Stronghold Read online

  He was right. With Sioned at his side and Isriam attending them—one could only hope he would learn something—Rohan listened as the Gribains presented their prince’s views. The problem outlined to him was a reminder that whatever he had accomplished by way of codifying laws, he hadn’t thought of everything. Not by any means.

  The difficulty was one of inheritance. An Ossetian younger brother had married the heiress of a neighboring athri in Grib. It was agreed all around that the young man would forswear his allegiance to Prince Tilal and commit himself instead to Prince Velden. The athri had died this spring and the daughter and her husband had inherited. But the elder brother had recently suffered a serious head injury; he recognized no one and was subject to intermittent fits of violence. His heartbroken brother had reluctantly ordered him confined for his own safety and that of his people.

  With the elder brother incapable of rule, the younger was the heir. But this would leave the young man with two holdings in two different princedoms—with two sets of loyalties. Should the lands be combined under one princedom? If so, which? Should they be kept separate against the day when sons would be born to take one holding each? Or should the man inherit only his own father’s land, with the Gribain holding reverting to Prince Velden and being bestowed at his pleasure to someone else?

  Tilal sent no emissary; nor had he come to Stronghold from Dragon’s Rest, where he and his wife Gemma lingered to see their daughter Sioneva settled in for a long visit. Tilal had merely conveyed to Sioned through Pol that whatever was decided would be fine with him. Rohan thanked the Goddess for providing him with at least one prince who trusted him completely. Of course, Tilal was Sioned’s nephew and had been Rohan’s squire. His faith in the High Prince was a very personal thing, not to be confused with the sometimes wary acquiescence of others.

  Fifty years ago, the two princedoms would have mustered armies by now and tested each other’s commitment through a few skirmishes, consulting the High Prince only if neither force left the field—and the holding—to the other. Roelstra would have been called on to stop a war already half begun. This time no one had even considered battle. Rohan was being asked to settle a difficulty of law. But he did not congratulate himself yet on the happy progress of civilization. If the High Prince’s Writ could not provide a satisfactory solution, things could still degenerate into open conflict.

  Still, at least they were talking about it instead of fighting. However often he accused himself of throwing words at a problem until it collapsed under their sheer weight, he was always reminded of something Chay had told him long ago: that those words were his armies, fighting battles without bloodshed, more effective than any swords or arrows. Rohan supposed this was true; he felt like a battleground often enough.

  As anticipated, Velden wanted the property to revert to himself. This was couched in much flowery sympathy for the family and regret for not continuing a holding in the line that had held it so long. But the meaning was plain: Velden wanted those valuable square measures, and he intended Rohan to take his side.

  “We thank you for your statements,” Rohan said when they were finished. “We will, of course, consider them very carefully.”

  Sioned coughed to hide what he knew was amusement at a speech she had heard a million times. Then she said, “I gather there is no objection to the young man’s qualifications?”

  “None, your grace,” Eschur said. “He is honest, capable, and well-liked.”

  “I’m glad to hear it,” she replied warmly. “We must be careful that no insult is implied to his abilities. No matter what is decided, he will still be an athri and conscious of his honor as such.” She paused, frowning slightly. “If our cousin of Grib did have the giving of this holding, who do you think it would go to, Master Eschur? Just to satisfy my curiosity, you understand.”

  Rohan wondered what she knew, or thought she knew. Eschur’s wolfish eyes narrowed in a flash of some powerful emotion and a corner of his mouth twitched downward. He said, “I am not sufficiently in Prince Velden’s confidence to know, your grace.”

  Sioned smiled in sweet sympathy. “Ah, yes, we princes must have our little secrets, mustn’t we? How irritating it must be sometimes!”

  “The ways of princes, your grace, are not to be questioned by mere common folk like myself.”

  A proper answer, delivered with the proper humility, but the whole byplay told Rohan what Sioned had guessed: Eschur himself coveted the holding and the title that went with it. Crafty of Velden, sending a man who wanted the lands to argue for them. If he gained them for his prince, they would be his reward.

  But Master Eschur had something else to say. “His grace has, however, instructed me to make known to your royal highnesses that he would appreciate a consultation with Lord Andry.”

  Rohan kept startlement from his face. “To what purpose?”

  “It is said that certain powerful faradh’im can see the future in a flame. Prince Velden considers that this might be a useful—” Eschur’s yellow gaze strayed to Sioned: a mistake. The look in her eyes deprived him of the power of speech.

  She asked very softly, “And did Lord Andry volunteer his personal services for this little experiment in oracle reading? Or will any Sunrunner do?”

  He swallowed hard, rallied, and managed, “Lord Andry reacted favorably to the suggestion. I meant no offense, your grace.”

  “We know precisely what you meant.”

  There were levels to Sioned’s rage; Rohan had rarely seen this one. Tobin vented her wrath with the same vehemence whatever the weight of the matter. Sioned’s responses varied—and in her green eyes now was the lethal fury that paralyzed its object the way legend said a dragon’s gaze turned men to stone.

  “Convenient to have a fortune-teller ready to hand, isn’t it?” she said in that same silken voice. Extending both her hands, the single great emerald flashing in bright candlelight, she added, “But perhaps we do not meet the current standard. Do you think our lack of Sunrunner’s rings disqualifies us?”

  That lack had caused many to forget what Sioned truly was: Sunrunner as well as High Princess. Eschur’s face turned white. “Your g-grace, I—”

  “Or perhaps,” Sioned went on inexorably, “our training at Goddess Keep under Lady Andrade was so long ago that we are not fully conversant with the rituals now considered necessary by Lord Andry.”

  Eschur gulped again and flung a look of appeal at Rohan.

  “We suggest you withdraw your proposal,” the High Prince said mildly.

  After several tries he stammered out, “I—I will so inform Prince Velden.” He and his companion departed the Summer Room with indecent haste.

  Rohan gestured to the slack-jawed Isriam. Sioned saw it and snapped, “I don’t need any wine. I need a few moments in private with the Prince of Goddess Keep!”

  “Drink it anyway.” When Isriam had provided full goblets for them both, Rohan waited until Sioned had downed a good half of hers and was seething in silence before saying, “I understand how you feel.”

  “No, you don’t,” she stated flatly. “You’re not a Sunrunner.”

  Aware that they ought not discuss this around Isriam, he turned from her and beckoned the squire forward. “Well? What do you think?” he asked.

  “Me, my lord?” Isriam turned red and stared.

  “You, my lord,” Rohan replied, wishing the boy would cease his imitation of an astonished lobster, all red face and blinking eyes. “You heard Master Eschur explain the problem. You know the circumstances. What is your opinion?” Isriam continued to gape, and Rohan sighed. Goddess help Einar if her future ruler didn’t learn to see people with his mind as well as his eyes.

  Sioned had made the effort and recovered her balance by now. She entered into a conversation designed to instruct the squire in statecraft—as well as to clarify the available options. Rohan’s other purpose was to distract her from her anger; that she knew it was clear in the glance she gave him before asking, “What do you thin
k of Prince Velden’s claim, Isriam?”

  “It sounds valid, my lady,” he ventured.

  “It does indeed. Did you draw any conclusions from Master Eschur’s reply when I asked about who might receive the holding?”

  Isriam’s brow furrowed. At length he said, “I—I’m not sure, my lady. But I think perhaps he knows who wants it, even if he doesn’t know who’ll get it.”

  “Absolutely true. He does know who wants it. And so do I.”

  “Really? Who?”

  “He does. Think about it. If you had a case to present to the High Prince, who would you send to do it? Who would argue most strongly?”

  Isriam considered with an even mightier frown. Then sunlight broke across his face. “Master Eschur himself!”

  Rohan felt like applauding. Instead he drawled, “If you two are finished being brilliant . . . .”

  “Isriam and I are doing very nicely without you. Run away and play while we solve all your problems.”

  Emboldened by his success, Isriam actually grinned. Rohan chuckled; there might be hope for the boy after all.

  “All right, then,” he said, “consider this. The two holdings lie on the coast and command a nice little harbor. The only reason no substantial town has grown up there before is that the place is held by two princes, not one. They do a minor shipping business, but most goods go to port at Waes—or Einar.” He let Isriam ruminate on this for a moment, and saw the dark eyes go wide. Sioned gave him a disgusted look that told him he was being unfair.

  “My father wouldn’t half like it if the two combined and a port was built,” Isriam said worriedly.

  “No, he wouldn’t. But I’m not Lord of Einar, I’m High Prince. More and easier trade is always profitable and therefore desirable. It’s part of my duty to foster such. So again I ask: what would you recommend?”

  The boy looked miserably unhappy. “My lord . . . I don’t think I’m able to say. I am my father’s son.”

  Sioned took pity on him. “Isriam, that is exactly the right answer for you to give. It’s not your decision and you’re correct to remind his grace of that. As an athri, your duty is to look to your own interests first and foremost.”

  Isriam’s brows knotted over his nose. “But—but still I have to think about what might happen to everyone else.”

  Rohan was pleased. “That’s very wise of you. You’re fortunate. You can consider possibilities and choose the most personally advantageous with a clear conscience. I have to pick what’s best for everyone.”

  Sioned added in dry tones, “His grace’s conscience does not bear close scrutiny, Isriam.”

  A tentative smile curved the squire’s mouth, and Rohan laughed softly. “Which is why I’m going to delay a decision for a few days.”

  Shaking her head, Sioned confided, “He’s a cruel man. After a few days in this heat the Gribains will agree to anything he says, just to go home!”

  Rohan dismissed the squire for the night and took his wife for a stroll in the gardens. The moons were down and the sky was alive with stars, their silvery light almost bright enough to read by.

  “You handled Isriam very nicely,” Rohan commented.

  “You certainly didn’t,” she scolded. “He’s not like Daniv or any of your other squires. He needs to be led—gently enough so his pride isn’t hurt, but firmly enough so he understands. He’s not unintelligent. Just young and shy.”

  They came to his mother’s fountain, which trickled feebly as it always did at this time of year. When rain came to the northern hills and flowed down to swell the spring that was Stronghold’s life, the water would again play as Milar had intended, a joyous patter dancing to the rhythm of the wind.

  Sioned bent to rinse her hands in the pool, then straightened. “You weren’t very subtle about diverting me from things too dangerous for Isriam to know,” she accused.

  “He didn’t notice. I knew you would. I save subtlety for those who need or earn it.” Seating himself on the fountain’s tiled rim, he went on, “Not that you spared Eschur your talons, my love.”

  She shrugged irritably. “You can’t understand,” she repeated. “You’re not a Sunrunner.”

  “You’re right, I’m not. But I am the High Prince. I don’t like Andry’s interference any more than you do.”

  She paced the summer-sere grass. “Prince I called him, and prince he’s trying to become—in function if not title. Prince of Concocted Mysteries! I would never have believed it of a son of Tobin and Chay!”

  “Andrade had the making of the Sunrunner he became,” he reminded her. “Just like you.”

  Sioned rounded on him. “And I took to princely rule like a sorcerer to dranath, is that it?”

  “Partly. I think Lady Merisel had the right idea long ago—strongly discouraging trained Sunrunners from marrying princes or athr’im.”

  “I wasn’t the first.”

  “No. But your grandmother Siona was.”

  “That only gave Andrade the idea. You were the great experiment.”

  “One that failed,” he said lightly.

  “This is different, Rohan. Andrade’s ambitions were for you, not for herself. And whatever your disagreements with her—caused mostly by me—” She held up a hand to stop his interruption. “By me,” she repeated. “I’m the one who defied her by becoming a princess first and a Sunrunner second. But you and she were always working toward the same thing. The power of the High Prince working together with the power of a faradhi. Andry, on the other hand, is ambitious for himself.”

  “It infuriates you, doesn’t it?” he asked softly. “All the ceremony. The ritual.”

  “Andrade would have cut the rings from her fingers before she’d countenance half of what he’s done ‘in the Name of the Goddess.’”

  Rohan stood and put his arm around her waist. He drew her along the paths to the grotto, speaking only when they stood beside the thin waterfall. “There isn’t a way to stop him. All we can do is live with it and hope most people have more sense than to believe in superstition.”

  She kicked a loose rock into the pond. “He knows what’s seen in Fire and Water isn’t the destiny of princedoms, it’s personal. And it’s only what might be. Andrade always said that the future isn’t carved in stone—and even if it were, stone can be broken.”

  “If it were a truly reliable skill, it would have become widespread long before this. This is the first time Andry’s suggested it. I think he knew all along that he wouldn’t have to do it. He just wanted to give the impression that he could.”

  “That makes it even worse.”

  He should have known what she would do next, but still was startled when a trickle of Fire crossed the pond, brilliant with color and sternly controlled. He had learned over the years to recognize the elusive response of his own faradhi blood when she worked this way; it was a fragile quiver deep within him, something he could never touch, never use.

  She conjured what she had shown him a very long time ago, when they’d both been young and untried, when they’d felt the Fire but were unable to trust that it wouldn’t burn their hearts to ashes. Two faces appeared in Fire and Water, poignantly young and solemn, foreheads circled by thin gold crowns like living flame.

  “I saw this first when I was barely sixteen,” Sioned murmured. “It’s what I’ve seen all my life.”

  “You are my life,” he replied simply.

  She rested her head on his shoulder and allowed the vision to fade. “Were we ever that young?”

  “I thought we’d already agreed that we’re both elderly and decrepit.” He held her closer, burying his lips in her hair.

  “Oh, yes . . . I’d forgotten.”

  “So,” he said, “had I.”

  Chapter Two

  To the Sunrunners standing on the battlements of Goddess Keep, the ocean was as vast a wilderness as the Desert, and more threatening. They could at least retain their wits if forced to traverse the Long Sand; setting sail across Water meant incapacitating sick
ness which, though it wouldn’t kill them, would surely make them wish they were dead. A faradhi on water was as helpless as a dragon without wings. Andry sometimes wondered how Lady Merisel had convinced her people to leave Dorval for the continent.

  And why had they come here, of all places? he asked himself as Valeda chanted the day’s end. Goddess Keep had several advantages—rich farmland that made it self-sufficient, comforting isolation, a defensible approach on one side and forbidding cliffs on the other, no mountains to block the sunlight, and a far southwesterly location that gave it a maximum-length day even in winter. But rain and thick fog walled up the castle every year, rendering the light of sun and moons inaccessible. Was this the best Merisel could find? Or had there been some unknown but compelling reason to build here?

  He chided himself for letting his attention stray from the ritual. He’d already missed half of it; Torien’s deep voice, representing Earth, alternated now with his wife Jolan’s ringing words as she personified Fire. The two aspects of the Goddess were thus invoked—male and female, Earth and Fire. Deniker then took over the male’s part, speaking for that aspect of the Storm God that was Air. Ulwis assumed the voice of Water, sweetly melodic as a mountain stream as she recited the counterpoint to her husband’s words. Andry let the chant wash over him. Not the best poetry, but adequate to the purpose. It got the idea across.

  All four voices invoked protection over the times between sunset and moonrise, moonset and sunrise, when there was no light for a faradhi to use. Andry found the cadences more powerful in the old language, with its terse nouns and spare verbs. But the majority of faradh’im knew little of it, so perforce the rituals were in modern speech. He often wondered why Merisel had forbidden the use of the continent’s original language. And how had she managed to all but obliterate it, except for remote places in the northern princedoms, in a mere few hundred years? It was the language of sorcery, and that might have been the reason for her adamant eradication. Andry suspected, though, that she had decided to emphasize the establishment of a new order of things by establishing another tongue. But on this, as on many other things, her histories were frustratingly silent.