Dragon Prince 01 - Dragon Prince

by Melanie Rawn

  Camigwen gave the water another nervous glance and muttered, “Why don’t they just build a bridge?”

  “Too easy,” Sioned answered with another sigh. “Ostvel says he’ll send us across first and leave the baggage for last. Nice of him to give us some time to recover.”

  “And there’s this monster to cross again on the way back,” Cami moaned. “I might stay with you in the Desert forever! Just look at that flimsy raft!”

  “It doesn’t look so bad,” Sioned replied, trying to sound confident but not at all sure herself about the manner of their crossing. She dismounted, wanting nice, firm ground beneath her feet for as long as possible, and helped Meath organize the line of horses to be loaded. All the faradh’im were already green beneath their tans.

  When Ostvel returned with the riverman, Cami demanded of the latter, “Why isn’t there a bridge?”

  “Across this water, lady? How do you propose we span that?” He pointed proudly to the river. “She swells up in the spring like a pregnant doe to the very walls of my house. My grandsir, now, he lashed together a bridge one autumn, and it worked fine until the spring when the Lady River decided she didn’t like it and swept the bridge away—and my grandsir with it.”

  “Oh,” Cami said, peering at the deceptively smooth surface of the water. “Well, she doesn’t look too angry now,” she added.

  “See that little ripple halfway across?” He indicated a spot where sunlight glanced off a pulsing bulge in the water. “The current there runs faster than the best-blooded horses Lord Chaynal of Radzyn Keep ever bred. I took his lordship across some years ago and he told me that himself!”

  Sioned ached to ask questions about Lord Chaynal, whom she knew to be the prince’s brother-by-marriage. But she held her tongue, for it would not be seemly for a future princess to be caught gossiping.

  “Never fear, ladies,” the riverman finished cheerfully. “Eldskon is what my mother named me, the way all good folk have names that mean something in the old way of speaking, and it’s a good name in my trade for it means ‘soft passage.’ And that’s what I promise you,” he ended with a flourish.

  “Goddess, I hope so,” Camigwen muttered.

  The raft was big enough to hold twelve loosely hobbled horses tethered to its railing, stout tree trunks lashed together with wrist-thick ropes. But the instant Sioned set foot onto the flat wooden planks, her stomach fluttered and her eyes ached with the beginnings of the usual faradhi reaction to water. She swallowed hard. This was only the shallows, where the raft floated gently in calm water without any currents. Reminding herself that she had her dignity to maintain, she vowed to stay stone-faced and in possession of her breakfast.

  It was problematic whether the horses or the Sunrunners regarded the river ahead with greater trepidation. The raft surged forward, guided by two huge cables anchored on the opposite shore. Ostvel kept his eyes on the horses, Eldskon on the heavy iron rings through which the cables were threaded. The raft used the river’s own speed for the crossing, the cables angled downriver to take full advantage of the currents. There was a similar crossing upstream angled for east-west travelers. Sioned had carefully examined the arrangements and while her rational mind told her the system was sound, her senses froze as the raft bumped into a current and she realized she was entrusting her life to a few planks, some rails, and a couple of woven cables. The notion was not reassuring to her stomach.

  Camigwen was huddled on her knees, grasping the lower rails with both hands. Sioned was the only other faradhi still upright. The horses shifted nervously and whinnied to their fellows back on the western shore as the raft swayed and bumped as the main current caught it. Sioned managed to keep her feet, but as they hit the bulge of fast water in midriver she could no longer keep her breakfast. Clinging to the rails, she bent over and was inelegantly sick.

  A little while later she was vaguely aware of someone carrying her onto dry land. She was placed on a warm, sunny patch of grass and heard someone say in an amused voice that she would feel better soon. She wanted to tell him he was a damned liar, but hadn’t the strength. It was a mistake to open her eyes; the sunlight hit her like a sword to the skull. Croaking out a feeble curse, she fainted.

  Shouts roused her. Sitting up blearily, she clutched at her head with both hands and gulped down nausea, wondering dully why her stomach thought there was anything left to rid itself of. The sunlight stabbed into her eyes again, but at least that was bearable. What was not was the confusion of her vision. The horses tied up nearby were very big, then very small, then fogged as if the winter mists of Goddess Keep had descended around them. The riverbank receded into the far distance, then snapped back so suddenly she put her hands to ward it off. Sioned was vastly tempted to lie back and be miserable for a few days, as it appeared she was actually going to live through this. She hoped the prince would appreciate it.

  But someone was still shouting, and despite the confounding of her senses she forced herself to rise to her knees. She squinted, trying to bring the raft into focus. Halfway across the river, it seemed halfway across the world.

  And the horses that should have been on it were gone.

  “Sweet Goddess,” she breathed. Downstream she glimpsed the terrified animals trying hopelessly to fight the current. Her own cream-colored mare submerged and did not reappear. Sioned unwisely attempted to stand, failed, and furiously tried again. This time she gained her feet and dug her nails into her palms. Staggering to the riverbank, she fell; the icy shock of the water and cut of stones into her knees and hands combined to clear her head. She gulped down water, choked, and lifted her head to the river.

  She saw at once what had happened. The cables on the opposite shore had broken, and upon their snapping the raft was at the river’s mercy. The lurch had sent the horses against the rails, their weight breaking the wood. The cables on this side were the only reason the raft had not hurtled downstream, for those on board hung on tight, trying to pull the raft to safety. Sioned cried out as she looked around to the moorings. The cables, straining against the four massive posts that anchored them, had began to fray.

  Sioned pushed herself upright and stumbled over to where Mardeem lay face down on the grass. She rolled him over and slapped him, yelling his name, then hauled him by the ankles down to the river. She repeated this treatment on Meath and Antoun, and the snow-cold water did its work.

  “Mardeem!” Sioned cried, and he winced at the sound of her voice. “Wake the others, quickly! Antoun, Meath, get up and come with me. Hurry!”

  She tugged the two men to their feet and led them to the cables, where they wrapped their hands around the taut cords and began to pull. The work of three people against the surging river was hopeless, and Sioned knew it. Pain tore through her shoulder muscles and she grunted with effort, hearing Mardeem’s chanted curses just behind her. Part of her wanted to laugh hysterically, for he was as poetic in his oaths as he was in his songs.

  Eldskon and Ostvel lashed the cables around the iron ring, for to pull would be to negate Sioned’s plan. More hands were helping now. She looked around and saw Camigwen bringing two horses. Ostvel yelled encouragement as the ropes were secured on saddles, and with the added power the raft began to move more surely to the bank. But as the distance narrowed, Sioned saw that the ring was pulling free of the splintering boards around it. Those on board grabbed hold of the cables to ease the strain.

  At last the river let go of the raft and it was hauled into the shallows. Its shaken occupants leaped off as faradh’im collapsed like felled trees. Sioned had no memory of toppling over into the sand, nor of being carried once more to soft, warm grass. It was past midday before she knew anything at all, and her first sensations were decidedly pleasant. She lay wrapped in a blanket of shadows and sunlight, and there was a taste of fresh mossberries on her lips, sweet and spicy. She sighed luxuriously, turning her head to look at the smiling blue eyes she knew would be watching her, framed in sunsilk hair.

  “Well,” said
a voice nearby. “It’s nice of you to wake up so we can thank you, Sioned.”

  Disappointment pierced her. This was not the voice she had thought to hear. Memory rushed back and she opened her eyes, propping herself on her elbows to peer up at Ostvel. In the next instant every muscle in her body seemed to twist, and she sank back onto the grass with her lower lip caught between her teeth. The prince would not appreciate giving welcome to a cripple.

  “Stay there. Everything’s all right now—or at least mostly all right.” Ostvel held a cup to her lips. “Have some water. It’s a thimbleful compared to what I would have swallowed if you and Cami hadn’t thought so fast. I’m in your debt, Sioned.”

  The water tasted of mossberries, and regret sliced through her again. “What happened?” she mumbled.

  “Nothing that makes tragic hearing, except for the loss of the horses. The twenty of us are all safe on this side. But we only have twelve mounts left. A somewhat unequal balance, one might say.”

  She sat up again, stretched carefully, and winced. “So twelve of us will have to go on. The rest can stay here with our friend of the ‘soft crossing,’ ” she said with a faint smile. “I hope he thinks seriously about building a bridge.”

  “I doubt he can think at all just now. He’s incoherent with terror of what Andrade would have done to him if he’d lost us—or what he believes the almighty Lady would do.” Ostvel sat back on his heels and shrugged. “He’s not our problem though. You are.”

  “Me?”

  “Sioned, I can’t take you to Stronghold with only eleven in attendance. You’re going to be a princess!”

  “A princess without a wedding dress,” she reminded him. “All my things were on the other horses. Ostvel, we have to go on as we are. She told me to be there in six days.”

  “You’re supposed to arrive in a state befitting the bride of a prince,” he said stubbornly, his kind, rugged face furrowed with concern.

  She smiled fondly. “I’ll be lucky to arrive at all, at this rate. How’s Cami doing?”

  “Still insensible, poor darling. I’m amazed she was able to get up, let alone think of the horses. I’m amazed any of you moved as fast as you did. We owe you Sunrunners our lives.”

  “Remember that the next time you tease us about crossing water.” Sioned ran her hands back through her damp hair. “We’re losing the day, Ostvel. Prop Cami on her horse. Tie her to the saddle if you must, but we have to get moving.”

  Camigwen recovered enough to sit her horse without the measures Sioned suggested, and fretted for the rest of the afternoon about the loss of Sioned’s clothes and consequence. No amount of reassurance could convince her that Sioned did not much care. In truth, she was relieved to be going to Stronghold in simplicity rather than in state. She wasn’t a princess yet, and still couldn’t quite make herself believe she would be.

  By the time they stopped for the night, everyone was exhausted. Muscles accustomed to riding were not used to hauling on cables, and muffled groans were heard as the twelve dismounted. They spent the night on a farm belonging to Palevna’s maternal uncle, but the faradh’im were unable to do full justice to his wife’s splendid cooking and after dinner dragged themselves out to the barn to collapse onto blankets in the soft hay.

  “Just think,” Ostvel said brightly, gray eyes dancing, “we’ll have to go back across the Faolain on our way home again!”

  Camigwen glared at him. “Think again,” she said darkly. “I’ll have Mardeem sing a bridge into being if I must, but I’m not going to cross that water on anything but my own two feet.” She threw her arms around her Chosen and buried her face in the curve of his neck. “I almost lost you to that damned river!”

  Sioned watched him soothe her, and smiled. Goddess blessing was surely on this pair. Her smile faded as she realized that when they married, she herself would be far away, unable to join in the celebrations.

  And her own wedding? She could neither visualize it nor believe in it. The man, yes—she could see him in every color of the sky and every gleam of sunlight. But the prince was a stranger. Who was he? Was there a mind to match those beautiful, brilliant eyes?

  She lay awake long after the others slept, and stared up at the stars through loft doors left open to the soft night. Such clear, sweet light; to ride that would be feat indeed. If it could be done, then even on nights when the moons did not rise one could still go where there was need by dancing down those pale, fiery trails of light. But it was forbidden to Sunrunners, the glow of the stars. Perhaps the protection of the Goddess did not extend to those faraway pinpoints of light. The Fire of sun and moons was under her blessing, but what of the stars? They threw whispery shadows over the meadows and mountains, mysterious and dreamy. What colors were hidden within them? Sioned, with six rings circling her fingers, was capable of riding both sun and moons. She counted those rings in the starlight, four gold and two silver, plain circles that at Goddess Keep did not set her apart but which out in the world marked as her different. She remembered what it had been like at River Run during her childhood, when her sister-by-marriage had eyed her askance and whispered about her to her brother Davvi. In her maturity, Sioned could think of Lady Wisla with something approaching gratitude, for if she had not been so eager to be sole mistress of the Holdings and their wealth, Sioned would never have been sent to Goddess Keep.

  And she would not be riding now to become the wife of a prince.

  Why was Andrade doing this? she wondered. The last trained faradhi to marry into the important nobility had been Sioned’s grandmother, who, though not a highborn herself, had married a prince of Kierst. Their daughter had married Sioned and Davvi’s father, having shown no signs of the gifts. Younger sons and daughters of high-borns sometimes become Sunrunners, but usually they stayed untrained despite evidence of talent, marrying rather than coming to Goddess Keep for instruction. A prince or lord wearing faradhi rings was unheard of. Sioned did not interest herself overmuch in the affairs of the princedoms, but she knew enough to understand that a Sunrunner prince would be perceived as a threat. But there was a very good chance that one of her children would be just that. Though Princess Milar did not possess the gifts, they had been known to skip several generations before showing up again.

  All at once Sioned realized that the son she bore to the prince would rule after him. She cursed her stupidity in not having considered it earlier, for being so wrapped up in her thoughts of him that she had not thought about children at all. And she knew what Andrade wanted of her at last: a faradhi prince ruling the Desert, using all the power of his position and his gifts to—to do what? That was what she could not understand. Or, rather, she hoped she did not understand.

  Chapter Five

  Prince Zehava died before dawn on the sixth day, his family attending him. He had drifted in and out of awareness all the previous day and night, oncoming death dulling his mind and slurring his speech. But he died without pain, and without fear for the future of the son who became ruling prince when Zehava breathed his last. Ignoring the tradition that forbade him the death chamber, Rohan was with his father when he died. Milar closed her husband’s eyes; Tobin ran her fingers gently over his forehead to smooth out the lines of stress. Rohan bent and kissed his father, then turned and left the death chamber.

  Andrade waited a little while, then went after him. He was where she knew he’d be: in the Flametower, helping the servants build the fire high enough to shine out over the Desert and inform Zehava’s people of his passing. The blaze would be seen from distant hills where other fires would be lit in a chain of light that by nightfall would extend the length and breadth of the princedom.

  Moisture had become an unpleasant trickle down her spine and between her breasts before Rohan had satisfied himself that the fire was sufficiently bright. She was not in the best of moods anyway, and the heat worsened her temper. Though never deeply attached to Zehava, she had appreciated him and knew the world to be poorer for his death. But now she had a new prince t
o deal with, and as they left the inferno behind, her voice was perhaps sharper than it should have been.

  “Not a single preparation has been made for Sioned’s arrival. Why are you denying your bride her proper honors? I refuse to have the girl slink in here like a common guest, and not a very important one at that!”

  “Peace, Andrade,” Rohan said tiredly. “It’s been a long night, and I have a longer day ahead of me.”

  “You’ll answer me before it grows any longer, boy!”

  A glittering gaze met hers, fierce as a dragon on the hunt. “The girl is coming to my keep, Andrade, not yours. Her welcome or lack of it will be arranged as I dictate.”

  “Rohan!”

  But he was off down the stairs, supple limbs setting a pace her older bones could not match. She spat a series of oaths that would have shocked even those who knew her best, then went to her rooms for a fruitless try at sleep.

  The signal fire burned throughout the day, but Rohan was not at Stronghold to feel the heat melt slowly down through the keep. At daybreak he rode from the courtyards through the tunnel cut into solid rock down to the desert. With Chaynal at his side and his guards commander Maeta supervising nine more soldiers, he rode toward Rivenrock Canyon.

  The sun rose, broiling the air, small updrafts brushing at his clothes and his horse’s mane. Rohan’s fair hair soon darkened with sweat and the thin gray silk of his tunic clung in damp patches to his chest and back. He told himself the salt sting in his eyes was sweat and that the hollow in his body was only the growling of an empty stomach. Over forty measures passed in silence. The sweltering air kept all animals in their shelters with barely enough energy to whimper their complaints to each other. A few birds were aloft on their way somewhere else, as birds always were in the Desert. Sometimes there came the soft shussh of shifting sand or a snort as one of the horses cleared its nostrils. But none of the men or women spoke for a long, tense time.