Three identical dressed-stone passages led from the entrance hallway, each as wide as her outstretched arms, each carpeted with runners of woven matting to deaden the sound of servants’ feet. Dal had chosen the one on the right, and they had advanced as far as the first cross corridor when they heard footsteps running. Dhulyn and Cullen had been walking with their swords at the ready, and now Karlyn and Joss lifted theirs, bracing themselves. Dal held up his hand and after a few moments it became clear that the running feet came no nearer, but were fading into the distance.
“They go to the throne room,” Dal said.
“If our people are the target of those running guards, they will need our help.”
“Throne room it is.”
They lit the cressets when the third lamp they came to was out of oil and covered in dust, as was the smoothed stone floor under their feet. Those who carried no lights held to the belts of those who did. They’d left the natural caves under Mercenary House behind them, and were now in the secret tunnels that generations of Mercenaries had discovered, used, and expanded upon.
And even though they were helping him at the moment, Tek-aKet Tarkin didn’t like it. He didn’t like the darkness, the closed-in spaces-hadn’t liked it the first time through, but then he’d had Zella with him and the children and that had made a difference.
He didn’t at all like that the tunnels existed, and he especially didn’t like that the Mercenaries knew so much about them.
The passage they followed now was narrow enough that in places they had to turn sideways, and Tek found himself thinking how lucky he was that he took after his slim mother, and not after the hulking bear of a man his father had been. As it was, there were one or two places where even walking sideways made for a tight fit. Parno Lionsmane, with the maps Tek didn’t like to think about firmly in his mind, led the way. After a long, unbroken stretch of bricked tunnel, they came to a crossroads and the Mercenary Brother hesitated.
“Tell me again, Scholar, which way we should go.”
Unable to turn completely, Tek looked over his shoulder at where the Scholar stood between Jessen and Tonal.
“He’s in the throne room, Lionsmane. I’m sure of it.”
Because of the confinement of the walls, Tek was the only one of the group who could see the man’s face-and Tek was fairly certain even Parno Lionsmane didn’t realize he could be seen. Tek saw distrust flit across the Mercenary’s features, strangely bronzed by the light from the cresset he held. The distrust was followed by frustration as Parno Lionsmane shut his eyes tight. And finally the man shrugged.
“Throne room it is,” he told the pale-faced Scholar. “If we live through this, you’re going to tell me how you know.”
Using his dagger, he scratched a pattern on the tunnel wall at eye height and added an arrow.
The tunnel grew gradually wider, and narrow slitted openings began appearing high in the stone walls, letting in some outside light. There was something familiar about the pattern of the light, and it dawned on Tek that this was the outer wall of the Soniana Tower, so called after a long-dead Tarkina, and the present-day location of the Carnelian Throne. He had seen these narrow slits in the walls from the outside, and thought them decorations.
There was light enough for them to see the end of the passage before they walked into it. Parno Lionsmane signaled, holding up his left hand with the first two fingers extended. Tek passed the signal back to his guards. The Lionsmane stuck the cresset into a bracket to the left of the wall in front of him and ran his fingertips over the bricks, feeling for the one glazed smooth. Tek saw him take a deep, quiet breath and let it out slowly, before he ran his hands over the bricks again.
“Should I hold the light?” Tek said.
Lionsmane shook his head. “The maps say the brick won’t show, no matter where we hold the light, that only-here it is.” Tek put out his hand and the Lionsmane guided it until Tek could feel the smooth glazing for himself. It was one of the smaller tying-in bricks, he thought smiling, placed sideways to the others both to create a pattern and to strengthen the double-layered wall. Unless you knew what to look for, the smooth surface was too small to draw attention to itself.
The Mercenary braced his fingers and pushed the smooth brick with his thumbs. “Lord Tarkin, your hands under mine, please.” Even straining as they all were, Tek heard nothing, and it wasn’t until they released the catch that Tek felt the wall give, shuddering slightly under their hands. According to the instructions that had been handwritten on the map, this section of wall was cantilevered, and they should be able to swing it open by pushing on the left-hand side.
Lionsmane drew his sword, and motioned Jessen and Tonal forward, showing them with the point of his blade where he wanted their hands. “I’ll go through first and to the left; the Tarkin behind me and to the right. Guards, you follow up the middle. Scholar, stay out of the way of the blades.” When everyone was in position, the Mercenary nodded and the two guards pushed against the wall to the left of the trigger brick. As promised, the wall opened, so quietly that without the change in light Tek wouldn’t have been sure that it had happened.
“Who’s been keeping this oiled?” he whispered as he followed the Mercenary through the narrow space into the dressing room and stepped to the right. Lionsmane threw him a glance that made Tek’s ears burn. Of course. The Brotherhood maintains the tunnels.
When Tek was growing up, this room had been filled with his father’s robes of state, the Tarkin’s coronet and the spear and sword, symbols of the Tarkin’s office. Tek preferred less ceremony, and had always used the room as a private salon, where he could retreat to rest and refresh himself without technically leaving the throne room, or to send petitioners to wait for a more private audience. A thick rug covered the stone floor, with two comfortable chairs placed near a table covered with an embroidered cloth, tall enough to serve for either writing or dining.
As Tek stepped to the right out of the opening, he glanced down at this table. It held the cut-glass inkwell that Zella’s sister Alliandra had sent him from Berdana’s new glassworks. The ink had dried, and inkwell, pens, and embroidered cloth were all covered with a fine layer of dust. Tek tightened his grip on his sword and felt a chill trickle up his spine. His whole life he’d lived in the Carnelian Dome, and he’d never before seen dust on the furniture.
Lionsmane waited until everyone had come out of the secret passage before he swung the wall shut behind them. The paneling was decorated with an inlaid pattern, and with a tap of his forefinger, he drew their attention to the piece of inlay that marked the door’s trigger from this side. When Tek and his two guards had nodded, the Mercenary turned to look at the room.
“Does that door open directly into the throne room,” he asked, his voice a quiet growl, “or is there another, connecting room?”
“I’m surprised you don’t know,” Tek said, smiling to take the sting out of his words. Well, he thought, first you kill the wolf, then you worry about the holes in the fences. He would deal with the extent of the Mercenaries’ knowledge when they lived through this. “Not a room, but a connecting passage,” he continued. “Go immediately right. The door on the left wall at the other end is the entrance to the throne room proper. The entrance will bring us out to the right of the Throne itself. The door opens toward us and will lay flat against the far wall.”
Parno Lionsmane nodded, his eyes still on the door.
“Your best guess as to the number of guards in the room, Lord Tarkin.”
“There are always two standing at the throne itself. This is not the normal time for audiences…” Tek turned to look at the Scholar, looking all the paler for a streak of dirt on his face, standing close to the hidden opening, as if he would like to go back through.