“YOU HAVE NEWS that will not wait?” Alkoryn Pantherclaw’s voice was as thin as paper. He lifted his blue eyes from their scrutiny of the map fixed to the top of his table, looked from Dhulyn to Parno and back again. “Tell me.”
Dhulyn stifled the impatient movement of her right hand before it became anything more than a tremor in her nerves. The captive Mercenaries had split up upon making their escape from Tenebro House, she and Parno taking one route while their Brothers took another. Besides being good strategy, it had given her a chance to tell Parno privately of Lok-iKol and her Visions. And given them the chance to prepare a report for their Senior Brother that did not mention her Mark.
She took a deep breath to steady herself as she began to speak.
And stopped.
She had never lied to a Senior Brother, never once since Dorian the Black took her hand in the hold of the slave ship. Neglected to tell things, perhaps, but lie? She looked over to Parno, leaning against the table to her right, saw concern mingling with fatigue in his face, clouding his amber eyes. Untold secrets hovered in the air between them, as well.
This was not what she wanted. This was not what the Brotherhood meant to her. I cannot have this. She sat up straight, hands firm on the tabletop, and hoped her judgment was not as clouded as Parno’s eyes.
She cleared her throat. “My Brother,” she said. “I bear a Mark.” From the corner of her eye, she saw Parno’s head jerk up an inch before he regained control.
Alkoryn’s fingers froze in their idle tracing of the lines of river and road. He lifted his hands from the map, sat up straight against the back of his chair, and let his hands fall to his thighs. When he had stared at her without speaking for some time, she continued.
“I am a Seer.”
Alkoryn struck his thigh with his fist. “A Seer. By the Caids, a Seer.” He looked at her sharply. “Does Dorian know?”
“I believe he does. But, Alkoryn, hear me.” She did not know the Pantherclaw well, but she had to hope so Senior a Brother would listen, would not let his obvious excitement rule his judgment. “My Mark is unschooled, untrained. No Guild trains Seers, at least none that I have ever found, and so my Sight is clouded, erratic, and…”
“Not to be relied upon?” Alkoryn’s whisper was dry, a little of the animation dying from his face.
“It shows me true Visions,” she said. “But not with regularity, nor in any way that allows me to plan.”
When Alkoryn looked at Parno, her Partner nodded. “It’s as she says. I could give you dozens of examples of true Visions, and perhaps twice when it’s been useful.”
“And that is why you’ve told no one.” Alkoryn placed his hands palm down on the tabletop. “Everyone thinks as I did, of how to use you, and doubts it when you tell them it cannot be done.” Had his glance been a blade, she would have been cut to the bone. “And Lok-iKol? This is what lies behind his actions? Does he know?”
“No more now than before. His Scholar told him that the women of my tribe might be Seers. It was enough for him to lure us-” she glanced at Parno, “-to lure me in.” Dhulyn leaned forward, resting her forearm on the tabletop. “My Brother, hear me. My news is of such weight-”
“Of course, of course.” The Pantherclaw picked up his cup of cider and drained it. “You have kept your silence too long to break it for trivialities. Pray, tell me what you Saw.” The hand that lowered the cup from his lips trembled.
“I have Seen the Tarkin Tek-aKet dead by poison,” she said in what she considered a remarkably steady voice. At least the shock and immediacy of the Vision had faded, though the images remained clear. “Men in Tenebro colors killing the guards of the Carnelian Dome. I have Seen the One-eyed Tenebro with the coronet in his hands, sitting on the Carnelian Throne. And I have Seen the Jaldean who stands behind him.”
“Allied with the Jaldeans,” Alkoryn said. “That in itself makes a degree of sense.” He looked up to meet her eyes. “Is it Lok-iKol behind this persecution of the Marked?”
Dhulyn shook her head. “That is more than my Vision can tell me.”
Parno cleared his throat. “He’ll have promised them something for their support.”
RIOTS. FIRES. GUARDS IN DARK RED PULLED FROM THEIR HORSES AND KILLED.
“I said, ‘are you all right, my Brother?’ ” Alkoryn’s voice was rough and whispery. Parno’s hand on her arm. Dhulyn licked suddenly dry lips and swallowed.
“Yes, I am more tired than I had thought. Your pardon.”
“What did you See?” Parno said. Alkoryn looked from Parno’s face to Dhulyn’s.
“Carnelian Guards being pulled from their horses in the streets.”
Alkoryn shook his head, but not as though he did not believe her. “When the old Tarkin died,” he said, “and Tek-aKet his son was confirmed to follow him as Tarkin, Lok-iKol did not put his name forward in nomination, nor did he request a Ballot.”
“It would have been his mother, then, would it not?” Parno said.
“So it would, so it would,” Alkoryn nodded, rubbing the scar on his throat. “This is no time for me to be growing old.” The Pantherclaw sighed and drew himself up until he sat tall and straight in his chair.
“You may not have heard,” he said. “This morning brought news of the Fall of Tenebro House. The old woman no longer stands between Lok-iKol and the Carnelian Throne.”
“Then he’ll make his move.” Something in Parno’s voice made Dhulyn look up. The light coming through the window made his hair glow golden and warm. She saw the old woman’s false hair shine in the light of the oil lamps, and the Fallen House’s words echoed in her ears. Par-iPar has come. A true heir. She squeezed her eyes shut. I will have to speak, she thought. She charged me with the message.
Their Senior Brother was nodding gently, once again appearing to give his whole attention to the study of the map in front of him, his fingers softly stroking the parchment. Watching him, Dhulyn forced her lungs to release her breath, slowly, softly. Had everything now changed? Did she still have a Brotherhood? Or would her Mark, which set her apart from all others, set her apart from her Brothers as well? Dhulyn started to rise, froze as Alkoryn looked up.
“Three days ago you advised me to move my maps.”
“I Saw them burning.”
“They shall be moved. Beginning today. As for what you tell me now… I wonder if I could ask a boon of you, my Brother,” Alkoryn said.
Surprised, Dhulyn lowered herself back into her chair. “Ask,” she said.
“Will you come with me to the Tarkin,” was Alkoryn’s reply, “and tell him what you have told me?”
Dhulyn’s dry lips parted, but she could no more speak than she could fly. With a thump, Parno returned the cup he still held to the table. Alkoryn spoke before either of them had gathered their wits.
“Not all of what you’ve told me, clearly,” the older man said. “But the portion which concerns him.”
“Is the Brotherhood in the Tarkin’s employ, that we would run to him with this news? We are not spies-” She held up her hand, hearing her own words, and worse, the tone she’d used. “Your pardon, my Brother, this is not mine to question. If you feel the good of the Brotherhood in Imrion demands the Tarkin be told what I have learned, then tell him.”
Alkoryn’s glance had drifted back to his beloved maps. “When I accuse Lok-iKol, I accuse Tek-aKet’s own cousin, even if not a very well-loved one. I think he would be the readier to believe this tale if he heard it from your own lips, my Brother. He may have questions only you can answer.” Alkoryn looked up at Dhulyn, fixing her with his cat’s eyes. “There is too much here we do not know. Lok-iKol wants the Throne-very well, there’s nothing new in political ambition, and war is what we deal in. But with the Jaldeans in the mix… if the New Believers gain much more power…” Alkoryn tapped the tabletop with his index finger. “What they do is genocide, not war; but it will lead to war, and worse, if they have the full backing of the Carnelian Throne.”
“Alkoryn,” Parno leaned forward before Dhulyn could speak. “May we think about this, my Partner and I? It is an unusual request, and touches her closely. We must think of a way to tell him without revealing her Mark,” he added when the older man hesitated. Dhulyn kept her face still, her features impassive. What was Parno up to?
“Certain you may,” Alkoryn said. He glanced over at the shaft of sunlight that angled into his office from the high window. “But if we are to speak to Tek-aKet, it should be as quickly as possible. Tonight, by preference. Will you give me an answer soon enough?”
“Certain we will,” Dhulyn heard her voice come out as little better than a croak. Whatever Parno wanted to say to her, he could say quickly. There should be nothing to stop them giving Alkoryn Pantherclaw his quick answer.
“And Parno?” They turned back at the door. “There is a Healer in the caves below the House-yes, we have been hiding the Marked and smuggling them out of the city; this was the assignment I had planned for you, my Brothers. Go to him and have your arm seen to.”
In less than an hour they were back in their assigned room, Parno flexing his right arm in pleasure after his visit to the Healer. Dhulyn threw herself on the bed and wriggled around to face him.
“What are you doing?” she asked him.
“You were about to say ‘no,’ ” he said, “and I wanted a chance to talk you.”
“You suggest I should tell my tale to the Tarkin?” Dhulyn punched at the stuffed straw mattress to find a comfortable position on the bed. “What is Tek-aKet to me, or I to him?” She punched the mattress again, aware that her exasperation had little to do with the Tarkin.
“You told Alkoryn,” Parno pointed out reasonably, sitting down on the stool close to the bed.
Dhulyn rolled her eyes up to the heavens, though from this angle she was really rolling them at the heavy wooden bed frame. “That would be a little thing called the Common Rule, no? You remember the Common Rule, I suppose, my Brother?”
Parno stood and strode away from her to the window. He leaned his hands on the sill, looking out, before turning back to her. “Is it not also the Common Rule for us to be guided by the advice and suggestions of Senior Brothers?” Parno’s tight voice showed an increase of sarcasm and decrease of patience.
“And I am the Senior Brother in this room!” Dhulyn shot back. She sat up, thumping her booted feet to the floor and leaning forward, hands on her knees. “I repeat, what is the Tarkin to me? You call on the Common Rule, you question my obedience to it. Are you so sure it’s not your old loyalties which command here? You wanted to come to Imrion. You…” She stopped, suddenly aware that words which could not be called back were dangerously close to the tip of her tongue. But she was between the sword and the wall. If she spoke, she risked losing her Partnership; if she was silent, if she could not speak, she had already lost it. There was only one action to take.
“Are you certain you’re not willing to risk me in order to save your Tarkin?” Dhulyn stopped, suddenly breathless.
“How is he my Tarkin?” Parno stood facing her with his arms folded across his chest, the sunlight coming in the window making a golden aurora around him.
“You are more to the Tenebros than you let me suppose.” Dhulyn’s hands and feet felt cold, as if her pounding heart did not push her blood. “You’re not some third son of a minor Household. With the House Fallen, you are now the next heir. If Lok-iKol Tenebro is cousin to the Tarkin, what are you?”
He took two steps toward her, arms swinging to his side. “It’s not so simple as that. I was Cast Out!”
“You could not tell me of your nobility? I told you of my Mark, first off, before we Partnered.”
“The Mark is not something that you could leave behind-it’s not just a part of your life before. House Tenebro is. When I became a Mercenary Brother, I left it behind me. That’s the Common Rule, too.”
Dhulyn swallowed around a tight throat. Could it really be that simple?
“You were not hiding this from me?”
“I had put it behind me. True, I did want to see Imrion again, but everything else… I was Cast Out. That life is gone.”
Not hidden from her because too important to tell, but left aside because not important enough to mention. Dhulyn dragged in a deep lungful of air.
“We are beating each other with the Common Rule,” she said. “We are Partnered. I never thought we would quarrel in this way-never thought we could.”
“Never Saw it coming?”
Dhulyn looked up, Parno’s mouth was twisted to one side in the grin that woke her heart. “Tell me now,” she said, patting the bed beside her. “I will listen.”
Parno sat down next to her, slipping his right arm around her. “I am the son of Wen-eWen Tenebro-” She shifted to look at him but he held her fast. “No, let me speak. It will be easier. My father was the military commander for House Tenebro, and the much younger half brother of the woman who is now the Fallen House.”
“Was? This was the demon haunting you? Why you wanted to return to Imrion? To see if your father still lived?”
“I got my temper from him, though mine’s Schooled now. Lately, as I near the age he was then, I wondered if he managed to stay alive and well. If I am, as you say, the heir, then I have my answer.”
“Sun and Moon shine on him. Wind blow warm.” Dhulyn touched her fingertips to her forehead.
“And you are the One-eye’s cousin?” she asked, after a moment had passed.
“And the reason that he has one eye.”
Dhulyn twisted around to better see his face. He inclined his head. “You are my very favorite Brother,” she said, smiling.
“Save your flattery. It was an accident of temper, though afterward I wished I had done it on purpose. I had seen the Harvest Moon seventeen times, and we all met at another Household for a wedding. He was rude to my sister, and when I asked him to apologize, he baited me, not realizing, perhaps, how much better a fighter I was. I lost my temper and struck him, forgetting that I came from hawking, and wore metal gloves.” Parno shrugged. “He lost his eye. He claimed that I had attacked him unprovoked. My father was left with no choice but to cast me out. If he had not done so, he would have lost everything, he and my mother, my sister. I came to the Brotherhood, to Nerysa Warhammer. And to you.”
“She meant for you to come, the Fallen House, she wanted you here.” In as few words as possible, Dhulyn told him about the old woman’s death. “The One-eye wanted me; but the old woman had her own plans all along. I was to tell you to be ready, that Lok-iKol had been cursed.”
Parno blew out a deep breath. “That is what has been bothering you? Not the fall of the Tarkin, but this? You thought I might turn back into a son of House Tenebro?” To her surprise, Parno grinned his old, loose grin and pulled her closer, resting his forehead for a moment against her hair.
“Forgive me. This is not the first time such a thought has crossed your mind since I began to speak of Imrion, and I said nothing. You came young to the Brotherhood, with nothing but pain and loss behind you, and it has been-as you have reminded me often enough-your whole world, your whole life. I came to the Brotherhood a man grown, with a world and a life behind me. So that though I am longer in the world than you, my heart, you are the Senior in Brotherhood. I know what you’ve thought. You’ve wondered if I value the Brotherhood less, because once I was of a House, because I once had family, servants, people to command, a place in an ordered life. You’ve thought, once or twice, that I would not have come to the Brotherhood had my life not undergone such a change by force.” He took hold of her shoulders, looking her in the eyes, his own clear under his golden brows. “Could I not say the same of you? Would you not even now be away in the cold south with the Red Horsemen, if they still rode? Tell me, what have you lost that I have not also lost?”
Dhulyn shut her eyes tight, only opening them again when Parno smoothed her brows with his thumbs.
“I am not a Tenebro. I am Parno Lionsmane, the Chanter. I was Schooled by Nerysa of Tourin, the Warhammer. Since we first met at the battle of Arcosa, here in Imrion as it happens, since you skewered that westerner who was trying to skewer me, I have been your Brother. And you mine.” The grip on her shoulders tightened painfully. “And you mine. You’ll have to kill me to be rid of me. And though I have no Sight,” he said, “I tell you that is not how it happens. Neither the Tenebros, nor even the Tarkin himself is the reason that I counsel you to speak.”
Her anger, and the fear that caused it, had drained away, leaving her limp, muscles trembling with fatigue. She leaned her forehead against his shoulder, breathed in his scent of leather and sweat. “Why should I speak, then? If not because you love him, then why?”
“Not because of the Tarkin, but because of the Jaldeans. You’re right. The Tarkin is just one person or another, and we’re Mercenaries. And if there’s war? What’s it to do with us who sits on the Carnelian Throne, besides more work and better pay?” He kissed her knuckles and placed her hand gently on the woven bedcover. He pulled his legs up beneath him and sat cross-legged, facing her from the end of the bed.
“I don’t say we should fight for the Tarkin, I’m saying we should fight against the Jaldeans.” From habit, Parno lowered his voice to a murmur that went no further than the bed they sat on. “You have never made any great show of your Mark-”
“Even if I wanted to, you know I cannot-”
“Hush for once and listen to me, woman.” The bare injustice of this silenced her. She was not the talker of the two of them, and Parno knew it. “The Mark is an old problem for us, one we might easily have lived with forever. The Jaldeans have changed that. Your Mark is now an active danger, not merely a nuisance. Where will we go, my heart, if the Jaldeans come into such power, here in Imrion?”
“Imrion is not the world-”
“Imrion is the seat of the old civilization, and there are many places which still look to it for guidance. And there are Jaldean Shrines everywhere besides Imrion, in the desert, even in the Blasonar Plains. How long until this New Belief reaches there?”
“Small shrines, a monk or two…” Even she could hear the lack of conviction in her voice.
“They were small shrines here in Imrion, if it comes to that,” he pointed out. “Look how they have grown.”
Dhulyn frowned. Parno was right. If what she had Seen came to pass… try as they would, they could not hide her Mark forever. And she would endanger Parno as well, not just herself. Perhaps even the rest of her Brothers.
“But my counsel to you would be the same, even if you were not a Seer. This killing of the Marked is wrong of itself. What tells us the Jaldeans will stop with the Marked?”
That brought Dhulyn’s head up again.
“The New Believers gather power and importance to themselves by turning the world against useful, talented people who provide a service for a fee. Can you think of any other groups of whom these things might be said?”
Dhulyn sat up straighter, put her hand on the hard muscle on Parno’s thigh. “The Scholars,” she said. “That’s obvious. But we also. The Mercenary Brotherhood is also such a group.” She pulled her lip back from her teeth. “In the Marked, the New Believers remove a source of competition, an alternate center of power. They make the people a sword, and once the sword is sharpened, they can use it to cut anyone.”
“True words, Dhulyn, my soul.” Parno nodded.
“We’re not so few as the Marked,” Dhulyn said. “And better armed than the Scholars.” She dragged her lower lip between her teeth. “But we’re spread thin, so thin. It would take some time to kill us all…”
Parno nodded. “But kill us all is how it would end.”
“No.” Dhulyn shifted away so she could look Parno directly in the face. She tapped the air between them. “You are right. It ends here.”
“So we will warn the Tarkin.”
“If we’re to die with swords in our hands, why delay it?” Dhulyn smiled. “You are wrong about one thing, however.”
“I am never wrong.”
“This time you are. It occurs to me, Parno, my soul, that it does matter to us which man is on the Carnelian Throne.”
“It does?”
“Yes,” Dhulyn let her lip curl back from her teeth. “It may be anyone except that one-eyed piece of snake’s dung. Anyone except Lok-iKol Tenebro.” She opened her eyes and looked at Parno’s grinning face. “I witnessed his mother’s curse, that twisted turd, I cursed him with Pasillon myself, and it’s Pasillon he shall have.”
“They have what?” The menace and anger in Lok-iKol’s voice was enough to stop in their tracks the two servants who were busy ferrying out the Fallen House’s rugs and tables, now unwanted since the new Tenebroso had taken possession of the office that the old woman had used as her sitting room for so many years.
Dal-eDal had spoken to his House in a practiced murmur that would not carry beyond the worktable at which Lok-iKol sat, but now he pointedly looked at the servants and waited until Lok-iKol had waved them out of the room before he spoke again.
“They have gone, my House,” he repeated. “Escaped.”
“Impossible. Who freed them?” His hands were fists, and the scarring stood out bone-white from the rest of his face.
Dal had never seen Lok-iKol so angry. Fear could take a man that way, but somehow Dal doubted what he saw in Lok’s face was fear.
“Your pardon, my House,” he said, keeping his voice neutral. “No one needs to free Mercenaries; they free themselves. The cell was found locked, but empty.”
“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 recognize 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!”