“HOW DID THIS HAPPEN?” Dhulyn stood with her right hand pressed tightly against the ornate carving of the doors to the Carnelian Throne Room, as if she could somehow reach through and sense what was happening inside.
“You think I know?” Parno growled. “I was helping the Tarkina with the Semlorian ambassador when the page, Telian-Han, came running for me. He’d gone to the Tarkin’s room with the midday meal and found the guard who’d been left there dead on the floor.”
“And the Tarkina?”
“Keeping the ambassador calm, I imagine.” Parno closed his fingers around her upper arm. “Dhulyn, my heart, don’t do it. It doesn’t have a head wound now. What if it-it must know you are coming? The best you’ll accomplish is to send it to another body.”
“You prefer to have the Green Shadow as Tarkin of Imrion?” She looked at him as if she didn’t even feel his grip on her arm. Her eyes were as bright as the edge of a knife.
“Besides, I promised him I would kill him. I gave my word.”
“We have only you and Gundaron. If it destroys you before you can kill Tek-aKet, we will never prevail against it.”
“I gave my word.”
“At least let me come in with you.” He knew it was no use even before she started shaking her head.
“I can kill him,” she said. “I don’t know that I could kill you if…
Parno let his hand drop to his side. He’d known what her answer would be, but he’d had to try. She was what she was. When Dhulyn took his face in her hands, he did not pull away.
“Beslyn-Tor said, ‘like this,’ did he not?” Dhulyn’s steel-gray eyes fixed on his.
Parno closed his hands around her wrists. “He did.”
“Eye-to-eye, that’s how the Shadow moves, and how, I’ll wager, he destroys.”
“And so?”
“And so? Blindfold me, you idiot.”
Eyes covered with a piece of silk torn from one of the hangings and threaded through the braids of her hair for security, Dhulyn settled her shoulders, breathing deeply, slowly. Beginning the discipline she privately thought of as Blind Parno’s Shora, from when the horizon sickness had forced her Partner to go blindfolded to cross the Blasonar Plains. She became conscious of the timing of her breathing, the movement of the air, so that each breath took the same length of time going in and going out. In. Out. As her breathing fell into a rhythm, as her body and her thoughts calmed, in the darkness of the blindfold her senses woke. She heard the air move through Parno’s lungs, and the soft susurration of his clothes as they adjusted to the movement of his chest. She felt her own skin move against her vest as she breathed, and pushed her senses outward.
Smelled now, not just Parno’s familiar smell, but the garlic in the sauce of the partridge they’d eaten for luncheon, the wine he’d had, and the bay leaf in the water he’d used to cleanse his hands. She felt and heard Parno slip the makeshift bar free and eased herself through the opening, moving only enough to allow him to shut the door behind her. She could hear two sets of breathing now-two?-and stilled her own to listen better. From the left. Low, steady, almost a snore. Unconscious, then, and neither help nor hindrance. And the second? Above.
Dhulyn stepped to the right in time to feel the displacement of air as the body of her assailant landed to her left, his grunt sounding loud to her sensitive hearing. She ducked under the blow she sensed sweeping toward her head, felt the air push past her face and seized the wrist instead of dancing away as instinct and training demanded. She continued her turn into her opponent until she had it back against the wall, her forearm against its throat, and her knife buried in its chest.
Dhulyn eased the body to the floor, pulled her knife out of the wound and wiped it clean on her breeches before carefully feeling upward with her free hand and covering the dead eyes. Many fights were lost through too early belief that they were won. No point in being careless now. She took a moment to allow her breathing to return to normal, to release herself from the discipline of the Shora before laying the knife down behind her and using that hand to dig her fingers into the side of the throat, under the jaw. Nothing, no pulse. The blood had stopped moving from the wound. She made sure the eyelids were closed before she recovered the knife, inserted it with care between her skin and the blindfold, and sliced the strip of cloth free of her face.
“I fulfill my oath, Tarkin of Imrion,” she whispered, touching her forehead with her fingertips.
She rose to her feet in one movement and advanced in the direction of the other breathing she’d heard. She stopped when two legs, one folded under the other, came into her view on the far side of the dais. She advanced even more slowly, certain that she recognized those soft-soled boots with their intricate embroidery. Her lips formed a soundless whistle as she knelt, sheathed her knives, and pulled loose one of the braided leather cords that were woven into her vest. Two important questions leaped immediately to mind.
What had Cullen of Langeron been doing in the Throne room? And was this still Cullen of Langeron?
Dhulyn had just finished trussing the unconscious Cloudman when the doors of the throne room were flung open behind her. The rapid footsteps stopped only paces into the room, and then advanced once more, slowly. The last knot secure, Dhulyn looked around, knowing already who she would see.
Zelianora Tarkina sank to her knees by the corpse of her husband, laying her fingers lightly on his closed eyelids. When she looked up, her dark brows were like splashes of ink on her face.
“Did he speak, once the Shadow had departed?”
Shaking her head, Dhulyn rose to her feet and approached the other woman. She stopped when Zelianora held her hand up, palm toward her.
“Leave me, please,” she said. “You stood by your word and for that I thank you, but leave me now. Please.”
Dhulyn hesitated, looking from the kneeling Tarkina to the trussed Cloudman. Parno left his post by the door to take her by the elbow.
“Come,” he said.
“We must bring Cullen,” she said.
Parno shrugged and bent over to grasp the front of Cullen’s tunic, hauling the unconscious man upright enough to sling him over his shoulder.
“Don’t know why you bothered tying him. The Tarkin wouldn’t have been attacking you if the Shadow’d left him. Logic tells us Cullen must be clean.”
“Logic’s killed people before. Better careful than cursing.”
At the doorway Dhulyn stopped and looked back into the room. There was something wrong. The throne room showed no signs of the encounter, just the body of Tek-aKet, with his grieving Tarkina kneeling over it. Dhulyn drew in a deep breath through her nose, tasting blood at the back of her throat. But there was something else. Something she couldn’t put her finger on.
The new Tenebroso, Dal-eLad, coughed, found himself leaning over the neck of his horse, and straightened, rubbing at the start of a headache over his left eyebrow.
“Dal, are you all right?”
A few blinks assured him he was looking into the blue eyes of Karlyn Tan, riding beside him. He held the focus until he was sure his vision was clear.
“Felt dizzy for a moment.” He looked away, rubbing the side of his face.
“You looked as though you were about to faint.”
“I’ll be fine,” Dal said, shrugging away Karlyn’s concern. They had no time for any of this, they had to get to the Dome as quickly as possible. “Let’s go.”
“But I don’t understand.” Mar sat next to Gun on Dhulyn Wolfshead’s bed, drawing comfort from the warmth of his body so near hers. She looked between the two Mercenaries. “You did exactly as the Tarkin asked you to do.”
Parno Lionsmane closed and tied the silk bag that held his disassembled pipes. “Not everyone will feel that way. The fact remains, little Dove, that my Partner has killed the Tarkin of Imrion, and even though it was at his order… well, there’s no way to know which way the Houses will jump, if they find out. If we ask for permission to go and are denied,” he shrugged, “better to explain, and defend ourselves if necessary, from the mountains.”
Gun took her hand. “We’d have to go anyway,” he said. “We don’t know where the Shadow is now, but we do know we need the other Marks. And the only other Marks we know about are in the mountains. Before Wolfshead killed the Tarkin, we could have sent Cullen’s Racha bird for them-what did I say?”
Dhulyn Wolfshead had frozen in the act of folding her long riding cotte. “Disha,” she said. “That’s it.” She turned to Parno Lionsmane. “When did Disha return?”
“Two nights ago, the same night Gun found Tek-aKet. What of it?”
“Cullen was in the throne room without Disha.” The two Mercenary Brothers looked at each other tight-lipped.
“She could be anywhere,” Parno Lionsmane said finally. “He could have sent her with a message, or just away, if he suspected something was wrong with Tek. We won’t know anything until he comes to himself.”
“If he comes to himself.” The Wolfshead chewed on her lower lip, the half-folded cotte twisting in her hands.
“That mistake won’t be made again, you can be sure,” Parno Lionsmane said. “Cullen’s well-guarded and, unlike Tek, has no authority to order himself freed.”
“It seems hard to go to the Cloud people without him.” Dhulyn Wolfshead frowned at the cotte she still held.
Mar looked down at her hands, clasped in her lap. Here we go again, she thought, surprised to find her hands so steady. Once more on the run. Had she spent longer than three days anywhere since she’d first set eyes on the Mercenaries? She got to her feet, mentally reviewing what she should take with her. No point in packing any of the court gowns Rab-iRab had found for her. However much nicer they were than the clothes she’d had at Tenebro, they wouldn’t be much use on horseback. The sound of her own name made her look up.
“Mar can stay here with Zelianora Tarkina,” Gun was saying.
A cold shock buzzed in her ears. Did he really mean to go without her? “Not likely,” she said, thrusting herself between Gun and Parno. “It’s my bowl you need, remember!”
“But, Mar, you’re safer here if we-”
“Best if you waste no time arguing.”
The voice from the doorway stopped Gun before he could finish giving Mar his excuses. Dal-eLad and Karlyn-Tan had come with them from Tenebro House, but while she and Gun had come straight to the Mercenaries’ rooms, the Noble House had gone to the Tarkina. Dal’s glance fell to the open packs. “Good. I should have known you would be ahead of me. The Houses are already arriving. Penrado happened to be here when you came riding in and he’s called the others.”
“And if we’re asked for?” Dhulyn Wolfshead did not stop packing to ask.
“Zelianora has told them you’ve gone after the murderers of the Tarkin,” Dal said. “She’s said that he told you enough to set you on the trail with his dying words.” He entered the room far enough to shut the door behind him. “There is good comes of this, if we are careful. Tek deposed and dead was one thing, the Houses were willing for Lok-iKol to be Tarkin rather than begin a civil war. But Tek assassinated is another. Anyone who steps forward to claim the Carnelian Throne will be suspect. The Penradoso is speaking against a Ballot, and calling for Bet-oTeb to be declared Tarkin, with an appropriate Guardian, of course, and many of the other Houses are listening.”
“Enough?”
Dal shrugged. “It will be easier for Zelianora to ask for the Guardianship herself if…” Dal stopped, his unspoken words hanging in the air.
“If she’s seen to have acted decisively in sending us after the assassins,” Dhulyn Wolfshead finished for him. He nodded to her, clearly relieved that she understood. “These youngsters have yet to pack. Meanwhile we can saddle the horses-”
“You misunderstood me,” Dal said. “There were those who wished to question you themselves, and Zelianora has told them you have already gone. You will not ride out of the front gates now without making her a liar, and raising the very questions we wish to avoid.” Dal shrugged. “I can have your horses, and even your saddlebags sent after you to the Tenebro summerhome outside of Gotterang.” He turned to Parno Lionsmane. “You remember?”
When Lionsmane nodded, Wolfshead turned to Mar and Gun.
“Go, you two, quick as you can and meet back here. Small packs only, Mar, but leave nothing you cannot afford to lose. Be sure to bring the bowl.” Dhulyn Wolfshead fastened the last buckle on the straps of her saddlebag.
“And speaking of that.” Dal had been carrying a small case made of time-darkened wood with a brass handle set into the lid. “I’ve brought the vera tiles for you, Dhulyn Wolfshead. They seemed to work at least somewhat…”
“I’ll see they come back to you safely.”
“Keep them. I can have a new set made.” Dal looked at Gun, and then at Mar herself as if he would say something in particular to them, but finally he bowed and left them.
As Mar was pulling the door shut behind them, she heard Dhulyn Wolfshead say, “I wonder. Can the Shadow enter the Racha?”
“I hope neither of you are afraid of heights.” Dhulyn looked with approval at the packs Mar and Gun were carrying. The little Dove’s bag was much the same style-if better quality-as the one she’d had on the trail, but without winter clothing, it was less than half the size. Parno was tying their packs to a climbing rope, light but strong, taking care that they would hang true, without twisting or binding. “Boots off, my Doves, put them into the front of your harness.”
“I thought we’d go through the old kitchens,” Gundaron said, handing his pack over at Parno’s gesture and sitting down to get at his boots.
“We’d have to pass through too much of the Dome to get there,” Parno told him. “We’re supposed to be gone already, remember.”
“We little thought we’d be taking you with us this way, my Doves,” Dhulyn said, looking out the window of their bedroom. “But it’s not so difficult. If you don’t look down.”
She looked with longing at her saddlebags. Everything she couldn’t do without-including the set of vera tiles-had been transferred to a travel pack, but uncomfortable wouldn’t begin to describe their journey if, by ill luck, they lost the bags. And there was her second-best sword, to say nothing of the axes and the longbow. She gave a mental shrug, put her most cheerful smile on her lips. Either Dal-eLad would get them their horses and saddlebags, or he wouldn’t. No point in giving the youngsters anything more to worry them. Under her breath, she ticked off a list of weapons. Knives-in boots, wrist sheaths, back sheath under her shirt and the public one at her belt-with short sword, throwing star pouch, and disassembled crossbow, all attached to vest harness, and tied down so as not to snag on anything or tangle the ropes. Parno had, in addition to his own body weapons and sword, the cavalry recurve bow that came apart into three pieces, and the arrows they’d brought back from the Great King’s court, steel arrows that unscrewed, patterned after relics of the Caids. Everything else was either too heavy or too long to take by this route. She’d just have to hope that Dal came through for them. She turned her back on the pile of books and scrolls stacked neatly on the room’s side table. If she didn’t look, she wouldn’t think about them. Much.
Her inventory finished, she helped Parno move the roped packs to the window.
“I’ll get these up now,” he said. “And come back to help with the youngsters.” He was out the window and up the wall in a moment, trailing the rope with the packs attached behind him. Dhulyn knew he’d reached the roof when the rope grew taut, and she eased the packs over the windowsill, watching them rise as Parno pulled them up.
She turned back into the room and smiled when she saw Mar and Gun eyeing herself, and the window, in disbelief.
“If you’re ready,” she said, attaching ropes to the front and rear of Gun’s and Mar’s harnesses, until they were strung out, herself to Gundaron, Gundaron to Mar. “The ledge is wider than it looks. Follow me out, then Parno will lead us all.”
As if hearing his cue, Parno swung himself back into the room and, seeing they were ready, linked himself to Mar with the rope he’d used to haul up the packs. He looked up with a nod as he finished checking the knot.
“Ready?” Instead of just stepping out onto the ledge as she would have done if she were alone, Dhulyn sat on the edge of the window casement, swung her legs out, turned to face into the room, and, gripping the edge of the casement tightly, lowered her legs until her toes felt the ledge.
“You see?” she said. “Just like that. I’ll be out here to steady you.”
Gundaron followed her out, trying his best to ape her actions exactly. He had a shaky moment when his toe couldn’t find the ledge, but once Dhulyn had guided his foot down, he managed well enough.
“Move over here, Gun, and mind the ropes,” she said, allowing him to pass between her and the wall. “Let Mar out.”
Anyone would have thought that Mar had been climbing out of fifth-story windows all her life-as, indeed she may have been, for all Dhulyn knew to the contrary. The little Dove slid out of the window onto the ledge and over next to Gun without hesitation or sign of nerves. Parno followed her out, drew the casements shut behind him and, using a bit of wire tied onto the end of a string, pulled the latch over as he did so. From the inside, at least, there’d be no sign that they’d left via the windows.
“Eyes on me,” Parno said. His tone was even and calm, the same tone, Dhulyn thought, that he’d used to coach Mar in table etiquette when they were on their way to Gotterang. “Watch where I put my hands and feet, and you put yours the same. Don’t start up until you see me wave at you. I’ll be anchored, so you can’t fall, but be careful all the same.”
As Dhulyn knew from her own reconnaissance, there were no windows directly above theirs, so Parno could climb straight up until he’d cleared the two stories above them, and reached the battlements at the top of the tower. These were decorative only, intended to match the style of an older tower, with no place for guards or archers to stand behind them, Dhulyn knew, only the shallow-pitched peaked roof of the tower itself. Parno swung himself over the edge of the stone, and after a few moments, they could see his hand waving.
“Up you get, children, fingers and toes now.” Dhulyn had tested the route herself only the day before, and knew that there were many finger- and toeholds in the rough stone wall, and more than a few places where the whole foot could be placed to take the weight off the hands.
This time Mar went first, scrambling up the wall like one of the monkeys Dhulyn had seen in the jungles of the northwest. Gun lifted his arms to start up almost as soon as he had room to do so.
“Wait.” Dhulyn said, her hand on his shoulder. “Let her reach the top; you would pull her down as well if you fell.” And me with the two of you, she didn’t say aloud. No point in frightening the boy any more than he was already.
Still, his fear didn’t stop him from starting up as soon as Mar had cleared the top, and Dhulyn found herself nodding in approval for the first time. He’d learned somewhere not to let his fear stop him. He might make a worthwhile human yet.
Halfway up, he froze, and Dhulyn bit back her thought. “Don’t look down,” she told him. “I’ll be right there.” She pulled herself up until she was nearly on top of him, covering his legs with her body, careful not to tangle the ropes. “Take a deep breath and move up. Parno’s there, see him? He’s got the slack of the rope. You can’t fall, just help him bring you up, don’t let him do all the work.” When he still didn’t move, she added, “Look within, Find your courage.”
Dhulyn’s fingers were just beginning to feel the strain when the boy nodded as though his neck were made of oak, and began to move, first his right hand, then his left, his right foot, his left. Dhulyn held herself back a moment, checking the rope, keeping out of the way of his lower limbs, but not letting Gun get so far ahead that he couldn’t feel her presence between him and the long fall.
“Keep breathing,” she said. “Let the air move in and out, in and out.”
It could not have been more than minutes later that Parno was helping Gun roll over the battlement onto the roof, but Dhulyn was sure that it felt much longer to the boy.
“Not to worry,” Parno was saying. “We’re only going to walk along this wall to that other tower you see there. No more climbing.” Mar had hold of the boy’s hand, and his grip on hers was so tight her fingers looked white.
Gun swallowed, but whatever he wanted to say didn’t make it out of his lips.
“We’ll still have the ropes,” Dhulyn said, in her most matter-of-fact tones. “There’s still no way for any of us to fall. You keep your eyes on the spot where your rope attaches to Mar, and you’ll be fine.”
Gun pressed his lips together into a thin line and nodded. When she saw that he intended to stand, Mar helped him to his feet. He looked to Dhulyn, then to Parno, and nodded again. Parno picked up the two heaviest packs, one in each hand to balance himself, and set off. Dhulyn picked up the two remaining packs and watched as Mar and Gun followed her Partner.
They were a little more than halfway across when the boy spoke.
“I thought the Carnelian Dome was impregnable from this side,” he said, in a voice that was a tight parody of nonchalance.
“Oh, you can’t get in this way.” Parno answered as if he hadn’t heard the tightness.
“But you can get out,” Dhulyn said.
Parno led them only a few spans farther, until the section of wall that led off from their tower met the ruined corner that was all that remained of a tower that no longer existed. There was room enough-just-for them to stand together.
Parno began unhooking the ropes that tied them together, coiling them neatly at their feet.
“Use these cords to tie your packs to your wrists, my Doves. Mar, check Gun’s knots. Use the ones we showed you on the trail.”
When her own pack was ready, Dhulyn retied the rope that had attached her to Gun, making it much shorter. When Parno had done the same with the rope between him and Mar, Dhulyn leaned over the edge of the most exposed corner of wall, looked back at them and grinned. “I forgot to ask, can you swim?”
Gun shot a quick look over the edge. “You can’t be serious.”
“Never more so, my Scholar. The cliff’s undercut, and there are no rocks in the river, which is deep enough. I checked. We’ll go first,” she added, to Parno.
“Got him?” Parno said, as he took Mar’s hands in his, moving her away from the edge.
“Got him,” Dhulyn said. With her right hand, she gripped Gun’s right wrist, and was gripped by him in return. Parno caught her eye above the youngsters’ heads.
“In Battle,” he mouthed.
Mindful that Gun and Mar could see her face, Dhulyn merely smiled and bowed her head, touching her fingertips to her lips.
“Let’s go.”
As she and Gun stepped out into space and began to fall, Dhulyn wished she’d really had a chance to check that the river was deep enough. She’d worked it out in her head, but…
The shock of the cold as they hit the water was enough to push every fear from Gun’s mind, and more than enough to make him gasp. Unfortunately, he was underwater as he did it. His pack dragged heavily at his right wrist and he had time to be thankful that it was not harnessed to his back before he began to cough. Hard fingers caught him by the front of his tunic and heaved him into the air just in time. He struggled to push himself still farther out of the water, stopping only when a bone-crushing grip on his wrists made him realize that the object he was forcing deeper under his weight was Dhulyn Wolfshead. He was lying half across her, facedown, and she had only her face out of the water. The angle she held him at was just such that he was able to cough out the water in his lungs without breathing in any more.
The coughing seemed as though it would last forever, and by the time it had stopped and Gun was able to loosen his grip on the Wolfshead and look about him, the current of the river had taken them away from the Carnelian Dome, and downstream, toward the summer homes of the very rich.
“I can swim,” he said.
“Not just yet,” she said. “Let the current take us for now. Turn over on your back.”
With the Wolfshead to brace against, turning over was easy. Gun had a difficult moment when he thought he’d begin coughing again, but it passed. The Wolfshead slipped her own arm under his and across his chest, holding him against her but with his head well above the water. He forced himself to relax, breathing steadily and slowly, as she used a lazy sidestroke to give them steerage as they floated downstream. The water still felt icily cold, and Gun knew that luck was with them. It was too early in the year for water sports, and the wrong time of day for fishing. It wasn’t long before piers and jetties were replaced by boathouses, water pavilions, and long stretches of terraced gardens leading away from the water. Gun’s teeth began to chatter and he almost didn’t feel it when Dhulyn Wolfshead nudged him on the shoulder.
“Look up,” she said, a murmur in his ear.
Gun tried, but could make out nothing beyond the shadowy shapes of clouds partially obscuring the darkening sky.
“What is it,” he said, keeping his own voice low.
“A Racha bird,” she said. “Time to swim.”
If he had to spend three hours in the river, Parno thought, the Tenebro’s summer household was the ideal place to come out. Built to provide a comfortable setting for those refreshing themselves in the water, there were numerous pavilions, each with three or four charcoal braziers to help swimmers dry themselves and their clothing quickly after a twilight swim. Parno had indeed remembered the place from his long-ago childhood visits, and it hadn’t been hard for him to find his way through the grounds. There had been only one pavilion with lights still burning, and as they’d dragged themselves, wet, cold, and exhausted, from the river’s edge, they’d found warmth, servants, food and-perhaps most important of all-their saddlebags.
It didn’t surprise him that it was Karlyn-Tan who greeted them, directing the bustle of the servants as they stoked braziers, fetched hot water and food, and led Gun and Mar off for warm baths, hot drinks, and dry clothing. It made sense that Dal would have sent one of the few others who knew exactly what was at stake.
With a nod of thanks Parno accepted a steaming mug from an older man with a Steward’s badge in the Tenebro colors.
Dhulyn pulled her wet shirt over her head and handed it to a waiting page, accepting a large towel in exchange. She must have felt Parno’s eye on her, for she looked over at him, lifting one blood-red brow.
“I saw a Racha bird,” she said.
Karlyn nodded, caught the Steward’s attention, and waited as the man gathered up his helpers with a gesture of his hand and left the room. “I’ve much to tell you, the chief of which is that Cullen is here, with us.”
“Why?” Parno said, just as Dhulyn said, “Where?”
Karlyn held up his hands. “He regained his senses, and as the Racha accepted him, and his eyes were normal, we felt he must be clean. Even so, Zelianora Tarkina felt he would be safest with us. If there is any chance the Shadow is with him, we are the only people equipped to both recognize and deal with it.”
Dhulyn looked up from toweling her hair as dry as it would get while still in braids. “There’s merit in that idea, much as I wish she hadn’t thought of it,” she said. “Now we’ll have to spend precious time watching to make sure he isn’t trying to escape.” She exchanged a look with Parno. In it was the knowledge that so long as they did not know for certain where the Green Shadow was, they would all be at risk, and they could trust no one.
Parno set his cup down. “What else is there to tell us?”
Karlyn had been leaning against the edge of the table near Parno, arms crossed. Now he looked down at the floor, chewing his upper lip.
“Out with it, man,” Parno told him. “What could be worse than knowing we might have the Shadow with us?”
“We had not time, before, to wonder how it was the Shadow returned to the Tarkin.”
Parno stopped in the act of pulling off his own tunic. “And now?”
Karlyn looked at Parno without raising his head. He shot a glance at Dhulyn, but his eyes did not linger. “The Mesticha Stone came.”
Dhulyn finished pulling on the dry breeches she’d taken from her saddlebag, secured the waist, and strode toward Karlyn-Tan. The towel she’d been using was slung over her shoulders like a cloak, not out of modesty, Parno knew, but out of the habit that made her cover the marks of the whip on her back, when they might be seen by strangers.
“The orders to bring it directly to the Tarkin upon its arrival had never been changed,” Karlyn said, looking directly at Dhulyn. “And so it was brought to him.”
“And Cullen?”
“Saw the Tarkin in the hallway, heading for the gates, he thought, and chased him into the throne room.”
“Or so he says,” Parno said.
“Or so he says,” Karlyn agreed. “Either way, the Mesticha Stone was not found in the bedchamber when it was looked for afterward.”
Dhulyn turned aside, tossed her towel across the back of a chair near the brazier, and took a vest made of dozens of strips of supple leather out of her saddlebag, shrugged it on, and began fastening it shut. “The Shadow was in the Tarkin,” she said. “It must have been ‘visiting’ him, as we suspected it might. When the Stone arrived, it seized its opportunity.”
“It was the last piece,” Parno said. “It’s at its full strength now.”
Dhulyn looked up from her laces. “And the Racha seems content?”
“As far as any of us can tell,” Karlyn said. “Nor does the Cloudman object to riding bound, if we prefer it.”
“Well, he wouldn’t, would he?”
“What is it you’re thinking, my heart?”
Parno looked from Dhulyn to Karlyn and back again. “He’d want to come with us, don’t you think?” He held up one finger. “We’ve got the only Seer he knows of, and,” he held up a second finger, “we’ve got a Finder.” A third finger. “We’re going to the only place we can be sure there are other Marks. What more does he want? He can let us do his work for him.”
Dhulyn had taken breath to answer him when Karlyn spoke.
“So we’re safe enough on the journey,” he said. “If the Shadow’s with us, it won’t do any harm until we arrive.”
“Us?”
“Under the circumstances, I’d better come with you, don’t you think?”
He kept his eyes down and his face animated. Now that he was whole again-he stifled the shape’s attempt to retch-he remembered more. He knew better how to hide himself. He had done it in the past. Instead of ignoring the shape’s own occupant, pushing its consciousness away once its knowledge had been shifted, he had to wear it as he wore the shape, occupy it as he occupied the shape. With care, he could bide his time. With patience he could deal with the Seer. Patience could lead him to the Lens.