“I see no one,” Karlyn said.

A shifting of air and the feel of sunlight on the skin of her arms and hands told her they were through the inner gate and into the main courtyard of the Dome.

“You there,” Dal called out. “Where are the Stewards? Our horses need attendance, as do we.”

Nothing more than muttering, and what sounded like fingers snapping in time to an unheard tune. The muscles in Dhulyn’s stomach tightened. The last time she’d felt this way had been in Navra, watching the crowd around the Finder’s fire.

“What is happening?” she said, not caring who heard her speak.

Before anyone could answer Dhulyn heard the unmistakable sound of an arrow whistling through the air, and a grunt behind her, a swift click of hooves as a horse shied to one side, a jingle of harness, followed by the unmistakable dull thud of a body hitting the cobbles.

Without conscious thought she squeezed her knees together and Bloodbone obeyed the signal, rearing as Dhulyn thrust out both heels, pulling free of her leg bindings and sliding off Bloodbone’s back to land squarely on her feet as the mare took a step forward. Lifting and uncrossing her arms over her head freed them, and Dhulyn yanked off the hood, ducking just in time to avoid another arrow as it fell bouncing on the stones beyond her. The flagstones underfoot were swept relatively clean, but as she straightened, Dhulyn mimed tossing dirt into the faces of the two nearest strangers, who flinched without thinking. She pulled her boot knives free and used them to deflect yet another arrow.

Not that the arrows appeared to be specifically aimed at anyone, Dhulyn realized as she glanced around, squinting against the light, near blinding after so long in the hood. The second flight of arrows seemed let off from loose strings, so haphazard as to be no real danger. Not like the armed guards running from the doorway beside the gate. They were badly dressed and disorderly, but heavily armed and deadly serious. Though if they hadn’t been coming from what was obviously a wardroom, Dhulyn would have sworn these were soldiers coming spent and dirty from the battlefield.

One even had dried blood on the blade of her sword. And a moment later, Dhulyn’s dagger growing out of her eye.

Dhulyn turned and pulled her own sword from the scabbard lying hidden along Bloodbone’s side under her woolly oversized saddle pad. Why would a professional soldier not clean her weapon, Dhulyn thought, as she automatically brought up her blade to block a blow aimed with great fury but little skill at her head. And since when did the guards of the Carnelian Dome have little skill?

“This way,” Dal-eDal called from behind her, and Dhulyn automatically stepped back, throwing a quick glance over her shoulder. Dal was heading toward a small arched doorway on the far right of the courtyard, not the elaborately carved main entrance Dhulyn had used when she’d come for her audience with the Tarkin.

Three more guards came trotting into the courtyard, but instead of coming directly to the help of their fellows, they hesitated, looking from friend to foe with frowns. One of them stared about as if he wasn’t even sure where he was. Dhulyn moved her sword with more discretion, hitting with the flat of the heavy blade, pushing one youngster away with a boot to the midsection, unwilling to kill people who didn’t seem altogether certain that they wished to kill her.

She was one of the last to reach the doorway Dal stood guarding, and she helped him slam the heavy door into place, stepping aside as Karlyn and Cullen thrust down the bar. A quick look around confirmed only minor injuries, barring the unlucky Linn, who’d been hit by the first arrow-the only one which had come with any force. They had left his body outside with the horses.

“This doesn’t make any sense,” Karlyn said. “Where are the Stewards? Why were the gate guards not better organized?”

“And cleaner. And aware enough to actually do some damage with their swords,” said Dhulyn.

“What do you mean, Wolfshead?” Dal-eDal said.

“Did you not see it?” Cullen said. “They moved as if they knew what to do, but had forgotten how.” He looked between Karlyn and Dhulyn.

“Or as if they’d forgotten why,” Dhulyn said. “There was no coordination, as if they’d never fought together before. As if they were each of them alone.”

“We were lucky,” Karlyn said. “You can be killed just as dead by someone who doesn’t know why he’s shooting at you.”

“This is a kind of madness,” Dhulyn said. “We saw this in Navra, Parno and I. Did you see their eyes? It is some effect of the Green Shadow.”

“We waste time with questions we cannot answer,” Dal said pushing away from the wall. “Come.”

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.