by Melanie Rawn
Andrade watched them obey her orders, not missing the look Pol gave his parents as if asking whether or not he had to do as Andrade told him. She approved the boy’s spirit, but it also made her feel very old. It would take all her energy and authority to make a good, obedient Sunrunner of him. If anyone could.
“I want to know your plans,” she said to Rohan again when the others had gone. “And don’t tell me you’re going to trust to the truth. This isn’t a game played by nice rules.”
“What would you suggest?” Sioned asked coldly. “Buying cooperation would certainly be effective—it would convince everyone that we doubt our own position!”
“Truth may be an excellent defense,” Andrade snapped. “But what we need right now is a plan of attack.”
“I thought you’d have everything all plotted out for us,” Sioned retorted. “And all we’d have to do is speak our lines. You’re the one who hasn’t managed this very well, Andrade.”
She was silent for a moment, searching the face of her most beloved student. “When will you believe that I never wanted mindless obedience from any of you? If you had been an idiot, I would not have chosen you for Rohan.”
“I’ll believe it when you prove it. You’ve just done the opposite again by calling it your choice, not ours.”
It was an old debate between them and one that suddenly wearied her. “I put you both in the way of choosing. But I don’t give orders to anyone but my Sunrunners. And you’ll note that I no longer give you any orders at all. I’ve learned that it does no good.”
“And do you tell everyone that I’m no longer a Sunrunner?”
“Stop this,” Rohan said quietly. “Andrade, you asked my plans and answered your own question. The only weapon we have is the truth. I can’t bargain or cajole or command my way out of this. Masul must be repudiated or Pol’s claim to Princemarch will never be secure. The only thing I can trust is the truth.”
“And not me,” Andrade whispered, feeling very old again, telling herself it was only fatigue. “My truth is suspect.” She wrapped her fingers around the winecup, staring at the bracelets on either wrist, linked to her rings by thin chains. “It galls me. Nothing to do with Roelstra ever happens in ways I can control.” She gave in to impulse and flung the goblet to the floor. “Goddess! Why could he not have died forever and left us all in peace?” An instant later, humiliated by her outburst, she shrugged irritably. “Your pardon. I’ll see you get a new rug to replace the one I just ruined.”
Sioned spoke, her voice soft, almost apologetic. “My Lady—though I no longer wear any ring but my husband’s, the ones you gave me are still on my hands. Tell us what you think we ought to do.”
More moved than she would admit, Andrade shook her head. “I’m tired. We’ll talk tomorrow.” She pushed herself to her feet and muttered, “Hasn’t Urival raised that damned tent yet?”
Urival had, and was now ordering it furnished with carpets, tables, chairs, beds, and other amenities from the baggage wains. Segev assisted him and the other Sunrunners after finding a chair for Hollis to rest in. He had had no opportunity today to give her more dranath and she was showing the effects of withdrawal. Segev hurried about his tasks and at last escaped with the excuse of finding some wine. He paused in a shadow in the growing enclave of Andrade’s white tents and pulled the stopper from the bottle. Not trusting his abilities at sleight-of-hand to get the herb into only one cup, he sprinkled the dranath into the bottle itself. One drink of it would cause nothing more than a headache for someone not previously dosed.
The white pavilion was fully furnished by the time he returned. Lady Andrade reclined in a soft upholstered chair, attended by the High Prince and High Princess. Hollis sat nearby. Segev poured wine for them and for Urival, bowing low to each as a good one-ringed Sunrunner should in the presence of the High Prince and such exalted faradh’im.
“And that’s the tale of our evening,” Prince Rohan was saying. “Naydra has identified the corpse as the man who came to her earlier today. Pandsala had a little scheme of her own going, by the way—no one of her blood was ever able to resist playing with events.”
The High Princess nodded thanks as Segev poured her wine. “It seems she had a little chat with Kiele, who set her people to scouring Waes for this man—while Pandsala’s own servants followed them like dragons after a doe.”
“Well? What of it?” Andrade asked.
“They traced Kiele’s people to the Fair, where it seems everybody who wanted to find this man found him indeed.” Sioned gave a little shrug. “Rohan believes in letting things happen. Well, they happened, all right.”
Segev marveled that they spoke so freely in front of him—but then, he was supposedly one of them, a Sunrunner, a member of Andrade’s personal suite. He grinned to himself and took up a position in the shadows behind Hollis’ chair.
“We let Kiele’s man go,” Rohan added. “There’s nothing to accuse Kiele of, after all. She was only acting on Pandsala’s orders. It doesn’t matter that we know damned well she would’ve had him killed if she’d gotten her hands on him.”
“Granted,” Andrade muttered. “What of this Merida who isn’t a Merida?”
“We thought you might like to interview him with us,” Rohan said almost casually. He gestured to Segev, who stepped forward and bowed. “Tell my squire outside to fetch this man, please.”
“At once, your grace.”
The man was being held in the High Prince’s encampment, damp clothes nearly dry as he huddled by the fire with his arms tied behind him, dark head hanging. Rohan’s squire, Tallain, nodded to the guards, who nudged the captive to his feet. His head jerked up and Segev nearly gasped. One of Mireva’s people, here! He sorted through what he had heard since arriving tonight and gulped down his panic. She must be told at once. This man must not live long enough to blurt out anything that might identify Mireva or her aims—or, worse, Segev himself. He moved more deeply into the shadows beyond the watchfire and bit his lip. The man had not seen him, and with a little luck Segev should be able to escape without being recognized.
“Clean him up,” Tallain was saying. “The High Prince and Lady Andrade are waiting.”
Segev paused until he was sure the pounding of his heart would not sound in his voice, then said “Would you make my excuses to Lady Andrade, please? I—I guess I’m more tired from the journey than I thought.”
Tallain glanced over with a brief smile. “I’ve heard travel with Lady Andrade can do that. I’ll tell her you’ve gone off to bed.”
“My thanks,” Segev replied, bowing, and made his escape.
Away from the tents, he took several deep breaths of chill night air to calm himself. Realization of who had sent the assassins to kill the pretender’s father had startled him badly but, more than that, kept his heart racing as he walked down to the river. He had grown used to living around faradh’im, and was even accustomed to Lady Andrade by now. But something about the High Princess made him nervous, and he would much rather not be in company with her again.
He shook off the feeling as he reached the river and spent a few moments admiring its silent, star-strewn flow. There had been no water to cross on the road to Waes, so he had been spared the inconvenience of miming the appropriate sickness. Mireva had taught him how to simulate the usual faradhi reaction to water, and he was grateful he had not had to resort to the rather unsavory trick. Mireva had taught him much, but Andrade and his growing ambition were teaching him more. The tension of fooling both women at the same time exhilarated him. He was the first descendant of the ancient blood to learn the old ways and those of the faradh’im; he knew he could use both with equal skill. The Rialla presented endless fascinating opportunities, once this dangerous man had been dealt with.
Well away from the encampment, he found a bend in the river and went as far out as he could, boots crunching in the fine gravel. He stared up at the expanse of starry sky above the river, finding comfort in its brilliance. He adapted Sunrunner
methods to the weaving of thin, delicate filaments of silver light as no faradhi but Princess Sioned had ever done. There were no colors on this weaving, only the shining pallor of the stars. He had never dared contact Mireva this way while at Goddess Keep—which, considering his unauthorized alteration of her plans, was for the best. As he followed the glittering path of plaited light north to the Veresch, he buried his secrets beneath layers of obedience—and temporarily forgot where he put the shovel.
She stood alone in the middle of the stone circle. She might have been there for moments or days in that same position, waiting as she had said she would wait every night of the Rialla. Segev wrapped his rope of starlight around the rock cairn and saw it begin to glow silver.
Very impressive. Andrade has taught you well.
Was there the faintest hint of suspicion in her voice? Segev cursed himself for showing off his abilities.
You sent me to learn, my lady. And I have much to tell you. Rapidly he gave her news of the present danger, ending with a plea to be rescued from possible discovery. It would please her, his total dependence on her to save him.
He could almost hear the breath hissing between her teeth. By all Hells! How could they be so stupid? My orders are to be obeyed, not anticipated! They were to watch, not kill! But now this fool will die. He was prepared by me before he left. As were you, Segev. Learn well from this.
He blanched. Prepared? The warning slid through his veins like an icy mountain stream beneath its winter covering of frozen snow. Yes, my lady, he replied humbly. There is more—do you wish to hear it now?
She made no answer. He saw her begin to sway lightly back and forth before the cairn, arms outstretched, her face carved into terrible lines. A few sick thuds of his heart later, she spoke again.
It’s finished. Tell me now.
He did so, detailing his acceptance by Andrade for faradhi training, the abortive attempt to steal the scrolls, his success in addicting Hollis to dranath. Mireva’s eyes lit as she listened, and she laughed when he told her of the Sunrunner Kleve’s death.
Wonderful! Assist this pretender any way you can—for all that he was too foolish to recognize our offer of assistance in the spring. What about the scrolls?
Here, with Urival. They don’t know I know. But I had access to the place they were kept, and the day we left, they were gone. Urival’s saddlebags never leave his sight. But I’ll secure the scrolls by Rialla’s end.
Excellent! Her gray-green eyes sparkled and for an instant she looked like the beautiful young girl who had taught him what it was to be a man. I’ll be watching by starlight, Segev, and on the next moonless night when no faradh’im can weave.
He sped back to the banks of the Faolain, shaking with relief. He had survived a test much more formidable than any that Lady Andrade could devise. And he had also rid himself of a threat—though exactly how Mireva had disposed of the man did not bear thinking about. He reminded himself that she possessed powers beyond his experience and possibly beyond his imaginings. He gulped as he heard again the fatal word prepared.
But when he thought of the Star Scroll again, a smile teased his lips. When it was finally in his hands, he would not give it to Mireva. He had earned it; it would be his.
While waiting for the prisoner to be brought to them, Urival gave Andrade a long, level stare. He said nothing, merely looked at her until she grimaced a reply.
“What’s being so subtly debated here,” she told Sioned and Rohan, “is the subject of the scrolls Meath brought us from Dorval this spring. I have my little surprises, too. Hollis, you’ve worked on the damnable things. Tell their graces.”
“The scrolls are histories, mainly,” Hollis explained. “Andry has done most of the translating—it’s been difficult because of all the false trails and little cues we sometimes miss until something much later on doesn’t make any sense. And we’re nowhere near finished yet with them all. But they tell about the Sunrunners who abandoned a huge old keep on the island and came to the continent to oppose a group of sorcerers.”
“Sounds more like tales for children at bedtime,” Rohan said.
“Oh, but these people were real, your grace! Lady Merisel in particular—there’ve been times when Andry swears he can feel her presence at Goddess Keep.” She hesitated, then went on, “And those others, the ones the faradh’im came here to defeat—they were real, too. Some of what they could do was very similar to our faradhi techniques, but—”
“But without our ethics,” Andrade finished mockingly.
Hollis didn’t seem to know how to respond to that. “They seem to have taken control of a great many people and places on their way to complete power over the continent, and the ancient faradh’im left their isolation on Dorval to fight against them. The scrolls are quite impressive, your graces.”
Andrade grunted at the understatement. “I should have known talking about her pet project would liven her up,” she said to Urival. “Not two words to say for herself the whole trip, and now we can’t shut her up.”
The young woman smiled. “All I needed was a little rest, my Lady.”
“And a sight of Maarken, hmm?” Sioned chuckled. “Forgive me—but he’s not very subtle, is he? And no more of this ‘your graces,’ if you please. Hollis, if you’ve no other family and if you will permit, I’d be proud to stand with you as a sister faradhi when you marry him.”
Her blue eyes widened. “Your grace! I—”
Rohan winked at her. “Nothing much gets past the High Princess, either.”
“I have a bet with Maarken that I could identify his Chosen lady at first sight,” Sioned explained, smiling. “It wasn’t difficult!”
Hollis looked from one to the other of them, completely at a loss. At last she managed to murmur her thanks.
“That’s settled, then,” Andrade sighed, “even if nothing else is. Go to bed, Hollis. I want to talk with Rohan and Sioned. And this captive of yours ought to be showing up soon, yes?”
Hollis bowed and left them. Sioned nodded to herself. “She’s going to make Maarken very happy.”
“You’re learning my tricks,” Andrade accused with gruff fondness. “How did you know? Did he tell you?”
Before Sioned could do more than look smug, Tallain appeared in the doorway of the white tent. “My lord, he’s here. Not too willing about it, either, when he heard who he’d be seeing.”
“Afraid of the old witch, is he?” Andrade asked. “Well, bring him in.”
But the guards got him no farther than the threshold. The man’s dark hair and pallid face suddenly seemed to glow with the chill radiance of the stars behind him in the night. Horrified eyes fixed on Andrade, he groped out with stiffened, white-boned fingers, then slumped to the carpet.
Tallain fell back in shock. “My lord—what—”
Rohan knelt beside the prone figure, searching in vain for signs of life. The slack-jawed guards could have dealt with an escape attempt, threats of violence, shouts of defiance—but not with this. “M-my lord,” one of them whispered, “we did him no hurt, none!”
Rohan nodded slowly, fingers resting lightly on the man’s chest. “His heart has simply stopped,” he murmured.
Andrade stared at the corpse with a stony glare more frightening than anger. “So,” she said at last. “The sorcerers still live after all.”
Rohan’s head snapped around, a scowl darkening his face. “What do you mean?”
She paid him no heed. “Get this—” she pointed to the dead man, “—out of my sight at once. Throw it into the sea for all I care. But it shall not know Fire. Nothing touched by such foulness could ever be cleansed.”
After the corpse had been removed, with Rohan’s caution that nothing be said of this to anyone, Sioned faced Andrade. “What do you mean, sorcerers?” she asked, repeating Rohan’s question.
“Just what I said.” She sighed heavily. “Sweet Goddess, to be able to kill at a distance, using starlight. . . .” A shudder coursed through her and she drew h
er cloak tighter around her breast. “There’s a scroll Hollis didn’t mention, but it seems I must tell you about it now. We’ve called it the Star Scroll for the design on its first page. And it deals with sorceries. Probably with things just like this.”
“Has it been fully translated?” Rohan asked.
“Not yet. And I don’t know that I want it to be. Not if it contains knowledge like this. Oh, Andry is full of reasons why we should learn all that the Star Scroll can offer, and use their own weapons against them—including dranath—but what would that make of us?”
Despite the bitterness in her voice, Rohan almost smiled at her. “It seems you and I agree on one thing, at least.”
Sioned nodded thoughtfully. “Now I know why you asked Tobin to have me bring along this packet.” She produced, to her husband’s astonishment, a small piece of folded parchment and handed it to Andrade. “It’s very old, though. Rohan took it from Roelstra over twenty years ago. Will it still be good?”
“Nothing about dranath is good, except its use against Plague,” Urival muttered, absently rubbing the rings on his hands as if they pained him.
“It ought to be potent still,” Andrade mused. “It’s all we have access to, so it had better be. I didn’t want to ask Pandsala to bring me some from the Veresch. She’s not someone I’d trust with knowledge like this.”
“I think you’re wrong about her,” Sioned replied mildly. “But it doesn’t matter. What do you plan to do with it?”
“Conduct a few experiments of my own, the way Andry did. Urival, stop looking at me like that. Who’s more qualified to investigate sorceries than an old witch like me?” She smiled humor lessly, turning the parchment square over in her hands. “You used a little of this to help you over some rough spots on the way home that year, didn’t you, Sioned?”