Dragon Prince 01 - Dragon Prince (66 page)

“Now that you’re awake,” he went on, “perhaps you’d be so good as to inform me of Lord Chaynal’s whereabouts.”

“In his tent, your grace, with young Lord Maarken and Lord Davvi of River Run.”

He nodded, his blond hair catching every ray of fading sunlight. “Having just come down the northern road, I can assure you it is free of enemies. But had it not been. . . .” He raised a brow. “Do I make myself understood?”

“Yes, your grace.”

“Good. You have my permission to inform Lord Chaynal that I am here.”

She bowed again and fled.

Rohan heard the sound begin as he rode forward, a murmuring that swelled to cheers when they caught sight of him. He had heard soldiers greet his father this way, seen them emerge from their tents and leave off work to line his path with shouts of welcome, swords and bows lifted with pride in the victory Zehava always brought with him. But the accolade and the tumultuous welcome were not for his father this time. They were for him. Rohan. Their dragon prince. The knowledge made him a little sick.

He had brought with him twenty archers and thirty horse, and his squire Tilal. The one pleasure he had was knowing the boy would be reunited with his father. The prospect of explaining events to Chay was not something to be anticipated with anything other than dread. He cursed his cowardice and kept all emotion from his face as he rode to the plain dark war tent, distinguished from the others by the Radzyn standard hanging from a silver pole. Desert colors would soon take its place, and Chay’s flag would shift to the other side of the entrance. As if, Rohan told himself,
he
would be in command of this war.

Chay was waiting for him along with the captains and a man bearing a superficial likeness to Sioned and a much stronger one to Tilal. And could that possibly be Maarken? He returned their bows with a crisp nod, grateful for rituals a prince could hide behind. Thank the Goddess for ceremony, no matter how false. No, he corrected, there was no falseness here but him.

“My prince,” Chay greeted him, sending an urgent message with his eyes. Rohan understood. His people pressed close for a word from their prince, and he would have to give it. He dug his heels into his stallion’s sides and pulled back on the reins. His beloved Pashta, restored to him from Skybowl, rose impressively on his haunches and swerved around. Rohan held up his fisted right hand, and all was silence. He smiled tightly.

“Tonight the High Prince rests across the river in his camp. But, by the Goddess, soon he will find
eternal
rest.”

A roar went up and Rohan gave himself acid congratulations for the stupid speech—brief enough to be repeated verbatim throughout the camp tonight. He noted Chay’s approval as he swung down off his horse. Tossing the reins to Tilal, he drew off his riding gauntlets and approached Lord Davvi, whom he had met only once, and very briefly, at Stronghold two years ago.

“My lady wife has told me of your goodness in coming to us,” he said formally, aware of being watched. He wished he could let down even a little of his guard, but that would have to come later, in private. “I thank you for your help, my lord, and will talk longer with you later. But for now I think there’s someone else here with a prior claim on your attention.” He nodded to Tilal, who was practically dancing with excitement.

Davvi had scarcely been able to take his eyes off his son. Now he gave Rohan a slightly abashed smile. “Your grace, I’m honored by your friendship and your indulgence. I would indeed like to speak with my son.”

The curve of his lips felt strange; it was the first genuine smile that had come to him in a long time. “Until later then, my lord.” As Davvi want to embrace Tilal, Rohan saw that Chay had dismissed the captains and sent them to give orders that should have dispersed the troops.

But one of them shouted Rohan’s name, and the cry was taken up, turned into a chant, bellowed out loud enough to be heard by Roelstra all the way across the river. Rohan paused on his way to the tent, his people’s excitement and faith catching painfully at his heart. He lifted a hand to accept the tribute, then sought refuge in the cool, dim interior of the tent.

Maarken, acting as Chay’s squire, presented chairs and goblets of wine to his princely uncle and his father, then stood waiting for further orders. Both men sat, drank, and stared at each other for a time. Chay roused himself first.

“That will be all, Maarken,” he told his son. “Come back later to remove my things from here and—”

“No!” Rohan exclaimed. Then, more calmly as he saw their startlement. “No, I don’t fancy being alone in this great wind-tunnel you call a tent, Chay. Maarken, you and Tilal set up a bed for me in here, please.”

“I’m honored to serve you, my prince.” The boy bowed to him.

Again Rohan felt himself smile, and it felt more natural this time. “You’ve grown up, I see. Lleyn has taught you very well. But I think here in private we may be as we always were to each other.”

The stiffness went out of the young body and Maarken gave him a smile. “I could hardly believe it when I felt Sioned’s colors on the sun and she told me you were both safe! Did you hear the soldiers shouting for you? They say your dragons protect you—and their strength and cunning come with you.”

“Is that what they say?”

The edge in his voice darkened Chay’s quicksilver eyes. “You can go now, son. I’ll call when you’re needed.”

“Yes, my lord.” Maarken bowed, formal again, and left them.

“
Very
grown up,” Rohan observed. “You must be proud.”

“I am,” Chay said simply. “Tell me what Sioned didn’t tell Maarken.”

Rohan shrugged. “I don’t know that she left anything out.”

Chay leaned back with a snort of derision. “This is
me,
Rohan. I’ve known you practically from a hatchling, my lord dragon prince. What happened at Feruche?”

“What you really mean is why did Ianthe let us go.” He took a long swallow of wine. “Swear to me that this goes no further. On your sword and the lives of your sons, Chay—swear.”

The older man froze for a moment. Then, slowly, he said, “You know me better, so you must be trying to impress me with how serious this is. Very well. I so swear.”

“I meant no insult.” He rolled the goblet between his hands, staring down into the swirling dark wine. “Sioned—” The catch in his voice humiliated him. “She’s emptied Stronghold again. Those not with me went to Skybowl to take care of the Merida there, and will go on to Walvis at Tiglath. She says—and Tobin agrees with her—that if anyone gets close enough to threaten Stronghold again, there won’t be anyone left to save it for anyway.”

“Logical,” Chay grunted. “Why are women always so logical?”

“Most of the servants went to Remagev with the twins. Only a few stayed behind at Stronghold—those loyal enough to lie.”

“About what?”

“Ah. Then she
didn’t
tell Maarken.” He took another swallow of wine. “There’s to be a child in midwinter. Ianthe got what she wanted of me.”

Chay’s expressive face was immobile with shock. Rohan shrugged.

“Aren’t you going to ask how she managed it? The first time I thought she was Sioned. The second time—I raped her. I should have killed her. I didn’t. She timed it perfectly and now she’s carrying my child. Sioned says it will be a boy. Beyond that she doesn’t say much at all. She won’t talk to me, Chay, and I
can’t
talk to her, I can’t—”

“No more,” Chay whispered. “This can wait.”

“I have to talk to someone!”

Chay set his winecup down and rose, deliberately looming over Rohan. “You
have
an army awaiting your commands. You
have
an enemy across the river who wants you dead. Feel sorry for yourself some other time—when you
have
the time!”

Rohan knew he was being manipulated and part of him hated Chay for it. But this brother in all but blood was right—damn him. He saw the hard eyes watching for telltale changes in his face, and turned away. But even that movement was enough.

“That’s better,” Chay said, resuming his seat. “Now that you’re capable of thinking again, turn that mental maze of yours to this. I’ve given Roelstra ten days to get half his army across the bridges, and he hasn’t moved more than fifty men. We can withstand two more battles if we’re lucky—but that’s all. I wanted half his troops on this side to wipe them out and then I was going to cross and take care of the other half. But he’s not obliging me. If you have any suggestions, I’d like to hear them.”

Rohan nearly laughed. In camp only long enough to wet his throat, and Chay was asking him to make the kind of tactical decision he’d never been much good at anyway. He drank down the remains of the wine, got to his feet, and said, “I’m going for a walk. When I get back, I expect to see a bed waiting.”

“Have some dinner while you’re at it. The way you look now, you could hide behind your swordblade.”

“Is that what you think? That I want to hide?” he demanded.

A slight smile played around Chay’s mouth. “
Much
better. Now you’re a prince again.”

Urival watched long fingers drum impatiently on the table where a meal lay untouched. Candlelight picked out each gem in each ring as Andrade’s fingers lifted and fell in angry rhythm: ruby-agate-amethyst-sapphire on the left hand, emerald-topaz-garnet-diamond on the right. Both thumbs were flat on the polished wood, amber on one and moonstone on the other. On Andrade’s fingers were symbolized formidable attributes: luck in war, persuasiveness, nobility, truth, hope, intelligence, constancy, and cunning. But somehow Urival was more concerned with the two other stones, the ones that promised protection against danger and wisdom. They were sorely in need of both.

“Well? Is it merely the inactivity, or the inability to give them all orders?” he asked, deliberately provoking her.

“Would any of them listen? At least we’ll be spared the fine Lady Wisla from now on. Thoughtful of her to remove to River View.”

Urival nodded. The chamber in which they sat was Lord Davvi’s own at River Run, a tidy room unencumbered by his wife’s notions of elegance that burdened much of the rest of the keep. Lady Wisla had been faint with shock at receiving such august visitors, horrified by the revelation of Chiana’s identify, and only too glad to accept Urival’s private suggestion that she would find life much easier and safer at her late father’s keep of River View, five measures distant. Her absence freed them from her nervous whining and gave them a comfortable base of operations. The question, of course, was what sort of operations were possible. The
faradh’im
all knew where Andrade was—those not shut away from the light—and were constant in their reports. Andrade and Urival were close enough to observe both armies without strain, and far enough away to be undetected by Roelstra. If he decided to take Lord Davvi’s family hostage, they might find themselves in difficulties. But Roelstra had made no move toward River Run, probably surmising that Lady Wisla had long since departed. Urival, with the best charity in the world, could not discover a reason why any man would want to ransom such a wife.

Still, her household was efficient and she had left enough servants behind to cater to her guests’ needs. But lack of worry about ordinary matters here left too much time to think about the extraordinary events elsewhere.

“Still nothing from Sioned,” Urival said to himself.

“I can’t force her, thanks to the training
you
gave her,” Andrade snapped, fingers drumming faster now. “I need a Sunrunner at Stronghold, one I can trust to tell me what’s happening there.”

“And you no longer trust Sioned. That’s what you’re really saying. Andrade,
you
placed her where she is! Trained her, took her to Rohan already half in love with him, showed her to him so he was just as in love with her. You planned it, Andrade, and now you’re going to have to live with it.”

“You never let up, do you?” She paced in front of the windows, rings flashing as her ringers clenched and opened, clenched and opened. “How was I to know? What I foresaw and what’s turned out to be are so different. What should I have done?”

He shrugged. “Probably nothing at all.”

“Damn you, Urival, let me be!” she cried. “Don’t you know why I matched them in the first place?
Faradhi
princes would have ended all the petty quarrels—”

“You still don’t see it, do you?” He went to her, took her shoulders in his hands. “You always forget
people.
That’s what your new manner of princes will be. People with all the honor and vices and feelings the rest of us have. But you’ve never been very concerned with feelings, have you? Except when you can use them.” He frowned at the stubborn denial in her pale blue eyes. “Did you think you could use the children the way you used the parents?”

“Stop making me sound evil! I would have taught them, shaped them—”

“Made them tools for your ambition. What gives you the right, Andrade?”

“You want me to admit it?” she shouted, wrenching away from him. “Yes, I used them all, starting with my own sister and Zehava! I took the chance, hoping they’d produce a prince with the gifts. When they didn’t, I tried again with Sioned and Rohan.”

“Who next? Tobin’s sons? Andrade, you can’t
use
people that way—not and stay human yourself!”

“I loved them! I love Rohan and Sioned as if they were my own—and Tobin, and Chay, and their sons—” She leaned her shoulder against the smooth stone walls, arms wrapped tightly around herself. “I loved them too much. I wanted too much for them. And I hated Roelstra even more than I loved the others. Does that make me human enough, Urival?”

“I think there’s something you haven’t learned yet,” he responded softly. “There’s nothing you can do now. Whatever you’ve set in motion, whatever your reasons, you’ll have to wait it through—just like everyone else.”

He was astounded when tears glittered in her eyes. “Drive in the knife a little deeper, why don’t you? Am I bleeding enough yet?”