“Well, so do we if it comes to that,” Parno pointed out.

“Yes,” Dhulyn said. “But we risk our lives doing it; that may keep us safe a while longer.”

“Oh, in public and during the day the New Believers preach tolerance and understanding, pleading with the Marked to come to their shrines for guidance and cleansing.” The old man shook his head. “I see from your faces you’ve been told what this cleansing means.”

“All this turmoil, at least, should mean we’ll find plenty of work, once we’ve delivered our charge.”

“Don’t count your money yet,” Alkoryn said. “There’s been no new hiring of Mercenary Brothers for weeks, and some long in guard service have been let go.”

“All these problems, the City Guard confounded, and no work for Mercenaries?”

“Nothing overt has been either said or done,” Alkoryn said. “But again, this is nothing new in our history. There are changes coming, with these New Believers, and it won’t be the first time that as a Brotherhood we ride them out, rather than fight them out.”

“And the Marked?”

“We’ve a little something in hand for them, never fear. When you’ve finished with the Tenebro girl, I will have an assignment for you myself. But tell me, you heard nothing of this in the West?”

“Not in the court of the Great King,” Dhulyn said. “There are Marked there, of course, but very few, and well-respected.”

“As bad as it is here in Imrion, this whole eastern end of the world is like kindling awaiting the match. Kondria has warned the Tarkin that if there are any further attacks on the Marked, it will withdraw its embassy.”

“That means war.”

Dhulyn shot a glance at Parno. Was there worry in his voice?

“And if Kondria is drawn into a religious war with Imrion, their allies will follow,” Alkoryn said. The look he gave them was grave. “The Tarkin, and his hold on Imrion, is all that keeps the east from bursting into flame.”

“If the east is burning, it may attract the attention of the Great King,” Dhulyn said. “And bring the rest of the world into the conflict.” She frowned down at the table, tracing her finger along a shoreline drawn in deep sea green. She froze.

FIRES

She’d Seen fires consuming shores, mountains, and rivers.

“With things so uncertain, perhaps you should consider moving your maps,” she said. Parno looked at her, eyebrows raised in inquiry, but she moved her head minutely, side to side.

“What Dorian has said of you is true,” Alkoryn said after a short silence. “Your intuition is superb. It is, indeed, part of my plan to move these records to a safer spot.”

“I would start moving them now,” Dhulyn said, gesturing around her. “I think you are so used to them, my Brother, that you don’t realize how much packing all this will take.”

“You may be right.”

“In the meantime, since Imrion is not yet at war, we’ll take the little Dove to Tenebro House…” Dhulyn let the words fade away as Alkoryn held up his hand.

“The day’s well advanced. Wait until morning and take no chances. And in the meantime, I have something here that may be of use, though it cannot leave this room.” He twisted in his seat and reached over the low back of his chair. Dhulyn automatically noted that the old man was still limber enough to perform such an action. After a moment’s hesitation he selected a bundle of thin parchments rolled together and tied with a wide blue ribbon. This he untied and spread the curling papers, turning brown around the outer edges, flat on the map that covered the table. Parno passed over several stone weights from his side of the table.

Floor plans, Dhulyn realized. Layer after intricate layer of floor plans.

“Incredible,” Parno murmured, pulling one sheet closer to his side of the table. The house was a maze. Halls that went nowhere, others that simply turned back on themselves, forcing the uninitiated to travel in circles, fake walls, secret passages, more stairwells than normally appear in a handful of buildings.

“Built in the time of Jorelau Tarkin,” Alkoryn said. “And reflecting the paranoia of that day.”

Dhulyn tapped the corner of one sheet, where the mark of House Tenebro was clearly drawn.

“How is this possible?” she said, smiling her wolf’s smile.

Alkoryn shrugged. “Over the years many Brothers have served as guards and instructors in Tenebro House. We have three there now, as it happens. For that reason, I will ask you to exercise the greatest care while you are on their premises.”

Dhulyn nodded, her eyes still on the plans. Mercenary Brothers might find themselves on opposite sides on a battlefield, but anywhere else they took care of one another.

She looked up from the drawings. “Is the old Bootmaker’s Inn still in business?”

Alkoryn nodded. “You might as well leave your horses here, however. You won’t be riding them, and it will save you their board.”

“Let’s hope that’s all we have to worry about,” Parno said, still studying the floor plans of Tenebro House.

Six

“DO I HAVE TO RIDE?” Mar asked from her seat on the windowsill. The Bootmaker’s Inn had been almost full, and they had ended up all sleeping in the same room, though not, this time, in the same bed.

Wolfshead looked up from lacing the cuff of her leggings. “Of course not, if you don’t wish it,” was all she said.

“Then I don’t wish it,” Mar said.

Wolfshead nodded, straightened to her feet, plucked her sheathed sword off the bed, and hung it on her belt harness. “Not that comfortable riding yesterday?” she asked.

Mar shrugged. “Maybe if I’d been dressed differently. I kept thinking people were looking at me and wondering what a girl dressed in a shop clerk’s worn-out clothing was doing on a horse.” She looked up to find the Wolfshead watching her, head tilted to one side.

“You’re not the Weaver’s girl anymore, that’s certain. But remember that nobility can insulate as well as expose.”

Mar looked down, nodding. She knew what the Wolfshead said was true. But, like so many things lately, it didn’t make her feel any better.

“Come,” Wolfshead said, her voice soft and kind. “There’s no harm in being a weaver’s girl for a little while longer.”

Lionsmane turned from gossiping with the innkeeper just as Mar entered the yard with Wolfshead.

“All ready, then?” he said, turning toward them with a smile.

The innkeeper shook his head, grinning. “If I’d known you had a cousin of the Tenebros with you, I’d have charged you more for your room.”

“Why do you think we didn’t tell you?”

The man was still chuckling when Mar followed Lionsmane through the inn’s gated entrance out into a wide city street. The Wolfshead, for once, was bringing up the rear, with Mar safely tucked between them.

“It’s a long walk, as walking goes, from this quarter to Tenebro House. You’re sure you don’t want us to get you a horse?” Lionsmane looked back at her over his left shoulder.

Mar shook her head. “I’d rather walk,” she said. “I’d like to see something of the city.” They wouldn’t push her, she knew. They would realize that she was making delays out of nervousness. The Lionsmane was humming and whistling as if there was something about cities that brought out a spirit of fun in him.

As they walked, the narrow street crossed others and widened into squares every now and then, some with public fountains and others with neighborhood ovens. The business of the day had already started for many of the people, and setting aside the difference that sheer numbers meant, Mar saw much that was familiar to her. Shops, homes, and taverns being swept out, stalls being set up in the squares, and merchants laying out their wares. These were not like the large farmers’ market she’d known in Navra, but neighborhood places, where people came to do their marketing every day.