“My lord,” Din-eDin said.

The Tarkin blinked and stood up straight. “Zelianora and the children.”

Dhulyn glanced at Alkoryn and waited to speak until he’d nodded.

“Tell us the way, and if you’ve arms for us, Parno, Hernyn, and I will go for the Tarkina,” she said, “and meet you by the Ruby Stairs.” Or even if you don’t have arms, she refrained from saying out loud. Guard Captain Din-eDin no doubt felt inadequate enough.

Fanryn Bloodhand stepped off the last of the twisted narrow flight of treads cut into the rock deep under Mercenary House and felt her eyebrows rise and her mouth form an “oh” as her lantern illuminated what Alkoryn had called the lower chamber. A grunt reminded her she wasn’t alone and she moved forward out of Thionan Hawkmoon’s way.

“Well,” Thionan said after a minute of staring about her. “Big enough, isn’t it?”

Fanryn nodded. The chamber was a good four spans long, partly natural, and partly cut out of the rock, with beds for at least twenty and space for twenty more.

Holding her lantern higher, Thionan moved deeper into the room. “There’s bedding,” she said, “and the air’s fresh enough. Cold, though.”

“We’ll send one of the youngsters down to start a fire,” Fanryn said, indicating the iron stove along the right-hand wall and the pile of neatly cut logs stacked next to it. “Make sure everything is warm and dry.”

“What is it?” her Partner said, as Fanryn stood still near the bottom of the stairway.

Fanryn shrugged. “I didn’t like sending Hernyn off again like that. One of us should have gone.”

“And spoil the fun of his first real danger? Go on, he wouldn’t have thanked us. And besides,” Thionan said, putting her arm around Fanryn’s waist. “Our orders were to hold the House.”

Fanryn nodded, doing her best to smile. “And with luck, Hernyn’ll come back with whoever it is Alkoryn wants this room made ready for.”

“There you go,” Thionan said, giving her Partner a squeeze. “Let’s get out of here, it’s too blooded cold.”

Dhulyn followed Parno and Hernyn, their feet silent on the winter matting of the corridor, hefting a blade unusually well-balanced, considering the amount of gold and jewels decorating it. She supposed it followed that the nearest weapons to the Tarkin’s private study should come from the Tarkin’s personal armory. Even the dagger she had in her boot was worth more than all her other possessions, books included. Good thing, too, as so far in this campaign they’d made no money at all.

“Parno, my soul,” she said in the voice one used on nightwatch, the voice that didn’t carry. “What happened to that purse of money the old Tenebroso gave us?”

“Gone when I woke up in the cell with our Brothers.”

“Another thing that one-eyed piece of inglera dung owes us,” she muttered under her breath.

They had advanced as far as the end of the final dressed-stone corridor that led away from the Old Tower, and had turned into a wider, wood-paneled hallway when they heard the soft tramp of careful feet, offset by the muted jingle of soldiers’ harness. The Mercenaries slowed, if possible becoming even more silent than they had been before.

Parno raised his brows at her. “For or against?” he asked in the nightwatch murmur.

“Against,” she answered.

“How do you know?” Hernyn said.

Parno shut his eyes and shook his head slightly, but Dhulyn answered. “Their footsteps are hesitant. If they were on our side, they’d know where they were going. Since not for us, against us.”

“They’re closer,” Parno said.

Dhulyn looked around quickly. The hallway was a long one, and they had come too far down it to be sure of getting back to the cross corridor without being seen. And, unlike Tenebro House, there were no hiding places in the hallway itself-the original designer had seen to that, and the later inhabitants had been careful not to disturb it.

“Dhulyn.” She’d known Parno long enough to hear the impatience in his voice.

“Fine. We kill them.”

“I don’t understand,” Hernyn said, stepping into the lead at Dhulyn’s gesture. Dhulyn merely shook her head.

“She doesn’t like to kill people,” Parno said. Hernyn looked at Dhulyn and back at Parno. “It’s an Outlander thing,” Parno added, shrugging.

“Advance,” Dhulyn said, pulling the dagger from her boot. “Or we lose the element of surprise.”

Not that they needed it, she thought moments later. They reached the end of the wide hallway just as their quarry rounded the corner. That they did so without either looking first or sending a man ahead was testament to their carelessness. Hernyn spitted the first one on his sword as quick as breathing, and had the sword out and killed the next man while the first body was still slumping to the floor. Parno kicked the feet out from under a tall, thin man who obviously thought he had the reach on everyone, gutting him with his left-hand short sword as the man went down, while blocking another blow with the short sword in his right hand. The fifth man turned to run, and with a call to warn her Brothers, Dhulyn threw the jeweled dagger and caught the runaway squarely under the left shoulder blade as Parno pulled his sword from the fourth man.

Dhulyn stepped around the bodies and blood on the floor, grasped the jeweled hilt, and pulled the dagger free.

“Throws well, too,” she said, wiping the blade clean on the dead man’s shirt.

“Look what I have.” The dead soldiers had all been wearing badges in the Tenebro colors of black, teal, and dark red pinned to their chests. Hernyn had removed them. “We can wear them as a disguise.”

Dhulyn leaned forward and picked one out of his hand. “This one has blood on it.”

They had not progressed much farther when noises came from behind them. Parno twisted around to listen more carefully, holding up his hand for Dhulyn and Hernyn to be still.

“We’re between them and the Tarkina’s rooms,” he said. “But they sound like they’re coming this way.” He lowered his hand. “Dhulyn? You’re Senior.”

“You wait here for them. Join us if you can. If not, we’ll be back for you.”

“My Brother, I could stay.”

Parno caught Dhulyn’s eye but should have known better; of course she’d seen what he’d seen. The nervous half smile that appeared on Hernyn’s face whenever he stopped controlling his features. Those two Tenebro soldiers could very well be the first people he’d killed since his Schooling had finished. The boy had done well, and he knew it, but was trying to be as offhand about it as his Senior Brothers. Since he was paying more attention to his attitude than his job, this was not the time to put Hernyn in charge of their rear guard.

“My Brother,” Dhulyn said with command in her tone. “This is not your time.” Parno caught her eye and winked.

“In Battle,” he said.

“Or in Death,” they responded as they trotted down the hall toward the Tarkina’s rooms. Parno adjusted the badge pinned to the front of his tunic and stood, feet shoulder width apart, knees slightly bent, shoulders relaxed, swords held out from his body. He released all the breath from his lungs and breathed in, consciously beginning the rhythms of the Eagle Shora. His heartbeat slowed, sounds became clearer, the light brightened.

The first man into the hallway was Dal-eDal Tenebro.

Parno felt his lips peel back from his teeth. The blond man motioned his fellows to wait, stepped forward himself to striking distance and stopped, but Parno wasn’t stupid enough to move. He was already in the best spot to stop them from advancing, close enough to the corner to crowd them as they came around, far enough from the other end to give him room to fall back.

Dal’s eyes flicked to the badge on Parno’s chest.

“We’ve engaged no Mercenary Brothers to fight for us,” Dal said.

“Do all your allies know? Because once I’ve killed you, you won’t be telling anyone else.”