The Sleeping God Part 22

"Jay." Din-eDin turned to a young dark-haired man. "Take two men and hold the Ruby Staircase. Taryn, it's the Coral Stairs for you and two others. Send anyone of ours you see, any you know to be with us, to the old kitchens. You know your orders."

It was not a question, but the dark-haired guard answered. "Hold our positions as long as we can. Do we fall back, Captain, or would you prefer us to die at our stations?"

He was grinning, but Dhulyn could tell from the set of his jaw that his question was meant seriously.

"Why don't you improvise, man?" Din-eDin said with a grin of his own that was answered by all the guards. "The rest of you are with us. Stay with the Tarkin, no matter what pa.s.ses. After we reach the Onyx Walk, you'll take your orders from Alkoryn the Charter until you're free of the Dome, and then from the Tarkin himself."

"Dhulyn Wolfshead will be my voice," came the harsh whisper of the old Mercenary. "Listen for her."

The guards nodded, some of them studying the Mercenary woman covertly. A few looked as though they would have felt better if Alkoryn had said Parno was to be his second, not, she knew, because she was a woman, but because she was so obviously an Outlander.

The Tarkin had not moved. He was still leaning against his worktable, arms folded across his chest, frowning down at the spot where his dog should have been lying.

"My lord," Din-eDin said.

The Tarkin blinked and stood up straight. "Zelianora and the children."

Dhulyn glanced at Alkoryn and waited to speak until he'd nodded.

"Tell us the way, and if you've arms for us, Parno, Hernyn, and I will go for the Tarkina," she said, "and meet you by the Ruby Stairs." Or even if you don't have arms, she refrained from saying out loud. Guard Captain Din-eDin no doubt felt inadequate enough.

Fanryn Bloodhand stepped off the last of the twisted narrow flight of treads cut into the rock deep under Mercenary House and felt her eyebrows rise and her mouth form an "oh" as her lantern illuminated what Alkoryn had called the lower chamber. A grunt reminded her she wasn't alone and she moved forward out of Thionan Hawkmoon's way.

"Well," Thionan said after a minute of staring about her. "Big enough, isn't it?"

Fanryn nodded. The chamber was a good four spans long, partly natural, and partly cut out of the rock, with beds for at least twenty and s.p.a.ce for twenty more.

Holding her lantern higher, Thionan moved deeper into the room. "There's bedding," she said, "and the air's fresh enough. Cold, though."

"We'll send one of the youngsters down to start a fire," Fanryn said, indicating the iron stove along the right-hand wall and the pile of neatly cut logs stacked next to it. "Make sure everything is warm and dry."

"What is it?" her Partner said, as Fanryn stood still near the bottom of the stairway.

Fanryn shrugged. "I didn't like sending Hernyn off again like that. One of us should have gone."

"And spoil the fun of his first real danger? Go on, he wouldn't have thanked us. And besides," Thionan said, putting her arm around Fanryn's waist. "Our orders were to hold the House."

Fanryn nodded, doing her best to smile. "And with luck, Hernyn'll come back with whoever it is Alkoryn wants this room made ready for."

"There you go," Thionan said, giving her Partner a squeeze. "Let's get out of here, it's too blooded cold."

"Parno, my soul," she said in the voice one used on night.w.a.tch, the voice that didn't carry. "What happened to that purse of money the old Tenebroso gave us?"

"Gone when I woke up in the cell with our Brothers."

"Another thing that one-eyed piece of inglera dung owes us," she muttered under her breath.

They had advanced as far as the end of the final dressed-stone corridor that led away from the Old Tower, and had turned into a wider, wood-paneled hallway when they heard the soft tramp of careful feet, offset by the muted jingle of soldiers' harness. The Mercenaries slowed, if possible becoming even more silent than they had been before.

Parno raised his brows at her. "For or against?" he asked in the night.w.a.tch murmur.

"Against," she answered.

"How do you know?" Hernyn said.

Parno shut his eyes and shook his head slightly, but Dhulyn answered. "Their footsteps are hesitant. If they were on our side, they'd know where they were going. Since not for us, against us."

"They're closer," Parno said.

Dhulyn looked around quickly. The hallway was a long one, and they had come too far down it to be sure of getting back to the cross corridor without being seen. And, unlike Tenebro House, there were no hiding places in the hallway itself-the original designer had seen to that, and the later inhabitants had been careful not to disturb it.

"Dhulyn." She'd known Parno long enough to hear the impatience in his voice.

"Fine. We kill them."

"I don't understand," Hernyn said, stepping into the lead at Dhulyn's gesture. Dhulyn merely shook her head.

"She doesn't like to kill people," Parno said. Hernyn looked at Dhulyn and back at Parno. "It's an Outlander thing," Parno added, shrugging.

"Advance," Dhulyn said, pulling the dagger from her boot. "Or we lose the element of surprise."

Not that they needed it, she thought moments later. They reached the end of the wide hallway just as their quarry rounded the corner. That they did so without either looking first or sending a man ahead was testament to their carelessness. Hernyn spitted the first one on his sword as quick as breathing, and had the sword out and killed the next man while the first body was still slumping to the floor. Parno kicked the feet out from under a tall, thin man who obviously thought he had the reach on everyone, gutting him with his left-hand short sword as the man went down, while blocking another blow with the short sword in his right hand. The fifth man turned to run, and with a call to warn her Brothers, Dhulyn threw the jeweled dagger and caught the runaway squarely under the left shoulder blade as Parno pulled his sword from the fourth man.

Dhulyn stepped around the bodies and blood on the floor, grasped the jeweled hilt, and pulled the dagger free.

"Throws well, too," she said, wiping the blade clean on the dead man's s.h.i.+rt.

"Look what I have." The dead soldiers had all been wearing badges in the Tenebro colors of black, teal, and dark red pinned to their chests. Hernyn had removed them. "We can wear them as a disguise."

Dhulyn leaned forward and picked one out of his hand. "This one has blood on it."

They had not progressed much farther when noises came from behind them. Parno twisted around to listen more carefully, holding up his hand for Dhulyn and Hernyn to be still.

"We're between them and the Tarkina's rooms," he said. "But they sound like they're coming this way." He lowered his hand. "Dhulyn? You're Senior."

"You wait here for them. Join us if you can. If not, we'll be back for you."

"My Brother, I could stay."

Parno caught Dhulyn's eye but should have known better; of course she'd seen what he'd seen. The nervous half smile that appeared on Hernyn's face whenever he stopped controlling his features. Those two Tenebro soldiers could very well be the first people he'd killed since his Schooling had finished. The boy had done well, and he knew it, but was trying to be as offhand about it as his Senior Brothers. Since he was paying more attention to his att.i.tude than his job, this was not the time to put Hernyn in charge of their rear guard.

"My Brother," Dhulyn said with command in her tone. "This is not your time." Parno caught her eye and winked.

"In Battle," he said.

"Or in Death," they responded as they trotted down the hall toward the Tarkina's rooms. Parno adjusted the badge pinned to the front of his tunic and stood, feet shoulder width apart, knees slightly bent, shoulders relaxed, swords held out from his body. He released all the breath from his lungs and breathed in, consciously beginning the rhythms of the Eagle Shora Shora. His heartbeat slowed, sounds became clearer, the light brightened.

The first man into the hallway was Dal-eDal Tenebro.

Parno felt his lips peel back from his teeth. The blond man motioned his fellows to wait, stepped forward himself to striking distance and stopped, but Parno wasn't stupid enough to move. He was already in the best spot to stop them from advancing, close enough to the corner to crowd them as they came around, far enough from the other end to give him room to fall back.

Dal's eyes flicked to the badge on Parno's chest.

"We've engaged no Mercenary Brothers to fight for us," Dal said.

"Do all all your allies know? Because once I've killed you, you won't be telling anyone else." your allies know? Because once I've killed you, you won't be telling anyone else."

"I would tell you something, Mercenary," Dal-eDal said, with a noticeable pause before the last word.

"And what might that be? If I recall correctly, the last thing you told me was a lie."

"This is not. You might wish to know that your Household fell almost two years ago. The Lady Pen-uPen is Householder now."

Parno managed to stop himself from lowering his sword, but his heart rate did speed up. His father was gone, then. But his sister had been allowed to inherit. He shook his head. "Who do you think you're speaking to?"

"My cousin, Par-iPar Tenebro. I didn't remember you at first, but the only time I was here in Gotterang with my father, you were here as well, and you helped me with my pony. My father liked you."

"The man you speak of was Cast Out," Parno said, gratified that his voice was steady. "I am Parno Lionsmane the Chanter, I fight with my Brother, Dhulyn Wolfshead."

"Don't be ridiculous, man. You're closer to the main line than I. If Lok-iKol dies, you would be Tenebroso."

"And Tarkin, too, I suppose?"

Dal shook his head. "With Lok gone, no need for Tek-aKet to die. And the man has children to inherit, besides." Dal sheathed his own sword and took a half step forward. For a moment Parno saw, not the tormented, torn man Dal had become, but the laughing child he'd once put on a pony. "Think about all you give up!"

This time Parno did lower his sword. Dal wasn't going to hurt him. Not here anyway, maybe not ever, if he thought there was a chance that Parno would step back into the life he'd left. The life I was Cast Out of. The life I was Cast Out of. He shrugged one shoulder. When he'd talked of this to Dhulyn-was it only hours ago?-he had no way of knowing such a temptation would come his way. His sister would keep the Household; he'd be taking nothing from her. He thought of his mother, still alive. He could place House Tenebro and all its power behind Tek-aKet and defeat the Jaldeans. His thoughts faltered as he remembered the green shadow that looked from men's eyes. What power would they need to defeat that? He shrugged one shoulder. When he'd talked of this to Dhulyn-was it only hours ago?-he had no way of knowing such a temptation would come his way. His sister would keep the Household; he'd be taking nothing from her. He thought of his mother, still alive. He could place House Tenebro and all its power behind Tek-aKet and defeat the Jaldeans. His thoughts faltered as he remembered the green shadow that looked from men's eyes. What power would they need to defeat that?

He thought then of his Schooling, of the feeling in his stomach on the morning of a battle; of the smell of spring as he rode his horse down from the mountains; of the way the air of a foreign country filled his lungs. Of the look on Dhulyn's face when she turned over the right vera tile. Of her husky voice singing while he played the pipes. Of the smile she smiled only for him. He thought of the years on the road together since Arcosa. In Battle or in Death. In Battle or in Death.

"You have no idea what I'd be giving up," he said finally.

"Locked and barred," he said. Dhulyn rolled her eyes. "And there is no light that I can see."

"I doubt she'd bar the doors if the rooms were empty." Dhulyn took her Brother firmly by the sleeve and pulled him to one side. She gave the door three sharp blows with the side of her fist and called out. "Tarkina! It's Dhulyn Wolfshead. Let us in."

There was a thump, and a small bang on the far side of the door as the bar was removed and laid to one side. The door cracked open and a woman's hand beckoned them in. Dhulyn wasted no time entering, and she and Hernyn made short work of rebarring the door. It was good stout work, she saw with satisfaction, the insets for the bar not merely attached to, but part of the structure of the walls. They were as safe as could be-short of treachery or starvation.

Dhulyn almost didn't recognize the woman who'd let them in. Gone were the Tarkina's veils, and her palace gown with its fluttering sleeves. In its place Zelianora wore the loose trousers, long-sleeved blouse, tight vest, and short boots of her own desert people. An older woman, similarly dressed, stood at the doorway across the drawing room with a curved knife in her hand. Her surprise must have shown on her face, because Zelianora Tarkina took one look at her and smiled.

"Den.o.bea saw strange soldiers in the courtyard," she said, "and what with the noises . . ."

"Strange soldiers?" Dhulyn said to the older woman.

The nurse Den.o.bea cleared her throat and gestured to the arrow niche that served this drawing room for a window. "They wear Tenebro color." Her accent was the same as the Tarkina's, but her words more hesitant.

"For them to be in that courtyard, someone had to let them in," the Tarkina said, sinking into a nearby chair. "One of my husband's people."

"Not necessarily." Hernyn spoke from the doorway to the suite of rooms. "The Tenebros were Tarkins not so long ago. They might know a way in that doesn't rely on treachery."

Dhulyn snorted, then rolled her eyes as everyone turned to her. Youngsters. Youngsters. "Say what you like, my Brother, but treachery's the simpler answer and you know it." "Say what you like, my Brother, but treachery's the simpler answer and you know it."

"I was trying to spare the Tarkina suspicions of her own household," Hernyn said shyly.

"Please don't." The Tarkina stood up. "I may not be a Mercenary, young man, but I prefer not to be told that the wolf at the door is only a pet dog. We must go at once to my husband."

"It's under his orders that we're here, Tarkina." Dhulyn eyed the other woman's clothing. "You're Berdanan, aren't you, Lady? As you've been Tarkina of Imrion for several years, I must ask, do you still keep your travel packs ready?"

"I was Berdanan long before I became Tarkina of Imrion, Dhulyn Wolfshead; our packs are in the bedroom."

"Get them, then, and we will go."

The Tarkina spoke softly to the nurse in her own tongue and Den.o.bea ran into the other room, coming out so quickly with two well-balanced travel packs that Dhulyn a.s.sumed they must have been taken out of their storage place already. Following her, eyes big in faces too serious for their ages, were a slim girl of perhaps nine, leading a toddler still chubby with baby fat.

"I will carry my son," Zelianora Tarkina said, picking up a wide shawl of heavy linen and wrapping it around her upper body with practiced ease, tying it to form a sling across her chest. She held out her arms and the small boy let go of his sister's hand and ran to her. "With the pack on my back, my weight will be even."

For an instant Dhulyn flashed to the memory of warm wrappings supporting her own legs and back, and the smell of leather and spicy sweat that was her father. She blinked and breathed deeply.

"The little one looks to be asleep, already," Dhulyn said, a question clearly in her voice.

"I gave Zak valerian, a safe dose," the Tarkina said. "It seemed the best way to keep him quiet."

"And what about this lady?" Dhulyn looked down at the nine-year-old girl who looked back at her with the Tarkin's firm jaw and blue eyes, but her mother's steadfast gaze.

"This is our daughter, Bet-oTeb," the Tarkina answered.

"The Tarkin-to-be." Dhulyn bowed to the child.

"Exactly," the child said in a soft, clear voice that only wavered the slightest bit.

"Are you armed, Lady?" Dhulyn said, doing her best not to smile.

For answer, the child drew a knife long enough to be sword-sized for her out of a stiff sheath at her waist.

"And do you know how to use it, Tarkin-to-be?"

"I've trained with the Personal Guard since I was six," the child said.

"Then, if it please you, Lady, you shall walk by your mother, and help to keep your sibling alive."