by Melanie Rawn
“Yes, your grace—shut up, Audran, let me tell it!”
Maarken looked over his shoulder. Walvis, Feylin, Chadric, and Audrite watched in silence, stricken.
“. . . so Jeni didn’t see anything, but we did. It was a man, your grace. Audran and I saw him. Jeni said it was just a trick of the light or something, but we saw him.”
“Alleyn didn’t want to tell, but I made her,” Audran put in.
“You did not! I was waiting for when everybody wasn’t so busy, but there wasn’t any time before now and—”
“But this is important!” Audran insisted.
“Yes,” Pol murmured. “I think it is. Very.”
Maarken took another step nearer, standing behind Alleyn. “Pol? What are you thinking?”
“That mirrors can be interesting objects.” Their gazes met in the ancient, smoky-gold glass of the mirror, and Maarken abruptly recalled that Camigwen had been diarmadhi. “Do me a favor and call up a fingerflame, please?”
He did, and saw nothing reflected by the little red-glow flame except himself, Pol, and the two children.
But behind him, Riyan gave a gasp of shock. Pol’s shoulders had stiffened. And Audran crowed triumphantly, “You see? There he is!”
“Maarken?” Pol asked softly, not looking at him, his eyes fixed on the mirror.
“I don’t see anything but us.”
Pol nodded once. “Where’s Jeni?”
“Still upstairs,” Feylin said, “sleeping off her talk with her dragon. What do you need her—”
Walvis interrupted “Sunrunner.”
Pol still didn’t turn from the mirror. “Yes. Sunrunner.”
Chadric cleared his throat. “Umm . . . I hate to sound stupid, but. . . .”
“You don’t see anything, either?” When the old prince shook his head, Pol blew out a short sigh between tense lips. “Walvis can explain it to you later. For now, I think that with Riyan’s permission, we’ll take this mirror with us to Feruche.”
“I don’t understand.” Audrite walked forward until she, too, was reflected. “Maarken’s right, there’s nothing in the mirror but ourselves.”
“No, you wouldn’t see it,” Maarken said, confusing her further. He caught Pol’s eye in the mirror and looked meaningfully at the children. “It must come from Iliena.”
“Which means Lisiel and Yarin are, too.”
“Will you please tell me what you’re talking about?” Audrite exclaimed.
Pol hesitated, then shrugged. “Your grandchildren have certain gifts—like Riyan’s, and like my own.”
“Gifts that Jeni and I don’t share,” Maarken added. He doused the fingerflame and faced her, watching her understand.
She stared at him, then at the children, then turned to her husband and held out a supplicating hand. Chadric took it, holding tight.
Alleyn looked frightened. Maarken stroked her bright hair and began, “It’s all right, my dear. You and your brother—”
“We can be Sunrunners!” Audran cried. “I asked Meath and he said no, but we can, we can!”
“Yes, you can learn how to go Sunrunning,” Pol said, leaving it to their grandparents to explain the truth of it to them. “Just like Riyan, and just like me. Maarken, help me get this down from—”
When he stopped, Maarken flushed. “Maybe Riyan ought to do it,” he said quietly, and felt a sudden ache in a hand that was no longer there.
The mirror was hung on the wall with steel wires, not bolted to it, so they made quick work of taking it down. Feylin sent the children upstairs for a blanket to wrap it in. When they were safely out of earshot, she said, “That’s right, Pol, leave the explanations to the rest of us. Thanks so much.”
“Better you than me for explanations like that. Chadric, Audrite, I’m sorry about all this, but it was a shock for me, too. I don’t suppose you had any idea about this, Riyan?”
“Not a hint.” He was regarding the mirror in awe. “I’ve lived with this thing all my life, and I never even suspected—”
“Neither did your mother, I’ll wager,” Feylin said. “Where did she get it? Do you know any of its history?”
“All I know is that it belonged to her, and it’s very old. I don’t think Father knows much about it, either. Or Sioned.”
“I’ll ask,” Pol said. “But you’re probably right. You and Walvis wrap it tight and carry it outside. Maarken, let’s go figure out a way to keep it from breaking.”
He nodded, his mind already devising supports and cushioning. Some Battle Commander, he thought; all he was good for now was planning a war but not fighting in it, calling up a trickle of Fire, and playing nursemaid to a mirror that to his eyes was empty. But bitterness was not in his nature, much less self-pity, and so he shrugged and followed Pol out into the sunlight.
And was rocked back on his heels by the desperate force of his son’s colors.
“Maarken?” Pol had him by the upper arms. “What is it?”
“Rohannon,” he gasped, “Leave me alone, Pol!”
Gathering the boy to him, he heard a terrible cry: Papa—your hand!
Hush. It doesn’t hurt, and it doesn’t matter. Tell me what’s wrong. He paused, battered by his son’s anguish. It’s all right, I promise. There was a battle, I was injured, and now I’m all right.
Does—does Mother know?
That I’m safe? Of course.
I mean about—about your arm.
Not yet. He hadn’t found time to tell her on sunlight. No, not time; courage. Rohannon, you must tell me what brought you here.
Y-yes, I’m sorry. It came in a rush then, the words tumbling all over themselves in a flood of color. I’ve been waiting forever. I knew you were at Skybowl because I could see your battle flag, but I couldn’t find you and I have to tell you about Arlis and Saumer and—
But Maarken was suddenly uninterested in whatever news Rohannon had brought him. There was something about the wild intensity of color that scared him. Again he staggered physically, almost losing the weave. Remotely, he felt Pol holding him physically upright. You’ve taken dranath! I can feel it!
Yes, but how did you—
Your mother nearly died of it, he replied curtly. You stupid, stupid boy!
Rohannon wasn’t frightened; he was excited. So that’s the reason I’m not seasick! I’m with Prince Arlis, and we’re sailing past Kierst-Isel with Prince Laric to go kick Yarin out of Balarat, and I’m fine! It has to be the dranath!
Maarken’s thoughts whirled. The strength of his son’s drug-augmented powers made it difficult to control the weaving. But one thing screamed inside him. Yarin is diarmadhi. Whether he knows it or not, you have to assume he does and will use it. Don’t ask me how I know, I’ll explain it later. Rohannon, tell me why you’re here!
Yarin is—? Goddess! Prince Camanto was right! And so was I, about the sorcery used to kill him—
Rohannon! He got a firm mental grip on the boy; if he’d had him to hand, he would have shaken him until his teeth rattled.
Father, that hurts! What I have to tell you is that Prince Saumer is at Faolain Lowland and so are the Vellant’im, and Arlis wants you to order him not to attack. I can show you his colors so you can speak to him. I can’t, I don’t know how.
Goddess help us. Maarken made swift order of his thoughts, and as the ideas came swift and sure he knew that the loss of his hand made him no less the Battle Commander, and the missing rings no less the Sunrunner, and that he’d been a fool to think otherwise even for a moment.
Tell Arlis this: I’ll give Saumer’s colors to your mother, who learned from Myrdal every secret way into every keep in the Desert and some outside it. Lowland was built only thirty or so years ago, but it’s bound to have a few surprises just the same. She’ll tell Saumer how to get in, and share his colors with the Sunrunner there—Johlarian, he’s unimaginative but knows his work. When Saumer’s inside, I’ll find you and let you know.
Rohannon gave a mental whoop of triumph. Oh, how I
wish I could watch!
Don’t, Maarken warned sternly. And if the next time we speak, I feel the least trace of dranath in you—
It’s a long way to Snowcoves, Father, I’d be half-dead of seasickness before we got there. I’ll be careful, I promise.
Careful!? You don’t know what you’re dealing with! Don’t you understand that enough of it, and if you’re deprived of it you’ll die? Your mother went through a hundred kinds of Hell because of that damned drug!
I’ve got to stay on my feet. I’m no use to Prince Arlis and Prince Laric if I’m moaning in a corner puking my guts up. I’ll only take a little, just enough to keep me from being sick. But I have to do it, Father.
Rohannon—
This is what Saumer looks like on sunlight. I know it’s not very precise, but you’ll be able to find him.
A pattern, not perfectly defined but more than adequate to the purpose, appeared in his thoughts: simple, straightforward tints of pale green emerald, black onyx, dark golden topaz. And then, with a strength that frightened Maarken, the boy raced back across the sunlight, and was gone.
He sagged against Pol, every breath clutching at his throat. He knew now that the several times since Autumn that he’d spoken with his son, the power was due to the dranath. Not as much as had been present today, or he would have recognized it sooner, yet there had been enough to lend Rohannon spurious strength. He remembered Hollis’ pain, and rocking her in his arms as she trembled, and his tears mingling with hers. That his son might endure the same thing—ah Goddess, so far from home, from his parents, his mother who knew what it was like—or, worse, that the dranath had such a stranglehold that weaning him from it was impossible—
“Maarken?”
Using his cousin’s broad chest as support, he pushed himself upright and straightened his spine. Terrifying, how he could feel Pol’s ribs against the stump of his left arm, and yet be convinced in his mind that he felt it with his hand as well.
“I’m all right,” he said thickly. Amazing, how often he had to repeat that these days to convince others. He wondered if this time he said it to convince himself. “So is Rohannon.” He knew that one for a lie. “It’s—complicated. I must find Hollis immediately.”
“Then sit down while you do it. You’re white as a dragon’s tooth.”
He did as suggested, seating himself on the steps of the keep. Everyone was in the courtyard, waiting while the mirror was lashed to a horse’s back with an arrangement of wooden struts and many blankets to keep it safe. Maarken wondered crazily what the man inside it must think at being taken without a by-your-leave from Skybowl, where he had lived so long without anyone’s knowing he was there.
I’m turning as mad as Kazander, he thought—and sought the sunlight, and Hollis, and sanity.
But he cursed his cowardice for not telling her that their son was taking dranath, and for keeping her from following him back to Skybowl so that she would not see his maimed arm.
• • •
It was less difficult than she’d anticipated, coaxing Sionell from the children’s sickbeds. There were nurses aplenty, and Chayla was due to look in on them soon. So when Sioned took her Namesake’s arm and pulled her gently but firmly from the room, Sionell went without too much protest.
They sat silently beside the fire in Sioned’s bedchamber. At first she thought the young woman might nod off to sleep, lulled by the warmth. When Sionell finally looked up, however, Sioned saw that nothing short of a powerful sleeping-draught or a Sunrunner’s weaving would make her close her eyes.
Sioned had been considering her words for some time now. They were simple, in the end: “It will grow worse before it grows easier. I know.”
“You’re the only one who does.” She wilted in her chair as if speaking exhausted her. But she who had been so silent for so many days about Tallain kept talking—calm, composed, explaining herself to herself more than to Sioned.
“I didn’t really believe it. I was still hazy from the drug they’d given me to get me out of Tiglath. I was about as alert as poor Rabisa. I didn’t understand. And then when the words made sense, I suppose I was in shock. I don’t remember much. I was thinking about the children, mainly. And all the people I’d brought with me, getting them fed, finding places for them to sleep. I think I resented Ruala, and how efficient she was about it all. I didn’t have anything to do.”
Sioned nodded. “Yes. Go on.”
Long fingers twisted the fringes of an embroidered pillow. “Other women have lost their husbands. They come to me and I listen to them and they cry, sometimes. But I can’t, Sioned. I can’t let them see me cry, but that’s only part of it. I keep thinking that I should, and when it does happen it’ll be so bad that I won’t be able to stop. But I try, and I can’t.”
“I didn’t bring you here for that.”
“I know you didn’t, and I’m grateful.” She sank deeper into the chair, long legs in battered riding leathers stretched out before her, one boot propped on the hearth’s iron fender. “It’s strange. I don’t dream about him. I don’t wake up and think I’ll find him beside me. It’s as if he’s visiting somewhere, or out hunting for a few days. I suppose that’s because I didn’t see him die.” Sionell met her gaze, blue eyes dark with compassion. “Not like you.”
Once again Sioned nodded.
“Do you dream about Rohan?”
“No.” She hesitated. “Not since the first night,” she added, remembering how she’d begged Meath to hold her. “But then, I don’t sleep much. When I do, it’s because I’m too tired or too drunk to do anything else. I recommend the former. Neither really works, but at least exhaustion is socially acceptable.”
“What do other people understand about this?”
“Not as much as can be any use to you, but more than you think. It hurts them to see you hurt. They want to help and know that they can’t, and so they’re both grateful and suspicious when you behave as if you’re coping with it on your own.”
“That’s exactly how it is,” Sionell said. “And you want them to leave you alone, but being alone is just as bad. And there’s so much to be done, so many people that have to be taken care of—there’s no time for it, Sioned. No time to just sit and keep telling yourself it’s true until you really start believing it. That he’s gone and you’ll never—” She stopped, biting her lip. “You’re the last person I should be saying this to. I’m sorry.”
“My darling,” Sioned murmured, “you’re the only person I can hear it from. Say what you need to say. I understand. He’s gone, and I’ll never see him again. I know what those words mean.”
“Yes,” she replied. “He’s gone. I’ll never see him again.”
And, having said the words, they said nothing else for a very long time.
• • •
It was the oddest sensation—like an invisible insect flitting around the edges of his thoughts—and it was happening again. For the second time that day Saumer twitched his shoulders and grimaced. Havadi, Prince Kostas’ captain-at-arms, stared at him.
“My lord? Are you feeling well?”
“Fine.” He wiped out the latest map by smoothing the dirt with his boot, then began drawing again with a long stick. “Maybe if we divide up into three groups instead of two it’d confuse them enough to get most of us past. They’re not very creative when it comes to tactics.” He sketched the river, the keep, and three flanking lines around the Vellanti position. The third line wavered and the stick broke as he flinched again.
“That’s it,” the older man stated. “We go nowhere and do nothing until you’ve had some sleep.”
“No, I’m fine, I—”
He never finished the protest. Havadi’s face, round and seamed as a sun-dried berry, vanished into a swirling mist of colors—deep reds, blues both dark and pale, shot through with luminous iridescent white. He felt himself drawn into them, with a feeling like a warm bath and a good wine and summer breeze—but the water tingled against his skin, the wi
ne was like none he had ever tasted, and the wind smelled of colors he had never dreamed existed. The voice that accompanied that beautiful, frightening vision was softly reassuring but very firm.
Close your eyes, Saumer. There’s nothing to be afraid of. My name is Hollis. I’m Lord Maarken’s wife. No, don’t pull back, stay just as you are. That’s it. Can you see the pattern of my colors, Saumer? Here, and here—that’s right. You can see them because you are a Sunrunner too, young prince, like your Aunt Alasen—inheritor of the Kierstian faradhi gift if not the Kierstian green eyes.
He knew he had landed very hard on the ground, but the jar up his spine and the rock that dug into his palm seemed to be things felt by someone else.
You must trust me, Saumer. You felt something earlier today, didn’t you? That was my son Rohannon. But he didn’t know how to pattern your colors. I do. Look. This is you.
And against his closed eyelids he saw a marvel of green and black and dark gold, all curves, angles, crests, hollows, shining as if it had captured sunlight in its faceted depths.
“My lord! Saumer!”
Someone was shaking him by the shoulders. He opened his eyes and saw Havadi’s worried face. Frowning, he said, “Stop it, don’t distract me.”
“From what?” The man’s eyes were pale slits of fear.
“Sunrunning. Damn it, now I’ve lost her!”
“Lost—?”
“Lady Hollis.” He shut his eyes again, shrugging off the captain’s grip. “Where are you? Come back!”
I’m right here. And he was within the gentle rain of color again, and smiled. I heard you that time—not your voice, though I saw your lips moving. I heard you on sunlight. You’re very good at this, considering you didn’t even know you could do it until a moment ago.
You mean— He heard his own voice inside his head and gave a start.
Yes. I heard you repeat what you said with your thoughts. And now that you’re a little more comfortable, there are things I must tell you. The first of them is that you must not attack the Vellant’im.
But I have to get past them and— Once more he astonished himself. I really can do this, can’t I?