by Melanie Rawn
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Part One - The Scroll
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Part Two - Sorcery
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-seven
Chapter Twenty-eight
Chapter Twenty-nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-one
Index of Characters
DAW Books Presents
the Finest in Fantasy by
MELANIE RAWN
EXILES
THE RUINS OF AMBRAI
THE MAGEBORN TRAITOR
DRAGON PRINCE
DRAGON PRINCE
THE STAR SCROLL
SUNRUNNER’S FIRE
DRAGON STAR
STRONGHOLD
THE DRAGON TOKEN
SKYBOWL
THE GOLDEN KEY
(With Jennifer Roberson and Kate Elliott)
Copyright ©1989 by Melanie Rawn.
All rights reserved.
DAW Books Collectors No. 779.
All characters and events in this book are fictitious.
All resemblance to persons living or dead is coincidental.
The scanning, uploading and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal, and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.
First Trade Printing, July 2005
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HECHO EN U.S.A.
eISBN : 978-1-101-17738-9
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for MaryAnne Ford
Part One
The Scroll
Chapter One
Graypearl, Prince Lleyn’s elegant jewel box of a palace, nestled atop its hill in a sculpted setting of lush spring grass and flowering trees. Built of stone that gleamed at dawn and sunset with the subtle iridescence from which it drew its name, it was one of the few princely residences that had never been a fortress. No defensive architecture had ever been needed on the island of Dorval, at peace with itself and the nearby continent for longer than anyone’s great-grandfather could remember. Graypearl’s towers had been fashioned for beauty, not war.
Gardens spread in curved terraces overlooking a tiny harbor where boats sailed out in season to harvest the pearl beds. A small army of groundskeepers kept the luxuriant spring growth of flowers, herbs, and trees from running riot—but no one could impose similar order on the boy who ran an intricate pattern between the rose trees, kicking a deerhide ball before him. He was a slight youth, rather small for his fourteen winters. But there was the promise of height in his long bones and he moved with an agility that older squires had reason to bemoan in games of skill with blunted knives and wooden swords. Dark blond hair crowned a clever oval face whose most vivid feature was a pair of large, fine eyes that changed from blue to green depending on his mood and the color of his clothes. It was a quick face, intelligent and sensitive, with its share of inherent pride in bones which were becoming more visible as his features lost their childish roundness. But there was nothing about him to suggest that he was anything more than a squire fostered to Prince Lleyn’s court for training, released from afternoon duties and playing happily by himself in the gardens. Certainly there was no indication that he was the only son of the High Prince, destined to inherit not only his father’s Desert lands but those of Princemarch as well.
Princess Audrite, wife of Lleyn’s heir Chadric, watched the boy with an indulgent smile. Her own sons had gone to other courts just as this youth had, and returned as young knights skilled in all the graces—not her little boys anymore. She spared a sigh for having missed their growing years, but other youngsters had filled up her time and, some of them, portions of her heart. Maarken, Lord Chaynal of Radzyn’s eldest son and cousin to the boy playing in the gardens, had been one of her favorites, with his swift mind and sunny smiles. But this golden princeling she watched now was special. Made of air and light he was, with a temper like flashfire through summer-dry timber and a streak of mischief that had more than once landed him in trouble. In fact, he ought not to have been excused his duties like the other squires this afternoon, for he still owed her the copying of a hundred lines of verses after a misde meanor yesterday in the kitchens—something involving a large quantity of pepper and an exploding fish bladder. She was not sure she wanted to know the particulars. An inventive mind, had young Pol, and Audrite chuckled in spite of herself. She had chosen a most appropriate punishment by selecting poetry for him to copy; had she specified a hundred mathematical problems, he would have completed them in a wink and considered it no punishment at all.
The princess shook out her thin silk gown and settled on a bench, not wishing to interrupt Pol’s game until she had found the right phrases for what she had to tell him. But all at once the deerhide ball shot past her, propelled by an enthusiastic kick, and the boy skidded to a stop before her. Surprised by her presence, he nevertheless gave her a bow worthy of the most elegant young lord.
“Your pardon, my lady. I didn’t mean to disturb you.”
“It’s all right, Pol. Actually, I came here looking for you and thought I’d sit in the shade for a little while. It’s quite hot this spring, isn’t it?”
He was not yet skilled enough in the art of polite conversation to take her lead on to further chat about the weather. “Do you have news for me, my lady?”
Audrite chose to be as direct as he. “Your father has asked permission to take you away from us for a time. He wants you to go home to Stronghold by way of Radzyn, then to the Rialla with him and your mother.”
Excitement shone in the young face. “Home? Really?” Then, realizing that his reaction might be taken amiss, he hurried on, “I mean, I like it here and I’ll miss you and my lord Chadric and my friends—”
“And we’ll miss you, Pol.” Audrite smiled her understanding. “But we’ll bring you back to Graypearl with us after the Rialla so you may continue your training. It’s unusual, you know, for a squire to be allowed a holiday from the work he must do in order to become a knight and a gentleman. Do you think what you’ve learned thus far is enough to uphold Prince Lleyn’s reputation?”
Pol gave her a cheerful grin. “If it isn’t, then Father will know it’s my fault, not anyone else’s!”
Audrite grinned back. “Yes, we had a long letter about you when you first came to us.”
“But I was just a child then,” he assured her, blithely forgetting the transgression of the previous day. “I won’t do anything to embarrass anyone. I’ve outgrown all that.” He paused, glancing at the sea far below. “Except—I’ll have to cros
s water, won’t I? I’ll try to behave better than I did the first time.”
The princess ruffled his blond hair. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of, Pol. Indeed, you ought to be proud. All Sunrunners lose their dignity along with their breakfast when they cross water.”
“But I’m a prince, and I should be in better control of myself.” He sighed. “Oh, well. Once to Radzyn and once coming back—I suppose it won’t be too bad.”
“There’s a silk-ship leaving in two days for Radzyn port, and Prince Lleyn has bespoken a place for you on it. He’s sending Meath with you for company.”
Pol made a face halfway between a grin and a grimace. “Then we can be sick together!”
“I’m convinced it’s the Goddess’ way of keeping you faradh’im humble! Why don’t you go upstairs now and start packing?”
“I will, my lady. And tomorrow—” He hesitated, then went on, “Could I go down to the harbor and find presents for my mother and Aunt Tobin? I’ve saved almost everything Father’s sent me since I got here, so I’ve money enough.”
He had the right instincts; he was already generous and thoughtful about pleasing ladies. That face and those eyes would be breaking hearts before he was too much older, Audrite reflected, and relished the notion that she would be around to watch. “You and Meath may be excused tomorrow for the day. But I seem to recall you have a certain project to complete for me first. How many lines was it?”
“Fifty?” he asked hopefully, then sighed. “One hundred. I’ll have them done by tonight, my lady.”
“If they’re not in my hands until tomorrow evening, I’ll understand,” she suggested, winning another of his wide smiles and a bow of thanks. Then he ran back up the terraces to the palace.
Audrite spent a few more moments enjoying the shade before she, too, left the gardens. Her steps were lithe and energetic as she climbed; a passion for riding had kept her slim and supple for all her forty-nine winters. She unlatched the gate that led into the private enclave and paused to admire the oratory that rose like a shining gem from the formal gardens. It was said that the one at Castle Crag, a crystal dome built into the side of the cliffs there, was the most splendid in all the thirteen princedoms, but she could imagine nothing more beautiful than this oratory at Graypearl—and not only because she had had a great deal to do with its construction.
Carved stone columns had been taken from an abandoned keep on the other side of the island to support walls of pale wood and brilliant stained glass. The painted wooden ceiling rose far above, punctuated with small, clear windows in an uneven pattern that looked random but was not. It could be said that the oratory was in reality a temple: lit by the Fire of sun and moons, open to the Air, built of the things of the Earth, and circled by a stream of Water that irrigated the gardens below. Audrite crossed the little footbridge and stepped between the columns, catching her breath as always at the beauty of the place. It was like walking into a rainbow. And if standing here embraced by all the colors in the world was a moving experience for her, it must be near ecstacy for farad-h’im.
The ceiling had been the hardest to reconstruct. Some of its supports had been demolished, and it had taken years of study for Audrite to discern the proper placement of windows. The tiled floor had been painstakingly lifted from the soil and overgrown grasses on the far side of Dorval, and was marked with various symbols for the seasons and indicated the position and phases of the three moons on any given night of the year. Audrite had spent years checking its accuracy, and several new tiles had been fashioned at her direction to replace ones worn or broken long ago at the other keep. Her calculations on the exact relationship of ceiling to tiles, and the observations of Lleyn’s Sunrunners, Meath and Eolie, had awed everyone. For the original design of this oratory had been correct down to the slightest nuance.
Twenty-one years ago, Prince Lleyn had learned from Lady Andrade—she who ruled Goddess Keep and all Sunrunners—that the abandoned castle had once belonged to the faradh’im. Stone had been taken from it for hundreds of years to construct other places, including Graypearl, but on Lleyn’s return from the Rialla that autumn an excavation had begun in earnest. This master-work had been their most important find, save one. Audrite walked softly over the summer tiles, a smile on her face for the sheer beauty of the oratory and the sheer joy of understanding it. The structure had become again what it had been meant to be: the most remarkable calendar in all the princedoms.
She heard steps on the footbridge and turned. Meath entered the oratory and bowed a greeting. “Full moons tonight,” he said, smiling as he shared her delight at their knowledge.
“You can use them to contact Princess Sioned,” Audrite told him.
“You’ve talked to Pol, then?”
“Yes. I’ll have to give you my notes on the scrolls.” She frowned slightly. “Meath, do you think it’s wise to give them to Andrade now? She’s very old. It may be that she won’t have time to discover their meaning—and it may also be that the next Lady or Lord of Goddess Keep won’t use the knowledge wisely.”
The faradhi shrugged and spread his hands wide, rings glinting in the colored sunlight. “I’m convinced she’ll outlive us all, if only through pure cussedness.” He smiled, then shook his head. “As for the other thing—I agree that it’s a risk. But I’d rather have Andrade examine the scrolls now and decide what to do with them than wait and see who next rules Goddess Keep.”
“You were the one who found them,” she said slowly. “I’ve helped with as many of the words as I could—and, Goddess knows, there wasn’t much I fully understood,” she added regretfully. “But the responsibility for them is yours.”
“Well, it’s true that I dug them out of the rubble, but I’d prefer not to have the choice of what’s done with them. If they’re as important as we suspect, then it’s knowledge I’m not qualified to deal with. I’d rather see the scrolls in Andrade’s hands, not mine. She’ll either understand them and use them, or destroy them if they’re too dangerous.”
Audrite nodded. “Come by my library later tonight and I’ll give you my notes.”
“Thank you, my lady. Andrade will appreciate it, I know.” He smiled again. “I wish you could be there to see her face!”
“So do I. I just hope the shock isn’t too much for her.”
The hundred lines of verse duly copied and presented to Princess Audrite, Pol was free by late morning to ride to the harbor with Meath. Shops snuggled along the village’s narrow main street, not as varied in their wares as the stores in Dorval’s main shipping center down the coast or in Radzyn’s port. But there were interesting things to be had here—crafts native to the island and not much traded elsewhere: small items made of silk remnants, jewelry cunningly fashioned to hide defects in pearls not suitable for the general market. Pol and Meath tied their horses in front of a dockside inn where they planned to have lunch later, and walked up and down the street, window-shopping.
The merchants all knew Pol, of course, and were of two attitudes when it came to selling him things. Some, aware of his father’s great wealth, quoted outrageous prices in hopes of siphoning off a little of that wealth for themselves. Others cared more about royal favor, and underpriced their wares in a shameless bid for Pol’s further patronage. The young prince usually did his looking through the windows, then consulted with companions on the fair price of goods that caught his eye before making his purchases. Patient for the first and second tours up and down the street, Meath finally asked Pol if he intended to spend all day at this. A third perusal was all the Sunrunner would stand for; he ordered the boy back to the inn for sustenance.
Prince Lleyn did not tolerate seafaring roughnecks in this port. He discouraged them elsewhere, naturally, but here in the precincts of his palace they were forbidden. Thus everything catering to such men—taverns where strong drink was served and brawls were common, disreputable lodgings where they bedded down between voyages, and the girls they bedded down with—were missing from Graypearl’s l
ittle harbor. The law assured domestic peace and the safety of the residents as well as of the highborn youths who came to Dorval as squires, and the old prince himself often ventured down to the port for a meal or a day’s ramble in the fresh air. The inn Meath chose was one Lleyn had introduced him to years ago, a clean and merry establishment perfectly safe for the heir to the High Prince. But even if it had not been, Meath’s great height, broad shoulders, and faradhi rings would have ensured Pol’s safety.
“Goddess greeting to you, Sunrunner! And to the young master, as well!” The innkeeper, Giamo by name, came out from behind his counter and bowed his respects before escorting them to a table. “Honored to be of service to you both! Now, we’ve some fine cold roast today, and bread right out of the oven, and the first berries of the season, so sweet that they don’t need any honey dol loped on them—although my good wife having a tooth for it, she slathers it on anyway! Will that suit?”
“Perfectly,” Meath said with a happy sigh. “You can add a tankard for me and something appropriate for my friend, here.”
Pol cast him a deeply reproachful look, and when the innkeeper had gone to fetch the meal said, “What’s ‘appropriate’ for me, anyway? A glass of milk? I’m not a baby, Meath!”
“No, but not tall or hefty enough for a bout with the ale Giamo brews, either. Not at just over fourteen winters! Put on a few fingers’ height and some flesh on those bones, and then we’ll see.” Meath grinned. “Besides, all I lack is your mother raving at me for letting you get drunk.”
Pol made a face, then turned his attention to the other noon-time patrons of the inn. There were a few pearl-fishers, easily identifiable by their lean, lithe bodies, well-developed chest muscles, and the scars on their hands from digging shells out of rock crevices. Skin weathered by sea and salt had paled a little during the winter months, but soon they would be out in their small boats again, browned from head to heels by summer sun during the annual harvest. Lleyn’s squires often enjoyed the treat of a day’s sail in the pearl coves—but not Pol. The first time he’d taken a look at those tiny, flat-bottomed boats bobbing gently at their moorings, he’d been most humiliatingly sick.