Path of the Sun: A Novel of Dhulyn and Parno (21 page)

“It has been long since we have met with others who came through the Door. In the times long ago, they were kings and leaders among their people who came.” He hesitated for a moment, looking from Dhulyn to Parno and back again. “Though there were others also, put to the trial, to see if their lives were forfeit to the Mother of us all.”

Tarkins who didn’t come back
, Dhulyn thought. Or did the old man mean something else?

“You will understand,” the shaman continued, “that we must satisfy ourselves as to
your
natures and purpose. You do not have the look of kings or leaders. You, Dhulyn Wolfshead, are obviously a woman of our people, but you do not hold Parno Lionsmane at your mercy, as some of us believed. You risked your life to save him, you neither ran when you had the opportunity, nor did you seek to trade his life for you own.”

Dhulyn shook her head, but no clarity presented itself. “I don’t understand, Grandfather.”

“Nor do I, my child, and as I have said, I would like to.”

The man on the spotted pony muttered something under his breath again.

“Sun Dog,” Singer of the Wind said. “You are not a child. Speak if you have something to say before men.”

The man shrugged. “I do not think I have ever seen a woman armed.”

“Sun Dog’s frightened,” another young man said.

“I saw her knock you out of your saddle, Rock Snake, so perhaps I’m right to fear her, if only for your sake.”

The others laughed.

“Do you doubt my magic, Sun Dog.” The smile on Singer of the Wind’s face was cold. “Do any of you?” he looked around, carefully meeting the eyes of each of the other Horsemen. Each, in turn, shook his head. Several lowered their eyes in the face of the old man’s fierce gaze.

“No, I imagine you do not,” the shaman said. “I have said that this young woman is whole and safe. I do not know how it is possible, but I hope to learn.” He turned back to them. “I am right, am I not, my child? You are Marked with the Sight?”

“I am.”

“And the other women of your Tribe? Are they like you?”

“I believe so, Grandfather. But in our land, the Tribes of the Espadryni were broken when I had seen my birth moon only six times. I remember very little, though I have Seen more.”

“And your women lived freely?” Dhulyn lifted her shoulders in the face of the man’s persistence. “Though they were Seers? They went armed? They married? Did they love their children?”

Dhulyn blinked, thinking of the tall, red-haired woman whom she had Seen so often in her Visions. “My mother loved me,” she said. “She hid me from the Bascani, those who broke the Tribes. I cannot say what the other women felt for their children. I have only Seen them in Visions, and then usually dancing.”

“And they did not bring about the breaking of your Tribes?” There was a shuffling among the other Horsemen at these words.

“That I cannot know,” Dhulyn admitted.

“If they did so,” Parno interrupted, his tone dry. “They brought about their own destruction as well. So far as we know, Dhulyn Wolfshead is the only living Espadryni in our land.”

Singer of the Wind looked around him at the other Horsemen, as if to draw his followers’ attention to Parno’s words. Several of them nodded their acknowledgment.

“Tell me, then,” the shaman said. “What
is
your purpose here? What has brought you to this side of Mother Sun’s Door?”

“There have been killings, on,” Dhulyn hesitated. “On our side of the Door. Almost six moons ago two of our Brotherhood set out to track the killer, and they disappeared, never to be seen again, though now we have reason to think they may have come this way. Three nights ago, during the full of the moon, there was another killing, and the killer’s trail led us into the Path of the Sun. So we seek this killer, but we also seek our missing Brothers.”

The shaman was nodding. “So your purpose is one of honor and mercy. To find this killer and to stop him taking any more life. To give aid and rescue to your Brothers.” Once again Singer looked around at his companions. This time they all nodded. He turned back to Dhulyn and Parno. “There is more we need to speak of. Will you come to our camp?”

Parno was not at all surprised that the Espadryni allowed them to mount, especially when he and Dhulyn were casually maneuvered into the center of a loose grouping of riders. The old man, Singer of the Wind, rode between them, Dhulyn on his right and Parno on his left.

“Grandfather,” Dhulyn said when they had been riding in silence for half a span. “How did you know to come when you did? Can you sense when the Door is open?”

Singer of the Wind smiled. “Only if I wish to pass through myself,” he said. Parno pricked up his ears. So the shaman, at least, could use the Path. “Still, I do not doubt our Mother the Sun has some hand in the chance of our meeting. We came to escort this young one.” He indicated a younger version of himself, riding to Parno’s left.

The boy, as if knowing himself spoken of, looked over and met Parno’s eye. This was the fifth rider, Parno realized, the one who had ridden behind the central four.

“We come to make him acquainted with the place of his ordeal. Soon, after the proper rituals and meditation, he will try to pass through the Door.”

Dhulyn leaned forward just enough to glance at Parno, making sure he too had heard this. Parno lifted his right eyebrow, showing he understood. It was not only the old shaman, then, who could pass through the Door.

“We didn’t interrupt his attempt?” Parno asked.

“No, Ice Hawk has not yet camped here alone for a full cycle of Father Moon, asking his blessing. He is some days away yet from his ordeal.”

Parno had already concluded that the Espadryni’s camp was only a short ride away. It was clearly no more than a temporary stopping place where the Horsemen had taken advantage of a large dip in the surrounding plain, where the winds had exposed a few large boulders. Here they had set up two shelters formed with spears and skins—one, from the look of the amulets and talismans suspended from it with strings woven from hair the color of old blood—belonging to the cloud shaman, Singer of the Wind. A fire ring had been made with stones, and there were packs and blankets neatly disposed around it, along with six riderless horses pegged out along the eastern edge of the hollow.

From the western edge of the camp, Parno scanned the area more carefully, looking for what he knew must be there—and found it. Concealed in the shadow of one of the boulders, his clothing almost an exact match for the rock, dirt, and scrub grass, was another Horseman, clearly left to guard the camp and the spare horses. When he saw that Parno had spotted him, the man stood and came nearer to the shaman, keeping his eyes locked on Dhulyn and his face as expressionless as a spear head.

“Singer of the Wind,” he said. “All is well?”

“Do not look so round-eyed, Moon Watcher, these travelers will think you have no manners. This is Dhulyn Wolfshead and Parno Lionsmane, visitors from the far side of the Sun’s Door.”

The man dipped his head to them without lowering his eyes, which he kept on Dhulyn, watching as she got down from her horse. He showed the same kind of watchfulness that the other men had earlier. Taking his cue from his Partner, Parno ignored him and dismounted. This was by no means the first time they had encountered Horse Nomads—though never before Espadryni—and courtesy dictated that no one ride within the perimeter of another’s camp, no matter how temporary. Parno noticed the man’s eyes get rounder still and his brows rise as he watched Dhulyn walk Bloodbone over to the horse line. Moon Watcher didn’t ask the Cloud Shaman, nor any of the other men, any questions, however. Unlike the others, he seemed to trust implicitly that Singer of the Wind knew what he was doing.

The old man took his seat cross-legged on a pile of what looked like inglera skins with the fleece left on, though they were an unusual rusty color. He signaled Parno and Dhulyn to sit next to him, one on each side.

After they had seen to their horses, the others sat down in a circle around the fire pit, and the boy, Ice Hawk, fetched skins of water and small rounds of travel bread to distribute among the men. Parno accepted his with a nod, waiting as Dhulyn did until the others began to eat before breaking open his own round, to find some sort of dried meat baked into the center.

Singer of the Wind pulled a knife from his belt and thrust it into the ground in front of him. After some fidgeting from a man to Parno’s right, the Horsemen fell silent.

“As I have said, Dhulyn Wolfshead, it has been long since warriors or kings have come through Mother Sun’s Door. There are tales of others. Mages who have come to test themselves against the path, as our young men do, or criminals, set the path as task or punishment. Though, as I say, it has been long since we have seen, or even been given warning, of any such. Before my own birth moon, or the birth moon of any of my acquaintance. You say you have come seeking a killer. Are you the arm of justice, then, in your own land, that you would brave the ordeal of Mother Sun’s Door?”

Dhulyn shot him a quick look, her lips parted. This would be the first time, Parno thought, that they had ever had to explain to anyone what the Mercenary Brotherhood was. Even the Mortaxa, on the other side of the Long Ocean, knew of the Brotherhood.

“We are a warrior brotherhood,” she said finally. “As our name implies. But we follow very strictly our Common Rule, and all in our land know the Brotherhood and know that we cannot be paid to go against our training, or our words, or our Rule. This same Rule bids us, for example, never to leave abandoned any of our Brothers who may be in peril or need of rescue, and it seems that, as I have said, two of our Brothers have walked this Path before us. We would brave more than the Path of the Sun to find them, and to avenge them if it is needed.” She paused, licking her lips, and looked to Parno, clearly unsure how to continue. It was typical of her to speak at this juncture of their missing Brothers and forget to mention the killer they were also looking for. Parno took up the explanation.

“It’s not uncommon,” he said, “in places where the rule of law is scarce or distant, for a Mercenary Brother to be asked to sit in judgment or to enforce the law of the land. We’ve done it, more than once, in our time. But this case,” he shook his head. “This is a little more complicated. Though we come with the knowledge and approval of the law of Menoin—” he broke off, as there was a muttering among the seated Horsemen. Singer of the Wind gestured the men silent once again, and Parno continued. “So we’ve come with their approval,” he repeated. “But primarily because the last victim of this killer had until recently been in our charge, and we feel, well, we felt . . .”

“We felt the killing had been done in despite of us,” Dhulyn said. “And that we cannot allow. It is this killer we look for. The one whose tracks we followed into the Path of the Sun was in our land three nights ago—”

“The full moon,” one of the Horsemen raised his hand.
Well that simplifies things
, Parno thought. Even if the sun moved in the wrong direction here, at least the moon went though its phases at the same time. The weather here seemed to agree that it was late summer. Perhaps there would other similarities.

The man who spoke was Sun Dog, the one who rode the spotted horse. Not a shaman, Parno thought, but perhaps someone in line to be chief. The young man had that kind of assurance. Singer of the Wind frowned at him, and the younger man merely dipped his head, as if in apology for the interruption. The shaman turned his attention back to Dhulyn, signaling her to continue.

“As for the killer.” Dhulyn swallowed and took a breath. Parno wished he were sitting close enough to her to touch her. “As for the killer,” she repeated and stopped again. “Tell me, Singer of the Wind, have you seen anything of this kind, here?”

Dhulyn began to describe the mutilated corpse they had seen in Menoin. At first her voice was calm, detached, as though she were doing no more than giving a routine report to a Senior Brother. As she continued, however, even though she gave only the necessary, telling details that would trigger recognition or memory among those listening, her voice thickened, her words slowed, and she began to falter and hesitate. Finally Parno signaled her with a wave of his index finger and finished the description for her, giving the last details of the untouched hands and feet.

When he stopped talking, several of the men were looking away. The young boy, Ice Hawk, had his hands over his mouth, and stared straight ahead. The long silence was broken only by that same man, who shifted again in his seat. Parno was beginning to think the man was sitting on an anthill and that some protocol prevented him from changing his place.

Singer of the Wind patted Dhulyn on her knee. “My child, take heart,” he said. “We must all see things in our lives that we would wish not to have seen.” He looked around him, gathering the attention of all the men. “But
we
have seen something here and can now bear witness to it. You can all of you swear of your own experience to what I know by the force of my powers. This woman is whole, her spirit intact, and she feels as anyone would feel.” He turned back to Dhulyn and patted her again. “Some might have said you have learned to act a part, my child, that anyone can study the correct words to use and the manner of using them. To make the voice sound heavy with sorrow or warm with interest. But no one can change the color of their skin at will. No one can turn pale, as you have done, without genuinely feeling the weight of what they say.”

Sun Dog, sitting on Dhulyn’s other side, also reached out and patted her on the knee. There were smiles on several faces.

Dhulyn’s face was impassive, but Parno could tell she was thinking furiously. Clearly what the old man was saying had great importance, but why? What was the meaning of all this talk of feelings and safety and wholeness? If they were in their own land, Parno thought, Dhulyn would not hesitate to simply ask, but here, she obviously felt she must be more circumspect. She had somehow gained the Espadryni’s trust, and she needed to keep it.