The Sleeping God Part 2

"You never said anything." Parno's eyes held hers for a moment longer before falling to where his fingers were clamped around his own steaming cup.

"I waited for you to speak, and the word spoken was Imrion."

"I never meant . . ." Parno heaved a deep breath. "It's only that I began to wonder what became of my Household and I . . ."

"Spoke to me of Imrion." Dhulyn leaned back in her chair, nodding. Of course, she thought. Time had softened whatever had made him leave his House and become a Mercenary Brother. But to tell her so, to ask her openly to return with him to learn what had become of his past-she smiled, a twisting of her lips. How could he ask this of her, who had no past to return to?

"This business of the Marked changes all of that." Parno took a deep breath and released it slowly, pushing his cup to one side. "Very well, I admit that I've wondered about my House, my father . . . but going there endangers you you. If the Catseye Catseye is gone, then we'll take another ship." is gone, then we'll take another ship."

"Do you hear yourself?" Dhulyn leaned forward, though her voice was already too low to be heard beyond their table. "You actually counsel the safe and the secure to a Mercenary Brother-to me me? What next? I should open a book shop and die in my bed? We're Mercenary Brothers Mercenary Brothers. One day we'll make a mistake, and someone or something will kill us. This is our truth."

"It's everyone's truth," Parno began.

"But we know it, and we don't run away." Dhulyn licked her lips. "We don't run away."

"In Battle," Parno said.

"Or in Death," she answered.

"Hot stones will be ready in a minute," Linkon said.

Parno turned. "Sorry about the mess," he said, jerking his head at the girl moving toward them with her broom and dustpan full of what had been two plates and a pottery mug.

"Not your fault, Lionsmane," Linkon said. "Though I'll have to replace them, and with no Menders the blasted potters are charging an arm and a leg. But not to worry, I took the price out of the man your Partner threw out the door. He should have taken no for an answer. If you didn't want to work for him, you didn't want to work for him. And I don't blame you, if he was lying about the job."

"Wolfshead's good at spotting liars," Parno said, "though your house cat would have known the fool was lying, come to that. Normally she's more forgiving. His bad luck he pushed it a little too far at the wrong time, if you catch my meaning."

"Oh, I catch it all right. My wife's the same, though not much capable of throwing me out the door, for which I thank the Caids." The man grinned.

Parno grinned back and didn't bother to correct the man. Dhulyn wasn't his wife, but there were few people outside of the Brotherhood-and even some within-who understood what it meant to be Partnered.

"Though I can't say I'm surprised the man persisted," Linkon continued, as he laid out mugs on the bar ready for spiced cider when it came hot from the kitchen. "There's not so many Mercenaries in Navra at the moment, and for that reason, a word in your ear."

Parno obliged the man by leaning both elbows on the bar, bringing his face within inches of the landlord's. He'd once spent almost a whole winter at the inn, and had developed a friendship with Linkon Grey that even the pa.s.sage of years did not change.

"Two of the Watch were in here last night, looking for a couple of Mercenary Brothers who'd helped some Finders yesterday."

A chill traveled up Parno's spine. Not Linkon, too. "People had set fire to a house with children inside it."

Two red spots appeared on Linkon's pale cheeks. "Don't misunderstand me, Lionsmane, you did the right thing, though I wouldn't say that to any and everyone."

"Will this bring you trouble?"

"I was able to tell them, truthfully, that I'd not seen you-it was only your baggage was here all night. But they'll be back. It may take a few days, most of the Watch is none too eager to jump to the Jaldeans' orders, but like it or not, they'll have to come around again, sooner rather than later. And then . . ." Linkon Grey pursed his lips and raised his brows.

"Oh, come, Link! We're Mercenary Brothers, what can they do to us?"

Linkon shrugged, turned away to accept a cider jug from the kitchen boy, and turned back to pour out mugs for himself and Parno. He waited until the boy used a second jug to fill a tray of mugs and carry them off to distribute among the tables before leaning forward again.

"I don't know, and I don't want to know. It wasn't so long ago the Marked were saying the same thing." He frowned, brows pulled down, before meeting Parno's eyes once more. "I like the Brotherhood. It's always good to have some of you in the place. It brings custom and it keeps order, all at the same time. But it's my family as well as my business I've got to consider."

"I'll get Dhulyn-"

"Nah, man, you've a day at least-more like two. As I said, the Watch will be in no hurry, so long as you draw no more attention to yourselves. But you'd be doing me a favor if you accept the next offer that'll take you out of the city."

Parno looked around, saw that there was no one close to them. "When did this business with the Marked start? The Wolfshead and I came almost without stopping from Destila," he added, naming the city at the far end of the Midland Sea. "Only changing ships at the Isle of Cabrea. The last time we were on the Peninsula, the Jaldeans were no more than harmless old priests."

Linkon looked into the depths of his cup. "You've been away to the west, you say, Lionsmane, but you're from Imrion yourself, eh?"

"You know better than that, Linkon. We're Mercenary Brothers, the Wolfshead and I, and that's that's where we're from." where we're from."

The innkeeper nodded, tongue flicking out to the corners of his mouth. "Still. If it were anyone else . . ." He shrugged.

"The trouble wasn't started by the old priests you remember, asking for alms at the shrines of the Sleeping G.o.d. It's the New Believers who are preaching against the Marked."

"Any oppose them?"

"They say the Tarkin himself," Linkon answered, "but there's a limit to what he can do."

"What's he like, this new Tarkin? When Wolfshead and I fought with Imrion when they took the field against the Dureans at Arcosa, the old man was still alive."

"They say the son's not the warrior his father was, but he's no fool either. The High n.o.ble Houses acclaimed him when old Nyl-aLyn died, and that says something." Linkon gave a sharp nod. "Still, in this new matter only a few of the n.o.ble Houses have declared themselves one way or the other. It's all the Tarkin can do to prevent an open breach between those as support the New Believers and those who would just as soon let be. The New Believers're saying the Tarkin doesn't see the danger-"

Linkon broke off as his younger daughter came out of the kitchen doorway with a tray of pies.

"Danger? From the From the Marked? Marked?" Parno cut in as soon as the girl was out of earshot. "How dangerous can they be? There's not three in two hundred who are Marked."

"How many does there need to be to awaken the Sleeping G.o.d?" Linkon had lowered his voice still further. "I'll tell you straight, since it's you I speak to, Lionsmane, no good can come of any persecution of the Marked. It's madness, pure and simple. But the whole of the West country was flooded last spring, an earthquake leveled Petchera in the summer-and there's rumors the Cloud People are looking to break their treaty. Imrion's luck has turned bad, you mark my words."

Parno laughed to cover the chill that had come over him, raising the hairs on his arms. "Why, Linkon, we're Mercenary Brothers looking for work. Imrion sounds like just the place for us."

"Well, you know your own business best, but mark my words-"

A noise from the kitchen doorway made him turn again. "Ah, here's the warmed stones for your Partner now."

Parno accepted the stones, heat palpable through their heavy coverings, smiling his thanks to the kitchen boy. He gave Linkon a we'll-talk-later nod and made his way between the tables to the staircase.

"Gotterang," Dhulyn said, spitting out the word between gasps. "Gotterang." Her left hand lashed out, and closed on the air where Parno's wrist had just been.

"I know, Dhulyn, I know," he said, using his voice to soothe where his hands could not. He shoved in the warm stone, lowered the blanket, tucked the edges under the pallet and sat back on his heels. He covered his Partner with the other blankets and both their heavy winter cloaks before raising himself to his feet, movements cautious and slow, and stepping back from the edge of the bed. He went only as far as the doorframe, where he leaned, listening. Eventually Dhulyn's breaths came slower, took longer, as the valerian mixture he'd put into her cider took effect.

This would make twice she'd Seen Imrion's capital. While that didn't necessarily necessarily make her Vision more likely to come about-still it made him think. make her Vision more likely to come about-still it made him think.

"We go to Imrion," he said to her, voice still pitched to quiet and soothe. "And Gotterang the capital, no less. You are Senior, and you have spoken." It relieved him of the responsibility, he thought, but not of the knowledge that his had been the hand that placed out the tiles in this particular game. A demon, she'd said. And she was right. The demon of his life before the Brotherhood. Was his father still alive? His sisters?

When he'd found the shadow of his past would not let him rest, he'd persuaded Dhulyn, without telling her why, to come back with him to Imrion. More than ten years had pa.s.sed, adding some height, and more than a little muscle to the boy he had been. Time enough, and change enough, he was sure, to make him unrecognizable to any who might remember him.

Dhulyn pushed an arm out from under the blankets and began to hum. Parno c.o.c.ked his head to listen more carefully. It was the tune the children had been singing on the pier. He found himself smiling. When his eye fell on the small a.r.s.enal of weapons he'd managed to take off her before she'd tumbled into the bed, his smile broadened.

"You'll be safe enough, my wolf," he said. Isn't that what she'd said? Wasn't that all any of them could say? They were Mercenaries, for Caids' sake, not dancing masters. "The path of the Mercenary is the sword." So went the Common Rule, and it was all any of them hoped or expected. There was a Mercenary House in Gotterang, he could find out what he wanted to know about his family there. And then they could be off, to where Dhulyn's Mark would make no difference, no matter who knew of it. What's the worst that could happen? They could die. Well, that was part of the Common Rule as well.

"I swear to you. Jaldeans or no, New Believers or Old. I swear by the Caids, if they still watch over us. You are my Partner and my life. Together. 'In Battle or in Death.' "

The Brotherhood's oath on his lips, he touched his fingertips to his forehead in salute, and turned to go back downstairs. He must see if Linkon had anything else to tell him.

THE MAN TRACES A LINE ON THE PAGE WITH HIS FINGER, HIS LIPS MOVING AS HE CONFIRMS THE WORDS. HE NODS, AND, STANDING, TAKES UP A HIGHLY POLISHED TWO-HANDED SWORD. DHULYN OWNS ONE LIKE IT, THOUGH SHE DOES NOT USE IT OFTEN. IT IS NOT THE SWORD OF A HORSEMAN. SHE CAN SEE NOW THAT HIS CLOTHES ARE BRIGHTLY COLORED, AND FIT HIM CLOSELY EXCEPT FOR THE SLEEVES WHICH FALL FROM HIS SHOULDERS LIKE INVERTED.

LILIES.

She cleared her throat. "How long have I slept?"

"You missed the midday meal," he said, without pausing or looking up. "Though they've kept a plate for you by the kitchen fire. Are the stones still warm?"

She wiggled her hand down until she could touch the padded stone against her belly, and the one at the small of her back. The weight of her coverings-both their winter cloaks if she was any judge-made her nest warm enough that she had to rest her hand directly on the cloth-wrapped stones for a moment before she could detect a faint warmth. "Well, they're not cold."

"Not so bad then. You talked a bit at first, but you dropped off as soon as the stones began to warm you." He stopped honing, but still avoided her eyes, testing the edge of the blade against the back of his thumbnail. "What do you remember of this morning?"

She shrugged. A most unsatisfactory movement when lying down. She shut her eyes again.

"Do you recall the man who said he was from the House of Sogenso?" Parno prompted. "The man you threw out the door?"

Dhulyn shut her eyes, wrinkling her nose. "Was it open?"

"As luck would have it." The rhythmic sound stopped. "He said he was setting up a pilgrimage to the Mesticha Stone."

"To steal it," she murmured.

"So you told him."

Dhulyn could hear his smile. "What else did I tell him?"

"You told him we were Mercenaries, not thieves." Parno paused. Dhulyn waited. "He thought you were trying to raise the price, so he went on talking. You broke his wine cup. Over his head."

She winced again, squeezing open one eye. "One of the clay cups?" She seemed to remember a gla.s.s goblet on the table, and almost made the luck sign with the fingers of her left hand.

Parno shook his head, grinning. "Don't worry, Linkon took the damages from the Sogenso boy."

She opened her eyes. Parno sat relaxed, ankle over one knee, sword across his lap, his face in shadow. He had put the honing stone down on the floor next to his feet. She would have to make sure he did not leave it there.

"Did I . . . tell him anything else?"

"I was afraid you might, seeing how it was with you. There's something to tell, then."

"He shouldn't have touched me," she said, halfway to an apology. "He'll go to the Stone anyway, and he'll die there. It will be quick," she added. "And relatively painless."

Parno swung his head slowly from side to side, lips pressed to a thin line. "Even if you'd said so, people would have taken it for a threat, not a Vision. As I might have done, once." He released a deep breath and slid his blade into its sheath. "I got you upstairs, and Linkon had the kitchen heat stones for your pains, when they came."

"And gave me valerian-don't deny it, I can taste it in the back of my throat. You know it always makes me sick to my stomach." Dhulyn rolled over on her back, pulled her knees up tight against her chest then released them, resting her feet flat against the mattress. "When did all this happen?"

"An hour or so after breakfast." He rose and stretched, coming full into the shaft of sunlight. A golden man, tall, with warm eyes the color of amber. He had let his beard grow the last few weeks, and it had come in a shade darker than his sunbleached hair. His summer tan had faded over the long moons it had taken them to come from the Great King's court, but he was still much browner than she would ever be.

Dhulyn rubbed at her temples and her eyes with the heels of her hands. Parno had taken off her shoes, her sword belts and sashes, but left her otherwise clothed. Long familiarity-they Partnered shortly after meeting on the battlefield of Arcosa-had taught him to touch her as little as possible during her time. In the beginning, coming as he did from the decadent north, he had seen nothing wrong with love-making during her woman's time. A single experience had taught him that her people did not refrain merely from Outlander fastidiousness. It was then she had Seen the manner of his dying.

"Who else knows?" Parno said, tapping the side of his face next to his eyes when she looked at him with raised brows.

"You're the only one I've told." Dhulyn answered the question he'd really asked. She'd only told Parno himself when they talked of Partnering-not fair to him otherwise. And she'd only been able to tell him because she had had Seen the manner of his death. Knowing the one thing that she must never tell him had left her free to tell him everything else. Seen the manner of his death. Knowing the one thing that she must never tell him had left her free to tell him everything else.

At first he'd been delighted, thinking they'd soon be the richest Mercenaries in the Brotherhood. They'd know which jobs would be successful, and which would end in disaster, who would pay up promptly and honestly, and who try to cheat. He'd soon learned that she couldn't use her Mark to answer specific questions, and when it did work, it wasn't reliable and steady like the Finders or Menders he'd known, but so chancy and sporadic as to be more liability than a.s.set.

" 'Course it wasn't dangerous then, for others to know."

"No," she said. "Just no one's business. I tell you I'm safe enough." She thought for a moment. "Dorian knows, I believe. Though he's said nothing."

"You'll be safe with any of the Brotherhood, I should think, let alone the man who Schooled you."

Dhulyn nodded. For Mercenaries, the Brotherhood was was their religion. their religion.

Parno leaned back on his cot and stretched out his legs in front of him, as far as the limited floor s.p.a.ce would allow. "Linkon says the last rumors out of Gotterang before the Snow Moon closed the pa.s.ses fit what the Finders told us. The New Believers are pressing the Tarkin for measures against the Marked, and he'll either have to give in, or refuse outright and take the consequences." Parno looked up from beneath his golden brows. "And, apparently, there will be consequences."

Dhulyn turned over on her side again, this time propping herself on one elbow. The slanted ceiling-their room was under the eaves of the inn-prevented her from sitting up. "I've read of such things in the past, but if I hadn't seen and heard it for myself, I'd find it hard to believe that people could be turned against the Marked."

Parno nodded. "People can be persuaded to hate and fear what they don't understand-even something useful and homey like a Mender or a Finder." He shrugged. "Healers, though, that that would take would take some some persuasion." persuasion."

"There's not so many Healers, however, even the books mention that. Though more than Seers, that's certain."

"I can remember talk of such things when I was a child," Parno said. "The Market Dance at the Harvest Fair, they'd get someone to stand in the center to be the Seer, usually whichever young maid had been chosen Lady Harvest."

"One of your sisters?" Dhulyn asked with a smile.

"When they could bully enough people into it," Parno admitted, laughing. "Certainly no one ever expected a real Seer to show up."

Dhulyn rolled over onto her back again. There had been a fair amount written over the years about the Marked, but what she had never yet found in any book or scroll was mention of her tribe. Her height and coloring marked her for an Outlander, but she'd met only one man who had seen her and instantly known which Outlander tribe she came from. How Dorian the Black Traveler knew of the Espadryn, Dhulyn never learned. All she knew was that he had taken her from the hold of the slave ship, put salve on her cut face, spoken to her in her own tongue, saying "come with me, and learn to kill whoever hurts you." And she had gone with him, and learned. And somehow she had never asked whether Dorian also knew about the women of her people.