Path of the Sun: A Novel of Dhulyn and Parno (59 page)

Epion laughed, and Alaria cringed inside.
I have to do this
, she reminded herself. She had to let him think she was on his side.

“In other words,” he said when he had finished laughing. “Do what you must do openly, in daylight, as if it were something of no particular note.”

“Or, at least, something of lesser importance. Waiting for the dark of night rather gives significance than removes it, wouldn’t you say, my lord? People are more curious about things that seem to have been hidden away.” Alaria swallowed, hoping that she hadn’t gone too far by reminding him of things that might be hidden.

“I do, I must say I agree very strongly. What one gains by narrowing the field of witnesses one can lose by having those few raise unanswerable questions.” Epion rested his chin in his hand as if he were thinking over what she had said.

Alaria was not fooled for an instant. She remembered Falcos’ warnings about his uncle—and she’d just had a forceful reminder from Delos Egoyin and Dav-Ingahm that men were not fools and ditherers. Epion had made his decision about whatever action he was talking about before she had come into the room. He had meant to frighten her with his ruthlessness, not ask her opinion. She could only hope that she had thrown him off his stride, if only a little, by her own display of ruthlessness.

Epion stood up. “Well, then, seeing as we agree, let us go and dispose of Falcos now.”

 

“Why not just kill me yourself?” Falcos’ calm voice quieted the thoughts swirling in Alaria’s head. She could barely remember the walk through the palace corridors, her hand on Epion’s arm, trying to look at ease and unruffled. Her heart felt frozen in her chest. Epion alone she might have escaped from, but he’d brought with them the two guards he had always by his side. Brothers, she thought. Why hadn’t she said something to make Epion delay? Why couldn’t she think of something now? House Listra wasn’t coming until later in the day, perhaps not until after supper. By that time it could well be too late.

“And put myself into the power of anyone who aids me? I think not.” Epion smiled. “No, no, much better if you do it for me. Or, here’s a thought. Perhaps I should let you walk the Path of the Sun. Without the key, the Path may very well kill you for me—and if by some action of the gods, you return?” Epion shrugged. “As you have already realized, every now and again a demon comes out of the Path. He looks and walks like a man, and he can be dealt and bargained with like a man, but he’s a demon for all that.”

Alaria felt her knees give way and stiffened them. She would not faint. She would not fall. Now she knew why Epion had left the two guards out in the hall. Certainly Falcos had suspected his uncle, but to hear Epion, so freely and so blithely confess that he was in league with the monster who had killed Cleona, and before her so many others—even the old Tarkin, Epion’s own brother and Falcos’ father. Alaria straightened her spine and gritted her teeth. Epion was still speaking.

“I don’t know what else may be on the far side of the Path,” he was saying. “I don’t know if there are more . . . men like him.” For a moment Alaria saw the man Epion might have been if the gods had not made him heir to the throne of Menoin. A contemplative man, a Scholar perhaps. “Whatever is there, it seems to eat Mercenaries. Perhaps it would eat you as well.”

“Epion.” Alaria cleared her throat. She didn’t know exactly what she meant to say, but she felt she had to do something to distract him.

“Ah, thank you for reminding me, my dear Alaria.” Epion turned back to Falcos. “Here are your options then, Nephew. You will voluntarily leap from out that window onto the rocks below in guilt and horror at having killed your father.”

“I cannot say that I like that option much. What are the others?” Alaria could not believe how calm Falcos still seemed. He sat with his right ankle resting on his left knee, as if he was relaxing after some successfully concluded court business, and not discussing the details of his own murder. His wrinkled and dusty tunic and the tear in the knee of his trousers, along with his unshaven face and uncombed hair, illustrated how he had really spent the last two days. His glance shifted to her, and she could not help smiling. She only hoped that if Epion saw it, he would take it for a sneer.

Alaria gasped as Epion suddenly took her by the nape of the neck, his long fingers wrapped around until they almost met at her throat. She grabbed at his arm, twisting to kick out at him, but Epion shifted away, and squeezed until black spots appeared in front of her eyes. She released his wrist, and he loosened his grip. Falcos was on his feet, and Epion squeezed again. When Alaria held out her hand, Falcos froze, and Epion loosened his grip once again.

“You go willingly,” Epion repeated. “Or Alaria dies, and you will go in any case, unconscious, or awake and screaming if need be. Yet another murder, this time followed by suicide. Or, I will call my guards, having failed to stop you from choking the princess to death, and we will avenge her. You will die in any case; you have merely to choose who goes with you.”

“I don’t think you will do anything of the kind, my dear nephew.”

The whispery cool voice of House Listra made even Falcos jump, though he was facing the door which had swung silently open. Released, Alaria ran to Falcos, turning to look back toward the door. Behind the tiny body of Tahlia, House Listra, was the dark, bearded face of Dav-Ingahm, the Steward of Walls. He had not waited until the supper hour after all.

“If he’s as much as ten spans ahead of us, I would be very much surprised,” Josh-Chevrie said.

Dhulyn agreed, scanning the marks Tel-Banion had found. It seemed that tracking might be young Josh-Chevrie’s strength. “No more rests,” she said, and spurred Bloodbone forward.

They had gained perhaps a half span when the Espadryni all raised their heads. In a moment Dhulyn heard it too.

“Horsemen coming from the east,” one of the Cold Lake boys said.

“Ours,” Moon Watcher said. “Do not slacken, they will reach us.”

In a moment there were five more horses galloping with them. Dhulyn recognized Singer of the Wind, Sun Dog, and Gray Cloud, though the others of the Long Trees People were strangers to her.

“The trader is heading for the Sun’s Door,” Moon Watcher called out to his leader as soon as the other group came near enough. Dhulyn saw the old man’s lips press tightly together. His face seemed thinner, more aged. Ice Hawk’s death had taken its toll.

They crested a gentle roll in the landscape, and suddenly Bekluth Allain was before them. He must have heard them at the same time. He seemed to be standing still, examining the ground, and they saw him turn and look around at them. Dhulyn expected him to immediately bolt—either to the Path of the Sun, since he must know the secret of finding it from this side, or simply in an attempt to get away. About to call out instructions to the others, she was struck dumb when the trader, instead of riding away, got down off his mount and began to walk it forward, head once more lowered, as though he were following some trail or pattern on the ground that could not be seen from where she watched. The wind shifted, bringing to them the smell of old burning.

Dhulyn smiled her wolf’s smile, signaled to Parno and kneed Bloodbone into a gallop. The thunder of hooves told her she had not moved alone. But though Bekluth Allain must have heard them closing in, this time he did not even look up from his examination of the ground, did not remount his horse, but continued walking it, now in the direction in which he’d started, now to the right, then on a diagonal angle to the left, and even, for a few short paces, toward them.

Dhulyn leaned forward in the saddle and drew her sword.

“Stop!” It was Singer of the Wind. “Dhulyn Wolfshead, you must stop!”

Dhulyn drew back sharply on the reins, simultaneously signaling Bloodbone, and without actually losing momentum the mare hopped sideways, as if to avoid stepping on something unpleasant on the ground. In a very few more sideways paces they had stopped completely, and Dhulyn whirled around to confront the old Espadryni shaman.

“I could have had him by now.”

“No.” The old man was as out of breath as if he had himself been running. “Bekluth has triggered the opening of Mother Sun’s Door—I recognize the pattern he is making. It is the key to opening the Door. He is already walking a closed path, one you cannot see. You cannot enter the pattern from this angle, both you and your horse would be destroyed.”

Dhulyn sheathed her sword and pulled her bow free, feeling in her vest pocket for the bowstring.

“Make the attempt if you must, but I assure you that the arrow can no more penetrate the pattern in this way than you could yourselves. If you would follow the trader, you must follow his path exactly, and you are neither of you shaman.”

“Parno?” Dhulyn asked.

“Haven’t taken my eyes off him. Ready when you are.”

Dhulyn turned back to the Singer, smiling her wolf’s smile. “We’re better than shaman, Grandfather, we’re Mercenary Brothers.”

The old man peered at her, and suddenly Dhulyn

SEES THE LINES FANNING OUT FROM BESIDE HIS EYES AND THE WHITE IN HIS LASHES. HE RAISES A HAND WHOSE FINGERS ARE TWISTED, JOINTS SWOLLEN, AND TRACES A SYMBOL ON HER FOREHEAD.

“Wolfshead!” Mar slipped off Josh-Chevrie’s horse and came running up to them.

Still feeling Singer of the Wind’s cool touch on her forehead, Dhulyn called out, “Stay here, little Dove. Singer of the Wind, I leave my friends in your charge. If we do not return, do what you can to send them home.”

The old man nodded. “It shall be done.

Dhulyn was already turning to follow Parno as she raised her fingers to her forehead.

 

Mar ran to where Gun was rubbing his elbow. Moon Watcher had dumped him rather hurriedly to the ground. Mar took Gun’s arm and licked her lips, hoping to keep her fear and worry from her voice.

“Are you all right?”

“Sure. I’ve fallen off horses before.” They ran back to where Singer of the Wind sat on his horse. The old man was arguing with the Cold Lake Tribesmen.

“With respect, sir, you are not my Cloud Shaman, nor even a member of our Tribe,” Josh-Chevrie was saying. “If I choose to follow these Mercenaries you cannot stop me.”

“But by your own admission you have not passed through the Door, young man. I would have to answer to your elders if something happened to you.”

“If these Mercenaries can find the pathway, then so can I.” Without saying anything further, the young man wheeled his horse around and took off after Dhulyn and Parno.

“Do not think to follow your friends,” the old man said, looking down at where Mar and Gun were standing.

“No fear,” Gun said. His hold on Mar’s hand tightened. By this time the Wolfshead and the Lionsmane had apparently reached the spot where Bekluth Allain had first dismounted.

“That is the very spot,” Singer of the Wind said. “How could they know it?”

“It’ll be some part of their Schooling,” Gun said. “Some
Shora
—like a meditation,” he added at the man’s enquiring glance. “It helps them concentrate.”