Path of the Sun: A Novel of Dhulyn and Parno Read Online Free PDF Page A

Gustof Ironhand, Senior Mercenary Brother of Hellik, needs you to know.”
    “Something he could not tell us himself, evidently.”
    “Something no one else knows—yet. Something that we hope no one else will ever need to know.” They had all been speaking quietly out of courtesy for the nearness of the noble passengers, but Dorian now fell into the nightwatch voice, so quiet that very likely even the apprentices serving them would not hear a word.
    Parno resisted the urge to turn and look at Dorian again. He would have given much to see the expression in the older man’s eyes.
    “Can you tell us now?” Dhulyn said. “We’ll have to take turns sleeping during the day, if we’re both to be on watch tonight.”
    Dorian took the last swig from his own cup and signaled to the apprentice hovering nearby, eyes round as coins. It was rare for youngsters like these to see, let alone to serve, seasoned Brothers like the Wolfshead and the Lionsmane. The youngster nodded and touched his forehead in response to Dorian’s signal before scooping up the now empty jug of ganje and turning to go down the ladder to the main deck. Dorian leaned in.
    “A little over a year ago the old Tarkin of Menoin sent to the Mercenary House in Pyrusa for two bodyguards.”
    Dhulyn Wolfshead leaned forward, putting her cup carefully down on the table. Parno sat up straighter, though he still did not take his eyes from the Arderon Princess. It was not unusual for a ruler, or even a High Noble House, to use Mercenary Brothers as personal guards if they could afford it. There were some who even preferred it, since the question of trust would never arise. Still, it seemed an ominous way for Dorian to begin.
    “You say ‘the old Tarkin,’ ” was all Dhulyn said aloud.
    Dorian nodded. “The one who originally contracted for the marriage to our Princess.”
    “She seems a little older than the usual wife-to-be.” Dhulyn glanced at her Partner.
    Dorian smiled. “Indeed. But she is the Tarkina of Arderon’s closest female kin—other than her own daughters—unmarried and of child-bearing years. The two countries, Menoin and Arderon, were once most closely related, and this alliance is vital—some tricky point of political tradition depends upon it. Of course the alliance is still possible, still desirable, perhaps even more so, now that the old Tarkin is dead.”
    “Dead?” Dhulyn had no need to say anything more than that one word. Both her Partner and her Schooler understood what she was really asking. How did the old Tarkin die, when he had two Mercenary Brothers as bodyguards?
    Dorian nodded, accepting a jug refilled with steaming hot ganje before motioning the youngster away. “A sudden illness—though definitely not poison. A Healer was sent for, but one could not arrive in time.”
    Again, nothing unusual there. Of all the Marked, Menders were most common, then Finders, and only Seers were rarer than Healers. Many Healers still followed the old custom of traveling a route prescribed by their Guild in order to provide the most service, though there were always rumors of Healers in Royal Houses, and Dhulyn knew from her own experience that the Great King in the West had one of his own.
    “Word was sent to us that on being released from their contract by the death of the Tarkin, our Brothers had left Menoin, had in fact taken ship for Ishkanbar.” Dorian poured fresh ganje into all their cups before continuing. “I know what you are thinking. Though I’d wager the two of you rarely send word to the nearest Mercenary House of your comings and goings.”
    “Not as often as we did when we were newly badged,” Dhulyn said. “If we’re near one of our own Houses, we’ll stop, of course, even go a half day’s ride or so out of our way. But send word? No, not usually. Still, as you suggest, it is not uncommon in newly badged Brothers.”
    “As one at least of these was.” Dorian took a swallow of hot ganje and grimaced. “Kesman