The Storm Witch (28 page)

“Is this the advice of the Paledyn?”

Again Xerwin hesitated, trying to see all the consequences of his answer. There was something in the way the man had said the word “Paledyn,” coupled with the way he’d just spoken of her that told Xerwin his father did not think as highly of the Paledyns as he would have people believe. Caution made Xerwin change his answer.

“No, sir,” he said finally.

“I should think not. What brings this thought to you, then?”

Xerwin hoped he didn’t look as relieved as he felt. He made himself shrug. “If it should turn on us, it might be as well to know how to kill it.”

“That is a good thought, my son. A good thought, but a poor ploy.” The Tarxin shook his head. “You have much left to learn, I see. You do not destroy a useful tool because it is dangerous. You use its strength against it. This one is such a tool. A sword to the hand, nothing more. She can be dealt with, bargained with, and used.”

Xerwin blinked at the Tarxin’s use of his own metaphor. “What of Xendra?” he asked.

“She is gone.” The Tarxin’s voice had a note of finality Xerwin had heard many times before. “There is nothing we can do for her which will justify losing the services of the Storm Witch. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir. Of course.”
He’d do the same if it was me,
Xerwin thought.
We’re all just tools to him.
To use and discard. He was right to be careful, and he should try to be more careful still.

“When do you go next to the Sanctuary?”

Xerwin blinked, glad to think of something else. “Not for some days yet, seven or eight I would say.”

Tarxin pulled the nearest scroll closer to him and began to unroll it. “Go today. They foretold the coming of the Paledyn—though the Caids know they might have warned us she was female—now she is here, we must see what more they can tell us.”

It took Xerwin a moment to realize that he had been dismissed. Careful to take his leave in the correct manner, whether the Tarxin appeared to notice or not, Xerwin let himself out of the room and nodded at the servants waiting outside. He turned toward the stairwell as he reached the main corridor, and started walking faster as he realized he was heading toward Dhulyn Wolfshead’s rooms on the lower level. They should visit the Marked, she had said. And this made as good an opportunity as any.

Parno climbed high into the rigging. He needed time, and privacy, to think. The Crayx would stay out of his thoughts—or at least pretend to, which amounted to the same thing—but even though they could not read his mind without the help of the Crayx, it was more than he could stand to see Dar’s and Mal’s faces hovering at his elbow.

Parno had not expected it, but the knowledge that a child was coming did change things. Everything that he had been taught, both in his Noble House and later, in the Mercenary Schools, told him that you stood by your word, that you did not walk away from your commitments and your obligations. It was always possible that he would not live to fulfill his obligation to his child—that might happen to anyone and Mercenary Brothers, in particular, were always prepared to die—but if he survived his attempt to destroy the Storm Witch, would his obligation to the child outweigh the demands of his Partnership?

He grinned, squinting his eyes into the rising wind. If Dhulyn were here, she would have an opinion, but if she were, her opinion wouldn’t be necessary. He knew what the Common Rule required, and what it said about Mercenary Brothers who abandoned or did not provide for their children.

“Demons and perverts,” he said.

#Do you require us# He could sense a warm humor in the question.

“Just debating with myself.”

#Debate with others may be more fruitful#

“Perhaps, but I’d like to sort out my own thoughts first, if you don’t mind.”

#Acknowledgment#

Parno sighed. When Darlara had approached him to remind him of his promise, he hadn’t been thinking clearly—hadn’t been thinking at all, he saw now. The reality of a child, what that would mean, simply had not occurred to him. Almost as if, without realizing it, he had simply assumed no child would come. And now? Dhulyn had agreed to this, knowing, as she’d thought, that he would die. What would she wish him to do now? Now that she was the one gone?

“Death doesn’t part us.” As he said the words, he found he felt stronger, more confident. “We are still Partners, in Battle, and in Death.” Dhulyn, if she
were
here, would be bringing her Scholar’s training to bear on the argument.

“The child will live, or it will not live,” he said, trying to remember how the lines of logic worked. “It will be Pod-sensed, or it will not.” That was a very logical approach, and not something that Dar would want to consider.

If the child is Pod-sensed,
he thought,
no better place for it than here on the
Wavetreader. But if it was not . . . He trusted what he had been told, that those children went to the Nomad havens, carefully hidden and safe. But in his case that was not the only option. Mercenary Brother or no, he had a family in Imrion who acknowledged him, and the child could be sent to them.

“T
HIS IS WHERE we part company.”

Dhulyn brought her gaze down from the lofty ceiling of the Sanctuary Hall bright with torches and reflected daylight, and turned back to Xerwin. He shifted his eyes away from her, almost as though he were embarrassed.

“It’s likely that they will answer your questions more easily than they will mine,” he said. “You
are
a Paledyn, and they would trust in your fair dealing and discretion. Me, they will see as the representative of the Tarxin, and I already know what answers they gave him.”

Dhulyn nodded. That made sense. “And you?”

“An errand for the Tarxin that I must perform alone.”

That wasn’t strictly true, Dhulyn thought as she watched Xerwin cross the hall toward the far end. An errand for the Tarxin, now that she’d believe. But whether he had to perform it alone, or whether he merely wished to—she shook her head. Xerwin did not give the appearance of regretting their alliance of the evening before, the Two Hearts
Shora
had done its work, charming him enough to listen to her, and to value what she had said. But something was troubling the young man, making him shift his eyes, and until she knew what it was, she had to treat it as a possible danger. Better cautious than cursing.

As Dhulyn waited for Remm Shalyn to return with a Sanctuary Guide, other petitioners began to trickle into the Hall. Gradually, Dhulyn became aware that many of these others were circling closer to her as they waited. Several caught her eye and smiled, inclining their heads and murmuring, “Paledyn,” when they saw she was looking. Finally, an older woman in the veils and bangles of an upper servant came close enough to stretch out a hand holding a dark purple flower. Dhulyn took the blossom in her left hand, touching her forehead with the fingers of her right. As if the woman had somehow opened a door, others now came closer, two more with flowers, and a little boy with a carved wooden warrior—clearly a favorite toy from the wear—that Dhulyn held to her forehead and then returned, to the child’s evident delight. As she did this, two other women came close enough to touch her outstretched arm. Dhulyn tensed, but they both backed away, touching their own foreheads.

“Tara Paledyn?”

Dhulyn had already been aware that those crowding around her to her left had parted to allow the young woman’s halting approach, so she was not surprised to be addressed. And since she’d known the approach was halting, she wasn’t surprised to find the girl leaning on a staff. The shoe on the left foot had been built up, and there was clearly something wrong in the way that foot was attached to the ankle. The young woman’s only other distinguishing feature was that she wore no veils, her dark brown hair, pulled back and braided, was uncovered.

“If you would come with me, Tara Paledyn, the Marks you have asked to see are ready for you.” There was some whispering among those watching, but though they stayed back, none seemed inclined to leave.

The Sanctuary Guide turned and led the way across the cold tiled floor toward the plain wooden doors at the closer end of the hall. Glancing sideways, Dhulyn could see the crowd following at a discreet distance as Remm Shalyn fell in at her left side.

“I am Dhulyn Wolfshead,” she said to her guide. “What are you called?”

“I am Mender Fourteen,” the young woman said.

Dhulyn slowed to a halt. “Your pardon if I am ignorant and offend. But do you not have names?”

The girl smiled, clearly not offended. “We do, but they are generally used only within the Sanctuary, among ourselves.”

“I would prefer to use a name, if it is allowed.”

“Then I am Medolyn.”

Medolyn led Dhulyn and Remm Shalyn out of the vast public entry hall through a set of double doors into what was clearly an anteroom. Another bareheaded young woman stood pressing her hands together behind a large table on which were scrolls, pens, and bottles of ink. Dhulyn smiled to herself. Clerks were clerks, it seemed, wherever one might go.

“This is the Paledyn Dhulyn Wolfshead,” Medolyn said. The other girl scrambled to her feet. “This is Coria, a Finder.”

“All of us clerks are,” the other girl said with a grin. “Only a Finder could figure out where all the records are. You’re to see the First Healer, aren’t you, Tara Paledyn? And the First Mender and Finder as well, I think? They’re waiting in the Blue Chamber, Medolyn. Your sword servant may remain here,” Coria said to Dhulyn. “Or return to the main hall.”

“I didn’t think to see women being used as Stewards or clerks,” Dhulyn said, as they left the anteroom and started down a long corridor lit by tall glass lamps standing in front of polished metal squares.

“There aren’t so many of us that we can be particular about these things. Is it different, then, across the Long Ocean?”

Was there something more than mere curiosity in the girl’s voice? Something wistful? Parno would have known, Dhulyn thought.

“It is. Men and women share all tasks and all things equally. Nor do the Marked live in Sanctuaries.”

Medolyn stopped in front of a broad wooden door, inlaid with blue tiles.

“But where do they live, and how?”

“Where they choose, and by selling their services.”

“But our service belongs to the Tarxin.”

They’re slaves,
Dhulyn thought, a chill creeping up her back.
Well-treated, carefully looked after, but slaves nonetheless. He sells their services to others, I’ll wager.
Thank Sun and Moon she’d told no one, not even the Nomads, of her own Mark.

“And if they don’t live together, how is it ensured that the children are Marked?”

The chill spread across Dhulyn’s shoulders and up the back of her neck. Were the Marked here being bred for their talent? And not as carefully as the Nomads handled their breeding. That would explain Medolyn’s deformed foot. “It is not. The Marked marry whom they choose, and sometimes the children are Marked, and sometimes not. There are Guildhalls, for training—” And this was probably one of those, once upon a time. “But the Marked don’t live there beyond the time they’re trained.”

Medolyn shook her head, her lower lip between her teeth. “It sounds . . . but perhaps I would be afraid, living on my own.”

Dhulyn was spared an answer by the opening of the door. Medolyn led the way through, bowed to the three people sitting around a cold central fire bowl, and left.

“We welcome you, Tara Paledyn.” The man who spoke was clearly the oldest of the trio, hawk-nosed, with pale green eyes and dark hair receding from his forehead. “I am Ellis, First Healer. This is First Finder Javen and First Mender Rascon.” The Finder was a middle-aged woman whose graying hair was pulled tightly off her lined face. The Mender was the youngest of the three, a pretty woman with a heart-shaped face surrounded by dark curly hair escaping from its combs.

Dhulyn touched her forehead. “I am Dhulyn Wolfshead, called the Scholar. I was Schooled by Dorian of the River, the Black Traveler.”

“If you would sit?” He indicated the fourth chair. Clearly, Dhulyn thought, the best chair in the room.

When they were all seated, and ganje had been offered and poured, the Healer spoke again.

“In what way can we serve you, Tara Paledyn?”

Dhulyn had thought of several ways to open the discussion she wanted to have, but the girl Medolyn had given her an opening she could not ignore. “Tell me,” she said. “Why do you not Heal that young woman’s foot?”

From the tightening of lips and the narrowing of eyes, all three of the Marked were at least somewhat offended by her question.
Good. Get them off-balance.

“For the same reason I don’t Heal this.” Ellis Healer held up his left hand. There was an extra finger between the thumb and first finger. Ah, Dhulyn thought,
this
was the Healer she’d been seeing in her Visions.