The Sleeping God Part 7

"I lost my first Racha," she said. Her eyes unfocused, as if she no longer saw the world around her-the stream, the pool, and Dhulyn Wolfshead-but the past. Koba left his perch next to Dhulyn and half flew, half hopped until he was beside Yaro, crooning deep in his throat, a keening sound. "I was very young, and I found him, you see, fallen from the nest."

Dhulyn made a querying note in her own throat and Yaro glanced at her. "It does happen," she said. "Rarely, but it happens. Perhaps too many chicks hatch, perhaps there is a shortage of food that season, and one chick or more is pushed or falls from the nest."

"But the trial," Dhulyn said. "I thought for the bond to form, there had to be a trial?" That was why bonding with a Racha was usually part of the Life Pa.s.sage.

"I saved him from a wolf," Yaro said. She breathed deeply in through her nose and, blinking, turned to the living bird beside her and smiled. Koba rubbed his hooked beak against her right cheek.

"That was considered enough of a trial, you see, and we were bonded." Yaro cleared her throat. "We were two months together," she tapped the faded tattoo of feathers on her left cheek, "when I fell ill of a brain fever. I was near death for days."

Yaro looked up, and Dhulyn saw the young girl, and the young girl's sorrow and loss in Yaro's face. Her living bird pressed his head against her, and both closed their eyes for a moment.

"My Racha, my-" Yaro pressed her lips tight, as if she could not say the bird's name. But, gaining strength from contact with her living bird, she opened her eyes and continued. "My first first Racha died during my fever. I fell into what all who saw me thought would be the final sleep, but Sortera the Healer came." Dhulyn looked up and Yaro nodded. "Two weeks before she was expected, she came and Healed me. But when I finally woke, I was alone, my bond broken, and that she could Racha died during my fever. I fell into what all who saw me thought would be the final sleep, but Sortera the Healer came." Dhulyn looked up and Yaro nodded. "Two weeks before she was expected, she came and Healed me. But when I finally woke, I was alone, my bond broken, and that she could not not Heal." Heal."

Dhulyn cleared her throat but remained silent when Yaro again touched the faded tattoo on her left cheek.

"I believe it was the Healing that kept me from following my soul into death," she said. "But I believe I should have died before ever Sortera came. My Racha gave me his his life, and that is how I lived long enough to be Healed. life, and that is how I lived long enough to be Healed.

"I could not throw away his gift, but neither could I remain in the Clouds and see around me every day the s.p.a.ce where my soul was not. So I went to serve the Sleeping G.o.d another way." This time Yaro touched the green-and-gold tattoo above her ears. "I have no talent for scholarship, and I feared the meditative life, so I became a Mercenary Brother."

Dhulyn nodded her understanding. Though she did not know where the belief originated, she knew the Clouds considered the Scholars, the Jaldeans, and the Mercenary Brotherhood to be three orders of the ancient priesthood of the Sleeping G.o.d, and therefore three disciplines open to any Cloud who chose to leave the mountains.

"In the Brotherhood I found another kind of bond; you will understand me, you are Partnered. But while I was Healed, still I was not whole."

Dhulyn touched her own tattoo, her Mercenary badge, traced her finger along the black line that threaded through the colors. The line that showed she was Partnered. Did Did she understand? She had always believed in the bond of Partnership. But now, after Parno's insistence that they return to Imrion, and especially after her Vision of his child-was it possible that he might leave her, leave the Brotherhood as Yaro of Trevel had done, and return to his House? Marry? Father children? Did this mean their souls were she understand? She had always believed in the bond of Partnership. But now, after Parno's insistence that they return to Imrion, and especially after her Vision of his child-was it possible that he might leave her, leave the Brotherhood as Yaro of Trevel had done, and return to his House? Marry? Father children? Did this mean their souls were not not one? She pushed the thoughts away. one? She pushed the thoughts away. Today's worry today, Today's worry today, so said the Common Rule. so said the Common Rule.

"One day," Yaro was saying, "I found myself thinking again of my home, the color of the sky above the mountains, the smell of the pines. Alkoryn Pantherclaw, who is Senior Brother to us all here on the Peninsula, advised me to make a visit home." Yaro looked at Dhulyn from under her lashes. "My coming was seen as the direct intervention of the G.o.d. My cousin Evela, who had been a toddling child when I left my clan, had become a young woman, a Racha woman. Two days before I arrived she had fallen ill. Of a brain fever." Yaro leaned forward, elbows on knees. "My bond had been broken, and I lived. It was hoped I could help my cousin do the same. But it did not fall out that way."

"Was the Healer . . .?"

"Arrived too late. This time it was my cousin who died, having given her soul to her Racha, who lived."

Koba keened again, this time a throat-rasping cough that had almost the sound of a sob in it. Yaro rubbed Koba's face with her hands, smoothing the feathers, somehow not cutting herself on the razor-sharp beak.

Dhulyn looked from woman to Racha and back again. "But that's not possible . . ." She let her voice die away.

"So it was thought." Yaro looked Dhulyn directly in the eyes. "The Healer came too late to save my cousin, but when she came, she had a Mender with her. They, Healer and Mender, saw that there were two of us, each with our broken bond-and so together they Mended us, and we were Healed."

It had had to be true. The bond was there, obvious. Real. to be true. The bond was there, obvious. Real.

"You were Mended and and Healed?" Healed?"

Koba hopped up to Yaro's shoulder as the Cloudwoman raised herself to her feet. "Together they did what neither could do alone. Koba and I were broken, sick at heart. Now we are whole."

As she followed Yaro of Trevel and Koba the Racha back to camp, Dhulyn was conscious that she should feel honored by the woman's confidence-and awed at the achievement of the Marked, Mender and Healer. But she went with her eyes cast down, paying special attention to her footing, struggling to keep her face from showing the churning of her thoughts. She found that, after all, she could not rid her mind of the other part of Yaro's story. That part in which a Mercenary Brother left the Brotherhood, to return to clan and family.

When the trail they followed came close enough, Mar looked out over the silent and empty expanse of twisted rock and sand.

"It looks like a gla.s.smaker's pot," she said. As she let the reins fall slack, the packhorse came to a stop. "But only the dirty bits they don't use."

"There are three such places in the Letanian Peninsula," Dhulyn Wolfshead said. "But whether that means that the Caids had their princ.i.p.al places here," the Mercenary woman shrugged, urging Bloodbone along with her knees. "The Scholars are still arguing over it."

"But what happened here?" The packhorse followed Bloodbone, and Mar looked back at the Dead Spot over her shoulder. "What went wrong?"

"Only the Caids know," the Lionsmane said from where he rode behind her.

"The knowledge was lost," Wolfshead added, "like so much of what the Caids knew."

"And perhaps for the best, if their knowledge could do this." Lionsmane gestured with a wide sweep of his arm. Wolfshead shook her head, but Mar couldn't tell if she disagreed.

Their Cloud escort left them when the road turned northeast once more, though Yaro's Racha bird Koba soared high above them a while longer, looking out and communicating with his bond mate in their private fashion. The whole morning Mar had kept to herself, unable to fully trust the Clouds, and finding herself looking even at her bodyguards from the corners of her eyes.

"That would be the first time you saw someone killed," Lionsmane said.

Mar's neck felt stiff as she nodded in reply. "I've seen dead people, but never . . ." Her voice trailed off as her gaze moved ahead to where the Wolfshead rode several horse lengths ahead of them. All because of me, All because of me, she thought. Because of some letters from Tenebro House, a young man, younger than she was herself, a boy really, was dead. she thought. Because of some letters from Tenebro House, a young man, younger than she was herself, a boy really, was dead.

When the letters had come, her world had suddenly opened to so broad and wide a thing that she could barely sleep for excitement. She hadn't been unhappy with the Weavers, exactly, but she'd been just old enough when the sickness had taken her family to remember what it was like to have a Holding, to know that you were a part, however small, of a n.o.ble House, part of a greater whole. The letters brought the chance of going to the capital and taking up her rightful place as a cousin of that House, and even the possibility of the restoration of her Holding, if she could show how well she understood her allegiance. She had letters she hadn't shown Dhulyn Wolfshead, letters which had given her a job to do, for which she could be rewarded. Her task had been to hire two particular Mercenaries to guide and protect her instead of waiting for the spring salt caravans. A woman of the Red Hors.e.m.e.n and her Partner, the letters had said. Mar'd had all her friends on the lookout for them, and as soon as Rilla Fisher had seen them come off the Catseye, Catseye, Mar had practically dragged Guillor Weaver to the Hoofbeat Inn to hire them. Dhulyn Wolfshead and Parno Lionsmane. She'd liked them, and even being on the trail with them had seemed like an adventure, once she'd got over the discomfort and the strangeness. Mar had practically dragged Guillor Weaver to the Hoofbeat Inn to hire them. Dhulyn Wolfshead and Parno Lionsmane. She'd liked them, and even being on the trail with them had seemed like an adventure, once she'd got over the discomfort and the strangeness.

But the adventure had ended with the sight of Clarys' blood spilling on the ground.

Mar risked a glance at the Wolfshead's straight back. Lionsmane gave a great sigh, and she froze.

"Seeing someone killed does make a difference, doesn't it?" he said, as if he were commenting on the sunshine.

Mar shivered, making the packhorse toss his head. "I must seem such a child," she said, hardening her voice to make it stop shaking. "It's not as though I didn't know what soldiers and Mercenaries do." She looked up at the golden-brown man beside her. "You'll have seen many like Clarys?"

"I have," he said quietly. "The first when I was much younger than you."

"And killed them, too," the girl said, her eyes returning to the back of the tall woman with blood-red hair.

"Yes," he said more quietly still. "But that was later." Mar glanced at him again, lowering her eyes quickly when he held her gaze.

"That's not all that's frightened you, is it?"

"I didn't know if you were paid enough." Mar cleared her throat. "I thought you might let them take me."

"Fine bodyguards we would be," Lionsmane said softly, "to let that happen. You needn't worry about that." He indicated his Partner with a tilt of his head. "Dhulyn might kill you herself, but she wouldn't allow you to be taken and sold."

"She might kill me me?" Mar rounded on him, twisting in the saddle. Was he joking? Was he joking?

He shrugged. "No need to look like that. Anyone Anyone might kill you. Dhulyn's been in slavers' hands herself. Death is easier, she says. Not necessarily preferable, just easier. She was lucky enough to be taken from a slave ship by pirates when she was eleven, maybe twelve." might kill you. Dhulyn's been in slavers' hands herself. Death is easier, she says. Not necessarily preferable, just easier. She was lucky enough to be taken from a slave ship by pirates when she was eleven, maybe twelve."

"Lucky? Taken by pirates is lucky?"

"Of course lucky. She was first captured at eight, and no one takes an eight-year-old child to be a household slave."

"What, then?"

Lionsmane looked sideways out of narrowed eyes. "A nice respectable family, the Weavers, eh? Did a good business but didn't travel much?" He shrugged. "Ah well, it's easier for the rich to indulge such vices. In certain circles, small children are sold as bedslaves."

Mar felt her face grow stiff. Lionsmane nodded at her.

"The pirate who took Dhulyn was the Schooler Dorian the Black. He recognized her as one of the Red Hors.e.m.e.n from the south and put a sword in her hand." Lionsmane looked ahead once more to where Dhulyn Wolfshead rode, and Mar, released from the focus of his eyes, relaxed. "We are members of the Mercenary Brotherhood. Soldiers and killers by trade. But certain kinds of people we-she and I-will kill for nothing."

Mar looked down, concentrating on her clenched hands.

"Now what?" he said.

"I'm happy to be free . . . and safe. But that boy died because of me. Wolfshead killed him so that he would not take my bowl." She stopped, unable to complete the thought aloud.

But Parno Lionsmane was nodding. "There's guilt in being the one who walks away, don't I know it. You're wondering whether you should have given him the bowl, and taken your chances with your House. You're wondering whether your comfort is worth a man's life," he said finally. And you're wondering," he continued when Mar still did not speak, "what kind of person kills for a piece of pottery, and what kind of person asks someone to do that for her?" He shook his head, his mouth twisting to one side as if he would spit.

"Listen, little Dove, never think for a moment that Dhulyn did not save your life. He was ready to take you, you, that hot head boy-to sell or to slave for him, whichever took his fancy. We were past bargaining for the bowl by the time the swords were out." that hot head boy-to sell or to slave for him, whichever took his fancy. We were past bargaining for the bowl by the time the swords were out."

"I tell myself that," Mar said. "But at the time I thought . . . I didn't think . . ."

"You didn't think she would actually have to kill him," Lionsmane said. "You thought 'this is real life, it'll all end before the bloodshed.' " He sighed. "Mar-eMar Tenebro," he said, "you did not kill Clarys of Trevel. His own people lifted no hand to stop him. He was given every chance to avoid his end, and he took none. The Cloud People are hard fighters, none better, but it would take three, maybe four of them to kill Dhulyn Wolfshead, and at that they'd have to trick her. It was Clarys' own arrogance killed him, more than anything you did, or said. More, even, than anything Dhulyn did or said. No one else blames you," he added when she did not reply. "And one day you'll stop blaming yourself."

Mar looked down at her clenched hands. Her head told her he was right-but her head had been telling her that for hours, and her heart felt no better for it. She wasn't sure she'd done the right thing about the bowl-and she wasn't sure she'd done the right thing about the letters. How much was was she willing to trade to regain her n.o.ble life? she willing to trade to regain her n.o.ble life?

Nothing to be done, she thought, pulling her shoulders straight. she thought, pulling her shoulders straight. Such is the way of things. Such is the way of things. Dhulyn did not have Parno's natural warmth, his skill with people. Even when they saw him kill someone, he never entirely stopped being "Chanter." Parno's childhood had been spent in a Household-why, he and the Dove were probably related in some distant and complicated way, Dhulyn realized, her heart skipping a beat. Small wonder they were comfortable together. Bloodbone tossed her head and snorted. "Easy," Dhulyn said, knowing it was her own uneasiness the mare was feeling. Mar was not the only one on her way back to her own family, her own people. Only Dhulyn had no family to return to, and perhaps no people. And if she had? she thought, frowning. If she had? Dhulyn did not have Parno's natural warmth, his skill with people. Even when they saw him kill someone, he never entirely stopped being "Chanter." Parno's childhood had been spent in a Household-why, he and the Dove were probably related in some distant and complicated way, Dhulyn realized, her heart skipping a beat. Small wonder they were comfortable together. Bloodbone tossed her head and snorted. "Easy," Dhulyn said, knowing it was her own uneasiness the mare was feeling. Mar was not the only one on her way back to her own family, her own people. Only Dhulyn had no family to return to, and perhaps no people. And if she had? she thought, frowning. If she had?

"Parno," she said, drawing in Bloodbone until she was riding knee-to-knee with her Partner. "What are the odds that in a capital city like Gotterang there should be no Mercenaries among the guards at the gates?"

"High, but not impossible," her Partner replied. His eyes took on the faraway look that meant he was calculating. Dhulyn had first seen that look at Arcosa, where Parno had figured the enemy numbers by counting their cook fires. "I'd put us at about one in forty, in terms of Imrion's soldiers. So, yes, there should be a few Brothers among the City Guard."

"That's what I thought," Dhulyn said. "Yet I see no Brothers ahead of us."

"They could be on another watch, or at another gate."

"They could." But somehow Dhulyn had a feeling they weren't.

When they got close enough, Dhulyn examined the arched gates themselves with professional interest. They were two thirds the height of the walls, three man heights at least, and the rounded opening was wide enough for four hors.e.m.e.n to ride through abreast. She would give half a moon's pay at campaign rates to get a look at the machinery that would shut the gates quickly across so large an opening. Had there been any Brothers among the guards, she might have asked for a viewing, but likely, as this was Gotterang, the Seat of the Tarkin, she would have been refused.

"Your business here, Mercenaries?" The guardswoman spoke with barely a glance at them.

"We escort this young lady to Tenebro House," Parno said.

"Tenebro House, eh? I don't suppose you'll want to tell me what that's all about?" the woman said, stepping forward.

"You suppose correctly, my friend," Parno smiled.

"Coming from?"

"Navra."

"Navra? Is the Pa.s.s open?"

"For military information, you'll have to consult our House."

"No need to get huffy, man. I was only asking out of curiosity."

"It's open enough for three people on horseback," Parno said with a shrug. "If that's of any use to you."

"See any Cloud People?"

"Plenty of clouds, no people."

"Some people have all the luck," the guardswoman shook her head. A tall man in a crested helmet approached, and the woman questioning them drew herself stiffly to attention. "Two Mercenary Brothers, and their charge, to House Tenebro, Captain."

"Very well," the officer said. "Carry on." He turned to speak to Parno as the guardswoman began to deal with the people behind them. "Dismount, please." He waited, but none of them moved. Even Dhulyn would have been just as glad to be on her feet; the last two nights her bed had seemed to sway, and she'd been riding in her dreams. But Mercenaries didn't get down off their horses for no reason.

"Except for those on City Guard business, and the n.o.ble Houses, riding is not permitted in the city." The Guard Captain had the air of someone who was repeating himself for the thousandth time. "You'll go directly to your House," the man stated flatly, biting off his words. "They'll tell you what parts of the city you are free of, and what parts you'll need business to enter."

"My friend, we're of the Brotherhood," Parno said. "Since when are we to be treated like thieves and rogues?"

"I'm not blind, man. And I'm not your friend. If you wish to enter the city, these are the conditions. If not, move away from the gate."

"The young lady stays mounted, then," Dhulyn said as she climbed down from Bloodbone more slowly than necessary. "She is of the Tenebro," she said to the man's lifted eyebrow. "n.o.bles, you said, may ride."

The officer nodded brusquely and stepped back. "Your pardon, Lady. Would you like a guard escort? These two must go directly to their House to report themselves. It would save you time."

"No, thank you." Mar spoke quietly, but with some composure. "I am in no hurry." That almost made Dhulyn smile again. From the look on the little Dove's face, any delay would be welcomed.

"Very well, Lady." The officer turned back to Parno and rattled off the directions to Mercenary House as the Lionsmane listened, gravely nodding as though every Mercenary did not know where every one of their Houses could be found. He gave Mar another sharp nod, almost deep enough to be a bow, and turned his attention back to his guards.

Parno followed Dhulyn's example and dismounted, exaggerating his stiffness as much as possible.

"It used to be they waited for you to make trouble before they decided you were a troublemaker," he said casually as they strolled through the gate, but loudly enough for the retreating officer to hear. Dhulyn laughed. It would have been out of character not to grumble, however false it may have sounded to their own ears. Dhulyn shifted her shoulders, feeling the knife resting in its harness under her vest. She had the oddest sensation that she was being watched. She turned around, but no one at the gate was following their progress, nor did they seem the focus of anyone's attention. She stroked Bloodbone's nose. The horses seemed quite content.

Still. "Parno," she said, keeping her voice level and quiet. "Does anything seem odd to you?"

"Besides these blooded rules, you mean?"

"I mean something like what seemed odd to you that afternoon in Navra." At this Parno gave her a sharp, comprehending look, and then frowned, concentrating within, rather than without.

"Nothing," he said finally. "You? Any green-eyed priests?"