“I was Berdanan long before I became Tarkina of Imrion, Dhulyn Wolfshead; our packs are in the bedroom.”
“Get them, then, and we will go.”
The Tarkina spoke softly to the nurse in her own tongue and Denobea ran into the other room, coming out so quickly with two well-balanced travel packs that Dhulyn assumed they must have been taken out of their storage place already. Following her, eyes big in faces too serious for their ages, were a slim girl of perhaps nine, leading a toddler still chubby with baby fat.
“I will carry my son,” Zelianora Tarkina said, picking up a wide shawl of heavy linen and wrapping it around her upper body with practiced ease, tying it to form a sling across her chest. She held out her arms and the small boy let go of his sister’s hand and ran to her. “With the pack on my back, my weight will be even.”
For an instant Dhulyn flashed to the memory of warm wrappings supporting her own legs and back, and the smell of leather and spicy sweat that was her father. She blinked and breathed deeply.
“The little one looks to be asleep, already,” Dhulyn said, a question clearly in her voice.
“I gave Zak valerian, a safe dose,” the Tarkina said. “It seemed the best way to keep him quiet.”
“And what about this lady?” Dhulyn looked down at the nine-year-old girl who looked back at her with the Tarkin’s firm jaw and blue eyes, but her mother’s steadfast gaze.
“This is our daughter, Bet-oTeb,” the Tarkina answered.
“The Tarkin-to-be.” Dhulyn bowed to the child.
“Exactly,” the child said in a soft, clear voice that only wavered the slightest bit.
“Are you armed, Lady?” Dhulyn said, doing her best not to smile.
For answer, the child drew a knife long enough to be sword-sized for her out of a stiff sheath at her waist.
“And do you know how to use it, Tarkin-to-be?”
“I’ve trained with the Personal Guard since I was six,” the child said.
“Then, if it please you, Lady, you shall walk by your mother, and help to keep your sibling alive.”
The child nodded. “It pleases me.”
Dhulyn bowed again.
Hernyn coughed from his post by the barred door. “Someone comes.”
“I’m getting tired of this.” Dhulyn drew her sword and motioned the Tarkina back toward the inner rooms.
“Dhulyn, my heart.” The voice was unmistakable, even through the door.
“Parno,” Hernyn said, sheathing his sword and helping Dhulyn with the bar on the door. Parno for certain, she thought, but something had happened. His voice sounded thick, as if he were about to start a cold.
“Someone could be forcing him,” the Tarkina said.
Dhulyn looked back over her shoulder. “No,” she said. “Someone couldn’t.”
Parno came into the room out of breath, and startled Dhulyn by taking her immediately in his arms.
“My soul,” she said, with the little breath he left her. “The enemy.”
He let her go, whirled to face the door, and drew his right-hand sword all in one movement.
“Not just now,” Dhulyn said, “but at any moment.” She turned back into the room. “Lady Bet-oTeb, Nurse Denobea, my Partner, Parno Lionsmane the Chanter.”
“Ladies.” Parno gave his best bow and accepted the young Tarkin-to-be’s acknowledgment. “Do you know the fastest way to the Onyx Walk?”
Din-eDin left the three volunteers at the top of the Ruby Stair and led Dhulyn and her charges down the Onyx Walk to the corridor that serviced the old summer kitchens.
“The Tarkin has gone ahead with Alkoryn Pantherclaw,” he told them, as they reached the opening of the service corridor. “You are to join him immediately, Lady Tarkina. He will send back the volunteers for this spot.”
“No need for them, I’ll stand with you.” Every head in the corridor, even that of little Bet-oTeb, turned to look at Hernyn.
“Demons and perverts, Hernyn. There’s no need.” Parno grasped the younger man’s arm. “Dhulyn, tell him there’s no need.”
Dhulyn looked at Hernyn but waited, knowing the young man had to speak. For the first time since they’d made it to safety after their escape from Tenebro House, he met her eyes squarely, and held them. His glance didn’t fall away in embarrassment after a few blinks. She saw strength there now, courage and resolve. It seemed what was left of the School boy had faded away, and Dhulyn saw the man, her true Brother.
“It’s for me to do,” Hernyn said. “Not for your sake, my Brother, for my own.”
Dhulyn clasped Hernyn’s hands in a firm grip. “Captain Din-eDin, if my Brother, Hernyn Greystone, called the Shield, will stay,” she said, still holding Hernyn’s eyes with her own, “you will need no others.”
Hernyn nodded, once down, once up, taking her words as they were meant, as a blessing.
“I welcome the Shield’s assistance,” Din-eDin said. He turned to the Tarkina. “You will be safe with these Brothers, my lady, and the Lord Tarkin.”
“Din-eDin, I thank you.”
“There is no need, my lady, but you are welcome.”
The Tarkina stepped forward from her spot between Parno and the nurse Denobea and kissed both Din-eDin and Hernyn Greystone the Shield on the cheek. The child, Bet-oTeb stepped out also, though not before the nurse made a move to stop her. She gave one hand to each of the two men.
“Thank you,” she said, her child’s voice ringing softly against the cold stone. “Thank you for my life.”
Oh, yes, Dhulyn thought as the two warriors-Mercenary and Guard-blushed and ducked their heads to the child before them. She’ll be Tarkin one day, and people will fall over themselves to follow her. Only then did the child turn, and let her mother and her nurse lead her up the corridor toward the kitchen.
Dhulyn embraced the younger Mercenary and said. “We will tell your tale, Brother.”
Din-eDin waited until the nobles were out of earshot. “My Tarkin is in your hands, Mercenaries. See that you hold him.”
“Mercenary House will know where to find us, if you should live through this day.”
“Can you close the passage behind you?”
Dhulyn looked to Parno, who shrugged.
“If you can, close it,” Din-eDin said. Dhulyn nodded, gave Hernyn’s shoulder one last squeeze, and ran down the corridor toward the old kitchen.
Fifteen
A WOMAN USING the public fountain at the east end of the Old Market had taken pity on him and given Gun a clay pitcher with a cracked lip to take water away in. Though he’d known better than to try paying her-he hadn’t completely forgotten being Gundy the horse boy-he had still tried to give her something in return.
“Keep your scarf, youngster,” she’d said to him, though Gun was fairly certain the woman wasn’t that much older than he was. Poor nutrition during childbearing would account for more of her lost teeth than age-obviously she didn’t come from the part of society who normally had access to Healers. Not that anyone did now.
“You’ll need all you have an’ more, I should think,” the woman added, eyeing him up and down and appeared to make up her mind about him, for she went on in a quieter voice.
“Don’t take this amiss, boy, but have you any other clothes? Rumor on the street says they’re looking for a Scholar, something to do with the Fall of Tenebro House what happened last night. There’s a reward offered an’ all. I’m not saying you’re the one they’re looking for, but you stick out, boy, that’s a fact, and if you don’t want to be answering questions, you’ll try to look less like what you are.”
“But I-” Shock stopped Gun’s voice. Looking for him because of the Fall of the House? Water began to dribble from the pitcher as his hand relaxed.
“Watch it, boy, watch it. No need to waste water.” The woman propped up his elbow with her strong fingers. “I’m not asking any questions myself, mind, just passing along a bit of advice. If you’ve no other clothes, go down to old Semplon-Nast, south corner, the rag and bone man. Tell him Nessa sent you, and he’ll give you good trade for what you’re wearing.”