“I did not knock, since I have learned that these are no longer your rooms.”
Karlyn-Tan inclined his head.
“I have further learned that you have been told to leave with nothing that the Lord Lok-iKol has given you. Therefore, I have brought you clothing and a sword.”
By the tone of his voice, and the expression on his face, Dal-eDal might have been passing Karlyn the bread at a communal table and not the tools that might save his life.
“I may need to report that they come from your hand.”
Dal-eDal shrugged. “Consider it reported. My cousin has returned to the Carnelian Dome, and I am the heir.”
Karlyn nodded his understanding, feeling a tightness in his shoulders relax. It was to find Dal-eDal that Semlin-Nor had left in such a hurry. “In that case, I accept.”
It was Dal-eDal’s turn to nod. He straightened his cuffs as if searching for something more to say.
“Did he want you to find the Tarkin?”
“You mean Tek-aKet Culebroso? The former Tarkin?”
Dal smiled. “Yes, that is what I meant.”
Karlyn took a deep breath, found further tension releasing. “No,” he said. “The Scholar, the Lady Mar-eMar, and the Mercenary Dhulyn Wolfshead.”
Dal leaned against the doorframe, folding his arms across his chest. “What is it about this woman? He tricks Mar-eMar into bringing her to Gotterang, and now, with all that must be occupying him in the less than two days he’s been on the Carnelian Throne, he finds time to leave the Dome to ask you to find her?”
“The Scholar would know.”
“And if we had the Scholar,” Dal said, “we would know.”
We? Karlyn thought. Dal presumed much on the basis of clothing and a sword. Karlyn believed he could put his hands on both the youngsters pretty easily, thanks to Jeldor-San’s fast thinking in having them followed and to his own tracking skills, but he saw no need to tell Dal-eDal as much.
The two men exchanged a long look.
“If you would,” Dal said finally, “once you know where you are, send me word.”
“Why not?”
Dal-eDal’s parting smile was more than half grimace.
“Just as soon as I figure out who you’ll tell,” Karlyn-Tan said once the door had closed again.
Parno was using the sharpening stone he’d found in the underground chamber’s weapons kit to put a better edge on one of the knives he’d been given from the Tarkin’s armory. As soon as he could get upstairs, he’d be able to recover those of his own weapons-including his best sword-that had, along with the rest of his pack, been left with their horses at Mercenary House. He scowled at the knife, moving it this way and that as the light caught the edge. Was it really only a week ago?
Parno looked over the edge of the blade to find Bet-oTeb looking at him. The Tarkin-to-be looked very solemn, her eyes huge in the chamber’s uncertain light. “My father wants you,” she said. “If you would be so good as to come with me.”
Parno bowed to her, put the knife back into the sheath he wore at his belt, and followed Bet-oTeb to the far end of the room, where the Tarkin sat with his wife. Tek-aKet smiled his thanks to his daughter and indicated that Parno should seat himself on the next bed.
The Tarkin looked tired, as well he might, having slept only a few hours after being up most of the night. Parno doubted he would have recognized the man had he merely encountered him on the street, any more than his second cousin appeared to recognize him. There was a world of difference between the seventeen year old he had been and the bearded, tattooed, and heavily-muscled Mercenary Brother he had become. The last time Parno had seen Tek-aKet, back when he himself had still been Par-iPar Tenebro, Tek had been thirteen, gangly and round-shouldered from study. Fourteen years later, Parno could see the old Tarkin in the shape of Tek’s eyes, the breadth of his shoulders, and the firm set of his jaw.
Tek-aKet now leaned forward until their heads were almost touching.
“Zelianora and I have been taking thought,” the Tarkin of Imrion said. “Am I correct in my understanding that you can speak for your Partner?”
Parno nodded. “We are the same person,” he said.
“Can you tell me, then, whether she will use her Mark to help me?”
“More than she has already done,” the Tarkina said, acknowledgment and gratitude in her voice. Her husband flashed her a smile and nodded.
Parno looked down at his hands, clasped between his knees. The man thought he had a great tool, and who could blame him… Parno had once thought so himself. Experience had taught Parno differently, but how was he to convince Tek-aKet? Did Dhulyn escape from Lok-iKol only to fall into his cousin’s hands? Parno looked at Zelianora Tarkina, who was watching her husband’s face with steady dark eyes. Composed, almost serene. He looked back at the Tarkin. This man was not like Lok-iKol, he thought. Nothing like.
“One time,” he said quietly, “Dhulyn woke up crying. She’d Seen a farmer drowning a basket of kittens. Is that the kind of thing you want her to tell you?”
Tek-aKet sat up straight, letting his hands fall to his knees. “You’re saying she can’t control it.”
“I’m saying she can’t control it.” Parno rubbed his chin. He’d kill for the time to shave and a nice sharp razor, though he feared he’d have to wait until he left Imrion to do it. “At first, I thought it was just some kind of Outlander stubbornness. She hated the thought that I might be watching her in the morning, trying to see in her face some sign that she’d Seen something in the night. That I was waiting for her to tell me what to do next, instead of using my own brain. ‘I’m not a crutch,’ she used to say to me. But then I realized that she wasn’t trying to teach me a moral lesson, but telling me the real truth. Her Mark wasn’t something that we were going to able to use, to lean on.”
“How does it work, then?” the Tarkina asked in her musical voice.
Parno shrugged. “It comes when it comes, waxes and wanes like the moon. Strongest with her woman’s time, as if the blood brings it, and if she’s touching someone, she’s likely to See something pertaining to them. But not always. And sometimes she’ll get Visions in between, not so clear, but sometimes.” He looked up to find them both watching him.
“And you have to understand, there’s never any context to them. The farmer with the kittens? She didn’t know what country he was in, or when it would happen. If we’d wanted to stop it, we wouldn’t have known where to go. She’ll help you,” he said. “We both will. But don’t count on her Mark to win for you.”
“And since the foreign ambassadors should be met with as quickly as possible, my lord, I’ve arranged for an informal supper in the east reception room. That way you can speak to them all at once. The Berdanan ambassador is particularly insistent concerning the whereabouts of the Tarkina and her children, as they are the heirs of her sister, Queen Alliandra.” The voice of the Tarkin’s Chief Counselor, Gan-eGan, was flat and colorless. But then, Lok-iKol thought, that more or less described the voice of everyone in the Carnelian Dome.
“It would not be more diplomatic to see him at least individually?” Lok-iKol frowned, resisting the desire to rub at his eye. He’d managed only a few hours’ sleep in the last two days, and right now he felt they hadn’t done him much good. The day had started well, the Dome and city were his, and the Assembly of Houses had met and accepted him as Tarkin-though not quite by acclamation. House Penrado had pleaded illness and absented himself, as Lok had expected, but he had not actually protested. Lok would do something about that later.
But the day had not continued well. Lok closed his right hand into a fist. He had not expected Karlyn-Tan to defy him, and now he would have to find someone else to hunt for the Seer.
“A meeting at this time, my lord Tarkin, is a mere formality. They acknowledge you, and you remind them that existing relations will continue. Your reassurances to the Berdanan ambassador will carry more weight when spoken in front of such witnesses. When I said ‘informal, ’ I meant in dress and preparation, not in topic of discussion.”