by Melanie Rawn
“Thank you, my lord. I should—I should see if any of the other faradh’im are waiting outside—”
Rohan nodded. Isriam slid into Feylin’s chair and readied pens and parchment. And, as Daniv brought Hollis in, the grim recitals began.
• • •
Sioned hadn’t been part of so vast and simultaneous a survey of the continent since Andrade’s death. Then, the Sunrunners gathered around the Lady’s pyre had woven a shining net to reach from the Sunrise Water to Kierst-Isel, from Dorval to Snowcoves. They’d sustained each other, lent strength where necessary.
Now each faradhi was alone.
They chose the sunniest part of the inner courtyard for more reasons than its access to light; Sioned knew that people must see them at work. The nine faradh’im—herself, Meath, Morwenna, Tobin, Tobren, Pol, Maarken, Hollis, and Relnaya—formed a loose circle. They were gently guarded by Pol’s squire Dannar, his sister Jeni, Sethric of Grib, and Betheyn, who stood at Tobin’s side to support her in case she lost control of her muscles during the work. In truth, there was little to see—just Sunrunners, ranging in age from Meath and Tobin who had each seen more than sixty winters to Tobren’s barely twelve, standing relaxed and serene in the middle of the courtyard. But everyone who passed by paused a moment to watch, marvel, and return to assigned tasks feeling unaccountably comforted.
Sioned lost awareness of those around her as she spun sunlight. She didn’t hear Relnaya’s low moan as he staggered and fled. She didn’t see Hollis’ quiet departure from the circle a little while later, nor the fire in Tobin’s black eyes as she clutched at Beth. Sioned was far away, soaring over the towering snowcaps of the Great Veresch, then south to the Catha Hills, and finally to Goddess Keep.
She sought Donato first. Court Sunrunner at Castle Crag for many years, he had been one of those who had accompanied her to the Desert in 698. Donato, Ostvel, Meath, Hildreth, and Antoun were the only ones left of the friends on that journey. They all still served Sioned in various ways, as if that time had become an unbreakable bond among them.
Donato reported all serene at Castle Crag—but for his resentment that Ostvel had bid him stay. The crippling stiffness in his joints didn’t affect him in the saddle, but walking could be torture. Winter at Castle Crag was bad enough, but the wet lowlands of Meadowlord would be the torments of all Hells.
It’s not as if Ostvel doesn’t walk with a creak in his knees some mornings! he complained to Sioned. But I shouldn’t keep you with my whinings. Let Ostvel know that we’re all safe, and getting troops and supplies ready to send down the Faolain whenever he needs them.
And can collect them safely, Sioned added. I’ll be back this afternoon if the sun holds, and let you and Alasen know what’s happening.
There’s something else you can do, if you would. It’d save us a lot of time and trouble if I knew young Andrev’s colors.
I’m not sure Tobren can be persuaded to tell me, but I’ll try.
After withdrawing from Castle Crag, she glided across Meadowlord and Syr at a great height. She and Meath and Morwenna had staked out the upper reaches of the sun for themselves, leaving the lower sky to those who needed more specific referents along the way. There was no chance that Sioned might mistake a river or a grassy plain; she had been doing this alone and unassisted since her sixteenth year—somewhat in advance of Andrade’s permission to do so, and well before she wore the ring that proclaimed her adept at it. “Mind-hungry,” Urival had always called her, and suddenly she wished for his steady wisdom.
It was a long search for Kostas and his army between High Kirat and the Catha River. Finally she found them—and nearly gasped. He was marching on Catha Heights. Rain, mud, and cold evidently meant nothing to him. Traitorous Lord Patwin was dead, but his brother and two of his daughters were still within the keep. So was a large contingent of Vellant’im. What in the name of the Storm God did Kostas think he was doing?
Worse, he had no Sunrunner with him. His court faradhi was at High Kirat. Sioned knew it was deliberate. Whatever disadvantages he might face through lack of communication, he obviously felt them worth it. Without a Sunrunner, there could be no orders from the High Prince. Kostas had always been more independent in his rule of Syr than his father Davvi had been. The irony was that Tilal was just as autonomous in Ossetia—and didn’t have to prove it.
Sioned hesitated, wondering if she could help—and if Kostas would want her to. There were about twenty measures between his army and Catha Heights; she surveyed the land and guessed he would choose to do battle where the road passed through a relatively flat meadow half a measure from the keep. But there was a better place close by, off the main road. It would have to be approached uphill by the enemy, and into tomorrow’s morning sun. Sioned didn’t know much about military tactics, but she understood rising ground and light.
It took her only a moment. Cold Sunrunner’s Fire flared a beacon atop one of the tall pines ringing the meadow. She let it blaze for a while, despite the effort it took at this distance, until she felt sure that Kostas must have seen it and at least sent scouts to investigate. Having done what she could, she drew back across the Faolain, gathered her energies, and then made the long journey to Goddess Keep. On this first clear day in so long, her source there would know to be waiting for her.
• • •
“. . . camped tidy as you please around the old Sunrunner keep.” Meath grinned. “I think Ludhil’s even enjoying himself. And judging by the gold strung from the white ship banner, he’s doing rather well.”
“Banner?” Hollis asked. “How did he manage that?”
“I think it used to be Iliena’s underskirt. There’s a flower up in the hills that gives the right shade of blue. But the white ship is flying—and plenty of those little golden beads threaded on silk below it.”
Rohan said, “Meath, be sure to contact Riyan at Skybowl, so he can let Chadric know. Is there anything else?”
“Nothing, my lord.”
“So,” Rohan mused. “Grand Veresch and River Ussh are quiet and unthreatened. Kadar Water, Athmyr, and Medawari are shut up tight. And our cherished princely cousin Velden is sitting on his royal ass at Summer River.”
Meath snorted. “Does he think the Vellant’im won’t notice him?”
“I’ve never heard Velden accused of thinking much at all,” Hollis observed. She glanced at Rohan, who nodded. “Meath, I’ll come with you while you talk to Riyan. Then we can join Maarken and Tobin and Morwenna, and I’ll fill you in on everywhere else—since you were too polite to ask.”
“Not polite—confused,” Meath corrected, smiling. “I’ll never understand how you juggle all this, Rohan.”
“Believe me, at times I wish I had twelve hands and at least one more brain.” He watched them leave, knowing Hollis was right: it was better to say nothing about Jahnavi to the other Sunrunners until their reports were made. Sioned and Pol had yet to arrive in the Summer Room; sheer cowardice to wish Hollis had waited so she could tell them, too.
As he waited for wife or son to appear, he reviewed the information thus far received. Maarken reported that Rohannon prospered at New Raetia, left in complete charge by Arlis, who spent his time pacing the docks at Port Adni in a fury of impatience for some good sailing weather. Fine as today had been, there was another storm roaring down from the northern Dark Water, the kind that funneled through the channel between island and continent and lashed Brochwell Bay to a frenzy. The last one had cost Arlis two ships, their sails and masts shredded by the wind, their crews drowned.
Maarken had also looked in on Zaldivar, and found that Princess Demalia, Arlis’ wife, had been safely delivered of their second son. A quick journey back to New Raetia had informed Rohannon, who would get word to the prince. At least there was some good news, Rohan told himself.
Except for the Desert, things were not nearly as bad as he’d feared. Tobren, flushed with pride in Andrev and the importance of being the only one who could get news from Waes, sa
id that Tilal, Ostvel, and their armies were occupying the city while sending out raiding parties even more successful than Ludhil’s on Dorval. They only awaited the High Prince’s orders to march for Swalekeep.
Morwenna had reported that Einar was armed and ready. It had been Tilal’s suggestion that Lord Sabriam arrange his troops at strategic points along the coast to guard Princemarch’s underbelly. Isriam blew out a soft sigh of relief that his family and city were safe. But Morwenna’s survey of Fessenden yielded oddities. Prince Pirro had done absolutely nothing—not even fortified his own keep. Obviously he trusted its distance from the coast to protect him. It irked Morwenna that he wasn’t even going through the motions.
“You’d think he’d at least make a show of calling up his troops, and then plead bad weather or something,” she grumbled. “Spineless fool!”
Rohan reminded her who Pirro’s son Edirne had married: strong-willed, high-strung Arnisaya of Gilad Seahold, whose brother Segelin and his family had been butchered the first day of the war. Rohan hid fury that help from Fessenden depended on the angry persuasions of one person. Still, he knew from personal experience what a stubborn, fiery-tempered female could accomplish. If Arnisaya was half as eloquent as Tobin, all might work out. It annoyed him further to think that if Segelin hadn’t been slaughtered and Seahold demolished, Arnisaya might have cared as little as Pirro for the laws that bound the princedoms in mutual defense. But Morwenna clarified the point.
“I had a little chat with Pirro’s Sunrunner—foolish man, never could remember his name, only his colors, and they’re unimaginative enough. He says Pirro sees no reason to join the fighting because one princedom hasn’t attacked another. No treaty covers this kind of war.”
“Hmm. It seems I wrote that one rather badly.”
Morwenna’s dark eyes narrowed. “How could you have known?”
“I’m High Prince. I’m supposed to know everything.” The words held enough self-mockery to fool most people, but not Morwenna. He heard himself add with undisguised bitterness, “Just ask my son.”
Daniv and Isriam were in the room, or she would have said more. Shaking her head, she continued, “Firon is even more of a puzzle, my lord. There’s no sign of Yarin at Snowcoves. Or his Sunrunner.” She paused for effect. “But there’s a white-and-yellow flag flying over Balarat.”
Rohan sat up straight. “What’s Yarin doing there?”
“I’d be pleased to tell you, my lord—if I could find Arpali. She seems to have vanished as surely as Yarin’s Sunrunner at Snowcoves.”
And Rialt’s at Swalekeep. Rohan heard his two squires catch their breath as Pol made his report. When Rohan explained, Pol understood, too—and threw in a wrinkle Rohan hadn’t thought of.
“Andry’s going to be furious,” he said. “If his Sunrunners are being kept out of the light, it may just kick him into this without making conditions.”
“It’s possible,” Rohan conceded. “Did you see anything at Swalekeep?”
“Some activity by the waterfront—flatboats loaded with crates, that sort of thing. I suppose Chiana would say she’s getting ready to supply the south.”
“Tactfully omitting reference to exactly whom in the south.” Rohan nodded. “She can say what she pleases—especially if the supplies are ‘captured.’”
Daniv shifted uncomfortably. “My lords—forgive me, but even though I don’t like her much myself, Princess Chiana is still my aunt. It is taken so much for granted that she’s betraying us?”
A look flickered between Rohan and Pol: Chiana was Pol’s aunt as well, and Daniv his cousin not through Kostas but Danladi, another of Roelstra’s daughters. The reminder gave Rohan an idea.
“Your family feeling does you credit, Daniv,” he said carefully. “But we’ve dealt with Chiana before. However, you’ve tweaked my memory, and I thank you.” Turning to Pol, he went on, “Princess Naydra is at Swalekeep, isn’t she?”
Blue-green eyes lit with comprehension not shared by the squires. “Indeed she is.” He changed the subject. “There’s good news from Dragon’s Rest. Hildreth says everyone is fine, except for poor Lisiel. She’s ten days overdue and if Edrel didn’t take Laric riding every day to get him out from underfoot, Lisiel would probably divorce him from sheer irritation.”
Rohan was glad of the chance to smile. “Let that be a lesson to you,” he directed at Isriam and Daniv. “Pregnant wives are like she-dragons. Walk very softly and maybe you won’t get your eyes clawed out.”
Daniv grinned. “You don’t need to tell me, my lord. Our Sunrunner at High Kirat threatened to set her husband on Fire if he didn’t stop treating her like Fironese crystal.”
Isriam’s eyes rounded. “She must have been joking!”
“You’ve never met Diantha.”
Rohan asked about Meiglan and the twins, wanting to delay talking about Jahnavi. Pol answered easily enough, but sensed something wrong. He seemed about to ask when Sioned stormed into the room, practically breathing fire.
“Do you know what he’s done? Do you?” she shouted at Rohan. “If he wasn’t the son of his parents, I’d order a march on Goddess Keep myself!”
Daniv and Isriam flinched. Rohan and Pol knew better than to coax her to calm down. Sioned’s rages were rarely as spectacular as Tobin’s, but this one had his sister beat seven ways to the Far Islands.
Gradually, after venting her fury in hissed curses and a broken glass vase, the story became clear. When she finished, green eyes still spitting sparks, Pol cleared his throat.
“So he’s setting up a Sunrunner princedom,” he said. “I assume you learned this through your friend at Goddess Keep?”
“No, Andry told me himself! Of course I found out in secret! Rohan, how dare he do this?”
“Because he thinks he must. Because the opportunity is there, and he’s too smart not to seize it.” He met Pol’s gaze, and for the first time in a long while they were in perfect accord. “Because he sees the salvation of the continent in his own hands.”
Pacing, Sioned started in surprise as her boots crunched on shattered glass. She looked down and swore. Isriam came immediately with a parchment page to shovel up the shards, and Sioned strode away from the evidence of her fury.
“What did he tell Tobin?” she asked abruptly.
“Only that people had come seeking safety, and he was providing it.” Rohan paused. “She didn’t really look around Goddess Keep—just found Andry in his chambers and didn’t stay long, believe me. Not after he said that if she hadn’t come to relay my permission to use the ros’salath when, where, and as he liked, they had nothing to talk about.”
“He dared say such a thing to his own mother?”
“A bit more gently than that, I’m sure, but that was the substance.”
“Rohan . . . there was something else.” She looked anywhere but at him. “On the gates of Goddess Keep.”
“Yes?”
“A Vellanti corpse. Nailed to the wood. With his beard gone and the Merida scar showing on his chin—and a sunburst pattern burned into the skin of his chest.”
“Oh, Goddess,” he whispered.
“There’s more. A—a parchment tacked over his head. ‘The fate of all who sin against the Goddess’ Sunrunners.’” Her fingers twisted around themselves. “Tobren’s mother is dead.”
“Poor little girl,” Pol murmured. Then, squaring his shoulders, “Did your friend tell you anything about it?”
“Andry was out riding with Rusina and Oclel—he’s dead, too. Andry escaped capture and caught the Vellanti who’d killed his friends. Nobody outside his inner circle is very clear on the details, except that Andry was wounded and is now better.”
“That’s too bad,” Pol muttered, and handed her a full cup of wine. “Did you get a look at what Kostas is up to?”
She gave a start. “What? Oh, I’m sorry. Daniv, I should have said something earlier. It’s just that Andry’s made me so furious—your father is well and safe, and slicing through the Catha
Hills like a scythe.” She forced a smile and sipped from the wine, and Rohan knew there was much she had not said.
“Thank you, my lady.” The young man copied Isriam’s exhalation of relief. “Did you look in at High Kirat?”
“No, but I will this afternoon, to give your mother news. If there’s anything you’d like me to tell her for you—”
“Just that I’m well.”
Sioned’s smile was easier. “And doing your duty brilliantly—and you love her. Why don’t you and Isriam go get some air? I’m sure your ears must be sore from listening and your hands ready to fall off from all this scribbling.”
“Yes, do that,” Rohan said. “You’ve both served me well today. Thank you.”
The pair bowed and left, Isriam with the folded parchment of glass shards. Sioned ran one finger along the shelf where the vase had stood.
“I hate losing my temper that way. But the colossal gall of it! First waiting for Tilal to get close enough to witness his work at Goddess Keep, and now his own princedom! What have we done that he hates us so much, Rohan?”
“Not you, Mother,” Pol said. “Me.” He faced Rohan and asked softly, “Now do you understand?”
“I have always understood.” Rohan leaned back in his chair, arms folded. “You both do what you must. But I ask you to consider what Andry is making of himself, and if you want to emulate him.”
“It’s not that simple!”
“Nothing ever is.” With a slight sigh, he finished, “You’d better go, too, or we’ll end up shouting at each other again. And, frankly, I don’t have the strength right now.”
Sioned put her cup down very suddenly. “What is it, Rohan? What’s wrong?”
Staring at his hands, he told them about Tuath, the Merida, and Jahnavi.
PART FOUR
Chapter Twenty-four
“Jihan! Stop that at once, you’ll get filthy!”
But, as usual, her daughter refused to hear her. Meiglan subsided back onto a carved stone bench, frowning as Jihan led the other children in a headlong slide down a grassy, rain-slicked rise. The bare earth at the bottom was soon trampled into a really good mud puddle.
