"Or Radzyn or Feruche-or Skybowl," Ruval murmured.

Miyon grinned. "Second thoughts about your bargain, my lord?"

"Not at all, your grace. Princemarch's wealth will be quite enough for me."

"And your brother?" Miyon asked shrewdly.

Ruval only smiled.

The prince snorted his amus.e.m.e.nt. "I see. Well, then, shall I take you to meet my daughter? Or would you prefer anonymity as far as she's concerned?"

"The latter. She should be as innocent as the first snow."

"Stupidity is a great guarantee of innocence."

Smile fading, Ruval asked sharply, "Has she brains enough to do as told?"

"She'll ride where she's reined," Miyon said with a curt shrug.

They left the private suite for the antechamber where other pet.i.tioners waited. Ruval had come as a merchant pleading for patronage; it was a trifle unusual to gain an audience alone, but the court chamberlain was notoriously addicted to bribes. Those who had no money to buy their way in and must wait their turn cast sidelong glances of loathing at Ruval.

He ignored them, but could not ignore his brother. Marron lounged in the doorway, where he was not supposed to be. He had been ordered to the mess to learn what he could so he and Ruval could fit in easily when the time came. Ruval could have strangled him as he ambled forward to greet Miyon.

Marron gave the prince a smile that clearly said, I, too, am Roelstra's grandson-and you will understand that, cousin. I, too, am Roelstra's grandson-and you will understand that, cousin. Before he reached them, however, a young girl, perhaps seventeen and perhaps not, came into the antechamber from a side door. She was delicately slender and had a glory of golden hair and very dark brown eyes that glowed with excitement, and she was incredibly beautiful if one appreciated the type. Before he reached them, however, a young girl, perhaps seventeen and perhaps not, came into the antechamber from a side door. She was delicately slender and had a glory of golden hair and very dark brown eyes that glowed with excitement, and she was incredibly beautiful if one appreciated the type.

"Father?" she ventured. "Oh, Father, please let me thank you for-"

"Meiglan!" The prince glowered down at her and she stopped dead in her tracks, all the pretty flush of enthusiasm dying from her face.

So this was the girl, Ruval mused.

"I-I'm sorry-" she stammered.

Miyon made a visible effort and smiled at her. "No matter, my little treasure. Run along now. You may thank me later for your gifts."

Marron had paused a few paces away from them. The girl backed away from her father and Marron advanced once more, smiling as if to an equal.

"Your grace," he said with a bow. "You favor me with your notice."

"We are pleased to entertain the proposals of clever merchants in our princedom," Miyon responded. "But we have many others to listen to this day."

Ruval took the hint and escorted his brother out.

They made their way by a back staircase to the doorway of the mess. All Ruval said, between his teeth in fury, was, "Get in there and do as you were told!"

Marron chuckled. "As you command, brother dear."

Ruval watched for a moment as Marron used the charm perfected in Chiana's court to ingratiate himself. But beneath the affable grin was a profound distaste for the company of common soldiers. Neither did Ruval look forward to submerging his ident.i.ty in that of a hired swordsman. But it was necessary in order to get within Stronghold's walls. Marron, taken on as escort, would bring along a "friend." And they would walk right into Rohan's castle, unsuspected.

Suspicions roiled in his own mind, though, as he left the castle and walked through town. Where did did Rohan's wealth come from? Miyon's reasoning appeared sound, but exacerbated curiosity rather than satisfying it. Reaching the precincts of the merchant district with its shops and public houses, he glanced at the sun and decided he had time for a contemplative wine cup before meeting Mireva at their lodgings in the poorest section of town. He chose a tavern and sat in a corner with a crudely made gla.s.s container of sweet, potent wine made from pine cone resin, ignoring all around him as he thought the matter through. Rohan's wealth come from? Miyon's reasoning appeared sound, but exacerbated curiosity rather than satisfying it. Reaching the precincts of the merchant district with its shops and public houses, he glanced at the sun and decided he had time for a contemplative wine cup before meeting Mireva at their lodgings in the poorest section of town. He chose a tavern and sat in a corner with a crudely made gla.s.s container of sweet, potent wine made from pine cone resin, ignoring all around him as he thought the matter through.

One of his few really clear childhood memories-other than the horror of the night Feruche had burned-was of gold. Ianthe had taken him to the deepest level of the keep one night to show him their wealth: square, palm-sized gold ingots stacked on shelves in a locked room. He remembered touching one with almost superst.i.tious awe, taking as many as he could into his hands, feeling their heaviness, flinging them up into the air to make a glittering rain by torchlight. He could still hear echoes of his mother's delighted laughter.

But should it not have been minted coin in sacks, rather than ingots?

He scowled into the golden-brown wine. Sediment had gathered at the bottom, leaving the liquid almost clear. A swift glance told him that the few patrons were paying him no attention. He spun the necessary mental threads and plunged his thoughts into the wine, cupping his hands around the gla.s.s.

He never looked at her without a thrill of pride that this magnificent woman was his mother. He didn't understand why her body was growing so thick, but the extra flesh dimmed her beauty as little as the darkness of the staircase. He clung to her hand as they descended, his breath rasping in his throat with the dampness and the chill and the excitement of sharing a secret. When she unlocked the door of the storeroom, he flinched back as torchlight struck a flare of gold brighter than the Desert sun. He looked up at her face in wonderment and she laughed, setting the torch in a holder and flinging her arms wide as if to embrace the wealth stacked neatly on the shelves.

It was real; he touched it, took up handfuls of it and flung it toward the ceiling to watch its enchanting glitter as it fell. And he was laughing, too. He plucked up one of the leather sacks from the pile near the door to pretend he was robbing the treasure room. His mother laughed and told him he didn't need to steal it, it was all his, just as the Desert and Princemarch would be.

Ruval pulled in a deep breath and looked up. No one gave him so much as a glance. He poured the wine down his throat and left a coin in the cup to pay for the drink.

After a long, aimless walk through the streets to clear his head, he allowed himself to remember what he'd seen. Peripherally he was aware that the question of paying for rebuilding Feruche was answered; Sorin must have found the treasury in the rubble. He also knew that his mother's increasing bulk had meant she was pregnant with her last child, Rohan's son who had died with her that terrible night. But something else concerned him now, something a little boy had seen but not recognized.

The ingots had been carried to Feruche in leather sacks left tidily folded in case of future need. By law all raw materials and finished goods indicated place of origin. Crafters had their various hallmarks, holdings and princedoms their colors or ciphers. Cattle and goats were branded; pottery, furniture, ironwork, and other manufactured items were stamped. Foodstuffs were labeled on packing crates, wine on bottles. The gold ingots at Feruche had been no exception: on those sacks had been the image of Skybowl.

But it was silver silver they took from the ground near Skybowl. Ruval kept walking, distracted by his thoughts, and annoyed honest citizens by pushing peremptorily past them in the crowded residential section of Castle Pine. Threadsilver Canyon was named for the metal mined there for a hundred years-yet the leather sacks of gold had been stamped with an outline of Skybowl. Not Stronghold, not Radzyn, not Tiglath, not any of the other important keeps of the Desert. Had Rohan been clever enough to arrange this bit of misdirection if anyone noticed the sacks rather than the gold? Or had this been an oversight? they took from the ground near Skybowl. Ruval kept walking, distracted by his thoughts, and annoyed honest citizens by pushing peremptorily past them in the crowded residential section of Castle Pine. Threadsilver Canyon was named for the metal mined there for a hundred years-yet the leather sacks of gold had been stamped with an outline of Skybowl. Not Stronghold, not Radzyn, not Tiglath, not any of the other important keeps of the Desert. Had Rohan been clever enough to arrange this bit of misdirection if anyone noticed the sacks rather than the gold? Or had this been an oversight?

Ruval left the gates of the town and walked out beyond the first fields. Torrential winter rains had washed away topsoil in buckets, and farmers were trying to encourage the crippled land into its yearly yield of grain. He walked past their ponies and wains and anxious conferences, up a hill and in among the trees. Over the rise was a ravine likewise stripped bare by the rains, where not even enough gra.s.s grew to sustain sheep. The place was deserted, and it was from this privacy that he worked a hated but useful Sunrunner spell.

Skybowl crouched like a brooding dragon on the sh.o.r.es of its perfectly round lake. The crater had filled way past its usual level, and a trench had been dug to drain the water. Ruval paused, noting that bags had been filled with sand to guide the course of the runoff; these bags bore the outline of Skybowl. With Lord Riyan absent, his blue-and-brown pennant did not fly over the keep. But there was plenty of activity and a line of pack horses just disappearing over the crater rim on the route to Threadsilver Canyon. Ruval followed on sunlight to where perhaps thirty men and women went about the business of hacking silver from the walls of long-abandoned dragon caves. At the bottom of the canyon light flickered from within a large cavern; the smelter, Ruval guessed. But no evidence of gold.

Frustration gnawed at him. Returning to Cunaxa, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, thin, hexagonal gold coin. He turned it in his fingers for a moment. Mireva had given him this coin. It depicted an outline of Castle Crag on the obverse, his grandsire's profile on the reverse: both proud, regal, commanding. Rohan had recalled all money minted by Roelstra, replacing it with coins stamped with his own crowned dragon. But Mireva had kept this one and when he had become adept enough had presented it to him. But it was more than a souvenir.

This coin was dated 703, the year before Roelstra's and Ianthe's deaths had splintered Ruval's world, and it had been struck from some of the gold Rohan had paid for dranath. dranath. And if he was fortunate, contact with Fire would release a vision of where it had been minted and, earlier even than that, where it had been forged. And if he was fortunate, contact with Fire would release a vision of where it had been minted and, earlier even than that, where it had been forged.

He conjured a gout of pallid Fire in the dirt and knelt beside it, glad he had imbibed enough dranath dranath that morning to facilitate the spell. Dropping the coin in the flames, he spared a moment for appreciation of his own disciplined mind, working with Fire he'd created to gain a picture of fire many years dead. The primal attraction of each element for itself functioned with smooth swiftness; he was soon looking at the thin, sweat-streaked face of the artisan who had made coins of liquid gold. Ruval squinted at the sudden brightness, his eyes tearing. But he forced the spell back further, seeking the flames from which the ingot had sprung. that morning to facilitate the spell. Dropping the coin in the flames, he spared a moment for appreciation of his own disciplined mind, working with Fire he'd created to gain a picture of fire many years dead. The primal attraction of each element for itself functioned with smooth swiftness; he was soon looking at the thin, sweat-streaked face of the artisan who had made coins of liquid gold. Ruval squinted at the sudden brightness, his eyes tearing. But he forced the spell back further, seeking the flames from which the ingot had sprung.

His vision was limited by the dazzle that stung his eyes. But there, just beyond the glowing run of molten metal into molds, he saw them. Faces-a man and woman, wearing Skybowl's colors. Harsh fire-thrown shadows behind them on cave walls. And stacks of finished ingots-not silver, but gold.

Smelted at Skybowl after all- An excruciating blaze made him cry out. He was drawn farther back, to another fire.

Dragon fire.

Seared by a hatchling's breath that dried his wings, shining flecks trapped in broken sh.e.l.ls melded together in another elemental bonding.

Dragon gold.

Ruval cried out again as he wrenched himself from the spell. The Fire vanished, leaving a blackened patch of earth. The coin was still hot when he picked it up.

With shaking hands he scooped dirt to hide the scar. It was a long time before he could stand. But when he did, he began to laugh very softly.

Skybowl. Dragon caves. Dragon gold. How sweetly, perfectly logical. That he had promised Skybowl to Prince Miyon bothered him not at all. It had never been planned that his grace of Cunaxa would live long enough to take possession.

Mireva stepped out the kitchen door into the squalid back court. Towns, even one as small as Castle Pine, offended her. The dirt, the stench, the crowds, the closeness-all were poisonous to her senses and exhausting to her mind. She hated the tiny, cramped upstairs room she had slept in for two nights now, hated it almost as much as she hated the greasy-haired slattern who ran this place. They had just concluded a stormy pa.s.sage featuring Mireva's opinion of the slop the woman had the gall to term "dinner." Only her own prohibition against use of power and the fact that she, Ruval, and Marron had nowhere else to go prevented her from blasting the woman to quivering jelly. The foray into the back courtyard was an attempt to calm her nerves. It did not succeed.

The first stars had appeared in the dusk, barely visible over the eastern wall. Mireva gazed at them longingly, their light burning into her eyes. So clean, so beautiful and diamondlike, so welcome after a long, irksome day of bright sun outside and dim corridors within.

She heard Ruval's soft footstep a few moments before he spoke. "If not for the prize to be won, I'd say let's get out of this swine-wallow and go home."

She kept her gaze fixed on the emerging stars. "If not for the prize to be won, I would agree with you."

"You haven't said what you thought of Meiglan."

"She'll do."

"But what's she like?"

"Small, frail, spineless, and fascinatingly beautiful. She accepts me as Thanys' friend."

"Not as her relative?"

Her jaw clenched at the biting mockery in his voice. He knew how she prided herself on her pure diarmadhi diarmadhi blood and how she hated admitting that any of her family had polluted that blood by marrying common folk. Thanys was indeed related to her, and not as distantly as Mireva would have liked. The woman was her grandniece. But this was not the time to renew her anger, useless at this late date anyway, over the stupidity of her family. Besides, Ruval and Marron were talented enough, even though only quarter-breeds like Thanys. blood and how she hated admitting that any of her family had polluted that blood by marrying common folk. Thanys was indeed related to her, and not as distantly as Mireva would have liked. The woman was her grandniece. But this was not the time to renew her anger, useless at this late date anyway, over the stupidity of her family. Besides, Ruval and Marron were talented enough, even though only quarter-breeds like Thanys.

She ignored his question. "It will be easy enough to go with her when her father takes her to Stronghold. I a.s.sume you've presented the idea to Miyon?"

"Of course. I'm more interested in the girl, though. Can she be trusted?"

Mireva gave a snort. "She only knows how to be afraid, and her fear cancels any wits she may otherwise have. She'll be useful only as long as she's afraid of her father." Ruval knew as well as she did the inevitable fate for those who were no longer of any use. This reminded her of someone else. "Marron has many soothing things to say about Chiana. She She can be trusted only so long as her imagination stays within limits. But I fear that when military maneuvers begin, she'll start scheming again." can be trusted only so long as her imagination stays within limits. But I fear that when military maneuvers begin, she'll start scheming again."

"Not even you can be in two places at once. We'll keep an eye on what goes on at the Princemarch-Meadowlord border."

"So will Rohan, through Sioned. It should make him good and nervous." She chuckled, bad humor easing at the thought of Rohan's discomfort. "He'll recognize the tactic, of course-'training exercises' was the excuse used by Roelstra in 704. I must remember to ask Marron to tell me how he got her to think of it on her own."

"It's so obvious a copy of grandfather's ploy that Rohan won't suspect our interference. But Chiana still has ambitions for Rinhoel. They may be more or less submerged, thanks to your time with her in Swalekeep, but she still has them."

Mireva shrugged and walked the broken cobbles over to the well. The water level was only a few handspans below the stone rim, its underground source saturated over the winter. She reached down and trailed her fingers through the water. "I don't like having to use her. But Miyon is even more unreliable. They each have their own grudges and their own ambitions which could be dangerous if indulged. There are limits even to what we we can do, Ruval. We have no army of our own, and so we must make it seem as though we have the resources of others to draw on. But it's such a risk." can do, Ruval. We have no army of our own, and so we must make it seem as though we have the resources of others to draw on. But it's such a risk."

Ruval stared down at her in the gathering dark, "What need do I have of an army? Or are you losing faith in me?"

"Listen to me, you fool!" She swung around, her words low and vicious. "You may know almost-and I stress almost almost-everything I do about the ways of our ancestors. And with those ways you will defeat Pol and take us back to our rightful place. But Rohan and Pol are different from us. They think like princes, of armies and politics. So we will use those things to distract them. Chiana will provide the army, Miyon the politics. We've already given them knowledge of your ident.i.ty-and that at the back of their minds all spring will make them ever more anxious about Chiana and Miyon. We've presented things they understand and will try to counter in their usual ways. But when you appear with your un unusual challenge, on our our terms, they won't know how to deal with it. They'll try to use their accustomed methods-which won't work." terms, they won't know how to deal with it. They'll try to use their accustomed methods-which won't work."

Ruval nodded slowly. "I understand. But there's another factor here: Andry. If rumor and our observations are correct, then he's he's the one thinking like us." the one thinking like us."

"Dangerously so. But this business of the Sunrunner in Gilad is a wonderful stroke of luck. Rohan will have no choice but to support Prince Cabar's right to punishment-and thoughts of you and the diarmadhi diarmadhi threat you represent will be on his mind in this, too. He'll be thinking of the support of the other princes against us. But his problem is to give the appearance that there's not one law for Sunrunners and another for ungifted folk. He must come down on the side of general law, consistent with his policies and mindful of the other princes-and your presence. Idiot!" she spat suddenly. "He entertains the conceit that we who are gifted with power are subject to the same legality and morality as the common herd!" threat you represent will be on his mind in this, too. He'll be thinking of the support of the other princes against us. But his problem is to give the appearance that there's not one law for Sunrunners and another for ungifted folk. He must come down on the side of general law, consistent with his policies and mindful of the other princes-and your presence. Idiot!" she spat suddenly. "He entertains the conceit that we who are gifted with power are subject to the same legality and morality as the common herd!"

"Andry will be furious," Ruval mused. "He won't give Pol any substantial support. Not that he would have, anyway. They're jealous of each other's power."

"And this will only make it worse. After we're finished with Pol, Andry will be next. And he does not not think like a prince," she warned. think like a prince," she warned.

"Leave Andry to me, just as I'll take care of Pol. Besides, we're providing other distractions, too." Ruval smiled. "And I'm a.s.suming you have one or two more in reserve."

"One, certainly." She smiled back.

"I can almost feel sorry for Pol. But at least he'll be well-educated before he dies."

Chapter Twelve.

Feruche: 9-10 Spring.

"Tell me."

Pol sent a pleading glance at his mother, unable to deal with Tobin's quiet, desolate command. Sioned met his gaze solemnly, said nothing, and from the compa.s.sion in her eyes he realized that this was one of the terrible times, when being a prince meant taking responsibility even when one was helpless. He nodded slightly and touched his aunt's shoulder, drawing her from the tapestry room that had been Sorin's pride out to the broad balcony overlooking the Desert. The others remained indoors-Sioned, Chay, Hollis, Tallain. Rohan, true to a vow Pol neither understood nor dared ask about, had not and would not set foot in Feruche itself, and was staying in the refurbished garrison quarters below the cliffs. Sionell and Ruala were with Hollis' son and daughter and Sionell's own little girl in the hastily arranged nursery, away from the grief that children could not understand. And Maarken and Riyan were readying the ritual that would take place that night.

The dunes spread out in heaped gold before them. Pol stared out at the endless Desert, wondering how he should begin. Tobin had said very little since arriving yesterday evening. She had spent the night beside her son's body, and though all preparations had been made by Ruala, she had insisted on washing Sorin once more and dressing him herself in the colors of his holding and his heritage. The blue and black of Feruche in his tunic; the red and white of Radzyn around his waist; the fierce blue of the Desert in the cloak covering his body-silk and velvet she placed on her son, her eyes dry and her face set in stone.

"Tell me," she said again, and for the first time he heard her pain, like a low moan of thunder in the distance. He faced her, took both her hands, and made himself look down into her l.u.s.terless black eyes.

He told it slowly, completely, leaving out nothing but Sorin's dying agony. He spared himself not at all, filled with bitter self-hatred for losing himself in communion with the dragon while Marron attacked. He let her see the scene as Riyan had described it to him. Ruval scrambling to his feet, lifting his blade to take Pol's life. Sorin's desperate intervention. Marron seizing Edrel's slight form, throwing the squire bodily at Riyan. Ruval's defenses weakening, the talon slashes across his back crippling his sword arm. Marron plunging his sword into Sorin's leg, shattering the bone as well as severing the large artery. And the burning of Riyan's rings that meant sorcery had been used somehow.

"Riyan . . . Riyan says he and Edrel had to pull the sword with all their strength to get it out of the wound. He thinks it was some binding spell, something-oh, G.o.ddess, and all the while-it's my fault. He saved my life and I was-if I hadn't been caught up in the dragon-"

"Hush."

"But it's true." He forced his gaze to meet hers. "Andry was right. If I'd been able to help, Sorin would still be-"

She pulled her hands from his and he flinched. But the next instant she reached up, framed his face with small, delicate fingers. "Andry had no right to say such a thing to you. He was hurt and grieving, Pol. He needed someone to blame. When a twin loses his second self. . . ." She paused, shaking her head. "I saw it in Maarken when Jahni died of Plague. Andrade felt the same thing when my mother died. Don't blame him for what he said on moonlight. And don't blame yourself. It wasn't your fault."

"Wasn't it?" he asked bleakly. "Sorin said that I should try to understand Andry."

"And you promised that you would." Tobin stroked his forehead, and then her hands dropped to her sides. She turned from him, folding her arms atop the carved stone bal.u.s.trade. Her voice was soft, tired, wistful. "I bore my husband four sons. Four strong, proud, beautiful boys, grandsons of a prince. I watched them grow and learn and play at dragons. I saw one of them dead and burned before he was nine winters old. Now I've lost another of my sons." She was silent for a long time. Pol watched her head slowly bend, her shoulders rounding as if grief would crush even her indomitable spirit. At last she straightened again and glanced up at him. There were tears in her eyes, unshed. "Thank you for telling me, Pol. It can't have been easy for you."

"For me me-?" he began incautiously, then gulped back the rest. She didn't need his guilt and sorrow added to her burden.

"You're Sorin's cousin, his friend, and his prince. And I think losing him is teaching you things you'd rather not learn about the pain of your position."

How had she known? He stared at her in awe, knowing he would never have her wisdom. Her compa.s.sion. Her understanding of what it was to be a prince.

She looked back out at the Desert. "Something astonishing is going to happen this spring," she mused. "Something that happens only once in a hundred years. My father heard of rains like these from his father, who saw them once in his youth. I can already feel it beginning, Pol. The land is still in shock, I think, from so much water after so long a drought. But I feel the restlessness. It'll happen soon."

Pol looked down at her, puzzled. She glanced up, smiling slightly.

"Those not of the Desert marvel that we can find our empty sands so beautiful. So compelling to the spirit. They think that because it doesn't bloom or bear fruit it's a dead land, a place the G.o.ddess forgot to give life. But what she gave us is so much more miraculous than the bounty that comes to others every year. They take their riches for granted. But we of the Desert understand how precious life really is, how it blesses us and seems to vanish, but always returns, always lives anew."

He struggled to understand. "Like-like the sun each day, or the dragons every three years."

"I hadn't thought of it that way, but yes, like the sun and the dragons. Always returning." She stared blankly at the dunes. "Jahni and Sorin will never stand before me again. Never smile at me again, never-but they are alive in this land, just as my father and mother live here still. Earth and Air, Fire and Water, all of what they were lives in this Desert that seems so lifeless to those who cannot understand." She sighed quietly. "Go back inside now, please. I want to be alone for a little while."