by Melanie Rawn
Pol laughed and apologized for his lack, reveling in Azhdeen’s matter-of-fact arrogance. You great lumbering beautiful beast, he thought, knowing the words were meaningless to the dragon but that the affection would be clear as crystal, I have only one mate and you spread your favors among scores! Of course you have more hatchlings than I do!
Azhdeen settled into an easy crouch on the shore, his tail lashing softly in cool water. This was the sign Pol had been waiting for. He would now be allowed to approach the dragon. He never lost the wonder of it, of walking slowly toward that huge head with its large, dark, shrewd eyes and jawful of dagger-sharp teeth. Once, Azhdeen had batted playfully at him with what was for him a gentle hand. Pol had toppled, nearly unconscious. Since then the dragon had restrained himself from touching the puny, fragile human.
But Pol could touch the dragon. He stood beside Azhdeen’s lowered head and scratched the smooth hide between the eyes, careful to avoid the bony spines streaking back from the brow. He ran the flats of his palms down the dragon’s face to the ridges of the nostrils, tickling the sensitive skin there. Azhdeen hummed low in his throat with pleasure. Pol rubbed along the closed jaw to the dragon’s eyes, and lids drifted lazily shut as he luxuriated in the petting.
Glutton, Pol accused fondly, scratching Azhdeen’s throat. When he was close to the dragon this way, it was easy to think of him as a kind of gigantic, furless, winged cat: the predator that purred. Dragons had no enemy but man. It had been nearly forty years since the last Hatching Hunt, but only nine since Pol’s half-brother Ruval had slaughtered two adult dragons near Elktrap Manor. He had used sorcery to pull the mighty creatures down from the sky and then dealt them a slow, agonizing death. Memory caused Pol’s colors to darken, and Azhdeen opened one eye in surprise.
A picture appeared in the air, accompanied by the emotional equivalent of a loud demand: How did you know? Conjured before Pol was a strange sight: dragons floating on the sea. Not living dragons, but stiff, motionless, with uplifted wings frozen in place. Like sails, Pol thought, tracing with his gaze the raised necks with their sightless heads dipping to the rise and fall of the waves. Ships, of course, built of wood and not dragon bones and hide, but Azhdeen couldn’t know that. He evidently thought dragons had been killed and somehow made to float on water with spread wings. Perhaps he had seen ships with wary watchers on the prows carved in the shape of dragon heads; sails naturally reminded him of wings. So to him it was an obvious conclusion.
Pol wove his colors into the picture, altering it to reflect what he knew was the reality. Wings became sails; bones changed to masts and rigging. The contours of dragon bodies he amended to wooden keels. He had never seen such a vessel himself, but his years as a squire at Graypearl had familiarized him with ships. He elaborated on the picture, adding people on the decks and in the dragon’s nest from which they watched for land when sailing far from shore.
It’s nothing more than that, he told Azhdeen, conveying reassurance.
The reaction felled him. The dragon threw back his head with a roar that brought whines from other dragons and terrified screams from the horses. Pol was knocked off his feet and out of the intricate weave of color. His wits spun and for a time he could barely see. When he could stand again, Azhdeen was rearing back on his hind legs, wings unfurled, bellowing his rage.
Pol again offered his colors to the dragon. What is it? What have I done? Azhdeen glared. Again the picture formed. Believe! was the emotion whirling on sunlight.
Then the colors vanished brutally. Pol gasped with the loss, his head nearly splitting in two. The dragon leaped into the air and circled the lake before coming to rest on the opposite shore, where he snapped at those around him and cuffed a few who didn’t move out of his way fast enough.
Pol had never seen the like. He stood stunned and incredulous, unable to think what he had done wrong.
“Papa?”
He looked down. He might have expected Jihan to be the one tugging at his hand. Instead it was Rislyn—green eyes huge with worry but unafraid. He grasped her small fingers gently.
“It’s all right, hatchling,” he said. “I was unwise enough to contradict my high and mighty friend over there, and he took exception to it.”
She squeezed his hand, relieved. But he could not reassure himself that he understood the cause of Azhdeen’s fury. Never had he known such violence in the dragon. Never had Azhdeen been other than gentle in ending their contact.
Azhenel trotted up, ears laid back; he had been frightened by the dragon, too. As Pol mounted to ride back to the palace, he reflected that it was just as well it was a short way. He was going to have the great-great-grandsire of all headaches for the next two days.
Chapter Five
Andry had been fourteen when he made the ceremonial walk through Goddess Keep’s long, light-filled refectory to the place where Lady Andrade sat. Caught between pride and humility, violent trembling and a terror of total paralysis, his steps had been like those of a drunkard. He had worn his father’s colors as a reminder to all of who he was, but all he could think of was what he wanted to become. What he must become, or his life would be meaningless.
One woman, familiar to him from childhood, had the power to decide. But he had not met Andrade as her kinsman. There had been no family fondness in her eyes, only the cool, shrewd, judging look she sometimes gave Sioned.
Sudden thought of Sioned and all he owed her had straightened Andry’s back, finned his steps. When his parents insisted he be fostered as a squire, Sioned had arranged for him to go to her brother, Prince Davvi of Syr, with the understanding that he might leave at any time. Davvi knew as well as Sioned that Andry was not meant to be like Maarken, Sunrunner and great lord both. So when permission was finally wrung from Chay, the prince wished him well, gave him a jeweled knife in token of friendship and service, and sent an escort of honor with him to Goddess Keep.
Andry still had the knife. He toyed with it when young hopefuls came into his presence, just as Andrade in the same circumstances had toyed with a little gold medallion given her by her sister Milar. He could still see it in her hand, could still feel the hilt of Davvi’s gift clenched in his own fist as he took that long, long walk. All Goddess Keep had watched—some of them highborn but few of such exalted blood and fewer still who could claim royal descent. Only his brother had matched him that way. He’d caught sight of Maarken in the crowd, glowing with pride in his little brother. It had helped, but as he’d approached Andrade he had still felt a short gulp of air away from panic.
Andrade was then in her sixty-fourth year, severely elegant, a sharper version of the grandmother he hardly remembered. As expected, there was no acknowledgment of kinship in her wintry blue eyes. If anything, she looked with greater skepticism at the proud red-and-white of his heritage and the jeweled knife given by a prince. Dressed plainly as always, her rings and bracelets gleamed with both promise and warning. The medallion of Desert gold turned over and over in her long fingers, a wink and a shadow. Under Andrade’s stern gaze he lost all consciousness of himself as his parents’ son, but some spark of defiant pride asserted that if he was nothing more than anyone else who had ever stood before her, neither was he anything less.
As it turned out, he was considerably more. For now it was Andry who waited for prospective Sunrunners to come to him; Andry who sat in a large chair with a sunburst carved into its back; Andry who watched as faces paled and knees quivered and eyes were caught by his own inexorable gaze. But where Andrade had presided over an appearance before the whole community of Goddess Keep, he administered a private ritual. She would not have approved. He had never let that worry him. Her goal had been to create a world; his was to ensure that world’s survival.
The youth standing before him now—so white-cheeked and wide-eyed that it was hard not to feel sympathy—looked ready to prostrate himself before the three great ones of Goddess Keep. Andry sensed Torien’s amusement, wondering if his chief steward was remembering as he hims
elf remembered. Jolan stood on his other side, ready to analyze responses—but not in the manner young Kov probably anticipated.
“So you wish to become a Sunrunner,” Andry said all at once, and the boy flinched at the sound of his voice.
“Yes, my Lord,” he managed breathlessly.
“Why?”
“To s-serve the Goddess.”
“And what do you believe to be the nature of the Goddess?”
The question used to evoke vastly different answers. Nowadays there were only small variations, usually reflecting the personality and aspirations of the respondent. Jolan found the differences fascinating; they were excellent indications of success in spreading a unified philosophy.
“The Goddess is the Lady of Light, all-knowing, all-seeing, and all-powerful, my Lord,” Kov recited, secure now. “Sunrunners are her servants who command light, and through it may see and know as she does. She has given Sunrunners the gift of light.”
So far by rote. “What shall Sunrunners do with this gift?”
“Use it in her service, my Lord, to let all people know her intentions for them, and so that they may come to honor her as Sunrunners do.”
“How may we know her intentions?” Andry asked.
“Through the visions and conjurings of the powerful.” The boy bent his head shyly in the presence of the powerful.
“Do you expect to see such visions?”
“If it is the Goddess’ will that I should be so honored, my Lord.”
“And if it is not?”
“I shall serve her all my days.” There was a pause, and then Kov rushed on to finish what he’d forgotten: “And—and with all my heart and mind, my Lord.”
How predictable the answers were becoming. Andry fingered Davvi’s knife and began the more difficult questions. “If she is all-powerful, why isn’t the world perfect?”
Kov glanced up and frowned with the innocence of the very young. “I don’t understand, my Lord. I have been taught that it is perfect.”
Andry envied him his simplicity. “Perhaps your portion of the world is. That’s not so for everyone.”
“Then they have not yet learned to honor the Goddess, my Lord.”
“If she is all-powerful, why does she require us to honor and serve her?”
“To turn hearts away from wickedness and sorcery, my Lord.”
Andry arched a brow fractionally. He’d heard the part about sorcery only a few times, and was intrigued. Leaning forward, he caught the boy with his gaze. “And what is sorcery, Kov?”
“I—I’m not sure, my Lord.” Kov’s desperate desire to fidget was in his dark eyes; Andry’s hold on him prevented movement. All at once he blurted out, “Wickedness is hurting others on purpose, and sorcery is using magic to do it.”
“But there are some very wicked people who flourish like weeds, and plenty of sorcerers left. One might think the Goddess would punish them.”
Kov’s whole face wrinkled with the effort of thought. “People do bad things to each other, and—that’s what the High Prince’s Writ is for, to punish people who hurt others. Sorcerers go against the Goddess herself, and—and—” He stumbled to a halt, confused.
“How should sorcerers be punished, do you think?”
“The Goddess must have a way of—” Suddenly Kov’s eyes lit. “Oh, my Lord, she does it through Sunrunners, who are her servants, with her gift of Light!”
“Why should this all-knowing, all-seeing, all-powerful Goddess have the slightest interest in being served by such pathetic creatures as we?”
“I—I don’t know, my Lord.”
Jolan spoke for the first time. “Surely you have an opinion. Why should she be pleased that we honor her, that we are present at courts great and small, that we ride the light of sun and moons to see what she already sees and know what she already knows? What possible use are we to her? Couldn’t she rid the world of evil and sorcery all on her own? Why does she need us?”
“I—” The boy bit his lip in anguish.
Andry had pity on him; Jolan could be a pedantic witch when it suited her. “Could it be because we may speak to our fellows in ways they can understand? And that they will listen because we can also speak the language of light that is the Goddess’ gift to us? And because we are the only ones who can do so?”
Relief broke over the young face like waves sweeping sand smooth. “Oh, yes, my Lord. That must be it. Thank you for explaining it to me.”
“Put it in your own words,” Jolan instructed.
Another hesitation, and then Kov replied, “Sunrunners are the only ones who understand light, the language of the Goddess. She speaks through Sunrunners and—and shows her power, and punishes sorcerers.” He looked up anxiously. “Is that right, my Lord?”
“Very good,” Andry said. “Now listen carefully. Today you will be assigned a bed in the dormitory, a seat at table, and a desk in the schoolroom. You’ll be told about everyday life here, what’s expected of you. Within a few days you’ll be tested and we’ll know for certain whether or not you can become a Sunrunner. If you cannot, you will be sent back home and—”
“Oh, please, my Lord! I want to stay here!”
“We’ll see. Leave us now.” He concealed a smile and waited until the boy was halfway to the door before calling out, “Kov!”
He turned awkwardly, his knees as tentative as Andry’s had been all those years ago. “My Lord?”
“The Sunrunner who sent you to us thinks highly of your potential.”
Adoration lit the young face. “Oh, thank you, my Lord! I won’t disappoint you, I swear!”
When he was gone, Andry leaned back in his chair. The sunburst was lumpy against his spine and he squirmed. “I suppose this thing had to be carved so I can’t get comfortable in it,” he commented.
“Think of it as a reminder not to slouch,” Torien said, grinning.
“You sound like my mother. Well, what do you think of the boy?”
Jolan shrugged. “Potential, certainly. They don’t make it this far unless they’ve got that. But I doubt he’ll set the world on fire.”
Andry grimaced. “My beloved cousin Pol has already demonstrated that little trick, thank you. What did you make of Kov’s answers?”
“I assume you’re talking about the sorcery. I’m pleased, of course. I’ve worked very hard to instill that in the responses.”
“With so lovely a face, who would ever suspect such deviousness?” Andry looked over at Torien. “The women around here are showing alarming tendencies. First the shape-changing, and now—”
Torien cleared his throat and said, “I was surprised when Kov mentioned sorcery. I hadn’t thought the idea of Sunrunners being designated by the Goddess to punish diarmadh’im would root so quickly. It’s taken years to get the rest of it right.” Years of planting the chosen words here and there, watching them grow to cover most of the continent like an invisible, interlacing vine weaving belief into a coherent whole.
Jolan shrugged again. “Kov’s Fironese.”
“Ah. Of course. Might he be of the Old Blood?”
Torien shifted uneasily. “Half the Sunrunners who come from Firon are.”
Andry laid a hand on Torien’s arm. “When are you going to stop being so sensitive about it? I’ve never doubted you.”
“Doubting yourself is worse than anything anyone else can do to you.”
“Torien,” Jolan said impatiently, “don’t be a fool. I trust you and Andry trusts you. Would I have stayed married to you otherwise? Would you still hold the honor of chief steward?”
“Wise as well as devious,” Andry smiled. But after they had left him, he reflected that not every man was so trusted by the woman he loved. Alasen had never trusted him. He wondered sometimes if he even loved her anymore, or whether it had simply become habit to think of her with that dull ache of longing. Certainly he forgot Alasen when he was with Brenlis, when he even thought of that lovely, fey, fascinating girl who so captivated him.
&nb
sp; Turning his thoughts from her with an effort, he considered Torien’s diarmadhi blood. Cold as it might sound, it suited him very well that his friend was ashamed of that heritage. It made Torien all the more devoted to Sunrunner ways and to eradicating sorcerers. It also made him useful, for his rings burned in fiery warning in the presence of such spells.
Jolan’s introduction of the right of faradh’im to punish sorcerers fit in neatly with one Andry himself had recently disseminated in secret. It was a new idea, something he wasn’t sure would work. He had yet to hear it echoed by any of the young girls and boys who came to him here. But soon it would be.
Punishment of evil done by people to each other was the responsibility of princes. Punishment of evil done by sorcerers was the province of Sunrunners. But there had to be a law that embraced everyone. Rohan would have it that his own writ was this law—and had demonstrated it years ago by claiming jurisdiction over that wretched faradhi who had, in attempting to heal, accidentally killed instead. Andry had searched ever since for a way to get around the High Prince’s Writ. He had found it at last in the concept of sin.
The prohibition given by Lady Merisel about use of Sunrunner gifts in battle had given him the clue. She had not referred to it in terms of breaking a law or doing evil. Instead she had written, “Use of the gifts in battle will be punished by the Lady or Lord of Goddess Keep, as being willful disobedience, a sin against the generosity of the Goddess in sharing Fire with faradh’im.” It had taken him a long time to translate “sin” adequately; there was no word for it in the language used now. It had taken him even longer to understand her meaning: that such disobedience was not an offense against the law or even the natural order of things. Either of these he could readily have comprehended. To steal, to cheat, to kill, all were unlawful and must be punished. To eradicate wolves in order to protect herds, to harvest all the pearl-bearing oysters to gain maximum profit, to strip whole hillsides clean of trees—people had learned through bitter experience that such things were sheer stupidity. But “sin” was something else. It meant to offend against the Goddess herself.