Part 11 (1/2)

”Best you let me go,” she said in her steadiest voice. ”Are you certain what you want from me is worth the risk you take?”

The young Scholar shot a quick glance at the Kir. ”Are you one of the Espadryn?” he asked her. ”Can you see the future?”

Dhulyn drew back her head and knitted her brows, giving him her best confused look to cover the cold sinking of her stomach. It wasn't all that difficult.

”My name is Dhulyn Wolfshead,” she said. ”I'm called the Scholar.

I was schooled by Dorian of the River, the Black Traveler. I have fought with my Brothers at the battles of Sadron, of Arcosa, and Bhexyllia. Parno Lionsmane is my Partner-and where is he by the way?”

Again, the boy glanced over his shoulder at the Kir.

”For the moment safe,” the One-eye said, ”though if you do not answer our questions, I may be forced to injure him. Or worse.”

Dhulyn didn't bother to stifle her snort of laughter.

”We're Mercenaries, you blooded fool. We already know we're going to die. Kill us, don't kill us.” She shrugged as well as she could with her arms bound to the chair. ”Save your threats for someone you can frighten. Here's a threat for you.” She paused to give the word weight. ”Pasillon.”

One-eye didn't react, but the young Scholar paled even more, and his lips trembled. ”Get book boy here to explain it to you.”

The Scholar turned to face the one-eyed man.

”My lord Kir,” he said. But One-eye didn't even blink. In fact, Dhulyn thought he might have smiled, just for an instant.

”Pasillon is an empty threat, Scholar. The world has changed and no one will come for her, any more than they came for the others.”

Others? Dhulyn pressed her lips tight. He had done this to other Brothers? Or just other captives? One-eye directed his words to the young Scholar, but his gaze never left Dhulyn's face. ”This one and her companion were seen leaving Gotterang by the north gate. Their Brothers will think that, having been paid for the delivery of the Lady Mar-eMar, they have gone vagabonding.” Dhulyn pressed her lips tight. He had done this to other Brothers? Or just other captives? One-eye directed his words to the young Scholar, but his gaze never left Dhulyn's face. ”This one and her companion were seen leaving Gotterang by the north gate. Their Brothers will think that, having been paid for the delivery of the Lady Mar-eMar, they have gone vagabonding.”

Dhulyn kept her face impa.s.sive. One man, at least, would know exactly where they were, would not be fooled by any stories of the North gate, no matter how well witnessed. But was Alkoryn Pantherclaw likely to knock at the House Door and ask the Steward of Walls for his missing Brothers in time to do them any good? And if they were asking about her Mark, it wasn't just their lives at stake here, and these people might, in fact, be able to do much worse than merely kill her.

”If she will not answer the easy way, then we must try the hard.” Lok-iKol stood and revealed a tray of small bottles with waxed stoppers and an apparatus in the shape of a gla.s.s funnel with a long, curving spout.

The Scholar's eyes widened. ”My lord, you can't-”

”I have said you may leave, Scholar. Though I understood that this time, at least, you had questions of your own.”

The boy licked his lips again, looked at the door, looked at Dhulyn's face. There was an armless chair next to the table. As if against his will, he sat down.

The One-eye picked up the funnel and edged around her chair. Dhulyn heard a sharp metallic click, and felt a pressure on the strap around her forehead, increasing as her head was pulled back and down until her throat was exposed, her mouth sagging open, and she could see behind her to where he stood at the mechanism, part crank, part ratchet, to which the strap around her head was attached.

”I advise you to relax,” the silken voice said. ”I am going to use this tube to deliver some liquid into your stomach. If you struggle, I may miss and get your lungs instead. I advise you to be still.”

Briefly, Dhulyn considered struggling anyway, but with her head in this position, she couldn't even keep her teeth clenched tight. It wouldn't be poison-there were faster and easier ways to kill her, if that's all they wanted. While she still lived, she could get out of this- or Parno could get her out. She closed her eyes, made all her muscles relax, and tried to concentrate on what she'd told Mar about the sword swallower.

”My Brother, I greet you,” she said formally. ”I am Fanryn Bloodhand. Called the Knife. Schooled by Bettrian Skyborn, the Seeker. I have fought with my Brothers in the north, at Khudren and at Rendia. I fight with my Brother, Thionan Hawkmoon. The smaller arm bone is cracked, my Brother. Careful how you move it.”

”I am Parno Lionsmane,” Parno said. His voice came out in a stiff croak and he cleared his throat. ”Called Chanter. Schooled by Nerysa of Tourin, the Warhammer. I have fought with my Brother Dhulyn Wolfshead at Arcosa and Bhexyllia. Is she with us?” He knew she couldn't be. If she were in this cell, Dhulyn would be in his line of sight. But he had to ask.

”I'm afraid not, Brother,” Fanryn said. ”With us is my Partner, Thionan Hawkmoon. Also Hernyn Greystone. But the one called Dhulyn the Scholar was not brought here.”

Parno nodded. ”We'll take it that she lives, then.” Mercenary lore always said one Partner would know if the other died, but Parno wasn't sure he believed it. ”How long?” he asked.

”A day and most of the second,” Fanryn said. ”I thought you might wake up when I first bound your arm, but I had no such luck.”

Parno began the slow process of sitting up. Bruises and abused muscles had stiffened as he slept. When she saw that he was determined, Fanryn slipped an arm behind him and helped him settle his aching arm in a sling she had ready, evidently torn from her own tunic. He looked around him. Fanryn sat back on her heels, her Partner Thionan hovering over her shoulder. At a guess they were close to his own age. Both women were tall, though not so tall as Dhulyn, both with the catlike grace that comes of good training and better muscles. They might have been sisters, except for their coloring. Fanryn was as golden blond as Parno himself, while Thionan had green eyes and hair close to black. Even so, Parno had known of parents who had produced such disparate offspring.

The third Brother, Hernyn Greystone, was by far the youngest. A lanky boy with mousy brown hair, and a black eye that discolored most of the left side of his face. There was another pallet against the far wall of their prison, but the young Brother sat on the floor with his back to the wall, his arms wrapped around his knees.

The room itself was cool, the walls dry, made of large blocks of undressed stone. What debris there was was surprisingly clean, sc.r.a.ps of straw and chips of wood, as from packing cases roughly opened. Whatever this room had been originally-and the heavy door with the small barred opening suggested a cell-its most recent use appeared to have been as a storage room.

”Well, I've been in worse places,” Parno said, grateful for the steadying arm of Fanryn the Knife.

”All this is due to me.” Young Hernyn Greystone lifted his head off his knees.Thionan Hawkmoon shut her eyes and made an impatient sound with her tongue.

”You are here through my fault, my Brother,” the young man continued in the slightly righteous tone of someone determined to speak the truth, come what may. ”You and the Wolfshead. They asked if I knew of a Brother, a tall woman with blood-colored hair. I knew of her, schooled by Dorian of the River as I was myself. So I gave them her name.”

Parno winced as he leaned forward. ”Who are 'they'? Who asked you these things?”

”Some of the guards here,” Hernyn said. ”I thought them just curious. I meant no harm.”

Thionan made her impatient sound again. ”There is always harm in flapping the tongue. I'm surprised you didn't learn that that with Dorian.” Her voice was unexpectedly deep and rough. with Dorian.” Her voice was unexpectedly deep and rough.

”Have done, Thio,” Fanryn said. Parno could tell they had tossed this bone back and forth many times already. ”Anyone could go to our House and get the same answer. What harm could there be in repeating common knowledge?”

”I should have thought the answer self-evident.” Thionan spread her hands out to take in the walls around them. She shook her head and stalked all of three strides across their cell to seat herself on the other cot.

”Wait, wait,” Parno said. He tried to pat the air in front of him in a ”calm down” motion, hissed in his breath, and bit down on a grunt. Hernyn buried his face again. Thionan stood up once more but was waved off by her Partner.

”Sit still, my Brother,” Fanryn said. ”I'll have to bind that more tightly. Ask all the questions you wish, but for the Caids' sake, sit still.” Fanryn folded Parno's arm delicately across his stomach and began to tie it in place with strips of the same heavy cloth she'd used as the sling. The immobility of his arm made him more uncomfortable than the pain, but he did not protest. Mercenaries made the best surgeons, for obvious reasons, and he was not fool enough to argue.

”Perhaps you might start at the beginning,” he said. ”I know, more or less, how how I got here, if not I got here, if not why why. What are your stories?”

”Simple enough,” Thionan said. ”Straightforward guard detail. The Tenebros lost a few guards on caravan last fall. I think the Cloud People, wasn't it?” She waited for her Partner's nod before continuing. ”Anyway, it's hard to get good men in the city. If you're in the country now, that's different. You just promote some of your yeoman's children, your farm boys who don't care too much for farming, and there's your new recruit. But here in the city-well, there aren't so many extra pairs of hands here. The children of House servants rarely make good guards, even if they're willing, and as for hiring outsiders-the questions come up, don't they? 'Why did you leave your last place of employment?' People looking for a change aren't the kind you want guarding your walls. And it's too blooded dangerous to take some one else's castoffs.”

”So they hire Mercenaries,” Parno said. There was nothing new for him in what Thionan was saying. Let her talk, Let her talk, he told himself. he told himself. Let's get comfortable with one another. Let's get comfortable with one another. He knew from the battles they'd fought in that he was the Senior Brother present-though that would change when they found Dhulyn-let Thionan give him her report. They would all feel better for a little ordinary discipline. He knew from the battles they'd fought in that he was the Senior Brother present-though that would change when they found Dhulyn-let Thionan give him her report. They would all feel better for a little ordinary discipline.

”So they hire Mercenaries,” Thionan agreed. ”Specifically myself, my Partner and, not many moons ago, our Brother Hernyn here.”

”When did they ask about Dhulyn Wolfshead?”

Fanryn tied off the last strip of cloth and eased Parno back against the cold stone wall.

”They never asked me,” Thionan said.

”Or me,” Fanryn echoed. ”Though, I daresay, we might either of us have answered. In our Brotherhood, your names are well known.”

”Aye, you're probably right,” Thionan conceded with a shrug. ”After all,” she added with a neutral look at Hernyn, ”what harm?”

Hernyn shrugged and bit his lip. Parno sighed. They didn't have time for the boy's self-pity.