Dragon Prince 02 - The Star Scroll (54 page)

As she had done years ago when Rohan had been up on Pashta in the same race, Sioned swiftly wove a thin plait of sunlight and sent it after the riders—thanking the Goddess that the sunlight was on her face and she did not have to draw attention to herself by moving. As she watched the nine horses separate on their way to the wood, she had the distinct impression that someone else was observing on the sunlight as well. Maarken, perhaps, or Andry, anxious for their brother. Careful to keep her own weaving distinct and separate, she glided toward the cliffs, waiting for the riders to emerge from the trees.

Masul was in the lead, Sorin just behind, the others trailing by at least two lengths. Joscenel was a streak of pale gold against the dark gravelly ground. Sorin rode close to his horse’s neck, so much in harmony with the stallion that every stride seemed to find response in the ripple of muscle beneath Sorin’s shirt. Sioned had never seen anyone ride this way, not even Chaynal, who was the best rider in living memory. Chay sat his horses with easy authority; Sorin became one with his mount.

Masul approached the sharp, dangerous turn at the cliff with rocks flying from beneath his bay’s white-feathered hooves. He had to haul the animal’s head cruelly around to avoid plunging over into the sea. Sorin judged the angle better, slowing Joscenel for an easier turn, and made up ground as Masul’s outraged horse faltered, nearly stumbling, before finding his stride again.

Behind them, one of Velden’s riders miscalculated and his terrified horse pulled up short, skidding to a halt on his haunches a man-length from the cliff edge. His rider went flying and vanished over the jagged rocks. The horse, trembling all over, limped away.

Sioned did not wait to see if the rest negotiated the turn safely. She raced back on the sunlight and saw Rohan and Tobin staring at her, only now realizing she had not been entirely with them.

“A rider went over the cliff,” she said. “One of Velden’s. He needs help—if he’s still alive.”

Rohan nodded curtly and left them, shouldering his way down to the track. Sioned felt Tobin cling to her hand, but had no time to reassure her. She rethreaded the sunlight and sped along it, hoping to catch Sorin and Masul as they emerged once more from the wood.

But the two horses were even faster than she’d thought. Both were well away from the trees. Masul’s stallion was lathered, ears laid flat, teeth bared; only his rider’s iron grip kept him from giving in to deeper instinct and turning to attack. Blood welled along the bay’s hindquarters where the golden stallion had evidently gotten in a vicious bite. Sioned was astounded that the two warhorses still obeyed their riders.

Sorin was pressed even more tightly to his horse’s neck now, his shirt cut to ribbons by low branches in the wood. His gloved hands held the reins almost at the bit. For three strides the pair hurtled along neck and neck, and then Joscenel began to pull ahead.

Suddenly Fire blossomed before them to the right, directly in Sorin’s path. His horse swerved madly, eyes showing white with terror. Joscenel plowed into Masul’s bay and the big horse stumbled. Recovering in a stride, they still ran so close together that sparks struck by iron-shod hooves on stone flew up simultaneously. Sioned saw the prong end of Masul’s whip flash, and Sorin’s back arched as steel cut into his shoulder. Joscenel struggled to maintain his balance as the young man lurched in the saddle. Masul kept his bay stallion right beside Sorin, riding for the edge of the Fire, forcing Joscenel directly into the chest-high flames.

Sorin righted himself and signaled his horse. Muscle bunched beneath the sweat-darkened hide and Joscenel soared over the Fire, landing a long stride beyond it with his belly singed and his white saddle blanket smoldering. The flames vanished, leaving a thin blackened line in the dirt that was quickly obliterated by the hooves of six other horses.

Sioned gave a violent shudder as she slid back down the sunlight. Staggering to her feet, her vision cleared just in time for her to see the two stallions thunder onto the track toward the first jump. Masul used his whip on his stallion, the shine of the silver prong sullied now with blood. The first jump was cleared, and the second. Sorin was on his heels by the third. One of Lord Kolya’s horses foundered after the first obstacle, his thrown rider rolling quickly out of the way. Nobody seemed to notice.

Had Tobin’s fingers been knives, they would have sliced Sioned’s arm to the bone. Someone cried out in the silence, echoed by another shout from the commoners’ stands, and sound rippled through the crowd—not cheers of encouragement but release of unbearable tension. Sioned heard a low moan claw up from Tobin’s throat, knowing that the princess’ control was nearly gone.

Bay stallion and golden stallion cleared the last jump together. The former’s ribs and mouth were coated with blood-red foam; still the whip dug into his sides. Under its assault he used up the last of his great heart and crossed the finish-half a stride in the lead.

Tobin dragged Sioned down through the crowd to the railings, and Sioned finally succeeded in getting in front of her tiny sister-by-marriage to protect her from the wildly screaming throng.

“Make way!” she shouted. “Let me pass! Make way for the High Princess!”

“Sioned!” came a familiar bellow. “Over here!”

She shouldered her way to Ostvel, gripping Tobin’s hand. He was at the rails, keeping a place clear for them to duck through. “Get everyone to the paddock, quick, or there’ll be trouble. Chay’s got murder on his face.”

“Can you blame him?” Tobin snapped before climbing through the rails.

Rohan was already on the track, waiting for Sorin to canter his blown and trembling stallion back to calm. He grasped his sister by the shoulders when she would have hurried to her son. “No! You’ll get trampled. Tobin, stay here.”

“I’ll pull that lying bastard off his horse and feed him to the dragons!” she hissed. “Let me go!”

He bore with her struggles for a moment, then rapped out, “Stop it! Do you want everyone to see you?”

It was not something that would have mattered to Sioned, but Tobin, born and bred to princely station, had been trained to present a certain face to the outside world. She shook her brother off and smoothed back her hair. “No need to rattle my bones loose,” she said acidly.

Rightly interpreting this as a sign of recovery, Rohan nodded. Sorin was riding closer now, and Sioned feared for a moment that Tobin would explode anew. She could tell the difference between marks left by slashing branches and the torn and bloodied shoulder caused by the lash of a whip. But though rage burned even hotter in her long-lidded eyes, she said nothing.

Sioned felt someone pluck at her sleeve, and looked around. Alasen stood at her side, ashen-faced. “Is Sorin all right?” the girl whispered, and Sioned recalled that the two had grown up together at Volog’s court.

“He’ll be fine, with only a scar to show for his trouble.”

Sorin rode up then, Joscenel having settled down. He gave Alasen a tight smile. “I’m not hurt, Allie. Just get me the hell out of here before I kill that pig. I don’t trust myself nearer to him than a measure.”

“You
or
your father,” Rohan said mildly, though his eyes flashed. “But I see no need to insult pigs, Sorin. They’re certainly much better bred than Masul. Let’s get your horse to the paddock and cared for, shall we?”

Tobin turned on him with a look of furious betrayal, still wanting nothing more than to confront Masul with what he had done. But she obeyed Sioned’s warning look and took Joscenel’s bridle in one shaking hand. “Let’s get out of here,” she muttered, leading them to where Ostvel had waylaid the livid Chaynal.

Rohan was looking at Alasen. “With those green eyes, there’s only one person you could be. Princess, would you be so kind as to stay here and watch certain people for me?”

She understood instantly. “Of course, your grace. It’ll be a real pleasure.”

Sorin gave a short laugh over his shoulder. “Go flirt with Masul. He’ll be so dazzled he won’t see that what you really want is to scratch his eyes out.”

“If I decided to soil my hands by touching him, I’d aim a good deal lower down,” she retorted, and set off toward the group clustered around the victor.

Rohan blinked in startlement, then grinned, and then scowled as Chay finally eluded Ostvel and stormed up. “Not here,” he ordered sharply before Chay could do more than open his mouth. “This horse needs attention.”

Chay turned scarlet and for a moment Sioned thought he would defy Rohan. But then he swallowed hard, nodding.

“Just as you say, my prince.” He ran his fingers gently over the stallion’s singed belly and legs, then met his son’s gaze. “You’ll have to explain this. I trust you
can.
”

“Not here,” Rohan repeated, and they started for the paddocks.

They were joined along the way by Pol, Maarken, and Andry. Sioned searched the brothers’ faces, but saw only anger. Unable to convince herself that it had been one of them she had sensed on the sunlight, she drew Maarken to her with a glance.

“Did you watch the race?” she whispered. “By
faradhi
means?” When he looked surprised and shook his head, she called Andry over and received the same answer.

“Did
you?
” Maarken demanded. “What did you see?”

“I want to talk to Sorin first.”

She appropriated him from his father once they had reached the paddock. Rohan distracted Chay by asking what treatment they would give the injured horse, and they led Joscenel away. Sorin submitted to his mother’s inspection of his back and shoulder, wincing as she cleaned the scrapes with fresh water brought by a groom. As Tobin worked, Sioned glanced at Ostvel. He nodded and led the unwilling Pol off to help Riyan get ready for the next race.

“Sorin,” she said at last, “tell me exactly what happened from your point of view.”

He was seated on an overturned bucket as his mother dressed his wounds. He regarded Sioned thoughtfully, blue eyes narrowing beneath the untidy shock of brown hair. After a moment he nodded. “
My
point of view means you had one as well. I should’ve guessed. It was a clean ride until we got out of the wood on the way back. All at once flames shot up in front of me. Joscenel was startled and slammed into Masul’s horse. That’s when he got me with his whip.”

“Andry,” Tobin said through gritted teeth, “make a bandage from what’s left of Sorin’s shirt.”

Red and white silk ripped as Sorin went on, “Masul went around the Fire, but I had to jump right over it. The bastard maneuvered me right into it. That’s how Joscenel was burned. Then I just kept riding—and lost, damn it to all hells!”

“It could have been your life you lost,” Maarken said. Then, with an effort at easing the grimness, he added, “Or your looks, if he’d laid your face open with that whip.”

“Fire,” Andry murmured, holding the makeshift bandage to his twin’s shoulder while Tobin tied it. “Sunrunner’s Fire?”

Sioned nodded. “That’s why I asked if you or Maarken had been watching. I felt someone else. If it wasn’t either of you—”

Tobin looked up, her voice dangerously soft. “Do you mean
faradhi,
one of our own, is responsible for this?”

Andry held Sioned’s gaze as he answered his mother. “We aren’t the only ones who can call Fire. It you don’t need me, Mother, then I’d better go tell Andrade about this.”

“I’ll go with you,” Maarken said. “Sorin, not a word to anyone.”

He nodded unhappily. “But you’d better explain this to me, Andry.”

“I’m just glad you’re still here to explain it to,” his twin replied, and left with Maarken.

“And just what is it that needs explaining—and to
me,
I might add?” Tobin demanded.

“Whatever it is,” Sorin said as he got to his feet, “we can’t talk about it now. Look.” He nodded to the new arrivals in the paddocks: Lyell, Kiele, and Masul, the latter leading his exhausted stallion. “If Father safely occupied?”

“Yes. And I’m leaving,” Tobin said. “Sioned, deal with them. I don’t trust myself.” She turned on her heel and stalked off, a deliberate snub to those now approaching.

“Follow my lead,” Sioned whispered, and Sorin frowned. “I mean it. You already know they’re dangerous. Let me handle this.”

Kiele got to them first, polite concern the thinnest of masks over her triumphant excitement. “Your grace—my lord, what a relief to find you unhurt! How is your horse?”

“Recovering,” Sioned observed, “as that one obviously needs to do. Lord Lyell, should you not be seeing to the comfort of your horse?”

“How did you know he’s mine?” Lyell asked, then tacked on a hasty, “—your grace.”

“Your colors edge his saddle blanket—and this young man can hardly possess the funds to purchase such an animal.” Nor does he know how to treat his prize, her eyes added as she gestured to the stallion’s hanging head, the blood at ribs and mouth.

“An excellent race, my lord,” Masul told Sorin with a condescending smile.

Sorin nodded curtly. “Interesting, certainly.”

Masul turned to Lyell. “You ought to take the High Princess’ suggestion and see to the horse. I’m sure you’ll want to go with him, sweet sister.”

Kiele’s smile was strained around the edges, her eyes hinting at harsh words for Masul later on for commanding them like common servants. But she turned the moment to advantage by saying, “Of course. We’ll meet you back at the royal enclosure for the final contests, your grace.”

A corner of Sioned’s mouth lifted in a mocking smile as Kiele gave Masul the title he did not merit, but she said nothing as Kiele and Lyell led the horse away. Masul was direct about his attack, as she had expected; if nothing else, his lack of subtlety marked him as someone else’s son, not Roelstra’s.

“I thought you might like to know, Lord Sorin,” he said, “that I have no intention of filing a complaint for what happened on the course.”