by Melanie Rawn
And yet . . . who was to know what she desired? Lady Merisel had not. She had admitted as much in her private writings. She had established use of the gifts in battle as a sin—but only after the Sunrunners had defeated the diarmadh’im and chased them into exile. Andry had not failed to note this. A practical, pragmatic lady. What Merisel had not mentioned, and what he had had to learn through example, was that if iron pierced a Sunrunner’s flesh during a working, that Sunrunner died. Sorcerers were not as vulnerable, though spells were more difficult and less effective when woven while the metal drew blood. He surmised that Pol and Riyan had this strength in relation to iron, and it galled him. But Merisel’s reason for establishing the sin clarified the whole concept for Andry. Sin was nothing more than the codification of practical necessity.
It opened up whole realms of possibility.
He would have to use it carefully. His first thought had been to call it sin when anyone gifted with Sunrunner abilities was not allowed to be trained. But—too mild. Practical, but not necessary to the growth of Goddess Keep’s population. So he had ruminated for a very long time, picking and choosing among things he wished to accomplish, and had finally invented the perfect sin.
It was this: Anyone who hindered a faradhi in the search for or execution of diarmadh’im committed a sin against the Goddess.
Only a fool would fail to discern whose right it was to punish that sin.
It was something not even Rohan would dare protest. How could he, when his own son had nearly been killed by a sorcerer? Besides, as Kov’s answers had indicated, it was a Sunrunner’s right and duty to punish diarmadh’im. And it was so small and elegant a step to condemnation of anyone who interfered with that right. Even the High Prince.
Altogether a very satisfactory sin—simple, yet subtle; specific, yet encompassing. Very, very practical, and necessary for reasons beyond the destruction of sorcerers. He had spread word of it through trusted Sunrunners in all princedoms, and while none of the young people had spoken of it yet on arrival at Goddess Keep, he had faith that they soon would. The only thing that traveled faster than a faradhi’s thoughts on light was the unfathomable communication amongst the common folk.
When disaster struck, as Andry knew it must, the sin would already be there to assist him and his devr’im in destroying their enemies. Neither Rohan nor Pol would be able to protest—indeed, they would welcome a Goddess-given right to slaughter.
Sometimes it amused him and sometimes it appalled him to think that he could even invoke the sin against Pol himself.
He sat back and immediately grimaced; he always forgot the uncomfortable carving until it bruised his spine. Rising, he went outside on a long walk to the sea cliffs. Mellow autumn sunshine hazed the distance, and his steps brought up tiny puffs of dry dust from ground thirsting for rain. The pines rose in silent majesty to his right, and he started for them, intending to consult the small pool in the tree circle for guidance. The Goddess had not favored him with a vision in a long time, but he never gave up hoping. He needed the reassurance of a conjuring in Fire and Water today. The countryside around him, the crashing sea, the clear blue sky, the stubbled fields after a good harvest—everything was as it should be, and so beautiful that his Desert-bred senses ached with its richness. Yet the threat of its loss weighed on his heart. Despite his preparations, despite sure knowledge that he was doing all he could to avert destruction, he needed to look into a future only the Goddess could show him. He needed to see that it had changed.
Andry? Andry!
He nearly stumbled in the sunlight, the voice catching him unawares. He was caught up in a weave of light such as no one ever had the temerity to use on him anymore. Sunrunners approached him with respect and waited for him to make the initial contact. But he could not be angry, not when he recognized the woman’s voice and the swirl of her colors.
Brenlis! It’s sweet to touch you, my dear. You honor me.
I’ve missed you, my Lord. Forgive me for startling you.
The most wonderful of surprises. But rather an unsubtle technique, you know. You need practice! he teased lovingly.
I’m sorry, Andry. But I heard something today that I must tell you. There’s word from Radzyn Keep that a highly trained physician is needed there.
His heart seem to stop in his chest. Is it Tobren? Is my daughter ill?
No, my Lord. She is well. It’s your mother. They say she had an accident of some kind and lies in her bed unable to move. I heard this today from some travelers we met on the road, and I thought at once of Evarin. It would take him some time to ride to Radzyn, but—
You thought exactly right, my darling. I’ll send him at once. But is there no specific word of what happened?
None. I’m sorry to have to tell you such painful news, but I’d hoped you’d already heard it.
He had not; and for this he would never forgive his family. He hid the emotion from Brenlis and told her, You did well to send to me in such haste. How goes it with you?
We’re not far from my parents’ holding. I’d forgotten how beautiful Ossetia and Gilad and Syr can be. The best of harvests this year, and perfect apples. I’ll bring back crates and crates for you!
He smiled and caressed her with his thoughts. Then come back to me soon, my lady, for I’ve a hunger for fresh ripe apples—and for you.
There was an impression of embarrassed laughter, and then he gently let her go. Almost immediately he wove other strands of sunlight, casting them far to the east and the eight massive towers of Radzyn Keep. He had not seen it except this way, on light, for years. Every time he looked upon it, the fear shuddered in him at memory of the dream in which Radzyn was a smoking ruin.
He sought the tower where his parents’ apartments were, and gave thanks for the afternoon sun shining in the windows. Stealthily he entered, able to go only as far as the light—to the middle of the spacious state bedroom in which he and all his brothers, his father and Radzyn’s lords back ten generations had been conceived and born. It was a beautiful room, rich with tapestries and embroidered bed-hangings and thick Cunaxan and Giladan rugs, furnished in aged, sun-faded wood. Andry hovered, cautious lest someone be near who might walk into the light and disrupt it, but everyone was gathered on the far side of the bed, gazing in anguish down at his mother.
White and delicate as winter roses, she lay in an ocean of pale blue sheets frothed with lace. His father knelt beside the bed, holding her hand carefully in his two trembling ones. Andry was shocked at how much silver shone in Chay’s hair. A physician stood nearby, speaking to Maarken and Hollis and Betheyn, the woman who would have been his brother Sorin’s wife. The helpless misery on all their faces struck him to the soul.
Gentle Goddess, what had happened? Why was Tobin so pale, so motionless? He had never seen his mother at rest for more time than it took to eat a meal; her vitality was legend and her energy prodigious. Even during the battle for Stronghold when he was a little boy, when she had taken an arrow in her thigh that had left a lifelong limp, she had ignored the wound and fought on like the warrior princess she was. To see her thus was to imagine her in death.
But she breathed still. The thick, carved bedpost interfered with his view of her, but he could see her chest rise and fall—slowly, so slowly.
Andry withdrew down the sunlight and discovered he was on his knees in the dirt. A cry clawed its way from his throat and he clamped his jaw tight shut around it, not knowing if he was more frightened by his mother’s illness, or furious that he had not been told of it.
Brenlis was right. Evarin must go to Radzyn and give Tobin the best care available in all the princedoms. He began to run toward the keep, and along the way a resolve hardened in him: not just Evarin but Andry himself would travel to Radzyn. To hell with Rohan’s decree of exile from the Desert. His own father could forbid him, and he would still go.
And if this put Chay in an impossible position—allowing a son into his castle who had been banished from his prince’s lands�
��then too damned bad. Not even Rohan could be such a monster as to keep him from his mother’s side.
• • •
Pol made it up with Azhdeen, more or less. Dealing with dragons was a good exercise in humility for prince and Sunrunner alike. A cautious approach the next morning, and this despite the headache which was still very much with him; a tentative offering of his colors; a shake of wings and an annoyed snort—and they were friends again.
Pol created pictures for Azhdeen of the summer’s Rialla (the dragon was always curious about the strange doings of humans, especially in groups), and laughed as pride enwrapped him when he showed Azhdeen the splendor of the Lastday banquet over which Pol had presided. The dragon’s proprietary interest in Pol’s consequence was that of a parent for a particularly promising child. In return, Azhdeen presented the picture of new caves he’d discovered on a lazy flight through the Vere Hills—caves long abandoned by dragons for one reason or another, but which Azhdeen thought might make reasonably adequate mating areas. For lesser dragonsires, of course; he ruled Rivenrock Canyon, and to see him visualize it, every one of its hundred and seven caves had been filled with females he himself had won this year.
Pol didn’t laugh; he didn’t dare offend the dragon again. But he was unable to hide amazement that Azhdeen had actually gone out looking for new caves. It suggested a capacity for thought which, for all their intelligence, dragons weren’t considered capable of. But then, people had been underestimating dragons forever.
Pol managed to convey a question about why Azhdeen had gone out looking for new caves. The reply was a series of flashing images illustrating an impressively logical turn of mind. Rivenrock with dragon corpses during the Plague of 701; Rivenrock deserted; Rivenrock the night Pol had lit the Desert with Fire and broken Ruval’s hold over Azhdeen himself. He had never been shown the rest of what had happened that night—but now he saw from the dragon’s vantage point. The human enemy dangled from his talons as he flew over the Long Sand, finding at last a nicely desolate spot to shred Ruval uninterrupted. The death was a righteous one as far as Azhdeen was concerned; Ruval had ensnared him, Pol had freed him, and he was doing himself and Pol a favor. Pol learned then that no dragon would eat human flesh; Azhdeen had simply enjoyed tearing Ruval limb from limb at his leisure and leaving him as a present for the Desert scavengers. Remembering the scattered, incomplete pile of bleached bones found days later, Pol felt a little queasy.
Finally Azhdeen showed him Rivenrock, alive again with hatchlings that flew joyously from the caves, exhaling fire. Pol had long suspected that the flames he called that night had cleansed the canyon in dragon minds. But he hadn’t known Azhdeen would make the connection between an increase in the number of caves and an increase in the dragon population. A picture formed of egg-heavy females dying in the sand without caves in which to mate, and then a view of the new/old caves in the Vere Hills. Hatchlings flew from those caves, too, and Pol was struck by the ease with which the dragon projected events into the future. He would have to tell Feylin about those caves as soon as possible.
All this took place in under fifty heartbeats. Then, with a final whirl of colors that all but blinded Pol, Azhdeen withdrew with courteous gentleness and called to his flight of dragons. Soon they were airborne, females nipping at slow-flying hatchlings, and after a last turn around the lake, they were gone.
Pol spent the rest of the day recovering—even the least demanding exchanges with his dragon left him with a grotesque headache—and the following morning he set out on sunlight to find Walvis’ resident Sunrunner at Remagev. There was much to relay to Feylin about this year’s count of hatchlings and especially about the new caves. He spent a pleasant time conferring with Relnaya, conveying his news and learning all about this year’s mock battle and how the Isulk’im had enjoyed themselves. On hearing that his parents hadn’t yet been told of Kazander’s part in Walvis’ little war, he came back by way of Stronghold to give them a good laugh.
He found the keep in the controlled uproar that meant preparation for a hasty journey. His mother was nowhere to be seen, but he spied his father testing saddle girths and bridles in the courtyard, a grim expression on his face. Unable to speak to Rohan, he cast about for someone he could talk to, and found Morwenna.
Goddess greeting, Sunrunner, he told her cheerfully. What’s all the fuss?
Pol! I was going to come look for you at Dragon’s Rest in a little while. You’re a considerate child to spare me the bother. It’s Princess Tobin. She’s taken ill and your parents are going to her at once.
Tobin? What’s wrong?
Yesterday morning Chay found her unconscious by a paddock fence and they haven’t been able to waken her. By the sound of it—and poor Hollis was nearly beside herself—it’s some sort of seizure.
I’ll start for Radzyn at once.
You’ll do no such thing!
I can be there in three days. He paused. Has Andry been told?
Not that I know of.
Merciful Mother of All! Hasn’t anyone got any sense? He’s her son! Somebody’s got to let him know at once!
Who did you have in mind? she asked dryly. No one but your parents can give him permission to cross Desert borders. Rohan’s frantic with worry for his sister, and Sioned is nearly as upset.
I’ll do it myself. I doubt they’ll argue the point.
That’s exactly what I was hoping you’d say. Now all that’s left is for you to command me not to tell them you’re on your way to Radzyn, and my conscience will be as pure as a virgin bride’s.
Morwenna, I order you to say nothing of my plans, I adore your devious Fironese mind, and I know exactly in what esteem you hold virginity—let alone marriage!
A few moments later, after he had paused to direct a servant to find his squires and see to saddling Azhenel for a journey, he drew in a deep breath and wove light yet again. This time he turned west for Goddess Keep.
He didn’t relish the thought of sharing the sun with his cousin. He saw Andry only at Riall’im now, and while they were always exquisitely polite to each other, the underlying tension was obvious to all. They were long past the point at which they might sit down alone and discuss their differences. Each was too entrenched in dislike, suspicion, and jealousy of the other’s power. Pol’s adult brain grieved for the waste and decried the uselessness of conflict between them, they two who ought to have been allies for the greater good. But the stronger emotions remained disgustingly childish and he would never trust Andry as long as either of them drew breath. Boyhood memories of friendship evoked a deep sense of betrayal combined with angry bewilderment that things had turned out so harshly between them.
He came upon Goddess Keep from a great height. The only time he’d ever seen the Sunrunners’ castle was this way, descending over its battlements like a swooping dragon. Childish, too, his determination that Andry would never learn how to speak with a dragon.
This courtyard swarmed with activity just as Stronghold’s did. Pol hesitated, watching as four horses were saddled and another laden with provisions. Enough for a journey as far as Radzyn? He had his answer when a young man hurried from the keep and strapped the bags he carried on the pack horse. The ring of a Master Physician was on his hand. Pol’s surmise was confirmed as Andry strode down the steps, nodded curtly to the groom holding his horse, and mounted in a swirl of white cloak. Sunrunners perforce became competent at reading lips; no one admitted it but everyone did it. Pol saw the physician say, “I have everything Princess Tobin might need, my Lord.”
So Andry knew. Pol couldn’t guess how, but he knew. He felt guilty relief that he wouldn’t have to contact his cousin, then berated himself for the cowardice.
Goddess greeting, my Lord, he said respectfully. You’ve heard about your mother, I see. I thought to tell you myself, but—
Go away, Pol, came the weary answer, not the bitter rancor he’d expected. I don’t have time for you.
I’ll see you at Radzyn—and I hope we b
oth see Tobin recovered.
Spare me your soothings. I had to learn by chance that she’s ill. And I warn you, Pol, I don’t give the slightest damn for—
Before he could finish, Pol said quickly. You’ll cross into the Desert on my authority, Andry. No one will stop or question you. I promise.
As if I need, want, or care about your safe-conduct!
Andry—
But the contact was broken. Pol watched his cousin ride out the gates, the physician beside him leading the packhorse. Perhaps he’d been stupid and arrogant to make the attempt to speak with Andry now, but at least he’d tried. A feeble sop to his conscience: I was willing, and you rebuffed me. What timing. What impeccable timing.
Back at Dragon’s Rest, Dannar was waiting for him, maintaining that rapt silence adopted by those who watched a Sunrunner at work. Pol put a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “How soon can I leave?”
“As soon as cook finishes wrapping food and wine for three days, plus a few things to nibble in the saddle, my lord. I’m to ask who’s riding with you.”
“Who said to ask that?”
“His grace of Ossetia.”
“I have such solicitous relatives, all of whom think I’m still ten winters old,” he commented, and started for the steps leading to his wife’s chambers. “You may tell his grace I’m taking one guard and one squire. You.” He tightened his fingers on Dannar’s shoulder as the boy exclaimed with excitement. “Not a word to Kierun. I’ll tell him myself.”
“Of course, my lord. Thank you.”
“Go out to the stables and make sure everything’s ready. And if the food isn’t in the saddlebags by the time I get there, we’ll just have to starve. I’m not waiting for that shattershell in the kitchens to roast a suitable haunch for my grace to dine from.”