"As I hope to be proving to you in a few minutes," he said, squeezing her closer and brushing his lips against her cheek. Dhulyn hugged him closely in turn, sighing as the muscles in her neck and shoulders relaxed.

"How long do you think we'll stay," she asked him.

"Well, at least let's get paid," he said. "Or do you find you simply can't take the luxury of fires, feather beds, and regular baths a moment longer?"

Dhulyn smiled at the undercurrent of laughter in his voice. "It isn't that," she said. "And you know it."

Parno nodded without speaking, and held his tongue until they were at the door of their rooms. "We must stay and keep watch, in case there's reason. So you told me this morning, and I agreed. But there's something we should do," he said, "so as to be ready when the time for leaving comes."

"I believe we did that, too, this afternoon," she said, trying to make him laugh, "and unless I'm mistaken, we're about to do it again."

"Never you fear," he said, smiling and shaking his head. "We'll never go short, not so long as we're both alive, and I, at least, have breath enough for my pipes. But there is a place here where a Brother of ours fell. Let us visit it while we have the chance."

Dhulyn pressed her lips tightly together. "You are right, my heart. Bring your pipes, and I will fetch my sword."

Parno patted the bed with his free hand. "I didn't mean we should go right now."

This time Dhulyn laughed out loud. "Oh, yes, you did."

"Died on his feet," Parno said. "Good lad,"

"So may we all," Dhulyn said, leaning her shoulder against the wall to one side of the bloodstain. "Tell me," she said, beginning the ritual, "how did you first know our Brother Hernyn Greystone the Shield?"

Parno made himself comfortable against the wall on the other side of the stain. "I knew him when he was only Hernyn Greystone," Parno began. "And he was a sorry sight when I first laid eyes on him, let me tell you . . ."

The exchange of story and anecdote that made up the Mercenary's Last Farewell did not take very long, even though Dhulyn and Parno tried to remember everything they had seen Hernyn say or do.

"We stand now where our Brother stood at the last," Dhulyn said finally. "And we say farewell to Hernyn Greystone the Shield, who gave his life for ours. Farewell, Hernyn, we stood together in Battle, and we will stand together again in Death."

"In Battle and in Death," Parno said, lifting his pipes into position, and fitting the chanter to his lips. The melody that he played then was not traditional, but one of his own making, and Dhulyn thought that if he had played it in the guardroom, he might have beaten even the Tarkin's piper, in spite of all her practice.

When the final notes died away, they stood a moment or two longer in respect for the music, and their fallen Brother, before Dhulyn gave the bloodstained wall a final salute, touching her fingertips to the bloodstain, and then to her own forehead. Holding hands like children, they retraced their steps to the upper floors.

They had not yet reached the first staircase when Dhulyn hesitated between one step and the next, holding Parno back with a tug on his hand. He caught her eye, and nodded; he'd heard it, too.

"That was not the last dying away of the pipes' music," he whispered. "There's no echo so long as that."

"Speak again," Dhulyn called, her voice pitched carefully so as not to echo too much in the deserted stone pa.s.sages. "Speak that we may find you. Do you need our help?"

Again there came the low moaning that had first caught at Dhulyn's ears. There was, indeed, something of the mournful notes of the pipes in the sound.

"This way," Parno said, as he turned to go back the way they came. They were not far on the other side of the narrower pa.s.sage that led to the old kitchens when they found a series of rooms, roughly the size appropriate for storage, the bolts on the outside of the doors showing evidence of what had been stored there. The man making the sound was in the third room.

He cowered away from them, pushing himself with his feet into the corner of the cell and covering his eyes against the brightness of the lamplight. It took a few minutes, along with some gentle words, for his eyes to adjust enough to allow Dhulyn to coax his hands away from his face.

"He hasn't been here long," Parno said, joining her after a quick look into a pail in the far corner of the cell. "But I'd say no one's been near him in a few days."

Dhulyn nodded, pulling her small emergency flask of water out of her belt pouch and holding it to the man's lips.

"Can you speak, Grandfather," she said as gently as she could.

The prisoner worked his lips, licking at them and swallowing. "Mercenary," was the word that finally found its way out of his mouth.

"That's right, sir," Parno said, squatting down next to the old man. "Can you tell us who you are?"

Suddenly the old man grabbed Dhulyn by the front of her vest, his gnarled fingers tangling in the bits of lace and ribbons. "Did you see him? Has he found you?"

"Who would that be, sir?" Parno said.

"The Sleeping G.o.d," the old man said, subsiding once more into his corner, one hand still clutching Dhulyn's vest.

They became aware that the torn and stained robes the old man was wearing had once been the dark brown of a Jaldean priest. Their eyes met over the prisoner's head.

"You've seen the Sleeping G.o.d?" Dhulyn asked, just as Parno said, "Does he have green eyes?"

"I thought he was, do you see? I thought he was. I thought I was helping him. Helping him to awaken because his time had come." The old man subsided. "I thought he was was the G.o.d. At first. I thought I was touched by the G.o.d." the G.o.d. At first. I thought I was touched by the G.o.d."

"Who are you?"

"Beslyn-Tor." He looked around, his eyes clearing. "Have I been sick? This is not my hermitage."

"Is he here now? The Sleeping G.o.d?"

"No, no, why don't you listen? I tried to tell everyone, but no one listened. I thought thought he was the G.o.d. I he was the G.o.d. I thought thought he was. I'd been collecting relics, you see. I found five, do you see, that's one more than Arcosa Shrine and the people will come to us, to he was. I'd been collecting relics, you see. I found five, do you see, that's one more than Arcosa Shrine and the people will come to us, to our our shrine, to Monachil. He spoke, and I thought it was the G.o.d." The old man repeated the phrase several times before putting his dirty index finger, with its cracked nail, to his lips, tapping them in the "shhh" sign, all the while his head trembling as if he had the palsy. "But no," he said finally, the words a mere whisper. "But no." He caught at Dhulyn again. "I welcomed him. I rejoiced!" He shook his head again, but this time like a man who just can't believe he could have been that stupid. "But he shrine, to Monachil. He spoke, and I thought it was the G.o.d." The old man repeated the phrase several times before putting his dirty index finger, with its cracked nail, to his lips, tapping them in the "shhh" sign, all the while his head trembling as if he had the palsy. "But no," he said finally, the words a mere whisper. "But no." He caught at Dhulyn again. "I welcomed him. I rejoiced!" He shook his head again, but this time like a man who just can't believe he could have been that stupid. "But he isn't isn't the G.o.d. He fears the G.o.d. He the G.o.d. He fears the G.o.d. He fears fears the G.o.d, do you see?" He collapsed backward. "And then he left me." the G.o.d, do you see?" He collapsed backward. "And then he left me."

"Where did he go?"

"To Lok-iKol. To Lok-iKol. Like this." And here the old man took Dhulyn's face tenderly in his hands, and focused his eyes on hers. "Like this. That's how it's done."

It took all of Dhulyn's force of will to take the old man's hands off her face gently, without breaking his wrists.

"That's how he does it, is it?" she asked.

The old man nodded again. "That's how. But he always came back. Before. He always came back. It's hard to be alone. Hard now." His eyes came abruptly into focus. "You be careful, young woman. He looks for a Mercenary. You be very careful." His voice dropped to a whisper. "Don't let him touch you, my daughter. He looks for a Mercenary. Be careful."

The focus faded once again from his eyes and the hand that clutched at Dhulyn's vest relaxed. She felt for and found a pulse under his jaw, but it was fitful. She glanced up at Parno, found him grim-faced.

"Can you carry him?" she said. "I don't think he'll last long anyway, but we can't leave him here."

"Take my pipes," Parno said. "Dhulyn," he added as she straightened to her feet and held out her hands for the instrument. "Do we understand him to mean . . .?"

"I think we must," Dhulyn said, tucking the pipes under her left arm and picking up the lantern. "From what he's said, I think it means the Tarkin."

"Who should we tell?"

"That's a good question." Alkoryn was dead, she thought. And as little as she liked it, that might very well make her Senior Brother in Gotterang.

"Dhulyn Wolfshead? Lionsmane?" came a tentative but familiar voice. As she turned, Dhulyn did not trouble to suppress a sigh that was so short as to be almost a snort of annoyance. Mar was part of the Tarkina's household now; what could she possibly want from Dhulyn?

She raised her eyebrows as she turned and recognized the youngsters with Mar. One she knew as Rab-iRab, senior lady page to Zelianora Tarkina. Younger than Mar, but tall for her age, and with an air of having very recently learned how serious the world can be. The other was a page of the Tarkin's whom Dhulyn had now seen several times without learning his name. Dhulyn felt a heavy weight settle into her stomach. What would bring pages from the Tarkin's household looking for Mercenaries? She was very afraid that she knew.

"Wolfshead and Lionsmane," Mar said. Dhulyn knew that look-half fear, half resolution-she'd seen it in Mar's face in the mountains. "May we speak with you in private?"

"We've business of our own to attend to, Lady Mar," Parno said. "Can this wait?"

Mar exchanged looks with the two pages. The young boy spoke up. "It's about the Tarkin," he said, eyes glittering.

"You're his page, aren't you?" Dhulyn asked him. "You know our names, what is yours?"

"I am Telian-Han, son of Debrion-Han of Culebro Holding." The boy had to clear his throat halfway through, as his voice threatened to crack.

"You knew the usurper, Lok-iKol Tenebro? You were here?"

The boy nodded. "We both were."

"And you have something to tell us?"

Again the nod.

Parno raised his hand to his face, placing the tips of his index and middle fingers on his lips. Dhulyn saw and silently agreed. She wasn't the only one with a sense of disaster.

"Come with us," she said to the youngsters.

Twenty-two.

PARNO LEANED FORWARD in his chair, elbows on his knees, hands lightly clasped. Demons and perverts. Demons and perverts. He looked from one white-faced page to the other, and fixed a look of confident encouragement on his face. Behind him, Dhulyn leaned against the window frame, arms folded across her chest, ankles crossed, eyes almost closed. They'd taken the youngsters straight to their own quarters where the first thing he'd done was shut the windows-though it was very unlikely that anyone could overhear them, here on the fifth floor. Their three rooms here in Zelianora Tarkina's tower made up a small suite, with this outer, double-windowed room furnished as a sitting room with a long upholstered settee, a round table covered with a weighted cloth, thick patterned carpets on the dark oak floor, and heavy armchairs made soft with bright cushions. He looked from one white-faced page to the other, and fixed a look of confident encouragement on his face. Behind him, Dhulyn leaned against the window frame, arms folded across her chest, ankles crossed, eyes almost closed. They'd taken the youngsters straight to their own quarters where the first thing he'd done was shut the windows-though it was very unlikely that anyone could overhear them, here on the fifth floor. Their three rooms here in Zelianora Tarkina's tower made up a small suite, with this outer, double-windowed room furnished as a sitting room with a long upholstered settee, a round table covered with a weighted cloth, thick patterned carpets on the dark oak floor, and heavy armchairs made soft with bright cushions.

Rab-iRab and Telian-Han, though they would ordinarily bear no resemblance to each other, now wore identical pale, wide-eyed looks. Parno and Dhulyn had listened to Telian's story without commenting, yet somehow, in the repet.i.tion of it, both young pages had become aware of the gravity of their suspicions.

"Lady Mar," Dhulyn said, her eyes still resting on the face of the young Telian-Han. "Would you be so kind as to find Zelianora Tarkina and bring her here?"

"Dhulyn," Parno began.

"We are still, technically, in her employ." Dhulyn turned to Mar. "Come straight back to us here, Lady, if you would be so good. I need hardly tell you, speak to no one of this, not even the Tarkina herself, until you are both safely in this room. Until we are sure, any and all of us may be in danger."

Or may be be the danger, the danger, Parno thought. Parno thought.

"The children?" Rab-iRab said. Parno's jaw tightened as he exchanged a look with Dhulyn. Just when they were thinking things could not be any worse.

"They should both be asleep," Mar said, getting to her feet. She spoke more than half to herself. "Den.o.bea will be with them." She looked up at Parno, glanced at Dhulyn. "They've seen very little of their father these last few days."

"Perhaps you could make sure of their whereabouts somehow, my Dove, without alarming the Tarkina."

It was a shock to see what a change two small words could bring to a young woman's face. Suddenly there was a brightness in Mar's eyes, and she left the room with a light step and more heart for her errand than she had when she'd entered it. Parno shook his head, smiling. Leave it to Dhulyn to know the right thing to say, and the right moment to say it. What a Schooler she would make, if they lived so long.

As the door closed behind Mar, Parno turned to the two pages, sitting close together on the settee, holding hands.

"Would you youngsters be so kind as to wait in the inner room while my Partner and I consult?" The two pages exchanged identical worried glances. "You'll be safest there," Parno continued, "and no one will be able to ask you any questions you'd rather not answer."

This rea.s.sured them, and they both stood. "Come, Tel," Rab-iRab said as they walked toward the door Dhulyn held open for them. "You look as though you could lie down." Dhulyn gently closed the door behind them.

"What are we going to tell the Tarkina?" Parno said.

"I think we'll rather ask her if she's seen anything unusual, anything that has given her pause." Dhulyn rubbed her eyes. "Are we crack-brained? Do we make too much from the maunderings of a half-crazed old man and the nerves of a young page who has seen perhaps too much in the last half moon?"

"A half-crazed old man who knew the Shadow well, and a young page who knew his Tarkin. Add to that the fact that we've not spent time in the Tarkin's presence since the restoration, when he would hardly be parted from us before." Parno shrugged. "Evidence enough at the least for us to investigate further."

Dhulyn tapped the table lightly with the side of her right fist. "Think what we risk if we don't learn the truth. I'd rather beg pardon if I'm wrong, and take what punishment might be awarded me, than be sorry I never tried to be sure." Her eyebrows drew down in a frown. "Where's Gundaron, where's the Scholar? It's not like Mar not to go to him first."

"Set your mind at ease," Parno said. "He went off this morning to the Library and hasn't returned; likely intends to spend the night there. He's been poring over all the old books he can find, looking for any mention of the Green-eyed Shadow."

"Send Corin Wintermoon to fetch him," Dhulyn said. "All things considered, whatever he's found so far, I'd like to have him here while we discuss this."

"And sending Corin has the added advantage that it will stop her flirting with the guards before she hurts one of them."

There it was again, a low thumping, as if-Zella shot to her feet, almost falling as she tripped on the shawl Den.o.bea must have tucked around her legs. The sound was coming from her own bedroom, where Tek was yet again lying down. Pushing open the door, she ran into the room and found her husband by the side of the bed on his hands and knees, crawling toward the door. He shrank back as she entered, blinking at her in the dim light that followed her through the doorway.

"Zella?"

"Tek, what's happened?" She ran forward to help him to his feet. He hunched his shoulders, cowering from her and narrowing his eyes to a squint.

"Zella?" His voice stronger now, but there was a note of query in it that made her pause, her hands still outstretched, ready to raise him to his feet. Before she could help him, he clutched at her forearm with such force that her sleeve tore.

"Tek-" she gasped. "You're hurting me."

"Zella," he shook her. "Where's Dhulyn Wolfshead? Bring her, get her now." The fierce focus died out of his face, the painful grip on her arm relaxed as he collapsed onto the floor.