Path of the Sun: A Novel of Dhulyn and Parno (52 page)

“On the Path or with the Red Horsemen?”

Dhulyn looked over to him sharply, but Parno was doing his automatic check of ties, buckles, and straps, preparatory to mounting Warhammer. So he hadn’t realized what he’d just said.

“That
is
how I’ve Seen him,” she acknowledged. “Both on the Path and with the Horsemen.” She shoved her box of tiles into her top pack and tied it shut so fast she almost cut herself on the leather thong. She swung herself into the saddle. “Quickly,” she said. “He’s come through the Path, and the Espadryni have found him.”

“And so?” But Parno was already in the saddle himself, already urging Warhammer to follow her at the horse’s top speed.

“So he’s a Finder,” she shot over her shoulder, and was rewarded with a look of instant comprehension.

Alaria crept out of the bedroom with her clothes and boots in her arms, leaving Falcos sleeping. She let the door swing quietly shut behind her. She was sorry to leave him like this, but she wasn’t certain she would be able to say good-bye again.

I wouldn’t be saying good-bye at all
, she thought, her nose wrinkling at the thought of dealing with Epion,
if it wasn’t for the queens
. Quickly she pulled her tunic on over her head and tugged it straight before picking up her trousers. Her responsibility to the Arderon horses was a real one, weighty enough that she was not justified in putting her own safety first. Exactly the kind of responsibility she would have to the people of Menoin if she ever became their Tarkina.

When
, she told herself. When
I become their Tarkina
. What Falcos had said was very likely true. No, was definitely true. She, herself, had nothing to fear from Epion. And who knew? Once out and free, she would find a way to free Falcos as well.

Like stick a knife in Epion
. She smiled grimly as she pulled on her boots.

Heading for the door, she found her footsteps hesitating. What if they didn’t let her out? She straightened her tunic again and pushed back her hair. Only one way to find out.

Alaria took a deep breath and crept up until she could bring her lips close to the edge of the outer door.

“Hello?” She winced as her voiced trembled and cracked. She only wished she were acting. She cleared her throat.

“Is there anybody out there?” she said. “Hello?”

 

Alaria sat back on a padded and cushioned settee while a Healer took her pulse. As she’d hoped, the guards Epion had left outside the door had been instructed to let her out if she’d asked them to, and one had escorted her to Epion’s own sitting room, where the Healer had been quickly summoned.

Footsteps sounded in the anteroom, and the guards with her straightened more carefully to attention as Epion Akarion entered the room.

Alaria leaped to her feet, pulling her hand away from the Healer.

“My lord,” she said, using the possessive for the first time. “Oh, my lord, can you forgive me? Oh! I have been so foolish!” She put one hand on Epion’s arm and covered her face with the other. She had said she wasn’t a good enough actress to fool anyone, but it was easier to put a catch in her voice and tears in her eyes than she would have expected. And, with luck, Falcos was right—Epion would
want
to be fooled.

“Lady of Arderon,” he said, taking one of her hands in his own. His blue eyes were narrowed. “Thank the Caids you are safe.” He looked at the Healer. “She is well?”

“Anxious, but otherwise bearing up soundly after her ordeal,” the Healer said, a touch dryly Alaria thought.

“I’m so sorry,” Alaria interrupted. She was horrified to find she was shaking, but hoped it made her more believable. “I believed him, that’s what makes me so ashamed. He swore he was innocent, he . . .” Her voice drained away as her throat dried. What should she say Falcos had said or done? Why had they not planned this more carefully? She could not say that he’d admitted to the killing—Epion of all people knew that was not true and that Falcos would never say it was. Epion would suspect her immediately if she said such a thing.

“I thought he was so brave,” she said finally. “To stand up for his rights, to fight. A hero out of the old tales.” She screwed up her face. “But when I was worried about the horses, he raised his voice to me, he told me not to be so silly. He’s nothing but a coward, a bully, and he . . . he was crying. Like a child.
Crying
.” She shook her head and wrinkled up her nose, hoping she had not overdone it.

Epion patted the hand he still held. Apparently she’d given a convincing performance of a girl silly enough to endanger herself out of storybook illusions. “There, there, my dear.” Epion’s voice was smooth and warm, his eyes rounded now in concern. “We have all made mistakes with Falcos—all been tricked by him into seeing something that is not there. Are you feeling better now?”

Alaria accepted a linen handkerchief from the Healer and used it to wipe her eyes and nose. “I just feel so foolish. My cousin would not be proud of my behavior. But I am better,” she said, smiling what she hoped was a brave smile.

Epion made a gesture toward the door, and Berena Attin, the Steward of Keys, stepped into the room. The woman looked tired, Alaria thought, as if she had not been sleeping very well.

“Have you a suite ready for the Lady of Arderon?” He turned back to Alaria. “You may imagine that the Tarkina’s rooms are not safe enough for you, my dear.”

“The blue suite has been prepared, Lord Epion,” the Steward of Keys said. She held her hand out toward the door, indicating that Alaria should precede her.

Alaria turned to Epion. “May I have a guard with me? Please?” she said, ignoring the guards who had already started to move to the door. “I know it is very foolish of me, but I fear to be left alone.” There, that should help him believe her sincere. Since she was going to have guards anyway, she might as well make some use of it.

“You will not wish to go far? Not riding?”

Alaria put her hands to her mouth. “Moon and Stars, no. At least not until . . . but I will wish to go to the stables. To see that the queens are well. And ready for the marriage.”

Did she imagine it, or did Epion just relax?

“Of course you may go to the stables, my dear. So long as you are safe.” He kissed her hand and led her to the door. At the last moment, as she turned away, he gave her a look she could only think was one of admiration.

It was possible, Alaria thought as she allowed the Steward of Keys to lead her away, that she was not fooling Epion any more than he was fooling her. It was possible that Epion believed she merely wanted to be Tarkina and had calculated that Falcos was no longer her best chance.

It was possible that last look meant he was applauding what he saw as a valuable performance, one that supported his own.

Alaria shivered, remembering that Falcos had warned her not to be too confident. She would have to be even more careful than she’d thought.

It was after midnight when Bekluth Allain reached his cache in the Caid ruins. He led the wheezing and stumbling horse as far from where he camped as it was possible to go and yet still be inside the perimeters of the forbidden area. He’d Healed it twice to enable it to reach his camp, but it was useless now, too far gone to recover by itself. It had got him here in record time, and that was the important thing. Unfortunately, he couldn’t just let the thing drop—at least not before getting the saddle and bridle off it and taking it far enough away from his campsite that its rotting corpse wouldn’t attract the wrong kind of attention. Fortunately there was an old cellar hole—so deep that its bottom was dark even when the sun was directly overhead—not more than a couple of spans away that he’d used for this purpose before. There was a spot near one edge where it was easy to push a horse over, a horse that was barely able to stand, that is. Whistling, he retraced his steps to his own campsite and proceeded to unburden and hobble the packhorses. They hadn’t been carrying as much weight as the horse he’d been riding himself. He’d give them until daylight to rest, judge then which of them had recovered enough to be useful. Still here, grazing on the plentiful grass, was the second horse he’d brought from the other side of the Door, but caution told Bekluth he should be saving that one . . .

Bekluth set about making camp, taking his usual care that the fire wouldn’t be seen. The Mercenaries weren’t the only ones who knew how to be careful. Still, he might as well make himself comfortable. He wouldn’t be able to fetch out his cache of drugs until the sun came up.

“Tracks here,” Parno said. “And Horsemen ahead.”

“You astonish me.” Dhulyn ducked just in time to avoid the blow Parno half-heartedly aimed at her head.

“You’re the one who’s always telling me not to argue ahead of my facts,” he pointed out. “That could be a copse of trees ahead, and not Horsemen at all.”

“Then why are you riding faster?” Dhulyn angled Bloodbone over until she was riding knee to knee with her Partner.

“I have a bad feeling,” he said, all traces of humor gone from his voice.

As she rode, Dhulyn mentally reviewed what weapons she had to hand before pulling her short bow loose from the loops of hide that held it under her left knee and freeing the bowstring from the hidden pouch sewn into her quilted and beaded vest. She fitted the loop at the end of the bowstring onto one end of the bow and, bending the flexible yew around her shoulders, forced the other end of the bow into the corresponding loop. She immediately let go of the weapon and let it hang, perfectly positioned for quick use, across her back from shoulder to hip, leaving her right arm free for the sword if it was needed.

From the number of mounts, there were five Horsemen in the group they were approaching, and it was clear at what moment the group became aware of them, as three of the Horsemen swung up into their saddles and began to ride toward them. Dhulyn could now see that there were two people on the ground, sitting or kneeling, along with the two remaining Espadryni. Though she could not make out whether their tunics were blue, Dhulyn did not doubt they were Mar and Gundaron.

Parno drew off to the left, giving Dhulyn maneuvering room, without even troubling to signal to her. His simple action was enough to show her the plan as clearly as if they had discussed it for hours. He would take the three mounted men, she would go for the captives. The three advancing Horsemen spread out slightly, but they didn’t seem inclined to split up completely. Dhulyn took aim between the two to her own right and drove Bloodbone between them. When they saw what they thought was her trajectory, the two drew a little closer together, as if to concentrate on her and leave Parno for their fellow.

Dhulyn looped her reins loosely around the pommel of her saddle and signaled Bloodbone with her knees. She drew her sword but didn’t raise it, leaning forward along Bloodbone’s neck. In the last possible moment, when the other two riders, their own short blades raised high overhead, were close enough that Dhulyn could see the ghost eyes on their foreheads, Bloodbone suddenly stopped dead in her tracks, hopped stiff-legged six paces to the right, and bolted. Dhulyn, laughing and crying out encouragement, sheathed her sword as she clung to the mare’s mane.