The Index of Materials told him this Library did indeed have a copy of Holderon’s Commentaries, but no one could find it on the shelves. Yet Gun was certain he’d seen the scroll himself.

The history covered a period about which there were more legends known than facts, the early rise of the Marked, before they had formed into Guilds, and, interesting but not so significant for his present purpose, it had a section on the Sleeping God as well. But it was Holderon’s interpretation of this piece of ancient learning-if Gun remembered what he’d read correctly-that the Mercenary Brotherhood, the Jaldean Priesthood, the Marked, and even the Scholars themselves all appeared at the same time-just after the fall of the civilization that was now called the Caids. If Holderon was right, Gun thought, if there was a connection of some kind between the disparate groups, surely that could be a starting point, a guide for them to-

The sound of footsteps made him look up, and the sight of Karlyn-Tan heading toward him brought him to his feet. He found his mouth dry and tried to swallow, brushing down his tunic with trembling hands, conscious of being once more in Scholar’s dress. Logic told him he had no reason to fear the former Steward of Walls, but he found he still wasn’t really comfortable with anyone but Mar.

“Karlyn-Tan,” he said. “I didn’t think to see you still outside Tenebro House.”

The older man smiled and shrugged one shoulder into the air as he propped his hip on the edge of the next carrel. “Nothing’s made permanent, Gundaron. The Lord Dal-eDal is giving me time to think. I’m not altogether sure that I want my old post back. I was Walls for fifteen years, never thinking to come out.”

“But now that you are out…”

Karlyn nodded. “Exactly. Now that I am out-I may be more useful outside the Walls, and, well, it’s rare a Steward has a chance to rethink such a choice, and I’m using the opportunity.”

His own heart being well awake now, the significance of certain looks and gestures suddenly dawned on Gun. “It wouldn’t be Dhulyn Wolfshead who’s making you rethink your choices?” Gun asked, made bold by Karlyn-Tan’s friendly tone.

Karlyn-Tan laughed. “It might, though perhaps not in the way you’re thinking.”

Gun sat down again. “What brings you here?”

“Dal needed a message sent, and I felt like a walk. When they told me you were in here, it seemed like a gift from the Caids. There’s a deal of scrolls and books left in your room at Tenebro House, Gundaron of Valdomar, and-what have I said?”

Gun stopped striking his forehead with the palm of his hand. “I was looking for a scroll and wondering why I couldn’t find it and all the time it’s probably sitting in my study at Tenebro.”

Karlyn-Tan looked at Gun with such sympathy that Gun lowered his eyes. “You’d rather not think about Tenebro House, wouldn’t you?” the man said. “Put it all behind you, as it were?”

It was Gun’s turn to shrug.

“Your pardon, Scholar Gundaron.” It was one of the youngster Scholars that Gun didn’t know. “There’s a Mercenary Brother at the gate. You’re to come to the Dome.”

Gun glanced at Karlyn-Tan.

The older man nodded. “I’ll come with you.”

Running footsteps in the outer room warned them as the door was flung open, and Zelianora Tarkina, a white-faced Mar behind her, swept into the room. The sleeve of the Tarkina’s dress was pulled loose from the shoulder seam, and her dark hair was escaping from her court veil.

“The Tarkina was on her way here,” Mar said.

“Mar has told you, then?” Parno said, rising to his feet as Mar entered behind the older woman and shut the door. The young woman was shaking her head even as Zelianora spoke.

“Told me? Told me what? No.” She looked wildly around the room before focusing her eyes on Dhulyn. “Dhulyn Wolfshead,” Zelianora said, reaching out her hands, “Please come, Tek asks for you.”

Dhulyn stood slowly. “What are you not saying?” Four days ago this request would not have brought the Tarkina herself. Four days ago Zelianora would have sent a servant.

The Tarkina hesitated, lips parted, before turning to glance at Mar. As she turned back, she faltered, as if her knees were failing her. Parno stepped forward and took the Tarkina’s arm to steady her and led her to a chair, but let it go immediately as Zella gasped in pain. Dhulyn sprang up with a snort of disgust and pulled back the woman’s sleeve, to reveal bruises darkening on her forearm.

“Zelianora,” Dhulyn said, her voice sharp enough to shock the Tarkina to attention. “The Tarkin did this.”

“No! Yes, but hear me out.” The Tarkina waved Dhulyn away with impatient hands. “This is not important.”

“We are listening, Zelianora Tarkina,” Parno said.

“I don’t know that I can make you understand.” She raised her hands to her head as if she would cover her ears. “He is terrified. I have never seen anyone so afraid.” She looked directly at Dhulyn. “And yet…”

Dhulyn took Zelianora’s hands and led her to a seat. “And yet?”

“He is himself in a way he has not been these past few days. Since the blow to his head, he’s been like a man suffering from an illness. Now it is as though a fever has broken and-he is himself again. He is Tek. Do you understand?”

“Before this,” Dhulyn said, indicating the bruised arm. “Did he stare into your eyes? Touch you in any way that made you feel dizzy? Ill? Are there gaps in your memories?”

“No, indeed,” Zelianora said. “Nothing like that. Since his illness Tek… he has not touched me,” she said, as if realizing it for the first time. “But he’s been ill, I thought nothing of it.”

“If I might interrupt,” Parno’s voice was vibrant with urgency. “I rejoice that Zelianora Tarkina is well, but she tells us that the Tarkin is more like himself than he’s seemed in days. In the light of what we were discussing, perhaps we should go and see for ourselves.”

“Don’t let him touch you,” Parno said, as he helped Dhulyn lift her sword belts over her head.

“If you’d rather do it yourself…” Dhulyn pulled her multicolored vest back into place. She needed no help to remove harness or weapons-she could have done it by herself, in the dark, and one-handed-but Parno had needed the reassurance that helping her disarm, that touching her, would bring. And he’s not the only one.

“We’ve been through that,” he reminded her. “Do you want me to say it again?”

Dhulyn smiled, patting him on the shoulder. Once they had explained their fears to a white-faced but resolute Tarkina, Parno had made everyone see that they had to send someone in to speak to Tek-aKet. And once they’d persuaded Zelianora Tarkina that it should not be her, he’d insisted that Dhulyn was the only logical choice. “There’s no one faster,” he’d said. Out loud, too, where everyone could hear it, even if he didn’t want to repeat it now for her ears only. “If it becomes necessary to disable the Tarkin without permanent harm,” he’d said. “Dhulyn is the only one who can do it.”

Dhulyn handed Parno the long dagger from her left boot. She still had her holdouts hidden, but there were no more weapons that someone else could reach easily. They both knew that this was precaution only. So far as they knew, Tek-aKet Tarkin-if this was Tek-aKet Tarkin-had no reason to harm her. But they both knew of many people killed by those with no known reason to harm them.

Parno, her dagger still in his left hand, brushed something off her shoulder with his right. “Do you know what you’re going to do?”

“Come out alive, and in my right mind,” she said, giving him the smile she saved only for him. The smile that had no wolf in it.

He laughed without making a sound and stepped back from her.

“In Battle,” he said, touching his fingers to his lips.

“Or in Death.”