Part 5 (2/2)

”Nay, child, she's been proven an honest woman, even without this.” Parno put a comforting hand on the young girl's shoulder. He ventured a glance sideways at Dhulyn. ”You don't think it could be . . .?”

”What? Tarlyn's bowl? Oh, Sun and Moon, no! The Book of the Mark, Book of the Mark, like these designs, goes back to the time of the Caids.” Dhulyn returned to her scrutiny of the bowl. The silence made her look up into Mar's stricken face. ”Oh, it is real, little Dove. A Scholar's artifact. But,” she shrugged. ”It could not be Tarlyn's bowl, is all. The designs are the true ancient ones, but the colors, see how sharp the blues and greens?” She traced her finger along the line of dancers. ”These have been no more than five generations in use.” like these designs, goes back to the time of the Caids.” Dhulyn returned to her scrutiny of the bowl. The silence made her look up into Mar's stricken face. ”Oh, it is real, little Dove. A Scholar's artifact. But,” she shrugged. ”It could not be Tarlyn's bowl, is all. The designs are the true ancient ones, but the colors, see how sharp the blues and greens?” She traced her finger along the line of dancers. ”These have been no more than five generations in use.”

”And that's not ancient?” Mar's eyes were wide with surprise. ”My grandmother's grandmother's mother?”

”Ancient for people, a.s.suredly,” Dhulyn said. ”But a mere five generations is nothing as artifacts are judged. The roads and other objects the Caids have left,” she gestured around her at the walls that sheltered them, ”are much older even than our oldest writings. Still,” Dhulyn caught Parno's eye again. ”Valuable as it is to anyone, it has a meaning for you and your House that it cannot have for any other.”

Mar took the bowl from the Mercenary's outstretched hands and lowered it back into its wrappings. She did not see the Brothers share another glance over her head.

”Are you happy to leave them, then, the Weavers?” Dhulyn watched the girl's face closely. This would make twice the girl had lost the only family she had ever known. Once upon the death of her own parents, and now again at this parting from her foster family. That she went to her own House, her own people, would be no great comfort, considering she had never seen any of them before.

”I think I would have had to leave anyway,” Mar said.

”How's that,” Parno asked from where he sprawled. ”There seemed to be enough business to need you.”

”Oh, yes,” Mar said. ”They'll have to hire another now, and someone not as well trained in their ways. But I think it would have come to that anyway.” She looked between their interested faces. ”You see, the younger son asked for me.”

”Not in itself unheard of,” Dhulyn said dryly.

”No,” Mar agreed. ”His father was not against it. He was willing to apply to House Tenebro for permission and dowry, but Guillor Weaver felt it might offend them.” The girl shrugged. ”If he marries elsewhere, Ysdrell can bring money to the business and the family with his marriage. Until my letters came I was no one, with nothing. After that I was too much a someone.”

Dhulyn carefully ignored Mar's slip. It remained to be seen what importance the number of letters had. It crossed her mind, however, to wonder whether the male Weaver had, in secret from his wife, contacted the girl's House, and if this ”urgent” summons to Gotterang was the result. ”At least you do not sound brokenhearted, my Dove.”

”Oh, no. You see, for me, that was the real problem. I did not want Ysdrell.” She added another stick to the fire and looked up again. ”That's why I would have had to leave.”

”A good enough reason,” Dhulyn said, feeling a knot of tension release. ”So this is as good a way as any, and better than most.” And it explained why the girl was so ready to go to Gotterang.

”How do you get your names?” Mar asked as she knotted the ties on her pack.

Dhulyn laughed. It appeared it was a night to ask questions, and not for Parno to play while she and Mar sang. ”Oh, different reasons at different times. Parno, for example-”

”I have the strength, the lordliness, and the beauty of a lion,” he cut in.

”And the smell,” said Dhulyn, and smiled as Mar laughed.

”What about you? You explained Scholar, but why Wolfshead? Is it because of . . . because of . . .”

”Because of the scar? Because of this?” Dhulyn smiled her wolf's smile, lips curling back off her teeth in a snarl, but she made sure the eyes above it were smiling, too, and Mar grinned back at her, not in the least afraid. ”Quite right, exactly because of that.”

Mar frowned, her head on one side, as if she was trying to picture Dhulyn without the scar.

”Do you mind it?” she asked finally.

To her own surprise, Dhulyn Wolfshead began to laugh. There was something about the young woman that made it easy to tell her. ”Mind it? Why, it was my salvation. If I'd thought of it, I would have done it myself.”

”You're just confusing the girl, Dhulyn, my heart,” Parno said. ”Tell her what you mean.”

”Ah well, it was long ago, and the story means nothing to anyone but me,” Dhulyn said, drawing down her brows. ”It's the tip of a whip, not sword or dagger, that gave me this mark. The metal-coated tip of a whip clumsily applied that flicked 'round me and caught me on the face. That was enough to ruin me in my master's eyes, so to the auction block I went. And from there to the slave trader's s.h.i.+p, and from the slave s.h.i.+p to Dorian the Black Traveler. And from his hands, to this moment. And from this moment . . . to a new subject,” she said, seeing Mar's stricken face. ”Tell me, little Dove, do you know a child's game called Weeping Lad, or Weeping Maid?”

”I know one called Sweeping Man,” Mar said.

”Do you know other variations?” Dhulyn said. ”We sang one when I was very young and I've been trying to remember the words.”

Late in the night, while Mar slept, Parno and Dhulyn lay wrapped in their bedrolls. They spoke so softly, lips to ear, that had Mar been awake, she would have been ready to swear they made no sound.

”It is a scrying bowl,” Dhulyn breathed into Parno's ear.

”To See?” Parno asked.

”More likely to Find,” she said. ”Did you not see how, though the outside is patterned with people and scenes, the inside of the bowl is a plain pure white? Like the bowl Grenwen Finder used in Navra? Only this one is much more costly.”

”Does the little one know?” Thus Parno avoided even the chance that Mar's sleeping ears might hear and register her own name.

”There have been Marked in the family, Finders most likely, and someone knew it, for it to have pa.s.sed so carefully, mother to daughter.”

”The Dove herself?”

”Not likely. She lost her parents early, but she would have noticed the signs when she grew old enough, as I did myself.”

Parno drew in a cautious breath. ”Do we tell her or no? With things the way they are, it may be dangerous for her to have it. You won't be the only one who can recognize it.”

”She'll need it to show her family, if what she says of proof is true.”

Dhulyn felt Parno's muscles tighten and then relax once more. ”We might do her a great favor if we broke it for her,” he said finally.

Dhulyn pressed her forehead against his shoulder.

”But it's so beautiful,” she finally said.

Dhulyn squeezed her eyes shut, tried to slow her breathing before it woke the others. Where was the courtyard? And who the child's mother?

That morning she and Parno practiced the lengthy Bear Cub Shora Shora while Mar watched wide-eyed from the entrance of their shelter. By midmorning the fog lifted enough that their campsite seemed to be in the midst of a clearing in the clouds. The midday meal, eaten outside of the shelter, where an outcropping-no doubt another piece of wall-provided dry seats, was accompanied by debate on whether it was worth continuing their journey, trusting to find another good shelter before nightfall, or to wait until the following day. while Mar watched wide-eyed from the entrance of their shelter. By midmorning the fog lifted enough that their campsite seemed to be in the midst of a clearing in the clouds. The midday meal, eaten outside of the shelter, where an outcropping-no doubt another piece of wall-provided dry seats, was accompanied by debate on whether it was worth continuing their journey, trusting to find another good shelter before nightfall, or to wait until the following day.

”It's only been seven days since we left the inn at the crossroads,” Dhulyn was saying. ”We won't lose any time by waiting until tomorrow.”

”I didn't say we should go on,” Parno said, sitting up to better make his point. ”I only said that it's been eight- eight-”

Dhulyn held up her hand, the gesture sharply cutting through the Lionsmane's lazy iteration of his point of view. He put his hand on the sword resting by his right side, and without the slightest sound drew it from its scabbard.

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