The Sleeping God Part 10

Without speaking, Mar bowed low to kiss the older woman's hand, but remained standing. Parno raised an eyebrow in approval. At least the child remembered some of what he had taught her.

"This is my first child, Lok-iKol."

The Kir. Bet you he's tired of waiting for his mother to die, Parno thought, as the man reached up to touch his eye patch in what was obviously an unconscious tic. Parno thought, as the man reached up to touch his eye patch in what was obviously an unconscious tic.

The one-eyed man bowed, but made no move to take Mar's hand, though as Kir, heir to the House, he might have had her kiss his hand as well. "I greet you, Cousin," he said. His voice was low, musical. Mar inclined her head, trying to imitate the motion the older woman had made.

Parno's eyes narrowed, and his mouth twitched. Dhulyn kept her face impa.s.sive and her eyes moving between the people and the covered walls. She'd be looking for the secret entrance the plans showed in this room.

"Mar-eMar will have the green room in the south tower, Keys," the Tenebroso said. "You may have her luggage and her maids sent there."

"The Lady Mar-eMar arrived without maids, Tenebroso." Semlin-Nor did not comment on the sparsity of Mar's luggage. "The two I have a.s.signed her await in her rooms."

"You have come without servants? What possessed you?" The words lacked any emotion, but it was evident her indifference was a symptom of her true physical weakness, not her lack of interest. Her face was capable of expressing the patronizing dismay that her voice was not strong enough to convey.

"As you see, my Mother, I have nevertheless arrived safely." Mar addressed the old woman formally, as a member by blood of the House. The corners of Dhulyn's mouth moved.

"And these persons?"

"Of the Brotherhood, my Mother. My guides and guards. To be paid upon my safe delivery."

"Of course, of course." The Tenebroso searched the table at her side, sifting through numerous small ornaments, two books, several curling sheets of parchment, setting to one side two heavy bracelets, before finding a small pouch of embroidered suede. Dhulyn and Parno both recognized this dumb show, meant to underscore the Tenebroso's distance from such cra.s.s matters. Of course the woman knew exactly where the purse was. It would have been brought to her while they were being led around the long way. The Steward of Keys moved forward to take it from the Tenebroso's hand, before presenting it to Parno. He kept his eyes down, and his face lowered as he stepped forward a pace to take it.

Dhulyn's eyes flicked from Parno to the old lady seated at the table, and back again. There was something in the old woman's face-something in the way the old eyes narrowed as she looked up at Parno, and in the way she so carefully did not look again. For an instant, it actually had seemed that the Tenebroso was going to forget herself enough to speak directly to a Mercenary Brother. But no, perhaps she was wrong, Dhulyn frowned, perhaps it was only Mar, after all, who drew the old lady's attention.

Money in hand, Parno stepped back, but when they made no further move to depart, the Kir raised the eyebrow over the missing eye. Probably meant to strike terror into their hearts, Dhulyn thought, amused. Finally, she looked at Mar.

"Are we discharged, Lady?" she asked.

"What? Yes, yes, of course," Mar cleared her throat, pink cheeked. "I thank you for your service," she said, as Parno had taught her, "Mercenaries, you are discharged."

"What did you think of the Mercenary Brothers?" Kor-iRok asked. Semlin was surprised enough to leave tidying the table, to turn and look at her House. Questions about the country cousin she might have expected, but about Mercenaries?

"The red-haired woman is very striking," she said.

"Yes, that's so. But it's the golden-haired man I'm asking about. He has a mole near his right ear, the Mercenary badge does not quite cover it. Did you see it?"

"No, my House, I have to say I didn't."

"Nor did anyone else, my Keys. Nor did anyone else." The old woman smiled, mouth closed, lips pressed tight. "But I saw." The House turned to look directly at Semlin, her head shaking ever so slightly. "I knew a young man with a mole in that precise place, Semlin. A man of my House. Of my blood. A promising young man. A wronged young man. I have plans to redress those wrongs."

Semlin knelt, laid her hand with the greatest gentleness on the old woman's arm. "But, my Lady, he is a Mercenary now. He is no longer of this House."

"He is Tenebro." Kor-iRok's colorless voice left no room for disagreement. "He is my blood. I will bring him back to us." The old woman looked at her with the remains of what had once been a dazzling smile. "And you will help me."

"Of course, my House."

"Send for him tomorrow, when the Kir has gone to the Dome. Send for the Mercenary Brother Parno Lionsmane."

"I greet you. I am Dal-eDal. My cousin, the Lady Mar-eMar, begs you to stay and take the midday meal with her, while she adjusts to her new House," he said, his smile never changing and never touching his eyes.

Dhulyn glanced at Parno. "Tell the Lady we thank her," she said. "But we cannot stay weaponless."

The man inclined his head. "Of course. Now that you are guests, you can, of course, retain your swords. If you will follow me? Thank you," he said to the page escorting them, "I will take charge of our guests for now."

This was the cousin who lived in the House, Dhulyn thought, eyeing the golden-haired man with interest as he led them away. The form of his name-repeated Dal-eDal and not the reversal, Dal-e and not the reversal, Dal-eLad-marked him as having Household status, and not in line to inherit, as was Lok-iKol.

As they followed Dal-eDal down the pa.s.sage, Parno locked eyes with Dhulyn. The corners of his mouth moved. Dhulyn shrugged. Of course the man was taking them by yet a different route. Anyone providing security would make maximum use of the tools at hand-and the mazelike design of this building, however archaic, was a first-cla.s.s tool at hand. Karlyn-Tan had not impressed her as the kind of Steward of Walls who would overlook any aids to his security arrangements.

The pa.s.sageway narrowed until they were walking in single file, Parno's shoulders brus.h.i.+ng the wall coverings to each side. When the pa.s.sage widened again, Dal-eDal lengthened his stride slightly, his hand reaching out to the handle of a door at the end of the pa.s.sage. He was three paces ahead of Dhulyn when she heard a soft snick snick and lunged forward, heartbeats too late. A thick, weighted net fell from the ceiling and clung to her, m.u.f.fling her arms and dragging down her head. Dhulyn was aware that somewhere the scholarly part of her mind was registering shock-surprise that anyone, even in the middle of their own House, would attack Mercenaries unprovoked. But even as that thought arose, she was taking a steadying breath and bending even further, slipping the fingers of her left hand into the s.p.a.ce between her right calf and her boot. Without hurry, without panic, she took out her moon razor, a small rounded coin of metal, flattened and sharpened along one curve, and slashed at the net in front of her. The strands parted immediately and she stepped through the cut opening and moved to one side, her left arm arched above her head, her right poised with the moon razor. She felt Parno's back against hers in the narrow pa.s.sageway and knew that his arms were raised like hers, and his hands full of blades. and lunged forward, heartbeats too late. A thick, weighted net fell from the ceiling and clung to her, m.u.f.fling her arms and dragging down her head. Dhulyn was aware that somewhere the scholarly part of her mind was registering shock-surprise that anyone, even in the middle of their own House, would attack Mercenaries unprovoked. But even as that thought arose, she was taking a steadying breath and bending even further, slipping the fingers of her left hand into the s.p.a.ce between her right calf and her boot. Without hurry, without panic, she took out her moon razor, a small rounded coin of metal, flattened and sharpened along one curve, and slashed at the net in front of her. The strands parted immediately and she stepped through the cut opening and moved to one side, her left arm arched above her head, her right poised with the moon razor. She felt Parno's back against hers in the narrow pa.s.sageway and knew that his arms were raised like hers, and his hands full of blades.

Another net fell and Parno cut through it. A third net fell before they could step from the cords of the second. A fourth while they were cutting the third. Dhulyn heard footsteps and braced herself, but the blow came not at her head or shoulders, but at her legs. She felt a hard arm around her thighs and, already off-balance, she went down in a tangle of cords and weights. She twisted and slashed. A high-pitched scream and the warm gush of blood across her hand and arm. She heard a wet crunch and Parno's voice softly cursing.

She was raising herself to her feet, pressing upward on the weight of net that tried to crush her to the floor, when the ceiling fell on them.

Seven.

GUNDARON THE SCHOLAR chewed the side of his thumb, hovering just down from where his room's corridor met the wider pa.s.sage leading to the great hall. He checked for the third time that he'd wiped all the powdered sugar off the scroll of the first act of Bartyn's Maid of the Forest Maid of the Forest. When he'd finally found it, it had been behind his copy of the eighteenth book of the Hahrgis, Hahrgis, under a plate of jellied sweets. He cleared his throat, as a little finger of guilt scratched at the back of his mind. Good thing his old tutor hadn't seen that. Gundaron had never been tidy by nature, and in the two years since he'd left Valdomar, some of the Library's meticulous discipline had faded. He was still careful with his books-mostly, he thought as he brushed at the scroll again-kept his ink pots and pens clean, even if the cats did play with them. But a plate of jellied sweets on the worktable, under a plate of jellied sweets. He cleared his throat, as a little finger of guilt scratched at the back of his mind. Good thing his old tutor hadn't seen that. Gundaron had never been tidy by nature, and in the two years since he'd left Valdomar, some of the Library's meticulous discipline had faded. He was still careful with his books-mostly, he thought as he brushed at the scroll again-kept his ink pots and pens clean, even if the cats did play with them. But a plate of jellied sweets on the worktable, that that would never have been allowed in Valdomar. would never have been allowed in Valdomar.

Voices. Gundaron straightened his tunic with a tug, tucked the scroll under his left arm, and walked casually toward the main pa.s.sage. Caids, Caids, he cursed under his breath. There were three women coming toward him, not one. The two in front, bodices laced fas.h.i.+onably tight, sleeves uselessly long, were the Tenebroso's youngest great-nieces, Nor-eNor and her sister Kyn-oKyn. Even here in the House they followed the latest fas.h.i.+on of carrying dainty handkerchiefs in the Tenebro colors, rather than showing those colors in their clothing. He'd known someone would be coming with Lady Mar, but he'd a.s.sumed it would be one of the lady pages, not these two giggling fools. he cursed under his breath. There were three women coming toward him, not one. The two in front, bodices laced fas.h.i.+onably tight, sleeves uselessly long, were the Tenebroso's youngest great-nieces, Nor-eNor and her sister Kyn-oKyn. Even here in the House they followed the latest fas.h.i.+on of carrying dainty handkerchiefs in the Tenebro colors, rather than showing those colors in their clothing. He'd known someone would be coming with Lady Mar, but he'd a.s.sumed it would be one of the lady pages, not these two giggling fools.

He inclined his head, as courtesy required, his lips parted, ready to return their greeting-then felt his ears blaze hot as they pa.s.sed him with identical curled lips and heads turned away. Until yesterday they had at least acknowledged him, so that snub was not so much for his benefit as it was for the newest member of the House walking slowly behind her distant cousins-but not so far behind that she'd missed the little scene, worst luck. Mar-eMar wore a good gown made of fine wool, but even Gundaron could see that the sleeves were last year's length. Instead of a laced bodice, Mar-eMar wore a tunic like an elderly woman would. A teal-and-black tunic with a thin red stripe on its half-sleeves, no dainty handkerchief for her. He wondered if she realized the clothing the gigglers had picked out for her was hopelessly out of date.

From the whiteness of her face, and the sharpness of the two dots of color on her cheeks, Gundaron suspected that she knew. He swallowed, all doubts suddenly gone.

"Uh, h.e.l.lo, Lady Mar," he said, stepping forward. As he'd hoped, she stopped, hesitant, her eyes flicking forward to the backs of the two sisters who were leaving her behind. When she turned to look at him, however, Mar-eMar's gaze was steady. Her hair was the exact shade of the rich brown velvety moss that grew in the Tenebroso's rock garden, and her eyes were so deep a blue as to be almost black.

"Yes?"

Gundaron blinked. He cleared his throat again. "I am, ah, I'm Gundaron the Scholar. Gundaron of Valdomar."

"Mar-eMar Tenebro," she said inclining her head in a short nod. Gundaron thought she might have relaxed just a little.

"I was wondering-I thought-that is, can you read?"

Instantly, the red spots on her cheeks stood out like paint, and a muscle jerked in the side of her jaw as she clenched her teeth.

"Yes," she hissed, barely moving her lips.

"Oh," he said, in sudden understanding. "No. That's not what I meant at all. I only meant to ask if you'd like like something to read." He held out the scroll he'd had under his left arm. "It's a play, Bartyn's something to read." He held out the scroll he'd had under his left arm. "It's a play, Bartyn's Maid of the Forest Maid of the Forest." When she didn't move he said. "I have others, if you don't like Bartyn."

"A play? To read?" Suddenly her eyes seemed even darker, and she lowered them, looking away from him.

Gundaron swallowed, his throat suddenly thick, and held out the scroll. She took it without looking up again. "Thank you." If he hadn't been watching her lips so closely, he would never have known she'd spoken.

"You're welcome," he said. He held out his hand, indicating the direction of the great hall. "Shall we . . . ?"

He'd get up early tomorrow and clean up his room, he thought, as she fell into step next to him. He would. Or if not tomorrow, the next day, for certain.

Strangely, watching them snub the Scholar Gundaron had made them less intimidating, not more. There was obviously nothing personal in their att.i.tude toward her; they were sn.o.bs pure and simple, and working in the household of the best Weaver in Navra had taught Mar how to deal with those.

Under the guise of moving her goblet of watered wine, Mar managed to look down the table to where the Scholar sat, holding his fork very gracefully in his strong fingers. He was very fair, even his eyebrows showing almost white on his square face, and his eyes were a warm light brown. And obviously he hadn't let the sisters' treatment turn him into a sn.o.b and bully in his turn. Mar touched the scroll in the wide pocket of her gown. Perhaps, once she had read it, the Scholar would like to hear about her experiences with Dhulyn Wolfshead, who was also a Scholar, in her way.

There were others in the House besides Gundaron of Valdomar who were not of the same mind as Nor and Kyn. When she'd first come into the hall, Mar had looked around the table and found other intelligent and friendly faces. A young man whose golden hair reminded her of Parno Lionsmane had come to her before he sat down and introduced himself as Dal-eDal. But both he and the lady seated next to him, an older woman named Lan-eLan, were too far away for conversation. Gundaron was seated closer, and seemed to be looking at her every time she glanced his way, but he only smiled, blushed, and lowered his eyes. Eventually, he was taken up with the Kir, Lok-iKol, and didn't glance her way anymore.

Mar forced herself to eat, taking small bites as the Lionsmane had instructed her, not that she could actually taste anything. The last time she'd felt this out of place she'd been six years old, her first meal at the Weavers after her Holding had disintegrated following the fire and the sickness, after the three months she'd spent at the Jaldean Shrine while they found her a foster family.

Where were you people then? Mar thought with a shock that made her put down her fork. Surely the Jaldean priests would have sent word to her House? They'd known who she was; it was one of the reasons it had been easy to foster her. But why hadn't her House sent for her then? Mar thought with a shock that made her put down her fork. Surely the Jaldean priests would have sent word to her House? They'd known who she was; it was one of the reasons it had been easy to foster her. But why hadn't her House sent for her then?

"Sweetest, you don't use a fork for this dessert." Kyn-oKyn's tinkly voice broke into Mar's thoughts. "You use this special spoon."

"Pardon me?" Mar turned to her left, making sure the edge of her napkin caught the plate of custard and cream that had just been put down in front of her, and tipped it neatly into Kyn's lap.

"Oh, dear, I'm so sorry," Mar said, as Kyn squealed and pages ran up with cloths. "How clumsy of me."

"She has the bowl," Lok-iKol said, when the servants had finished serving the dessert, his eye still fixed on Mar-eMar. "So the pages tell me."

"Oh, the bowl in itself proves nothing," Gun said as casually as he could. He and the Kir had had many conversations like this one-Caids, how how many? he thought with a sudden and unexpected twist of nausea in his guts as he pushed the thought away-and he hoped he sounded just as objective and disinterested this time. Most of the Marked that he'd located for Lok-iKol over the past eighteen moons or so had been older, some much older than the Lady Mar. many? he thought with a sudden and unexpected twist of nausea in his guts as he pushed the thought away-and he hoped he sounded just as objective and disinterested this time. Most of the Marked that he'd located for Lok-iKol over the past eighteen moons or so had been older, some much older than the Lady Mar. But they probably had families, too. But they probably had families, too. Gundaron let his eyes fall again to his plate, pretending interest in the dessert as his stomach churned. That thought felt familiar, as if he'd had it often, but . . . he couldn't remember thinking it before. Gundaron let his eyes fall again to his plate, pretending interest in the dessert as his stomach churned. That thought felt familiar, as if he'd had it often, but . . . he couldn't remember thinking it before.

"There's no doubt she's the right girl," Lok-iKol was saying, stroking his eye patch with his fingertips. Gundaron came to with a start, realizing with some shock that Lok-iKol was standing. He rose with as little fuss as he could manage. Fortunately, he was on the man's blind side, and with any luck his lapse of attention would go unnoticed.

"She's the very image of her grandmother," Lok-iKol continued. "I remember the wedding very well. The Tenebroso had us all attend, even though she was only marrying . . ."

Gundaron waited a moment for the man to finish before he finally gathered his nerve and looked Lok-iKol in the face. What he saw almost made him look away again, but his scholarly habit of investigation was stronger than his fear. The Kir's lower lip had fallen slack, and all the muscles of his face drooped. Only the scarred skin around his left eye was still stiff.

"Lord Kir?" Gundaron put up a hesitant hand; Lok-iKol much preferred not to be touched uninvited. Gun let his hand fall back to his side; he could see that, for all the slackness of the face and mouth, the Kir's eye was sharp and clear.

And focused on Mar.

What does he see? Gundaron thought, that makes him look like this? Gundaron thought, that makes him look like this?

As if Lok-iKol could hear his thoughts, the man turned, oh so slowly, to focus his attention on Gundaron himself. In the slackness of his face Lok-iKol's right eye was unnaturally bright, almost as though the man had a fever, and Gundaron could swear that instead of a clear blue, the eye glowed a brilliant jade green. Gundaron parted dry lips, about to call for a page, certain the Kir was having a brain storm. Then the green tint pa.s.sed, the muscles in Lok-iKol's face returned to normal, and his eye restored to its natural icy blue.

"You were saying?"

Gundaron cleared his throat, throwing a glance around the room. No one else seemed to have noticed anything; everyone's attention was still at the other end of the table, where Nor-eNor had suddenly burst into tears. "I think it unlikely the Lady Mar will give us any interesting information," he said, using the euphemism that allowed them to discuss their work in public. "Situated as she was, she would have had great difficulties in hiding it."

"Nor, in Navra, would she have had reason to, I agree," Lok-iKol said. "In any case, we need be in no hurry where Mar-eMar is concerned. We can examine her at our leisure."

Gundaron nodded slowly, unable to explain, even to himself, his reluctance to let Mar-eMar be questioned by Lok-iKol and the Jaldean Beslyn-Tor the way other suspected Marked had been questioned. He looked down the table again and saw her bow to her cousins and walk up the other side of the long table to pay her respects to the Tenebroso before leaving the room. He'd have to think of something. Gun stepped back to allow the Lord Dal-eDal to pa.s.s between him and the table.

Of course the interrogation of the Mercenary woman would take some time, Gun considered, as he and Lok-iKol followed Lord Dal from the room. And the longer it took, the more time Gun would have to come up with a plan to help Mar-eMar.

Ignoring the throbbing in the back of her head, she tensed first the muscles of her forearms and wrists, then her calves and ankles, without receiving any encouragement. Her bonds were loose enough to let her blood flow, but tight enough to restrict her movements. For certain, not amateurs.

She could tell from the sounds of breathing that there was only one person in the room with her, and that it was not Parno Lionsmane. She let her eyes open the merest fraction.

Standing with his hand on a table a span in front of her was a fair-haired young man in a mixture of Scholar's and n.o.bleman's dress, a short dark blue tunic over black hose instead of brown leggings, heeled shoes instead of leather half boots, and a bright enameled brooch where his Library crest should be. Dhulyn let her eyes open another fraction. The hand she could see looked soft and dirty, his tunic was too tight over his middle, and there was an incipient puffiness to his face. There were Shora Shora for Scholars, too, Dhulyn knew, slow motion versions of the Mercenary for Scholars, too, Dhulyn knew, slow motion versions of the Mercenary Shora, Shora, designed for use by Scholars as exercise. From the look of him, the young man in front of her hadn't practiced any for some time. designed for use by Scholars as exercise. From the look of him, the young man in front of her hadn't practiced any for some time.

The sound of the door latch was followed by booted footsteps moving from wood to carpet, but Dhulyn couldn't see who had entered the room without turning her head.

"My lord Kir, I found her like this."

"As well you did not release her, the order was mine." It was indeed the silky voice she remembered from the Tenebroso's room. She should have known; only the Kir of the House could order two Mercenaries detained.

"I don't understand . . ."

"Did you think that a Mercenary Brother would simply answer our questions because we asked them? Ah, your face tells me that you did. Very well. If you find that, after all, this worries you too greatly, you may leave." Even her limited view showed Dhulyn the boy's negative response. "I thought not. Shall we begin?"

The Scholar moved directly in front of her, leaning forward and peering into her face. Dhulyn opened her eyes. Behind him, the Kir Lok-iKol was sitting with one hip braced on the wooden table; from the look of its heavily carved legs it must be the match of her own chair. She smiled her wolf's smile and the boy edged away from her. He licked his lips and lowered his eyelids.

"The One-eye's name I know," she said to him, "but not yours."

The young man's mouth twisted. He shot a glance at the Kir, but the older man had picked up a goblet from the dark wooden table and was drinking from it. His single eye regarded them over the silver rim of the cup. The Scholar looked back at Dhulyn. His mouth opened and the tip of his tongue sneaked out to poke at his upper lip.

"I am Gundaron," he almost whispered. "From the Scholars' Library of Valdomar."

"I greet you, Scholar Gundaron," she whispered back. "You are very soft and very puffy and the whites of your eyes are dull," Dhulyn said with the greatest innocence and truth. "Are you sure you are of the House of Scholars?"

She grinned when the boy straightened quickly to attention and tightened his lips. He opened his mouth and shut it again. His tongue licked again at his parted lips.