Path of the Sun: A Novel of Dhulyn and Parno (5 page)

Those three had carried the word, and after that night, the leaders of the victorious army had learned exactly how costly their victory had been. Since that day, “Pasillon” had been a rallying cry for Mercenary Brothers everywhere and a reminder that the Brotherhood protected its own.

Dhulyn was on her third pass around the deck when the soft cry of a night bird made her pause and crouch into a patch of darkness formed by a sail locker. It didn’t take her more than a breath or two to see the dark shadow where it paced along the port rail, slowing every now and again to edge around here a barrel of pitch, there a rack of boarding axes. Dhulyn leaned her head back, brought her hand up to her mouth, and returned the night bird’s cry. The ship had changed not at all since her own Schooling, and Dhulyn already knew exactly where every crew member or apprentice aboard the
Black Traveler
should be, who had what assignment on this watch, what they looked and smelled like. This was someone else. According to Parno’s signal, one of the Princesses, but which one?

Dhulyn took a deep breath, released it slowly and, sinking into the Stalking Cat
Shora
, began to follow. The hunting
Shora
heightened her senses, making her aware of the slightest noise, the smallest movements, including even the beating of her heart and the flow of her own blood through her muscles. Dhulyn’s feet were noiseless on the smooth boards of the deck—and unlike her quarry, Dhulyn did not need to feel her way along, her eyes having long grown accustomed to the available light. When she was no more than an arm’s length away, Dhulyn knew it was the younger woman, the Princess Alaria, that she followed. The woman’s scent, a moderately-priced oil of morning lilies, was unmistakable; the Princess Cleona wore the much more expensive oil of orange blossom.

In a moment Dhulyn had matched her breathing and the beat of her heart to those of the younger woman. The young princess seemed agitated, but she did not head toward the rail, so she needed neither fresher air nor a place from which to vomit. Three more paces and it was clear that she was heading for the temporary enclosure amidships that housed the horses. For a moment Dhulyn wondered what could bring the young woman out to this place in the middle of the night, what girlish secret could be hidden in the packs and equipment stored with the horses in their stalls. Then she remembered that the Arderons were horse breeders, and she realized that Princess Alaria was likely taking it upon herself to check on what was, after all, the greater part of Princess Cleona’s bride gift.

Alaria stumbled as she rounded the corner to the horse enclosure, and Dhulyn almost put out a hand to catch her by the elbow. Only the knowledge that finding someone so close to her would make the princess jump and squeal—something that was sure to frighten the horses—made Dhulyn hold back her hand. Instead, she waited until the younger woman had righted herself, entered the stabling enclosure, and shut the door behind her before following her into the warm, horse-scented darkness, this time making as much noise she could with the latches of the door.

Even so, Princess Alaria gasped and spun round to face her, dropping the unlit lamp she’d taken from its niche to the right of the door, and causing the nearest horse to toss its head and shy backward.

“So now, shhhhah shhhah,” Dhulyn crooned, stepping around the princess to hold the horse’s bridle, and stroke her hand down its long nose. The enclosure was a flimsy structure, meant as a temporary measure, and it wouldn’t take much for these high-bred horses to kick it to pieces if they became excited enough.

“She should not let you touch her.” The girl’s tone was mixed, showing both her own awareness of their danger and surprised annoyance that Dhulyn was
not
being bitten or kicked to death.

“Horses like me,” Dhulyn said. She released the animal with a final caress and stooped to retrieve the oil lamp. It was, as she’d expected, full of paste rather than oil and so had not spilled. She pulled her own sparker out of her belt and lit the wick.

“I do not require your assistance,” Princess Alaria said, blinking in the light. “You may leave.” Her voice was now tight with anger. She had been frightened, true, and that was enough to anger anyone of spirit, but Dhulyn wondered whether there was more to the younger woman’s present emotion than that.

“Setting aside the fact that my own horses are stabled here and that therefore I have as much right to enter as yourself, I am a Mercenary Brother and your bodyguard, and you cannot tell me where I may go. Quite the contrary.”

“You are not
my
bodyguard.”

The relative darkness allowed Dhulyn to raise her eyebrows unnoticed. Was that the way the wind was blowing? Did the younger princess resent the older one’s wedding? Had she hoped for something other, something better, than being another woman’s companion?

“Our contract is to protect and deliver safely both yourself and your cousin.” Dhulyn set the lamp into its niche. “For myself and my Partner Parno Lionsmane, there is no distinction between you.”

“You are Dhulyn then, Dhulyn Wolfshead?” Some of the tightness had disappeared from Alaria’s voice. It seemed curiosity was stronger than anger.

“I am, and it is pronounced ‘Dillin.’ ”

“You are a Red Horseman.” Blinking in the flickering light, Alaria gestured toward Dhulyn’s hair, the color of old blood.

“I am a Mercenary Brother, Schooled on this very ship, as it happens. What I was before that is immaterial.”

“But your family, your . . . your property.”

Dhulyn shrugged, stepping past the princess to where her own horse, Bloodbone, was watching with interest. Dhulyn laid her forehead against the mare’s neck for a moment before answering. “The Brotherhood is my family. We own no property in the sense you mean it.”

Alaria had turned to the second of the four white horses that had come aboard with the Arderon party and placed her hand on its nose. “So then. No horse herds, no fields, no pastures. But you must own something.”

The girl’s back was rigid. Dhulyn hoped she wasn’t conveying her emotional state to the horse. It would be a great shame if any of the mares miscarried.

“My weapons. My horse. My clothing. And of course, the most important item there is.” Dhulyn waited until Princess Alaria turned toward her, eyes wide in question. “Myself.”

“Yourself.” Dhulyn had heard that tone before—envy. “You are free.”

“Free to look for work every day, free to starve if I do not find it, free to be killed when my skill is no longer enough to keep me alive.”

A rough gesture as Alaria turned back to the horses, combing imaginary tangles from a snow white mane with her fingers. “Oh, I know. I’m not a child, I know what being alone in the world would mean. But—” she twisted her head to face Dhulyn, careful to keep her hands steady in their stroking of the horse. “
You
would not give up that freedom to starve—not for land, nor wealth, nor children. Not even for your own horse herd.”

“No,” Dhulyn said, blinking at the younger woman’s vehemence, and her own slight hesitation. “You are right, I would not. Nor would any of my Brothers. But the Brotherhood is not a life for everyone.”

“No, I suppose not.”

What, another Arderon princess running from home? Dhulyn looked the girl up and down, studying what she could make out in the flickering light of the small lamp. Younger than she first appeared, perhaps eighteen or nineteen, Alaria was almost as tall as Dhulyn herself, long-limbed and healthy, as befitted a member of a Royal House, no matter how minor. Her hair was a dark gold, though not as dark as Parno’s, and was closely braided around her head like a helmet. There was not sufficient light for Dhulyn to see the color of Alaria’s eyes, but they seemed light. She carried a long dagger sheathed at her belt as well as the more common knife, and she wore an archer’s arm guard on her right wrist.
Left-handed
, Dhulyn noted automatically.

“Why are you here?” she said aloud. “Not here in the stable,” she added. “Here on this boat?”

“I could not let Cleona come alone.”

Dhulyn lifted her brows. That had the ring of simple truth. She followed her cousin from love . . . or was there more to it than that? Dhulyn reflected. The two women had shown themselves friends in the way they sat together, talked, even laughing more than once. Was there more? “I know it’s unusual for a royal bride to bring an almost equally royal attendant with her,” was all Dhulyn said aloud. “You must have chosen to come. Leaving your family, your property.”

“
You
left
your
people, Horse people the same as mine.”

Dhulyn clenched her teeth, inhaling slowly and silently through her nose. This is what her curiosity brought. “The Tribes of the Red Horsemen were broken,” she said finally. “There is nothing left of them except myself.”

For a moment the girl stood staring at her, shock making her face hard; then the lines of Alaria’s mouth softened, and she took a deep breath.

“I’ve an older sister,” she said. “And for all that we’re cousins to the Tarkina, our House is a small one.” She grimaced, glancing at Dhulyn from under her brows. “Do you know what is meant by a ‘good marriage’?”

Dhulyn smiled her wolf’s smile. She knew what such a thing would mean in woman-ruled Arderon. “Your marriage to some man who would bring wealth or property with him. Some rich woman’s son.” Dhulyn considered what she’d seen of Alaria’s discontent. “And denied marriage to someone else? Someone poorer, but preferred?” That might be reason enough for the girl to follow her cousin to Menoin.

“Oh, no,
I’m
not in love with someone else. It was just—” Alaria stopped short, as if she suddenly realized what she had let slip. If
she
was not in love with another,
someone
clearly was. And who else was there but Cleona? Alaria had moved to the horse in the next stall. “Cleona is bringing these horses as her bride gift, each in foal to a different stallion, to reestablish herds on Menoin.” Alaria looked up, her face suddenly animated. “Did you know our horses came from there, originally, in the time of the Caids? There may still be remnants of those ancient herds in the mountain valleys. Think of it—to rebuild the lost stables of Menoin.
That’s
why I chose to come with Cleona.”

“A decision all could accept.” Dhulyn nodded. “And a worthy ambition.” So the young woman was running
to
something, as well as running away. There was still an undercurrent of bitterness in Alaria’s voice when the girl spoke of her mother and sister, but her tone had warmed when her subject was her cousin or the horses. The young princess had made the right choice, even if a part of her still looked back over her shoulder to her mother’s House.

“That is quite a good mare you have,” Alaria said finally. “May I ask where you got her?” A reasonable change of subject and a sign, as if Dhulyn needed one, that the time of confidences was over.

“Far to the west of here, in the lands of the Great King. She is somewhat larger than mares are here in Boravia, as you can see.”

“You wear much armor?”

“Not much, no,” Dhulyn admitted. “But enough that my mount must be strong enough to carry me. And she’s battle-trained, you see, and must be prepared to fight as long as I do.”

“She’s not your first horse.”

“And with luck, won’t be my last.”

“The other has been gelded. I suppose that was the man’s idea?”

At this absurdity Dhulyn laughed outright, and she had the satisfaction of seeing another look of annoyance flash across the younger woman’s face. “Believe me, Princess Alaria. It’s no man’s first notion to geld anything—rather the opposite, in fact.” Now the look of annoyance deepened. “Stallions unwanted for breeding are frequently gelded, as you know, and especially if they are to be used as warhorses. And you may think what you like about most men, but only a fool undervalues my Partner.”

Alaria shrugged, jerked her head in a parody of a nod, and walked out with only a muttered good night as farewell.

“Well,” Dhulyn said to Bloodbone, “
that
could have gone easier.” Still it was a typical reaction: first the confidence, then the embarrassment. Alaria would likely avoid her for the rest of the trip. Dhulyn doused the lamp, making sure it was out by spitting on her fingers and touching them to the wick, and set the little pot of oil paste back on its shelf beside the door. She crooned a good night to the horses and let herself out, keeping pace with Alaria, though well back, until the younger woman let herself into the cabin she shared with Princess Cleona. Dhulyn found Parno, standing relaxed in the shadowed corner made by the wall of the fore cabins and the portside ladder—the best spot for watching the fore-cabin door and all approaches to it—and touched his arm. He touched her shoulder and shifted to one side as Dhulyn settled in next to him, feeling the wood still warm where he had been.

“I found out what she’s been so stiff about. Not much wanted or valued at home, it seems, and has come to be with the only person who
does
want or value her.”
Sensible
, Dhulyn thought. And brave of the girl to face reality so squarely and act on it. But still. Hard to know that it was so easy for some to let her go.

“She told you?”

Dhulyn shook her head, relating the princess’ story in a few words. “You’d have got more out of her, I know. She professes not to think much of men—what Arderon woman does? But she’s of a High Noble House, practically royal, and that gives
you
more in common with her than I, whatever the Princess Alaria might think.”

Dhulyn smiled her wolf’s smile, her lip curling back from the scar that marred it. She had been a Mercenary Brother since Dorian had rescued her from the hold of a slaver’s ship. House manners and pretty speeches did not come easily to her.

“I’m still surprised you asked her anything at all. It’s not like you to be curious about a young woman’s private life.”