"Did you not see it?" Cullen said. "They moved as if they knew what to do, but had forgotten how." He looked between Karlyn and Dhulyn.

"Or as if they'd forgotten why, why," Dhulyn said. "There was no coordination, as if they'd never fought together before. As if they were each of them alone."

"We were lucky," Karlyn said. "You can be killed just as dead by someone who doesn't know why he's shooting at you."

"This is a kind of madness," Dhulyn said. "We saw this in Navra, Parno and I. Did you see their eyes? It is some effect of the Green Shadow."

"We waste time with questions we cannot answer," Dal said pushing away from the wall. "Come."

Three identical dressed-stone pa.s.sages led from the entrance hallway, each as wide as her outstretched arms, each carpeted with runners of woven matting to deaden the sound of servants' feet. Dal had chosen the one on the right, and they had advanced as far as the first cross corridor when they heard footsteps running. Dhulyn and Cullen had been walking with their swords at the ready, and now Karlyn and Joss lifted theirs, bracing themselves. Dal held up his hand and after a few moments it became clear that the running feet came no nearer, but were fading into the distance.

"They go to the throne room," Dal said.

"If our people are the target of those running guards, they will need our help."

"Throne room it is."

And even though they were helping him at the moment, Tek-aKet Tarkin didn't like it. He didn't like the darkness, the closed-in s.p.a.ces-hadn't liked it the first time through, but then he'd had Zella with him and the children and that had made a difference.

He didn't at all like that the tunnels existed, and he especially didn't like that the Mercenaries knew so much about them.

The pa.s.sage they followed now was narrow enough that in places they had to turn sideways, and Tek found himself thinking how lucky he was that he took after his slim mother, and not after the hulking bear of a man his father had been. As it was, there were one or two places where even walking sideways made for a tight fit. Parno Lionsmane, with the maps Tek didn't like to think about firmly in his mind, led the way. After a long, unbroken stretch of bricked tunnel, they came to a crossroads and the Mercenary Brother hesitated.

"Tell me again, Scholar, which way we should go."

Unable to turn completely, Tek looked over his shoulder at where the Scholar stood between Jessen and Tonal.

"He's in the throne room, Lionsmane. I'm sure of it."

Because of the confinement of the walls, Tek was the only one of the group who could see the man's face-and Tek was fairly certain even Parno Lionsmane didn't realize he could be seen. Tek saw distrust flit across the Mercenary's features, strangely bronzed by the light from the cresset he held. The distrust was followed by frustration as Parno Lionsmane shut his eyes tight. And finally the man shrugged.

"Throne room it is," he told the pale-faced Scholar. "If we live through this, you're going to tell me how you know."

Using his dagger, he scratched a pattern on the tunnel wall at eye height and added an arrow.

The tunnel grew gradually wider, and narrow slitted openings began appearing high in the stone walls, letting in some outside light. There was something familiar about the pattern of the light, and it dawned on Tek that this was the outer wall of the Soniana Tower, so called after a long-dead Tarkina, and the present-day location of the Carnelian Throne. He had seen these narrow slits in the walls from the outside, and thought them decorations.

There was light enough for them to see the end of the pa.s.sage before they walked into it. Parno Lionsmane signaled, holding up his left hand with the first two fingers extended. Tek pa.s.sed the signal back to his guards. The Lionsmane stuck the cresset into a bracket to the left of the wall in front of him and ran his fingertips over the bricks, feeling for the one glazed smooth. Tek saw him take a deep, quiet breath and let it out slowly, before he ran his hands over the bricks again.

"Should I hold the light?" Tek said.

Lionsmane shook his head. "The maps say the brick won't show, no matter where we hold the light, that only-here it is." Tek put out his hand and the Lionsmane guided it until Tek could feel the smooth glazing for himself. It was one of the smaller tying-in bricks, he thought smiling, placed sideways to the others both to create a pattern and to strengthen the double-layered wall. Unless you knew what to look for, the smooth surface was too small to draw attention to itself.

The Mercenary braced his fingers and pushed the smooth brick with his thumbs. "Lord Tarkin, your hands under mine, please." Even straining as they all were, Tek heard nothing, and it wasn't until they released the catch that Tek felt the wall give, shuddering slightly under their hands. According to the instructions that had been handwritten on the map, this section of wall was cantilevered, and they should be able to swing it open by pushing on the left-hand side.

Lionsmane drew his sword, and motioned Jessen and Tonal forward, showing them with the point of his blade where he wanted their hands. "I'll go through first and to the left; the Tarkin behind me and to the right. Guards, you follow up the middle. Scholar, stay out of the way of the blades." When everyone was in position, the Mercenary nodded and the two guards pushed against the wall to the left of the trigger brick. As promised, the wall opened, so quietly that without the change in light Tek wouldn't have been sure that it had happened.

"Who's been keeping this oiled?" he whispered as he followed the Mercenary through the narrow s.p.a.ce into the dressing room and stepped to the right. Lionsmane threw him a glance that made Tek's ears burn. Of course. The Brotherhood maintains the tunnels. Of course. The Brotherhood maintains the tunnels.

When Tek was growing up, this room had been filled with his father's robes of state, the Tarkin's coronet and the spear and sword, symbols of the Tarkin's office. Tek preferred less ceremony, and had always used the room as a private salon, where he could retreat to rest and refresh himself without technically leaving the throne room, or to send pet.i.tioners to wait for a more private audience. A thick rug covered the stone floor, with two comfortable chairs placed near a table covered with an embroidered cloth, tall enough to serve for either writing or dining.

As Tek stepped to the right out of the opening, he glanced down at this table. It held the cut-gla.s.s inkwell that Zella's sister Alliandra had sent him from Berdana's new gla.s.sworks. The ink had dried, and inkwell, pens, and embroidered cloth were all covered with a fine layer of dust. Tek tightened his grip on his sword and felt a chill trickle up his spine. His whole life he'd lived in the Carnelian Dome, and he'd never before seen dust on the furniture.

Lionsmane waited until everyone had come out of the secret pa.s.sage before he swung the wall shut behind them. The paneling was decorated with an inlaid pattern, and with a tap of his forefinger, he drew their attention to the piece of inlay that marked the door's trigger from this side. When Tek and his two guards had nodded, the Mercenary turned to look at the room.

"Does that door open directly into the throne room," he asked, his voice a quiet growl, "or is there another, connecting room?"

"I'm surprised you don't know," Tek said, smiling to take the sting out of his words. Well, Well, he thought, he thought, first you kill the wolf, first you kill the wolf, then then you worry about the holes in the fences. you worry about the holes in the fences. He would deal with the extent of the Mercenaries' knowledge when they lived through this. "Not a room, but a connecting pa.s.sage," he continued. "Go immediately right. The door on the left wall at the other end is the entrance to the throne room proper. The entrance will bring us out to the right of the Throne itself. The door opens toward us and will lay flat against the far wall." He would deal with the extent of the Mercenaries' knowledge when they lived through this. "Not a room, but a connecting pa.s.sage," he continued. "Go immediately right. The door on the left wall at the other end is the entrance to the throne room proper. The entrance will bring us out to the right of the Throne itself. The door opens toward us and will lay flat against the far wall."

Parno Lionsmane nodded, his eyes still on the door.

"Your best guess as to the number of guards in the room, Lord Tarkin."

"There are always two standing at the throne itself. This is not the normal time for audiences . . ." Tek turned to look at the Scholar, looking all the paler for a streak of dirt on his face, standing close to the hidden opening, as if he would like to go back through.

"He's there," the boy said. "Or the Green Shadow is."

Tek nodded. "Then there may be more guards. We should be able to hear voices through the second door."

"Very well," Parno said. "Keep the same formation, but come out striking."

Twenty-one.

ON THE COUNT of three, Parno dove out through the door held open for him, tossing throwing stars to the right and left and making an automatic count of the men in the room as he rolled up onto his feet. Five against each side wall, two flanking the formal entrance. None close to the throne. Twelve. Not so bad, if he didn't have Tek-aKet to worry about. But with luck there should be Brothers only minutes behind him in the tunnels, and Dhulyn only steps away. Between them he and his Partner could handle twelve easily, even while keeping the Tarkin and his guards alive. Tek-aKet had already followed him into the throne room and was engaging one of the guards standing against the right wall, with Tonal and Jessen running up to help.

Three guards in Tenebro colors approached him warily as Parno straightened to his feet and lifted his sword, already deciding which he would gut first. Just as he shifted his weight to make the first move, he was grabbed in a bear hug from behind, clamping his arms to his sides.

Idiot! he thought, cursing both himself and his a.s.sailant. He should have been aware of his own back, not watching for Tek's. As for the fellow who'd grabbed him, he must have been unarmed-otherwise why waste time with wrestling moves? Even as he was thinking this, Parno squatted, bracing his legs and bending forward to tip the man off-balance. The guard was not unskilled, however, and he countered Parno's shift of weight by thrusting his own leg forward between Parno's braced legs. The man was barrel-chested, the strength in his arms astonishing, and Parno felt his lungs close down, refusing his next breath. But he had some experience of his own, and this was no simple wrestling match, skill against skill alone, undertaken for money or glory, and over when one man was pinned to the ground. Years of Schooling allowed Parno to ignore the burning in his lungs, the pounding in his blood, and focus on distribution of weight, on leverage, angles, and cutting edges. Still squatting, he turned his dagger a few degrees of arc, stabbed back and upward, felt the hot gush of blood as he severed the artery in the man's thigh, took a deep welcome breath of air and shrugged his way out of the man's suddenly limp grasp. he thought, cursing both himself and his a.s.sailant. He should have been aware of his own back, not watching for Tek's. As for the fellow who'd grabbed him, he must have been unarmed-otherwise why waste time with wrestling moves? Even as he was thinking this, Parno squatted, bracing his legs and bending forward to tip the man off-balance. The guard was not unskilled, however, and he countered Parno's shift of weight by thrusting his own leg forward between Parno's braced legs. The man was barrel-chested, the strength in his arms astonishing, and Parno felt his lungs close down, refusing his next breath. But he had some experience of his own, and this was no simple wrestling match, skill against skill alone, undertaken for money or glory, and over when one man was pinned to the ground. Years of Schooling allowed Parno to ignore the burning in his lungs, the pounding in his blood, and focus on distribution of weight, on leverage, angles, and cutting edges. Still squatting, he turned his dagger a few degrees of arc, stabbed back and upward, felt the hot gush of blood as he severed the artery in the man's thigh, took a deep welcome breath of air and shrugged his way out of the man's suddenly limp grasp.

As he straightened, Parno lifted both his blades, swinging his sword through the arm of the Tenebro guard who was closing in on Tonal. Of the three who had been approaching him, only two were left and Parno leaped to engage them, forcing them back toward the throne itself. Lok was standing, a sword in his hand, looking out at the men fighting like an owl sitting on a perch, turning this way and that, watching for prey.

The dark man was Tek-aKet. The golden man would fight to save the dark man. Interesting. He could not TOUCH the golden man from here. But he could TOUCH the dark one.

"This way."

Mentally checking and approving the direction against the map she'd seen days before in Alkoryn's workroom, Dhulyn ran down the corridor after Dal-eDal. This was the right direction for the throne room, even though they'd missed the formal public approaches that would have taken them directly there. She quickened her pace until she was just behind the Tenebro lord. If he was leading them into a trap, she was willing to let him spring it. As they came up on a second cross corridor, they slowed. This pa.s.sage was not as wide as the one they were using, but its carpet was good wool, not the woven matting they were walking on. Here they might run into someone with authority.

"Hold your sword down and just walk straight across at a normal speed," Dhulyn told him. "From a distance we'll pa.s.s for Dome Guards. It's the stealth and the running that attracts attention."

They slowed to a walk, but just as they reached the other corridor, a slim, dark-haired young woman turned briskly into their pa.s.sageway. She yelped, took a quick step back, turned, and ran off. Training made Dhulyn pull out a throwing dagger before she thought again, and resheathed it. Killing the girl would accomplish nothing.

"So much for stealth," Dal said. "Let's hope she doesn't bring the guards."

"You mean more more guards?" Dhulyn said. guards?" Dhulyn said.

They were no more than ten or twelve paces past the intersection when a small group of six guards burst into the pa.s.sage behind them. They came, Dhulyn noticed, not from the arm of the corridor down which the dark-haired girl had fled, but from the opposite direction.

"Sun and Moon take them," Dhulyn cursed. They couldn't hope to outrun soldiers on their own ground, and while six were not too many to deal with, it would cost them time they might not have.

"Let me try something," Dal said. He took a step toward the approaching Guards with his hands up, palms toward them.

"We come to kill Lok-iKol," he called out, "and restore Tek-aKet to the Carnelian Throne. We'd just as soon not kill you, so are you with us or against us?"

Dhulyn grinned, seeing that the man in front, while unshaven, was otherwise tidy in the solid dark red uniform of the Tarkin's Personal Guard, as were three others. The remaining two wore the multicolored sleeves of the Carnelian Guards. Dal-eDal had good eyesight.

The lead guard rubbed his face with his free hand. "You've got Tek-aKet? He's alive?"

"He should be ahead of us," Dhulyn said. "With my Partner."

"You swear it's so?"

"I'm Dhulyn Wolfshead the Scholar, I was Schooled by Dorian the Black. I fight with Parno Lionsmane the Chanter. I swear by my Partner, may we both die in battle." Dhulyn touched her forehead with the back of the hand that held her sword.

The man reversed his own weapon and held it out to Dhulyn, hilt first. "I'm Dernan. We're with you. Lead on."

"You won't mind keeping your weapon, and taking the point position? It's not that I don't trust you," Dhulyn said, with a smile. "It's that I trust no one."

With their reinforcements surrounded, they crossed three more corridors on the way to the throne room, but the only other people they saw were two young pages. Unlike the dark-haired young woman, these two boys did not run away, but stood looking at them as they approached. They clung to each other, though Dhulyn was sure they weren't aware of it.

"Telian-Han," Dernan called out. "Go for Talya. Tell her to come help us kill the Tenebroso usurper."

Both boys broke into wide smiles and ran off down the corridor behind them.

The waiting area outside the wide oak doors of the throne room was just as dusty and neglected as the corridors had been. But somehow it made Dhulyn's skin tingle to see the tastefully organized chairs with their side tables carrying dead greenery and guttered candles.

"Take care, my lords," Dernan said, as Dhulyn, shoving her sense of unease to one side, ran across to the closed doors. "If you stay too long with the Tenebroso, or too near him, some illness takes you."

"I don't want to stay long in One-eye's company," Dhulyn said. "I want to kill him." She seized the gilded pommels in the center of the ornamental doors and threw them open.

Even as the others spread out, Cullen behind her, Dal to her right, Karlyn-Tan to her left, Dhulyn a.s.sessed the room, mentally ticking off friend from foe, looking for the one she wanted most to see. She found Parno just as he shrugged a guard off his back and cut off another's hand with a casual stroke of his sword before turning to engage two others. A guard she recognized as one from Mercenary House, who had been facing two opponents until one suddenly found herself hand-less, dispatched the man left to him with a broad cut to his head. Dhulyn was more than halfway across the room herself when she heard Parno cry out "Tek, no!" and increased her speed.

Parno's cry had a strange impact on the people in the room. Fighting all over the room faltered as several of the Carnelian Guards raised their weapons and stepped back from their opponents, looking around them as if unsure what to do. One even nudged a fellow guard who was still fighting out of the path of his adversary and called something Dhulyn couldn't hear into the man's ear.

Dhulyn ran past them and skidded to a halt.

Tek-aKet Tarkin and Lok-iKol Tenebroso were circling each other in front of the Carnelian Throne. Lok looked as though he had been wearing the same clothes for some days, and his hair hung stringy and unwashed. He still wore his eye patch, but a green glow shone from behind it, matching the color that shone from his good eye.

Dhulyn caught Parno's attention across the room and flashed him a grin as she circled around to the left, hefting her dagger. Now if only the Tarkin could maneuver the green-eyed dung eater around so that she could plant a blade in him. Her experienced eye was just telling her that Lok was holding his blade a shade too low, when Tek-aKet, remembering what they had taught him, swept the other man's blade aside and planted his own squarely in the center of the taller man's body.

For a moment they stood there frozen, Lok's arm falling limp by his side, his sword dropping to the floor with a clang of metal on stone, his green eye hooded. He coughed and a dribble of blood ran out of the corner of his mouth. Then Lok moved, reaching out for Tek-aKet, pushing himself up the blade until he clutched at Tek's clothing, staring the Tarkin in the face as if he would say something important. Per-force, Tek let go of his sword, grabbing Lok's wrists to prevent being pulled off his feet. Dhulyn saw the green die out of Lok's eyes, saw the lips form the words, "Tek, Cousin" as Lok-iKol's knees sagged, and he slid slowly to the floor, taking the blade with him, hands still clamped to Tek's arm. Lok's mouth still worked, but the lips formed no words. Dhulyn ran forward to catch the Tarkin's arm before he joined his cousin on the floor.

Tek-aKet screamed, yanked his arm loose and fell, cracking his head against the foot of the Carnelian Throne.

She Sees Sees.

Dhulyn lifted her fingers from the charred window frame. "What?" "You're humming that children's tune, the one from the game you're so interested in."

"It's going through my head, I can't get it out."

"Come, the floors are unsafe here. We must go."

Dhulyn followed Parno out of the charred ruin that had once been Alkoryn's map room. It had taken them some time to get away from the rejoicing at the Carnelian Dome, but as soon as they could find enough horses, they'd gathered the Mercenaries who had come up through the tunnels and returned to Mercenary House through streets filling with people as news of Tek-aKet's restoration spread through Gotterang. They'd found the gates battered but still closed, no attackers outside, and nothing living inside.

It didn't need any great experience to see what had happened. Unable to breach the gate, the attackers had resorted to fire arrows and scaling ladders. From the body count, seventeen had made it inside the House. They'd been laid to one side in the courtyard, as far as possible from the four bodies of the Brothers who'd been found. Parno had found Thionan's body where he expected, under the plum tree. Fanryn was lying over her, sword b.l.o.o.d.y.

"Another one this way," Tyler Nightsky stuck his head in the door.

"We'll help," Parno said, turning away from the stairs and following his Brother to the rear of the House. He stopped Tyler with a hand on the arm. "Dhulyn," he said, motioning her forward. "It's Alkoryn."

From the look of the bodies, Alkoryn Pantherclaw had killed one man as he came through the second-story window, and had been backed into a corner by a second man in a Tenebro uniform. This second man was spitted on Alkoryn's sword, the pool of tacky blood beneath him showing the wound to be immediately mortal.

"Does he live?"

Dhulyn pulled the Tenebro man's body away and squatted next to Alkoryn. In death, his hand had fallen away from where the hilt of a dagger stuck out, just below where his navel would be, if she could see it. He'd held it in place, keeping the blood in, until he'd been able to dispatch his opponent.

"In Battle or in Death," Dhulyn saluted him, touching her fingertips to her forehead.

Zelianora looked up from where she sat in the window seat of her bedroom, the shutters angled to throw the morning sunlight on the book in her hands, and keep it from the bed where Tek was resting. At the sound of her name, she put the book aside and stepped over to the bed.

"How are you feeling?" she said, sitting down on the edge of the thick mattress, and drawing her hand down the side of Tek's face, letting her fingertips linger on his warm skin. She had caused him to be shaved as he slept, and though he was thinner, and there were new lines on his face, he looked more like the man who had met with and disbelieved the Mercenary Dhulyn Wolfshead-was it only a half moon ago? It felt like three moons at least.

Tek had been unconscious for almost a day after the fight to restore him to the throne, and of course there were now no Healers to be found in all of Gotterang. A surgeon had come from the Mercenary House, a "Knife" as they called him, but the Brother had found nothing physically wrong with Tek beyond the lump on his head.