The Sleeping God Part 25

"Word has come from the Dome," Semlin said, and cleared her throat. "The Tenebroso is on his way."

"Sit down, Sem." Karlyn shoved his paperwork to one side. There would be time to do it once Lok-iKol had come and gone. Both he and Semlin-Nor had received messages from the Dome in the twenty-four hours since Lok-iKol had taken the Carnelian Throne, asking for one thing or another that the new Tarkin had decided he wanted from his own House. A levy of men from Karlyn-Tan, a favorite chair from Semlin-Nor. There were only two things the Tenebroso could not send for, Karlyn thought, and they were both in this room.

Semlin had shaken her head and remained standing, her hands on the high back of the chair across from him. "Which of us do you suppose he wants?" Semlin's voice was steady and true, but Karlyn-Tan had an idea from the whiteness of her knuckles on the chairback how much that steadiness cost her.

"I can think of no area in which you've failed the House," he said. "And I shall say so, should I have the chance."

"As will I for you," Semlin said, nodding.

Karlyn looked at her carefully, but there was no insincerity in her face. "No." Karlyn leaned back in his chair, tapping his lips with the fingers of his right hand. "I have reason to believe it will be me. Don't try to s.h.i.+eld me, you can't know the cost."

The woman across from him took her lower lip into her teeth, shot him a glance from under her brows before focusing once again on the papers which layered the top of his desk. Karlyn raised his eyebrows as awareness dawned.

"How long did you know?" he said, sitting forward again.

"The House knew, and told me." The words tumbled from her mouth. "She'd been looking for the golden-haired one, the Lionsmane, for some time. As for the rest," she spread her hands, "I keep the Keys, man, how could I not know when food was prepared, when rooms were cleaned and light taken to them? Heat? Bedding? As for the rest . . ." Semlin lowered her eyes, the corners of her mouth turning down. "I gave the Fallen House my solemn oath to make no mention of it, nor of her plans. The next I knew, she was Fallen, and the Mercenary Brothers were gone."

"That going will be on my head. As well as the going of the Scholar, and the Lady Mar-eMar. As Keys is your function, so mine is Walls."

The tightness in Semlin-Nor's shoulders relaxed, but her face did not regain its usual color.

"You'll see I'm right," he said, getting to his feet, and taking his sword of office down from its bracket on the wall near the door. Might as well be formal, Might as well be formal, he thought, he thought, it may remind Lok-iKol of his obligations to me, as well as mine to him. it may remind Lok-iKol of his obligations to me, as well as mine to him.

When he looked up from the silvered clasp of his sword belt, Semlin was already at the door. Her smile was a mere baring of teeth and her nod set her earrings swinging. There was little that his rea.s.surances could do. She knew as much as he did about what had gone on in Lok's rooms when he was just Kir. Maybe more.

They walked without speaking from Karlyn's tower rooms to the main doors, silent even in those portions of the corridors where they knew they could not be overheard. Semlin-Nor came as far as she could with him, stopping in the outer courtyard, at the lowest steps of the House.

"The Caids bless you," she whispered through barely moving lips as he stepped off onto the stones of the yard. "The Sleeping G.o.d keep you in his dreams."

"And you."

He could feel her eyes on his back as he crossed the outer courtyard to the gates to greet his House, the new Tarkin.

It was as he'd suspected. It was only Karlyn-Tan that the Tenebroso had asked to accompany him to his workroom. Lok-iKol sat behind his worktable, staring at the sharp nib of a pen as he rolled it between thumb and fingers. For the first time in many years, he had not invited Karlyn-Tan to sit.

"With respect, my lord," Karlyn said, "I remind you that they were not in my keeping, and that I know nothing of their leaving." It was safe for him to say so, as he knew that the keys for Dhulyn Wolfshead's shackles never left Lok-iKol's own hands. "Mercenaries do not require a.s.sistance in these matters. It is known they cannot be held, if it is their own wish to be gone."

"And the Scholar, and the Lady Mar-eMar? Were they a.s.sisted?"

"Once more, I remind you, my House, that neither I nor any of my men had orders to prevent any members of this House from proceeding about their affairs. We knew of no reason to prevent them from leaving."

"You remind me." Lok-iKol pursed his lips and straightening in his chair, dipped the pen into the open bottle of ink lined up perfectly with the piece of parchment waiting to be written on.

"My mother, the Fallen House, often said that as a young man there was no hunter as skilled as you. You will find my Scholar. You will find the girl, and you will find me the Mercenary woman, the Wolfshead."

"My hunting days are past, my House. I am Walls now."

"I know you cannot leave the House," Lok-iKol said. "But you will direct the hunt."

"Let me speak more plainly, my lord. No, I will not."

Lok-iKol looked up, lifting the pen from the paper. Karlyn-Tan watched the ink gather into a large drop at the tip of the nib, grow large enough to s.h.i.+ver for a moment in the morning sunlight streaming through the window and fall onto the page beneath. Still he said nothing, waiting for his House to speak.

"I am your House," Lok-iKol said finally. "And now I am your Tarkin as well. You are my Walls, and you will do as I ask."

"I am am the Walls of House Tenebro, my lord." Karlyn-Tan nodded, looking directly at the man seated at the worktable. "I am neither yours, nor mine, but Tenebro's. As I have said to you before, I serve only the House, with my own obligations, and my own judgment. It is my judgment that pursuing these Mercenaries will bring danger to the House. As Tenebroso, you may discharge me, but you cannot overrule my judgment." the Walls of House Tenebro, my lord." Karlyn-Tan nodded, looking directly at the man seated at the worktable. "I am neither yours, nor mine, but Tenebro's. As I have said to you before, I serve only the House, with my own obligations, and my own judgment. It is my judgment that pursuing these Mercenaries will bring danger to the House. As Tenebroso, you may discharge me, but you cannot overrule my judgment."

"Then you are discharged." Lok-iKol looked down at the page before him, twisting his lips when he saw the stain of ink. "Be gone by sunset. Take nothing that belongs to me."

Karlyn fought to keep his knees locked, to keep his hand from reaching for the support of the chairback next to him. It was as though he suddenly found himself on the edge of a chasm, and only firm control would keep him from plunging down. The chasm had always been there, but he had grown so used to it, he had forgotten it could harm him. As he managed to forget, most of the time, that this man was his half brother. A voice inside him, the voice of the boy who had never known any other home but this one, cried out that he should submit, that he should agree to anything, and his lips parted, but the words that came out. . . .

"I'll give you a piece of advice," he said. "There'll be no need to hunt for the Mercenaries, Lok-iKol. They will come hunting for you."

"I am Cast Out."

She put out a hand for the edge of the table, lowered herself into a chair.

"Do nothing. Say nothing. You are not safe here. Go, we never spoke." He could not endanger her. He, at least, had seen the outside world, even if not for fifteen years. She had been born in this House, and had never left it. If she were Cast Out, guilty by her a.s.sociation with him, it would destroy her.

Still, he could not help feeling hurt when Semlin ran from the room without further word. The touch on the hand she gave him as she pushed past was not much consolation. He sat down in the chair behind his worktable and let his face fall into his hands. He had until sunset. Until sunset to decide what, if anything, he was allowed to take with him. He had a little money of his own, saved up over the years. A ring and a dagger the Fallen House had given him. They could be considered his. Surely not even Lok-iKol would put him into the street naked, but was there anything in his rooms that was not of Tenebro colors, or which didn't bear the Tenebro crest?

Karlyn took a deep breath and looked up. From the angle of the sunlight on the desk, he'd been sitting here the better part of an hour already. And he had not given any thought to where he would go, once he'd found clothing. Was the Blue Dove Tavern still in business, he wondered, thinking of the last place he had stayed before coming to Tenebro House, and did it still rent rooms cheaply?

Leave the House. The fiery heat of his anger had finally died away, leaving a tightness in his throat and chest. He forced himself to take a deep breath, and then another. A sound made him get to his feet just as the door to the hallway opened. It was not, as he'd expected, Semlin-Nor, or even his a.s.sistant Jeldor-San, having just learned of her unexpected promotion, but the Lord Dal-eDal.

His hands full, Dal-eDal kicked the door shut behind him. In his right hand he carried a bulging saddle pack, and in his left, held by the scabbard, a sword. Both of these he put on the table in front of Karlyn.

"I did not knock, since I have learned that these are no longer your rooms."

Karlyn-Tan inclined his head.

"I have further learned that you have been told to leave with nothing that the Lord Lok-iKol has given you. Therefore, I have brought you clothing and a sword."

By the tone of his voice, and the expression on his face, Dal-eDal might have been pa.s.sing Karlyn the bread at a communal table and not the tools that might save his life.

"I may need to report that they come from your hand."

Dal-eDal shrugged. "Consider it reported. My cousin has returned to the Carnelian Dome, and I am the heir."

Karlyn nodded his understanding, feeling a tightness in his shoulders relax. It was to find Dal-eDal that Semlin-Nor had left in such a hurry. "In that case, I accept."

It was Dal-eDal's turn to nod. He straightened his cuffs as if searching for something more to say.

"Did he want you to find the Tarkin?"

"You mean Tek-aKet Culebroso? The former former Tarkin?" Tarkin?"

Dal smiled. "Yes, that is what I meant."

Karlyn took a deep breath, found further tension releasing. "No," he said. "The Scholar, the Lady Mar-eMar, and the Mercenary Dhulyn Wolfshead."

Dal leaned against the doorframe, folding his arms across his chest. "What is it about this woman? He tricks Mar-eMar into bringing her to Gotterang, and now, with all that must be occupying him in the less than two days he's been on the Carnelian Throne, he finds time to leave the Dome to ask you to find her?"

"The Scholar would know."

"And if we had the Scholar," Dal said, "we would know."

We? Karlyn thought. Dal presumed much on the basis of clothing and a sword. Karlyn believed he could put his hands on both the youngsters pretty easily, thanks to Jeldor-San's fast thinking in having them followed and to his own tracking skills, but he saw no need to tell Dal-eDal as much. Karlyn thought. Dal presumed much on the basis of clothing and a sword. Karlyn believed he could put his hands on both the youngsters pretty easily, thanks to Jeldor-San's fast thinking in having them followed and to his own tracking skills, but he saw no need to tell Dal-eDal as much.

The two men exchanged a long look.

"If you would," Dal said finally, "once you know where you are, send me word."

"Why not?"

Dal-eDal's parting smile was more than half grimace.

"Just as soon as I figure out who you'll tell," Karlyn-Tan said once the door had closed again.

Parno was using the sharpening stone he'd found in the underground chamber's weapons kit to put a better edge on one of the knives he'd been given from the Tarkin's armory. As soon as he could get upstairs, he'd be able to recover those of his own weapons-including his best sword-that had, along with the rest of his pack, been left with their horses at Mercenary House. He scowled at the knife, moving it this way and that as the light caught the edge. Was it really only a week ago?

Parno looked over the edge of the blade to find Bet-oTeb looking at him. The Tarkin-to-be looked very solemn, her eyes huge in the chamber's uncertain light. "My father wants you," she said. "If you would be so good as to come with me."

Parno bowed to her, put the knife back into the sheath he wore at his belt, and followed Bet-oTeb to the far end of the room, where the Tarkin sat with his wife. Tek-aKet smiled his thanks to his daughter and indicated that Parno should seat himself on the next bed.

The Tarkin looked tired, as well he might, having slept only a few hours after being up most of the night. Parno doubted he would have recognized the man had he merely encountered him on the street, any more than his second cousin appeared to recognize him. There was a world of difference between the seventeen year old he had been and the bearded, tattooed, and heavily-muscled Mercenary Brother he had become. The last time Parno had seen Tek-aKet, back when he himself had still been Par-iPar Tenebro, Tek had been thirteen, gangly and round-shouldered from study. Fourteen years later, Parno could see the old Tarkin in the shape of Tek's eyes, the breadth of his shoulders, and the firm set of his jaw.

Tek-aKet now leaned forward until their heads were almost touching.

"Zelianora and I have been taking thought," the Tarkin of Imrion said. "Am I correct in my understanding that you can speak for your Partner?"

Parno nodded. "We are the same person," he said.

"Can you tell me, then, whether she will use her Mark to help me?"

"More than she has already done," the Tarkina said, acknowledgment and grat.i.tude in her voice. Her husband flashed her a smile and nodded.

Parno looked down at his hands, clasped between his knees. The man thought he had a great tool, and who could blame him . . . Parno had once thought so himself. Experience had taught Parno differently, but how was he to convince Tek-aKet? Did Dhulyn escape from Lok-iKol only to fall into his cousin's hands? Parno looked at Zelianora Tarkina, who was watching her husband's face with steady dark eyes. Composed, almost serene. He looked back at the Tarkin. This man was not like Lok-iKol, he thought. Nothing like.

"One time," he said quietly, "Dhulyn woke up crying. She'd Seen a farmer drowning a basket of kittens. Is that the kind of thing you want her to tell you?"

Tek-aKet sat up straight, letting his hands fall to his knees. "You're saying she can't control it."

"I'm saying she can't control it." Parno rubbed his chin. He'd kill for the time to shave and a nice sharp razor, though he feared he'd have to wait until he left Imrion to do it. "At first, I thought it was just some kind of Outlander stubbornness. She hated the thought that I might be watching her in the morning, trying to see in her face some sign that she'd Seen something in the night. That I was waiting for her to tell me what to do next, instead of using my own brain. 'I'm not a crutch,' she used to say to me. But then I realized that she wasn't trying to teach me a moral lesson, but telling me the real truth. Her Mark wasn't something that we were going to able to use, to lean on."

"How does it work, then?" the Tarkina asked in her musical voice.

Parno shrugged. "It comes when it comes, waxes and wanes like the moon. Strongest with her woman's time, as if the blood brings it, and if she's touching someone, she's likely to See something pertaining to them. But not always. And sometimes she'll get Visions in between, not so clear, but sometimes." He looked up to find them both watching him.

"And you have to understand, there's never any context to them. The farmer with the kittens? She didn't know what country he was in, or when it would happen. If we'd wanted to stop it, we wouldn't have known where to go. She'll help you," he said. "We both will. But don't count on her Mark to win for you."

"It would not be more diplomatic to see him at least individually?" Lok-iKol frowned, resisting the desire to rub at his eye. He'd managed only a few hours' sleep in the last two days, and right now he felt they hadn't done him much good. The day had started well, the Dome and city were his, and the a.s.sembly of Houses had met and accepted him as Tarkin-though not quite by acclamation. House Penrado had pleaded illness and absented himself, as Lok had expected, but he had not actually protested. Lok would do something about that later.

But the day had not continued well. Lok closed his right hand into a fist. He had not expected Karlyn-Tan to defy him, and now he would have to find someone else to hunt for the Seer.

"A meeting at this time, my lord Tarkin, is a mere formality. They acknowledge you, and you remind them that existing relations will continue. Your rea.s.surances to the Berdanan amba.s.sador will carry more weight when spoken in front of such witnesses. When I said 'informal, ' I meant in dress and preparation, not in topic of discussion."

"Very well."

As Lok spoke, a page entered the s.p.a.cious room that had been Tek-aKet's public study. Lok-iKol let out his breath with such force that Gan-eGan looked up from the mark he was making on his parchment list.

"The Priest Beslyn-Tor is here, my lord," the page said. Gan-eGan dropped pen and parchments, and the page courteously stooped to help him retrieve them.

"My apologies, but I have no leisure for him today."

"My lord Tarkin."

Lok realized that Beslyn-Tor had followed on the page's heels and was already in the room. He suppressed the irritation that immediately rose to twist his lips. Gan-eGan looked around, brows raised and head twitching as he backed away from the priest. Lok's eye narrowed. It seemed there was something between Gan-eGan and the old priest. Something unpleasant.

Lok smiled. He'd expected Beslyn-Tor to turn up, though not quite so quickly.

"More wine and a gla.s.s for my friend," Lok said to the page, ignoring the Jaldean's shaken head and gesture of refusal. He'd never seen the man take either food or drink, and Beslyn-Tor was noticeably thinner than he had been when Lok had first met him, though he showed no other signs of ritual fasting. His color was good, his grip firm, his jade-green eyes particularly clear and his movements, as he took the chair next to the worktable without waiting to be invited, graceful.

Once more Lok-iKol suppressed a frown. "As you heard me say," he began, "I have no great store of leisure today. If you would tell me in what way I can a.s.sist you?"

"I have given you what you desired, yet you withhold my payment."

Again a darting glance from Gan-eGan, and another from the page, as he came in with a tray bearing a fresh flask of wine and a second goblet.

Lok looked at the tray as the page set it down on the table. "Leave us," he said.

Unexpectedly, Gan-eGan did not protest. Hugging his parchment lists to his chest like a s.h.i.+eld, he scuttled from the room. The page looked from the old counselor to Lok-iKol and back again, as if he might speak.

Lok raised his remaining eyebrow.

The page inclined his head, though his lips thinned as he turned to go. No one in Tenebro House would ever have looked at Lok like that. What has Tek-aKet been teaching his servants? What has Tek-aKet been teaching his servants?