Would he ever feel completely forgiven, Gun thought, as Mar so obviously did? Unable to stay awake, sent to bed with a kiss on the forehead like a favored daughter, while he sat here with the scrying bowl in front of him. Gun took a deep breath and set his hands lightly around the edge of the bowl. He was still alive, so he supposed he knew that Wolfshead and Lionsmane both did actually forgive him. He couldn’t expect the affection they showed to Mar. Her offense had been against them personally, while his… He cleared his throat.
“Move the candle a little closer, please,” he said, and out of the corner of his eye saw the Lionsmane’s hand reach into the candle’s circle of light and move it. The light’s reflections on the surface of the water within the bowl flickered and moved, as if someone had taken a page of parchment and shaken it out like a sheet. The water-
is a bright sheet of paper. And he is to write the story of the Lens. Ah, here is the Library. He wastes no time looking around him, but follows quickly the dark line on the floor that only he can see, the thread that will lead him through the labyrinth of library shelves to… Mar?
Mar sits in a carrel, asleep with her head down on her folded arms. Of course. He’s thinking about her, sleeping so near him in the room, warm and soft. Her affection was in no doubt; bright and shining, he Finds it. He has to stop thinking about her, and think only of the Lens. He sees the line again at his feet and follows it, somehow knowing that this time he is going deeper into the library than he has been before, where he does not see even the shadowy outline of others. The line is fine and dark and leads him to…
Mar again. This time she’s snoring.
There was a quality in Sortera’s laugh that made the young Scholar blush. Dhulyn had been willing to swear the old woman had been sound asleep. “Easy to see what the lad’s trying to Find,” Sortera said. “Whether he knows it or not.”
Dhulyn got up and stretched, pushing her hips first to one side, then the other. “She’s right, my Scholar. It’s late and all you can Find is your bed. We’ll try again in the morning.”
As Dhulyn watched, Gun took off his boots, shrugged out of his tunic, and in his shirt and breeches squeezed himself onto the pallet beside Mar. He put an arm around her, but Dhulyn couldn’t tell if it was from real affection, or from lack of space. She hoped it was the former.
Parno tapped her on the shoulder and motioned with his head to the door, picking up his crossbow and hanging his sword on his belt as he went. The door’s closely fitted planks gave immediately onto the steep stone staircase that ran between Sortera’s narrow house and the building that was its neighbor.
Parno stepped down until he was standing a stair below her, and cupped her cheek in his calloused hand. “My Brother, my soul.” He spoke softly, mindful of the Clouds that lay sleeping all around them. “You look tired. Get some rest.”
“I know what that means,” she said, forcing a smile to her lips. “When a man tells you that you look tired, he’s telling you that you look old.”
“If this is what you’ll look like when you’re old, I sincerely hope we both live to see the day.”
She felt her muscles loosen as she rested her forehead against his, felt his arms come up around her, drew in a breath full of his scent and nearness. “You’ll be late for your watch,” she murmured. She felt him nod, felt the touch of his lips on hers.
“I’ll go for now,” he said. “But I’ll be back. I’ll always be back.”
“In Battle,” she said.
“And in Death,” he answered.
She watched him until he’d gone all the way down the narrow stone steps and turned the corner into the street-just as narrow but not so steep-below.
Dhulyn stood there in her vest and linen trousers until the cold mountain air had time to make her shiver. Then she lifted the wooden latch and stepped back inside Sortera’s house.
Gun and Mar were both asleep, nested together like two arrows in a quiver. At first, Dhulyn thought Sortera had fallen asleep in her chair, but something about the length of the old woman’s regular breaths, the deliberate movements of her fingers along the needles of her knitting, told Dhulyn Sortera was probably in a Healer’s trance.
Wonder if she’s Healing herself, Dhulyn thought. One way at least to explain how so old a woman could still be alive.
There was another pallet in the interior room, but Dhulyn’s turn at watch along the upper slope would come soon enough to make sleep more of a bother than a help. Instead, she took Dal’s small box from the shelf beside the hearth, pulled the chair Gun had been using closer to the table, and sat down in the light thrown by the lamp they’d lit to eat their suppers by. She opened the box and began taking out vera tiles.
MAR IS DANCING. SHE WEARS A CLOTH-OF-SILVER GOWN WITH A CAREFULLY MENDED TEAR IN THE SHOULDER, A GOWN THIN ENOUGH TO SHOW THE SHADOW OF HER LIMBS AS SHE MOVES. WEDDING CLOTHES? DHULYN THINKS. SHE IS DANCING AT HER WEDDING. DHULYN LOOKS AT THE GUESTS, BUT IN THE WAY OF DREAMS, SHE CANNOT TELL FROM THEIR FACES WHO THEY ARE. AT FIRST THE DANCE IS A CIRCLE, MAR HOLDS THE HANDS OF THE PEOPLE NEXT TO HER, THEN THE CIRCLE BREAKS AND THE DANCERS WEAVE IN AND OUT, TAKING AND RELEASING HANDS AS THEY SKIP AND HOP PAST EACH OTHER, TURNING AND WEAVING A PATTERN IN THEIR DANCE. MAR IS NOT SMILING AND WHEN SHE LOOKS OVER HER SHOULDER AT WHERE DHULYN STANDS, IT IS A DIFFERENT WOMAN, OLDER, AND HER PALE BLOND HAIR IS DRESSED DIFFERENTLY. BUT SHE IS DANCING, STILL…
THE MAGE SITS AT HIS TABLE, HIS BOOK IN FRONT OF HIM, HIS FINGER TRACING THE LINE HE READS, HIS LIPS FORMING THE WORDS.
HIS LIPS FORMING THE WORDS.
DHULYN MOVES CLOSER, UNTIL SHE CAN SEE THE WRITING ON THE PAGE IN FRONT OF HIM, BUT SHE CAN’T READ IT. SHE LOOKS AGAIN AT HIS LIPS.
ADELGARREMBIL, HIS LIPS SAY. ACUCHEEYAROB. FETENTABIL. DEBEREEYAROB. ESFUMARRENBIL.
THE MAGE REPEATS THE WORDS SEVERAL TIMES AND CLOSES THE BOOK.
WHEN HE STANDS, DHULYN SEES HIS SWORD HANGING BY ITS SCABBARD FROM THE BACK OF HIS CHAIR.
“Dhulyn?” Mar’s pupils were so wide in the candlelight they looked black.
“Go back to sleep, my Dove.”
“I thought I heard you call me.”
“You’re dreaming, Dove. Go back to sleep.”
Mar shut her eyes and Dhulyn began replacing the tiles back into their box.
This would be a good hour. The gold one has gone to stand his turn at watch. Why not slip in now? Their energies would be low; there might be no better time. He looked up, a bird flew overhead, showing its silhouette against the almost full moon. His lips smiled.
“Wolfshead.”
Dhulyn had heard the soft sounds of booted feet behind her for some time, and so wasn’t startled by Karlyn-Tan’s voice when he finally spoke. She stopped at the end of the narrow lane and waited for him to join her before walking beside him across the small square.
“It’s late for you to be out.”
“I followed Cullen,” Karlyn said. “But it seemed he was just giving his bird some hunting, and when I saw him safely back into his quarters, I suddenly felt the need of company.”
“A few minutes earlier, and you would have caught Parno still awake.”
“I did,” he said, looking away from her as if to examine the face of the moon. “I saw him return from his watch and waited for you.”
Dhulyn glanced at him, but he was still looking at the night sky. They reached the spot where she was to stand her watch, where a young Cloudwoman yawned, waiting for Dhulyn to relieve her. They exchanged hand signals and the Cloud left them, silently moving through the empty streets to her bed.