Edrel nodded. "Very good, my lord." His tentative responding smile suddenly widened into a grin. "You should have seen their faces when you were Sunrunning!"

Pol choked on laughter, but not over the astonishment of the Giladans. "Edrel! If you're not careful, you're going to develop a sense of humor."

"Oh, I hope not, my lord." The young face raised to his was the portrait of earnest gravity-but the eyes held a dancing glint that made Pol laugh anew.

The household organized by Rialt for Pol's comfort and convenience went into smooth, efficient action as his orders were made known. By sunset six horses carrying Pol, Rialt, three guards, and Edrel-who had won his point-were cantering toward the narrow northern pa.s.s out of the valley. At moonrise, when a confused and then horrified Riyan located Pol, the group was twenty measures from Dragon's Rest.

But you can't come to Elktrap! That's exactly what this dragon killer wants!

Will you relax? And don't you dare go looking for him without me. Tell Sorin it's my order that he stay put. You can leave if you want, of course-you're my father's va.s.sal, not mine. But Feruche- -is technically part of Princemarch, and you know d.a.m.ned well I won't leave without Sorin. That's a nasty trick to play on a friend, Pol.

But necessary. I know both of you too well.

He smiled as Riyan slid along skeins of moonlight back to Elktrap without more than a mental grunt in reply. And it occurred to him as he rode through a spring night bright with moons and stars that he was, like his father and grandfather before him, finally going to go dragon hunting. Because where a dragon was, this slayer of dragons would be.

Chapter Ten.

Elktrap Manor: 5 Spring.

The trail to Elktrap was a fairly direct one, and they made good time. But after several steep climbs and nerve-shredding descents through the Veresch, Pol was looking forward to a rest. He didn't even have to enter Elktrap to receive welcome; a lovely young woman was waiting outside the gates with a wine cup of a size that sent a flush of relaxation through his muscles just looking at it. Reining in, he smiled gratefully down at her as she bowed low. Straightening, she lifted the cup.

"Be you welcome to Elktrap Manor, and rest within," she said in the ritual formula of mountain folk.

"Lady Ruala," he said, identifying her by the black braids and green eyes that her grandfather, proud of her beauty, had described in great detail at a va.s.sals' conclave last year. "How did you know this is just what I need?"

She smiled back. "I know these mountains, your grace. Every traveler who comes through here is in need of a strong draught of wine."

He took a long swallow, sighed with pleasure at the fine vintage, and gave the cup back to her. "With this and your smile to refresh me, my lady, I've almost forgotten that last pa.s.s. Whoever named it Tumblewall knew exactly what he was talking about."

Ruala chuckled and went to offer wine to Rialt, Edrel, and the three guards, repeating the traditional words of welcome to each. Pol hid a grin as Rialt's gaze widened slightly; she was indeed very beautiful, with the slim, quick figure of a girl and the graceful poise of a woman. The combination of black hair, white skin, and l.u.s.trous dark green eyes was enough to make any man look thrice. Add a tip-tilted nose, a charming smile, and that indefinable something something about a woman of breeding and intelligence who knows her worth, and Lady Ruala of Elktrap was a formidable creature. about a woman of breeding and intelligence who knows her worth, and Lady Ruala of Elktrap was a formidable creature.

Once inside the gates, their horses were taken by grooms. Riyan, Sorin, and Lord Garic descended the short steps of the manor house, the latter giving him warm welcome. The former two still looked slightly disgruntled. Pol grinned at his friends.

"Oh, stop glowering. I'm here and you're stuck with me. And I've been thinking about how best to trap this dragon killer. Riyan, you and I can weave sunlight and go looking from here, after you give me the picture of him you got from the dragon."

"As you wish, my lord."

"And stop being so formal-I already know you disapprove of my being here." He turned to Garic as they entered the wide downstairs hall that seemed entirely carved of dark-stained pine. "And that reminds me, I'd be honored if you and your granddaughter would call me by my name."

"The honor is ours. Although I'm afraid our folk will bow and stare quite devotedly." The old man chuckled. "They've never served a prince before."

Rialt laughed as they started up the stairs. "The easiest way to rattle his grace here is to bow to him fifty times a day. It keeps him humble."

Ruala sent him a gentle frown of puzzlement. "I don't understand."

For a moment the chamberlain looked as if he'd wink at her. "He's just like his father, my lady-treating him like a prince is the best way to remind him he's only a man like the rest of us."

Pol made a face. "Thank you for sharing that piece of wisdom with us, Rialt. My lady, you see what I have to endure in my own palace." He hesitated on a landing, catching sight of the group in a magnificent old mirror. It wasn't himself he stared at, but Ruala-the dark-gold sheen cast onto her skin, the misted secrets in her eyes. G.o.ddess, she was beautiful- She smiled at him in the mirror. "Startling, isn't it?"

He nodded helplessly, and with an effort shifted his eyes to the frame. "Exquisite work."

"The craft is a lost one, more's the pity," Garic said. "They used some combination of metals we don't know how to make anymore. The gla.s.s seems to be special, too."

"Isn't there one at Skybowl like this, Riyan?" Pol asked.

"It belonged to my mother. I've no idea where she got it or how old it is."

"Very, if it's similar to this one." Garic asked casually, "I believe your mother was Fironese?"

"Mm-hmm." The young man traced a section of knotwork with a careful finger. "When I was little, I had the feeling sometimes that somebody was watching me from inside the mirror." He looked around, embarra.s.sed, and shrugged.

"They're all like that," Ruala said, exchanging a quick glance with her grandfather that Riyan missed and Pol did not. "My sister and I used to try to sneak past this one so it wouldn't see us!"

"All?" Sorin inquired. "How many more are there?"

"We have this one, and four small hand mirrors. And another one almost this size, but the gla.s.s cracked about ten winters ago and the replacement doesn't feel the same at all." She started up the next series of steps.

"Andry's interested in mirrors," Sorin remarked as the men followed her. "The way Rohan is fascinated by things like water clocks."

"Is he?" said Lord Garic politely, then let the subject drop by saying, "I think you'll find this a pleasant chamber, my lord. Ruala, did you have them bring up the mossberry wine?"

"Allow me, my lady," Rialt said, going to the table to serve the highborns.

Pol relaxed in a soft chair and nodded thanks to his chamberlain for the wine. "Beautiful tapestries. Giladan, aren't they? Riyan, I want to hear all about touching that dragon-later. For now, tell me everything that happened from the time you found him."

Between them they made quick work of the tale, and Riyan finished with, "I've already tried to find him on sunlight. No luck. But now that you're here, there'll be two of us working. He can't be more than three or four days' ride in any direction, but that's still a lot of territory to cover."

"Our people have been instructed to keep their eyes open," Ruala offered.

Pol nodded his thanks. "Excellent. But I don't think it will take very long to discover this man's whereabouts. All we have to do is look for dragons."

Sorin made an annoyed gesture. "Father's always telling me not to be more stupid than the G.o.ddess intended! Why didn't I think of that? Of course course he'll go after another dragon!" he'll go after another dragon!"

"Of course," Riyan echoed. "I just hope that when he does, we won't be too far behind him. I don't want to see another one dead, Pol. You can't imagine the horror of what he did to the poor beast."

"Show me," Pol said simply.

Riyan hesitated, then rose from his chair and fetched a fat white candle from the sideboard. Wrapping the fingers of both hands around it, he called Fire to the wick. Ruala blinked; Garic showed no reaction at all. The little flame flickered, steadied, rose to five times the height of a normal flame, and expanded to encompa.s.s the conjuring Riyan created within it.

Some moments later Pol was aware that there was blood in his mouth; he had bitten the inside of his upper lip. He forced himself to think clearly, to calm his sick fury at what had been done to the dragon. "Show me the man's face as the dragon saw it."

The arrogant, clever, handsome face appeared, blue eyes laughing above the violet clothes. Pol felt hate twist his vitals. He banished that emotion, too, and tried to read that face while committing it to memory. There was something familiar about it, but nothing he recognized as coming from a particular region or a specific highborn lineage.

Fironese heritage like Riyan's-dark eyes, dark skin, dark hair-was easy to identify. Pol's light hair and eyes came from his grandmother Milar, a blonde like most natives of the Catha Hills. In one remote area of Dorval, everyone had the same short-fingered hands; the shepherds on the south coast of Kierst were substantially taller than most people. Even in the more diverse populations, such as that of Einar, certain characteristics regularly appeared. Pol knew all the regional distinctions and none of them applied to "Aliadim."

Of course, with every generation such telltale signs blurred a little more. In the families of princes and athr'im, athr'im, who habitually married outsiders, definitive traits were only accidents by now. Tobin was obviously of Desert stock with her black hair and black eyes, but Rohan was as blond as their mother. Pol's squire, Edrel, lacked the thin streak of white in his hair that had been characteristic in his family for generations. And in the Kierstian and Syrene royal lines, of which Pol was a part through Sioned, the green eyes and the gifts of a Sunrunner from G.o.ddess Keep who had married a Prince of Kierst showed up sporadically. who habitually married outsiders, definitive traits were only accidents by now. Tobin was obviously of Desert stock with her black hair and black eyes, but Rohan was as blond as their mother. Pol's squire, Edrel, lacked the thin streak of white in his hair that had been characteristic in his family for generations. And in the Kierstian and Syrene royal lines, of which Pol was a part through Sioned, the green eyes and the gifts of a Sunrunner from G.o.ddess Keep who had married a Prince of Kierst showed up sporadically.

He didn't notice that Riyan's candleflame had guttered out. He stared into empty s.p.a.ce, Fire still burning his eyes and searing the face into his mind. Something was itching at his perceptions, like a half-heard insect whine or a barely felt twitch in a muscle. If not identifiable by region or family trait, then possibly- No. He knew the bloodlines, legitimate and otherwise, of every n.o.ble family in all the thirteen princedoms. Audrite had drilled him in genealogy as part of his training at Graypearl. That this man did not have specific signposts as to his origins did not mean he was a mixed-breed highborn.

Still, there was something tauntingly familiar about that face. He looked forward to seeing it in person-and would take great pleasure in altering it with his fists.

Aware that the others were trying not to stare at him for his long silence, he roused himself and spoke. "Very well. Now that I know who to look for-"

He broke off, knowing suddenly why he had been jumpy a few moments earlier. He ran for the sunlit windows, Sorin a half-step behind him. He had felt it, too; it was said that their grandfather had had this particular talent to burn. Pol had come into the perceptions late, but at last that oddest of family traits in all the princedoms had awakened in him. Proof that he possessed it flew over the towering pines: a dragon.

He gripped his cousin's arm and felt Sorin's muscles shiver just like his own with the awe-filled joy of seeing a dragon. No matter how many times he saw the great beasts, the tingle along his nerves that heralded their arrival and the transcendent wonder of watching them in flight moved him to his marrow. This one was a fine, full-grown female, green-bronze in color with black underwings. She flew a lazy series of spirals perhaps half a measure from them, as if she knew she was being watched and wanted to show off her beauty and her skill. She rode the wind like some fantastic twin-sailed ship, soaring, drifting, beating her wings to take her upward again. On or about the fortieth day of spring she would fly with her kind to the Desert, there to choose her mate and wall up her eggs in caves to bake through the long summer. Fifteen or so of her hatchlings would die in the cave, too weak to struggle out of the sh.e.l.l, to break down the wall, or to avoid becoming a sibling's first meal. Perhaps three would live to fly-a far greater number than in olden times, when men had slaughtered the survivors as they emerged into the sunshine. Rohan had outlawed the Hatching Hunt long ago. Killing a dragon had been forbidden for the length of Pol's life.

But someone was trying to kill this one. She faltered in midwingbeat and a cry that was half fury and half terror thundered through the mountains. Her head lashed back on her neck, her tail whipping from side to side in frantic rhythm. The balance of flight lost, she plummeted to the ground like a falling stone.

Ruala found her voice first. "He'll kill her if we don't hurry!"

Riyan's head jerked around. "What makes you think you're you're coming along?" coming along?"

She opened her mouth to protest as the three young lords and Rialt hurried to the door, Pol shouting for Edrel. Her grandfather clamped both strong hands around her shoulders from behind to keep her from following. She twisted to glare up at him.

"Don't even think of it," he told her.

Ruala shook him off. She went to the windows that overlooked the courtyard, where nearly every servant at Elktrap had joined in the frantic scramble to saddle and bridle fresh horses. Pol was mounted first, then Riyan and Sorin, and finally Rialt. They clattered out the gates, the squire and three guards galloping behind.

"I'll be going with them soon, though, Grandsir," she said thoughtfully. "After all, one of those young men is going to be my husband."

"Ruala!" He grasped her shoulders again and turned her to face him. "Which one?"

Her answer was an innocent smile and absolutely nothing else.

"Hmph," he replied.

Controlling a fast horse in a headlong race up a mountainside while at the same time weaving sunlight to find a downed dragon were not recommended for the easily distracted. Pol shifted precariously between his body's consciousness of the mare moving beneath him and his mind's consciousness of the terrain moving beneath his fabric of plaited light far above. The doubled sensation should have made him as motion sick as crossing water, but all he felt was a vague dizziness. Thanking the G.o.ddess for her mercies, he split his concentration in two neat, separate parts and didn't have time to think about anything else.

But Riyan did, and as they began the descent down into a ravine he deliberately slammed his horse into Pol's to gain the prince's attention. Reining in, Pol shook himself free of the weaving and glowered at Riyan. "What in all h.e.l.ls did you do that for?" he shouted. "I nearly fell!"

"You would've been worse off than that if you'd kept on Sunrunning. Have a look." As the others pulled up, he gestured to the trail ahead which led into shadowy trees.

Pol felt his stomach turn over. If his body had left the sunlight while his mind and gifts were tangled in it-Urival's lectures on the Star Scroll gave him the ancient word for the most hideous death a Sunrunner could imagine: daltiya. daltiya. Shadow-lost. An empty mind in a body that functioned for a few days and then died. Shadow-lost. An empty mind in a body that functioned for a few days and then died.

"I'm sorry. It was careless of me," Pol murmured. "Thank you, Riyan."

"Did you catch sight of the dragon?"

"Not yet. Anybody hear anything?" Heads were shaken in the negative all around. "She can't be that far from us. Riyan, will you take the south for about a measure? I'll range north."

Only a few moments later Riyan gave a guttural cry. Instantly Pol was back on the slope, shocked by his friend's expression of horror.

"Can't fly-afraid-kill him! Kill them! Can't fly, fly, wing broken-hurts hurts hurts-" wing broken-hurts hurts hurts-"

Sorin kicked his horse over to Riyan's. Shaking his friend hard with one hand, he shouted his name several times. At last sense returned to Riyan's dark eyes. "Are you all right?" Sorin asked worriedly.

A gulp, a curt nod. "Her pain . . . reached out to me. We must hurry, Pol. Just over that rise is a little box canyon with a waterfall at the east end. That's where she is."

Pol frowned. "You said 'them.' "

"I did?" Riyan seemed to review memory of what he'd said-or seen, or felt, Pol wasn't sure. "Yes. Another man-red hair is the only impression I got, along with her fear and pain. Pol, how did she do that? Catch me up in her feelings that way? For an instant, she and I almost . . . it was as if we touched minds, minds, not just colors on sunlight. As if we were almost one being." not just colors on sunlight. As if we were almost one being."

"We'll get Feylin and my mother to speculate about it some other time. Though it's killing me that you can do this and I can't." He turned to Rialt. "A box canyon presents interesting possibilities. You and Damayan ride up this ridge. If they try to escape this way-"

"They shall be strongly discouraged, my lord," Rialt replied at once. "But I hope you remember that whereas you taught me how to look as if I know how to use a sword, I'm really rather hopeless at it."

"I'm sure only the appearance will be needed," Pol soothed. "Besides, Damayan has given me me lessons in swordsmanship. If it comes to it, just protect yourself and don't worry about attack. He'll take care of that part of it." lessons in swordsmanship. If it comes to it, just protect yourself and don't worry about attack. He'll take care of that part of it."

"Of course, my lord," Damayan said, never one for false modesty, glowing at his prince's praise.

"Anto, Zel," he said to the remaining guards, "you'll swing around to the other side and cut off any possible escape over those hills. Riyan and Sorin will come with me. If you see us getting in trouble, you have my full permission to come to our rescue." He grinned tightly.

"And me, my lord?" Edrel piped up. "Shall I come with you?"

Pol was responsible to Lord Cladon for the boy's safety. He also remembered what it was like to be thirteen. "You shall. A squire's place is with his prince, as you so often point put to me." As the boy's face lit, Pol flicked a glance at Riyan, then at Anto. Both gave almost imperceptible nods. Edrel would be whisked out of danger by whoever was closest to him when and if danger threatened. Even if Anto had to gallop headlong down from the hilltop, or Riyan had to leave off battling the dragon killer, Edrel would be looked after. Pol had the distinct feeling that his companions had all made a similar and equally silent pact regarding Pol's own safety. Yes, he remembered very well what it was like to be thirteen. It was very much like being twenty-four. "Off with you now. We'll wait for you to get in position. And keep your eyes open. We don't know if there's anyone else waiting for us."

"For you," Rialt corrected grimly. He and Damayan galloped away, followed by Anto and Zel. Pol turned to Sorin.

"Sorcery is undoubtedly being used on this dragon, too, just like the one you found the other day. Sunrunners can't work more than one spell at a time. And I've never read or heard anything to indicate that the diarmadh'im diarmadh'im are capable of it. If he looses his hold on the dragon to deal with us, I want you to free the poor beast if she's in the same state as the other one. Riyan, you and I will probably be rather busy." The other Sunrunner arched his brows at the understatement. "But don't kill him. My father will want him alive." are capable of it. If he looses his hold on the dragon to deal with us, I want you to free the poor beast if she's in the same state as the other one. Riyan, you and I will probably be rather busy." The other Sunrunner arched his brows at the understatement. "But don't kill him. My father will want him alive."

"I trust you won't object if I singe him a little," Riyan said.

"Lightly browned around the edges and blood-rare in the middle. Let's go."

Pol had been thinking up something princely and righteously wrathful to say on confronting "Aliadim." But the words flew right out of his mind when he left the trees bunched at the canyon mouth and saw the dragon. She was still standing, hind claws dug into the gra.s.sy soil, one wind unfurled like a gleaming bronze-and-black sail. But the other wing hung limp. Awkward angles at the shoulder and halfway down the main wingbone confirmed what Riyan had said earlier: broken in two places, rendering not only the wing but the forearm useless. She hissed her fury of pain and fear, but did not move. She couldn't; the tall, dark-haired man who stood within easy reach of her talons held her in terrible thrall. And he was laughing.

The horses had flatly refused to go farther than the trees, and so Pol, Riyan, Sorin, and Edrel approached on foot. Unnoticed by the dark-haired man and his redheaded companion, whose backs were turned, they paused only long enough to make sure of their reinforcements' positions on the hillsides. Then they advanced, and Pol's glance at the others showed him rage to match his own.

The dark-haired man taunted the dragon, striding up to poke the tip of his sword into her useless wing, drawing more pinp.r.i.c.ks of blood. He could just reach her limp, wounded forearm, and abandoned sword for dagger in slicing out one talon. The other man, a bit shorter and built more heavily, kept a respectful distance, obviously not trusting even in diarmadhi diarmadhi spells. His companion turned to laugh derisively-and found Pol's sword point an arm's length from his throat. spells. His companion turned to laugh derisively-and found Pol's sword point an arm's length from his throat.

The dragon shuddered, her eyes like onyx shot through with silver, glittering suddenly as she looked down at Pol. He hoped the reaction was in response to an easing of the spell's hold on her, but didn't count on it. He saw out of the corner of his eye that Riyan was in charge of the red-haired man, who swore luridly and glared at them. Sorin had s.n.a.t.c.hed up the sackful of spikes and looked as though he was contemplating using them on the dragon killer.

"Your grace," the man said, still smiling, laughter hovering around his eyes and mouth as if this really was too funny, "I a.s.sume you've come to forbid me, or arrest me, or some other nonsense."