That was why her friend Wenora had been so angry with her; Carcali had been bullying people, in a way, since her talent was so much more powerful than anyone else’s. Would she have become like the Tarxin if one day, as her ambition was, she’d become the Head Artist? Her footsteps slowed as she reached a wooden bench looking out over a balcony that let onto the sea. She sat down, pulling her veils closely around her.
She’d been using her power to help, back then, when everything had gone so horribly wrong. The Tarxin wanted her to hurt people. Hadn’t she had enough of that? How much more? How far was she willing to go before she said stop, enough? She shivered. Xalbalil wouldn’t be Tarxin forever, but how many people would be hurt while she waited for him to die? She needed an ally, and she needed one now. If the Paledyn wouldn’t help her, then she had to go back to her original idea. Xendra’s brother, Tar Xerwin.
She looked up. Would it seem peculiar to the guards if she asked them where Xendra’s brother was to be found? Surely this was something she would be expected to know.
Finexa would know. There would be fewer questions raised if she asked Finexa.
Remm Shalyn was waiting for her when Dhulyn got back to her rooms. A waggle of his eyebrows indicated that the Marked were still there, hidden once more in her bedroom. The scrying bowl was no longer on the table, but there was a shoulder bag on a chair that didn’t belong to her. She pointed to it.
“I am likely not the only person who has seen that bag hanging from the Healer’s shoulder.”
Remm blushed and pressed his lips together, nodding. “An oversight, I admit. Won’t happen again.”
“Was the Finder successful?”
He glanced at the door of her bedroom in such a way that she read the answer on his face. He’d been hoping someone else would be the one to tell her.
“The bowl worked beautifully,” Javen Finder said once Remm had let them back into the sitting room. She was trying to be properly downcast and contrite, seeing they’d had no success. But her delight in the bowl was strong, and it showed in the sparkle of her eyes, despite her other feelings. “I saw colors, as I usually do, but much brighter, much clearer than usual. I Found you, Dhulyn Wolfshead, and a toy of the White Twins that’s been missing for months.” She lowered her eyes, glancing at the bag hanging on the chair. “If I could keep the bowl, I could try again. I’m so sorry to have failed you.”
Dhulyn grinned. If the bowl was already in the bag, they’d anticipated her answer. “The bowl is yours, and we haven’t failed yet, Javen Finder,” she said. “That was only the first of my ideas. There may be another way, but to try it we must return to the Sanctuary. We will need the White Twins.”
All three Marked looked at each other, and Rascon Mender’s lips actually parted, but she closed her mouth again when Ellis Healer gave a tiny shake of his head. Clearly, they wanted to ask how the Seers could help them. But Dhulyn had no intention of telling them yet—possibly never, if the Seers could re-create the Vision of the hiding child without her.
“We’ll need time, and that we may not have. The Nomads have been sighted.”
“From where?” Remm handed the shoulder bag to the Healer.
“The north tower.”
“The earliest point at which they can be seen. That buys us some time.” His brows drew down in a vee. “The Tarxin will call for his Council, and he’ll want the Tar with him. And at the right moment—when they’ve decided what to tell you—they’ll call for you, as well. That means the upper gardens will be clear. We’ll go as soon as the summons comes for you.”
“Should they wait here? We could go together to the Sanctuary after dark.”
But Remm was already shaking his head. “No one would call to see them now, during the meal hour, and the midday rest. But as soon as the worst of the heat passes—and word of the Nomads gets around, as it will—there will be people in the Sanctuary, and many will ask for the senior Marked. I can take them back through the gardens, Dhulyn Wolfshead. I know the way now. No need to disturb the Tar Xerwin.”
“And if you’re found there?”
“With all due respect to the Tar, it’s only he or his father can find us there. If it’s he, then no problem, if it’s the Tarxin, well.” Remm Shalyn shrugged. “I confess I was curious as to what story the Tar was going to give his father to explain our presence earlier. Me, I’ll just say you sent me, and I was afraid to disobey.”
“Very well.” Dhulyn rubbed the line she could feel forming between her brows. She looked up at the Marked. “At the end of the third watch, when the Moon has set. Expect me.”
It was odd to see such a promising inlet so deserted, even at this time of day. But they had wanted a high tide to take them as far in as possible, and the fact that this was the hottest part of the day simply meant there would be fewer landsters about. The bluffs here were not as high as they were at Ketxan City, but they were cut by a narrow creek. The sun had just passed its highest point when Parno and his squad had taken one of the Wavetreader’s boats and set off. The Nomads knew this section of coast well, having put in often for fresh water, and though Parno hadn’t felt much wind, they’d been able to use the sails on the small craft to get them almost to the beach.
*Seems an odd place to be so familiar with* *Is there a village nearby*
*There’s good fresh water upstream, above the tidal washes* That was Conford. *Can beach the boat there as well, then it’s a short climb to the top of the bluff*
*But have you been here before, Conford* Surely not, if his exchange had been so recent.
*Amusement* *No need* *Others have, and their knowledge is my knowledge*
*Looks different in the day* That was one of the twins. Tindar, Parno thought. *Only ever been here at night*
They doused the sail and took out oars as soon as they were far enough up the creek to lose the wind. In moments the prow of the boat grounded, and Sar and Chels jumped out to haul it as far up the tiny beach as they could. Parno jumped out also, still in his bare feet. His boots were tucked down the front of his tunic, he carried two swords, his daggers, knives, and even a throwing quoit. The others bore the weapons he thought they’d do best with. Swords for the most part, but Tindar’s twin, Elian, also had a small ax, and Conford had his garwon.
*Amusement* *Nervousness* *Fear* This last very small.
Parno stayed off to one side while the Nomads pulled the boat far enough up the beach that the movement of waves would not trouble it. Sails and masts were stowed, and the boats turned over. With luck, they would make it back in time to catch the next high tide.
*Ready*
*Agreement*
*Follow, and keep as quiet as you can*
That was one thing that Pod sense gave you, he thought. You knew exactly where everyone else in your squad was, and if necessary, you knew what they were thinking. Instant communication—and completely silent. Better than the nightwatch whisper of the Mercenary Brotherhood, since it could be used over any distance.
#Not any distance# That was the unmistakable voice of a Crayx. Deeper, somehow, and more resonant, though the terms meant nothing when no real sound was made. #Go far enough inland, and we cannot hear you#
*How far*
#Distance on land is very hard for us# #We have heard the voice of a Pod-sensed one as far as two days’ travel on foot# #Farther than that, we cannot be sure#
Not that far, then, as things were measured. A Pod-sensed child growing up almost anywhere in Boravia would be overlooked by the few Crayx who came into the Midland Sea.
#We will look more carefully now#
The trees grew thicker as they walked away from the beach, giving them much needed shade. Though they had covered their heads, and were wearing their lightest garments, the heat was oppressive, and the insects would have been a great deal more so, if it were not for the greasy salve that the Nomads used as protection. One of their most popular trade goods, it was made from an oil excreted by the Crayx. Still, Parno found he had to w
ave tiny insects away from his face every now and then to avoid breathing them in.
The thickness of the trees did expose one flaw in their plan, however. The Nomads were noisier on land than anyone he’d ever led before. Parno called a halt as one of them blundered through a bush.
*Not our fault, nowhere to practice*
Parno thought for a moment. Not only could they be heard by anyone near them, but the noise of their own movement would obscure the sound of anyone else’s approach. Too bad he hadn’t thought of teaching them even one of the simpler Hunter Shoras.
#Show us#
Startled, Parno thought for a moment before signaling to the others to rest. He waited until the watch was posted before he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. And another. His heart rate slowed, and his senses turned outward. The Stalking Cat Shora settled over him like a blanket, and suddenly the whole clearing was quiet, as Parno and the Nomads, linked by the Crayx, all breathed in the same silent rhythm, their eight hearts beating as one. At first it was disorienting to hear with so many ears, feel the shift of air or the pattern of sunlight with so many skins, but suddenly, as if the minds of the Crayx acted like a clearinghouse for all the different sensations, Parno felt everything fall into place.
Nineteen
*MARVELOUS* THAT WAS one of the twins. *Like this all the time* she asked.
*When using the right Shora* he answered.
A buzz of excitement passed through them all. What a way to School people, Parno thought. Unfortunately, it would only work with the Pod-sensed.
At first, even with the Shora, the Nomads were not as silent as Mercenary Brothers would have been, but they were so much quieter than they had been moments before that it was like leading an entirely different group of people. Parno found that they weren’t able to keep up continuously the level of concentration required for the Stalking Cat Shora, but he kept them practicing between breaks, and even without it, the awareness of what was possible made them all take better care. Soon, instead of moving like raw recruits, the Nomads began to have the feel of a squad who had been training together for some time.
It was evening by the time Parno and the Nomads were out of the woods and making their way through cultivated fields and groves of fruit trees to within sight of Ketxan City. There was this to be said about a slave culture; in any other place, the lands around them would have been held by free men or tenant farmers, people who would have been up in the night, watching over their flocks or making their rounds. The Holdings would have been smaller, closer together, and therefore harder to pass unnoticed. In this place, the holdings were huge, the workers penned up at night, and the watching eyes turned inward, not outward. All of which helped to make it relatively easy for Parno and his seven Nomads.
Parno had been hoping for moonlight to help him match the Upper City to the description he’d had from Oskarn of the Sunwaver Pod, but the afternoon had slowly become cloudier, and the hoped-for moonlight would not now materialize. They could see lights in some of the pavilions of the Upper City, but certainly not enough to give general illumination.
*See there* Parno picked out what he thought would be the best route over the wall. *I’ll go first, follow in order*
*Agreement*
In moments they were all over the wall, and had moved forward into a lane between two low buildings which showed no lights.
*Silence everyone* *Three people approach us*
Instantly, the Stalking Cat Shora enveloped them once again, precise and perfect.
*People out late*
Parno shook his head. *That’s a patrol* *See the way they move*
*Awareness* *Agreement*
*Isn’t that what you said* Conford thought. *You’d set up patrols if was your place to guard*
That wasn’t precisely what he’d said, Parno thought. He’d said it was what any Mercenary would advise. But to come here and find it done . . . Parno became aware of a creeping unease. Was it possible that there were Pod-sensed among the Mortaxa after all? Could they have listened to his thoughts?
#No# This was the Crayx. #Not without our knowledge# The Crayx had kept the others from feeling his unease.
*Heading toward us* *Will pass by*
*No* Parno wasn’t sure exactly how he knew. *In the open, they might have missed us, but not here*
*Three for certain* *Can smell them* A sense of delight as the Nomad who’d spoken—Mikel?—felt the full usefulness of the Stalking Cat Shora.
*One experienced man leads two recruits* Parno felt the agreement as the others all compared the sounds and understood why he’d drawn that conclusion.
*Twins, flank left. Conford, Mikel, right* Parno felt them move into place, as Trudi, Sar, and Chels moved back, spreading out to cover them all.
The patrol continued to approach. Their manner was relaxed, more like people going for a walk than guards on patrol—so much so that Parno almost doubted what logic and the Stalking Cat Shora told him.
*Inexperienced* he told the others. *Not expecting trouble* *Move with me*
At exactly the right moment Parno stepped out of a shadow and cut the patrol leader’s throat with a sharp stroke of the sword in his right hand. He caught the body as it fell, keeping sound to the minimum, and saw out of the corner of his eye Conford plunging his garwon into the second man’s temple, and Mikel grappling with the third man, one hand at his throat to keep him from crying out.
Parno felt a grin spread over his face as Sar ran forward to help Mikel. They had all moved simultaneously.
All three guards were dressed in short patterned kilts—there was not enough light to show colors. They wore metaled sandals and leather harness over bare skin, and carried short swords. Only one had a crossbow hanging from his belt.
*Take the weapons, and move the bodies into the shadows under that wall* Parno instructed.
*What now*
*There may be another patrol, or someone may come looking for this one when they don’t report* It was too late to change plans, but a good Mercenary Brother learned to adapt to circumstances as he found them. And this was a circumstance Parno had planned for. *Have to split up* he said. *As we discussed* *Conford, take Sar, Mikel, and Chels to the public entrance* *The rest of you, with me*
*Agreement* *Excitement*
*Crayx, are you ready*
#We await your word#
Dhulyn returned from the Council meeting to find Remm Shalyn alone in her quarters, weapons spread out on the table to be cleaned, oil and a cleaning cloth in his hand. Her weapons.
Before he could finish looking up, she was across the room, lifting his hand from the metalwork on her crossbow.
“Don’t touch my things,” she said. “Never touch my things.”
His eyes went round at what he saw on her face, and he licked his lips. “But Dhulyn Wolfshead, it’s my job. I’m your sword servant.”
“No.” She squeezed her eyes shut. How to make him understand? “Among the Mercenary Brotherhood there are no servants,” she began. “We are Brothers. Each our own master, and our own servant.”
“But if you spend your time cleaning weapons and harness, you don’t have time to be a Mercenary Brother.”
“If I don’t clean my own weapons, how can I be sure they have no defects? How can I be sure they are mine?”
He seemed about to argue further and Dhulyn put up her hand, palm toward him. “You tell me you’re my sword servant.”
“Yes.”
“You’re to obey me.”
“Yes.”
She slammed her hand down on the table. “Then obey me.”
Remm looked at her openmouthed for the time it took to breathe in twice. Then he began to laugh. “Very well, yes,” he said when he had caught his breath. “I think I see.”
Dhulyn shook her head at him, but smiled. She was finding it hard, very hard, to deal with this form of thinking, this settled condition of the mind. In Boravia, independence of thought and action could be found in many people,
everywhere—in fact, much of it often had to be trained out of people to make them good troops. But here, where the common experience was that one set of people oppressed another, even a naturally independent type like Remm Shalyn, who was used to playing a difficult role, showed evidence of a narrow way of thinking.
“So how did the Council go?” he asked her, pushing himself away from the table and her weapons and going to the sideboard, where there were still pastries and a jug of drink from the midday meal.
She smiled her wolf’s smile, and was given an answering grin in return.
“That Tarxin’s up to something.”
“He usually is.” Remm poured her out a cup of fruit juice, still cool in its ceramic jug, and handed it to her. Dhulyn took it without tasting it, seated herself in the big chair to one end of the table, and slung a leg over the arm.
“Apparently, there is no cause for immediate alarm,” she said. “The Nomad ships are at least three days away. Currents prevent them from coming directly to the docks from where they’ve been sighted. They shall have to come around from a different direction. The Tarxin has asked the representatives of the High Noble Houses to make up a small committee—which is to include me—to meet with the Nomads.”
“So we can try the plan you have in mind?”
She looked at him. “Can we go openly to the Sanctuary? It wastes so much time otherwise.”
Remm came and sat on the edge of the table near enough to touch her if he put out his hand. “What’s your plan, Wolfshead? What can the White Twins do that you can’t?”
For a moment Dhulyn studied Remm’s face. He looked open, honest, trustworthy. But then, he could act a part if needed, and it would be often needed if he were a freer of slaves. He trusted her with this knowledge of himself. But given how the Marked were circumstanced here in Mortaxa, could she trust him with her secrets?
“The White Twins know where the spirit of the child Xendra hides. They have Seen her. Javen Finder cannot Find the child—neither by linking with the Healer and Mender, nor through using the bowl. She can’t, as she says, Find a Vision. But if she could link with the Seers, experience their Vision firsthand, perhaps then she could Find the child, searching the world of the Vision, as she searches through this one.
The Storm Witch Page 28