you didn’t make Lok-iKol rebel against his Tarkin.”
“But you and the Lionsmane-”
“We’re still whole and hearty, no harm done; in fact the contrary, if our help to the Tarkin has come in time.”
“But I betrayed you.” Mar wiped her face with her sleeve. “Please, let me explain. You must forgive me.”
“Tchah. There’s nothing to forgive. How could you betray us? It’s not as though we’re Brothers.”
Mar swallowed with difficulty, the Wolfshead’s face blurring as she blinked away tears. Finally, she nodded, and, keeping her eyes lowered, left the room.
“I give you notice, Scholar, that my Partner keeps giving me reasons I shouldn’t kill you. The day will come she’ll run out.” Parno had found Gundaron of Valdomar exactly where he’d looked for him, coming out of the underground council room after a short audience with the Tarkin. The boy had what seemed like a bundle of cut paper in his arms.
“I would like to live, Lionsmane. What can I do?”
“Don’t wait.” At the boy’s raised eyebrows, Parno added.
“You give me a reason not to kill you.”
Nineteen
MAR AND GUN HAD been given beds in the same large underground chamber that housed the Tarkin and his family, though screens had been brought in to give some semblance of privacy. Mar opened her pack and took out her writing supplies, laying pens, inks, and parchments carefully on the small table that sat under the largest of the chamber’s lamps. Her hands trembled, and she took a deep breath as she steadied the carefully stoppered glass bottle of black ink. Mindful of her reception at Tenebro House, only Mar’s determination to confront Dhulyn Wolfshead had distracted her from her dread of meeting with Zelianora of Berdana.
As it was, she’d almost knocked the Tarkina down as she rushed, blind with tears, across the inner courtyard of Mercenary House. The Tarkina had given Mar a fierce hug, kissed her forehead, and dried Mar’s tears with her own neck scarf, making Mar blow her nose as if she was no older than little Zak-eZak who even now was pushing a small wooden horse across the chamber’s uneven floor. Mar had been so astonished at the Tarkina’s behavior, that any uneasiness she might have felt had disappeared entirely, and she realized that she felt more at ease with the Tarkina of Imrion than she ever had with her own family in Tenebro House, or even with the Weavers in Navra.
It wasn’t the same kind of comfort as sleeping snug and safe between Dhulyn Wolfshead and Parno Lionsmane, but comfort it was.
“I hear you are lettered and have worked as a clerk,” Zelianora Tarkina had said, once Mar’s eyes were dry. “Will you help me with the children? This is so hard for Bet-oTeb, her tutors and friends gone. If I could re-establish in some small way her regular routine…”
“Perhaps you’d prefer-Gundaron is a Scholar…”
Zelianora Tarkina had waved this away, linking her arm through Mar’s and leading her inside. “With respect to the Libraries and their teachings, we had Scholars in Berdana as well, and undoubtedly the time will come for economics and the philosophy of history. At the moment, however, I’d be happy if Bet could add and subtract.”
So while the Tarkina
had sent the guard to find her daughter, Mar had gone down into the chamber to set up her classroom. Mar picked up the better of her two wooden pens, tested the seat of the steel nib, and set it aside for Bet-oTeb’s use. For herself she applied her penknife to an uncut quill. She thought about the two giggling sisters in Tenebro House and suppressed a smile. The idea that she was about to begin teaching the future Tarkin of Imrion the basics of accounting was giving Mar an unexpected sense of satisfaction.
She could almost forget the cold lump of wretchedness that sat under her heart. She’d thought she’d been alone and miserable in Tenebro House, but that was nothing compared to what she felt now. Was it possible to be more miserable because you weren’t alone? What was she going to do about Gun? Was she even sure of what she felt?
Suddenly Mar remembered Lan-eLan, and that woman’s kindness to her. Where was Lan now? Mar hadn’t even thought to ask Dal if the older Tenebro woman was safe and well. Mar blinked rapidly, willing the tears not to flow. She was always leaving her friends behind. Sarita in Navra, Lan-eLan in Tenebro House. Even Dhulyn Wolfshead.
“I’m scum,” she whispered.
“Nonsense.” The Tarkina’s gentle voice startled her, the slight Berdanan accent giving a musical lift to the word. “I’ve known women like the Wolfshead, she’ll forgive you.”
Mar felt the heat rise to her face.
“Maybe,” Mar said, lining up the edges of her parchment squares. “If she thought she had something to forgive.”
Zelianora took the parchments and set them to one side, sat down beside Mar in the chair that Mar had drawn up for Bet-oTeb. The Tarkina just sat, quietly waiting, and somehow this loosened the knot in Mar’s throat, allowing her to draw in a deep, ragged breath.
“The Wolfshead said that I hadn’t betrayed her, that I couldn’t because, well, because I wasn’t her Brother.”
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