Except for the Princes Hall at Dragon’s Rest, there was no corridor in any highborn residence longer than the barrel-vaulted vastness that ran from one side of Fao-lain Lowland to the other. Wide enough to march fifteen armed soldiers abreast, taller than a dragon rearing to full height, its distance was numbing. On first seeing it, Rohan had told Sioned that just looking at it was exhausting. He hadn’t bothered to whisper; the merest breath echoed from one end of the passage to the other.
Karanaya, standing in its exact middle and speaking in a normal tone, could be heard over half the keep.
“Absolute nonsense,” she announced. “Grandfather Baisal was a crafty old bird, to get a whole castle’s worth of stone out of Rohan and Sioned, but secret passages? Hidden doors?” She snorted. “Bedtime tales for children.”
She and her cousin Mirsath flanked Johlarian on the gorgeous tiled floor. The Sunrunner held the architect’s drawing of the castle. On the large parchment page there appeared not the vaguest indication that there might be more to this pile of Cunaxan stone than met the eye.
“I agree,” Mirsath said. “You were born right at the top of these stairs, I spent half my childhood here, and we both know the place upside down. Lady Hollis must be wrong, or old Myrdal was making up stories.”
“Or she was cracked as a dragon’s egg,” Karanaya seconded. “After all, how old was she? Ninety-something?”
Johlarian turned bright eyes on them, his cheeks flushed, looking like a little boy on a treasure hunt. “I took the liberty of consulting the account ledgers last night, my lady. Your grandfather used to make note of all his guests in it—“
“—and how much he spent on them,” Mirsath added with a grin. “So he could charge their princes where possible. As you say, Karanaya, crafty.”
“Cheap,” she corrected, grinning back at him. “That’s as may be,” Johlarian said impatiently. “But Myrdal was here twice while the castle was going up.” He dug into a pocket of his tunic for a slip of parchment on which he’d written Hollis’ directions. It had been a long time since lessons in memory at Goddess Keep. “Now, from here it should be twelve sections to the door of the great hall.”
He turned smartly left and started walking. The other two followed, more tolerant than curious, sharing an amused glance as the faradhi tilted his head back to count the stone arches above.
“And now six of these tiled patterns to the right,” Johlarian said, consulting his notes. He paced across the dizzying polished floor.
“That brings you smack up against the wall,” Karanaya told him, “which is two solid handspans of stone through to the great hall on the other side. Look at the plans. There’s no room for a secret mousehole, let alone a staircase.”
“Lady Hollis didn’t say it was in the wall, my lady, only that the trigger was here. A dragon’s eye.”
On either side of the great hall doors were wooden panels ten handspans wide by five tall, painted to show a pair of sleeping dragons copied from carvings in the Flametower at Stronghold. One was red and the other green in the colors of Faolain Lowland. Their talons and spines had been gilded. The crimson dragon looked uncannily like the one Sioned had made from Fire to frighten the Vellant’im away. Karanaya’s fingers went involuntarily to her breast, where the remaining Tears of the Dragon dwelled in their little pouch. Goddess, how she still regretted the loss of that pearl...
Johlarian was running his fingertips over the painted dragon. He pressed on one closed eyelid, then the other. Nothing happened.
“You see?” Mirsath said. “Ridiculous.”
“No—wait,” Karanaya said. “Look here, along the tail, where it’s all curled around and the scales are picked out in gold. Is that another eye?”
All three peered at it, and so it was. Almost unnoticed in the pattern of the dragon’s red hide was a single open eye.
“It’s staring at us,” Karanaya said, and shivered a little.
Johlarian held his breath and pushed his thumb against it.
The huge tile beneath his feet began to move.
He leapt back, stumbling against Mirsath. “By the great green eyes of the Goddess!” he exclaimed. “Look, my lord! Look!”
Some mechanism concealed within the wall continued to slide the underlying stone downward, slowly enough so that anyone standing on it would have fair warning, but so smoothly and silently that the device might have been put in yesterday instead of nearly thirty years ago. When the stone was out of the way, sunlight shafting through the upper windows showed them a few dusty stone steps. Below was utter darkness.
“I’ll be damned,” Mirsath breathed. “Johlarian, light us down there. Let’s see what’s at the end of it.”
“One of us must stay here, my lord. The tenth step is made of wood, and triggers the stone closed if it’s open, and open if it’s closed. But if it’s not working as well as the dragon’s eye, we might be stuck down there.”
Mirsath turned to Karanaya. “I’ll go. You stay.”
“May I remind you that this was my father’s castle before you decided that you would inherit it? If anyone goes, it should be me. This is my home, and—“
“I’m the last in the male line, except for my brother Idalian. Of course I inherit Lowland!”
“While leaving Riverport to me,” she snapped. “Delightful. A stack of broken stones that would still be smoldering if not for the rain! Or are you planning to give even that away, and to your poor unsuspecting brqther, leaving me with nothing?”
Johlarian cleared his throat. “This is hardly the time or place—“
“Don’t be tiresome, Karanaya,” Mirsath growled. “It’s not your place to go.”
“And was it my place to stand up there on the battlements, an easy target for their arrows, and save us all from certain death? If not for me and these pearls—“
“That was Sioned’s doing, not yours!”
“Children!” The Sunrunner said in disgust, and they rounded on him. But he was climbing down the narrow stairs, a fingerflame poised at his shoulder to light his way.
Karanaya glared at her cousin. “If you leave me here, can you be sure I’ll open it up again?”
“If you go, I can promise I won’t!”
The stone began to move again. Johlarian had reached the tenth step. Karanaya started to jump into the darkness, but Mirsath stayed her with a hard grip on her arm. The opening disappeared with the same silent ease as it had been revealed. He gave her a triumphant grin and pushed the dragon’s eye once more.
“Now we can both go.”
“Wonderful,” she snarled.
Johlarian waited on a small landing where the stairs began a long spiral downward. “Better stop a moment,” he advised as Karanaya trod the tenth riser and light from above began to dim. “Let your eyes adjust. When you get down here to me, I’ll have a candle for each of you.”
“Thinking ahead. You really did believe in this, didn’t you?” Mirsath asked.
“It would be foolish not to put in something of the sort, no matter how peaceful the times in which one builds.” He rolled up the parchment plan and stuffed it in his tunic. “A castle, after all, is basically for defense.”
“I’d love to know exactly what Prince Saumer intends to do once he’s inside,” Karanaya said. She took a slim wax taper from the Sunrunner, who lit it with a single thought. “I don’t suppose anybody thought to leave torches down here.”
“No, but the next best thing. See for yourself,” Joh-larian told her, gesturing to a wooden shelf projecting from the wall. On it were stacked tier upon tier of candles. “It wasn’t me who thought of it—Sunrunners don’t worry much about lighting their way. I’m willing to wager there’s another stash at the entrance.”
“Well, let’s find it, then!” Mirsath moved forward eagerly to lead the way.
Steep stairs wound down a narrow shaft, so tightly spi-raled that it was a constant struggle not to grow dizzy. The air was chill, with an undertone of mold and damp that grew stronger as they descended. At one point Kara-naya stopped and touched the wall. Her fingertips came away moist.
“We must be below the moat.”
“Then we’ve gone too far,” Mirsath reasoned. “How did they expect to get in—by swimming underwater?”
“Patience,” Johlarian said, patting his chest where the drawing nestled. “Remember how deep the cellars are here? Your grandfather had to set a solid base of rock, since you’re so close to the river and the ground is soft with it. Only a little way—aha!”
There was a final landing, and ten more steps down into a circular room as wide as two horses were long, two very small horses. There was no door and no hint of one. The walls were featureless stone, each block the size of a child’s bed. Karanaya stood in the center of the chamber, head tilted to stare up into the blackness. Her throat worked as she gulped nervously.
“I don’t like this,” she said. “Get us out of here.”
“As soon as I can, my lady.” Johlarian looked again at his notes. “This is the tricky part. It’s not a dragon this time, nothing so obvious. We’ll have to count foundation stones.”
At his direction, Mirsath stood on the bottom step, turned to the right, and approached the wall. He touched each stone as Johlarian named it.
“Three up, two left, one down, two left—”
“Why is this so complicated?” Karanaya demanded. “Hush! You’ll make us lose count! Two left, Johlarian?”
“Yes, my lord. Then two up, one back—did your grandfather play chess?”
“What in all Hells does that have to do with anything?”
“This is a classic gambit, my lord.” The Sunrunner smiled. “It’s called Dragon’s Tail for the shape it makes on the board. He probably used it to remember the sequence. All right now, push. Hard.” Nothing happened.
They worked the Dragon’s Tail over the whole rest of the wall, all the way around the chamber. They worked it backward and upside down and sideways. Nothing happened.
“I told you Myrdal was in her dotage!” Karanaya exclaimed. “How could she possibly remember all the secrets of all the castles in the Desert?”
“One last time,” Johlarian pleaded. “I may have gotten it wrong.”
“We’ve tried every damned stone we can reach!” Mirsath sat disgustedly on the stair. “It wouldn’t be practical to put the keystone too high. Face it, Johlarian. The damp has rotted the mechanism and it doesn’t work anymore.”
The faradhi looked helplessly at his notes. Then he walked slowly around the chamber, from the bottom step to the rise of the staircase that hugged the wall as it circled up into darkness. Had this been made of wood, a storage closet might be concealed beneath the steps. He traced once again the pattern of the Dragon’s Tail on these much smaller stones, and pushed hard.
A doorway cracked open with a squeal of half-rusted metal, right under the final landing.
Speechlessly, the three of them piled through and down the long, low-ceilinged corridor. Water seeped between the mortar and dripped onto their heads, but had not rusted the steel torch sconces set every fifty paces.
If Johlarian expected an apology, he was doomed to disappointment. All Mirsath said was, “We’re under the moat! Where does this give out? The woods? There aren’t any outbuildings. The entry would be miserably exposed.”
Karanaya held her candle aloft and walked faster. “I don’t care where it ends. It stinks in here and I want fresh air and sunlight now.”
The floor slanted upward to meet a final set of twenty or so steps. Mirsath climbed them first and pushed at the heavy trapdoor above his head.
“Damn!” He spluttered and shook his head violently. “The dirt’s coming right through, and there’s a tree root blocking it.”
“Hack it away,” Karanaya ordered. “With my belt knife?” he inquired sarcastically. He climbed down, brushing damp loam from his shoulders and hair. “I’ll come back later and see to it with an ax.”
“Fine,” said his cousin. “You do that. I’m getting out of here.”
As they returned through the corridor, Mirsath pointed out that the work had to be finished by tonight, when the storm Lady Hollis had predicted would provide cover for Saumer’s army.
Johlarian shook his head. “Not tonight. I had a look for myself earlier. Clouds are just sitting in the bay, no wind behind them. Give it a day or two, my lord.”
“Well, then, I’ll bring some people down here and do it right. Get torches ready in the holders, try to plug some of the leaks.” He frowned up at the ceiling that had just dripped more clammy water down his neck. “And clean up the slime in here. You’re right, Karanaya, the smell is foul!”
Over her shoulder she gave him a look of tolerance designed to insult. “After all these years of flushing the middens into the moat, did you expect it to reek of roses?”
Johlarian looked up and got a water drop on the forehead. Thought of the noxious mess overhead made him slightly queasy as he wiped it before it got into his eye, and he increased his pace.
The climb was endless and they were panting hard by the time Johlarian’s fingerflame showed them a solid ceiling above. When the tenth step did its work and the three of them climbed out of the floor, a passing maidservant dropped her armful of bedsheets and promptly fainted.
Karanaya looked down at her in disdain. “Silly woman.”
“Yes,” Johlarian murmured. “You’d think she’d never seen a rabbit hole in the middle of a castle before.”
*
“Chayla?” Sioned asked in response to Hollis’ question. “I don’t know—in the infirmary, probably, making her rounds.”
“That was the first place I looked.” Sioned paused to smile at her Namesake Siona and smooth back the child’s fever-wet hair. “I know the medicine tastes nasty, darling, but it really will make you feel better. Be sure to drink it all down next time. That’s my girl.” Rising, she picked her way among the beds and pallets laid out on the floor of what had been Maara’s playroom. Hollis followed her and at the door whispered, “She went out harvesting yesterday.”
“Good Goddess, she didn’t go alone!”
“She’s not that foolish. Evidently she sneaked out and met up with a returning patrol, and persuaded a few of them to go with her. But she’s not back yet, Sioned. I’m worried.”
“I’m sure she’s all right. Maybe it was too dark to ride back once she’d finished, or she decided to take two days about it. Have you tried sunlight?” Hollis looked abashed. “I—no. I hadn’t thought of it.” Sioned’s lips quirked. “I can’t tell you how many times I had to search for Pol by any light I could scratch together. He thought it highly unfair of his mother to be a Sunrunner.” Her gaze swept back into the sickroom.
“Twenty-one in here, thirty more down the hall. What a time for this to happen.”
“It’s only silk-eye. Everyone gets it and recovers.”
“With the right medicines, yes. Chayla knows that. Either there wasn’t enough at the first place she tried, or she’s stripping bare what she found.” She sighed wearily. “And we’re going to need it. We’re out of almost everything. Go ask Ruala where the best places are for picking. You’ll find her with Maara. She came down with it yesterday.”
“It’s easier being a mother when they’re little, isn’t it?” Hollis murmured. “All you have to do is bandage their scrapes and hug them, and their world is all right again.”
“Yes. And they trust that you know everything, and take every word you say as the absolute truth.” She rinsed her hands in the basin set on a table by the door. “These days I know nothing of any real value to Pol, there are few truths left—none that he’ll accept, anyway—and his hurts are beyond my helping. You’re lucky. Chayla and Rohannon are still young.”
“But not children, as you say.” Hollis sighed softly. “My hatchlings are only fifteen. Yet one of them is a battle surgeon and the other acts as Court Sunrunner for a prince going to war. Goddess help me, Sioned, how do I protect them?”
“You can’t,” she replied bluntly, and dried her hands. “But you can still comfort them when they need you.”
“Pol hasn’t outgrown that. He still needs you.”
Sioned turned a wry smile on her. “Hollis, he needs the Sunrunner High Princess. Not his mother. Use my chambers. You’ll have some privacy and the light’s good this time of day. When you find Chayla, send someone out to bring her back and then give her a good scold. She knows better than to worry us this way.”
*
Andry kept watch over Miyon the whole of the morning, astounded when the Cunaxan prince turned east toward Skybowl.
“Where does he think he’s going? Does he think he’ll be welcomed with wine and singing?”
Evarin shrugged, standing in his stirrups for a moment to stretch his legs. “He could be joining the Vellant’im.”
“He’s not that stupid. Pol would execute him for it when this is over.”
“Assuming Pol wins.”
Andry frowned. “That’s what I’m going to Feruche to make sure of.”
“I know, my Lord. Sorry. Maybe he’s just avoiding the rest of the mountains.”
“Hmm. That’s possible. He might be thinking to sneak past Skybowl and take the easier way north, across the sand.”
“I don’t suppose we could do the same?” Andry laughed at his wistful tone. “Saddle sore?”
“Everything sore! Stop acting so superior, just because you grew up on a horse. I saw you limping on your bad leg at sunup. You’re as tired as I am.”
“I’m seventeen winters your senior, my lad. I’m entitled to be tired. And it’s not a ‘bad’ leg, Evarin, don’t fuss.” He let his horse chew at the sparse grass poking bravely out of a snowbank. “I wish I knew where Miy-on’s going. But at least he’s not riding the same road as the princesses.”
“Will we catch up with them soon? I could use a hot meal and a good night’s sleep. Hells, I’d settle for a lukewarm meal and an afternoon nap. I may never get my knees within speaking distance of each other again.”
“Tomorrow morning.” He tugged the stallion’s head up. “When we get to Feruche, I’ll ask Lady Ruala to give you a great big bathtub all to yourself for three days.” Evarin rubbed at his backside. “Make it four.”
*
Maarken looked down at the plate Kierun had placed on his knees. “What’s this?”
“Dinner, my lord.”
“I can see that.”
Pol sat on the other side of the fire, trying not to watch—or to hold his breath. He spooned up a portion of stew and put it in his mouth. Making a face for Maarken’s benefit, he swallowed and said, “It is pretty awful, but at least it’s hot and there’s plenty of—“
“I don’t give a damn what it tastes like!” his cousin snarled. “I want to know why the meat is chopped fine enough for a toothing infant!”
Pol gave him what he hoped was an uncomprehending stare.
“I’m perfectly capable of cutting a piece of meat!”
Kierun flinched. Never in the boy’s experience of him had Maarken raised his voice in anger. He cast a look of appeal at Pol, wide gray eyes asking what he’d done wrong. Pol nodded reassuringly, then gestured him away. Kierun bowed and fled.
“If you’re quite finished terrifying that poor child— who was only doing a squire’s duty by bringing you something to eat—then perhaps you’ll be so good as to look at my plate.” He held it out and let his voice rise as he continued, “See? What a surprise, it’s just like yours. They shredded the meat because that’s what the Goddess-damned recipe calls for, not because of your hand! Now shut up and eat!”
Maarken glowered at him.
Pol loosed another arrow. “If you’re determined to feel sorry for yourself, go do it somewhere else. You’re boring me and spoiling my dinner.”
The desired response was slow in coming, but he knew his kinsman well. Maarken swallowed a few bites of stew, then looked at him with rueful accusation in his eyes. “You’re kicking me. It’s supposed to be the other way around.”
Pol grinned. “Have some bread.” He tossed a hunk of it over the flames. Maarken caught it automatically in his right hand. Pol arched a brow at him and received a snort in return.
“I’ll get used to it eventually, I suppose,” Maarken said after a time. “I just hate the thought of anyone treating me differently.”
“Well, they will,” Pol said frankly. “For a while, anyway. Just don’t go trying stupid things to prove them wrong.”
Maarken lifted his left arm in its sling, sighing as he stared at the thick bandage. “You’d only land your verbal boot in my ass again. And you’d have every right— not just as my cousin and my friend and my prince. You saved my life, Pol.”
He shook his head, both to deny the words and to reject the memory of what he’d done. “I might have bled to death,” Maarken insisted. “Damn it, I don’t want to talk about it!” he burst out, instantly ashamed of himself. “I’m sorry. It’s just—“
“I know,” Maarken said softly. “After what happened at the Pillar. But this makes up for it, you see.”
Pol shrugged. He didn’t regret what he’d done there. But he had the feeling the Goddess was mocking him.
Changing the subject, he asked, “Do you think we can lure the rest of them up to Skybowl? It’s a good battlefield. They might be eager to cancel the shame of losing with another fight in the same place.”
“Hmm.” Maarken spooned, chewed, swallowed, and balanced his plate on his knee while he reached to the ground for his wine cup. “I think you’re right, their minds would work that way. The High Warlord seems fairly comfortable camped outside Stronghold, though. What would bring him to us?”
“Me. That’s what he wants, Maarken. The Dragon Prince.”
“You’re not going to go back down there and present yourself to him. As your Battle Commander, I forbid it.”
“Didn’t you see how they came after me? It was incredible—as if they only had one mind among them, and they were drawn toward me and Azhdeen with a single thought. And the looks they gave me—“ He shrugged again to hide a shudder. “I’m the one they want.”
“Well, they can’t have you,” Maarken snapped. “We’ll get them to Skybowl without your playing the sacrificial virgin princess like in the legends, thank you very much. It may be a little harder and take some more thought, but we’ll find a way to do it.”
Pol decided to let the matter slide for now. “Oh, all right. Once Saumer cleans out Lowland and Tilal gets here from High Kirat, our forces will be just about even. But you realize that we know ways into Skybowl that they don’t. We can move our whole army into the keep without their being any the wiser.” He stared into the firelight between them. “Father was right. The Desert will do a lot of our work for us. But not all. That’s something I have to talk with you about. We have to use everything we have—the Desert, the gold, the dragons, and our gifts. What we did at Stronghold worked as far as it went. But there’s got to be a way to—“
“We could ask my brother.”
Pol lost his appetite.
“I dreamed a lot of strange things, with that sleeping draught Feylin gave me,” Maarken went on in a quiet voice. “Mostly about the family. I remember seeing Jahni so clearly it was as if he was still alive ... and then when Sorin and Andry were little, before I left for Graypearl ... and you were there, too, dragging that stuffed toy in the sand behind you...” He smiled slightly, then met Pol’s gaze. “But when I was waking up, I remembered something that that Mireva woman said. You and Andry were challenging her, the night she kept Ruala inside Stronghold. She said that the two of you would work together when dragons flew the ocean instead of the sky.”
Pol made a sound low in his throat.
“There are dragons on the sea, Pol.”
Now he knew the Goddess was mocking him. He opened his mouth to say as much when his cousin’s head jerked up and the spoon dropped from lax fingers.
Pol hesitated a moment, then turned his gaze to the pale, misted light of the moons. It was an unthinkable breach of manners, but these were unthinkable times and the look on Maarken’s face scared him more than the faces of the advancing enemy. Hollis was a skilled Sunrunner, though; she had woven light so tightly around Maarken that Pol caught only glimpses of her colors, snatches of their words. missing? What do you mean— your hand—my darling, why didn’t you tell— never mind, it’s not important— yesterday to Ivalia—searched all day—back at dusk— three bodies—only her knife—taken her our daughter our little girl—
Goddess damn them I’ll kill them kill every one of—
Pol broke away with a shiver and got to his feet. Hurrying to where Kierun sat with Riyan and Kazander beside another small fire, he said, “Saddle my horse and Maarken’s at once. We’re leaving for Feruche. The Vel-lant’im have taken Chayla.”
Kazander turned as white as the moons. Pol saw it and nodded at him.
“You come with us. Riyan, follow in the morning with the army.”
Riyan was nearly as pale as the Isulki lord. “How did it happen? Where was she?”
“Someplace called Ivalia. One of their scouting patrols must have found her. I thought we’d cleaned them all out, but evidently not. Kierun, get busy.”
“Yes, my lord!”
Riyan gnawed his cheek. “Ivalia Meadow is where Ruala usually gets her medicinal herbs. Pol, there are a hundred places in those hills to hide. And you can bet they’ll keep well out of sight while there’s any light to be had.”
Kazander’s voice was lethally soft. “A hundred or a million, it makes no difference. They have stolen her.” Rising, he strode after Kierun toward where the horses were picketed.
“I’ll send people out tonight to block their passage south,” Riyan said.
“For all the good it’ll do. They’ll expect that.”
“We’ll do it just the same. We’ll find them before they can take her back to their High Warlord. But what could they possibly want with Chayla?”
Pol began to pace, caught himself at it, and stopped. “If it’s ransom, the price will be me.”
“None of us will let you pay it,” Riyan warned. “Maarken least of all. You know him, Pol.”
He shrugged. “I’ll contend with that if it happens. I’d like to know how they knew to take Chayla and not the others. It seems they killed the three people who were with her. Either it was a lucky guess or they really do know who she is.”
“Which implies a more intimate knowledge of us than I like to consider. Still, after all this time, and accepting that they’ve been watching us for years to prepare for this war—“
“Damn them!” Pol burst out. “Chayla’s just a child!”
“Daughter of the Battle Commander, cousin of the High Prince, niece of the Lord of Goddess Keep—must I go on? She’s worth any dozen other people combined.”
“Except me.”
They looked around as Maarken strode toward them, his face terrible by firelight.
“They have taken my daughter,” he rasped.
“I know,” Pol said. “I listened to part of it. Kierun’s saddling our horses now. Riyan will stay behind to lead the army north tomorrow. But tonight we ride for Feruche.”
Maarken blinked once, then nodded. “Good. Send out patrols in groups of twenty—“
“We’ve thought of that,” Riyan interrupted. “I’ll go see to it now.” He clasped Maarken’s shoulder briefly, and left them.
The cousins watched each other for a time. Pol was the first to glance away, unable to bear the agony in Maarken’s eyes.
“Hollis saw,” Maarken said suddenly.
“She had to, sooner or later.”
“I will never hold her face between my hands again.
Never walk between my children, holding their hands in my own—“ He choked slightly. “But I have one hand left to hold a sword, and, by the Goddess, I will kill them all for what they’ve done.”
Pol looked into the gray eyes, in which fire of many kinds leapt and raged. “Perhaps you won’t need a sword at all,” he murmured. “There are many ways of killing. Andry can teach both of us how.”
*
At about the same time that Pol, Maarken, and Ka-zander were flinging themselves into their saddles, Miyon of Cunaxa was using his as a backrest against a scraggly pine tree.
He was drinking good wine from a bottle taken from Dragon’s Rest, taking his ease in the evening moonlight. His men, not similarly equipped, stood guard around him at the respectful distance required by his rank. Everyone was exhausted, but no one would sleep until the Vellant-‘im had arrived. That they would indeed come up the trail tonight was something Miyon never doubted. Barbarians they might be, but he had offered them a prize beyond imagining and they weren’t stupid.
At last he heard them, barely. Hoofbeats and the muted jingle of a bridle brought his four guards into a protective circle. He stayed where he was, lounging with a blanket across his knees. It was damnably cold. He took another long swig of wine.
“Cunaxa Prince?”
Miyon exhaled in relief. They had even been smart enough to send someone who spoke something other than that guttural babble.
One of his guards answered. “Stop and make yourselves known!”
Evidently this was too complex a statement. Swords hissed from scabbards and all at once a score—two score, Miyon counted with a startled curse under his breath—of bearded warriors rode out of the night. His own guards stiffened and closed ranks.
Miyon drew a breath, gratified that it didn’t shake in his throat, and whispered an order. The two men directly in front of him parted enough to let him see the Vellant-‘im. More importantly, they saw him—reclining against his saddle and the tree with a bottle of fine wine in his hand, as if he were the one with a small army behind him.
“You’re late,” he remarked. “What took you so long?”
A tall, black-haired man, indistinguishable from the others except for the number of gold trinkets in his beard, stepped forward.
“Talk not fast. Prince you?”
“Prince me,” Miyon affirmed with a serene smile. “Warrior you.” He held up the bottle “Wine?”
Hospitality counted with these people, it appeared. The man sheathed his sword and approached, taking no more notice of the guards than he would of rocks by the side of the road. He crouched down within arm’s reach of Miyon and grabbed the bottle. The wine was drained down his throat in two swallows.
“Good,” he pronounced, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. “More?”
“Sorry, no,” Miyon lied. Savages indeed, to treat a vintage like this as if it were common cider. Sioned would be appalled. His lips twitched at the notion. Perhaps he’d share one of the remaining bottles with the High Warlord in her memory.
“Dencri,” the warrior said, thumping his own breastbone with a massive fist. “Clanmaster Storm Wheel.”
“Delighted to meet you. A charming name. I presume it means you were the death of your mother? My condolences. I am Miyon, Prince of Cunaxa.” He tapped his chest. “And I intend to get a good night’s rest. We have a busy morning ahead of us.”
Dencri frowned as Miyon pulled the blanket up and snuggled down to sleep. “Go now. Take princess.”
“Sleep now. Take princess tomorrow.” Dencri’s brows met over the huge wedge of his nose. “Take now. This night.”
Miyon pillowed his head against the curve of the saddle. “I am the prince here, and I am going to sleep.”
The sword was drawn so quickly that its point was at his neck before the spitting sound of its unsheathing had faded. Miyon waved his men back and stared up at the Vellanti.
“Now,” Dencri reiterated needlessly. “Hear me, Clanmaster.” He could feel the icy steel throb against his throat with every word. “Faradh’im see with sun and moons. Clouds tomorrow, see nothing. Princess comes near here tomorrow. Take tomorrow.”
“Faradh’im!” Dencri spat on the ground. Every last one of his fellows did the same. Miyon thought it politic to join them. Dencri replaced the sword in its scabbard. “No faradh’im see tomorrow?”
“Succinct and accurate, my eloquent friend.”
“Take princess tomorrow,” was the verdict. “I’m so glad you see it that way. Make yourselves comfortable. Good night.”
Miyon wrapped the blanket around him and rolled onto his side, trying to ignore the sounds of Vellant’im settling in all around him. They made him nervous. But he needed them, for he had no intention of risking his own life—or his four personal guards—in seizing his daughter and grandchildren. The Vellant’im would do the work and Miyon would take the credit. And Pol could prowl Feruche in agony at his leisure. The picture made him smile, and on this happy thought he fell asleep, delicately snoring.
*
“Not a cloud in the sky, damn it,” Saumer muttered. “We’ll have to wait at least another day to get into Lowland. We can’t sneak past all those whoresons without rain to cover us.”
Havadi gave him a speculative look. “Your vocabulary has taken another turn for the worse, my lord.”
The young prince grinned tightly. “Did you ever meet my mother? She swore worse than ten drunken sailors telling filthy jokes. My father was always shocked, but Grandfather Volog used to laugh himself halfway to a seizure.” He lost his smile. “Once we’re inside Lowland, Havadi, I’m going to plot out a fight that’ll end only when every one of these—Vellant’im—are dead. And then I’m going to chop each one’s balls off and send them as a present to their High Warlord. And maybe then my parents will rest a little easier.”
“A fine plan, my lord,” the captain admitted. “Just make sure that in the doing—“
“That’s what you’re here for. To make sure I come out of this with my balls!” He bit his lip, suddenly looking seventeen again instead of thrice that. “It’ll be for Ri-hani, too. And Prince Kostas. And afterward, we’ll march to the Desert and kill all the rest of them.”
“We won’t be going back to High Kirat, then?”
“No. If there was any danger, Lady Hollis would have told me. What she did say was that Daniv confirms me as commander of his army—and wants it brought to him at Skybowl.” He kicked at a stone embedded in the mud. “It’ll be strange, giving up command to him. But I’ll be glad not to have all these worries on my shoulders anymore.”
“You’ve carried them better than most men,” Havadi coughed a sudden thickness from his throat. “I served Prince Kostas since his boyhood at River Run. I knew him. He’d be proud of you.”
Saumer glanced away, unwilling to show his own emotion. “I—I hope so. But we’re not finished with these Vellanti bastards yet.” He looked up at the sky once again and made a grim face. “Well, if we’re not going anywhere tonight, we might as well get some sleep.”
But he lay wakeful under the clear, shining stars for most of the night, aware of the elegant irony. Rain was a Sunrunner’s natural enemy. He was a Sunrunner who beseeched the Goddess for rain.