Path of the Sun: A Novel of Dhulyn and Parno (57 page)

“Happily,” he said aloud. “Do you know why I am wanted?” Three of them, all armed, though none of them had anything in their hands at the moment. Bekluth closed his hand on one of the knives he had hidden in his trade pack. Could even he kill Fox-Bane fast enough to deal with the other two before they armed themselves, or, worse, rode off?

“The cloud message did not say,” Fox-Bane said. “Only that you were needed.” Bekluth released the blade and drew out his hand with the small pouch of steel arrow heads in it.

“Perhaps the Long Trees People have also been losing their good hunting points,” suggested the man who had spoken before.

“Just so long as they have no more poor horses to trade me,” Bekluth said, shaking his head with a rueful smile. “Come, I was just about to stop and have my meal in comfort. Will you not join me?”

“Only a man of fields and towns would need to sit on the ground to eat,” Fox-Bane said. But the other two were already dismounting.

“May I ask one of you to build a fire?” Bekluth said. “I have a new five-spice tea I would like you to try, and I take so long to make a good fire . . .” As he’d suspected, the opportunity to show off was hard to resist, and while the three Horsemen argued about the best kindling materials, Bekluth returned not to his trader’s pack but to the saddlebags on his horse. His hand brushed his special knives, but he passed them by after only a moment’s hesitation. Undoubtedly at least one of these men needed opening—there were very few people without enough darkness inside them that some needed to be let out. But he had no time. He could not take the chance that this summons meant him ill.

When the five-spice powder had had its effect, Bekluth transferred his pack to Fox-Bane’s horse and rode away. He must get to the Door of the Sun, he thought. He regretted leaving Dhulyn Wolfshead. Regretted it more than he could say. But it was time for the trader Bekluth Allain to disappear.

“Perhaps he is not Marked after all.”

“Don’t be silly, Tel, he’d know whether he was Marked or not. Wouldn’t he?” Josh-Chevrie was scratching at the healed arrow wound in his forearm. Parno caught the young man’s eye, tapped his own forearm and shook his head. Josh shrugged and grinned, but he stopped scratching.

Though Parno had overheard the exchange, the two Tribesmen had been speaking quietly enough that they had not disturbed the group gathered around Gundaron. Dhulyn, Mar, and Gun sat cross-legged on the ground, with the Watcher brothers seated just outside their small circle. Gun was shaking his head, rubbing at his eyes, and Mar put her hand on his arm. Parno moved closer and squatted beside Dhulyn.

“I can Find, I tell you, my Mark’s back, I just can’t Find
him
.”

“Where’s my second-best bowstring?” Dhulyn asked.

“That won’t work,” Mar pointed out. “We’ve both seen you pack often enough that
I
could probably tell you where it is.”

“Where is the mate to this?” Moon Watcher took a silver ring banded with thin gold wire from his left ear and handed it to Gun. The Finder closed his hand on the earring, closed his eyes tight, and pressed his lips together.

“Your son is wearing it,” Gun said without opening his eyes.

Dhulyn looked at Moon Watcher with raised eyebrows. The man nodded, his eyes fixed on Gun’s hand. When the boy offered him back his earring, he hesitated before taking it.

The Cold Lake Tribesmen, who had gathered near to listen to the exchange, flicked glances at each other, and two of them moved casually farther away, as if they were afraid Gun would Find something in them without being asked. Parno would have laughed if the matter at hand were not so serious.

And if it wouldn’t have led to a time-wasting challenge to satisfy someone’s honor.

“That’s easy,” Gun was saying. “Even a untrained Finder can find the mate to a pair of objects if he’s got one in his hand. I’m trying to Find a person I don’t know, someone I met just once.”

“But it was not so long ago,” Dhulyn pointed out in her mildest tone.

“I know, but I was sick then, and now I just can’t seem to concentrate.”

Mar scrubbed at her face with her hands. “It’s the bowl,” she said. “If we had the bowl here Gun could do it.”

“It’s not your fault, Mar,” Gun started to say when Dhulyn raised her hand.

“Wait. The little Dove is nevertheless thinking in the right direction—I intend no pun. Before you had the use of Mar’s scrying bowl, did you not use books as tools to concentrate your mind?”

Gun turned to Dhulyn, reaching out his hand. “You’ve got a book with you?” But at the look on her face Gun let his hand fall to his lap.

“I’m afraid I don’t. But you have writing tools, do you not? And paper of some kind?”

Mar put her hand on her belt pouch but froze with the flap halfway open. “Gun, where is the other folding knife?”

Grinning, Gun shut his eyes once more. “In a leather satchel, in a . . .” he paused, and reached out with his hand as if to grab something that Parno could not see. “In some ruins, four or five hundred spans south, southwest of here.”

Moon Watcher was nodding. “It is an evil place, and brings bad luck,” he said. “There are areas of the plains that are hard and shiny like a glazed cup. If there are ruins there, we have never seen them. None of the Espadryni go there.”

“Which makes it the perfect place for the trader to hide.” Now it was Dhulyn who began to get up, and Dhulyn who was stopped, halfway to her feet, by Gun’s raised hand.

“He’s not there, though. The folding knife is, but not Bekluth Allain.”

Dhulyn blew out a breath and sat back down. “Then show me your blank pages,” she said to Mar. The little Dove quickly sorted out half a dozen pieces of parchment and a dozen more of paper, in various sizes. Dhulyn shuffled through them and picked out one piece of paper, handing the others back and accepting the thin leather-covered board that served as a portable writing surface.

“Parno, will you be my desk?”

First giving her his best bow, Parno knelt in front of Dhulyn, positioning himself so that she could use his back as a table. Mar handed Dhulyn a pen and knelt to one side, near Parno’s head, with the ink pot.

“Careful with that,” he warned her. “My badge needs no modification.”

The girl smiled back, but it was the thinnest smile Parno had ever seen from her.

“Now,” said Dhulyn, dipping the end of the pen neatly into the ink. “Start reciting your book.”

“My book?”

“The book you have memorized, my Dove—you
have
a book memorized, don’t you?”

“
Air and Fire
,” she said, nodding. “In a small Holding,” Mar paused to allow Dhulyn to write.

“No, my little Dove, just recite,” Dhulyn said. “Regular reading speed.”

Out of the corner of his eye Parno saw Mar’s face clear as she nodded and began again. “In a small Holding to the north, whose name I do not recall . . .” The girl’s frown faded as she continued, her lips even taking on the slight curve of a smile. Parno could just feel the motions of Dhulyn writing, conveyed through the pressure and minute shiftings of the board on his back.

“That should be enough,” Dhulyn said, leaning away far enough that Parno could stand up.

“Here.” Dhulyn handed the sheet of paper to Gun. “Do you need anyone to hold it for you? Act as a desk?”

Gun’s face cleared as he saw what Dhulyn had handed him. “I couldn’t understand what you were doing,” he said. “This should work.” He sat once more cross-legged, laying the paper down flat in front of him. He began reading, his eyes flicking back and forth across the page.

“What did you do?” Parno asked. He shifted to one side, trying to get a look at the paper without disturbing Gun.

“I wrote down Mar’s recitation in the Scholar’s code, the short form of writing that all Scholars are taught. Mar forgot that I know it also.”

Parno felt a smile cross his face as he nodded. Dhulyn had spent a year in a Scholars’ Library while she was deciding that it was to the Mercenary Brothers that she really belonged.

“That one sheet of paper is at least four regular pages,” Dhulyn explained. “It should be enough to allow Gun to concentrate—shhh.”

“Shush yourself,” Parno said, under his breath. Gun had looked up from his reading.

“I know where he is.”

“
I
F YOU SCREAM, I’ll cut your throat, and you’ll be dead before your guard can get here. Do you understand?” It was just a whisper, from a voice Alaria could not recognize.

The whisperer’s right hand held her mouth closed and pulled her head up and to the right, exposing her throat to the cold metal. Slowly, Alaria reached up and patted the whisperer’s right forearm. She was afraid to nod, afraid to move her head at all. Anyone who had been trained with the sword knew that a blade
pressed
to the skin won’t cut, but a blade
drawn
across skin . . .

“Gently, Dav. Julen says the lady’s with the Tarkin, she’s on our side.”

The hand holding her mouth relaxed, but the left hand, the blade hand, stayed where it was. “Let her explain then, why she’s out here, and our Tarkin’s in the north tower.”

Alaria licked her lips, her mouth too dry to swallow. Now she recognized the voice. This was Dav-Ingahm, the Steward of Walls, and this was why she had not seen him before, with Epion. He must have been in hiding all along.

“Falcos wanted me away from him,” she said. “I would have stayed, I
wanted
to stay, but he thought I would be safer away from him.”

“That sounds like Falcos,” Delos Egoyin pointed out.

“Rather convenient for you, though, is it not?” But the blade eased away from her throat. Alaria took a deeper breath than she’d allowed herself before.

“Is it? Epion has no interest in killing me, whether I remained with Falcos or not.” Alaria could do no better, she thought, than to marshal Falcos’ own arguments to convince his followers. “Epion wants me alive, to keep the treaty with Arderon and to keep the favor of the people of Menoin. If he wants to, it will be easy enough to dispose of me once I’ve borne an heir.” Alaria staggered forward as the Steward of Walls released her. Delos took her by the elbow and led her to a seat on a nearby stool. It was evident from the blankets in one corner, a pitcher of water, and the stool itself that this was Dav-Ingahm’s hiding place. Which was the real explanation, she realized, for all the hay being gathered in one place.

“It would have been far more convenient for me,” Alaria continued after accepting a swallow of water from Delos, “to have stayed with Falcos instead of having to ingratiate myself with Epion—and alienate Falcos’ real friends.” The two men exchanged a glance.

“Why, then, did you agree to leave him?”

Alaria hesitated, finding herself reluctant to tell the truth. Men were notoriously impractical and inclined to be squeamish and sentimental, even in the face of dire necessity. Still, Falcos had agreed with her. “He’d be careful who he lets near him, Epion, I mean,” she said finally. “But he’ll let me into his bed—if it comes to that, if Falcos is killed—I would have a better chance of killing Epion if it seems I came to him willingly.”

The reaction of the two men was not what she expected. Far from being horrified, Delos was grinning, and Dav-Ingahm, nodding, sheathed his dagger and came to sit cross-legged at her feet, a look of approval on his face.

“ ‘Keep your friends close and your enemies closer,’ ” he said. “It’s an old saying, and a good one. I’d have tried the same myself—barring the bed part, he’s not my type—except that Epion hasn’t been able to stand the sight of me since I gave him a thrashing years ago for abusing a hunting dog.” He clapped his hands together. “Good. Now that we know where you stand, we can concentrate on freeing Falcos.”

Alaria leaned forward. “What’s your plan?”

“I know which of the guard I can trust,” Dav-Ingahm said, “and they will be on the alert, if not actually on watch, this evening. We have heard from Julen Egoyin that House Listra has been quietly contacting the other Noble Houses and the leaders among the council. She will come in the council’s name at the supper hour and demand to see Falcos. She will bring her own guards with her, and, if my messages to the Steward of Uraklios have borne fruit, a complement of the City Guard as well. Whatever the outcome of Listra’s representations, we will have enough force to take Falcos ourselves.”

“I know Dav here doesn’t trust all of the Palace Guard,” Delos said. “But I think there are many who are just waiting to see where the arrows fall—not bad men, just unguided. Right now they see Epion in ascendance and fear they have no choice but to follow. If we give them a different option, they may take it.”

The Steward of Walls shook his head, but he was smiling while he did it. “Ever the optimist, my friend.”

“I merely point out that we may have more allies than we suppose,” the stable master said. “I was right about the princess here, after all.”