Dragon Prince 01 - Dragon Prince

by Melanie Rawn

  One place left to go today; snowbound Firon and Cunaxa could wait for another time. She wanted to see the Desert, look in on Stronghold and the Long Sand, possibly glimpse the two who ruled there as wisely and well as she had always known they would. But as she glided once more over Syrene fields, she saw tents. Horses. Archers and sword-soldiers drilling in strict formation. And on a rise overlooking the whole were two huge pavilions: one turquoise, one violet. Syr and Princemarch, camped not a day’s march from the Desert border.

  Andrade hurried to Faolain Lowland, Lord Baisal’s holding that seethed with activity under Chaynal’s red-and-white battle flag. Fury stung her. Why had no one told her of this? And why were Rohan’s own colors not flying? And who belonged to that black and green flag set up in the fields outside the manor, where troops organized for war?

  Though powerfully motivated to find Sioned and demand an explanation, Andrade returned instead to Goddess Keep. She would have to inform the other princes through her faradh’im at their courts. Yet as she passed over Lake Kadar, she gasped aloud in shock. Along the main road there marched a considerable force of men-at-arms, with officers on horseback and red-and-yellow pennants proclaiming them soldiers of young Lord Lyell of Waes. They were headed directly for Goddess Keep.

  By nightfall Andrade’s anger had steadied into a slow, fierce hate. She called everyone into the hall and waited in an awful silence for all of them to assume their seats at the long tables, Urival and the senior faradh’im to one side of her, the others in descending order of rank all around.

  “Troops belonging to Lord Lyell of Waes, betrothed now to the High Prince’s daughter Kiele, have set up his banner in a camp outside our gates. We are told it is for our protection. We are told Lord Lyell is concerned for our safety in these troubled times, with High Prince Roelstra and Prince Jastri of Syr camped near the Desert border and the Merida besieging Tiglath. We are told Lord Lyell takes on himself the duty of defending us. We are told he does this because he knows faradh’im are forbidden to kill, even in their own defense.” She paused and smiled grimly. “We are told many things—most of which are lies.

  “Many of you have ridden the sunlight today, seeking information. Sometimes you have sought other faradh’im in vain, for they have been locked away out of the light by lords and princes allied to Roelstra. They are as captive as we are—and as Prince Rohan is at Feruche Castle.”

  Most had not known of this, and a startled murmuring went through the assembly. Andrade held up both hands for silence.

  “Of Princess Sioned, one of us, there is no word. I sought her myself and she is not to be found. But we know from the Sunrunner Kleve in Tiglath that the High Prince’s daughter Ianthe holds Prince Rohan.”

  Urival, seated just beside her, muttered, “Not for long, if I know Sioned.”

  Andrade tried to ignore the panic this remark brought to her heart. “Though we are free to weave the sunlight, we are pent in this keep. Urival and I have been discussing ways to free some of us in secret while the rest remain here, soothing Lord Lyell’s troops into thinking we are all still caged. We have—”

  “I can do it.”

  Andrade stared down the hall to where Pandsala had risen from her chair.

  “I can free some of us,” the princess said. “Lyell’s men will not detain my father’s daughter in her escape from the keep.”

  Urival sucked in a breath and Andrade cursed herself for not having thought of Pandsala earlier. Suspicions darted through her mind, but she let Urival voice them.

  “Is this escape to be for our benefit—or yours?” he asked coldly.

  “I understand your hesitation,” Pandsala replied. “It is true I would rather be out in the world. But I have had chances before and not taken them. Do you think I would give aid to my father, who sent me here against my will? He cast me out. You took me in. I wear three faradhi rings. If you do not trust me, do not use me.”

  Urival would have questioned her further, but the dignity of her reply had impressed Andrade. She gestured her chief steward to silence, and said, “Tell me what you propose.”

  The princess clasped her hands before her, not quite tightly enough to hide their excited tremors. “At dusk, when the light is uncertain and torches are needed, I and whomever you choose will leave by the postern gate. When we are within range of Lord Lyell’s camp, make an outcry here to encourage the idea that I have escaped with my friends.”

  “And then?” Urival prompted, suspicion still in his voice.

  “I am a frightened princess,” Pandsala said with a hint of a smile. “I will require guards to take me to my father’s camp in Syr. To deplete Lord Lyell’s troops by ten or twelve would not be much, but it would help a little. And there would also be at least one man, possibly two, who would have to ride to Waes and inform his lordship of my action. If we are fortunate, we can rid Goddess Keep of fifteen men.”

  “Fifteen of fifty,” Urival mused.

  “And I will insist that the very best fighters accompany me,” Pandsala added slyly. “It is my right, after all.”

  Andrade nodded slowly. “Very well. Urival, Pandsala, attend me in my chambers. The rest of you—sleep soundly tonight, for there will be much to keep you busy tomorrow.”

  As she walked down the long aisle between the tables to the door, Urival and Pandsala joined her. Andrade’s gaze shifted to Chiana—who suddenly looked too much like her father for Andrade’s peace of mind.

  “If Rohan wants some use out of this place once this is over, we can’t continue to camp here.” Chay turned from the window and faced his wife, who was changing out of dusty riding clothes into fresh ones. He frowned at her. “Tobin, I need you to set things straight here at the manor. You’re not coming out into the field with me.”

  “Stop me,” she invited, and pulled on her boots. “You’re the military commander, but I’m my father’s daughter. And until Rohan and Sioned arrive—”

  “Whatever possessed that foolish woman to leave?” he growled, pacing the chamber with an agitation he would never have shown to anyone else. “Of all the stupid—”

  “Oh, don’t you understand?” she exclaimed. “There’s no help for Rohan but Sioned!”

  “I gathered that much, thank you,” he snapped. “But I still say that with a small troop—”

  “You’re forgetting what Feruche is like. And what Sioned is like, too.” Tobin rose and stamped her feet to secure the fit of her boots. “Did you expect her to sit here and wait for us to arrive and try to talk her out of it? Goddess, how I wish I was a real Sunrunner! We’ve nobody to use in contacting her or Andrade or anyone!” She tucked her shirt into her trousers and went on, “Let’s go, Chay. I want to look at the provisions in the field camp. And you’re right about having to move. Lord Baisal can’t go on feeding them all.”

  Down in the courtyard, the arrival of Chay’s levies had added to the chaos. Horses, foot soldiers, archers, swordsmen—and all of Lord Baisal’s frantic servants—milled about in no discernible order. Chay had every confidence that by nightfall his captain would have everything sorted out, so he and Tobin mounted up and joined Lord Davvi at the gates.

  “I’ve done all I could,” Sioned’s brother told them. “But I’ve no real authority here except over my own people. I’m glad you’re here, my lord.”

  “Titles are fine in public—but please call me Chay. We’re brothers after a fashion, you know.”

  Tobin hid a smile of her own as her husband’s smile worked its usual magic. In two sentences he had made Davvi his, a man who would follow him unquestioningly into whatever battle Chay cared to fight.

  “Thank you,” Davvi said simply. “We’ll tour the camp now, and I’ll—”

  He was interrupted by a shrill cry from behind them. Parental instinct had Tobin and Chay off their horses in an instant, neither mistaking the urgency in Sorin’s voice. Chay pushed a path for them through to where the twins had been currying their ponies in a corner of the stableyard. Sorin ran
to his father and clutched at his arm, frightened. Andry stood in a well of sunlight, rigid and trembling, blue eyes huge.

  Tobin knelt beside Andry. Sharing sunlight with him, she felt, as she had known she would, the dizzying touch of a powerful faradhi. But it was not Sioned she felt on the sunlight. It was Andrade.

  Tobin? Sweet Goddess, girl, why didn’t you tell me the boy was so gifted? But never mind that now. That young idiot Lyell of Waes is trying to feast from both ends of the loaf—giving aid to his dead sister’s lord in Tiglath and marching his troops here to pen me in while Roelstra and Jastri work mischief in the south. Urival and I are working on that, but I’m not sure yet how we’ll manage it. I’ve sent word to every court where my Sunrunners aren’t locked away from the light—Roelstra’s orders, I’m sure, to those he’s got beneath his boot heels. Count among them Syr and Cunaxa—hoping to win portions of the Desert from the Merida war. Saumer of Isel in secret—Volog of Kierst says there are rumors of trade agreements. Waes plays a double game and I’m sure Clutha is having fits and may bring Lyell into line. Of those to trust—only Lleyn, and perhaps Pimantal of Fessenden, for Roelstra has eyes on his city of Einar. Tell this to Sioned if you can find her, which I cannot. I know about Feruche. Get Andry to Stronghold and Sorin with him for safety, for Roelstra will attack as soon as he decides to notice Lord Davvi’s desertion. Have a care to yourself and Chay—I’ll come as soon as I can.

  Tobin felt strong arms lift her up and carry her out of the hot sunlight into the cool dark manor house. The relief nearly made her cry out. It was a long while before she recovered from the length and ruthless power of Andrade’s weaving, and when she was fully aware again she found herself lying in bed, limp with exhaustion and unable even to consider arguing with Chay as he stripped off her clothes and tucked her beneath a sheet.

  “Andry?” she murmured.

  “He’s all right. Sorin got him into the shade, and he’s resting now in his room.” Chay sat beside her and pressed her palm to his cheek. “Damn it, Tobin,” he muttered hoarsely. “I hate this!”

  “I’ll be all right, sweet,” she soothed. “It’s just that Andrade isn’t as gentle as Sioned.” She relayed the gist of the news and his shoulder muscles worked with renewed tension.

  “Perfect,” he rasped. “Wonderful! Help from Lleyn and Pimantal and Volog! Islands on either side of the world, and a princedom that might as well be! Where’s the help in that?”

  “The rest are either in league with Roelstra or terrified of him. With no Rialla in six years, and so much at stake now—”

  There was grim determination in his gray eyes and the set of his long jaw. “Roelstra will not be attending the Rialla this year, or any other year,” he said quietly.

  Tobin watched him leave, and only when he was gone did she allow the shiver to claim her. She had never seen death in his eyes before.

  Davvi was not encouraged by the report of Chay’s captain the next morning, and said so. “One hundred sixty-three horse, one hundred five archers—and of trained regulars, not nearly enough.” He turned worried green eyes on Chay. “If we count the ones who can use a scythe but not a sword—”

  “Have you ever had a man come at you with a scythe, Davvi? A man with reaper’s muscles who has every intention of lopping your head off as easily as he’d take care of a stalk of grain?” Chay smiled tightly. “We’ll do just fine. Two hundred and thirty-six with swords and scythes. Of the horse, your people are the best trained—”

  “Excepting your own,” Davvi interrupted wryly, and Chay shrugged. “Of those brought in by Lord Baisal—”

  “Ah, but there’s a look in their eyes. It’s their own fields they’ll be defending. If you’d do me the favor, please help with the plans for the move. We’ll recamp tomorrow. Battling for one’s own land is an admirable spur, but battling on it makes people nervous.”

  Chay had learned that from Zehava. As he went upstairs to his wife, he experienced a fleeting wish that the old prince was here to direct this battle. Or, better yet, that there would be no battle at all. Fine thoughts for a seasoned warrior, he told himself acidly. Rohan had indeed infected him with peace, and Chay suspected that it was a thing which, once in the blood and the brain, was something from which one did not recover. Nor wanted to.

  Tobin had spent the morning working within the manor, organizing Baisal’s capable but confused servants into an efficient war machine. But by midmorning she voluntarily sought her bed for a rest, more exhausted than she’d thought by her contact with Andrade. Chay stood watching her for some time, relieved to see that color had come back into her cheeks and her sleep was deep and quiet. She was more beautiful now than the day he’d married her—richer in spirit, more regal of bearing, the dragon’s daughter calmed but never tamed. He smoothed the black hair from her shoulders and placed a kiss on her forehead, then left to wash the morning’s stink off him.

  By the time she woke he was clean, redressed, and seated at a small table with a meal spread out before him. “Come and eat,” he invited.

  She stretched widely, yawned, and joined him—naked as a baby. “Oh, who’s to see me but you?” she said with a shrug in response to his lifted brows. “And you’re used to me. It’s too hot for clothes, Chay.”

  “My shameless darling, the day I’m used to the sight of you is the day I’ve gone blind—and even then my fingers would do the looking. Here, have some cheese. It’s pretty good. I wonder what they feed their goats?”

  “Has Roelstra made a move yet?” she asked as she sat down.

  “The wine’s not bad, either. I think we’re raiding Baisal’s private reserve.”

  “Are more troops coming? How many do we have now?”

  “Save your tongue to lick your spoon.”

  She made a face at him, but hunger was stronger than curiosity just now. When she had made substantial inroads on the food, Chay began to share his observations of the day and ask her opinions. He would miss her, he reflected, when she was gone away to Stronghold. But her safety and that of their sons was more important.

  Their hellions had flatly refused to stay at Radzyn Keep, arguing that if Mama got to go to war then they should be allowed to do the same—and if they weren’t taken along now, they’d find a way to sneak out. Chay knew his sons too well to doubt that they would do just that, and reasoned that having them under his eye was better than not knowing what they were up to. Tomorrow, however, they would be sent to Stronghold, but Tobin did not yet know she would be going with them. When he finally mentioned it—casually, around a bite of apple—her reaction reminded him why he prohibited knives in their bedchamber.

  “I won’t go! You need me here!”

  “I need you to be safe.”

  “No one else can act as faradhi, and even the little I can do will keep you informed. Damn you, Chay, I won’t go!”

  “Will you be sensible, please? We have to send Sorin and Andry to safety—especially Andry! I’ll tie them to their horses and have their squires slug them unconscious if I have to. Don’t make me use the same tactic on you.”

  “You wouldn’t dare!”

  It was amazing how much she looked like Zehava when she was angry. “Listen to me. You’re useful to me here, yes. But I won’t spend my time worrying about your safety. Do you think the boys would leave without you? At Stronghold you’ll be able to help Sioned. Do I have to list the reasons you already know, Tobin.”

  She glared at him. “You’re loathsome when you make sense.”

  He thanked the Goddess for a woman with brains as well as spirit. Reaching across the table, intending to take her hand and express his gratitude for the towering virtues that sometimes drove him to distraction, he smiled wryly as she snatched her fingers away. Pride forbade her to be gracious right now. So Chay leaned back to appreciate her where she sat with one leg tucked beneath her, clad only in the black glory of her hair.

  His silent admiration was ended by a frantic pounding on the door. As he rose to answer it
he threw his discarded shirt at his wife and told her to put it on. It came to her knees and decently covered everything else, but when Chay opened the door Baisal’s eyes popped and his cheeks turned scarlet. Just behind him, looking pallid and ill, was Maarken. Chay stared in astonishment at the son he had not seen in two years; the abrupt change from child to tall, self-possessed young squire was more than he could take in at a glance. Father and son gazed at each other for some moments before Chay pulled Maarken into his arms for a hard embrace.

  “Goddess, but it’s good to see you! What are you doing here?”

  Tobin gave a glad cry and rushed toward them. “Maarken—oh, Maarken, you’ve grown so tall!” Her eyes filled as she hugged her son.

  The boy smiled tiredly. “I kept telling everyone at Graypearl how beautiful you are, Mother. Now they’ll get a look for themselves and find I didn’t exaggerate.”

  Chay looked to Baisal for explanation. The older athri cleared his throat, embarrassed at witnessing the family reunion and the princess’ unconventional state of dress. It was Maarken who answered his father’s unspoken question.

  “I’ve come with archers, Father—fifty of them, sent by Prince Lleyn. We set sail early yesterday and came up the Faolain as far as we could.” He gave a slight shudder. “And then we finally got to walk.”

  “No wonder you’re green,” Chay commented. To Baisal he went on, “Please ask my captain to find places for the new arrivals. You and I and Lord Davvi will have to talk to whomever’s leading the archers.”

  “As you wish, my lord.” With a last furtive glance at Tobin, he left.