The Sleeping God Part 30

Parno needn't have worried about moving closer, she'd been well-trained in the night.w.a.tch whisper.

"First, if this were the morning of a battle, what would the Wolfshead do for her pains?"

"First," Parno said quietly. "When there is training, pain can be ignored, as I'm sure you already know. But in order to ignore pain, there must be a distraction. When there is no fighting, distraction of a kind can be found in drugs. Your herbalist can tell you which are best. The Wolfshead does not like drugs. She says that the pain exhausts, but the drugs make you stupid. Better tired than stupid, she says." Parno smiled. Dhulyn had never been any great fan of the stupid. "As for the day of battle, the necessity to kill others is often in itself a powerful distraction." He turned and looked again at Dhulyn. She slept, but under the weight of blankets she still moved and shifted as if, even in her sleep, she sought relief in movement for overtaxed muscles.

"And the second?" he said, turning back to Rehnata.

"Is she," here the girl looked away, not wanting Parno to see what was in her eyes, "is she Seeing? Seeing?"

Parno frowned. This would be the first of many such questions, now that Dhulyn was no longer hiding her Mark. "I think so. She has not said it, but it seems when there is more pain, there is more Sight."

HE TURNS TOWARD A CIRCULAR MIRROR, AS TALL AS HE IS HIMSELF, REFLECTING A NIGHT SKY FULL OF STARS. HIS LIPS MOVE AND DHULYN SEES THE WORDS FROM THE BOOK. ******* HE SAYS, AND **********. HE MAKES A MOVE FROM THE THIRD Pa.s.sAGE OF THE CRANE SHORA, AND SLASHES DOWNWARD THROUGH THE MIRROR, THROUGH THE SKY, SPLITTING IT, AND THE GREEN-TINTED SHADOW COMES SPILLING IN LIKE FOG THROUGH A CAs.e.m.e.nT. . . .

"Have I been asleep long?"

"A few hours. Is the pain better, or worse?"

"Better, I think."

Parno turned her hand over and kissed the palm. She pushed herself up on one elbow, and, using her grip on Parno's hand for leverage, managed to roll onto her side so she was still lying under the covers, but able to see her Partner without twisting her neck.

"Anything?"

"More discussion, but they're agreed. Dal will meet you at Yerloa's Spring at the hour the moon sets tomorrow night. That will bring you to the north gates of the city just as they open, and we'll meet inside the Dome just as the morning watch is settling in and getting complacent."

"What of the Tarkina?"

"She'll stay here where it's safer. Mar and that Scholar boy as well." He took the hand he still held, and b.u.mped it softly against his lips before adding, "Well-watched, as you advise, but I still say you should let me kill the twisted little book reader."

Dhulyn sighed. "It is the purpose of Scholars to learn, and this one has learned something of the world that his Library neglected to show him. Let him live with that knowledge, and with the knowledge of the evil he is capable of. And let us not forget, we may yet learn something from him ourselves."

Parno shrugged, though his own smile did not touch his eyes. "It's your decision, I suppose. Let me know if you change your mind, though. I'd be happy to kill the little dung eater later."

Dhulyn tugged his hand. "I've Seen Gun helping Mar. They were both looking into that bowl of hers."

Parno sat back, releasing her hand and placing his own on his thighs. "They've been wondering, the Tarkin especially, whether you've Seen anything. I don't think they're going to care much about Mar and her bowl."

"Daresay you're right." Dhulyn began pushing back the blankets that covered her. "I saw Lok-iKol again, and I killed him again. Sometimes he had two eyes, sometimes one."

"But you still See his death, so that's to the good. Nothing we've done so far changes that?"

"Evidently."

"What aren't you telling me?"

"I Saw Tek-aKet on the Carnelian Throne."

"So why don't you look happy about it?"

She shrugged as best she could lying propped up on one elbow. "I was standing next to him with my sword out."

Parno nodded his understanding. "Armed in the presence of the Tarkin is one thing, but weapons out in the throne room? That's not likely."

"Exactly what I thought. The throne room might have been just an overlap from the image of Lok-iKol, but . . ."

"You don't know for certain."

"I don't know for certain."

When she looked into Parno's eyes, she saw there the same knowledge he would see on her face. She couldn't know for certain. She never had, and this is what the loss of her tribe really meant-not just her mother and father, but the loss of all and any who might have taught her to School her Visions, to read them properly, even to guide them. That had always been the drawback, the flaw, to using her Sight. But with so much, and so many, relying on her now, what else could she do?

"I need to know more about how the Sight works," she said. "I can't go on hiding from it." She looked up at him. "That's the lesson the Scholar has taught me me."

"When this is over, we'll go looking for some answers."

"It seems the Scholar might have answers."

"You just don't want me to kill him." Parno's swift grin faded just as swiftly. "There's something else, isn't there?"

She nodded, lower lip caught between her teeth. "The Green Shadow fears the Marked, for reasons unknown to us. It follows that the Shadow has knowledge of the Marked, also unknown to us. In killing it, might I be destroying the source of the very information I seek?"

"Do we have a choice?"

She kept her eyes down.

"You Saw Tek on the throne, so that has to be good," Parno said, in the firm tones of a man telling the surgeon to go ahead and cut.

"I Saw him on the throne," she agreed.

"Watch Dal, my soul," he said after a moment's silence. "I've made it clear he's not to think of me, but . . . watch him."

"I do not like these Houses of yours," Dhulyn said, taking his offered hand and letting him pull her out of the bed.

"They're none of mine," he said.

But Dhulyn had noticed that he'd called Lok-iKol-and even the Tarkin himself-by their diminutives, Lok and Tek. As if he felt somehow free to speak of his old kin as he must have done when they had all been young together.

"Dhulyn Wolfshead."

The Wolfshead had her heel hooked on the sill of the window cas.e.m.e.nt, and was leaning over, stretching out the long muscles in the back of her leg. The older woman looked over her shoulder, lowered her heel to the floor, and straightened to her full height.

Heart still pounding from her run up the stairs, breath still coming short, Mar took one look at the Wolfshead's face and flung herself into the Mercenary's arms.

"Dhulyn, I'm so sorry," Mar said, sobbing out the words. "This is all my fault."

Mar felt the Wolfshead relax, ever so slightly. The muscled arms came up, and the long-fingered hands took Mar by the shoulders and held her away.

"Sun and Moon, Lady Mar." The words were kind, but the tone, and the face when Mar had courage to look up at it, were cool and closed. "Don't make yourself so important, child," the Wolfshead continued. "You didn't make the Jaldeans insane, and you didn't make Lok-iKol rebel against his Tarkin."

"But you and the Lionsmane-"

"We're still whole and hearty, no harm done; in fact the contrary, if our help to the Tarkin has come in time."

"But I betrayed you." Mar wiped her face with her sleeve. "Please, let me explain. You must forgive me."

"Tchah. There's nothing to forgive. How could you betray us? It's not as though we're Brothers."

Mar swallowed with difficulty, the Wolfshead's face blurring as she blinked away tears. Finally, she nodded, and, keeping her eyes lowered, left the room.

"I would like to live, Lionsmane. What can I do?"

"Don't wait." At the boy's raised eyebrows, Parno added.

"You give me a reason not to kill you." give me a reason not to kill you."

Nineteen.

MAR AND GUN HAD been given beds in the same large underground chamber that housed the Tarkin and his family, though screens had been brought in to give some semblance of privacy. Mar opened her pack and took out her writing supplies, laying pens, inks, and parchments carefully on the small table that sat under the largest of the chamber's lamps. Her hands trembled, and she took a deep breath as she steadied the carefully stoppered gla.s.s bottle of black ink. Mindful of her reception at Tenebro House, only Mar's determination to confront Dhulyn Wolfshead had distracted her from her dread of meeting with Zelianora of Berdana.

As it was, she'd almost knocked the Tarkina down as she rushed, blind with tears, across the inner courtyard of Mercenary House. The Tarkina had given Mar a fierce hug, kissed her forehead, and dried Mar's tears with her own neck scarf, making Mar blow her nose as if she was no older than little Zak-eZak who even now was pushing a small wooden horse across the chamber's uneven floor. Mar had been so astonished at the Tarkina's behavior, that any uneasiness she might have felt had disappeared entirely, and she realized that she felt more at ease with the Tarkina of Imrion than she ever had with her own family in Tenebro House, or even with the Weavers in Navra.

It wasn't the same kind of comfort as sleeping snug and safe between Dhulyn Wolfshead and Parno Lionsmane, but comfort it was.

"I hear you are lettered and have worked as a clerk," Zelianora Tarkina had said, once Mar's eyes were dry. "Will you help me with the children? This is so hard for Bet-oTeb, her tutors and friends gone. If I could re-establish in some small way her regular routine . . ."

"Perhaps you'd prefer-Gundaron is a Scholar . . ."

Zelianora Tarkina had waved this away, linking her arm through Mar's and leading her inside. "With respect to the Libraries and their teachings, we had Scholars in Berdana as well, and undoubtedly the time will come for economics and the philosophy of history. At the moment, however, I'd be happy if Bet could add and subtract."

So while the Tarkina had sent the guard to find her daughter, Mar had gone down into the chamber to set up her cla.s.sroom. Mar picked up the better of her two wooden pens, tested the seat of the steel nib, and set it aside for Bet-oTeb's use. For herself she applied her penknife to an uncut quill. She thought about the two giggling sisters in Tenebro House and suppressed a smile. The idea that she was about to begin teaching the future Tarkin of Imrion the basics of accounting was giving Mar an unexpected sense of satisfaction.

She could almost forget the cold lump of wretchedness that sat under her heart. She'd thought she'd been alone and miserable in Tenebro House, but that was nothing compared to what she felt now. Was it possible to be more more miserable because you miserable because you weren't weren't alone? What was she going to do about Gun? Was she even sure of what she felt? alone? What was she going to do about Gun? Was she even sure of what she felt?

Suddenly Mar remembered Lan-eLan, and that woman's kindness to her. Where was Lan now? Mar hadn't even thought to ask Dal if the older Tenebro woman was safe and well. Mar blinked rapidly, willing the tears not to flow. She was always leaving her friends behind. Sarita in Navra, Lan-eLan in Tenebro House. Even Dhulyn Wolfshead.

"I'm sc.u.m," she whispered.

"Nonsense." The Tarkina's gentle voice startled her, the slight Berdanan accent giving a musical lift to the word. "I've known women like the Wolfshead, she'll forgive you."

Mar felt the heat rise to her face.

"Maybe," Mar said, lining up the edges of her parchment squares. "If she thought she had something to forgive."

Zelianora took the parchments and set them to one side, sat down beside Mar in the chair that Mar had drawn up for Bet-oTeb. The Tarkina just sat, quietly waiting, and somehow this loosened the knot in Mar's throat, allowing her to draw in a deep, ragged breath.

"The Wolfshead said that I hadn't betrayed her, that I couldn't because, well, because I wasn't her Brother."

"And that doesn't help, because you feel that you did."

"Yes."

Zelianora reached across the small s.p.a.ce that separated their two chairs and laid her fingers, the signet of the Tarkina twinkling in the light of the lamp, on top of Mar's clenched hands. "She is right. You can only be betrayed by someone you trust. In that pure sense, a Mercenary can only be betrayed by another of their Brothers, because she would never give her trust to anyone else."

"That's what I thought she meant." Mar hung her head so as not to meet the Tarkina's eye. Zelianora hadn't seemed like one of those lecturing grown-ups who pointed out the obvious as though it was wisdom's best pearl. She twisted her mouth to one side. Must come from being a parent.

"We have a saying in my homeland: 'there is more than sand in the desert.' Dhulyn Wolfshead may tell you she is not angry with you, and it could be so. It could be herself she is angry with, and in her strict honor, she refuses to be angry with you." Zelianora lifted her hand and sat back in her chair. "But I don't believe it. I was one of those watching, and I saw her face when she told us you were with Dal-eDal. The Wolfshead was happier to know you safe with him than she should have been, seeing you are no Brother of hers. Somehow during that journey through the mountains I have heard of, she grew to trust you. It's hard to sleep with someone you don't trust."

"We only lay together for warmth."

"Lie down together, yes. Even with your arms about one another, with certainty. Even guards traveling with prisoners have been known to do this, when it was their duty to return alive. But sleep? With the prisoner unbound? No, my dear." Zelianora shook her head, and Mar glanced at her out of the corner of her eye. "Mercenary Brothers would never have fallen asleep in the arms of someone they did not trust."

"So I did betray her, and she knows it." Mar took another deep breath. "Why do I feel better?"

"Well, it seems you are are important to her, after all. And since she important to her, after all. And since she is is angry with you, whether she believes it or not, it will be possible for her to forgive you." The Tarkina stood. "If we all live long enough." angry with you, whether she believes it or not, it will be possible for her to forgive you." The Tarkina stood. "If we all live long enough."

Mar stood up, too, smiling for what felt like the first time in days. "Then we'll just have to live long enough."

Gundaron selected another waxed strand of cotton and held it up into the shaft of sunlight that hung, warm and bright, from an opening high in the wall across from his bench. He threaded it through the finest curved bone needle in the sewing kit Alkoryn Pantherclaw had given him. These weren't the best bookbinding tools he'd ever seen, but he'd been taught at his Valdomar Library to make use of materials at hand when a book needed to be mended. He'd no idea where this quant.i.ty of paper, cut and folded to table-volume size, had come from, but no one here in Mercenary House had the knowledge or skill to turn the paper into a proper book. And Alkoryn wanted one to make a portable set of maps. This was good useful work, Gun knew, tapping together the first bundle of sheets . . . only not needed, or important, or even wanted particularly urgently. Except as a way to keep him out from underfoot, while the real work was done. Now that he'd told them what he knew, given them his warning, there wouldn't be anywhere he was really needed, or wanted. Not after what he'd done.

He sighed, letting his hands fall into his lap, the pages slipping from slack fingers. Neither he nor Mar was considered physically dangerous to anyone here, that was obvious enough from the way they were treated, but he didn't miss the point that they'd been put into the one chamber that was, for the sake of the Tarkina, constantly guarded. So he and Mar could be watched at the same time, with no wasted effort.

Zelianora Tarkina had been pleasant to Mar, asking for her help with tutoring the Tarkin-to-be, but with him the Berdanan princess was distantly polite, like an upper Scholar whose cla.s.ses you were not yet a part of.

Gun told himself he was happy that Mar was being accepted more easily. After all, she'd only been tricked and lured into a mistake in judgment-a mistake, what's more, she'd set out immediately to correct as soon as she had learned of it. It was obvious to everyone, even to himself, finally, that what he'd done was far worse. He hadn't set out to betray or destroy anyone, but he'd ended up betraying and destroying everyone.

Even himself. There was no doubt in his own mind who was to blame. How many times had he been told while still in his Library not to become too focused, too narrow in his methods and his theories? Too sure of himself and his abilities? To do his best to keep the greater whole always in view? In his zeal to track down the ancient Shpadrajha, and connect them with the modern Espadryni, he'd done a good job of forgetting that particular lesson, and making himself an easy tool for-he shivered. For Beslyn-Tor. For the Green Shadow.