by Melanie Rawn
“Like the hollow of the Goddess’ hand,” Tobin breathed. “Sioned—are those roses climbing up that hill?”
“And wild grapevines, too,” Chay affirmed. He turned to one of the grooms who had managed to keep up with them. “Go back and get the others. We camp here tonight.” With a glance at Rohan’s transfixed face, he added wryly, “And maybe for the winter!”
Rohan didn’t hear him. He spoke his wife’s name in a voice vibrating with suppressed excitement. “Tell me what the soil’s like.”
She blinked. “Rohan, it’s been years since I—”
“Do it.”
She jumped down off her horse and threw the reins to Pol. Walking—wading—into the ocean of wildflowers, she pulled off her riding gloves, knelt, and dug her hands into the rich dark earth. She squeezed it in her fists, inhaled its fragrance, sifted it through her fingers. The daughter of a farming lord remembered her lessons of a lifetime ago; she tested the soil with knowledge that had no use in the beautiful, dead Desert. Rising, she gave her husband a brilliant smile.
“This will grow anything you care to plant in it. Not that anybody should even have to test it by touching it—look around us! I’ve never seen anything so perfect!”
He nodded slowly, light dawning in his eyes. He dismounted and walked forward alone, the sun finding bright reflection on his blond hair, and the others watched in bewildered silence. All but Sioned; she knew exactly what he was thinking, and could barely restrain herself from telling everyone else.
At last he returned, and surprised even Sioned by seizing her around the waist and swinging her up into the air, laughing in triumph.
“You’re right, you’re right, it is perfect!” he cried. “Sioned, it’s the most beautiful place in the world! And it’s ours!” He kissed her and set her down, then turned to the others. “Pol! Where do you think we should build your palace?”
“My—” The boy nearly fell out of his saddle. “Father!”
Tobin gaped at them. “Palace? What are you babbling about?”
“Oh, you know—walls, floors, painted ceilings and tapestries and carpets and—”
“And huge windows and stained glass and gardens and fountains and—and everything!” Pol finished exuberantly. “I can see it all right now!”
“So can I!” Tobin started herself with the words, and laughed. “You’re mad, every one of you! Where are you going to get the stone?”
“That’s the nice thing about being rich!” Rohan grinned at her.
“Father—we won’t have to spend a thing. Rezeld Manor!”
“Where?” Chay asked.
“It’s a holding we visited this summer—remember, Maarken? They owe us,” he added to his mother. “And they’ve got a quarry.”
Rohan nodded happily. “I’d almost forgotten!”
“Hold it right there,” Chay ordered. “I assume you’re going to explain that later, but what I want to know right now is what in all Hells you’re talking about.”
“I gave Castle Crag to Ostvel for a reason, you know. I want a new palace that embraces both the Desert and Princemarch. This valley isn’t too far from the pass leading to Stronghold. And this is where the Rialla will be held in the future, not in Waes.” He pulled Sioned to him and kissed her again. “So my Sunrunners won’t have the bother of crossing the Faolain anymore!”
A little while later Lleyn arrived with the rest of the party. His approval was instantaneous for the valley, a new palace, and a new site for the Rialla.
“Clutha won’t mind, and Gennadi will be grateful not to have it hanging over her head every three years. Besides, I’ve always felt the High Prince ought to have an accessible residence. Castle Crag is an impossible place. “This. . . .” He gazed into the valley and nodded. “This is indeed perfect.” The old man grinned suddenly. “By the way, did you find Alasen’s hawk?”
“Oh, Goddess!” Sioned exclaimed. “I completely forgot!”
She wove sunlight while the servants and guards began organizing their camp for the night. But her efforts met with no success and she apologized to Alasen, who shook her head and smiled.
“She’ll show up again, once she’s fed full on whatever she caught.”
“I gave her to you, and I don’t intend to lose her through my own stupidity,” Sioned replied. “Let’s go find her. Pol, Rohan, Ostvel, come with us.”
Maarken joined them after seeing Hollis comfortably settled in the shade with Lleyn to keep her company. She shook her head when he asked a silent question with his eyes.
“I’m feeling quite well, love. And I haven’t had any wine since yesterday morning. I think it’s over, Maarken—or nearly so.”
He kissed both her hands and smiled.
Lleyn poked his leg with the end of his dragon-headed cane. “You’ve had her all to yourself for days now,” he scolded. “Allow an old man to flirt with your pretty wife out of your hearing. I promise I’ll make only the most scandalous suggestions, guaranteed to put a blush back in her cheeks.”
“Old lecher,” Maarken accused fondly.
They rode away from the trees, following the course of the river toward the lake. Rohan was full of plans that Pol amplified, the pair exchanging ideas as if they’d rehearsed this for years.
“And over there we’ll plant an orchard, and a grove of nut trees.”
“More grapevines up that hill—”
“If we hold the Rialla here, we’ll have to have a racing circle—but at the end of the valley so there won’t be so much dust.”
“Could we set up a horse farm with it?”
“Now, wait just a—” Maarken began, but neither heard him.
“Excellent! Nothing elaborate, just stables and a paddock—we’ll breed for color! What would you say to a pasture full of golden horses? We can coax Chay into giving us a few good mares and a stud—”
“Giving you?” Maarken said, more loudly.
“Selling, then,” Pol laughed. “You wouldn’t begrudge us a few horses, would you?”
“Dangerous question,” Sioned put in. “What about this palace?”
“A foundation of Rezeld stone, but a facade of that wonderful grayish marble from that quarry north of here—you remember we saw it this summer, Pol. It’ll shine silvery in the sun and rose-gold at dawn and dusk.”
“With a blue tile roof,” the boy affirmed. “Kierstian ceramic. Father! I have an idea! Why not have something from every princedom, the way it is in the Great Hall at home?”
“I like it,” Rohan announced. “We’ll have a whole palace to work with, after all.”
Alasen had been listening to all of this with wide eyes; Ostvel, with an indulgent grin. He touched her arm and said, “Tobin’s right, you know. They’re utterly mad.”
“Ha!” Sioned scoffed. “This from the man who redid Skybowl from cellar to tower, and before that changed Stronghold from one end to the other, and before that ruled Goddess Keep for all that Urival held the title of chief steward! I know exactly how you’re going to spend your first year of marriage, Alasen: wondering which room at Castle Crag you’re not going to recognize next!”
“A vile slander, unworthy of a High Princess,” Ostvel told her. “Aren’t you supposed to be finding a hawk?”
“A graceless change of subject, unworthy of a regent!” she shot back, laughing. “But you’re right. Let’s see if our wayward friend is airborne again.”
They stopped half a measure from the lake. As she wove light once more, Maarken asked his uncle, “Why hasn’t anybody lived in this valley before? It’s beautiful, according to Sioned it’ll grow anything, and it’s not badly situated, though a little far from the main roads. Why do you think—”
He broke off abruptly. Rohan was not listening. He had reined in, his body rigid, his face turning to the north where the small lake spread its shimmer before the embrace of the hills narrowed. Sioned drew back from the sunlight and stared at him. He was tense with expectation, eyes shining. Sioned exchanged a wry smil
e and a nod with Maarken.
“That’s why,” she said.
Dragons.
Upwards of thirty adolescents and hatchlings, watched over by five adult females and a sire, flew down from the high hills into the valley. They wheeled in dizzying patterns before landing to drink at the lake. The hatchlings were nicely grown, almost half the size of their elders, sleek with good summer feeding in the Veresch. Some plunged into the lake for a wash, earning annoyed snarls from the others as they stirred up sediment.
The horses sidled nervously. The dragons condescended to give the humans a single disinterested glance before proceeding to ignore them.
“I wish Feylin could see them,” Rohan murmured. “Look at those beauties!”
“Mother . . . how does he do that?” Pol whispered.
She shrugged. “He’s dragon-bred, too, you know.” Suddenly she straightened in her saddle. A reddish-brown female dragon sprang up from the lakeshore and soared lazily above them, calling out softly. Sioned calmed her restive horse and rode forward a few paces. The dragon spiraled down, wings spread wide to show their golden undersides and head extended to peer at Sioned. A raucous howl of greeting presaged a masterful display of flying skills, ending in a happy plunge into the middle of the lake that splashed water nearly to the shoreline.
“It’s Elisel!” Sioned waved. The dragon rolled over and over in the water before sculling to the shallows and standing erect. Another cry of joyous greeting sounded, and wings were shaken in a shower of sparkling drops.
“Elisel?” Rohan asked.
She glanced at him, embarrassed. “My dragon. I’ve been calling her that in my mind. It means ‘little wing.’ ”
He smiled. “And people accuse me of being foolish about dragons! At least I never put a name to one!” He paused, then added thoughtfully, “But then, I never had my own dragon, either.”
“You think I do?” she laughed.
“Well, just look at her—showing off for you, calling out as if she’d been looking for you! I’d say you do indeed have your very own dragon, Sioned.”
She stood in her stirrups and lifted one hand, her emerald aglow in the sun. The dragon spread her wings in answer. Sioned wove light, careful to keep from touching the dragon—but Elisel strode out of the water directly into Sioned’s sunlight. She caught her breath as the contact showed her a dazzling array of colors. They whirled and danced in a living rainbow that intensified in speed and light until she grew dizzy and her mind cried out.
The maelstrom of color softened, slowed. And through it she sensed apology, curiosity. Stunned, Sioned reorganized her thoughts and spoke to the dragon.
My name is Sioned. Have you a name?
The dragon came closer, her head tilting in a strangely human gesture of inquiry. Sioned began to dismount. She felt Rohan’s cautioning hand and glanced at him with a reassuring smile. But the weaving tugged at her, and through it she sensed a petulance that astonished her.
He’s my—my mate. His name is Rohan. He’s the sire of the boy over there—the hatchling man with hair like sunshine. The hatchling’s name is Pol. Elisel, are you understanding any of this, or am I just talking to myself?
Her frustration was almost palpable, even to herself; the dragon whined and shook water from her wings, shifting as if the emotion made her uncomfortable.
“Sioned—” Rohan came to stand beside her.
“That’s it,” she breathed. “A language of emotions.”
“You mean you’re communicating with her?”
“I’m not sure.” She hesitated, then put an arm around his waist, leaning against him, and let her love for him flow through the sunlight. Elisel looked uncannily surprised for a moment, her eyes widening. Then she shuffled a few steps closer and hummed low in her throat, eyes half-closing in an expression of pleasure, her head swinging from side to side on her graceful neck.
“I’ll be damned,” Sioned murmured. “I’m telling her I love you—and she understands me!”
“I thought it might be something like that. Keep it decent, Sunrunner.” He grinned at her. “She’s only a three-year-old. I won’t have you corrupting an innocent dragon.”
“Oh, hush!” Moving closer to the dragon, she tried once more in speech. Elisel! My name is Sioned, and my mate’s name is Rohan. Do you have a name?
The dragon looked bewildered. Sioned bit her lip, groping for some means of communicating with her. Then she had it. Imagination painted a picture of dragon sires on the sand and females choosing them; whimsy put Rohan standing among them and herself walking forward to take his hands. She concentrated, conjuring the scene within the skeins of sunlight—not too difficult, only a variation of what she did with Fire. Elisel warmed to the picture, humming again, and this time her pleasure surged through the weave.
This was the way to do it, then. Sioned made a further picture of Skybowl, the way she herself saw it when Sunrunning, the way a dragon would see it in flight. She showed the dragon the keep crouching beside the lake. Elisel called out happily and swayed back and forth. Colors ricocheted through the air, all the bright blues of water and sky. Sioned let them wash over her without trying to assimilate them all. She formed a vision of Stronghold, again from a Sunrunner’s—or dragon’s—point of view, then focused down on herself and Rohan and Pol standing in the courtyard. This time images came back, and so powerfully that Sioned winced a little. A mountain aerie, richly green with summer foliage, elk and deer easy pickings; the gentler heights of the Catha Hills in winter, storms flashing across a dark sky viewed from the snug safety of caverns. Within each picture was a myriad of colors and subsidiary images: rivers, fish, wild deer and elk, other dragons, trees, birds, flowers, flight patterns to and from each location, surrounding countryside with human settlements hazed over in dark warning colors—too much information for Sioned to take in.
Elisel! Please! Slower—you’re hurting me!
The images abruptly terminated. The dragon fluttered her wings, whimpering concern. Sioned concentrated again, trying to project reassurance. She formed her own distinct pattern of color, the shades of emerald and sapphire, onyx and amber embedded in her consciousness, more a part of her than her own name. This is me. Sioned. These are my colors.
And at last it seemed the dragon understood, for the pattern appeared to hover duplicated in the air between them, oddly elegant when filtered through a dragon’s perceptions, an image of Sioned’s face superimposed. An instant later another structure appeared, complicated with colors Sioned had never seen before. Interwoven with this was a picture of the little red-brown dragon with her gold underwings.
Elisel! Sioned told her in triumph. And the dragon hummed and swayed. She spoke the word aloud—and could have sworn Elisel winked at her. “She knows her name!”
“Good Goddess,” Rohan breathed. “She understands you. All my life I’ve wanted—Sioned,” he interrupted himself with sudden urgency, “ask her if it’s all right that we’re here.”
“Do you think I need to? She likes us!” She laughed and kissed him. The dragon’s humming took on the same low note as when Sioned had communicated her love for her husband. Rohan pulled away, blushing a little. “Oh, she likes you, too,” Sioned assured him playfully. “But I think you’re right about asking her if it’s all right to build here.”
“But we couldn’t! Not now. If this valley belongs to them—”
“Let me ask, love.”
Stepping away from him, she wondered how to convey so complex an idea. She showed Elisel Stronghold again, then changed the picture in her mind. The keep now rested down the valley, rising tall and proud, people going about their business within and without. Curiosity again from Elisel; the great eyes peered southward as if a castle had indeed appeared there. She looked at Sioned, bewildered, head tilting in that oddly human gesture. Imagination’s picture expanded to include a large paddock where golden horses grazed in the sunshine. Elisel perked up and Sioned nearly giggled; the dragon was seeing easy prey.
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But the picture Sioned created was suddenly given back to her in changed form: instead of long-legged mares and stallions, Elisel rather wistfully pictured plump white sheep. The Sunrunner altered the vision accordingly and showed her a pen near the lake, stocked with ewes and lambs. The dragon rumbled with delight and gave Sioned a view of the whole valley from flying altitude—complete with castle, paddock, horses, people, sheep—and dragons stopping off for a drink, a swim, and a free meal.
Sioned did laugh then, and her approval of the plan met and merged with the dragon’s. So you like sheep, do you? You can have all you want in exchange for letting us build our palace here!
Elisel shook her wings and projected Sioned’s pattern of color once more into the space between them. Woven through it was a view of winterswept hills that must be this group’s southern home in the Catha Hills. The invitation to join them was very clear, not only across the plaited sunlight but also in the huge soft eyes. Sioned had no trouble conveying her regret; she showed Elisel Stronghold again, and the dragon actually sighed.
All this time the other dragons had been refreshing themselves at the lake, completely oblivious to the revolutionary contact taking place nearby. But now the dragon sire bellowed stern warning and took to the sky. He circled the lake, snapping his great jaws at hatchlings who seemed inclined to linger and play in the water. One by one the other dragons soared windward, mature females keeping adolescents and hatchlings in line.
The horses trembled as the sire swept over them and roared at Elisel. The little dragon gave a start and jumped to attention like a reprimanded soldier. Sioned smiled and gently unthreaded the sunlight. Elisel whimpered again with the loss; Sioned felt like echoing her at giving up the splendor of her colors and the warmth of their communication. The dragon took flight, circled once over the lake, then joined her kind as they flew south.