by Melanie Rawn
“What about where the Catha and Pyrme meet?”
“We might get trapped between rivers. Besides, that’s marshy ground this time of year and will get worse. If this were summer, it would be perfect.”
“By summer, these whoresons will be dead to the last man.”
He hid a smile. Gemma was a stubbornly single-minded woman who seldom changed her opinions. Though he loved her devotedly, he’d had occasion to regret her obstinacy. Now it amused him. “When you talk like that, I don’t dare fail,” he replied lightly.
“How I talk doesn’t matter. How you fight does. You won’t fail. What about near Rosmer’s Ford? The drainage there is good—not much mud until midwinter.”
“Hmm.” He inspected the routes both armies could take to the site, calling to mind terrain the map did not indicate. “We’d have to draw them across the river to do it—but the river would be at their backs.”
“Take a Sunrunner along to Fire the bridge,” she suggested.
“Sunrunners are what I’m really worried about,” he admitted. “The enemy has failed twice to take New Raetia. They’re going to give up soon and take their war elsewhere. They don’t need Einar—all they have to do is leave a few ships patrolling the strait. But Waes is the entry to Meadowlord. If they march across and link up with their people on the Faolain . . . .” He pointed out the probable strategy on the map. “If they decide against Waes, Goddess Keep is their next choice.”
“I thought you’d told Pol that’s where you definitely think they’re going.”
“I’ve reconsidered. I think I’m too influenced by the fact that Goddess Keep is in Ossetia. Waes is the more logical choice.”
“And yet they shout diarmadh’im in battle.” Gemma reached to stir up the fire, wielding an iron poker with savage intent. Tilal pulled the maps away from the sparks. “Any member of our house worth his wine appreciates a gamble. Do you share the family instinct, Tilal?”
“Wife and cousin, I take Sioned’s view—she never wagers except on a sure thing. And there’s nothing certain about this. Waes or Goddess Keep? Which do they want more?”
“If you go to Waes, you’ll be backtracking.”
“If I go to Goddess Keep, it’ll be just that much longer before I can join Kostas.”
Gemma settled down beside him and sighed. “I admire Andry’s taste in poetry, if not his politics. Other than that, we owe him nothing—except that he’s on our land.”
“His land, our princedom,” he pointed out. She tended to see Goddess Keep as another Ossetian holding, and Andry knew it. “Besides, we owe him our protection. All the princes do.”
“Then let them come to help! Where’s Velden of Grib? Cabar can’t send anyone from Gilad, he’s too hard-pressed himself, but what about Chiana? If we made it here from Dragon’s Rest in so few days, she can march down from Swalekeep in even less.”
“Chiana? Defend the place where she spent six miserable winters as a child? Not likely, love. She’ll have to come to the aid of Waes, since that’s the gateway to her princedom.” He paused a moment. “And isn’t it amusing that we all automatically assume it’s Chiana who’ll be giving the orders, not Halian.”
“He’s not capable of ordering a new shirt.”
“We judge our princes harshly, my lady.”
“We judge our princes by the one we know best, my lord,” she retorted.
There was a soft scraping at the door, and when Tilal called permission to enter, Malyander brought in a pitcher of steaming taze. Tilal’s squire was heir to this keep, but being unexpectedly home did not excuse him from the usual duties. Tilal asked him to put the tray on the floor beside the fire, and then said, “Is your father awake yet?”
“Yes, my lord. He’s anxious to speak with you at your convenience.”
“I’ll be downstairs shortly. No bath today—Goddess, dirt is what I hate most about war!—but I’ve got to have a shave. We leave as soon as everyone’s ready.”
Tilal met Kolya at the stables. Half the Dragon’s Rest horses would be returned there by the troops Meiglan had lent; the other half, plus those Kolya owed his prince in war, would suffice to mount Tilal’s forces. The rest of the Ossetian levies were assembling at various points along the road. Gemma would take troops enough with her to Athmyr for its defense and, Tilal hoped, some effective raids to discourage an enemy attack on the castle.
“Are you sure you won’t take more?” Kolya asked as Tilal chose a fine gray for his own use.
“No, but I appreciate the generosity. My other athr’im are well-mounted, thanks to your breeding program. When I look at the numbers from your father’s time and compare them with yours, I can scarcely believe it.”
Kolya’s worried face cleared for a moment. “Getting the occasional jump on Radzyn is my chief pleasure in life.”
“More than occasional. Your horses took plenty of prizes at the races this year.” Tilal ran his hand over the stallion’s muscular shoulder and down one leg to the white feathering around the hoof. A huge russet eye regarded him with suspicion, but Tilal knew how to manage these horses. The trick was to familiarize them with the rider’s touch, scent, and voice—and then stare them down. “Rondeg here is a match for anything Chay has in his stables.”
“Except they’re not in his stables anymore.” Kolya’s smile was replaced by a grim frown. “And one reason I’d like you to take more of my beauties is that I don’t want those barbarians on their backs.”
“I understand. But don’t worry. We’ll get them before they’re within reach of you. I’d like you to hold the rest of your horses in readiness if they’re needed.”
They left the stables after ordering two wary grooms to saddle the big stallion for their prince. The courtyard was controlled chaos. The group Gemma was taking with her to Athmyr was nearly one hundred strong. Tilal’s force was twice that, waiting outside the walls.
Kolya took Tilal aside. “My lord, I’ve hesitated to mention it, but—”
“Go on, Kolya,” he prompted, trying to be patient even though he itched to be on the road. Trouble was, he hadn’t yet decided which road.
The athri met Tilal’s gaze levelly. “My lord, your squire is my only son.”
That brought Tilal up short. One of Rohan’s most inconvenient rules of governance was that a prince must always try to see all sides of an issue. At question here was Tilal’s right to the services of his squire—and the right of a lord to the safety of his only heir.
As he looked into Kolya’s tense face, there was no need for imagination to recast himself as a father with a precious child at stake. Goddess be thanked that Sorin was only nine; he would stay at Athmyr with Gemma and Sioneva, safe. But Rihani was seventeen, and with Kostas. True, he was of an age and at a point in his training that he could acquit himself very well in a battle—and Kostas would be careful. But Malyander was only twelve, and an only son.
“I’ll miss him,” Tilal said quietly. “The difficulty is how to present it to him so he’s not shamed by being left behind. He’s very proud, but more than that, he’s got a powerful sense of honor and duty.”
Kolya’s face changed as he realized that his son would not be put at risk in war. He swallowed hard. “Thank you, my lord,” he murmured.
“Perhaps if I say I want him here to use what he’s learned thus far about defending a keep? You were never fostered, as I recall,” he finished unwisely.
Kolya looked anywhere but at him. “I was only five when my father died in the Plague. It was decided that I should stay here rather than spend years at someone else’s holding. I never learned the art of war.”
“That’s the way Rohan wanted us all to grow up,” Tilal mused.
“You’re gracious to overlook my inferiorities,” the athri replied bitterly.
Tilal knew he didn’t have time to restore Kolya’s sense of self-worth; he made time anyway, because it was what Rohan would have done. He hoped he could do it in the same style. “Art? Sweet Goddess, what art is
there in knowing twenty different ways to butcher an enemy army?” He gestured at the big gray and all the horses nearby. “That, my friend, is your art.”
“At least I’m some use to you, then.”
Tilal grinned as the stallion bared formidable white teeth. “If that beast doesn’t chomp my head off first!”
Kolya snorted with laughter. “Only meat-eating horse I ever met. I’ll protest about Malyander a bit, my lord, if you don’t mind. His pride will need it. I remember being that age.”
As Tilal gave the squire his orders and his reasons for them, he reflected that he seemed to be making a habit of convincing children to stay where they belonged. Malyander listened wide-eyed, brightened when Kolya objected that a squire’s place was with his fostering lord, but reached the conclusion they wanted him to. His mother nearly ruined all by casting a glance of appalled betrayal at her husband when he made his protests. But the boy, after a gulp of regret that he wouldn’t know the excitement of battle, shook his head.
“I want to help fight,” he admitted. “But if Prince Tilal needs me to be here, then I have to stay.”
Gemma’s subtle but firm physical restraint prevented Lady Matiya from clasping her darling child to her breast, but not even a stern look could keep her from bursting into tears of joy. Malyander sighed impatiently at his mother’s display and turned to his father.
“You understand, don’t you, Father?”
“Yes. I’d rather we could fulfill our obligation to our prince,” he said, and it was only partly a lie, “but if he orders it, we must in duty obey.”
“That was chancy enough,” Tilal murmured to his wife as they rode from the keep. “But Kolya was right—the boy’s too young.”
“You were no older.”
“I was a second son.”
“Did your father love you any less or worry about you any less because he had Kostas?”
“I know what you’re really saying,” he told her gently. “It’s Rihani, isn’t it? Why do you think I’m anxious to join Kostas? I trust him, but I have to be there, Gemma. I have to see Rihani safely out of each battle with my own eyes.”
They rode on in a misting rain for which Rondeg had no liking. The stallion signaled his displeasure with flattened ears and teeth bared at any horse foolish enough to get within reach. Tilal did not discipline him; experience had taught him that the reaction meant he was willing to defend his rider. Tilal had already demonstrated his authority with a solid whack to the stallion’s cheek when he reared as Tilal mounted. Radzyn horses were sweeter of temper, but a Kadar stallion was worth the trouble.
As they neared the main road, the clouds parted to give the sun a look at the land. Tilal squinted in the sudden brightness. That wooded rise up ahead, that was the crossroads where he must part with his family. He told himself they’d be safe, that Athmyr was a stout castle that could hold out at least as long as it would take him to arrive. And thus far the enemy had shown little interest in pushing west to Brochwell Bay, being content to control the central rivers. But his solace lay in Gemma’s adamant vow to hold the keep as long as there was breath in her body. One did not doubt a woman like that.
From down the column a voice Tilal recognized shouted his name. Not his title—his name. That surprised him less than the tone: frantic, almost terrified. He reined his horse around and rode to find the man, an aged retainer who always accompanied him to Riall’im.
“Chaltyn? What the—oh, Goddess,” he breathed, and jumped from his saddle. Chaltyn knelt on the ground beside Sioneva, who had tumbled off her horse. Her eyes were wide open and glazed—but not because she had hurt herself and was stunned. Tilal had known that look since childhood: since becoming squire to a prince with a Sunrunner princess.
“Tilal—my lord, she fell and there was nothing I could do to—”
“You others, get back!” He cradled his daughter’s head in his lap, stroking her dark hair that had come free of its pins. “Wine, quickly!”
Chaltyn gave him a full wineskin. But he didn’t open it, not yet. Not until Sioneva’s blue eyes blinked and focused. Tilting her head up, he poured a mouthful down her throat. She choked slightly, then grasped the skin herself and took a good long draught.
“Better?” Tilal asked.
She nodded. “Mother of All!” she breathed. “So that’s what it’s like!”
Gemma had joined them by now, on her knees in the mud. “What, heartling?” she asked gently.
“Sunrunning,” Tilal said succinctly. “Who was it, Sioneva?”
“L-Lord Andry,” she whispered, marveling at this strange, wonderful, astonishing thing that had happened to her. “It was like bathing in color—”
“Damn him!” Gemma hissed.
“No, you don’t understand!” Sioneva propped herself on her elbows, her eyes shining. “It was beautiful! Like being immersed in water that I could feel and taste and smell and even hear—only it wasn’t water, it was color!”
So he had a Sunrunner child after all. He’d wondered as his sons and daughter grew if the gift brought by a faradhi who married a prince of Kierst would touch his children as it had touched Sioned. Tilal’s father had not been a Sunrunner; neither were his two sons. Sioneva had never shown any signs of it; she was never ill while boating on the little lake at Athmyr, but then some Sunrunners were affected by nothing less than an ocean in a storm. But that she was indeed faradhi was in no doubt. He knew the gift was in his family; it was not unknown in Gemma’s branch of the Syrene royal line. Now they knew for certain, courtesy of the Lord of Goddess Keep himself.
“I’m glad you enjoyed it,” Tilal said, thinking of Alasen, who had been terrified by the revelation of her gift. “But now that you seem to have become my Sunrunner, what did Lord Andry have to say?”
The wonder left her face. “Father—this morning he spotted ships sailing down from New Raetia to Goddess Keep!”
Neatly solving the problem of where to go and what to defend, he thought. The Goddess must be looking after her own. He hadn’t consciously waited, as Rohan would have done, for events to show him what action to take. But if he’d marched directly for Waes from Kadar Water instead of escorting his ladies to the main road, there would have been no Sunrunner for Andry to contact, no receipt of any message. He’d have to tell Rohan that a philosophy Tilal did not really believe in had worked.
But how had Andry known about Sioneva?
He smiled at her. “When I see Andry, I’ll thank him for his skill and care of you. Can you ride? You and your mother had best start for Athmyr.”
“But you can’t send me there now! You’ll need me!”
“I know what I need to know. Goddess Keep will soon be under attack. I can get there in time—but not if I’m worried about whether you’ll stay on the road home. Promise me, Sioneva.”
Her delicate brows slanted in a frown. Another princess with a will of her own—but this one had the maturity to recognize necessity. She sighed, pushed the hair from her face, and nodded. “Yes, Father.”
He helped her to her feet. She and Gemma tried to brush the mud off their clothes and succeeded only in getting their riding gauntlets filthy. Tilal nearly called for Malyander to fetch fresh trousers for all three of them before remembering he had no squire now.
Their horses were brought—Rondeg glaring, the others sidestepping out of his way. Tilal realized with a shock that this was farewell.
“Gemma—” He couldn’t find the right words to tell her good-bye. “I’ll get news to you at Athmyr as soon as I can.” Suddenly he gathered wife and daughter to him. “I love you. Stay safe.”
Gemma kissed him in public for the first time since their marriage ceremony, startling him so much that he lost all capacity for speech. Just as well; she was on her horse an instant later, directing Chaltyn to keep the prince healthy or else. Tilal watched them ride away for a few heartbeats, then swung up onto the gray stallion’s back. This time Rondeg neither reared nor bucked. He bared his teeth at the nea
rest horses just to remind everyone of his status, then slid into an easy gallop as Tilal led his troops west and south to Goddess Keep.
• • •
“So Tilal’s coming. Let’s hope he makes it before the enemy.” Torien paused in his nervous pacing of Andry’s bedchamber. “How did you know about Sioneva?”
Andry sank more deeply into the cushions. He was not in the best of moods. He’d had a nasty little chat with Sioned on the morning sun that lingered in the knotted muscles of his neck. How dare she tell him she expected regular reports from every Sunrunner on the continent, as if she were Lady of Goddess Keep? Taking a long swallow of wine, he rubbed his aching forehead and winced at the splatter of rain beginning outside. He’d cut it fine this time. Another few instants and clouds would have blown over the sun.
“Endless genealogies—and the mirror,” he said.
“Gentle Goddess,” Torien breathed. “I’d forgotten.”
“So do I, most of the time. It’s more of an irritant than a help. I always suspected one of Tilal’s children might be faradhi. It’s in both families. Those genealogies that drove Andrade nearly insane practically guarantee it.”
“This rain is going to guarantee my insanity,” Torien grumbled, casting a bitter glance out the windows. “They knew the season to attack, didn’t they? How much sun do we average in autumn and winter—one day in ten? Twenty? At least they can’t march through knee-deep mud.”
“Rohan did. Oh, not far, and with my father taking care of strategy he only had to fight a couple of battles against Roelstra. But he did it. And how many more battles do you think necessary? They own the Faolain and the Catha. They’ll add the Pyrme before winter hits. All they need is Waes and Goddess Keep before spring. That’s when the war really starts.”
“You mean our war, not theirs.”
Andry considered. “I hadn’t thought of it that way. Our war to take everything back will have to wait. It’s been all theirs up until now—with the exception of New Raetia.” He smiled. “Ah, Rohannon is a kinsman to be proud of! What a faradhi lord of Radzyn he’ll make one day!”
