“Get those shutters,” he called, jerking his head toward the other window as he closed the ones in front of him and threw up the first of the three solid iron bars that fit horizontally across, locking the iron-reinforced shutters tight. He glanced over, saw that Sharan had her shutters closed, and felt along the baseboard for the vertical rods he knew would be there, sliding them through the bars and locking them with sharp turns before going to help Sharan.
“They’ve backed off downstairs,” she said. “Shall I watch here?”
Parno nodded, his breath a harsh rasp in his throat, and headed back down the stairs. Now that this first assault had been repulsed, he was free to think about Dhulyn, knowing she would continue to the Dome, signal or no signal. He’d known her going off on her own was a cyantrine sniffer’s dream. He hoped he would be able to tell her so.
The first person he saw when he reached the outer courtyard was Tek-aKet. The Tarkin had a streak of dirt on his face and blood on the point of his sword.
There was silence from the street outside, when Parno would have expected the shouts of the troops and the sounds of running feet. It reminded him of that day in early spring, when he and Dhulyn had found the crowd watching the Finder’s home burn down with the children inside.
“It’s so quiet,” Tek-aKet said, coming up to Parno as he entered the courtyard. “Everyone is so quiet.”
Parno knew who “everyone” was to the Tarkin. “We’re killers, Tek,” is what he answered. “We’re trained to be quiet.” Though that didn’t account for the silence outside the gate.
“Parno,” the Tarkin said. “If we delay much longer, they’ll be in the Dome without us.”
“I know, Tek, I know. Just a few minutes more.”
Parno’s searching eyes froze on the spot where the plum tree in its pot had shed some late blossoms over Fanryn, still sitting with Thionan in her arms. Alkoryn, his sword in one hand, stood over them.
“Lionsmane.” Tek’s voice brought Parno around with a jerk.
“Sorry,” he said. He sheathed his own blade and went to Alkoryn. “Time for everyone to get into the tunnels.”
“Not everyone,” Alkoryn croaked. “I will not leave my House.” At Tek-aKet’s protesting noise, Alkoryn raised his hand and glanced behind him at the Brothers under the plum tree. “They will not move, and how could I leave them? Besides,” the old man shrugged. “If Lok-iKol’s men find the place empty, they will look for the tunnels. Barlen and Noshun will stay, Sharan has asked to remain also, that the rest of you may escape.”
“This is the second time people will die in order for me to escape.” Tek’s voice was calm, level. “I don’t like it.”
“Your time will come another day,” Alkoryn said, turning away.
“In Battle or in Death,” Parno said, knowing from the Senior Brother’s tone that it would be useless to argue. This was the end the old man sought. He hugged his Brother to him with one arm, kissed an oblivious Fanryn on the forehead, and touched Thionan’s hot cheek.
“We’re to the tunnels, then. Any who do not stay, send them after us.” He clapped for the attention of the Brothers in the courtyard and signaled to those who’d been assigned to go with him. The rest he would leave in Alkoryn’s hands.
Twenty
HE GOES SWIFTLY to the corner of the Library where the books and shelves make a great wall and begins to pull at the volumes, his hands going unerringly to one special section and pulling enough books and scrolls out of the way to make a tunnel in the wall, a tunnel he can enter only on his hands and knees. He encounters no shelves as he goes, just book after book, scroll after scroll, as tightly packed as unripe seeds in a flower head that lift away and disappear as he moves them out of his way. He tunnels for what seems like days, and he begins to fear that he cannot Find his way out again, even though the books and scrolls he removes go on disappearing as he pulls them free of the wall in front of him as the tunnel he crawls through gets smaller and smaller until he is reaching almost at his arm’s length to move the final small scroll aside so that he can see the Carnelian Throne and the man sitting on it with his eye patch not quite covering the steady green luminescence of the left eye.
The wall begins snapping back into place.
Gundaron pushed away Mar’s bowl forcefully enough for the water it held to slop out onto the tabletop, and released the breath he hadn’t known he was holding. He’d Found what he was looking for, no doubt there. Give Parno Lionsmane a reason not to kill him. Give them all a reason to trust him, to want him. Gun could almost hear his mother’s voice “For the Caids’ sake, Gundy, make yourself useful.”
It had taken him the better part of the night to think what to do, but he hoped that this would be useful enough.
“Gun?”
More water slopped on the table as Gun jerked upright and spun around. Mar stood with her hand on the back of his chair, dark brown brows drawn down into a vee over her eyes. He blinked. How could he have forgotten she was there?
“What did you Find?”
Gun stopped short of answering her as a fair-haired Mercenary Brother he didn’t know appeared in the doorway behind her.
“The Tarkina wants you,” the Brother said. “Quickly.”
Gun tossed the water on the floor and handed the bowl to Mar, ushering her out of the room in the Brother’s wake.
They found Zelianora Tarkina placing packets of dried food into her travel bags, the nurse Denobea tying young Zak-eZak into his sling, and Bet-oTeb dressed and ready, her long dagger in its sheath at her side. The two Personal Guards the Tarkin had left behind were waiting, arms crossed, just inside the entrance to the sleeping chamber.
The Tarkina glanced up but kept packing. “The House is under attack,” she said. “We’re to follow Parno Lionsmane into the tunnels.”
“We’re not safe enough here?” Even as she asked, Mar went to her own bags and began to restow her bowl and pick up her writing tools.
Zelianora tied the last loose thong on her pack and hefted it, nodding, before answering. “If Tek and Lionsmane succeed,” she said, “we can return to the Dome.” Her hands stilled. “And if they fail, we will need to leave here in any case. I prefer to be prepared.”
Gun took his lower lip between his teeth. “Mar, can you pack for us both? I’ve got to speak to Parno Lionsmane.”
The fair-haired Mercenary Brother shook his head. “He’ll have started-”
Gun didn’t wait to hear more. He ducked under the arm of the man at the doorway and dashed off in the direction of the deeper tunnels. There were only four of these tunnels in this section of the caves, and only one that led in the direction of the Dome. Logically-
Gun ran headlong into the chest of a large, hard Mercenary. Prevented from ducking around him, Gun strained to look over the Brother’s shoulder. Was that a glimmer of light he could see?
“Lionsmane,” he called. “Listen! You need the throne room. He’s… it’s in the throne room.”
The light stopped moving.
“Let him come.”
The Mercenary holding him let go and Gun dashed down the tunnel toward the light.
Telian-Han hesitated at the door, raised his hand to knock, and lowered it again. Though many of the doors in this wing had bolts on the inside (and some even locks that would work from the outside), to Telian’s knowledge the man he still privately thought of as the Tarkin, Tek-aKet Culebro, had never used them-at least not here in the private wing of the Carnelian Dome. A well-run Household doesn’t need locks, Tek-aKet used to say. A closed door is as good as a bolt to an honorable person. Since Lok-iKol had come, however, the bolts at least were almost always used. And some said the locks, too, though Telian pushed that thought away almost as soon as he had it.