Path of the Sun: A Novel of Dhulyn and Parno (58 page)

But there was something else in what had been said that interested Alaria. “You say Julen will bring House Listra. What of the Scholars? Mar and Gundaron of Valdomar? Are they with the House as well?”

Again the two men exchanged looks. “They took the Path,” Dav-Ingahm finally said.

“What? The Path of the Sun? But why? How?”

“The Finder said he could bring back the Mercenaries,” Delos said. “It seemed like an excellent suggestion at the time.”

Dav-Ingahm suddenly lifted his hand. “The guard,” he mouthed, getting silently to his feet and pulling out his dagger. “Go before he comes any closer. Be ready after supper.”

They’d been too long, Alaria realized. They could have seen a barn three times this size in the time they’d left the guard standing at the entrance. Quickly she got to her feet and began to descend the ladder.

“And do you have a mechanism, then, to raise the hay up here?” she asked as loudly as she could, hoping to cover any noise Dav-Ingahm might be making. If they had to kill the guard, so be it, but it would throw off all their plans.

“We have something better,” Delos said from where he held the top of the ladder for her. “The palace is on the crest of a hill, as you must have realized coming up here from the harbor. Because of the steepness of the incline, this section here, where the doors are—this section is also at ground level, albeit ground that is higher than where we entered. So then,” he added, swinging himself onto the ladder with a practiced movement. “So then, we neither raise nor lower the hay, but drive it right in through those doors.”

“Marvelous,” Alaria said, carefully not looking around her at the approach of the guard. “A very clever use of existing terrain and circumstances. The original architect was a person of much thought, it seems. Yes? Is there a message?” The guard had by now come so close that she had to acknowledge him.

“My lady, if you will.” The man looked from her to Delos Egoyin and back again. “The Lord Epion Akarion sends for you to come at once.”

“Of course.” She turned to Delos Egoyin. “We must complete our tour another day, stable master. If you will excuse me.”

Alaria kept a smile on her face by sheer force of will. This was not an arrest. They could not have been overheard talking in the loft, or Delos Egoyin would have been asked to accompany her, and guards would even now be going into the barn to fetch out the Steward of Walls. But why then was Epion sending for her?

“I think I’d like to take a long rest after this, wouldn’t you, my heart?” Parno was riding just to her left, and close enough that he could easily be heard, even over the noise of the horses.

Dhulyn shifted her seat a little so that Mar, riding behind her where the saddle packs would normally be, wouldn’t be constantly slapped by the blade of her sword as they rode. Warhammer was the larger horse, which gave Parno and Gun a little more room for comfort, but the Scholar’s eyes seemed to be shut tight, and his grip on Parno painful. The boy never could feel easy on a horse. They were moving along at the good, ground-covering pace, steady, that the horses could maintain for hours with only short periods for rest. The Espadryni had all offered to spell her by taking Mar onto one of their horses from time to time, but only the Watcher brothers had offered to take Gun.

Dhulyn glanced over, but Parno was looking ahead once more.

“Feeling your age, are you? What luck your Partner is so much younger and healthier.”

Parno turned his head to face her, and lifted his right eyebrow. “What, a man can’t get bored with racing back and forth rescuing people? A little variety, that’s all I ask for. A few days lying in the sun—you could read a book—a few nights in a good tavern, playing my pipes, drinking wine—or you could read a book.”

“Or I could be playing the tiles, winning us the money we’d need to pay for this little rest you seem so fixed on.”

“You don’t think the Tarkin of Menoin will pay us well for this job? Falcos seemed like a very reasonable young man to me.”

“And his uncle seemed to have a very good grip on what things cost, so much will depend on which of them is the Tarkin of Menoin when we return.” Dhulyn pursed her lips. Considering what Gun and the little Dove had told them of events in Menoin, should they, even now, be trying to get back through the Path to rescue Falcos? But without the real killer, what help could they give? Better to put their hands on Bekluth Allain and show everyone exactly who was lying, uncle or nephew.

“I’ll believe in that money when I see it,” she said finally. “Better not to plan on it.”

Mar shifted, and Dhulyn automatically did the same to compensate. They didn’t know what there was ahead, and Mar was ready to slip off when signaled. Dhulyn reviewed her mental checklist of the weapons she had to hand. Short sword at her left hip, longer sword in its special scabbard along the saddle pad under her right leg; unstrung bow back in its special sling, under her left leg, with arrows hanging just behind her right hip; a dagger in each boot top, a wrist knife under the bow guard on her right wrist; a moon razor under the guard on her left wrist; a small hatchet sewn to the inside of her vest and hanging between her shoulder blades. There were also the lockpicks and wires twisted and sewn into her hair and vest, but, though you could kill people with them, these did not count as weapons.

“But you think it’s a good idea.”

“Hmmm?”

“Quit taking an inventory of your weapons and pay attention. I’m talking about our having a rest.” Parno wasn’t teasing now.

“I do,” she said. “An excellent idea. But I think that this comfortable tavern, as well as having music lovers and losing gamblers, should be near the coast, so you can practice your Pod sense, and we’ll be handy when Darlara’s children are born.”

Parno, a broad grin on his face, saluted her, fingers to forehead. “You mean when
my
children are born.”

“Well, that’s what Dar said, but perhaps she was just being polite.”

“What’s this, what are you talking about? Parno has children?” The little Dove’s voice was just behind and below Dhulyn’s left shoulder.

“Last season we spent with the Long Ocean Nomads,” Dhulyn said. Since Mar could rest her ear against Dhulyn’s back, she spoke quietly. This was their private business, after all. “And the Mortaxa on the far side of the world. The Nomads are sworn companions to the Crayx, sea creatures as old as the Caids themselves. Turns out Parno has the Pod sense, the ability to communicate with the Crayx. It’s rare, so the Nomads were happy to add his bloodline to theirs.”

“But the children?”

“The Mercenary Brotherhood always fostered its children, the few we might have,” Parno said, edging close enough that his knee was only a handspan from Dhulyn’s. “This way, they are with their mother, and if I wish to visit with them, all I have to do is be close enough to a coast for my Pod sense to reach the nearest Crayx.”

Dhulyn could tell that Mar wasn’t perfectly satisfied with this explanation—the little Dove had stiffened against her back—but there was no time now for more details.

Not that the ways of the Mercenary Brotherhood were always understood by others, in any case. Add to that the complicated relationships of the Crayx and the Nomads, and they would be here forever explaining.

Moon Watcher signaled a rest break, and everyone got down to walk beside the horses for thirty spans. Those riding scout changed positions with two who had kept to the main group. Josh-Chevrie took Mar up behind him when they remounted, and Moon Watcher took Gun. The part of Dhulyn that thought about such things wondered if there was a book in any Scholars’ Library that told about the Crayx. Gun might know. With luck they would have a chance to check.

They had ridden perhaps another sixty spans when Tel-Banion, the westerly scout, came pelting back. The Watcher brothers had identical frowns of disapproval on their faces. What was the point of resting horses, their looks seemed to say, if rest was to be followed by this kind of reckless riding? Their frowns changed when they heard what the younger man had to say.

“Tracks.” Tel-Banion’s smile was triumphant. He nodded toward where Gun clung on behind Moon Watcher. “Just as the Finder told us. A horse unknown to me.”

“I’ll wager my second-best sword it won’t be unknown to us,” Dhulyn said. If the Princess Cleona’s horse was under Josh-Chevrie, then the only unknown horse here must be that of the Menoin guard, Essio, the man who had accompanied Cleona.

“I think you left your second-best sword back in Menoin,” Parno said.

Alaria set her guards such a brisk pace they had almost to trot to keep up with her. Let them think she was happy to be summoned by Epion. And let her get them away from Dav-Ingahm’s hiding place as quickly as possible. She paused only where the main corridor from the stable yard branched.

“Where
is
Lord Epion?” she asked. “The great hall?”

“In the small audience room, my lady,” the taller guard said.

“Very well, then you must lead me,” she said.

Alaria recognized where they were going as soon as she saw the anteroom with its comfortable chairs and small tables. This was where she had come to speak to Falcos when the Arderon horses had been moved without her permission. This was where she had learned that she was expected to marry him. And where she had agreed.

This time, however, the anteroom was empty, the tables bare; there were no petitioners waiting, sipping cups of watered wine or ganje. The attending pages opened the door for her, and she walked into the audience room, half expecting to see Epion seated in the raised chair.

Apparently he wasn’t quite ready to do that, any more than he was prepared to sit in Falcos’ seat at the high table in the dining hall. He had, however, had two more tables brought in, and several high-backed chairs with arms, so that the room resembled more the domain of the palace clerks than a Tarkin’s audience room.

He put down the scroll he was reading on the table in front of him and turned toward her as she entered the room.

“My lord,” Alaria said, smiling as she advanced toward him. “You sent for me.”

“I would ask your advice,” he said. “There is a school of thought that suggests dark deeds are best done by night. What would you say to that?” There was a sharpness to his eye, and she was suddenly reminded of one of the barn cats in her mother’s stables, who could spend hours watching a hole, waiting for the mouse to show itself.

He’s trying to frighten me
. Either just to see if he could bully and intimidate her, or to see if she had something she was hiding from him. And since she did . . . Alaria walked across the room to one of the other chairs with a back, trying to put into her walk a little of the natural swagger she’d seen in the movements of the Mercenary Brothers. Epion
might
just be testing her, knowing that she played a part, to see which part it was. She sat down, leaned back, rested her elbows on the arms, and laced her fingers together.

“Who decides?” she said.

Epion blinked and Alaria kept her face still, her eyebrows ever-so-slightly raised. Good. She had managed to startle him.

“I meant,” she continued without giving him a chance to speak, “who decides whether the deed is dark?”

Epion spread his hands wide. “Shall we say then, merely a deed one wishes to perform in secret, or which one wishes others to overlook. What do you think of this advice?”

Could she do this? Could she make Epion think she was just as hard, or as shrewd as he? Would that make him more inclined to trust her? Or less? She flipped a coin in her mind. It came up horses.

“I counsel against it,” Alaria said. “My mother once said to my sister that if one were caught climbing out of the boys’ dormitory window in the middle of the night, there was only one interpretation to be put on one’s actions. Whereas, if one were caught doing the same thing in the middle of the day, one could claim merely to have been peeing in the water jugs.”