by Melanie Rawn
“If you won’t listen to your father, then take heed of your prince,” he snapped. “Don’t you remember what he told you last evening?”
Correctly assuming he was being called on to repeat his warning, Rohan said, “I don’t need to remind you, do I, how dangerous this will be? If you two don’t mind your horses and hold your tongues, I might begin to regret allowing you to come along at all.”
This unexpected sternness from the indulgent uncle they adored silenced both boys for the better part of a measure. At last Maarken slanted a look at Rohan and muttered, “You were much more fun before.”
Life had been much more fun before, Rohan told himself sourly. He had thought himself fully aware of the problems he would face as a ruling prince. But there were so many others for which he was unprepared and inexperienced—that damned word again, he thought in disgust, and turned in his saddle as one of the vassals called out the sighting of a she-dragon in the sky. Rohan did not look up with the others, though, for his gaze abruptly found Sioned. He felt the muscles of his jaw tighten and faced forward again. But the image of her straight-backed form in brown riding clothes, the coil of bright hair at her nape, and the delicate lines of her cheeks and brow stayed with him as if burned into his eyes. She would expect him to arrange some time alone for them, and all he could think about was avoiding her.
The hunt paused to watch the greenish bronze dragon float lazily on thermals, wings spread to reveal shining black undersides. Chay squinted into the glare and murmured, “Oh, but she’s a beauty, isn’t she? I don’t think I’ve seen that color more than two or three times before.”
“Will she attack us?” Jahni asked, both fearing and eager for a fight.
“No, she’s not interested in us,” Rohan replied. The dragon beat powerful wings, changing direction. “There, you see? She’s heading for the Veresch. Come on, let’s get moving again. I want to reach Rivenrock by noon.”
But just what he would do when he got there, he had no idea. He only knew he would not kill another dragon. It was obscene, this murder of hatchlings as they emerged into the sunlight for the first time, wings barely dry as they staggered about on unsteady legs. He glanced at Chay over the boys’ heads. Neither did his brother-by-marriage have much liking for this unequal contest. But Chay had no doubts about the necessity of eradicating the dragons, either. Rohan asked himself yet again why he wanted so much to protect these creatures that ravaged lands and herds. He could never come up with a better answer than that they were beautiful and free, and a part of the Desert. But what better answer was there? he argued with himself. Something within him cried out against their destruction. The vassals would find excellent sport today and brag about the hunt for the next three years. Rohan could do nothing but watch in bitter silence and refuse to join in.
At the mouth of the canyon, beneath its rocky spire, the hunt paused. Skins of water and wine were broached and food was brought from saddlebags, guards demoted willy-nilly to squires as they served luncheon. Rohan ate nothing. The holiday atmosphere nauseated him. As the company refreshed itself, Maeta and two other riders ventured into the canyon and returned to make their report to Rohan.
“The she-dragons are indeed gone, my lord,” Maeta told him. “Three cave walls have been battered down and the hatchlings are flown, but there are twelve more by my count that are in various stages of being demolished.” She glanced at the vassals who had crowded close to hear the news. “Good sport to you, my lords.”
Rohan’s face set in stone and he gestured wordlessly for Maeta to help Chay organize the hunt. He would witness this if he must, but he was damned if he’d participate in it.
The hunters rode into the canyon laughing, shouting jests and challenges back and forth. Soon they abandoned their mounts to take the slippery, narrow paths on foot, and Maeta waited with her detachment of guards in the bright sun, holding the horses. None of the hunters was so foolish as to break down the remaining layers of wall in any of the caves, for beyond was an unknown number of hatching dragons. Though small and unsteady on their feet, they could nevertheless exhale a searing fire. The flames dried and toughened their wings—and could crisp human skin right through leather clothes. The trick was to wait until the dragons had torn down most of the wall themselves and then, when they staggered out into the dazzling sunlight, kill them.
Rohan shut his eyes. Goddess, what do I allow here? They attack our herds, so we kill them. But what about wolves, birds of prey, the monsters in the sea? Aren’t dragons part of our world, too? How do I justify this? How do I stop it?
“It seems we’re alone, my lord,” said a soft voice at his side.
He flinched. His stallion reacted to the movement and danced delicately over the rocky soil. He reined in and patted the horse’s neck soothingly.
“Rohan, what’s the matter?” Sioned went on.
“I hate this,” he whispered, staring at the canyon walls so he would not be tempted to look at her. “I’ve always hated this. But I can’t stop it.”
“If you were any other man I’ll tell you that as their prince, you could order them as you like.”
“But I’m too much of a coward to use my power, is that it?”
“No. I wasn’t going to say that, and you know it. Rohan, look at me, please.”
He did so because he could not help doing so. There was nothing but tender concern in her eyes. She loved him; he felt the emotion reaching out to wrap him in strength and light like a Sunrunner’s weaving.
“What’s wrong?” she whispered.
“The day.” He dug his heels into his horse’s sides and cantered into Rivenrock, unable to bear the look in Sioned’s eyes. He heard another horse following and reined in. But it was Andrade, not Sioned, who rode to his side.
“What have you been telling Sioned?” she demanded.
“Leave me alone.”
“Stop behaving like a child. I know how much you hate what’s happening here today, but directing your anger at her won’t cure anything. Being a prince isn’t all it’s rumored to be, is it?”
“No.” He could stop the hunt with a single command. No one would disobey him. He was their prince. The knowledge that he could order anything he pleased frightened him for no good reason he could think of. “What right do I have?” he burst out suddenly. “Why give me all this power, instead of someone else? What makes me so special? Don’t tell me it was an accident of birth. It was no accident and we both know it.”
“I’ve wondered how much you knew about that,” she responded calmly. “It wasn’t entirely my doing. Oh, I might have pushed Milar toward Zehava, but neither of them needed much pushing.”
The first high-pitched screams came from the hatchlings as they emerged from the caves and died. There was the smell of blood on the warming breeze.
“My father had a man in mind for me,” Andrade went on. “I refused. So it was up to Milar. She had the spark, but never used it. She passed it to Tobin, and I suspect you’ll pass it to your children, strengthened through Sioned. If you’re looking for a grander design, Rohan, there isn’t one. My father and I wanted the same thing: to see our family powerful.”
There was more, and he knew it, but something else was of deeper concern to him right now. “At least you sent my father a maiden, not a faradhi whore,” he said bitterly.
Andrade sucked in a breath. “You young fool,” she breathed. “If that’s how you view Sioned, then I wish you much joy of your life with her. She’s in your blood now, Rohan. You’ve made Fire between you, and whether you warm yourself at it or let it sear your soul is up to you.”
He kicked his horse forward again, and she did not follow. The morning wore on and the slaughter continued. Sometimes a small frantic shape would take wing through the canyon, and he rejoiced that at least a few dragons would fly free. There were long periods of near silence as the hunters waited for the dragons to break down the walls, but as more caves opened the air grew thick with screams and death. One of Rohan’s e
lderly vassals, Abidias of Tuath Castle, climbed down to his horse, the heat too much for him. From his saddle was hung a limp-winged corpse the size of a four-year-old child.
“Here’s one who won’t be gobbling down my sheep!” He patted the little body almost fondly. It was a reddish dragon with black underwings. “I’ll cure his hide for my favorite chair, and string his claws and teeth from my war standard.”
An agony of hate throbbed in Rohan’s skull, hate for this spectacle and for himself in being ultimately responsible for it. He felt every death cry like a sword in his heart. He could do nothing.
“Rohan!”
He swung around, furious as he recognized Sioned’s voice. How long had she been watching him—and how dared she intrude? But the terror on her face swept away his anger. She pointed at the canyon wall, where far above them was a small cave, the ledge narrower than most. Shadows dripped from overhanging rocks so he could not see whether there were dragon-made walls, but he saw very clearly two small figures clinging to the ledge. Jahni and Maarken hauled themselves up and stood looking down into Rivenrock.
Rohan yelled to the boys as he jumped down from his stallion, but dragon screams and human shouts echoed too loudly through the canyon for him to be heard. He started climbing, scrabbling for footing in the loose stones, and heard Sioned follow. His gaze on the cavern ledge, he gasped aloud as a flash of light came from the shadows. Sioned’s harsh breathing sounded behind him, in time with his own. As they scrambled upward, the boys cried out in fright. He shouted an order for them to find shelter, but the ledge was neither deep nor wide, without large rocks for them to hide behind. If anything happened to the twins, Tobin would murder him—and he would want her to.
Rohan struggled to the ledge on all fours. Heaving himself up, he saw Jahni huddled against the face of the cliff, trembling head to foot, as far away from the cave’s mouth as it was possible to get without falling into the gorge. Maarken was frozen on the stony shelf, staring at a hatchling dragon as small and terrified as he. Rohan knew he would never be able to draw his sword in time to kill the hatchling. The little creature’s eyes had kindled and his lungs expanded in a deep inhalation, teeth gleaming like fine white needles as his jaws opened for a burst of flame that would mean Maarken’s death.
“Maarken!” Sioned screamed from behind Rohan. “Get down!” In the next instant a thin, broad sheet of Sunrunner’s Fire flared up from the rocks to hover between the dragon and the boy, touching neither.
The hatchling reared back, a squeal of alarm leaving his throat along with a blast of fire directed up at the sky. Rohan found purchase on the ledge and hauled himself upright. Ignoring the uncertain footing, he sidestepped Sioned’s Fire, drew his sword, and slapped the dragon on the backside with the flat of the blade. The hatchling howled with the bruising pain, flapped his wings, and jumped to one side. Too frightened to defend himself against the sword-wielding prince, the dragon scrambled around the flames, beat his small wings with desperate strength, and flew.
The Fire vanished, and Rohan glanced over his shoulder to find Sioned clambering up onto the ledge, shaking with relief. Maarken was trembling, too, as Rohan scooped him up into a fierce hug.
“Are you all right? Not burned anywhere? Maarken, talk to me!” The child shook until Rohan thought his slight bones would shatter. His arms went around Rohan’s neck and he stammered out, “I’m all r-right—”
From the corner of his eye he saw Sioned rocking the terrified Jahni in her arms. Holding Maarken tighter, he said, “You scared me half to death! Do you know you could have been killed?”
“We only wanted to s-see the dragons! I’m sorry!” Maarken sniffled. “Mother’s going to be mad at us.”
“And then some.”
“Did you kill the dragon?”
“No. He flew off.”
“Good. I’m glad.” The boy drew away and knuckled his eyes. “He was just a baby. He didn’t know we didn’t want to hurt him.”
Rohan nodded. “Are your legs working now?” He set Maarken down. “We’d better get out of here before your dragon’s brothers and sisters come to find out what all the fuss is about.” He glanced over at Sioned and Jahni. “Everything all right?”
“Fine,” she replied, setting the boy on his feet. He clung to her wrist with both hands, but his tears had dried. “A bump or two, I think. But it could have been much worse, couldn’t it? I hope this teaches you both not to disobey your prince.” She arched a brow at each child in turn, and Rohan hid a smile as they looked away, shamefaced.
“Lesson learned, I think,” Rohan said. “Come on, let’s go back down.”
They slid down the loose rocks much faster than they’d climbed up, and by the time they reached bottom Chaynal was there to meet them. He grabbed one son in each arm, hugged the breath out of them, told them they were ungovernable little terrors who ought to be horsewhipped—then clasped them to his chest again, eyes closed, lips moving in a soundless prayer of thanks.
Rohan watched for a moment, then glanced around for Sioned. She had started back up the path and he ran to catch up with her. “What are you doing?”
“You dropped your sword. I was going back up to get it for you.”
He put a hand to his empty scabbard. “I’ll be damned. I didn’t even notice. But I’ll go, Sioned. You’re not numbered among my servants,” he added, a tiny smile touching his mouth.
Her eyes regained their sparkle. “You promised me some time alone with you—but I didn’t know it would take so much effort!”
Rohan chuckled. “All right, but let me go first. There may be a hatchling or two left up there.”
He led the way, muscles protesting this second slippery climb, and when they reached the ledge he poked his head cautiously over, watching for telltale signs of dragons. There were none. He pulled himself up and turned to help Sioned. But she was already beside him, brushing dirt from her hands as she looked around.
“It’s a miracle none of us fell off,” she commented, shaking her head. “Do you want some light?”
Without waiting for his answer, she conjured a small flame just inside the mouth of the cave. Rohan smiled, knowing she had guessed his real motive in wanting to come back up here. Maybe she even shared the desire to investigate. He peered into the dimness, but other than shell shards, there was no further evidence of dragons.
“Was there only the one?” she asked. “What about all these other eggs?”
“Come inside and I’ll show you.” The little flame lit their way inside, and soon they were standing in the center of the cave. Walls rose in ragged curves to meet high overhead. “There must’ve been about twelve eggs. But only one of this group was strong enough to survive.”
“But—oh!” She swallowed hard as the light picked out several withered wings and blots of dried blood. “You mean the one we saw lived because he—”
“Exactly. It’s unusual for only one of a clutch to survive, but I suppose this one was pretty ruthless.” He shrugged and poked at a shard with the toe of his boot. “They’re not so different from us, you know,” he mused. “We just wait until we’re grown to kill each other off. And it might be said that we consume each other, too, if you think about it.”
“I’d rather not, thank you. Will we need more light?”
“Please.”
The flame brightened and now they could see the jagged stones of the walls and the high ceiling, a cave large enough for a she-dragon and her mate. Rohan ran his fingers over the stone. “A river flowed through here once, ages ago. It carved out the soft stone. But the dragons hollowed out a lot of it, too. See where they’ve been at work with their claws?” He pointed out the marks that had deepened the cave. “They use the debris to make the hatching walls.”
“And then the little ones break them down. Those that hatch first do the bulk of the work and exhaust themselves, so they’re fairly easy prey for the later ones.”
“Very good. We’ll make a Desert dragon out of you yet.”
He crouched down in the sand, scooping up a handful to sift through his fingers. It glistened in the light of Sunrunner’s Fire.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Sioned murmured.
“Give me your waterskin,” he said abruptly. She did so, and he pulled the cork out with his teeth. Pouring the contents over his hand, he rubbed the fine sand with his fingers. Shining grains remained in his palm. With a soft exclamation, he emptied his waterskin and poured sand into its narrow neck.
“What are you doing?” Sioned asked, mystified.
“It’s not obvious?”
“Rohan, more sand is the very last thing you need!”
“Look at it, Sioned. And at the shells.”
With a lift of her finger she conjured the Fire higher. By its light the whole cave sparkled. She picked up a stray shard and examined it. “It’s ragged where the dragon poked through it with his claws,” she said slowly. “But on this side it’s smoother, almost as if it had been—melted?”
“To dry and toughen their wings after they’re born, they breathe fire. They also breathe it at each other. Roast dragon meat is their first dinner.”
She gulped. “Go on.”
“They lose the capability by winter. But look what happens when they breathe fire on their own shells.” He plugged the waterskin and stirred the shining sand with his fingers.
“Rohan,” she whispered. “This can’t be real gold.”
He hefted the waterskin full of sand. “I’ll take this home and do a few experiments, find out for sure. But do you know what it means if I’m right?”
“You can’t let the dragons be killed off—and you certainly can’t tell anyone else about this! Every other prince would be marching across your borders within days!”