The Sleeping God Part 20

Gundaron tapped the wall they stood by. "This is the east wall of the Bootmaker's Inn, the one you told me about." His fair brows drew down in a vee. Mar opened her mouth . . . and closed it without asking again if he was sure. Gun looked over at her.

"I'm thinking," he said, "that we might not want to just walk up to the Brothers' front door. Maybe we should be a bit more circ.u.mspect."

"If this is some way to get out of going there," Mar began, but was silenced by his tight-lipped headshake.

"We're not having that argument again," he said, voice gruff. "But we might not be the only ones looking for Dhulyn Wolfshead." His lips trembled as though there were words he held back before continuing. "I'd like a chance to see if there's anyone there we wouldn't want to run into."

Mar nodded. That made sense. She s.h.i.+fted her pack higher on her left shoulder.

"If you follow along until the end of this wall and turn right, a little ways up you'll come to one of the big archways, one of the entrances to the Great Square; then, just a bit farther along, Mercenary House is on the right-hand side, the same side as the entrance," Gun said. "There's another laneway on the left, just before you get there."

"And so?"

"So you can walk down and then turn into the other lane. You'll look like you're going down toward the Old Market, but you can see if there's anyone suspicious around Mercenary House."

Mar took her lower lip in her teeth. "Why me?" She thought it extremely unlikely she'd know what "anyone suspicious" looked like.

"Because no one from Tenebro House is likely to recognize you in clothes they saw you in for five minutes four days ago. Me, they've been living with for two years."

At first Mar was inclined to argue further-after all, no one could be looking for them yet, and when the search began, if if it began, surely no one would think to look for them here. Still, she felt Gundaron's logic, and second thoughts persuaded her that this was exactly what Dhulyn Wolfshead and Parno Lionsmane would have done. it began, surely no one would think to look for them here. Still, she felt Gundaron's logic, and second thoughts persuaded her that this was exactly what Dhulyn Wolfshead and Parno Lionsmane would have done.

"Mar-eMar," Gundaron said, when she still hadn't spoken. "If you're not sure-you don't have to do this."

Mar looked up sharply, but his eyes were firmly on hers, his gaze direct and open. This was no ploy to get her to change her mind; Gundaron was really worried about her, was really offering her a chance to think about it. It had all seemed so clear when she was explaining it to him around the corner from the Scholars' Library. She couldn't believe she was in any danger, but now she couldn't help remembering what the Lionsmane had told her on the way to Gotterang. Anyone might kill you. Anyone might kill you.

She dragged in enough air to fill her lungs. They'd saved her life. Dhulyn Wolfshead had killed someone for her. The Caids only knew what had been done to them in return. She owed them an explanation and an apology. Nothing changed that.

"Keep my pack for me," she said, slipping the book bag off her shoulder and stepping out around the corner.

Gun watched her walk away, head high, step sure. Everything he'd said to her was true. It was was better, and safer for both of them for Mar to go. But he felt like a coward just the same. Was there anything he could do to help her? Could he Find danger? He closed his eyes. better, and safer for both of them for Mar to go. But he felt like a coward just the same. Was there anything he could do to help her? Could he Find danger? He closed his eyes.

Cloudman, she thought, she thought, Racha man, too Racha man, too. Mar remembered seeing the same tattoo on Yaro of Trevel. She continued down the road until she'd pa.s.sed the archway and crossed as she drew abreast of the lane leading away on the left, just where Gun had said it was.

And there was the small gated archway of Mercenary House, and the Racha man just going in the postern door. Mar had taken a half step toward the House, forgetting Gundaron's plan, when a guardsman wearing a black cloak with a familiar crest on the left shoulder and a broad teal stripe along the bottom approached the Mercenary's gate from the far side, and called out to the still open door. Mar ducked into the lane before the man could turn to look in her direction. Only after several minutes had pa.s.sed did her heart slow down and her breathing return to something like normal.

Mar could hear voices as the guard in Tenebro colors exchanged words with the Brother answering the gate at Mercenary House, but their voices were low, and the rain was noisy enough that she couldn't overhear what was said. Now is the time to move, Now is the time to move, Mar thought. Mar thought. While the attention of the guard from Tenebro House was taken up by the Brother. While the attention of the guard from Tenebro House was taken up by the Brother. Mar took three slow, deep breaths and stepped out of the lane, turning immediately back in the direction she'd come from. Remembering something Dhulyn Wolfshead had told her in the mountains, Mar dragged her left foot a little with each step, changing entirely the way she walked, and forced herself to go slowly, as if she hadn't a care in the world besides getting home for her supper. Mar took three slow, deep breaths and stepped out of the lane, turning immediately back in the direction she'd come from. Remembering something Dhulyn Wolfshead had told her in the mountains, Mar dragged her left foot a little with each step, changing entirely the way she walked, and forced herself to go slowly, as if she hadn't a care in the world besides getting home for her supper.

By the time she got back to the semi-dry corner where Gundaron waited, the pain in her left foot was real, and her stomach was tight as a fist. She pushed back her hood, welcoming the cool touch of the rain, as she told Gundaron what she'd seen.

He licked his lips, looking from her to the corner of the wall and back again.

"Most likely it's the Mercenary Brothers they're looking for, but I'd be very surprised if that guard hasn't orders to watch the place, at least for tonight."

"Where does that leave us?"

"It's late, and later still for us to find a room somewhere even if we could afford it." He frowned. "If we can make our way into the Old Market, we should be able to find somewhere to lay up until morning. Give us a chance to figure out what to do next."

Mar swallowed, picked up her pack. If he was anything like as exhausted as she was, he'd be glad of any place out of the rain where they could sit down.

"I'm not promising much," he said, and he started to retrace their steps.

"I was almost a moon on the road with Mercenaries," she said. "I don't expect much."

"Tenebro's Deputy Steward of Walls came in half an hour ago," he reported to the older man.

"With news I'll tell you as we go," Alkoryn said, walking briskly to the Dome's open gates. "Did the Deputy see you?"

"No." Hernyn hesitated, but as Alkoryn Pantherclaw was already on his way across the courtyard, he could do nothing but follow.

"Our Brothers?" he managed to murmur once they were out in Tarkin's Square, a broad expanse of normally sun-drenched pavement fronting the ma.s.sive pile of buildings that was the Carnelian Dome, seat of the Tarkins of Imrion.

"Detained."

Hernyn listened in growing disbelief as Alkoryn told him of what had pa.s.sed within.

"But-did you know this of Dhulyn Wolfshead?"

Alkoryn shrugged. "It's rare for the Marked to become Mercenaries, and Seers are the rarest of the Marked. . . ." His whisper died away. "There's nothing in the Common Rule about such a thing. Nothing to tell us what to do or, or what to think."

"Is she still . . . ?" It was so unthinkable Hernyn couldn't bring himself to say it, but fortunately Alkoryn knew exactly what he wanted to ask. And he knew the answer, too.

"Of course she is," he said. "Brotherhood ends only with death."

But for all that, there was something troubling the older man, Hernyn could tell that much.

The streets near the Dome were much more crowded than Hernyn would have expected, given that it was late and just beginning to rain. As they turned into the avenue that would eventually lead them to the Great Square and their House, they ran into a group of men blocking almost the whole of the way. Hernyn stepped forward.

"If we may pa.s.s?" he said.

Several young men, and one not so young, stepped back out of the way with nods. What I wouldn't give for a horse, What I wouldn't give for a horse, Hernyn thought as Alkoryn returned the nod of a bearded shopkeeper he obviously knew by sight. Hernyn thought as Alkoryn returned the nod of a bearded shopkeeper he obviously knew by sight. And what's a silk merchant doing here? And what's a silk merchant doing here? Hernyn wondered, making his own a.s.sessment of the man's clothing. They pa.s.sed out of the quarter of n.o.ble Houses that crowded as closely as they were allowed to the Carnelian Dome and through the neighborhood of jewelers and metalsmiths. Here there were still shops, but these were the lesser trades: food sellers, weavers, cobblers, bakers, and the like. Though rain was falling more heavily, and the shops were closed and closing, there were still a surprising number of people, both men and women, on the streets at a time when most should be at home preparing for their suppers. Nor did they appear to be on their way home. Small groups formed and re-formed, and some, though talking in friendly enough fas.h.i.+on, kept looking over their shoulders. One tall fellow with a smith's heavy shoulders and a familiar amulet around his throat, stared hard at Hernyn's green cloak as they walked by. Hernyn wondered, making his own a.s.sessment of the man's clothing. They pa.s.sed out of the quarter of n.o.ble Houses that crowded as closely as they were allowed to the Carnelian Dome and through the neighborhood of jewelers and metalsmiths. Here there were still shops, but these were the lesser trades: food sellers, weavers, cobblers, bakers, and the like. Though rain was falling more heavily, and the shops were closed and closing, there were still a surprising number of people, both men and women, on the streets at a time when most should be at home preparing for their suppers. Nor did they appear to be on their way home. Small groups formed and re-formed, and some, though talking in friendly enough fas.h.i.+on, kept looking over their shoulders. One tall fellow with a smith's heavy shoulders and a familiar amulet around his throat, stared hard at Hernyn's green cloak as they walked by.

Hernyn tossed back his hair to draw attention to his Mercenary badge, bared his teeth in a strained smile, and placed his hand casually on his sword hilt. And knew without looking that Alkoryn had done the same.

"If I were you, my Brother," Alkoryn said, tugging at Hernyn's dark green cloak once they'd left the smith behind, "I'd think about getting something in a different color."

"It was a good price," Hernyn said.

"And now you know why."

As streets wide enough for two coaches became narrower and shorter, they pa.s.sed shops which were now closed for the night, and the small knots of whispering folk grew fewer, and farther between. They were able to make better time here, and Hernyn had picked up the pace when Alkoryn spotted a woman in dark green creeping from doorway to doorway, taking advantage of every shadow the rainy evening offered her. As they drew near, she pressed herself into a doorway, turning her face away from them and waiting to let them pa.s.s. Hernyn was just thinking that she'd better hurry-curfew for the Marked was the setting sun, and with the rain it was hard to prove that the sun had not already set-when Alkoryn signaled to him with a quick finger snap and stopped in front of the woman, effectively s.h.i.+elding her from any others who might pa.s.s by.

"Korwina Mender," he said, his soft whisper making it perfectly safe to say her name. "I thought you were gone from Gotterang."

Seeing who it was, the woman looked up, but didn't leave the deep shadow of the doorway. "Your advice was good, Charter, but we left it too late. We were turned back from the gate."

Hernyn winced at a sudden bad taste in his mouth.

"I'm sorry, Korwina, that can't be good," Alkoryn said.

"So we thought, and it's followed by worse. I'm to present myself and my family at the Jaldean High Shrine tomorrow morning."

Alkoryn shook his head. "Do they know your family? How many. . . .?"

"If they don't, there's plenty of my neighbors will tell them." The woman's tone had no resentment, no bitterness, Hernyn noticed. They'd got used to this kind of thing in Gotterang. She shrugged. "They'll have to, to save themselves. Still, I've been going round now, to my best customers, to see if there's any will hide my children. If they're not there tomorrow, the Jaldeans can't take them, no matter what tales the neighbors tell. But no one dares." Again, she sounded as if she didn't blame them. "They don't know, you see, what the Jaldeans may do to us once we've gone to them. They can't risk that I might tell . . ." the Mender drew in a shaky breath. "That I might tell where my babies are hidden."

"Send them to us," Alkoryn said.

Hernyn looked up in surprise.

"Come to Mercenary House." Alkoryn's voice sounded harsher than usual. When the older man turned to him, Hernyn had had time to school his face.

"You go with her, my Brother, make sure she and the children are safe and none see you. Your Brothers in the House will know what to do with them. Tell your Brothers further what has occurred at the Dome; tell them to bar all doors and gates, and to make the lower chambers ready. Then join me yourself at the Dome." Alkoryn looked off into the middle distance, as if he were listening to some music only he could hear. "Tell them that if we are not back by sunrise, Fanryn Bloodhand is Senior."

"But, Alkoryn-"

"I'm a fool, Hernyn, I've been too long with my maps. The time for counsel and waiting is pa.s.sed. Go now, do it quickly."

His mouth suddenly dry as sand, Hernyn nodded, and stepped round to take the Marked woman gently by the elbow.

"Waste no time," Alkoryn said. "In Battle."

Hernyn touched his forehead. "Or in Death."

"The Caids bless you," the Mender said in the ancient way, "the Sleeping G.o.d hold you in his dreams."

"Someone'll have to," Hernyn muttered, as he followed the Mender woman down a narrow corridor between two buildings. She did that well, She did that well, he thought, almost like a Mercenary. It was surprising what people could learn when they had to. he thought, almost like a Mercenary. It was surprising what people could learn when they had to.

The sound of the door latch drew him around, and made the old dog sleeping in front of the fire raise its eyelids.

Larissa-Lan, junior page for this old tower, and therefore the one who usually brought whatever was required to the Tarkin's private workroom, entered balancing a tray with practiced ease on her left hand. On the tray, along with cutlery, linen, and a breadbasket, was a heavy ceramic dish whose close-fitting lid barely the contained the familiar odors of a wine sauce.

"Here we go, sir," said the young woman, smiling. "Still hot, and unsampled, though I had to threaten Kysh with a beating."

"What is it?" Tek asked, though he thought he knew.

The page looked up in surprise. "Why, your favorite, Lord. Kidneys in jeresh sauce." She advanced on the worktable, set down the tray, and laid out a heavy place mat for the hot dish. Beside it on the right she placed a crisp napkin folded in the shape of a crane, along with one of the new silver forks, and arranged the small breadbasket to the left.

Tek did his best to nod naturally even while his throat closed and his stomach dropped abruptly. This was coincidence with a vengeance-and altogether too pat for comfort.

"And who ordered this treat for me?"

"The Tarkina, my lord. At least, that's what the cook told me. I was to say, with the compliments of the Tarkina."

"Excellent, Larissa, thank you."

"A pleasure, sir. Enjoy." With the confidence of familiarity the young woman left the room.

Enjoy. Well that was going to be difficult. Tek almost wished young Kysh had had taken a taste of it. Then at least he'd know. . . . taken a taste of it. Then at least he'd know. . . .

He shook his head and sat down at the table. He already knew. Of course he did. There was nothing wrong with these kidneys and he didn't need a taster. Tek broke off a piece of bread and picked up his fork in his right hand, speared a particularly juicy looking bit of kidney, and, using the piece of bread to stop the sauce from dripping on his clothes, lifted the tasty morsel to his mouth.

The Tarkin of Imrion let the fork clatter down on the plate. The old dog raised its head.

Larissa said the Tarkina had ordered the dish. Any other day Tek would have believed it-but not today. Just this morning, long before the request for an audience had come from Alkoryn Pantherclaw the Charter, Zelianora had talked to him about how tight his clothes were getting, and how little exercise he'd managed to get over the winter. A nice dish of steamed carrots, flavored with c.u.min. Apples spiced with cinnamon-even a hot soup. Those he would have expected Zella to send him. But kidneys in jeresh sauce? Not likely.

That didn't mean the dish was poisoned. And it didn't mean that it wasn't.

Old Berlan got up with difficulty from his spot by the fire and walked his old dog's walk to nudge his master's hand. Tek absently stroked the bony old head, pulling the long silky ears through his fingers. The dog laid his head on Tek's thigh and snuffled. Tek looked at the dish of kidneys, at his dog, and back to the dish. Berlan was too old to hunt, too old even to go outside, almost too old to eat. His pain was not yet great, but that day, too, would come.

Tek took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. He thrust one finger into the center of the ceramic dish to test for heat before placing the dish on the floor. He watched as Berlan, tail wagging, began to eat. No great harm, perhaps even a kindness, if the dish was was poisoned. poisoned.

And if the dish wasn't poisoned? No great harm there either.

Tek-aKet, Tarkin of Imrion, Consage of the Lost Isles, Darklin of Pendamar, and Culebroso, sat back in his chair to watch his dog eat.

Fourteen.

"MY INSTRUCTIONS WERE very clear, Mistress. I'm to escort you and and the children to Mercenary House." Hernyn hovered in the doorway to the Mender's inner room, frustration and impatience making his skin crawl. The family were living in the two back rooms of what had been a decent tradesman's dwelling-before the furniture had been sold and the family tapestries and ornaments taken from the walls, leaving pale marks behind to show where they had been. There were two tick mattresses on the uncarpeted stone floor that had obviously seen their bedsteads sold out from under them, and the outer room held only three mismatched chairs, an unpainted wooden table, and a carefully arranged stack of pottery plates and mugs. the children to Mercenary House." Hernyn hovered in the doorway to the Mender's inner room, frustration and impatience making his skin crawl. The family were living in the two back rooms of what had been a decent tradesman's dwelling-before the furniture had been sold and the family tapestries and ornaments taken from the walls, leaving pale marks behind to show where they had been. There were two tick mattresses on the uncarpeted stone floor that had obviously seen their bedsteads sold out from under them, and the outer room held only three mismatched chairs, an unpainted wooden table, and a carefully arranged stack of pottery plates and mugs.

Three children, a boy of about eleven, and two younger girls, perhaps seven and four, sat close-mouthed and wide-eyed on the edge of the larger mattress.

"I must wait for my man." Korwina Mender fastened the ties on a small leather pack and handed it to the older boy. "He's been out same as I have, looking for a place to hide the children. I can't let him come back to an empty house. Please," she turned to Hernyn, showing him a face that wouldn't accept a "no." "I'll wait and bring him with me. But please, Hernyn Greystone, take the children now."

Korwina Mender looked at him, mouth set, the words she wouldn't say in front of her children s.h.i.+ning from her eyes. That her man would come back too late, if he came back at all. That, having seen her children safe, she would wait to share whatever ending fate brought her husband.

Hernyn looked from the children to the door and back again. Time was wasting. "Say your good-byes," he told Korwina.

The older boy stood and went to his mother, the pack clutched in his hands, his face solemn. He was almost as tall as she, with the same soft brown hair and hazel eyes. Korwina brushed the hair back off his forehead with a steady hand.

"I'll not be long," she said. "But you are the head of the family until your father and I come. Watch out for your sisters." She turned to the two younger children. "Mind your brother, and the good Mercenaries, until . . ." her voice faltered and she looked back at her son.