Dragon Prince 03 - Sunrunner's Fire (15 page)

They probably would have done what Chay and Tobin did with Maarken—told Andrade that if she wanted Whitecliff (his dowry while his father lived), she could come collect it lock, stock, and paddock.

But Andry had insisted on giving the whole of his fortune to Goddess Keep. He could have had almost any place he wanted in the Desert, a manor or castle and honors befitting the son of the Battle Commander and the grandson of a prince. But this keep was all he had ever wanted. Now it was his. And, thanks to him, wealthier and more populous than Andrade had ever dared hope.

And all of them looked to him for guidance. No one, not even those chosen for this demonstration, knew of his terrible vision and the dreams that haunted his sleep. Caution told him they must trust him for himself, not out of fright of a dreaded future. They must follow him because they believed in him, give him loyalty, dedicate themselves to him so that when he finally revealed his reasons, faith would conquer fear. They must be certain to their bones that he would teach them how to use their gifts against the coming battle and blood.

He could not glimpse his brother’s head in the crowd, and so looked for Hollis’ distinctive tawny hair. Where she was, Maarken would be. At last he located them by the well. He murmured to Torien, “Take my brother and his lady closer to the gates. I want them to have an unobstructed view.”

“Yes, my Lord.”

Andry drew in a deep breath and addressed his people. “Since
faradh’im
left Dorval to end the sorcerers’ control of the princedoms, we have been forbidden to use our gifts to kill. This is a wise law. Without it, we might have become hired assassins like the Merida, our honor the price of a wineskin—or worse.

“But in reading the scrolls left by Lady Merisel, who led the Sunrunners with her husband Lord Gerik and their friend Lord Rosseyn, I discovered something. They and their
faradh’im
went into battle alongside their allies—
and they used their gifts to protect.
”

He waited for this to sink in, then continued. “The concept of warrior
faradh’im
was as astonishing to me as I know it is to you. But the fact remains that they were. And it was only
after
the so-called Stoneburners had been defeated that the law was made forbidding us to kill with our gifts.”

Torien had reached Maarken by now, and was urging him politely toward the main gate. Andry ignored the little rustling they made through the crowd. He also did himself the favor of ignoring the many faces eloquent with suspicion that he was about to un-make that particular law.

“Lady Merisel was wise,” he said quietly. “We are so made as Sunrunners that we cannot conceive of causing death with our art. This is as it should be. We are here to work with and for the princedoms, not to terrorize them with our power as the
diarmadh’im
did.

“But I have come to believe that we must learn to do what our ancestors did. Not to kill in battle, but to protect. Many of you were at Goddess Keep in 704, when Lyell of Waes camped outside our gates—ostensibly to protect us against the war between Roelstra and Prince Rohan. You who were here remember how helpless you were against only fifty or sixty armed soldiers.

“You may rightly say that times are peaceful now, with no need for learning what I propose we learn. But consider the possible results of a single death: that of Prince Pol.”

Hollis’ dark golden head jerked up at that. He met her gaze calmly, knowing he need not spell it out in words of one syllable or less. But he explained it anyway. They had to understand. This was a thing dire enough to convince them, while leaving the real threat unrevealed. The prospect he detailed was real enough in any case, and frankly made him sick to his stomach.

“My cousin is heir to two princedoms, and to the High Prince. He is the
only
heir. He is a strong young man in excellent health—but so was Inoat of Ossetia, who died very suddenly with his only son, leaving Chale without an heir. Had there been no Princess Gemma to inherit Ossetia, war would have come—and in the very princedom Goddess Keep inhabits.

“My cousin’s life has been threatened before, by the Merida. I don’t need to number Roelstra’s grandchildren for you—enough to make life interesting, certainly, should the Merida or mere accident claim Pol’s life, Goddess keep it from happening. Which of Roelstra’s get have parents powerful enough to back a claim to Princemarch? Don’t remind me that their mothers signed away all right—what would that signify, with a princedom at stake?

“My brother Maarken would inherit the Desert, of course.” He nodded at the tall, composed man in their midst—Sunrunner, able warrior, Radzyn’s heir—and his heart gave a skip of sheer pride. There was no finer man alive. “But there would be war over Princemarch. We all know it.”

He paused again, gathering all his determination. “I don’t believe any of this will happen. But it could. And who can say what else might occur that none of us could ever d-dream of?” The stumble was almost unnoticeable; he had a sudden vision of Sorin’s worried eyes. “One day we may be called upon to defend ourselves. Quite frankly, I don’t intend to be trapped within Goddess Keep as Lady Andrade was. Beside this, it is unfortunate but true that my kinships excite the suspicions of certain princes. If war comes, for whatever reason, Goddess Keep is the first place they would attempt to capture. And how easy it would be to do it!”

Andry gestured to Nialdan. The tall Sunrunner stepped forward and with one lifted hand called a flame to a torch pole set just outside the open gates. A moment later the crowd was startled by the quiet thunder of hoofbeats. All eyes fixed on the forty riders, led by Oclel, galloping across the fallow fields. Andry knew what they were imagining: not men and women they knew, wielding blunted swords and cloth-wrapped arrows, but soldiers under enemy banners. He slipped down the inner stair, deliberately unobtrusive, but few marked his passage in any case. He nodded his satisfaction. Let them see danger, he thought; let them see their own helplessness.

Oclel raised his sword, and arrows thickened the sky. They thudded to the ground, hopelessly out of range. But the next volley hit the walls—away from the open gates, yet close enough to emphasize the threat. There were gasps, and a few cries of protest or outrage. Andry repressed a smile.

“What in all Hells do you think you’re doing?” demanded a familiar voice at his side, anger echoed in the strong grip on his arm.

“Hush,” Hollis murmured to her husband. “We’re about to find out, I think. Let him work, Maarken.”

Andry gave her a sharp glance, surprised that she knew his mind better than his own brother. He shook Maarken off and strode to the gates. Standing in the center of the wide gap, he lifted both arms. Jeweled rings and wristbands flared in the sunlight—and in the glow of a wall of Fire that sprang up fifty paces from the castle.

Nialdan was nearby, arms similarly raised, rugged features clenched with the strain of calling another barrier of Fire just this side of Andry’s. What no one but the two men knew was that whereas Nialdan worked with the sun, Andry had mastered the
diarmadhi
technique of constructing the wall without it.

The riders slowed when Fire appeared. Oclel bellowed an order and they abandoned their frenzied horses to approach on foot. Andry whispered a silent apology to his friend; Oclel had no idea what he was letting himself and his people in for.

Sunrunners approached Fire—and began to scream.

Andry silently counted to twenty, then lowered his arms. He spoke Nialdan’s name into the horrified stillness of the courtyard and the smaller Fire sputtered out. Oclel led his weak-kneed troop through the gates, pausing only to fling an order to the grooms to gather the horses.

“Sorry,” Nialdan muttered to Oclel, who gulped and shook his head.

Andry said nothing. The testimony of those who had felt the spell would be enough. He watched solemn-faced as furtive glances slid to him and then away.

The shaken “attackers” had recovered their voices. Andry listened to scraps of conversation and once more had to keep his lips from curving in a grim smile.

“—dragon-sized wolf with eyes of flame and claws bigger than my fingers—”

“—came right at me, I tell you—”

“—one of those rock lizards like the ones on Dorval, only with teeth—”

“Wolf? Lizard?
I
saw dragons, all black and breathing fire—”

“Dragons I’ll grant you, but blood-red, and dripping it from talons and jaws—”

“My Lord?”

Andry looked around. Oclel stood there, expressionless. A wave of sympathy nearly swamped Andry’s glee over how well his ploy had worked. “Rough, hmm?”

“Indescribable.”

“It had to be done this way the first time.”

“I understand, my Lord. May I tell the others that?”

“It should be common knowledge by dinner tonight.”

Oclel nodded. “As you wish. I think—”

What he thought would have to wait. Maarken strode up, coldly furious.

“Andry,” was all he said.

“In a moment, Maarken—”

Oclel bristled; no one spoke to the Lord of Goddess Keep in that tone, not even the Lord’s own brother. Andry gave brief consideration to asserting rank over a man who was, after all, a Sunrunner, then discarded the notion. He wanted understanding and cooperation, not resentment. And Maarken, though in general even-tempered and gently-spoken, was proud as a dragon—and the son of their fiery mother.

“Very well. Let’s go upstairs to the gatehouse. We can be private there.” He sent a caustic message with his eyes that acknowledged Maarken’s need to express his rage. A gaze like gray winter ice met his, and for the first time he wondered if he’d miscalculated.

Hollis followed them. She shut the door and leaned on it, trembling a little. Before Maarken could say anything she gave a choked gasp. “Andry! The wine—you didn’t—”

He went to the table and picked up the piece of folded parchment Sioned had given Andrade eight years earlier. “I did. And I’d like you to ask Pol if he’d send some more. This is the last.”

She flattened her spine against the door, eyes wide. “Don’t you understand? Don’t you know the risk?”

“Calm yourself,” he said, biting back impatience. “There’s no danger in small amounts, rarely taken. Besides, it’s necessary.”

Maarken’s voice was silk-soft now. “You can’t work a
diarmadhi
spell without it?”

“It works better with the added power. We’re not here to discuss
dranath.
”

“No.”

The brothers squared off with the table between them. Andry knew he should stay silent until he could judge what form Maarken’s fury would take, but he had to make him see, had to convince him.

“Everything I said was true. You know how helpless we’d be here if it came to war. I’m kin to the High Prince and his heir—and I’m the Lord of Radzyn’s son. Somebody like Miyon or Chiana or even Pimantal of Fessenden would know exactly how to paralyze you in the field with a threat to Goddess Keep.”

“Go on.”

Andry realized abruptly that he’d been wrong about Maarken’s anger. It wasn’t Tobin’s—volatile, incandescent. This was Chay at his cold, hard, implacable worst.

“We must be able to defend ourselves. Not just against the threats we can anticipate, but—” He broke off and eased his stance, taking his hands from the table and extending them palms up to his brother. “I’ve seen things, Maarken—”

“Oh, yes.” Dismissively. “Sorin says you have odd dreams.”

Andry felt his own temper begin to ignite. “Not just dreams—visions. Of a future that terrifies me. Maarken, you don’t have any idea of the blood—”

“I saw none today,” the older man said quietly. “What I saw was terror. And what I would have seen was madness, if that wall hadn’t collapsed.”

“That was the damned idea!” Andry exclaimed, frustrated. “The
ros’salath
doesn’t kill—not in this form, anyway—”

Hollis caught her breath. “
‘In this form’?
Andry, what have you done?”

“Broken more rules,” Maarken snapped. “Taken the traditions and laws of Goddess Keep and thrown them into the middens!”

He made a last try. “Andrade saw things. Sweet Goddess, Maarken, you and I
exist
because of what she saw—and what she did about it! I’m telling you that what I’ve seen is destruction you can’t imagine! I can’t let it happen—and the only weapon I have against it—”

“Is Sunrunners learning the ways of sorcerers! Why haven’t you said anything about these visions before, Andry? Why keep them such a secret? You have an uncle and a cousin who are princes with armies to command—why do you need an army of your own?”

“You mean the uncle who trusts me so much he sent his
faradhi
son to me for training? The cousin who sees me as a threat to his own Sunrunner powers? Is that who you’re talking about, Maarken?”

“Andry—” Hollis came forward, still trembling. “Andry, please, you don’t see what you’re doing. Will they trust you more when they learn of this?”

“I’ve seen death,” he snapped. “What’s more important, Hollis? Pol’s conceit or hundreds and hundreds of people? Rohan’s trust or R—” He choked off the name of his birthplace, the ravaged waste of it swirling in his mind.

Maarken slammed his hands flat on the table. “What’s more important, Andry—your might-be vision or the reality of Sunrunners learning how to kill?”

There would be no understanding. He had been a fool to expect it. His brother belonged to Rohan. To Pol.

Andry pulled his clenched fists in to his sides. “I ought to have known. You’re a Sunrunner, trained at Goddess Keep, owing duty to Goddess Keep—and to me. But you’re also an
athri,
loyal to your prince. One day they might not live so comfortably together within you. One day you might have to choose.”

The skin around those gray eyes tightened just a little, and he knew he’d struck home.