She shrugged. "No green eyes at all. Not now at any rate."

"Careful it is, then," he said.

"Can't I walk, too," she finally whispered to the Wolfshead, who was nearest.

"Best not," the Mercenary answered in the whisper Mar had heard her use so often on the trail. "Dismounting would draw even more notice. Rest easy, we're not so far from our House."

Mar was more relieved than she could say when they finally rode up a crooked street, past a large archway through which she could see a vast square filled with stalls and kiosks, and finally, through a much smaller arched entrance into the courtyard of Mercenary House. A young woman whose dark brown hair was pulled back off her face with a leather thong, but not yet removed for her Mercenary badge, ran out to take charge of the horses. Lionsmane himself reached up to help Mar down.

"Make yourself comfortable here," he said. "This youngster will see you get something to eat and drink."

"There's fresh cider," the girl offered with a smile, "nice and hot, and almond cakes baked this morning."

"There you are, little Dove," Wolfshead said, rubbing Bloodbone's nose before handing the bridle to the waiting girl. "Tell the House that Dhulyn Wolfshead and Parno Lionsmane are here."

"Can't I come with you?" Mar clung for a moment to Lionsmane's sleeve.

"Sorry, little Dove. None but Brothers may enter further."

Another smile, a touch on her shoulder, and Mar found herself alone. She took a deep breath and looked around her, oddly uneasy with the by-now-unfamiliar sensation of being alone.

The courtyard was as quiet and solitary as she'd always imagined Scholar Houses would be. No clattering groups of armed Brothers, no one practicing Shora, Shora, no horses, dogs, or chickens. Not even any raised voices from within, as there would have been at the Weavers' home. Scattered through the courtyard were grapevines growing out of old ceramic urns, chipped and discolored with time. Spring was far advanced in Gotterang, and Mar could see the new growth of leaves along the tough old wood stems. Someone had strung cords across the courtyard high enough that they would be well above the head of even someone on horseback. When the heat of full summer struck here, the courtyard would be roofed in with cool greenery. no horses, dogs, or chickens. Not even any raised voices from within, as there would have been at the Weavers' home. Scattered through the courtyard were grapevines growing out of old ceramic urns, chipped and discolored with time. Spring was far advanced in Gotterang, and Mar could see the new growth of leaves along the tough old wood stems. Someone had strung cords across the courtyard high enough that they would be well above the head of even someone on horseback. When the heat of full summer struck here, the courtyard would be roofed in with cool greenery.

It was hard to imagine that this small garden oasis existed in the middle of Gotterang's stone. It was harder still to imagine that any harm could come to those who lived here and used this garden.

"Are you the one come with the Brothers?"

Startled, Mar almost slipped on the cobblestones under her feet as she spun around to face the voice.

"Watch yourself, Lady, best you sit down. Days on horseback don't make for steady footing, not on these stones." A small boy, his shock of red hair escaping from a leather thong identical to that of the young woman who'd taken the horses away, stood near her with a tray containing a large cup full of what smelled like the best spiced cider Mar had ever smelled, and a small blue plate of almond cakes covered with a square of linen.

The boy smiled at her and, blushing, set down the tray on the end of the bench next to the studded door that had swallowed her friends.

Mar sat down and nudged the plate toward the boy. "I'm Mar," she said.

The boy took her gesture for the invitation it was and sat also, helping himself to one of the cakes. "Nikko," he said. "I've been here a month, and they're sending me to be Schooled as soon as Dorian the Black puts into port, or there's a Brother heading toward Nerysa Warhammer in the southern mountains, that is. They wouldn't send me alone. Are you coming to be Schooled?"

"No," Mar answered gravely, taking a sip of cider to clear her throat of almond cake. "I'm being taken to my House here in the city."

"So it was was you that came in with Parno Lionsmane and Dhulyn Wolfshead?" you that came in with Parno Lionsmane and Dhulyn Wolfshead?"

"You know them?"

"Everybody knows knows them them! Dhulyn," Nikko blushed again as he called his future Brother by her name. "Dhulyn's a Red Horseman, they say the last of her Clan, the others are all dead, but nothing can kill her, she killed a whole boatload of slavers when she was just a kid like me, and Parno, he freed the kidnapped heir of Bhexyllia and got decorated by the Galan himself and rewarded with a golden sword, which, of course, he gave to our House, because a real Brother doesn't use such things."

Nikko stopped to take a breath and another bite from his almond cake, and Mar fought to keep herself from smiling.

"So you want to be just like them when you grow up?"

"Oh, I'm not waiting until then. Alkoryn, our Senior Brother here, he says you can be a good Mercenary before ever you have a weapon in your hands. Alkoryn says a good Mercenary-" Nikko broke off and sprang to his feet, his previous blush seeming like pallor next to the dark color that now suffused his cheeks.

"We're not supposed to talk to strangers," he said, and ran off before Mar could rea.s.sure him that she wasn't, exactly, a stranger.

Mar leaned back, smiling, against the warm stone of the courtyard's inner wall. This was a sunny corner, and she could feel the tension seeping slowly out of her body. It was clear that Nikko had a case of hero worship, but it was also clear that his Brothers Parno and Dhulyn were forces to be reckoned with. Whatever House Tenebro wanted with these two particular Mercenaries, Mar felt sure that two such legends among their kind would prosper. Even if only half of what Nikko believed was true. Even if she didn't tell them about the letters. Mar closed her eyes. Her head fell back against the warm stone and she slept.

Dhulyn eyed the man in the room with the kind of interest she would normally have given only to his books. She had never met Alkoryn Pantherclaw, but she had heard him described by Dorian the Black. Alkoryn had seen his birth moon some fifty times, she estimated, and had been a Mercenary longer than she herself had been alive. It had never been Alkoryn's ambition to Command a House, but that was before he had taken the blow to the throat that had robbed him of his voice. A man whose orders cannot be heard loses his value as a field officer. Thwarted in his first ambition, Alkoryn had turned his attention to developing quieter skills. Though he was still considered a formidable warrior and tactician, even among a Brotherhood of warriors, Alkoryn Pantherclaw was now more often called the Charter, and, among other things, he was the chief mapmaker for the Brotherhood.

Alkoryn waited to speak until Dhulyn and Parno had drawn up chairs, and they had all been served with sweet cakes and hot cider mixed with a little ganje.

"Your arrival is timely, very timely." The old man's voice was rough and barely louder than a whisper. "How was Navra when you left it? What of the Pa.s.s?"

As Senior Brother of Imrion, Alkoryn Pantherclaw was, in effect, the Senior Mercenary for the whole Peninsula-should his authority ever be required by one of his Brothers. As such, he had a responsibility to collect any information that might touch upon his charge. He listened patiently while his junior Brothers told him of the dredging being planned in Navra's harbor, the new salt mine, and the expansion of the evaporation ponds. He heard with some amus.e.m.e.nt their story of what had happened to them in Clan Trevel.

"So Yaro Hawkwing prospers," the old man croaked. "I rejoice to hear it. Do we now have allies among Clan Trevel?"

"We might," Dhulyn said. She glanced at Parno in time to see him nodding. "Perhaps if we sent them some acknowledgment. . . ."

"I'll think what form it could take. I have my contacts with Clan Pompano, but we may have need of all the Clouds if what I think is coming comes," Alkoryn said dryly. He took up the ceramic jug of cooling cider and refilled the cups. Dhulyn saw that two knuckles of his left hand were swollen, but whether from old breaking or from arthritis she could not tell. "You came as bodyguards?" he continued as he set down the jug.

Parno exchanged glances with Dhulyn. She gave him a slight nod. "Not merely bodyguards, Alkoryn my Brother," he began. He paused and took a sip from his cup. Dhulyn suppressed a smile. The way he was drawing out the moment, Parno should have been an actor, she thought, as her Partner blotted his lips carefully with the square of linen provided. "We have come to Gotterang as the guides and bodyguards of a Lady orphan of House Tenebro, no less. Any reason for such an exalted House to be gathering up their lesser kin?"

Alkoryn's lips formed a silent whistle and his eyes narrowed. "She's not the first, and that's a fact," he said. "My bones tell me this may be part of what I see coming," he said. "Though I don't know how." He sat back, leaning his right elbow on the arm of his chair. "The Tenebroso is an old woman and gossip says she's failing. The Kir, Lok-iKol, is a forward-looking man, and may very well be thinking to reestablish the Tenebro claim on lost lands. But that in itself is no reason to bring the girl here."

"Mar-eMar feels there's a wedding in the wind, and it's true she has letters she hasn't shown us," Dhulyn said.

"She's not advantageous enough a match for the Kir himself," Alkoryn said, taking a sip of his cider and returning the gla.s.s to the table. "Though there's a cousin in the House, Dal-eDal, from an Imrion Household, not a Holding as is this Mar-eMar. A marriage there would be a way to increase the young man's property without losing anything of value to the main branch. House Tenebro has had bad luck enough in the last twenty years or so; Lok-iKol has no cousins of his own generation left, they say, though there are some few of their children about, like this Mar of yours, and Dal-eDal himself, for that matter." He glanced at his younger Brothers. "With things the way they are at present, it's no bad idea for those in the Houses to put their hands on all their kin."

"The way things are at present?" said Parno. "Like these new regulations governing who may ride? This has some connection with the doings of House Tenebro?" Something in his voice made Dhulyn glance at him. Was he a little paler than before? What had there been in Alkoryn's remarks to give Parno that stricken look?

"Perhaps only in the mind of an old Brother, but I've seen too much to be easy with the changes of the last few years-still less with those of the last few months." Alkoryn took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "The riding law is just the latest, and unpopular as it is, it helps more than it hinders. There's always trouble in a city," he said. "The bigger the city, the more trouble. You'd think that people weren't meant to live together in such quant.i.ties, but there, that's a subject for another time."

Dhulyn exchanged a look with Parno as the older man pushed his white hair back from his face with both hands.

"It would be hard to pinpoint exactly when things began to go badly, or why it began, for that matter, but the normal incidents one expects in city life have grown more frequent, and more disturbing. More knifings and fewer fistfights, if you follow me. a.s.sociations and clubs are becoming gangs, and it's not unusual now for a quarrel between two merchants to turn into a full-blown riot in a matter of minutes, or for groups to be set upon in the streets."

Parno searched the tabletop for a moment before finding a relatively empty spot to set his gla.s.s down.

"You could see something was off-center," he said, "Even walking here." He glanced at Dhulyn. "It's been a few years since either of us were in Gotterang-before we Partnered-but there's a bad feeling in the streets. I can't put my finger on it-"

"Not enough children," Dhulyn said, and lifted her blood-red brows as both men looked at her. "None playing games in the streets, anyway, and the people who were were out, looking at each other sideways." out, looking at each other sideways."

Alkoryn nodded again. "You can see see the tension now, those of us who know what to look for. The City Guards are always on the alert, and they've taken to traveling in groups of five, instead of the usual pairs. The order restricting riding gives the Watch greater mobility, and lessens the chances of troublemakers getting away, but honest people feel it's too severe." the tension now, those of us who know what to look for. The City Guards are always on the alert, and they've taken to traveling in groups of five, instead of the usual pairs. The order restricting riding gives the Watch greater mobility, and lessens the chances of troublemakers getting away, but honest people feel it's too severe."

"Can't make the n.o.bles walk, I suppose," Parno said.

"That would make them more trouble, not less," Dhulyn said, her eyes round and innocent in her scarred face. Both men smiled.

"There was a riot in the Calzos district two months ago, and the City Guards were overwhelmed. The Tarkin sent the Guard from the Carnelian Dome and the crowd dispersed. There were delegations to the Tarkin after that and things looked to be getting better, but every time the violence dies down for a few days, something happens that starts it up again. Things are now at the point that only the presence of the Carnelian Guard will convince people to disperse."

"Let me guess," Parno said. "Something to do with the Marked or with these New Believers we've heard about."

"What haven't you told me?"

Parno looked at Dhulyn, and she nodded. "There was a fire in Navra," she said. Alkoryn Pantherclaw's face grew grimmer and grimmer as she told the story, and he was silent a long while when she finished.

"I did not realize it had spread so far. There have been fires here as well and, I think, worse things. Nor is there doubt in anyone's mind that the new sect of the Jaldeans are behind it," Alkoryn said. "But proving it's a different matter. Even those who don't follow the Sleeping G.o.d are being turned against the Marked, being told that they profit from the misfortunes of others."

"Well, so do we if it comes to that," Parno pointed out.

"Yes," Dhulyn said. "But we risk our lives doing it; that may keep us safe a while longer."

"Oh, in public and during the day the New Believers preach tolerance and understanding, pleading with the Marked to come to their shrines for guidance and cleansing." The old man shook his head. "I see from your faces you've been told what this cleansing means."

"All this turmoil, at least, should mean we'll find plenty of work, once we've delivered our charge."

"Don't count your money yet," Alkoryn said. "There's been no new hiring of Mercenary Brothers for weeks, and some long in guard service have been let go."

"All these problems, the City Guard confounded, and no work for Mercenaries?"

"Nothing overt has been either said or done," Alkoryn said. "But again, this is nothing new in our history. There are changes coming, with these New Believers, and it won't be the first time that as a Brotherhood we ride them out, rather than fight them out."

"And the Marked?"

"We've a little something in hand for them, never fear. When you've finished with the Tenebro girl, I will have an a.s.signment for you myself. But tell me, you heard nothing of this in the West?"

"Not in the court of the Great King," Dhulyn said. "There are Marked there, of course, but very few, and well-respected."

"As bad as it is here in Imrion, this whole eastern end of the world is like kindling awaiting the match. Kondria has warned the Tarkin that if there are any further attacks on the Marked, it will withdraw its emba.s.sy."

"That means war."

Dhulyn shot a glance at Parno. Was there worry in his voice?

"And if Kondria is drawn into a religious war with Imrion, their allies will follow," Alkoryn said. The look he gave them was grave. "The Tarkin, and his hold on Imrion, is all that keeps the east from bursting into flame."

"If the east is burning, it may attract the attention of the Great King," Dhulyn said. "And bring the rest of the world into the conflict." She frowned down at the table, tracing her finger along a sh.o.r.eline drawn in deep sea green. She froze.

"With things so uncertain, perhaps you should consider moving your maps," she said. Parno looked at her, eyebrows raised in inquiry, but she moved her head minutely, side to side.

"What Dorian has said of you is true," Alkoryn said after a short silence. "Your intuition is superb. It is, indeed, part of my plan to move these records to a safer spot."

"I would start moving them now," Dhulyn said, gesturing around her. "I think you are so used to them, my Brother, that you don't realize how much packing all this will take."

"You may be right."

"In the meantime, since Imrion is not yet at war, we'll take the little Dove to Tenebro House . . ." Dhulyn let the words fade away as Alkoryn held up his hand.

"The day's well advanced. Wait until morning and take no chances. And in the meantime, I have something here that may be of use, though it cannot leave this room." He twisted in his seat and reached over the low back of his chair. Dhulyn automatically noted that the old man was still limber enough to perform such an action. After a moment's hesitation he selected a bundle of thin parchments rolled together and tied with a wide blue ribbon. This he untied and spread the curling papers, turning brown around the outer edges, flat on the map that covered the table. Parno pa.s.sed over several stone weights from his side of the table.

Floor plans, Dhulyn realized. Layer after intricate layer of floor plans.

"Incredible," Parno murmured, pulling one sheet closer to his side of the table. The house was a maze. Halls that went nowhere, others that simply turned back on themselves, forcing the uninitiated to travel in circles, fake walls, secret pa.s.sages, more stairwells than normally appear in a handful of buildings.

"Built in the time of Jorelau Tarkin," Alkoryn said. "And reflecting the paranoia of that day."

Dhulyn tapped the corner of one sheet, where the mark of House Tenebro was clearly drawn.

"How is this possible?" she said, smiling her wolf's smile.

Alkoryn shrugged. "Over the years many Brothers have served as guards and instructors in Tenebro House. We have three there now, as it happens. For that reason, I will ask you to exercise the greatest care while you are on their premises."

Dhulyn nodded, her eyes still on the plans. Mercenary Brothers might find themselves on opposite sides on a battlefield, but anywhere else they took care of one another.

She looked up from the drawings. "Is the old Bootmaker's Inn still in business?"

Alkoryn nodded. "You might as well leave your horses here, however. You won't be riding them, and it will save you their board."

"Let's hope that's all we have to worry about," Parno said, still studying the floor plans of Tenebro House.

Six.

"DO I HAVE HAVE TO RIDE?" Mar asked from her seat on the windowsill. The Bootmaker's Inn had been almost full, and they had ended up all sleeping in the same room, though not, this time, in the same bed. TO RIDE?" Mar asked from her seat on the windowsill. The Bootmaker's Inn had been almost full, and they had ended up all sleeping in the same room, though not, this time, in the same bed.

Wolfshead looked up from lacing the cuff of her leggings. "Of course not, if you don't wish it," was all she said.

"Then I don't wish it," Mar said.

Wolfshead nodded, straightened to her feet, plucked her sheathed sword off the bed, and hung it on her belt harness. "Not that comfortable riding yesterday?" she asked.

Mar shrugged. "Maybe if I'd been dressed differently. I kept thinking people were looking at me and wondering what a girl dressed in a shop clerk's worn-out clothing was doing on a horse." She looked up to find the Wolfshead watching her, head tilted to one side.