“But how could this be?” Dal slapped the tabletop with his hand.
Parno shrugged. “When you tell someone how to catch fish, do you tell them what a fish is? What it looks like? Of course not, everyone knows what a fish is. But when we were in the deserts of Mondothir, we had to draw pictures of fish in the sands, for some of the tribes there had never seen one. These texts, they would be like that.”
“So Scholars try to understand fishing, without ever having seen a fish?”
“Something like that, yes.”
“We must remember,” Gun said. “What we have in our Libraries of the times of the Caids are mere scraps of their writings and knowledge. In his Commentaries, Holderon speculates that by the time the Shadow was finally defeated, so much of the land had been laid waste, blighted by its presence, that the rule of law collapsed. There followed a long period-no one knows how long, really, but it must have been generations, not years-before the books were gathered again, and learning reestablished. It was then that the first Jaldean Shrines, the Scholars’ Libraries and the Mercenary Schools were founded, then that the Marked were first gathered into Guilds.”
“And if the method of calling the Sleeping God is in one of these lost texts?” A silence followed Zelianora’s words.
“Excuse me,” Mar said, blushing as everyone in the room turned their eyes to her. “But surely calling the Sleeping God must have something to do with the Marked?” Her voice faltered as she took in the faces of those staring at her. “Mustn’t it? The Shadow has been gathering and destroying the Marked for months, maybe years. And Tek-aKet, when Dhulyn Wolfshead-I mean, the Shadow tried to destroy her as well.”
“Wonderful,” Parno growled. “And the only trained Marks more than half a moon away.”
“Cullen?”
The Cloudman was already on his feet and heading for the door. “Let me go to a rooftop. Sometimes I can reach over greater distances if I have greater height.”
“Dhulyn Wolfshead.” Zelianora Tarkina spoke into the silence that followed Cullen’s departure. “Before I return to Tek, I must ask. I have told myself time and again that I will not, but you have saved him twice now. Have you Seen anything?” The Tarkina rubbed her forehead with a hand that trembled. “I’m sorry. I know you would have said.”
“I have Seen nothing new for days,” Dhulyn said. “And what I have Seen-” she shook her head, frustration rising yet again. By force of will she kept herself from glancing down the table at Mar and Gundaron. “Without a context, the things I have Seen mean nothing. I do not even always recognize the people I See. Are my Sights important to our dilemma? How can I know?”
Zelianora bit her lip, then nodded her head. She patted her daughter’s arm and stood.
“Send for me if there is any change,” Dhulyn said to her. “And, Tarkina, don’t release him, no matter what he says or does.”
The face that turned toward her at these words was not the face of the loving wife, but the face of a Queen’s sister, and a future Tarkin’s mother. “No fear,” that regal face said. “I will not.”
Dhulyn leaned back against the wall as the discussion went on among Dal-eDal, Gundaron, and Parno. Her Partner pulled out Zelianora’s chair and sat down. She had nothing more to contribute, they were only rechewing the same mouthful of overcooked stew. She hadn’t told the strict truth, but only Parno knew it. She hadn’t Seen anything useful. She’d had several Visions more than once, but nothing that could help them. Mar-eMar in her silver gown. The unknown man-a mage? a king?-with his magic window. Was that a way to make the Shadow disperse? Would someone else call it into a different land? Gundaron sitting at a table, looking down on something. She repressed the urge to spit, mindful of Zelianora’s clean parquet floor. Now there was useful Sight. A Scholar, seated, looking down at a tabletop. If the Marks were a creation of the Caids, as some of the stories Gundaron had been talking about alleged, she wished she had a few of those old-timers with her now. She would give them the benefit of her thoughts on the subject of the Sight.
A movement at the far end of the table caught her eye, Gundaron fidgeting with his pen case. If her Mark could not help them, and there was no Healer near enough to reach them quickly-would a different Mark be of more use?
It was past time this meeting was ended.
Gundaron hung back with Mar, letting the others leave the conference table before them. Karlyn-Tan hovered by the door, exchanging a soft murmur with Dhulyn Wolfshead and giving her a Mercenary’s salute, touching his lips instead of his forehead, before following Dal-eDal out of the room. Gun was pushing himself to his feet, hands braced on the edge of the table, when Dhulyn shut the door behind Karlyn-Tan and turned back into the room. Mar licked her lips and looked from one Mercenary Brother to the other and back again. Gun merely sat down and lowered his face into his hands.
Dhulyn Wolfshead sighed heavily, turned a chair around, and sat astride it, resting her cheek on her hands.
“Gundaron-Sun and Moon are my witness, if I were going to kill you, I should have done it long before. Will you look at me, and listen? Mar, can you help us?”
The touch of Mar’s hand on his shoulder was like a rope to a drowning man, firm, stong, life-giving. “Gun, I’ve told you Dhulyn Wolfshead wouldn’t hurt you, and now she’s told you. What more do you want than her own word?”
He looked from the Mercenary’s face to Mar’s and back again. Dhulyn Wolfshead raised one eyebrow and slowly blinked.
“What are you more afraid of,” she said. “That I will kill you, or that I won’t?”
Gundaron’s lips parted, but no protest came out.
“Wolfshead!” It was Mar who spoke, a wrinkle forming between her deep blue eyes.
“Would you rather he wasn’t bothered by what he’s done?” the Wolfshead said, her voice calm as still water.
“But he’s trying to help. The Tarkina and Bet-oTeb forgave him.” Mar spoke her next words to Dhulyn Wolfshead, but she looked at him when she spoke. “I forgive him.”
“He hasn’t forgiven himself.”
Heat burned through Gun’s face and he lowered his eyes. Not that Dhulyn Wolfshead wasn’t perfectly able to read him without looking into them. How did she do this? How did she know him so well?
“People are dead because of me,” he said. “No amount of ‘help’ can bring them back.”
“Many have died at our hands also,” Parno Lionsmane’s light voice fell softly into the air. “And many are also alive because of us. You still live; you have time to make the second true for yourself as well.”
“You’re not the first to do what he finds repulsive,” the Wolfshead said. “And you won’t be the last, blood knows, people being people. But you stopped the first chance you had, hold to that.” She shook her head, blood-red braids shivering. “Words won’t help you, at least not now. But I assure you, time will, if you let it.” She looked at Mar before turning her steel-gray gaze back to him. “In the meantime, since you’re sworn to help, I’d like to share a thought with you. I’m thinking that when something is lost, it’s a Finder we need, not a Healer.”
“You might have thought of this before the Racha bird was sent,” Parno Lionsmane said, with just enough sarcasm in his tone to ease the tension in the air. “We’ve no more a Finder than we have a Healer.”
“I think we do,” Dhulyn Wolfshead said. “What do you think, Gundaron of Valdomar?”
“How-” Gun’s throat closed. He would have said it was impossible, but he was sure he felt the blood drain from his face. He hadn’t… How could she know? Had she Seen? He shot a quick glance at Mar, but she was shaking her head.