Dragon Prince 02 - The Star Scroll (84 page)

They lingered for several days along the river, enjoying the late summer calm. The events of the
Rialla
had faded a little with every measure they put between them and Waes. Meadowlord was green and golden, as if summer lingered, holding its breath. There was no hurry to return to the Desert; the Sunrunners among them took turns scanning the Veresch, and no storms had yet gathered enough strength to spill from the mountains and shatter the delicate stillness.

After Volog and his retinue left them, returning to the coast to take ship for Kierst, they crossed the Faolain. The promise of continuing good weather allowed Rohan to act on whim, and he took most of the party north, leaving Meadowlord for Princemarch’s lowlands. The rest would return to Stronghold and Radzyn by the usual routes, but there was a pass through the Vere Hills which, though not particularly steep or arduous, was not often used. The way was long and twisting, and it was shorter and faster to follow the river south. But they had time, and Hollis needed time to wean herself from the
dranath.
That alone clouded the soft, warm early autumn. Sometimes they lingered in one place for a day or two while she tested her strength against her addiction; with Maarken and Sioned and Tobin attending her, she refused the drug until she could stand no more. But the amount of it in Sejast’s pouch diminished by a lesser amount each day.

Old Prince Lleyn stayed with them after telling Chadric and Audrite to head south to the sea and wait for him there. “Haven’t seen this part of the country for years,” he told Rohan. “Not since I was a boy and my father sent me on a grand tour. I’ll tag along, if you don’t mind. I’d like to see it again before I die.”

Meath stayed, too, once again taking up his duty as Pol’s guardian. By unspoken agreement between him and Sioned, he began to teach the boy some of the more basic
faradhi
arts. The results showed up sometimes when a tiny whirlwind would skitter across the road ahead, or dancing color touched the minds of the other Sunrunners. Sioned would arch her brows at Meath, watch her son give an apologetic shrug—and smile. Pol delighted in power just as she herself did, loved its beauty and joy. Let him learn the best of it now, she told herself. He had already found out the other.

The fourteenth day of autumn saw them in the foothills of the Veresch, to the west of and almost directly between Stronghold and Skybowl. It was stiflingly hot, even riding creekside through the woods. Sweat clogged Rohan’s hair and his thin shirt clung soddenly to his back. He called a rest stop and turned in his saddle to survey the fifty or so riders, all of them drooping in the thick heat. As he settled again he made a wry face at Prince Lleyn and said, “You’d think a lifetime in the Desert would accustom us to this kind of thing. But I swear I’m about to melt!”

“Ah, but the heat you get there can suck water from stones. This is like high summer on the seacoast: air thick enough to swim in.” Lleyn stretched, his old bones cracking, and smiled. “I find it quite comfortable, really.”

Rohan laughed—then swore in startlement: there wasn’t a cloud in the sky, but all at once a cool rain descended, drops indenting the road’s dry dust. There were whickers from the astonished horses and exclamations from their riders. Rohan glanced around wildly. The invigorating shower extended the length of the column—and nowhere else. “What in the—?”

Sioned, shaking out her loosened hair in delight at the coolness, rode up to him and grinned. She gestured to the nearby creek, whence the water drifted up to sprinkle down, and said, “Don’t look at
me!
If you want a culprit, talk to your son!”

Sure enough, Pol wore a mischievous smile and Meath was trying without success to appear disapproving. The boy urged his horse forward and said, “It’s so hot, Father. I thought it’d be nice to cool off.”

Rohan eyed him. “You did, did you? And what else have you been learning?”

He shook water from his face. “Nothing Meath will let me try—yet.”

“Tallain,” Rohan said to his squire, “ride back and let people know what’s going on here.”

“They already do, my lord. And who caused it.” He looked consideringly at Pol. “Just don’t soak the bedrolls, if you please.”

Instantly contrite, Pol flicked a finger and the gentle rain stopped. “Sorry. I guess I wasn’t thinking.”

“Hmm,” Rohan said.

Later, when they had made camp for the night beside a forking of the same creek, he asked his wife, “Should he be able to do that kind of thing?”

There was something in his eyes that kept her from a light answer. She hunched her shoulders briefly and stared into the little fire near their bedrolls. The night air was still very hot, but Sioned preferred having light to see by. She glanced around briefly. Ostvel and Alasen were not yet returned from their usual moonlit stroll; Maarken and Hollis were also absent, but not for romantic reasons. Though her dependence on
dranath
was waning, she was restless and wakeful for most of each night. Husband and wife paced together while he talked to her about Whitecliff, Stronghold, Radzyn, anything to distract her from
dranath
-hunger and reassure her about the life awaiting them. Sioned, remembering the way it had been with her, had comforted Maarken with the reminder that insomnia and its accompanying exhaustion were only temporary. But there were deep, pain-weary bruises under their eyes, and Sioned was saddened that their first days together should be shadowed thus, a longer and more painful version of what she and Rohan had endured.

Chay, Tobin, Riyan, Lleyn, and all the retainers except those on guard duty were already asleep, worn out by muggy heat. Pol was down at the creek with Meath and Tallain, trying to cool off with a more conventional wash than the one he’d given them all that afternoon. She heard muffled laughter and splashes that hinted at a water fight, and smiled.

At length she answered her husband’s question. “I don’t think anyone can say what’s usual and what isn’t for Pol. Or Riyan either, for that matter. I suspect Urival is the same as they. They saw most of what Maarken saw during the combat. I only caught glimpses, and so did the other trained Sunrunners.”

“That’s no indication—”

“Pandsala must have seen,” Sioned murmured, not looking at him. “And she as much as stated that her mother was of the Old Blood.”

“But she never got sick crossing water,” Rohan pointed out. “Pol and Riyan do—and I remember Cami’s hatred of water very distinctly.”

“But Pandsala didn’t have any Sunrunner blood, either. Pol does, through you. I think we can conclude that someone with only sorcerer’s heritage doesn’t, but something in
faradh’im
causes it whether the Old Blood is there or not.”

“You’re reaching,” he said flatly.

“Am I?” Sioned picked up a twig and poked at the fire. A spark danced up nearly to the trees overhead. “Pandsala could cross water without difficulty—and that alone made her different from the rest of us, suspiciously so. She could sense when sorcery was being used. I felt her drag herself out of the weave I tried to protect Maarken with. And there was something strange about her colors, Rohan. I’d never noticed it before, because the only other time I was ever in close contact with her was the night her father died. I grabbed onto anyone I could then—even Pol, day-old though he was. I’ve been thinking about that lately.”

“You sensed the same in him?”

“No. But I wasn’t looking for it. But consider, my love.” She met his gaze across the fire. “When Pandsala withdrew most of herself from my conjuring, what she left behind was
faradhi
—or the parts of her that were
faradhi
-trained. I only had a glimpse of what she took with her. It was very like what we are, yet subtly different.” She paused, frowning as she tried to find words. “Like almost identical mirrors reflecting back and forth. But not angled quite right. Strange depths in each that didn’t match the other.”

Rohan mulled that over. “When Pandsala’s gifts were first discovered, Andrade went back in the genealogies as far as she could, and nothing on Roelstra’s side even hints at the gifts. So Pandsala’s heritage was only of the Old Blood, through her mother. Not Sunrunner at all. Yet she learned the arts. Because Riyan could sense what Pandsala could, Cami probably had the same heritage along with her
faradhi
gifts.”

“Either that, or it’s in Ostvel the same way it’s in you. But we’re not discussing Riyan,” Sioned told him softly.

“No.”

“Pol can’t cross water—that makes him Sunrunner,” she said. “But he also sensed the visions Sejast used to assault Maarken. That makes him part of the Old Blood.”

“It makes him a sorcerer,” Rohan said grimly. “And sooner or later he’s going to figure it out.”

“What of it? We’ve always said that Maarken will be his example of a Sunrunner who’s an important political power as well. In this other, he’ll have Riyan to look to. No one could accuse that boy of being a sorcerer! Pol will understand.”

“And will he understand where that second heritage came from?”

Sioned gasped. “Rohan—”

“I’m sorry, love. But he’s bound to realize it someday. He’s grown so much this spring and summer, Sioned. Perhaps it’s time he knew. He’s old enough to understand.”

“No! Not yet. Rohan, please. Not yet!” She held out one pleading hand.

After a moment he took her fingers. “You know, of course, that the longer we wait. . . .”

“But he’s still so young. He wouldn’t really understand why—”

“Why his father raped his mother?” He gave a small, bitter laugh. “I suppose so. Lleyn’s teaching him to be too civilized, Sioned. Only barbarians comprehend rape.”

“Stop it. Don’t do this to yourself, Rohan.”

“It’s true, though, isn’t it?” He shrugged and let go her hand. “Once again, for all my pretensions to civilization, I did the good barbarian thing. I killed Masul. You know, Sioned, it doesn’t count for much that I resisted so long. Better to be an honest savage and just
do
it.”

“If you say next that if you’d killed him when we first knew of him, Andrade might still be alive, I’ll—”

He smiled ruefully. “No threats. You’re all too likely to carry through on them. Very well, no second-guessing. But there will always be those who believe Masul was indeed Roelstra’s son. Somehow, I can’t bring myself to care very much, as long as Pol’s safe. But we’d better have a damned good explanation ready for him when he asks where his gifts really come from.”

She stirred the fire again with the twig, staring moodily into the glowing red coals. “There’s never been a word spoken anywhere, Rohan, in fifteen years. As far as anyone knows, you and I were imprisoned by Ianthe at Feruche and then let go. Even if someone knew that the child she bore was yours, they assume he died along with her when the castle burned.” She met his gaze briefly. “I don’t want him to know the truth. Ever. I don’t want to hurt him.”

“
I
don’t want to lose him,” he whispered. Sioned flinched, and he gestured aimlessly with one hand. “A lapse. Ignore it. I’m just tired.”

She was wise enough to let the matter drop. Banking the fire, she stretched out on the blanket. Lying close together, they stared up at the silent, dangerous stars for which Pol had been named.

 

“Oh, excellent, Sioned!” Meath rubbed his hands together gleefully. “Fresh stew tonight for dinner, thanks to that hawk of yours!”

The bird had settled daintily back on her wrist and was preening as if she understood every word of the praise. The hawk had indeed performed beautifully. Sioned had flown her once or twice during the journey, but never yet at prey. Today, however, she had brought back a rabbit twice her own size, deposited the kill gracefully at Sioned’s feet, then leaped back up to her mistress’ hand.

“And she only tore a little off for herself,” Pol observed, adding the rabbit to the two small birds taken down by his and Tobin’s hawks. Rohan and Alasen had yet to fly theirs; he gestured gallantly and she rode forward, loosening the bird’s hood but not yet revealing the fierce black eyes in an amber face. She glanced back over her shoulder at Ostvel and smiled.

“If she makes a good catch, my lord, will you sing for us tonight?”

His brows arched. “It’s a wife’s duty to provide for her husband’s needs. Why should I reward you for doing your duty?”

“Ostvel!” Chay reprimanded, grinning. “That’s no way to talk to a bride of less than twenty days! Especially one who hasn’t seen your keep yet. Until she does and approves it, she can still
un
-Choose you. So take care!”

Alasen was laughing as she waited for Ostvel’s answer “Well? Will you sing if I provide your supper?”

“No lullabyes,” Lleyn told him sternly, eyes snapping with mirth. “I don’t think singing her to sleep was exactly what she had in mind.”

“Providing for
my
needs was more what I meant,” Alasen teased.

“You know,” Sioned remarked, “I thought I’d see his last blush years ago. Seems there are a few left. Congratulations, Alasen!”

“Enough!” Ostvel roared, causing the hawks to shake their feathers irritably. “A song for a decent meal, eh? Very well, my lady. But it had better be a sizable catch. I find I’ve a hearty appetite these days.”

“Legitimately come by,” Tobin drawled, winking at Alasen.

Sioned handed her own hawk to a servant after hooding the proud head and smoothing the iridescent blue feathers rippling down the bird’s back. A memory of Camigwen tugged with painful suddenness at her heart. Ostvel’s lute had been her wedding gift to him, mostly silent since her death. But Alasen had brought back his music.

The hood was removed and the amber-faced hawk flew. Gorgeous bronze and green and gold pinions flickering in the sunlight, she called out her joy in free flight. But instead of ranging through the low hills for grounded prey, she gave voice to a triumphant cry and wheeled northward.

“Damn!” Riyan exclaimed. “We’ll never catch her if she keeps on like that!”