The Sleeping God Part 16

"What can I tell? I don't even know what it was."

Gundaron looked up, eyes wide. "No," he said finally. "I meant don't tell anyone I'm a Finder."

"I won't."

"Promise?" His voice was thick, giving weight to the childlike request.

Mar hesitated, but there was something in his face that touched her-something more than fear. She held out her hand, waited until he'd taken it.

"Yes, I promise, but-do you mean no one knows?"

Gundaron rubbed his eyes with his fingertips, lowered his hands, and looked around the room.

"I wanted to be a Scholar. I wanted it so badly. I moved the sun and the stars to be allowed to go to Valdomar. And I'm good good at it; I knew I would be. The best Scholar in my cla.s.s. If they'd known I could Find . . ." at it; I knew I would be. The best Scholar in my cla.s.s. If they'd known I could Find . . ."

"You'd have gone to the Guildhall."

He looked at her. "And now . . ."

Mar took the towel from him, shook out the creases and began to fold it. It wasn't the Guildhall he'd go to now if the wrong people learned he was a Finder, but the Jaldean Shrine. "I'll keep my promise," she said. "I won't tell." She sat down in the other chair, still holding the towel. "What was it you Found?"

A muscle jumped in his cheek as he clenched his teeth. "I Found what they're doing here. Lok-iKol and . . ." his eyes s.h.i.+fted away, "and the others."

Mar waited some minutes before deciding that Gundaron wasn't going to say anything more. But as she rose to her feet, thinking to take the towel back into her bedroom, the Scholar spoke again.

"This was my first a.s.signment." He stroked the edge of the bowl with the first two fingers of his right hand. "The Tenebros asked for our best Scholar to write a history of the House, and the Seniors at Valdomar chose me, even though I was their youngest graduate. I've never been anywhere but home and Valdomar; I'd certainly never seen such a place as this. I was all alone here-"

Mar thought of the twin sisters Nor and Kyn and knew just how alone he had been. Suddenly she wanted to put her arms around him, stroke his hair, but she knew that if she did, he would stop speaking. And whatever it was he was about to say, he needed to say it.

"Then to have the Kir of such a n.o.ble House take me into his confidence, treat me with respect . . ."

Mar lowered herself into her seat once more. His words and tone had the flavor of explanation, almost apology, and she waited for him to continue.

"There's so much data in a n.o.ble House's archives," he said. "The kind of private things that never get into the history books. Things that could help me with my personal researches and I was promised all the information I needed-" He got up and moved the short distance between the table and the window, his steps small and abrupt. "I was so excited, I got so interested in what I was learning that I-I forgot to keep my distance."

"Is that what you Found? Your distance?"

Gundaron licked his lips and Mar got up once more, this time to bring him a cup of water.

He took a deep swallow and gripped the cup tightly in both hands. "Yes. I think I can say that." He took a deep breath. "I've stepped back and taken a good look at what I've been doing, and I don't like what I've seen."

Mar put her hand on his arm. Gundaron was the only person here who had been kind to her, really kind to her, her, as herself. The only person who had never made her feel apart. "I'm sure whatever you've done couldn't be all that bad," she said. as herself. The only person who had never made her feel apart. "I'm sure whatever you've done couldn't be all that bad," she said.

The look of despair that pa.s.sed over his face at her words almost frightened her.

"I've been Finding Marked for them," he said, so quietly that Mar actually leaned toward him to be sure she'd heard him correctly.

"For whom?" The words came out in a hoa.r.s.e whisper.

"Lok-iKol, for one." What Mar thought must have shown on her face because he threw himself down at her feet and clutched at the skirt of her dressing gown. "I didn't know, I swear I didn't know. I thought it was just research. Families, bloodlines, how talents pa.s.s through kins.h.i.+ps. I didn't know about the Jaldeans." He looked at the bowl. "I didn't know until now. It's memories I've Found."

"But Gundaron, you're you're Marked." Marked."

"They don't know!" He waved her words away. "I'm a Scholar."

Mar shook her head. Surely it wasn't possible. Surely it wasn't possible that you could be so focused on your craft, on your research, research, that you could overlook what was being done with it. Surely you couldn't feel so separate and apart from people just like yourself. that you could overlook what was being done with it. Surely you couldn't feel so separate and apart from people just like yourself.

Families. Bloodlines. She looked from his face to the bowl on the table. Her bowl. Pa.s.sed through five generations. A scryer's bowl. A Finder Finder's bowl. A cold hand closed around her heart.

"That's why I'm I'm here," she said. "That's why they sent for me. And you-" here," she said. "That's why they sent for me. And you-"

"I told him you weren't," Gundaron said. "I wouldn't have let them-please, believe me."

So he had had known. Even if some of his memories were missing, to lie to Lok-iKol about her, Gundaron must have been aware that known. Even if some of his memories were missing, to lie to Lok-iKol about her, Gundaron must have been aware that something something wicked was happening, even if that awareness had been buried deep. Mar reached to push him away from the skirts of her dressing gown, but something held her back. What had he done, really? Found innocent people and, in return for certain promises and favors, arranged to have them brought to Tenebro House. Hadn't she done much the same thing herself? In return for comfort, riches, her Holding restored, hadn't she brought them Dhulyn Wolfshead and Parno Lionsmane? Hadn't the Wolfshead killed a Cloudboy in the Mountains for her? Were her hands any cleaner than Gundaron's? wicked was happening, even if that awareness had been buried deep. Mar reached to push him away from the skirts of her dressing gown, but something held her back. What had he done, really? Found innocent people and, in return for certain promises and favors, arranged to have them brought to Tenebro House. Hadn't she done much the same thing herself? In return for comfort, riches, her Holding restored, hadn't she brought them Dhulyn Wolfshead and Parno Lionsmane? Hadn't the Wolfshead killed a Cloudboy in the Mountains for her? Were her hands any cleaner than Gundaron's?

She put her hands on his head, patted his rough hair.

"The Mercenary Brothers," she said. "That's why you're afraid of Pasillon, because you-we-brought them here for Lok-iKol as well."

He was motionless, but Mar saw in his face that it was so. She looked around the room at her folded clothing, her half-filled travel pack. Her instincts had been better than she knew.

"What can we do?"

"Go to the Tenebroso." Gundaron got to his feet. "She's the only person in the House more powerful than the Kir."

"Will she stop him?"

"I'm sure she will." But Mar saw the uncertainty cloud his eyes as he turned his head away. What odds the old woman didn't already know?

A knock at the door startled them both.

Guilt, Mar thought. Mar thought. That's what's wrong with us. That's what's wrong with us.

Gundaron looked at her and she swallowed, straightened her dressing gown and, closing it once more with her hand to her throat, went to the door.

"Who is it?" she called. And how long have you been standing there listening? And how long have you been standing there listening?

"Okiron, Lady Mar."

Gundaron motioned to Mar and she backed away, letting him open the door. Standing on the threshold was the boy page who served this corridor. He looked pale, and there were the marks of tears on his cheeks.

"What is it?"

"The House is fallen," the young boy said, shock apparent in the reediness of his voice, "The Tenebroso Kor-iRok is dead."

Mar felt her hands and feet go icy cold. Too late, Too late, she thought. she thought. We've left it too late. Is this Pasillon? We've left it too late. Is this Pasillon?

Dal-eDal looked at his cousin, the new Tenebroso Lok-iKol, and knew exactly how that felt.

The man who stood in Kor-iRok's bedchamber with him, and watched with him while the Steward of Walls and the Steward of Keys examined the room and the tiny figure on the bed-when had the old woman become so small?-was Tenebroso now. Lok-iKol stood halfway between Dal-eDal's post at the door and the bed on which the body of the Fallen House still lay, observing without apparent emotion as his servants performed their duties, He is the Tenebroso, Dal thought, watching his cousin, Dal thought, watching his cousin, and that means I am the heir. and that means I am the heir. Though he was sure Lok was in no hurry to hold the ceremony that would acknowledge Dal, and change the format of his name. Even if there was no one closer to the succession until Lok married and produced his own First Born, his Kir. Dal tapped his thigh with his closed fist. That wasn't strictly true, now that he thought about it. There Though he was sure Lok was in no hurry to hold the ceremony that would acknowledge Dal, and change the format of his name. Even if there was no one closer to the succession until Lok married and produced his own First Born, his Kir. Dal tapped his thigh with his closed fist. That wasn't strictly true, now that he thought about it. There was was someone closer than himself to the succession. It must be fifteen years or more since someone closer than himself to the succession. It must be fifteen years or more since that that particular cousin-Dal glanced up at the ruin of Lok's left cheek, his missing eye-had been Cast Out. particular cousin-Dal glanced up at the ruin of Lok's left cheek, his missing eye-had been Cast Out.

"A seizure of the heart," Karlyn-Tan was saying. Dal-eDal turned his attention back to the bedside of the Fallen House. Karlyn-Tan rose from the bed, finished with his examination of the body. Semlin-Nor was bent over the Fallen House, making the body straight and covering it with the bedclothes until the lady pages would be allowed back in to tend to it. Both Stewards were in full formal livery, as was every servant and guard in the House by now. Karlyn even wore his sword.

"Are you certain, my Walls?" Lok-iKol's beautiful voice was softer than usual. Was it possible that he actually had some feeling for the woman who had been his mother? At that moment Dal-eDal realized that he was taking it for granted that Lok-iKol had had his mother killed.

"I am certain, my House," Karlyn-Tan said. "You may note the color of the skin, and the slight amount of froth on the lips. There are no other marks or wounds." The man looked up. "It would have happened during the second watch of the night, my House."

Dal-eDal noted the emphasis on the formal t.i.tles absently. Everyone would be very sure to observe strict protocol for the next moon or so, until they had all had a chance to accustom themselves to the new regime. After that, the level of formality would depend on the wishes of the new Tenebroso.

Lok-iKol nodded. "Do you concur, my Keys?"

"I do, my House." Semlin-Nor gave the heavy quilted bedcover a final tug and stepped back from the bed and its burden. "As the Steward of Walls has said, there is no mark or wound, no sign of struggle."

"Poison?"

"None we can detect, my House," the woman continued. "There is no change of skin color, the eyes appear normal. I would also say a seizure of the heart, my House."

"Very good," Lok-iKol said, though what exactly he intended by that was not clear, thought Dal. Dal watched his cousin slowly nodding, the man's gaze fixed on the still figure of the woman who had been his mother, the head of his House, and perhaps, in these later years at least, thought Dal-eDal, the thwarter of his ambitions.

"That will be all, I think, for now," Lok-iKol said. "Have her people prepare her. Dal, Cousin, may I ask you to send the proper messages?"

"Of course, my House," Dal replied, inclining his head in a slight bow.

"I thank you all for your service." It was so obviously a dismissal that Dal bowed again and gestured to the others to precede him out of the room. Perhaps Lok would like to check for himself, make sure the old woman's really dead, Perhaps Lok would like to check for himself, make sure the old woman's really dead, Dal thought. Dal thought.

"Thank you, Mother," he said, sitting down in the slipper chair next to the bed and taking an apple from the bowl on the bedside table. "The timing of your death could not have been more perfect." In fact, if she hadn't died in her sleep, he would have had to take measures himself. All his work, all his planning, had not been done to place his mother on the Carnelian Throne.

His mother gone, a Finder, a Healer, and now a Seer in his hands. A Mender located. Lok turned the apple over in his fingers, automatically noting the perfection of its skin. A Seer was the rarest, and the most useful of the Marked. Not to be wasted by giving her to the Jaldeans, watching her disappear or be ruined as others had been.

Let Dhulyn Wolfshead choose to stay, Lok-iKol thought. There must be some way to persuade her. There always was. She seemed to like the Scholar; perhaps something useful could come of that. Lok needed to know what was to come, if he was to perfect his plans.

In any event he had to act quickly. Beslyn-Tor's unexpected visit had shown him that. Should he wait until the Jaldeans became too strong, he would never free himself of their hold. For it was in no way a part of his plan to become a puppet of the priests. Let them help him to the throne, and then they might find that the pursuers often became themselves the pursued. He knew how to use the Tarkin's power, better than that soft-handed weakling who had it now.

"Up to your battlements, are you? I wish I had such a place to help me think. I'm afraid times like this will find me in the kitchen eating the sweetest thing I can find." Semlyn-Nor's tone was light, but her face never brightened.

"There are no times like this," he said, getting to his feet.

"When I think that, but for an accident of birth, it might be you in there . . ." Semlyn shook her head.

"Rather an accident of marriage, wouldn't you say?"

"Don't look at me like that, Kar. There's plenty in the House will be having these same thoughts just now."

"Perhaps," Karlyn acknowledged. "But you should not say them aloud, all the same." It was a reflection of just how badly she was shaken that she said such a thing at all, he thought. Semlin had been very close to the Fallen House, and this would come harder on her than it would on him.

He patted his fellow Steward on the shoulder and left, directing his steps through the maze of hallways and stairs that would end with the room where Dhulyn Wolfshead undoubtedly lay wondering what had delayed her breakfast. This would be the perfect time to use the hacksaw blade that rested in his scabbard, alongside his formal sword.

This time Karlyn made no attempt to be quiet as he unlocked the door. He was not hiding anything from anyone. He pushed the door open slowly, and as it cleared the bed, his heart stopped.

The cell was empty, the chains with their manacles neatly coiled on the bed.

When his breathing had returned to normal Karlyn left the room, relocking the door behind him and headed to Dal-eDal's rooms in the east wing. Dhulyn Wolfshead was gone, safe, and therefore his people were safe also-though Karlyn wouldn't take odds on how long Lok-iKol might live. The man might as well be cursed.

And it was very unlikely he himself would ever see Dhulyn Wolfshead again.

He told himself that what he felt was relief.

Twelve.

"YOU HAVE NEWS that will not wait?" Alkoryn Pantherclaw's voice was as thin as paper. He lifted his blue eyes from their scrutiny of the map fixed to the top of his table, looked from Dhulyn to Parno and back again. "Tell me."

Dhulyn stifled the impatient movement of her right hand before it became anything more than a tremor in her nerves. The captive Mercenaries had split up upon making their escape from Tenebro House, she and Parno taking one route while their Brothers took another. Besides being good strategy, it had given her a chance to tell Parno privately of Lok-iKol and her Visions. And given them the chance to prepare a report for their Senior Brother that did not mention her Mark.

She took a deep breath to steady herself as she began to speak.

And stopped.

She had never lied to a Senior Brother, never once since Dorian the Black took her hand in the hold of the slave s.h.i.+p. Neglected to tell things, perhaps, but lie lie? She looked over to Parno, leaning against the table to her right, saw concern mingling with fatigue in his face, clouding his amber eyes. Untold secrets hovered in the air between them, as well.

This was not what she wanted. This was not what the Brotherhood meant to her. I cannot have this. I cannot have this. She sat up straight, hands firm on the tabletop, and hoped her judgment was not as clouded as Parno's eyes. She sat up straight, hands firm on the tabletop, and hoped her judgment was not as clouded as Parno's eyes.

She cleared her throat. "My Brother," she said. "I bear a Mark." From the corner of her eye, she saw Parno's head jerk up an inch before he regained control.

Alkoryn's fingers froze in their idle tracing of the lines of river and road. He lifted his hands from the map, sat up straight against the back of his chair, and let his hands fall to his thighs. When he had stared at her without speaking for some time, she continued.

"I am a Seer."

Alkoryn struck his thigh with his fist. "A Seer. By the Caids, a Seer Seer." He looked at her sharply. "Does Dorian know?"