Path of the Sun: A Novel of Dhulyn and Parno (36 page)

“I await them with pleasure, particularly if I may ask a few of my own.”

The rains began just as people were sitting down to the evening meal, but with the warning they’d received, everyone—except those assigned to watches—was already inside the inglera and horsehair tents or under other shelter. It was only a short time afterward that Bekluth Allain came to where Dhulyn and Parno had set out their evening meal of skillet bread, curds, and thin beer on the blanket they were using as a table.

“I won’t join you,” the trader said. His soft voice made the unfamiliar accent almost pleasant. “The Singer was good enough to feed me in exchange for news, and they’ve also told me something about your mission here and that you may have questions for me.” He spoke to Parno, but he was looking with frank interest at Dhulyn. “You’ll forgive me staring,” he said, when Dhulyn raised her eyebrow at him. “To see an Espadryni woman so closely—you can imagine how fascinating it is for me.”

“You do not normally meet with them?” Dhulyn said.

Bekluth Allain shrugged. “Never. At first I thought it was the custom of the Salt Desert People only, but I learned that all the Red Horsemen keep their women apart from other men.” He lowered his voice. “Do I have my suspicions as to the reasons for this?” He nodded, top lip sucked in. “I have my notions. Have I asked in so many words? No, I haven’t. And why not? Because they wouldn’t tell me, and they’d stop trading with me. Or, they might decide they needed to stop me from sharing my notions with others. If I don’t ask, things continue as they are, and to tell you the truth, I like my own company better than I like being a younger cousin in the largest trading family in Gelbrado.” He shrugged again.

“It’s true what we’ve been told? There are no Marked anywhere?” Parno asked the question he knew Dhulyn was hesitating to ask.

“So far as I know—and my family trades extensively—there are no adult Marked anywhere.” The trader let his voice return to normal volume. “But tell me of your problem; I’m sure you did not brave the Sun’s Doorway to question me about the Espadryni.”

Trying to give only the necessary details, Parno outlined what had happened in Menoin and what their mission here was in consequence. “There was torture,” he said finally, “before the death came. From the condition of the body it seems likely the torture was as important as the death, perhaps more. Nor can we be sure whether this was part of some ceremony or ritual—there are Mages also to consider, on both sides of the Path of the Sun. We followed the trail of the killer into the Path, but when we emerged on this side, the trail was gone. Have you seen or heard of anything in your travels that might help us?” But Bekluth Allain was already shaking his head.

“Have you, yourself, been near the Path of the Sun at any time in the last ten days?” Dhulyn asked.

“I have not,” he said readily. “Though I’m cursed if I can know how to prove it to you. But wait, there is often someone of the Espadryni keeping vigil or awaiting the opening of the Door—it is a ceremony common to the whole of the Tribes,” he added, “which so far as I know has never involved any ritual sacrifices. Perhaps that person can speak for me.”

“There was a young man there when we came out of the Path,” Parno said. “And it is true that he did not report seeing anyone else.”

“And yet the man that we followed must have been there,” Dhulyn said. “Unless, of course, there is more than one way out of the Path.”

Bekluth sat back, slapping his hands on his knees.

“You are very open, do you know that? Both of you.” He smiled at the look of polite interest on Dhulyn’s face. “You see? Others might take that look of polite interest for courtesy only, but I can tell—you
are
interested.” He put up his hands. “If only to the extent that politeness allows. But it’s unusual to meet people who are hiding nothing, not even from each other.”

“And how is it you have this talent?” This time Dhulyn smiled her wolf’s smile, her lip curing back from her teeth. Bekluth blinked, but his smile faded only a little.

“I’m a trader,” he said, tapping himself on the chest. “From a long family of traders. Generations. If I couldn’t tell what people’s hidden desires are, how could I know what to sell them?”

“And what are our hidden desires?” Dhulyn asked.

“That’s just it.” Bekluth was triumphant. “You haven’t any.”

“
I
THINK WE WERE on shipboard with the Long Ocean Traders the last time we checked our weapons for damp.” Parno squinted along the metal shaft of a collapsible crossbow before wiping it with an oiled linen cloth and returning it to its bag. The rain had stopped before sunrise, but it had been heavy enough that, though the sun was well up—and shining brilliantly, as if the weather here matched that of Menoin—the dampness had them undoing their packs to inspect their weapons for wet spots, damp, and rust. Espadryni passed them, most politely averting their eyes from the rows of weapons neatly laid out between the two Mercenaries, but many began to pass again and again, the bolder ones slowing to stare their fill—clearly curiosity was overcoming politeness.

“Do you miss the Crayx?” Dhulyn asked. They were sitting on two thick fleeces Parno had exchanged for playing his pipes the evening before, cross-legged and facing each other, so each had a clear view of the camp over the shoulder of the other.

Parno narrowed his eyes, though he continued scanning the area over her left shoulder. “It’s not so much that I miss them for themselves, if you understand me. It’s as though there is an absence, an emptiness where none was before.” He looked at her and smiled. “Which is odd, when you think about it, since I was never aware of my Pod sense before.”

“Well, they do say that you can’t miss something unless you’ve known it,” Dhulyn pointed out. She wound her extra bowstrings around her right hand and put them back into their pouch.

“I do sometimes find myself listening for the sounds or voices of the Crayx in my mind,” Parno admitted. “But less so now.”

“I wonder if there are Crayx in the oceans here,” Dhulyn said.

“I wonder if there are oceans.” Parno refastened the tie on the crossbow kit and reached for his roll of knives. He did not open it, however, but sat silent for a few minutes. “What was making you so quiet last night while I was playing? I’ll wager it wasn’t thinking about the Crayx.” He had dropped his tone into the nightwatch voice, though none of the curious were close enough to overhear.

Dhulyn shook her head. “When we implied that we did not approve of the way the Seers are handled, Star-Wind asked us what we’d have him do, break the Tribes? Let their race die out? But isn’t that exactly what my own people did? How else can we account for the fact that a race of Seers did not foresee the coming of the Bascani? Or did nothing to prevent the massacre? Hasn’t that been our question since we knew of Avylos the Blue Mage? Why didn’t my mother and her sister Seers stop the breaking of the Tribes?”

“They allowed it to happen, that’s what you’re saying.”

“That’s what I’m saying.”

“But why?”

“That’s what we still don’t know.”

A shadow fell across them, and they fell silent. Parno looked up and sideways. Dhulyn untied her last pack and pulled out the silk bag that held her vera tiles. She examined the olive-wood box with care, turning it over in her hands, holding it up to the light, before opening the plain clasps and checking over the tiles themselves.

“What, no maces? No pikes?” Bekluth Allain, cloak tied as if for traveling, with what was clearly a mock frown on his face, surveyed their equipment with his fists on his hips.

“We wouldn’t mind, but the horses would object,” Parno said. “We thought it best to bring with us only these few weapons that we could carry ourselves.”

Dhulyn let their voices pass over her head as she smoothed out a place in front of her to lay down the bag her tiles were normally stored in. Absently, she began to lay out the old-fashioned Tailor’s Hand, one of the simplest patterns and one of the first games vera tile players were taught. Each player chose nine tiles to begin, and the object was to take turns pairing up matching tiles, until you had matched all the tiles in your hand. The first to do so was the winner. Dhulyn frowned at the pattern the tiles had made and scooped them up again, turning them facedown preparatory to shuffling them and laying them out once more.

“You are formidable warriors indeed if you consider the array I see here as ‘few.’ ” Bekluth sounded more serious now. “There might be much work for you here.”

“Only if there were more of us, and we take a long time to School.”

Dhulyn made a face. If possible, the new hand was even worse than the previous one: not a single pair visible out of all the exposed tiles. Perhaps these ancient tiles, made as a tool to focus the Sight, resented being laid out for gambling.

“Vera tiles—are these your own? A follower of the gods of chance, are you?”

“We’re Mercenary Brothers, Bekluth Allain. Our lives are nothing
but
chance.”

Bekluth squatted down next to her. “Still, you’ve given me an idea. Would you sell me these?” He gestured toward the tiles with his smooth hand.

Dhulyn turned her head to eye him sideways. “No,” she said.

Bekluth froze, his hand still extended. “They are very beautiful—and old, too, if I’m any judge of bone.” Bekluth reached to pick up the tile nearest him, sucking in his breath when Dhulyn shot out her hand and had him by the wrist.

“I apologize for startling you,” she said. “But you would have touched it by the time I had spoken to stop you.”

“And
I
apologize,” he said. “I should have asked permission. It’s bad in a trader to show so much interest in anything,” he added with an easy smile. “My mother would be ashamed of me.” A shadow flitted across his face as he spoke. Perhaps his mother had died recently, Dhulyn thought, and he still felt her loss keenly.

“There would be a market for such things as these, if I can find someone to make them. Are there many games that can be played with them?”

“I know seventy-two variations,” Dhulyn said. “All of which can be used for gambling, or not, as the players desire. Some are even suitable for children.” She began to gather up the tiles, setting them facedown into their box. She refrained from mentioning their usefulness as a Seeing tool. Or perhaps they would have little use here, where the presence of so many Seers was in itself an aid to focus the Sight. Bekluth Allain either did not know the Espadryni women were Seers, or he pretended not to know, for the sake of his trade.
Either way
, Dhulyn thought,
it’s not for me to enlighten him
.

Bekluth had remained silent long enough that Dhulyn looked up. His smile was now a sad one. “I have said you are so open, you and your Partner. It seems a pity to force you to lie to me. As I’ve said, better I ask no questions and see nothing out of the ordinary.” He looked over his left shoulder, smiled and acknowledged a passing Horseman with the lift of his hand.

“May I borrow these?” he said, looking back to them. “The tiles? If you will not sell them, may I have copies made from this set? I believe we can negotiate a fee for use that you would find reasonable.”

Dhulyn looked up and met her Partner’s eyes. There was something about this request that struck her as wrong, though she did not know why. It was more, somehow, than not wanting to let these particular tiles, used for focusing the Sight, out of her hands.

“I’m afraid we don’t know how long we’ll be here or where our mission may take us,” she said. “We cannot lend you the tiles.”

“Perhaps it’s just as well. I don’t have the contacts among the people of fields and cities that I once had.”

Dhulyn noticed that he used the Espadryni’s phrase to refer to his own people. “How is it you came to trade among the Espadryni?” she asked. She would keep him talking, she thought. Somehow the way in which he was to help them would manifest itself. “Even in our world the Tribes were known to shun outsiders.”

Bekluth looked up and away, and for a moment Dhulyn thought he might not answer, that rather than put her off with lies, he might say nothing at all. Then, still looking into the distance, he began to speak.

“I mentioned to you yesterday that I come from a large trading family, one that goes back many generations. It was my family, in fact, that founded the Guild in Norwash, the city of my birth.” He glanced at them, then turned his eyes away once more. “My mother married against the wishes of her brothers and was left widowed very early—but not so early that she had not broken with them. It was only when I became old enough to take my place in the family, to join my cousins and uncles in the business, that my mother renewed her contact with them, though she never agreed to live again in the family compound, preferring to remain in the house my father had made for her.”

He paused, but it was evident he merely looked for the right words to use, Dhulyn thought. She had the impression he had not spoken to anyone about these things for a very long time.

“My mother asked that I not be sent on caravan, that I be given a post close to her, though it meant a smaller share, since I was her only child and she depended upon me. Her brothers persuaded her otherwise, assuring her that she was as much their responsibility as she was mine. They did not modify the training for me, and so I was sent to apprentice in a smaller trading house. At first all went well, and my mother’s fears were allayed; but while I was gone on my first caravan, my mother’s house was entered by robbers, and she was killed.”

He fell silent again, this time blinking. With quiet movements Dhulyn shook out the worn silk bag, brushing off any dirt that it might have picked up from the ground. She slipped the box of tiles back into the bag and pulled the braided ties shut.

“It was months before I was home again,” Bekluth said. “Months. It was all over by then, everyone had put her death behind them. They had even sold the house. My house. No one cared anymore. My grief annoyed and embarrassed them.” He hung his head.