It was impossible to keep things from Tobin. Even crippled, she could command information so powerfully with just her eyes that not even her lord and husband could keep his mouth shut. Or perhaps he was the one with the least resistance. Whatever the case, Tobin knew most things only a short while after the others did.
Since their arrival at Remagev it had become her habit to spend the day in any available sunshine. Feylin gave her a corner chamber, with one window facing south and the other west. Sioned, knowing what was in Tobin’s mind, extracted a promise from her not to go Sunrunmng unless one of them went with her in case she faltered. It had been a long while coming, but, once given, Tobin kept her word. After all, nothing was said about passively receiving the messages of other faradh’im.
A glorious sunset was just beginning, and Rohan had come to enjoy it with her. Tobin knew why her crafty brother had come now instead of earlier: Tobren had come to sit with her, too, and in the child’s presence there could be no imperious glance ordering him to talk.
The girl perched on a stool by Rohan’s chair, sewing a sling to support her grandmother’s arm once she was able to get about—which Tobin swore would be tomorrow. She had recovered from the flight across the Desert and was back to where she had been before Radzyn was attacked: ready to try walking with a cane to support her bad leg. She felt strong enough. And she knew if she spent one more day confined to this room, pleasant as it was, she would start screaming.
Rohan did not have much to choose from in Walvis’ library, so he read aloud from Feyiin’s dragon book which
Tobin had insisted Sioned pack. Tobren’s steady stitching paused every so often as she looked up in amazement. Though she was still skittish around Pol, Rohan had won her over. She wouldn’t call him by name yet, but Tobin knew it was only be a matter of time.
In the deep western light, their pale hair was nearly the same color—Rohan’s gone silver with his years, Tobren’s paled by exposure to harsh Desert sun. Tobin wondered what the child’s mother was like—a woman she had never met and about whom Tobren never spoke. That was unnatural, as far as her grandmother was concerned. But then, so little about Andry’s begettings and what passed for his family life at Goddess Keep was usual.
Such thoughts irritated her. She concentrated on Rohan’s voice as he read. It was the chapter Betheyn had enjoyed so much, ridiculing dragon legends.
“I didn’t know the one about dragon spines being poisonous,” Rohan said. “Teeth, talons, and blood, yes. But spines?”
Tobren frowned as she rethreaded her needle. “Maybe it’s like the scorpion. Or a serpent’s fangs.”
“Probably where the idea originated. But, as Feylin writes, the spines would have to be hollow to hold poison. So would teeth and claws.”
“With the teeth, it could be their spit,” she reasoned.
“Hmm. Hadn’t thought of that. But I’m living proof to the contrary.” He rolled up a sleeve, revealing a scar on his upper arm. “Talon. If I’d been slower, I’d have teeth marks, too. I’m positive the old dragonsire spat on me.”
Tobren caught her breath. “He did? When?”
“A very long time ago, when I was young and stupid enough to go chasing dragons.” He smiled down at her. “I’ve kept a respectful distance since!”
She laughed. “I should think so, my lord! I like hearing about dragons.”
“They’re in your blood, Tobren. There’s no escaping love of them if you’re Desert-bred. It was said your great-grandsire could tell when dragons would come just by the shape of the clouds or the feel of the wind. It runs in the—“
He stopped abruptly. The little girl’s face had taken on that strange, glazed look he and Tobin knew so well. They both held their breath until she was back with them, conscious of their presence again.
“Who was it, Tobren?” he asked gently.
“Andrev! Oh, he’s done a terrible thing, my lord! He’s going to be in awful trouble with Father!”
Rohan traded glances with Tobin. Neither of them was used to Sunrunning in a child, but Andry taught his sons and daughters young. “What has Andrev done?”
“There was a battle and we won—but Andrev ran away! He wanted to help during the battle but Father wouldn’t let him. So he ran away when Prince Tilal left. He says he’s Prince Tilal’s squire now, sworn and accepted and everything. Can he do that, my lord?”
“He’s thirteen?” When she nodded, he said, “Yes, Tobren, he can do that.”
It was a very old law Tobin knew Andrev was unaware of—so was Andry, or he would have invoked it when he was that age and frantic to get to Goddess Keep. Such a thing hadn’t been done in lifetimes. But it was legal for a boy in his thirteenth year to pledge himself as a squire where he pleased. If he did so against his parents’ wishes, however, they were under no obligation to take him back. He risked his inheritance and might have to settle for whatever place and income his fostering lord would give him. It was no secret among their family that Andry intended Andrev’s inheritance to be Goddess Keep itself.
She met her brother’s gaze again. What was Andrev thinking of, to do such a thing? And Tilal, to accept him?
Rohan said, “We’ll have to send to your father so he knows where Andrev is, and that he’s all right.”
“He’ll be furious,” Tobren murmured.
He’ll blister that child’s bottom for him, sure enough, Tobin thought. And deservedly. Whatever possessed Andrev to run away from home?
Then she remembered something Rohan had said once about Pol. “/ used to worry about him. He rarely got into scrapes—that I heard about, anyway—and he was altogether too mannerly as a child. But I stopped worrying the day he ran away from home in a fury when he was eleven. That showed spirit—took me a lot longer to get up the nerve to cross Father’s will. Pol had the courage to go off on his own. But he came back, which showed he had the sense to realize hat at his age, he was too young. Spirit, bravery, and brains, Tobin—just like your boys. That’s how I knew he was all
>iine, and not lanthe’s.”
Andrev, too, had now run away from home. The problem was how to return him before Andry went raging after Tilal. But if the boy had already sworn, it was legal—and Andry couldn’t reclaim his son unless Tilal consented. But why had he accepted Andrev in the first place?
That question exercised the minds of those who met after dinner in Rohan’s chambers for the regular evening discussion. Nothing had been heard from Goddess Keep, so they had no account of the battle itself beyond Andrev’s sparse information that there had indeed been one. Sioned, whose last encounter with Andry had left her shaking with fury she could not allow herself to express to its object, flatly refused to be the one to talk to him this time.
“He’s your brother, Maarken,” she said tersely. “You deal with him.”
“If there’s sun enough tomorrow, I will. I know what he’ll say, though. He’ll demand Tilal release Andrev and send him back.”
“Of course,” Pol said. “But I don’t think that’s a very good idea. Chay, Maarken, please forgive my bluntness— but his son’s involvement in this war is our best guarantee that Andry will help where it’s necessary.”
Rohan arched a brow. “Still kicking yourself over what happened at Radzyn, I see.”
Pol’s color heightened a trifle. “I failed. I’ll bet Azhdeen’s hide that Andry didn’t, and kept them out of Goddess Keep so Tilal could hack them to pieces in the field. Like it or not, we need Andry. And I don’t like it.”
“Consult your dragon before you wager his hide,” Walvis murmured. “Which is to say, wait until we get a full report of what went on there yesterday. If Tilal was angry enough to accept the boy, which was guaranteed to make Andry cross-eyed furious, then much may have happened that we know nothing about.”
“The great athri is wise.” Kazander touched his fingertips to his heart. “No powerful, sane man deliberately insults another powerful man unless he has already received a mortal insult himself.”
Sioned lifted her hands in a gesture of disgust, her ring spitting emerald fire. “So Andry’s livid, Tilal’s in a rage, and our only source of information about the whole mess is a half-trained thirteen-year-old boy who’s run away from home. Delightful. Simply delightful. What other happy news tonight?”
The rising of the moons brought a fuller account of the battle at Goddess Keep—from Sioned’s friend there, not from Andry. Feylin scribbled everything in her records when they all met again at midnight.
Pol smiled tightly. “He wanted us to come begging. But to get his son back safe, he’ll have to help us fight this war.”
Chay drooped in his chair, his graying head bowed. Maarken rose to his feet and left the room. After a moment, Hollis gave Pol a single cold glance and followed her husband.
“Nice work,” Rohan commented sourly. “We all understood, Pol. You didn’t have to say it aloud.”
“I’m not the one who put conditions on help that should be freely given! We princes have a duty to protect Goddess Keep—which Tilal has done. What’s Andry’s part of the bargain, in return for defending him and his?”
Sioned folded her hands. “There is no law, no tradition —he can demand what he likes in return for his help. And if it’s Andrev back at Goddess Keep, we just might have to oblige him.”
“He wouldn’t dare,” Pol said flatly. “He owes us. And he can’t let people keep on dying in a war he could stop!”
“Oh, this will look fine, won’t it?” she retorted. “The only reason the Lord of Goddess Keep supports us is because his son is at risk. That’s not what Andrade had in mind when she named him her successor. She wanted you to work together. You wielding the power of a prince, he that of Goddess Keep, Sunrunners in common with a mutual goal.”
“I won’t crawl to him,” Pol said stubbornly. “And I won’t try to convince Tilal to release Andrev.”
Chay glanced up, quicksilver gray eyes robbed of their light. “Pride has a bitter taste when you’re drinking loser’s dregs.”
Pol shrugged. “I don’t think we need Andry to win this war at all. We can learn the weaving ourselves. I know the basics. I’ve got powerful faradh’itn of my own to work with. I—“
“Your own?” Sioned began angrily, but Rohan silenced her with a look.
“Pol,” he said quietly, “by all accounts, the ros’salath at
Goddess Keep killed. Your mother and Maarken and Hollis took oath—“
“That didn’t stop Mother, a long time ago.”
Sioned’s fists clenched around rings that were no longer on her fingers. “You know nothing about that. Nothing.”
“But it’s true, isn’t it?”
Kazander was caught gaping at this revelation. He quickly smoothed his expression. “These are matters of more weight than I have shoulders to carry. If the High Prince and High Princess in their graciousness will excuse me—“
“Yes, of course,” Rohan said, distracted. The korrus stood, bowed, and hurried from the room.
“You killed with the gifts, Mother,” Pol said relentlessly.
“I’ve paid for it ever since! As you pointed out at Radzyn, you never made that vow. I don’t want you to have to pay for that for the rest of your life.”
“What kept faradh’im safe was that vow,” Chay said. “It’s my shame that my own son has broken it. That if we are to win this war, he’ll have to break it again.” He sighed quietly. “It’s his choice, Pol. His oath forsworn, his decision to do what he knows is wrong. He just doesn’t seem to understand how wrong it really is. How dangerous.”
“If Andry wants to dishonor himself, that’s his business. I never swore. There’s no oath for me to break. Besides, if it saves just one of my people—“
Rohan stood abruptly and began to pace. “Honor! Haven’t you been listening? Chay’s talking about your life! Who do you think that vow is meant to protect? Princes trust Sunrunners not to choose one side or the other. If they ever thought Sunrunners would kill, do you think any of you would be left alive?”
“In the last forty years people have gotten used to at least one Sunrunner choosing a side.” Pol looked pointedly at Sioned.
Rohan snapped, “And do you have any idea how hard it’s been for her? She was the one who drew the line between respect for what she could do and certainty of what she would not do. The line you intend to cross.”
Feylin and Walvis watched them square off across the broad table, barely aware of held breath. Sioned sat with head bowed over her laced fingers, Chay with his chin sunk on his breast.
Pol gestured impatiently. “Andry broke his oath years ago when he killed Marron. You punished him for it. If you hadn’t, the other princes would have been at your throat. Then they would have gone after the Sunrunners—“
“After you, Pol.”
“—except that you’re the High Prince, and they knew there was nothing to fear from Andry—or from me. Your authority will work again. If we need to use him—something I’m still not convinced of—Andry can be kept in line.”
“I disagree. Word will spread and demands will begin for him to use this ros’salath in the defense of the continent. I must allow it, they will say. Either that or set my Sunrunner prince of a son to do it.” There was sudden anguish in his eyes. “How do I watch you do a thing I know to be wrong? That breaks all law and tradition? A thing that will make you hated and feared and put you in mortal danger for the rest of your life?”
Pol replied levelly, “If Andry won’t do this without imposing conditions, then I must. Would you rather have everyone looking to him instead of the High Prince? Would you see him become High Prince and Lord of Goddess Keep both?”
As Chay made a soft sound, Feylin glared at Pol. “If I thought it was power and prestige alone you were concerned with, I’d take you over my knee—prince or no prince,” she said.
“I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t worried about those things,” Pol returned forthrightly. “Andry and I have never trusted each other. But if he proves the salvation of the princedoms, think what we’ll have to deal with! Father, you talked about my life being in danger. The same holds true for Andry—and all Sunrunners.”
“You’re wrong.” Chay’s voice was barely audible. “It’s not the same. You’ll be High Prince one day. Andry will not. If it was power and prestige he wanted, I’d march on Goddess Keep myself and break him. But all he’s ever wanted is to be Lord there. I don’t know how you became rivals, but it’s crippling you both. That cripples us in fighting this enemy. I agree with you, Pol, that he and thefaradh’im are in little danger once the war’s done if there’s a strong High Prince for balance. But if you’re the one to kill with the gifts—do you see? You’re more dangerous, and there- fore in more danger, than Andry. You will become exactly what they all fear most.”
There was a brief silence before Walvis cleared his throat. “Pol, you’d put your father in the impossible position of having to punish you as he did Andry—either that or set aside the law. If he did that for Andry, it would be accepted— barely. If he did it for you...”
“By not punishing,” Rohan said inexorably, “or by canceling my own law, I condone. The scrolls give me authority over Goddess Keep. It is held of the High Prince. Lady Merisel provided a final check on their power—just as even a prince who is not a soldier has final authority over his armies. By allowing Andry to kill, I show that it is acceptable to me. That it may be done again—“
“You don’t care about the Sunrunners,” Pol said. “Not when it comes down to them or me—which is the real issue here. You’d rather Andry did the dirty part of it so your precious son won’t get sullied.”
“I can live with his danger better than with yours,” Rohan snapped.
“Andrade wanted a Sunrunner prince. Well, here I am, Father! You think she wanted both powers in one man. / think she meant me to protect all people—gifted or not, Sunrunner or not, highborn or not.”
“Yes,” Sioned burst out, “here you are! Prince and Sunrunner and with power enough for twelve. And unbound by the traditions of Goddess Keep. If Andrade had lived, you might have become a Sunrunner by earning your rings. But you didn’t.” She paused. ‘You are as much a renegade as the man Roelstra corrupted using dranath.”
Pol stiffened. “Do you have so little faith in how you taught me that you think—“
“I know that power once used is easier to use a second time. And a third. Until you forget reasons and simply use it because it’s convenient.” She stared at her hands again.
“Thank you for your confidence, Mother,” he said bitterly.
“Stop it!” Rohan exclaimed. “And get out, all of you. This is over.”
“No, my lord.” Sioned rose and stood beside him, facing Pol. “I want your promise. Swear in front of the High Prince and these highborns and a Sunrunner of seven rings that you will not use your gifts to kill.”
Chay straightened as if hit by lightning, and made a little warding-off gesture with one hand. Walvis and Feylin sat mute and stricken.
“Swear,” Rohan echoed.
Surging to his feet with his fists clenched, Pol opened his mouth to refuse. But his father’s eyes had caught him. He wrenched his gaze away, looked at his mother—no better, perhaps worse. Absolute authority, adamant command, power that practically sparked from their fingertips—here in two people was all that Andrade had hoped to combine in one. In him.
Could he swear with the qualification that he could break the oath if he must? No. There was no compromise. Was he Andry, to make an oath and break it?
He was seized by their eyes, Desert-sky blue and midsummer green. They were compelling the words, making them a condition of their trust. He felt his lips part and the phrase form on his tongue.
And then Sioned made a mistake. “Swear,” she said, “or I promise you, if you do this thing—“
He didn’t let her finish, unable to bear a condition set on her love.
“I swear to nothing,”””
She kept silent until they were alone.
“Oh, Goddess—Rohan, what have I done? Why did I say that?”
“I would have said it myself an instant later.”
“So many years I was terrified that he’d hate me for keeping the truth about lanthe from him. Despise me for what I’d done.” She paced nervously, her voice quick and clipped. “I wronged him when I doubted him. I wronged him again tonight. I should never have demanded it. He’s too proud. I should have let him come to it himself. Learn for himself.”
“Power doesn’t frighten him. That’s what he must learn, beloved. I thought after the battle at Rivenrock ...but he didn’t kill Ruval. The dragon did.”
“Rohan, we need Andry on any terms we can get him. We can’t let Pol—“
“No. I am High Prince for all people, Sunrunners like everyone else, just as Pol intends to be. Andry doesn’t see the danger he’d put himself in.”
“Not that he’d thank you for pointing it out, any more than Pol did.”
“At least Pol sees it when it’s shoved under his nose. Andry would smile as they acclaimed him their savior—and never understand when they began to fear him. He’s not wise enough to tread that line, Sioned. He doesn’t even understand why there must be such a line. Power doesn’t frighten him, either.”
Sionell stood with her husband on a wall of their city and squinted into the hazy distance. “Still no sight of them yet. Perhaps we should send out a ship to find them and guide them in.”
Tallain shook his head. “They’d panic at any sail. I know I would, in their position.”
“You’ve never panicked in your life—well, except when you held Talya for the first time.”
“That wasn’t panic. That was the absolute certainty I’d drop her and then you’d flay me alive for—look! Is that them? Those look like Chay’s sails.”
“At last! Goddess be thanked!”
“Poor Meath is probably half-dead of seasickness. And Chadric must be frantic. I’m glad we have good news about Ludhil.”
Sionell caught her breath. “Tallain—I count two ships, not one!”
“Enemy?”
“Silk ship!”
Tallain took her hand and made for the steps. “We’ll have to find room for them. They’ll be exhausted.”
“And hungry and filthy,” she added. “We’ve been ready for days, but we can’t take all of them in the castle.”
“I’ll send Lyela to the guildmaster with a request for housing. She gets along with him—Goddess knows how.”
“Lyela gets along with everybody. I’ll never believe Kiele was her mother.”
They hurried down the wall stairs and across the city square to their residence. Sionell hiked her skirts to her knees, cursing herself for not having worn trousers today instead, and the populace got a view of long, shapely legs and neat ankles.
Horses were dispatched to the cove immediately. Tallain and Sionell followed a short time later to welcome the Dorvali, and were surprised that only a few had chosen to ride. Most were so grateful to feel firm land beneath their feet again that walking, though chancy for the first few steps, was a gift from the Goddess. Meath stumbled along with two burly Tiglathi guards holding him up. He smiled weakly as he caught sight of his hosts, looked vaguely bewildered for a moment, then crumpled to the ground.
“He would try to stand up,” Audrite commented, shaking her head. “Just as he would have us continue on by ship when we could have landed anywhere and walked.” She embraced Sionell. “I won’t ask for news now. And neither will Chadric,” she warned in her husband’s direction. “It can all wait.”
“There’s one bit of news that won’t,” Tallain said. “My Sunrunner found Ludhil and Iliena only yesterday, camped in the mountains near the oldfaradhi keep, safe and sound.”
Sionell was glad that Tallain had seen fit not to mention the rest of it—that most of the people with Ludhil were farmers and villagers, not warriors, and the prince had been about to lead a group on a raid of enemy positions. That news could definitely wait,
As they walked back to Tiglath, Chadric told the tale of their journey. “The wind kept shifting—I swear the Father of Storms is on their side, not ours—and we had a terrible time making headway. When we rounded the north side of the island, we saw four of their ships chasing Master Nemthe.” He nodded to the silk merchant, who huddled on horseback muttering complaints. “We were the bigger prey. But Captain Ennov knows his ship. I’m buying his contract and the Sea Spinner from Chay once this is over, I don’t care what it costs. The man uses the wind the way Sunrunners use light.”
“We looked for you days ago,” Tallain said. “Everybody’s been looking for you. My Sunrunner’s informing Remagev and Dragon’s Rest that you’ve landed safe, but they’ll want details.”
“Has Aunt Lisiel had her baby yet?” This from Audran, dancing along at his grandfather’s side with the limitless energy of the young.
“Not yet,” Tallain said. “But they’re all safe and well.”
“Details,” Chadric mused. “After we escaped, we met up with Nemthe’s ship and continued on. The wind drove us into some of the coves, and thirst into a few more. I could map your coast by now, Tallain. We would have had Meath send word so you could get horses to us, but we couldn’t even get him out of the ship to recover. And he wouldn’t let us wait long enough in any one spot—the ship was faster, he said, and easier on the children. So we found what food and water we could, waited for a breeze, and then sailed on.”
“Water?” Sionell asked. “Where?”
“Three places I’ll bet nobody knows about. I’ll mark them for you. We were driven out of one by a sandstorm, so it’s possible it’s disappeared beneath half the Desert. But Rohan will want to investigate. If watches are set up, next time we’ll have warning.”
The castle at Tiglath, the oldest part of the town, was large enough to hold the highborns and their personal retainers. But the city’s population had swollen in recent days with the influx of men and women called to arms. The housing kept for them was full. So the rest of the Dorvali were welcomed into private homes—servant, guard, or commoner, it made no difference to the Tiglathi, who had only to be informed by their guildmaster that help was needed before they opened their homes. Master Nemthe created a minor stir when he asked why he was not being housed in the castle, as a man of his importance and wealth deserved. Chadric gave him a single cold glance, and he subsided.
Vamanis, Tallain’s court Sunrunner for the last six years, met them in the main hall with messages of relief and joy from Remagev and Dragon’s Rest. Tallain sent the Dorvali up to their rooms, where baths and food had been readied for them, and himself gave Vamanis a summary of Chadric’s tale.
“If the sky’s clear, see what you can find out about Prince LudhiFs raiding party. I’d like to have some good news for his parents.”
“At once, my lord.”
After a moment’s hesitation, Tallain added, “And see what’s going on in the known Merida holdings in Cunaxa.” Vamanis blinked, swallowed hard, and nodded. Tallain watched him go, then murmured to his wife, “I’d better have that section of wall shored up.”
He could have said nothing to shock her more deeply. For the more than thirty years since the Merida’s last incursion, a small part of Tiglath’s walls had lain in rubble—symbol,
Lord Eltanin said at the time, of his belief that the walls Rohan would build would be stronger than stone could ever be. Tallain shared his father’s faith in their prince—or so Sionell had always thought.
She said slowly, “Wouldn’t that be just the same as inviting the Merida to come break them down?”
“It’s going to be a long war,” was all he said.
Andry approached his mother quietly, the restraint imposed on him by her illness serving his purpose well. He must not reveal the fury that gripped him every time he thought about Andrev. He must not reveal the hurt.
She sat in the morning sun, and she was smiling. It pierced his heart that one, side of her face did not obey the laughter in her black eyes. She held a cane in each hand, a little unsteadily in the right but firmly in the left. Sliding to the edge of her chair, she levered herself up—and stood.
Her balance was precarious for a moment. Then she took a step. And another. Tobin the indomitable, he told himself gleefully. He should have known. Absolutely nothing defeated his mother.
She made her slow way to the window seat, scowling fiercely with half her face, the other side twitching along brow and mouth. At last she turned slightly on her good leg, fumbled with the canes, and plopped onto the seat. He could almost hear her triumphant laughter.
“Brilliant! And I promise I won’t tell on you.”
“Andry? Andry, where are you? Are you safe?”
“Perfectly. Does Father know you’re walking?”
“It’s to be a surprise. Goddess knows he needs something to smile about for a change.” She turned her face to the sun, eyes closed. Oh, Andry— this war is bad enough, but to be unable to move, to help— and to have no word from you—are you sure you’re well? And the children?
But for Andrev, about whom I know nothing. He grappled with his emotions, somehow managed to retain calm. / was hoping you might have some word for me about him.
With Tilal. Andry, I know you want him back with you. vj do I, when it comes to it. An army is no place for a child.
That’s putting it mildly. Will Rohan order Tilal to give him up, or not?
I don’t know.
Will he release me from that prohibition about using Star Scroll spells to defend places other than Goddess Keep?
I don’t know! Andry—you killed with it. Think what that means!
He made no reply.
She tried again, desperation tingeing her words. You’re Lord of Goddess Keep. You can do as you like with your Sunrunners. Rohan can’t stop you. Frankly, he’d be wrong to try. But you must understand—
I understand that he’s willing to lose this war for a point of pride!
No. Don’t you see? The vow protects you.
And has Pol sworn it, Mother? he asked with poisonous sweetness.
Her eyes opened wide to the sun, tears welling in them. It’s said you knew what would happen at Radzyn years before it came to pass.
He hesitated, then decided he owed her the truth. What I saw and what really occurred were different. I saw the keep in ruins. I saw them kill a hatchling dragon. But Radzyn stands. A dragonsire flew over and ripped the figurehead from one of their ships. It was different from my visions, Mother.
When did this happen? What else did you see?
I watched the day after the battle. When the dragon came, they fell to their knees in terror. They may know about dragons, Mother, but I don’t think they encounter them often. I’d hoped what he did to the ship would be taken as a portent—but evidently not. They’re building strange things at Radzyn now, using all the wood they can find. 1 don’t understand what those things are. They’ll march soon. Rohan has to do something, and quickly. He has to decide.
I... I don’t know what to tell you, my son, she admitted sorrowfully.
Then tell this to Rohan: I will do everything in my power— and it’s considerable, as you now know—to help him win this war. But I must be allowed to work freely, and I must have Andrev back. Those are my terms. They won’t attack Goddess Keep again, Mother. They learned. Pol tried at Radzyn and failed. I and my devr’im are Rohan’s only choice. He can make no other.
And when it’s over, what will your terms be then?
He flinched at the bitterness. Do you know what else I saw at Radzyn? They heaped their dead onto a ship and sent it out to sea in flames. Those they had captured were on board, too. They burned, too. Life-offerings to the dead.
Her colors shivered in horror. But her words were firm. And do you know what they do when they kill a Sunrunner? They weave the rings into their beards as tokens of triumph.
Andry drew away, just as horrified, and fled, her despairing cry of his name echoing in his mind.
“So Ludhil’s organizing an army,” Rohan mused. “No insult intended, but I never saw him as the military type.”
“He’s doing what he must—as are we all,” Chay pointed out.
Walvis gave a comical grimace. “Another of your uncomfortable reminders.”
They were out walking on the plain where Walvis held his annual little war, a place which might see war in earnest before too many more days had passed. No skirmish to capture the opposing side’s banner, but a battle that would kill hundreds. The Desert had not failed Rohan; Sunrunners reported scores of corpses half-buried by the sandstorm. But the mass pursuit he had envisioned, with half the Vellanti army perishing in the Long Sand without a single battle, had not come to pass. Either the enemy was smarter than he’d thought, or they had something else in mind for him and his than was happening in Gilad and Syr.
“This isn’t a bad place for a pitched battle,” Chay remarked. “We’d have the advantage of position, and the morning sun glaring right into their eyes.”
“So I always teach,” Walvis said. “And we’ve got a tidy force at our disposal. My group and those you brought from Radzyn, plus Kazander’s wild men. We ought to do very well.”
Rohan kicked at a loose stone.
“Those wooden things of theirs puzzle me, though,” Chay went on. “Like long carts with movable pieces. Seems they brought the basics with them, wheels and so forth. Hollis says they’re putting two horses each between the shafts.”
Radzyn horses, pulling carts. That almost hurt worse than thinking of the enemy in their saddles.
“Do you suppose they simply mean to travel in comfort, and then jump off when they do battle with us?”
Rohan glanced at Walvis. “I’m no military man, either. But I don’t like this. They wouldn’t bother bringing wheels all this way and then spend time assembling those contraptions—whatever they are—unless they’re important.”
“And you don’t want to come up against them?” Chay asked.
“Not if I can help it. Not without twice the number of troops we’ve got now. I can’t call Tallain down from the north, not if the Merida are involved. I’ve got a nasty feeling—and he agrees with me—that they’ll break out of Cunaxa soon.”
“Prince Miyon—“ Walvis began, then stopped.
Chay snorted. “Question and answer in a single name.”
Rohan barely heard them. “I can’t pull people from Stronghold or Skybowl. Help from the west is impossible, at least until Kostas retakes the Catha and turns north, then comes back down the Faolain. I can’t blame him for wanting to clean up Syr first, but it does leave me in something of a bind.”
“You could order him to it,” Chay said.
“But you won’t,” Walvis added. “The enemy controls nearly all Syr and Gilad. We’ve only lost our coast.”
“Exactly. So I have what I have and must make do.” He watched a pair of hawks circle in the brassy sky. “I have the Desert,” he murmured. “That’s more than the rest of them have. Another sandstorm’s coming—I can taste it. But by winter there’ll be only the day’s heat and the night’s cold to slow them down. Everything tells me I have to make a stand here. I have to choose battle. Kill as many of them as possible. Save Remagev as I could not save Radzyn—“
“Don’t start,” Chay warned. “I won’t have you blaming yourself for that, my prince.”
Rohan smiled briefly. “You know I hate it when you call me that.”
“Would you prefer Kazander’s style?” He clasped his hands to his breast and intoned piously, “O Most Great and Noble and Wise High Prince, Lord of Dragons, Whom the Sun Bathes in Gold and Glory—“
Rohan knew he was being maneuvered into laughter, and was glad to oblige. “Please! I’ve just managed to get him down to the occasional ‘great’ and ‘wise’—don’t you dare encourage him!”
“Remember what I told you back home, lamb. You must be very good and very quiet, and do just as you’re told.”
“But I’ve bmi good, Lady Cluthine. Where’s my surprise?”
Rialt paused in his circuit of the campfires at hearing his son’s voice, a slight smile easing the grimness of his expression. At barely four, Polev knew a bargain when he heard one. His silk merchant grandparents would have been proud of him.
Cluthine, granddaughter of Clutha of Meadowlord and niece of the current ruling prince, was laughing at the child’s demand. But Rialt heard the strain in her voice. She had not been well this year, and the flight from Waes would do her no good.
“So you’re holding me to the contract, are you?” she asked the child in playful tones. “Well, you may have your surprise tomorrow.”
“Why not now?”
“Because it’s late, and time to sleep.”
“But Mama hasn’t tucked me in. And I’m not tired.”
Cluthine sighed. “Don’t you remember about being very quiet? Don’t you want to hear the stars talk to each other on the wind?” Her gentle voice fell to a soothing murmur. “Listen, Polev, and you can hear them. The moonlight all silver and mysterious, the stars whispering...”
Knowing his son’s sleep would be watched over by a loving friend, Rialt walked on to where his wife was readying a bed of blankets. Her thick black braid fell over a shoulder, and as she tossed it back she glanced up.
“It’s not much,” she apologized, gesturing to the bed.
Amused, he replied, “Did you think I expected silk sheets?”
“I promised when we married that I’d be the best wife in the world.”
“You are, Mevita. But I haven’t made it easy the past two days, have I?”
“That’s not your fault.” She sat down cross-legged. “Will we reach Swalekeep tomorrow?”
“Barring any unpleasant surprises.”
“If only Cluthine and I hadn’t sent our best jewels to be cleaned,” she fretted. “I could have bought you and Polev a decent place to sleep tonight. Why did you have to be so silly about not selling my wedding necklet?”
“I’ll part with all my gold before I’ll let you part with that.” He crouched beside her and warmed her hands between his own.
“If it can gain us food and fresh horses, and you a good night’s sleep, I’d consider it well lost. You’ll have to save the gold for Chiana and Halian.”
“Thina doesn’t think so.”
Mevita shrugged. “She’s an innocent. She believes they’ll be overjoyed to shelter us.”
“Halian will, anyway. He’s fond of his niece.” He squinted into the starry sky knowing that by morning clouds would blow inland from Broehwell Bay. Storms this time of year held pretty much to a five-day cycle; tomorrow would see another downpour. He hoped it wouldn’t come until late afternoon, when, with luck, they should be at Swalekeep.
He had no illusions about the welcome he himself would receive. Halian had never appreciated Rohan’s making Waes a free city, subject only to the High Prince. Chiana had never appreciated Rialt’s close ties to Pol—the usurper who ruled in what she considered her son Rinhoel’s rightful place. But at least Halian liked Cluthine, for all that she had chosen to stay on at Waes when her mother, the former regent and Halian’s sister, died. And their party had another asset in Princess Naydra. Chiana could scarcely refuse to receive her eldest surviving half-sister.
He said as much, and Mevita nodded. “She won’t have any choice. It galls me, though. She always treats you like a peasant.”
“Well, for all my courtesy title, I was born only a few steps above peasant on the social scale.” Rialt kissed her fingers. “I don’t care how she treats us, so long as she gives us a roof over our heads until we can start for Dragon’s Rest. How’s Naydra?”
“As well as you could expect. Narat’s ashes are barely cold.” Mevita gave him a sudden, quick embrace. Just as abruptly she drew away and jumped to her feet. “If I don’t kiss Polev good night, he’ll never go to sleep.”
After six years of marriage, Rialt was accustomed to his wife’s ways. The more deeply she was moved, the more hurried and brusque the expression of what she felt. Usually she was as quiet and steady as a hearthfire. But her feelings were sometimes like the powders tossed on flames that caused surges of color.
Rialt spared a smile and a shake of the head for Mevita’s idiosyncrasies, then rose to complete his inspection of the camp. It was cold, and he stuck his chilled fingers in his pockets. His right hand encountered the little silver dragon Pol had given Mevita on the birth of his namesake. The hinged neck had opened to reveal a delicate amethyst bracelet coiled within the dragon’s body. It was the only thing besides clothes and his wedding necklet that he had taken from their private chamber in the residence in Waes.
Fully six hundred people were in his keeping on this journey to Swalekeep. Despite the speed of the city’s evacuation, all had been done with tolerable efficiency. Determined on order, Rialt’s commands had been backed up by sword-bearing guards. He was no fool; he knew what panic had been inspired by the disasters in the south. The only choice he gave his people was where they would go: east with him to Swalekeep, southeast to Prince Velden’s Summer River, or due south to Kadar Water. Communication arranged through Goddess Keep would warn of the arrival of refugees from Waes. There was no way to inform Chiana— the victim of sorcery nine years ago and now half-frantic in the mere presence of faradh’im, she had thrown her court Sunrunner out. Her privilege, of course—Miyon of Cunaxa felt the same way—but damned inconvenient.
Then again, neither Chiana nor Miyon desired Sunrunners to observe and report to Andry, and thence to Pol. They did not understand that the pair did not speak to each other unless absolutely necessary.
War was surely making it necessary. Rialt paced off the perimeter of his camp, pleased that most people had fallen into exhausted sleep watched over by sentries. The last two days had left them in shock. Prince Tilal, marching north, had not been able to arrive before the swift dragon-headed ships. Rialt had recognized the inevitable at once, but fought against it until his faradhi conveyed Lord Chaynal’s brutal judgment: Waes would not last a day. So carts were piled high and plow-elk requisitioned from the fields to pull them. The Waesians left the homes of their ancestors behind, but not intact. Docks, warehouses of food and wool and silk, shops, inns—anything the enemy could use was systemati- cally destroyed. It was the misfortune of the poor that they lived in houses made of wood, not expensive stone. Their parts of Waes were still burning. But the luxurious residences of the merchants and other wealthy denizens of the city were safe—though utterly empty.
“The Lord of Radzyn says that—that they should be encouraged to land here,” the Sunmnner had reported, sickly pale. “They must invest the armies here that could not take Goddess Keep or Kierst-Isel.”
“But what made them turn from the south?” Rialt exclaimed. “They’d sailed around the cape from Goddess Keep—“
“Who can tell what motivates these savages, my lord? The Lord of Radzyn says that when Prince Arlis sails his fleet and Lord Ostvel marches from Castle Crag, the enemy will be crashed between.”
Ambitious, daring—and sure to infuriate Chiana, for Swalekeep was within easy marching distance from Waes. But Chay had counted on that. The threat would encourage her to commit Meadowlord’s troops to save her own skin. It would be Rialt’s job to convince her to do so.
If she deigned to allow him into her presence.
Chiana was as welcoming to the widowed Naydra and as icily condescending to Rialt and Mevita as he’d anticipated. But her fury at their news was worse than he’d thought. He told her and Haiian in private about Chay’s plan—all except the part about kicking Chiana into calling up the troops— and was privileged to witness a rage that made even her husband blanch.
When she finally paused for breath, Rialt bowed and murmured, “Be that as it may, your grace, I respectfully but strongly urge that at the very least, you have your people see to the gaps in your walls.”
With that, he retired to the small chamber he would share with his wife and son—not.quite in the servant’s wing of the keep. The windows overlooked a rainy street just beyond the low walls. A copper pot in the middle of the threadbare rug testified to a leaky roof. Naydra and Cluthine had naturally been given suites; Rialt’s Sunrunaer had been shown the door and told she must find lodging with the other Waesians somewhere in town.
“Your ears look bruised,” Mevita remarked on seeing him.
“She has a powerful voice, does her grace of Meadow-lord.” He sat down in a rickety chair, winced as it squeaked, and took his son onto his knee. “Well, was your surprise worth the trip?”
“I have a new pony! Lady Cluthine and Princess Naydra showed him to me before the rairi started. His nose is all white, like he dipped it in a bowl of moonlight, Naydra says. And there’s a big garden here, Papa, much bigger than at home. But I miss the sea.”
“So do I. We’ll go back to Waes as soon as we can. I’m glad you like your pony.” He reminded himself to thank Cluthine.
“Run have your dinner, button,” Mevita said, plucking the boy off Rialt’s lap and setting him on his feet. “Do you remember the way to the hall?”
“Of course I do,” Polev affirmed, and scampered off.
“The hall?” Rialt asked.
“Chiana might want to feed him in the kitchens, but he’s your son, not a servant. He’ll eat in the hall—and at the high table, too.”
He grinned. “I suspect, my dear, that you’re a snob.”
“If you promise not to laugh at me, I’ll tell you a secret. On the way here, both Naydra and Cluthine told me to stand up to Chiana. If the High Prince intends her to listen to you, she has to be reminded who you are.”
“We shall prepare to be arrogant and stubborn about our privileges, then—even though there’s very little left of Waes for me to be Lord Regent of,” he added, suddenly tired and depressed.
“Tell me what Chiana said.” Mevita sat on a wooden footstool beside him. “We heard her all the way from Naydra’s chambers—but not the exact words.”
“She has a remarkable vocabulary,” he admitted. “Even Haiian looked impressed. But I won’t repeat what she said in the presence of a lady.”
“Thank you, my lord.”
He smiled and shrugged. “I don’t like to say it, but I can see her point. You know there’ve been rumors that she’s going to wait it all out, let everyone else do the fighting, and Then start her own war with her own armies fresh.”
“There’ve been other rumors, too. Meadowlord has hardly been touched.”
“That’s strategy. Graypearl, Radzyn, Gilad, Syr—those are the places to take first and hold fast. In twenty or thirty days. Meadowlord will be mostly mud, impossible to fight in.”
“But not impossible to ship supplies from Swalekeep down the Faolain.”
He stared down at her angry dark eyes. “Are you suggesting she’s made an agreement with the enemy? Like Patwin?”
“She yelled for a very long time,” Mevita said shrewdly. “Maybe longer than strictly necessary. And she is Roelstra’s daughter.”
“So is Naydra, and there’s not a vicious bone in her body.”
She gave him a patient sigh. “Rialt, what did they promise Patwin? What could they offer Chiana that she’s wanted forever?”
“A princedom,” he said slowly.
“A specific princedom,” she corrected.
He scrubbed one hand over his face. “My wits are too thick to make any judgments tonight. Let’s go down to dinner. And while I don’t really care if I’m served in the kitchens or outside in the rain, I’ll make the effort and stand on my rights.”
“Oh, you needn’t be obnoxious about it,” she assured him quite seriously. “I’ll do all that for you.”
At sixteen, Prince Rinhoel of Meadowlord was the spit of his grandfather. The height, the black hair, the proud aristocratic features, the eyes pale green like new leaves —he looked so much like Roelstra, in fact, that people who remembered the late High Prince assigned his character to Rinhoel as well. This was a mistake and an injustice that irritated the youth profoundly. Roelstra, in his view, had been a fool. Rinhoel was anything but.
From his father, Prince Halian, he inherited only the angle of his chin and a taste for luxury—but not its idle enjoyment that made Halian so easy to manage. Outward shows of wealth were to impress and intimidate, though he also appreciated fine things for their beauty and comfort. But for Rinhoel, pleasure consisted of pursuit, conquest, and possession—of coveted toys when he was little, of girls as he grew older, of the knighthood he had not earned, and, increasingly, of power. He prided himself on single-minded-ness. Roelstra had directed that quality toward getting a son. Rinhoel shared with his mother a larger goal, one that did not depend on the whims of the Goddess but rather on their own cunning. They wanted Princemarch.
Chiana had come close nine years ago. She had come even closer to being executed. The assault on Dragon’s Rest might have succeeded, but for sorcery. Still, sorcery had been her salvation as well—she had been its victim, and that was what had saved her from the consequences of her actions. She was reminded of it every time she looked at her hands, scarred by glass shards of a mirror she had been forced to destroy. Terror had made her meek for some years afterward. But with Rinhoel’s approaching manhood, her old ambitions had surged up once more.
Mother and son knew and accepted that they could not gain Princemarch by military conquest, the way Rohan had seized it in the first place. They could not recover it by legal posturings about Rinhoel’s blood claim, even though Chiana had been but six years old when forced to sign a parchment disinheriting herself and all her issue. There was only one way to gain triumphant entry into Castle Crag. Pol had to die.
Thus far he had not obliged.
Roelstra’s daughters had produced other grandsons. lanthe’s three were dead. Danladi’s son Daniv had been tamed by service as Rohan’s squire, his future as Prince of Syr, and affectionate ties of kinship through Sioned, his father’s aunt. Rohan had made sure that no dangerous dreams festered in Daniv.
And Syr did not border Princemarch. Meadowlord did. With Pol gone, the conveniences of geography would naturally lead the other princes to confirm Rinhoel’s claim instead of Daniv’s—so much tidier. Still, Rinhoel could not take possession until Pol died. Or if he married one of Pol’s daughters.
Jihan and Rislyn were half his age. Years would pass before their marriages would even be considered. Chiana had looked the pair over at the Rialla this summer, deciding that gentle Rislyn was the better prospect. Jihan was too willful. Having settled the question in her own mind, she had informed Rinhoel of his future bride’s identity and instructed him to make himself into everything Pol could wish for his precious little girl. Once they were married, Pol could be discreetly removed and Rinhoel would at last be at Castle Crag in his grandfather’s place.
On this course of action mother and son had not agreed. Rinhoel had no intention of playacting to impress Pol for the next ten or twelve years. And, he added shrewdly, did his mother really wish to spend even more of her life waiting? Far more attractive was the notion he held out to her that if the twins were disposed of, he would be the best heir to Princemarch. Pol could not ignore him then. Not him, or his mother. By the next Rialla, Rinhoel would be twenty. He could spend the next three years forging alliances with various princes, so that when the twins died and an heir must be found, he would be it.
But now had come this bloody onslaught from the south, and with it the opportunity of a lifetime.
Mirsath’s fortuitous murder of Patwin had been the first opening. Aurar, Patwin’s youngest daughter, whose birth had been her mother Rabia’s death, was currently living at Swalekeep. At the news she became a fire-breathing she-dragon. Rabia had been Chiana’s full sister, both of them daughters of Roelstra and Palila, and Chiana was pleased to see resemblances in temperament and ambition between herself and her niece. But Aurar’s demand that an army be sent to level Faolain Lowland and avenge Patwin’s death had needed redirection. The girl proved herself clever by heeding Chiana’s advice.
“My darling Aurar, I share your grief. Mirsath will be dead soon enough, I promise. But we must be cautious. What your beloved father worked so hard to gain for you can still be had. I can’t send an army, you must understand that. But I can send you and a large escort down to recover your dear father’s body for proper burning. They will allow you through as the daughter of their valued ally. And while you’re there, you will present certain propositions to them—in exchange for establishing you as Princess of Syr in your own right.”
Aurar liked the idea of being a ruling princess. She was Roelstra’s get for a fact, Chiana had told Rinhoel.
“Not that she’s going to sit her pretty bottom down at High Kirat for an instant,” she added. “Syr will go to you, of course.”
“I never doubted it, Mother. But perhaps I should go with her.”
“We can’t risk you. I mean no slight to your bravery, my heart, but you must remember that these people are barbarians.”
So Aurar had departed with a suitable escort, all attired in mourning gray. She returned with Patwin’s corpse—and answers to Chiana’s offers.
“Ostvel is gathering the levies of Princemarch. Kostas and Tilal are in the field. If Rohan wins in the Desert, his armies would land on us, too. I pointed that out as you asked. But they’ve taken most of the Faolain River, so ships can sail by night to supply them.”
“With the winter cloud cover, the Sunrunners won’t see a thing,” Chiana concluded gleefully. “Aurar, my love, you’ve done brilliantly!”
But now there was a new threat, from a portion of the enemy army not yet privy to the arrangement. Rinhoel met with his mother after dinner the night of Rialt’s arrival, and demanded to know how Chaynal could be so stupid.
“Stupidity is a thing unknown to the Lord of Radzyn, and you’d better remember it,” she snapped. “Rialt says they hope to lure forces unsuccessful on Kierst-Isel to Waes, and trap them between Ostvel and Arlis. It’s a good plan, but it puts us in danger until we get assurances of safety from these savages.”
“Aurar can act as go-between. And if she fails, I’ll wring her neck.”
“I have no interest in how she dies, but restrain yourself until we hold Syr, if you please. For now, we have these filthy Waesians to house and feed. And that impudent bitch, complaining about her room and insisting they sit at table with us! The arrogance of the woman!”
“That miserable brat of hers kicked me when I told him to shut up tonight. But we have to endure them, Mother. It’ll look suspicious if we don’t.”
“Rinhoel...” Her hazel eyes brightened. “They make perfect hostages! Pol’s fond of Rialt—Goddess knows why a prince consorts with a merchant’s son who used to be his chamberlain. Desert folk have always had despicable manners. My stomach curdles every time I think of that nothing Ostvel as Lord of Castle Crag, married to a Princess of Kierst!”
“Hostages?” he prompted before she could reiterate her entire list of Rohan’s offenses.
“What? Oh, yes—well, they’re bound to find out we’re helping the enemy eventually. When they do, we’ll have Rialt and his odious little wife and brat. We must keep them here at all costs.”
“And give them better chambers?” he asked sarcastically.
“In a few days. Perhaps.” She shrugged her annoyance. “But we can’t let them go to Dragon’s Rest. They’re too valuable here.”