The Sleeping God Part 6

Mar opened her mouth, but before she could speak, Dhulyn efficiently gagged her with the hand that did not have a sword in it.

"Can't shoot at us if they can't see us or hear us," Parno mouthed in a voice that barely carried to Mar's ears. "Stay between." Both Mercenaries stood now, facing away into the fog, crouched slightly forward, knees flexed. Mar slowly stood and looked between them, clearly not knowing what to do.

"Dhulyn?" Parno bared his teeth though his murmur could not support a snarl. "What say you, my heart?"

Dhulyn glanced over her shoulder at him. "Cloud People," she said. "Victory or death, I'll wager. And the choice won't be ours." She reached behind her, pulled a knife out of the back of her vest, and held it out to Mar; watched the Dove take it gingerly in her hand, and then grip it with more determination. Dhulyn gave the girl an encouraging nod.

"We'll earn our pay. Don't you worry, Dove."

Parno had his own long dagger in his right hand, sword in his left. Dhulyn pulled her short sword from where her harness sat draped over a rock and, straightening, held it ready. Back to back with Mar between them they began to circle, Dhulyn twirling her two blades at random intervals. The silence was thick and so complete that she began to wonder whether her ears still worked, or indeed, whether there was anything out there that could make a sound.

And then movement-a shadow in the surrounding fog, became an arrow knocked aside by Parno's sword, startling Mar into dropping her dagger.

A woman's voice rang out. "Hold. Put up your swords. You wear the Mercenary badge. Tell your history."

Dhulyn stopped circling, though her swords stayed poised. "I am Dhulyn Wolfshead. Called the Scholar. I was Schooled by Dorian the Black Traveler. I have fought with my Brothers at sea in the battle of Sadron, at Arcosa in Imrion, and at Bhexyllia in the far west with the Great King."

Parno called out, "I am Parno Lionsmane. Called the Chanter. Schooled by Nerysa of Tourin the Warhammer. I, too, have fought at Arcosa, and at Bhexyllia, and I fight with my Brother, Dhulyn Wolfshead." Parno's history would tell their questioner that he was junior to Dhulyn, Arcosa being his first battle as a Brother, and that since he fought with her specifically, they were Partnered. Would the Cloudwoman understand?

The voice called out again. "I have heard of you, Dhulyn Wolfshead, daughter of the Red Hors.e.m.e.n. I am Yaro of Trevel, once called Hawkwing. I, too, have fought with my Brothers. Now I fight with my Clan." Parno glanced at Dhulyn and she gave him the smallest of nods. Both Mercenaries lowered their weapons.

Dhulyn remained alert as a handful of people, most carrying spears or bows, but with a few swordsmen to season them, stepped into the clearing. It was hard to tell exactly how many there were, and many seemed to have no heads, no faces, until Dhulyn realized they were wearing scarves or strips of cloth wrapped around their heads. Thick leather vests, worn with the fur or wool side next to the skin, left either arms bare to the foggy chill, or long-sleeved tunics of undyed homespun. Dhulyn grinned. She had learned the art of camouflage from an expert, but this impressed her.

One of the anonymous forms laid its spear on the ground and stepped forward, unwrapping its head covering as it neared them. From the quality of the voice which had spoken to them out of the fog Dhulyn expected an older woman, and she was right. Yaro was short and thickset, her dark brown hair liberally salted with gray. The gold-and-green colors of the Mercenary's tattooed badge had faded, but were still clear enough to be recognized in the misted light.

These were not Yaro's only tattoos, Dhulyn saw, her eyebrows raising in surprise. On the left side of the Cloudwoman's face was a tattoo of two feathers, the second partially overlapping the first, like the feathers of the Racha bird it symbolized. These were so old and faded that only a sharp eye would see them. Much clearer, and obviously much more recent, was the complete set of seven feathers on the right side of her face.

Dhulyn's lips formed a soundless whistle as, glancing around for the Racha bird itself, she touched her fingertips to her forehead to echo Yaro of Trevel's Mercenary salute. What could possibly be the meaning of the Cloudwoman's Racha tattoos?

She glanced at Parno, but her Partner's face showed no expression. Rare as it was for a Mercenary Brother to live long enough to retire, Yaro of Trevel, once Yaro Hawkwing, had clearly not simply retired. She had left the Brotherhood and returned to her own Clan. Dhulyn would not have thought such a thing possible, and her teeth clenched as she forced herself to pay attention, and to show no sign of the chill that squeezed her heart.

"Brothers, I greet you," the tattooed woman was saying. "We are Clan Trevel. And the land where you stand, and for many days' travel around us, is also Clan Trevel." Dhulyn nodded. Like Imrion's n.o.ble Houses, the Cloud People used the same words to identify both the relations.h.i.+p of blood and the relations.h.i.+p of land. The group of people surrounding her made gestures of a.s.sent, and a few murmured. Yaro glanced quickly to each side and the murmurs died down. Several of the group followed their leader's example and, downing their weapons, began to unwrap their own coverings. They were mostly young people, Dhulyn saw, with only two others nearing Yaro's age.

"We are on the Life Pa.s.sage of our young people, or I would welcome you to the shelter of our homes. However, for the sake of our Brotherhood, if not the Tarkin's treaty," here her words called out a few grins, "we give you safe pa.s.sage."

"No tribute?" one young man blurted out. His astonishment was clear in the squeak of his voice.

Yaro turned to the youngster, staring at him long enough that his wide shoulders squirmed under her scrutiny. "Tribute?" she said. "These are still my Brothers. You'll be asking me me for tribute next, Clarys." Several of the others smiled, their teeth flas.h.i.+ng white. The young man s.h.i.+fted his gaze, silenced but not satisfied. for tribute next, Clarys." Several of the others smiled, their teeth flas.h.i.+ng white. The young man s.h.i.+fted his gaze, silenced but not satisfied.

"What about her?" he said, pointing at Mar with his chin. "She's no Brother of yours." This time all the people of Clan Trevel turned to look at Mar.

"She is in our care, Brother." Dhulyn spoke only to Yaro. "We ask that you extend your courtesy over her as well."

"I am content." Yaro nodded.

"Well, I am not. And I see no reason to be. They trespa.s.s. You say we must let your Brothers pa.s.s-well and good. But this person who hires them can pay us for her pa.s.sage."

"And if she has nothing of value?" Parno said.

"Let us see this for ourselves," suggested a more reasonable voice.

Dhulyn stood still, eyes locked on the young man who had started the trouble. She knew the type. Not so much younger than Mar herself the way time was counted, ready to be a man among his people, as his presence on this Life Pa.s.sage demonstrated-but still a child in many important ways. Tall, broad-shouldered, and with the long arms so helpful to a fighter. But a little sullenness around his pretty mouth. A little poutiness to the bottom lip, and a top lip too ready to curl. A boy who thought well of himself and thought others should do the same. Trouble, in other words.

Parno touched Mar on the shoulder and then stood back, sweeping a mocking bow in the direction of her pack. Mar tried to nod at him curtly, but trembling spoiled the girl's performance. Once more Dhulyn watched as the little Dove untied her pack. Again the scanty belongings were exposed, looking even more meager and ordinary without the magical glow of firelight to give them life. Even the bowl, when her hands, slowed by reluctance, were able to uncover it, showed its colors dully in the foggy light.

"Why should we not take that bowl," Clarys said immediately.

He ignored Mar's cry of protest, but Dhulyn did not.

"It is the only thing of her family that she has," Dhulyn said. "Would you take from her the symbol of her Clan?" She tried to sound as reasonable as she could. As much as it soured her mouth to let people under her protection be robbed, she disliked unnecessary killing-a sentiment many of her Brothers found ironic. "This comes from the mother of her mother's mother, and is not hers to give away. It can bring no good to any who takes it from her by force." The two older people in the group exchanged nods and murmurs of agreement.

But the boy Clarys also had his fellow, a stocky boy with a dark widow's peak, to murmur in his ear.

"No good?" said Clarys mockingly, as Widow's Peak nodded. "Why it would feed a family for a season, that bowl of no value." More murmurs of agreement, but this time only from a handful of youngsters Dhulyn marked as the rest of Clarys' admirers. If it came to a fight, would these others stand back? Dhulyn marked in her mind the position of the archer, and the three who still had spears in their hands.

And whose side would Yaro of Trevel be on?

Dhulyn turned to Mar. The girl stared fixedly at her prized possession. "Mar?" Dhulyn said, and waited until the girl looked at her. "How say you? Will you trade the bowl for your pa.s.sage?"

"Is there some other way? Some of my other things? If I come to my House without it," the girl said, tears filling both eyes and voice, "they may deny my claim."

Dhulyn looked at Clarys, but the boy set his mouth firmly and folded his arms. "Idiots," she said, under her breath. Time to put an end to this. She looked at Parno. The Lionsmane tilted his head to the right, as she'd know he would. The Wolfshead nodded.

"You are refused," she said, looking directly at Clarys. "Thus far, this has cost you nothing but a wasted hour. I advise you to renounce your claim before it becomes more costly."

"If she will not pay, then she is herself forfeit. We will take her her." Both Parno and Dhulyn moved to stand between Mar and the Clouds. Clarys stopped with his hands already reaching out for the girl.

A short, sharp silence as all waited. Dhulyn nodded again. "You'll take nothing but my fist in your teeth," she said evenly. "She is in our charge. Renounce your claim. Renounce your claim."

Widow's Peak nudged him and the young man c.o.c.ked his head, his eyebrows raised. "Will you fight?" he challenged.

"I will."

Several of the younger element in the group exchanged looks of triumph. The older ones looked on grim-faced, shaking their heads.

"Wait," Yaro said, the authority of a Racha woman giving weight to her words. "Clarys, think what you do. This is a Mercenary Brother, not one of your cub pack. She has skills beyond what you can imagine."

"No one can best me with sword or spear. You have said this yourself," he said. "This is my Life Pa.s.sage, my Hunt. This is the proof I choose."

With her eyes shut, Yaro blew out a disgusted sigh. Not even a Racha woman could step between a young Cloud and his chosen Hunt.

Dhulyn shrugged. "First blood, then?" she said.

"No-" Clarys was silenced by Yaro's upright hand.

"First blood is sufficient for a Pa.s.sage Duel," the older woman said.

"She insults me by suggesting it."

"Don't be stupid, boy," Parno cut in. "In the Brotherhood we don't maim. For us, it's cut or kill."

Clarys' lips curled back from his teeth. "Then kill it will be, flatlander flatlander ." ."

Dhulyn was careful to address only Yaro-and to keep her voice businesslike. "He renounced his claim on the bowl when he offered to take Mar instead. It's now his life for hers, are we agreed?"

Yaro cast a look around the group a.s.sembled in a shallow arc behind her. There were nods, a couple of shrugs, but none shook their heads. One or two even looked speculatively between Clarys and Dhulyn. Either the young man wasn't as well liked as he thought, or these people didn't know much about Mercenaries, Yaro's presence notwithstanding.

"Agreed," Yaro said finally. "You kill Clarys, you and the girl go free."

"And if I kill the Brother, the girl is mine." Clarys said.

Yaro didn't bother to answer, cuffing a couple of the youngsters who had crowded close into clearing away packs and people to leave a s.p.a.ce for the duel.

Dhulyn was already stripping off her outer clothing. Parno stepped in closer. "Give him every chance."

"I've given him two chances already. Should I let him kill me?"

"Would you prefer that I fight him?"

"I'm Senior." Dhulyn looked at him sidewise as she kicked off her boots. On this uneven ground, bare feet were best. "And I thank you, my Brother, for your confidence in me."

Parno rolled his eyes upward, calling upon the Caids to witness his frustration. "That is not what I meant, and you know it, my most stubborn heart. You'll mind killing him, and I won't. Rudeness and stupidity should be properly rewarded."

Dhulyn shook her head and turned from Parno, indicating Clarys with the tip of her sword. "Ready," she said.

Clarys stood already stripped and grinning, his friend Widow's Peak still whispering in his ear. Dhulyn nodded and lifted her sword. The boy fell into his stance, and her heart sank. His weight was too evenly balanced for this rough terrain, she saw, and his right elbow stuck out too far from his body. If no one in his clan could best him, it was because the boy had been making do with strength and length of reach, not skill.

Now that she saw him stripped for fighting, Dhulyn could more easily gauge the width of his shoulders and the size of his wrists. He carried the longest possible sword, and that alone could have told her both of his strength and of his vanity. She saw his eyes flick toward her own blade, and the way his full lips spread in a smile. She, too, carried a very long sword, though not so long as his, and he probably thought it too long for her. And so it would have been, had not years of practice made her wrists very nearly as steellike as the blade itself. The length and the weight would not tire her. Many had already died from making that mistake.

As she lifted the point of her own blade in salute, Dhulyn fell automatically into the familiar calm of the Crab Shora Shora for the right-handed sword and uneven ground. Her heartbeat slowed, her breathing changed to match it. for the right-handed sword and uneven ground. Her heartbeat slowed, her breathing changed to match it.

Clarys began to circle her, and Dhulyn turned to follow him, her sword swaying lazily, almost as an afterthought. She looked not at his blade, or his eyes, but the center of his chest. A movement of his shoulders signaled Clarys' lunge at her unprotected side; Dhulyn knocked his blade up with a negligent tap and stepped half a pace to the left. She sighed and parried two more cuts with casual flicks of her sword. As she thought, the boy was going for showy high strikes only, counting on his strength and reach, and forgetting the lower half of the body completely. As they continued to circle, Dhulyn kept track of Parno, Yaro, Mar, and especially Widow's Peak in her peripheral vision. She saw several of the Cloud People shaking their heads and felt like shaking her own. What were they about, letting her kill this boy?

"Cry mercy, boy," Parno coolly advised, in an echo of Dhulyn's thought. "The Wolfshead will kill you like her namesake kills a lamb."

"She could not kill a-" Thinking to surprise her, Clarys broke off his circling and attacked without finis.h.i.+ng his sentence, coming at her from the side. But Dhulyn was not where he expected her to be. She had stepped inside the reach of his sword and, mindful of Parno's request, did not gut the boy immediately, but cut him neatly on the left cheek with the tip of her blade. Too bad. Using the minor distraction of the conversation might have worked too, Dhulyn thought as she cut him again on the right cheek-on someone who was not a Mercenary.

Dhulyn parried two more blows-both to her head-before Clarys began to breath more heavily. He was used to the fight being over by now. A few murmurs from among his followers indicated that they thought so, too. Yaro had already turned away and was looking up into the clearing fog. Her Racha bird was coming.

"I have cut you twice," Dhulyn said, fixing the boy's eyes with her own. "I am satisfied. I ask you for the last time to renounce your claim." Pray Sun and Moon, Pray Sun and Moon, she thought, she thought, he'll notice he's tiring and hasn't killed me yet. Many men will learn caution if you give them a chance. he'll notice he's tiring and hasn't killed me yet. Many men will learn caution if you give them a chance.

But not this one. She grimaced as Clarys swung at her again, stopping the blow easily with her upraised sword. Time to end this. "I salute your courage, Clarys of Trevel, if not your wisdom." A twist of the wrist and Dhulyn Wolfshead sent the tip of her spinning sword through the front of Clarys' throat. He cried out then, the sound flying outward with a spray of blood, though his mouth did not move. Dhulyn heard the meaty sound of his body as it fell to the ground. Watched as his heart pumped its blood onto the stones.

The entire clearing was as silent as the fog.

"Are you content?" Dhulyn said, her breathing even, her sword still raised. She spun around as Parno's dagger flew past her, and pinned the sword hand of Widow's Peak to his left side.

The boy went white, and looked down at his hand, mouth trembling, as Parno approached him and took hold of the dagger's hilt.

"We cut, or we kill," Parno said, slowly drawing the blade free. There was, as Dhulyn expected, very little blood. "You've been cut. Shall I go on?"

Widow's Peak shook his head, squinting at the thin wound where the dagger's blade had sliced between the bones of his palm. He touched his side with the fingers of his left hand and drew them back lightly stained with blood. The point of the dagger had barely nicked him. The boy looked from his hand to Parno, to the body of his friend. To Dhulyn.

"We fight every day," he said. "Clarys trained his whole life."

"On the day your lives began," Dhulyn said. "I had already killed."

Yaro gestured, and two of her men stepped forward to pull the body away from Dhulyn's feet. "Clarys of Trevel," the Racha woman called out in a voice of proclamation, "has died during the trial of his Life Pa.s.sage. His soul will rest content until the Sleeping G.o.d awakens and has need of him."

"Not if the New Believers have any say in the matter," Parno said, almost under his breath.

Yaro made a face and spit, carefully avoiding the blood on the gra.s.s. She turned to Dhulyn, a look of sheepish sympathy on her face. "He beat me once in practice," the older woman said. She shrugged at Dhulyn's raised eyebrows. "He wasn't so much the rooster as he became." She turned to watch Clarys' body as it was carried off into the mist. The Cloud People would bear it away and bury it that night. "Still, he never seemed to notice that he never beat me again. Some won't learn that there's a difference between practice and killing."

Dhulyn turned to look at her young n.o.blewoman and smiled, her lip curling back, knowing her face was marked by Clarys' fountaining blood. Mar turned away and was abruptly sick in the gra.s.s.

Five.

"MANY OF THE OLD BELIEVERS have come to us, those from the cities, especially." Yaro led the way down a steep and rocky path to a stream running along the bottom of a narrow vale. They were only over the ridge from the Caid ruins, but with the snow falling the previous afternoon, the stream had been easy to miss. Dhulyn followed closely, carrying the empty water bags and taking care not to crowd Koba, the Racha bird balancing on the Cloudwoman's shoulder.

Koba c.o.c.ked his head, and shook it slightly from side to side. "True," Yaro said, in answer to some remark only she could hear. "Those who were content to stay in their shrines and hold their tongues were left there; especially the unimportant shrines, which held no relic of the G.o.d. But since the priest Beslyn-Tor has become head of the Jaldean sect-" Yaro stopped and turned to face Dhulyn. "You know there are others besides us Clouds who follow exclusively the Sleeping G.o.d?"

Dhulyn nodded. More than half the soldiers she'd fought with were followers of the warrior G.o.d, praying before each battle that if they should fall, they might sleep with him until they were needed again.

"Things have changed with the Jaldeans since Beslyn-Tor became their head, up there in Gotterang. They're saying he's been touched by the G.o.d, knows things he cannot know, and sees more than a man can see. And there are others who have been visited in the same way." Yaro reached the water, and her Racha bird dropped off her shoulder to perch on a nearby rock. Yaro crouched at the edge of a small pool, dipping up the cold water into her hand and tasting it, smacking her lips with pleasure. "And there are many new priests now."

Dhulyn set the water bags down next to Yaro, and pa.s.sed the Cloudwoman the first one. "And what do they do, these new priests?"

"Preach against the Marked, as far as any of us can make out," Yaro said as she maneuvered the opening of the first water bag under the surface of the pond. "This new heresy you say you've heard from the Finder in Navra-he reached us, by the way, we heard by Racha from Langeron-the Sleeping G.o.d must be kept asleep, our safety lies in his unbroken dreaming, and the Marked are the incarnation of evil in the world, trying to awaken the G.o.d and destroy us all. That nonsense."

"But the armies would rebel-"

"And are being told they're already already the soldiers of the G.o.d, the soldiers of the G.o.d, already already fighting to keep the world safe." fighting to keep the world safe."

Dhulyn frowned, rubbing her temples with her fingertips. "We are more sensible in the southern ice," she said. "The Sun and the Moon are always with you, the Weather G.o.ds, and the G.o.ds of the Hunt and the Herd."

"We're not so changeable here in the Clouds either." Yaro exchanged her full bag for the next empty one. "We'll keep to the old ways."

Dhulyn waited until the third bag was filled, and then the fourth, before sitting down next to the Racha bird; Koba blinked at her companionably. Yaro pushed the stopper into the final water bag, dried her hands by running them through her hair, settled herself on a patch of last year's gra.s.ses, and leaned back on her elbows, legs stretched out before her.

Dhulyn leaned forward. "You spoke of the old ways, Brother," she said. "I must ask you . . ." She tapped her own face, indicating where the tattoos marked Yaro's. The Cloudwoman lowered her eyes, nodding. After a moment she looked up again, but not at Dhulyn, at her Racha bird. Koba turned his head, returning her look first with one eye, then the other, before nodding in turn.

Yaro sat up, crossing her legs and resting her hands on her knees.