“Listen, little Dove, never think for a moment that Dhulyn did not save your life. He was ready to take you, that hot head boy-to sell or to slave for him, whichever took his fancy. We were past bargaining for the bowl by the time the swords were out.”

“I tell myself that,” Mar said. “But at the time I thought… I didn’t think…”

“You didn’t think she would actually have to kill him,” Lionsmane said. “You thought ‘this is real life, it’ll all end before the bloodshed.’ ” He sighed. “Mar-eMar Tenebro,” he said, “you did not kill Clarys of Trevel. His own people lifted no hand to stop him. He was given every chance to avoid his end, and he took none. The Cloud People are hard fighters, none better, but it would take three, maybe four of them to kill Dhulyn Wolfshead, and at that they’d have to trick her. It was Clarys’ own arrogance killed him, more than anything you did, or said. More, even, than anything Dhulyn did or said. No one else blames you,” he added when she did not reply. “And one day you’ll stop blaming yourself.”

Mar looked down at her clenched hands. Her head told her he was right-but her head had been telling her that for hours, and her heart felt no better for it. She wasn’t sure she’d done the right thing about the bowl-and she wasn’t sure she’d done the right thing about the letters. How much was she willing to trade to regain her noble life?

From where she rode ahead of Parno and Mar, Dhulyn had no trouble making out their words. She wrinkled her nose. That was the trouble with towns people. The little Dove had known that Dhulyn was a killer, back in the taproom in Navra. But she’d known it without thinking about it. During their journey, Mar had forgotten this thing she never thought about, and Dhulyn had become a kind of knowledgeable older sister, a guide and teacher of the secrets of the trail. More than once, Mar had even called her “Scholar.” That had ended with Clarys’ life. Now, Dhulyn knew, she would always be “Wolfshead.”

Nothing to be done, she thought, pulling her shoulders straight. Such is the way of things. Dhulyn did not have Parno’s natural warmth, his skill with people. Even when they saw him kill someone, he never entirely stopped being “Chanter.” Parno’s childhood had been spent in a Household-why, he and the Dove were probably related in some distant and complicated way, Dhulyn realized, her heart skipping a beat. Small wonder they were comfortable together. Bloodbone tossed her head and snorted. “Easy,” Dhulyn said, knowing it was her own uneasiness the mare was feeling. Mar was not the only one on her way back to her own family, her own people. Only Dhulyn had no family to return to, and perhaps no people. And if she had? she thought, frowning. If she had?

They entered Gotterang six days later. Dirty, tired, and bored with each other. The gates stood open, and while the guards were stopping everyone-Dhulyn saw some travelers being turned away-she saw no watching presence dressed in red and brown. She squinted. There was something else she couldn’t see.

“Parno,” she said, drawing in Bloodbone until she was riding knee-to-knee with her Partner. “What are the odds that in a capital city like Gotterang there should be no Mercenaries among the guards at the gates?”

“High, but not impossible,” her Partner replied. His eyes took on the faraway look that meant he was calculating. Dhulyn had first seen that look at Arcosa, where Parno had figured the enemy numbers by counting their cook fires. “I’d put us at about one in forty, in terms of Imrion’s soldiers. So, yes, there should be a few Brothers among the City Guard.”

“That’s what I thought,” Dhulyn said. “Yet I see no Brothers ahead of us.”

“They could be on another watch, or at another gate.”

“They could.” But somehow Dhulyn had a feeling they weren’t.

When they got close enough, Dhulyn examined the arched gates themselves with professional interest. They were two thirds the height of the walls, three man heights at least, and the rounded opening was wide enough for four horsemen to ride through abreast. She would give half a moon’s pay at campaign rates to get a look at the machinery that would shut the gates quickly across so large an opening. Had there been any Brothers among the guards, she might have asked for a viewing, but likely, as this was Gotterang, the Seat of the Tarkin, she would have been refused.

“Your business here, Mercenaries?” The guardswoman spoke with barely a glance at them.

“We escort this young lady to Tenebro House,” Parno said.

“Tenebro House, eh? I don’t suppose you’ll want to tell me what that’s all about?” the woman said, stepping forward.

“You suppose correctly, my friend,” Parno smiled.

“Coming from?”

“Navra.”

“Navra? Is the Pass open?”

“For military information, you’ll have to consult our House.”

“No need to get huffy, man. I was only asking out of curiosity.”

“It’s open enough for three people on horseback,” Parno said with a shrug. “If that’s of any use to you.”

“See any Cloud People?”

“Plenty of clouds, no people.”

“Some people have all the luck,” the guardswoman shook her head. A tall man in a crested helmet approached, and the woman questioning them drew herself stiffly to attention. “Two Mercenary Brothers, and their charge, to House Tenebro, Captain.”

“Very well,” the officer said. “Carry on.” He turned to speak to Parno as the guardswoman began to deal with the people behind them. “Dismount, please.” He waited, but none of them moved. Even Dhulyn would have been just as glad to be on her feet; the last two nights her bed had seemed to sway, and she’d been riding in her dreams. But Mercenaries didn’t get down off their horses for no reason.

“Except for those on City Guard business, and the Noble Houses, riding is not permitted in the city.” The Guard Captain had the air of someone who was repeating himself for the thousandth time. “You’ll go directly to your House,” the man stated flatly, biting off his words. “They’ll tell you what parts of the city you are free of, and what parts you’ll need business to enter.”

“My friend, we’re of the Brotherhood,” Parno said. “Since when are we to be treated like thieves and rogues?”

“I’m not blind, man. And I’m not your friend. If you wish to enter the city, these are the conditions. If not, move away from the gate.”

“The young lady stays mounted, then,” Dhulyn said as she climbed down from Bloodbone more slowly than necessary. “She is of the Tenebro,” she said to the man’s lifted eyebrow. “Nobles, you said, may ride.”

The officer nodded brusquely and stepped back. “Your pardon, Lady. Would you like a guard escort? These two must go directly to their House to report themselves. It would save you time.”

“No, thank you.” Mar spoke quietly, but with some composure. “I am in no hurry.” That almost made Dhulyn smile again. From the look on the little Dove’s face, any delay would be welcomed.

“Very well, Lady.” The officer turned back to Parno and rattled off the directions to Mercenary House as the Lionsmane listened, gravely nodding as though every Mercenary did not know where every one of their Houses could be found. He gave Mar another sharp nod, almost deep enough to be a bow, and turned his attention back to his guards.

Parno followed Dhulyn’s example and dismounted, exaggerating his stiffness as much as possible.

“It used to be they waited for you to make trouble before they decided you were a troublemaker,” he said casually as they strolled through the gate, but loudly enough for the retreating officer to hear. Dhulyn laughed. It would have been out of character not to grumble, however false it may have sounded to their own ears. Dhulyn shifted her shoulders, feeling the knife resting in its harness under her vest. She had the oddest sensation that she was being watched. She turned around, but no one at the gate was following their progress, nor did they seem the focus of anyone’s attention. She stroked Bloodbone’s nose. The horses seemed quite content.