Path of the Sun: A Novel of Dhulyn and Parno (43 page)

Dhulyn sat cross-legged on a pile of fleeces facing the Cloud Shaman, Singer of the Grass-Moon. Spring-Flood, the Horse Shaman, sat to the old man’s right. Star-Wind and Scar-Face sat close behind the Shamans. Grass-Moon reached out toward her, and Dhulyn placed her hands in his. It was the first time, she realized, that any of the Salt Desert People had offered to touch her.

“My daughter,” Grass-Moon said, “the news that you give us of our Seers—there is no manner in which I can convey our gratitude. It has been many years, since I was a young man, that the Seers have spoken regularly of the one who would come to make them whole. We had long given up hope that those old Visions would ever come to pass.”

“There is no way to know if I am that person,” Dhulyn protested. “We Saw nothing just now that gave us such an answer.”

The old man inclined his head, gripping her hands more tightly. “I have spoken with Winter-Ash, Night-Sky, and Feather-Flight, and they agree that the Seers who appeared to you stated that you have the answer. It seems clear to me that it will be only a matter of time until it becomes apparent.”

The White Twins
had
told her she had the answer, Dhulyn thought. So there was something she had already Seen that would provide a clue, if only she could think what it was.

Grass-Moon leaned forward and kissed the back of her left hand, his lips cool and papery against her skin. “Only telling us that the Seers are whole while in Visions gives us so much hope, that we could live upon it for years, if that should prove necessary.”

“If I could experience Visions with them again,” Dhulyn said. “Perhaps, now that I know the answer is there, I could revisit the Sight with fresh eyes.”

“I have asked, of course I have.” The crease of his forehead showed Dhulyn what answer he’d received. “They say no, their interest and curiosity in this matter have passed, and we would not force them, even if we could.” He gave her hands a final squeeze and released her. “But as I said, you have given us so much to hope for, and I will remain optimistic. In the meantime, you have your own mission here; do you pursue it, and perhaps our Seers will change their minds, or, and this seems to me very likely, the Seers of one of the other Tribes will be inclined to join with you.”

Dhulyn leaned back, letting her wrists fall to rest on her knees. It would almost be a relief, she thought, to return to something as relatively uncomplicated as finding a killer.

“What can we do to help you with your mission?” Spring-Flood asked.

Dhulyn exchanged glances with Parno. This was the first time the Salt Desert Tribe had offered active help. Until now, they had merely been given the freedom to go where they would.

“The person we look for is someone who can pass through the Sun’s Door,” Parno said, “but whose comings and goings are not watched over.”

“It is most unlikely to be a man of the Espadryni,” The old Singer said. Again, Dhulyn and Parno exchanged looks. They had been reluctant to make such a suggestion themselves, it was a relief to have it so calmly addressed for them.

“Not so many of us know the clue of passing through the Door,” Spring-Flood said. “And it is clear to those who can who their brethren are—the ability cannot be hidden. And except for someone who is performing the vigil and meditation for the attempt, no Espadryni is alone.”

“Your pardon,” Parno said. “We have been told that one does not have to be a shaman to pass the Door and that the clue is sometimes shared.”

The two men exchanged smiles. “Truly, anyone who knows the clue may use the Door, though they do not always return,” Grass-Moon said in his thin voice. “But in order to discover the clue, one must have the true magic.”

“Then a shaman is
somehow
involved,” Dhulyn said. “Do the people of fields and towns have any Mages among them?”

“Not that we have ever heard,” the Horse Shaman said. “I believe we would have, but in truth our connection with them is limited.” He paused, frowning slightly. “What of the trader, Bekluth Allain? He travels widely, and his schedule is not so regular that we would greatly question when he comes and goes.”

“The Visions show that he’s to be of some help to us,” Dhulyn added.

“Nothing makes greater sense,” Grass-Moon said. “He is not a Mage, that I can assure you, but he may have seen or heard something the significance of which has not yet struck him.”

“The Long Trees boy, Ice Hawk,” Parno said. “He was doing his vigil at the time of the last killing, and he never mentioned seeing the trader, or anyone else. It seems far more likely that the killer was able to avoid the boy’s notice.”

“Making it more likely that he is a Mage of some sort.”

“Well, we have dealt with Mages before,” Dhulyn said. “We will deal with this one.”

Singer of the Grass-Moon made a signal, and Star-Wind came forward to help him to his feet. “Do you consider what your next action will be, my daughter. In the meantime, I cannot delay longer sharing the knowledge and hope we now have with the other Tribes.”

Delos Egoyin felt once more around the pastern of the black horse’s off hind hoof. His fingers moved as of their own accord, while his eyes, seemingly squinched up in concentration, allowed him to watch the guard standing in the courtyard without attracting any notice. He lowered the hoof to the ground and straightened with his hands to his lower back before patting the horse’s rump. He nodded to the groom Melos, who held the black’s head, and stood watching as the horse was led away.

Five guards, half a squad, had appeared just after the midday meal, spread themselves out through the stable precincts and tried to look as though they were doing nothing but lounge in the sun. Delos had known better. He’d already heard the rumors that were flying—ridiculous stories that Falcos was mad, that the old Tarkin’s line was cursed, that Falcos had been the one who killed the Princess Cleona, and even that the boy had killed his own father.

Delos snorted. As if anyone who knew the boy would believe such a thing. You had only to see him around the horses and other animals to know Falcos was not mad—or cursed either for that matter. Humans could be fooled, some very easily, but animals? That was something altogether different. By the Caids, even the barn cats liked him, and they cared for no one.

Delos began to rub his hands clean on the piece of old cloth he carried for that purpose, hanging from his belt.

Eventually another guard, this one in what everyone now considered Epion Akarion’s colors, had come and sent the other guards away and stayed here himself.

Where was Dav-Ingahm, Delos wondered. Surely it was the job of the Steward of Walls to station the guard, not Epion Akarion. Something was definitely going on. Something more than met the eye. Which undoubtedly meant something wrong. Delos tucked the cloth away again and followed after Melos and the black horse, but only far enough to stand in the shadow of the open stable door.

There. The guard was moving again now he thought no one was looking. Going to pass through the circuit he’d done twice already. Into the main stable block, where young Thea had seen him go right back to the farthest corner, past where the Arderon queens were still settled, awaiting the birth of the last foal. He’d hovered there a while, seeming to check the stonework, before coming out again into the courtyard and then to the old hound kennels, empty now that the dogs had been moved to a section closer to the outer wall. Out from the old kennels and into the mews, where he must have moved quietly enough not to disturb the hunting birds.

The guard’s movements resembled nothing so much as a patrol, but what could he be watching for in these older parts of the stable buildings? Nothing good, Delos would wager. There was no longer a large staff working under him, but every youngster was handpicked, and Delos had several of them strategically placed through the buildings, hidden in spots that would allow them to watch the guard’s movements. As the man passed this time, Delos eased out of the shadow of the door to follow.

As expected, the man went down the main aisle between the larger horse boxes, with Delos drifting like a shadow in his wake, taking the shortcut behind the empty stalls and coming around a stack of hay that only appeared to go back to the walls. There was Melos, crouching under the very belly of the black horse. He nodded as Delos caught his eye and pointed to the rear of the building. There was Thea, hidden in the shadow of the great water trough, the one that caught the rain from off the roof. She touched her left eye and held her hand, palm down, in front of her face.

In answer to her instruction, Delos turned and rounded the stalls that held the Arderon queens on the left side, the feeding side rather than the wider, more obvious passage on the right, where the stall openings allowed for the movement of the horses themselves. He followed the sounds as the guard moved all the way through the building, past row after row of unused stalls. Delos had opened the roof vents, both for light and air, and to give the guard no reason to light a torch.

Finally the sounds of walking ceased, and Delos slowed, creeping forward as quietly as he was able to where he could just make out the guard. As Thea had said, the man appeared to be scanning the stonework, as if looking for something that had been attached to the wall. Delos squinted. He knew this part of the building as well as anyone. He could remember, when he had first come to be his aunt’s assistant, that there had still been a few horses kept down here, old horses who would have been upset if they had been moved. Everything was empty now, swept clean and tidy, but left ready, as if the horses were expected back any day. The feed and water troughs were maintained in good condition, and even the old oaken bars for temporary gates, were left resting in their places.

And there was the guard, Gabe-Leggett, Delos thought his name was, standing at the wall, hands on hips, looking up and around just as Thea had described him. Delos was weighing the likelihood of getting some questions answered by simply walking out and surprising the man when he was startled himself by a noise like trying to sharpen a rock on a grindstone. He was lucky the guard was facing in the other direction, Delos thought, or he’d have given himself away.

But the guard didn’t seem startled at all, the old stable man noted. He just stepped back and drew his sword. Whatever was happening, it came as no surprise to him.

Delos edged himself around to the open end of the last stall, trusting that the sounds of grinding stone would cover any noises he made. Moving forward, closer to where the guard stood braced, his sword in his hand, Delos wrapped his fingers around one of the oak bars, longer than a man’s arm and a good four fingers’ thick, that would have been used, once upon a time, to close off the open end of the old stall. Slowly, conscious of how his knees protested so much squatting and crawling, Delos straightened and hefted the bar.

Standing, he could see what he had only been hearing to this point. A large stone at the base of the wall was moving slowly outward, as if being pushed from behind. Delos’ eyebrows crept up, and the hairs on his arms stood on end. Finally the stone cleared the wall, and an opening was revealed behind it. The guard moved not a muscle, seeming not even to breathe, and for a moment long enough to make Delos’ feel the tension in his arms and shoulders, there was no sound.

Then, as if the silence had been some kind of encouragement, a single hand appeared from behind the stone. It was grimy and had a long scratch across the knuckles. But Delos would know that hand anywhere. He had held it many times in his own when it was much smaller. He had put the first sword into it.

Without making any noise himself, he stepped forward and struck the guard a heavy blow on the back of the head.

“Do you need the bowl?”

Gun dropped his hand away from his forehead and turned toward where Mar made a darker shadow against the rock formation that was the entrance to the Path. “We don’t have it?”

“Well, no.”