The Star Scroll Part 17

"Or worse," Andry murmured.

Andrade grimaced her appreciation of their remarks. "Well, I don't want to give Riyan too much to worry about. I'll send somebody else to Waes."

"Who?" Andry asked eagerly.

"Never you mind." She eyed him sternly. "You're another one just like him, wanting to know everything, thinking you know it all at your age! Four or five rings, and you believe you understand the universe! Bah!"

Andry stiffened, then bent his head. "Yes, my Lady."

"I've had enough for the night. Leave me."

When he was gone, Urival replaced the scrolls in their cases and went to the door, where he paused and said, "I understand that he needs reprimanding every so often. But not too too often, or he'll resent you-and be ungovernable." often, or he'll resent you-and be ungovernable."

"You think he's governable now? Did you hear him lecturing us tonight about the scrolls, Lady Merisel, and Sunrunner history he's the first in hundreds of years to know? If he didn't have such a d.a.m.ned talent for translating, I'd take them from him and let somebody else do it. But he's got a quick mind and the will to learn."

"As mind-hungry as Sioned always was, but without Sioned's humility."

"When was that girl ever humble? She and Rohan both have defied me since the day they were wed! She hasn't worn her faradhi faradhi rings in years! Just that b.l.o.o.d.y great emerald. Humble?" She laughed bitterly. rings in years! Just that b.l.o.o.d.y great emerald. Humble?" She laughed bitterly.

"You're in a foul temper tonight."

"I know." She gestured an apology with one hand, rings and bracelet gleaming in the firelight. "What Sioned has is a healthy fear of the power knowledge can give her. Andry's not afraid of anything. Except, for now, me. But not for much longer."

"Andrade-he's like her in that he can be led by love. Not fear."

"I've given him no cause to love me. I never meant to-not with any of them. I don't want them to adore me. It's not necessary."

"If you want them to do your fighting and your work for you-"

"Leave off, Urival!"

"As you wish, my Lady," he said in a voice heavy with disapproval.

Andrade heard the door shut and resisted the urge to throw something. She was too old for this nonsense, too old to be juggling the actions and motives and feelings of so many people. In her youth she had relished power; by middle age she had exercised it with consummate skill. But now she was tired of it. Tired of the responsibility and the scheming and keeping one eye on everyone to make sure they stayed in line.

But more than her weariness, she was frightened. Andry would not stay in line. He would do with the scrolls what she was scared to do: use them.

Chapter Twelve.

It was virtually impossible for the High Prince to travel incognito, but Rohan gave it a good try on the journey through Princemarch. No dragon banner announced the ident.i.ty of the eight riders; no royal badges appeared on the guards' tunics, which were plain and unmatched; no expensive trappings decorated the horses; and no farmer or innkeeper with whom they stayed went without payment, though it was every prince's right to demand free meals and lodging when traveling through his realm.

But though Rohan did not advertise his presence, neither did he deny his ident.i.ty when people addressed him with royal t.i.tles. News of his travels seemed to spread more quickly than faradhi faradhi messages on sunlight; Andrade would envy the silent efficiency of these people. For his own part, he appreciated their general lack of ceremony. He hated fuss, suspicious practically from birth of those who made a great show in his presence, for show was usually designed to cover substance people did not wish seen. These folk, however, were casual and cordial in their welcome, with nothing to hide from their prince. Rohan viewed this as a tribute to their good sense and Pandsala's good governance on Pol's behalf. Had she been a bad ruler, they would have hated everything to do with him, while trying to hide it with false good cheer. messages on sunlight; Andrade would envy the silent efficiency of these people. For his own part, he appreciated their general lack of ceremony. He hated fuss, suspicious practically from birth of those who made a great show in his presence, for show was usually designed to cover substance people did not wish seen. These folk, however, were casual and cordial in their welcome, with nothing to hide from their prince. Rohan viewed this as a tribute to their good sense and Pandsala's good governance on Pol's behalf. Had she been a bad ruler, they would have hated everything to do with him, while trying to hide it with false good cheer.

Accommodations varied. Some nights they stayed in neat chambers at an inn; occasionally they unrolled blankets in a barn; quite often they spent the night in the open beneath the stars when evening found them still on the road. Food ranged from tavern fare to farmhouse stews to their packed provisions and whatever half-a-day's hunt could provide.

They rode wherever curiosity took them, investigating local landmarks, seeking deep into remote valleys, riding measures out of their way to visit famous sites recommended by their hosts. There were impromptu races across flower-strewn meadows and excursions into the hills for baths in ice-cold waterfalls. All these side trips were watched over by four guards who, while joining in the spirit of fun, remained on constant alert.

The four were commanded by Maeta, whose presence had not been planned. She merely showed up their third day out, as casually as if the encounter was an accidental one during an afternoon ride. Her explanation that she had always wanted to see the sights fooled no one; they all knew that she had been sent by her formidable mother as an extra guard for Pol. Rohan did not send Maeta back to Stronghold, for not even he felt equal to facing Myrdal's wrath; the old woman was probably probably Pol's kinswoman, but she was certainly the only grandmother he would ever know, and Rohan respected that special relations.h.i.+p almost as much as he respected Myrdal's temper. Pol's kinswoman, but she was certainly the only grandmother he would ever know, and Rohan respected that special relations.h.i.+p almost as much as he respected Myrdal's temper.

Besides, it suited him to add Maeta to the group. Pol had already shown a talent for taking off on his own. The mare Chay had lent him, a streak of lightning compacted into four legs and a pair of roving eyes, liked nothing better than a wild gallop. Pol defended his escapades with the innocent reminder that he had promised to keep the horse in good trim for sale at the Rialla. Rialla. Threats did no good; even the private promise of the application of Rohan's palm against his backside did not impress him overmuch. But his first attempt to bolt off after Maeta's arrival earned him an afternoon riding on a lead rein behind her horse. Rohan heartily approved of his son's discomfiture-while wondering ruefully if he really was so complete a failure as a disciplinarian. Threats did no good; even the private promise of the application of Rohan's palm against his backside did not impress him overmuch. But his first attempt to bolt off after Maeta's arrival earned him an afternoon riding on a lead rein behind her horse. Rohan heartily approved of his son's discomfiture-while wondering ruefully if he really was so complete a failure as a disciplinarian.

Maarken, too, was glad of Maeta's presence. They talked tactics and strategies most of the day and half the night. She had been in most of the important battles of the last thirty years, and her wealth of experience was nearly as great as his father's. Sometimes Rohan and Pol joined in these discussions, sitting around the campfire to trade ideas. But more often father and son spent their time with each other. During the long nights spent talking, Rohan came to understand his son more deeply-especially the reason why physical punishment was nowhere near as effective as a judicious dose of public embarra.s.sment. He should have known, of course; Pol was just like him in his consciousness of rank, his pride, and his notions of personal dignity. It was not quite arrogance-and that failing was something to guard against.

The lowlands of Princemarch were a revelation: rich, rolling valleys of cropland and pasture, a careless abundance that amazed Desert eyes. Farmers gifted the royal party with the summer fruits of the countryside, proud of their productivity and grinning as their guests marveled at the bounty.

One midday an incredible array was produced for their lunch in a farmer's front yard. Rohan asked, "Tell me, is there anything you people don't don't grow?" grow?"

The farmer scratched his chin thoughtfully. "Well, my lord," he said after due deliberation, "not much."

And it was true. Fruit, grain, meat, cheese, nuts, vegetables-they partook of the plenty and were amazed.

"And you own all of it," Maeta remarked to Pol one morning, her arm sweeping out to include the fields and orchards around them.

"All of it," he echoed incredulously. "It must feed the whole world!"

"A goodly portion of our part of it," Maeta answered. "You don't remember the old days. Sometimes we had to give up a year's salt or half Radzyn's horses for food enough to last the winter. Now that this is ours, we'll never have to crawl again."

Rohan met her gaze over his saddle as he tightened a girth strap. "Never again," he echoed. He remembered very well the year to which Maeta alluded, and the fury of helplessness in his father's black eyes when Roelstra had demanded exorbitant payment for food enough to keep the Desert from starving. More lightly he added, "But it probably sharpened the wits, bargaining back and forth. I sometimes miss the stimulation of my first Rialla Rialla as prince." as prince."

Maeta snorted. "Nothing wrong with your wits, if what I hear about Firon is true."

"And what do you hear?"

"That all of this-" She waved again at the fields, "-will include most of that." One battle-scarred finger pointed northwest where Firon lay.

"It's possible," Rohan conceded.

Maarken laughed as he swung up into his saddle. "Don't let my mother hear you say that! The tapestry map is already being rewo ven, you know-she's using it to teach Sionell st.i.tchery. If you change your mind, she'll have your head on a spear."

"Aunt Tobin knows how to sew?" Pol was astounded. "She doesn't seem the type to like that kind of thing."

"She doesn't," Maarken said cheerfully. "She says it's only good for something to do with your hands when you want to strangle somebody."

"Strangulation really isn't in her line," Rohan observed. "Knives, arrows, swords when we were growing up-that's more her style."

"Is it true about her marriage contract with Uncle Chay?" Pol asked as he mounted.

"No knives in the bedchamber!" His father laughed. "Oh, it's true enough. Chay insisted on it."

"What's in your agreement with Mother?" Pol teased.

Maeta answered him. "Sunrunners are much too subtle to go around waving steel. Her Her contract says that the only Fire she'll call up in their bedchamber is the kind that burns the sheets. And that, my lad, is how contract says that the only Fire she'll call up in their bedchamber is the kind that burns the sheets. And that, my lad, is how you you got started!" got started!"

That day, the twenty-fifth of their journey, began the climb into the Great Veresch. Chain upon chain of peaks rose nearly to the clouds, the tallest of them snow-crowned even in high summer. In between were blue-violet depths where, when the angle of the sun was right, thin ribbons of water reflected silver. Conifers ten and twenty times the height of a man grew bunched needles as long as Pol's arm, and bore cones that could be split open for sweet seeds and resin that tasted like honey. Herds of startled deer lifted white antlers to the sky before racing into cover. The water in lakes and streams was the sweetest any of them had ever tasted, as if milked directly from the clouds without touching the ground at all. The number and variety of birds astounded them; the world seemed alive night and day with wingbeats and songs and hunting cries, so different from Desert silence. They sometimes spent whole mornings watching flocks of birds float across a lake or dive for fish or plummet from the sky over prey-laden meadows. And the flowers-narrow trails through the forest would suddenly give way to mountain meadows awash in blue, red, orange, yellow, purple, and pink, the unbelievable profusion of colors enough to make faradhi faradhi senses drunk. senses drunk.

To the Desert-bred, familiar only with the stark beauty of the Long Sand where nothing grew and few birds or animals made permanent homes, the Veresch was almost frightening. Lowlands that had felt fence and plow were somehow more comprehensible than these mountains, where everything was as it had been since the first trees. People were an afterthought here, and the work of their hands could not begin to match the strength of the forest. In the Desert, people grouped together, the better to withstand the harshness of their place; here, folk lived in tiny settlements of not more than thirty, herded sheep and goats endlessly through the high country, and built lonely cottages deep in the woods. But as alien as their patterns of life were to each other, the two shared a bond that became clearer to Rohan as the days pa.s.sed. Both peoples had accepted that they could not work changes on the land. The silent power of Mountain and Desert was greater than any fence or plow. People knew what their places would give and what they would not.

Pol turned stubborn about snow. He not only wanted to look at it, he wanted to touch it and make sure it was real. Rohan, secretly sharing his son's curiosity, received directions from a bemused shepherd who obviously thought them all deranged for going to find snow when winter would bring it to them soon enough. The royal party spent two days coaxing their outraged Desert-born horses across frozen crystal fields, and two nights s.h.i.+vering under blankets inadequate for the temperature and the alt.i.tude.

"Had enough?" Maarken asked hopefully on the morning of the third day. Pol, clutching a blanket around him on top of every st.i.tch of clothing he had brought with him, nodded emphatically. Pelting everyone with s...o...b..a.l.l.s had been great fun, and the crisp air was literally breathtaking-but he wanted above all things to be warm warm again. again.

The ride down from the heights showed them ridge on ridge of blue-misted mountains. Startling outcrops of solid granite alternated with hillsides thickly covered in pine. Strange, smooth slabs of rock half a measure wide and punctuated with colossal boulders set their horses' hooves to ringing. They even found some long-abandoned dragon caves, and spent a day exploring. There were, oddly enough, signs of humans nearby; Maarken discovered firepits and the foundation stones of a village-sized habitation, also long forsaken. Of more interest to Rohan and Pol was evidence of a primitive smelter works. They exchanged speculative glances and headed directly back to the caves. But most of the walls had collapsed, and instead of dragons in one of the few usable caverns they encountered a very bad-tempered hill-cat who deeply resented disruption of his afternoon nap. Father and son beat a hasty retreat.

Back below snowline, they began visiting manors and keeps in more systematic fas.h.i.+on. Word of their coming preceded them; they were welcomed with considerably more state than on the early part of the journey. Their first stop was a small keep called Rezeld, where Lord Morlen and his wife Lady Abinor had been preparing for the antic.i.p.ated visit since spring. Rohan winced inwardly at the boundless enthusiasm of their welcome, but shared the philosophical observation with Pol that Rezeld had probably never seen a prince within its walls-let alone two-and that neglecting personal visits to each athri athri under one's rule was always a mistake. under one's rule was always a mistake.

"The best way of judging a keep or a manor is to visit it yourself," he mused. "Granted, they usually have the place looking its best-except for what they want you to pay to refurbish-but the trick is to look beneath the surface and see what's really going on."

They were seated in Lady Abinor's large, finely proportioned chamber, theirs for their stay. Threadbare tapestries and frayed rugs brightened the room and eased some of the stone's chill; all the weavings, including the bedclothes, showed signs of mending inadequate to their state of wear. The furniture was simple and spa.r.s.e, and the gla.s.s in the windows needed replacing-but the wine made from pine cone resin was excellent. Rohan poured himself another cup and leaned back in a chair, regarding his son thoughtfully.

Pol looked around him, correctly interpreting his father's last remarks to mean that he was to evaluate Rezeld and its occupants. Their arrival that morning had been the greatest event of the past twenty years at the manor; everyone from the athri athri's family to the lowliest kitchen boy had turned out, scrubbed and polished and beaming. The sons of the house, both a few winters younger than Pol, had served as squires through dinner and acquitted themselves nicely for never having had formal training in a large keep. Lord Morlen's sixteen-year-old daughter Avaly had shown up in her mother's best silk veil, a-clatter with wooden and elk-horn ornaments. But Pol saw Rezeld as a distinctly minor holding, without much wealth or importance.

"They really did bring out their best for us," he said, gesturing to the rugs and tapestries. "The necklace Lady Avaly had on was just carved stuff, not valuable at all. And from what else I saw . . . I mean, they don't even have candles, just smelly old torches. I don't think they're playing poor to get more money out of us, Father. And they seem glad to have us here."

"Yes, they do." Rohan smiled.

"But why is Pandsala so stingy? There's plenty of money for new rugs and such, and it's not as if it'd be a foolish luxury in a climate like this. I can feel the cold coming up through the floor even with boots on." He sneaked his toes beneath a carpet for emphasis. "The sheep and goats are probably all out at summer pasture, but still. . . . If I was welcoming my prince, I'd want to have my best animals here so he'd know how good they are and reward me accordingly by getting good prices at the Rialla. Rialla."

"That's a very interesting a.n.a.lysis, Pol, based on what I'm sure were careful observations." The boy's eyes lit with pride until Rohan added, "Unfortunately, all of it is wrong."

"What? Why?" Pol demanded.

"The young lady was indeed wearing row on row of 'carved stuff' in a necklace. Very pretty it was, too. If you'd really been listening to some of the people we've met on the road, you'd know that each betokens a certain number of sheep, goats, cattle, bushels, or other local produce a family lays claim to. Rezeld boasts a rather fine quarry nearby, I'm told, administered by his lords.h.i.+p." He grinned. "But remember, we're only ignorant Desert folk and don't know about that. We think these are her only jewels, poor girl, and not much of a dowry it is to our way of thinking-when in fact she's wearing more dowry than most of our own girls can offer! She also made big eyes at you-yes, I was watching!" he teased as Pol blushed. "Not that I'm surprised. You're a well setup young man and a prince into the bargain. But she hasn't a hope of attaching you and she knows it-so her probable intention was to make you wistful that so pretty a girl doesn't have more in the way of material wealth. It appears she succeeded, too. Clever girl. His lords.h.i.+p is, in fact, flaunting what he owns and trusting our ignorance to lead us to believe that he's poor."

Pol's jaw had dropped, and his blue-green eyes were as wide as they could get. Hiding another smile, Rohan got to his feet and went to pour himself a third cup of thick, sweet wine.

"Consider the tapestries," he continued, gesturing to the walls. "If their purpose is to keep out cold and damp, why arrange them on rods so they can be pulled aside? They ought to be nailed right to the wall as close as can be. If you'll notice, the rods are new-you can tell not by their polish but by the whiteness of the plaster used to secure so heavy a load. Just to the sides of the fixtures is more plaster, hiding marks where other tapestries used to be. I'm sure there's a whole line of marks beneath, telling us that another weaving does regular duty here. It's the same in all the other chambers we were shown, by the way."

"But, Father, why would they do such a thing?"

"Excellent question. The tapestries these replaced are probably very fine ones that we weren't supposed to see or know about. As for torches, because they can't afford candles-have a look at the brackets. They've been scrubbed clean, but there are still traces of dripped wax. And the size of the sockets is rather inconvenient, wouldn't you say? See how the torch-ends have been whittled to fit. Thus we find that in addition to plenty of sheep, goats, tapestries, and so on, they also possess candles. But we're meant to think they have none of these things."

Settling in his chair again, he gave his son a wry smile. "So we finally have to ask ourselves the point of all this. Why so much trouble to disguise their wealth? Do they want us to cough up a bit? Or is there something else going on here? I tend to think the former, for his lords.h.i.+p doesn't seem quite devious enough to have schemes afoot other than the obvious. But I'll be watching him over the next days-and so should you."

Pol's mouth still hung open. Rohan laughed softly.

"Don't feel foolish, Pol. I'm no magician. Many years ago one of my va.s.sals-long dead-tried to pull similar tricks on me. When I pointed them out to your mother, she looked just about the way you do right now."

"How did you know? know?"

"Well . . . to be perfectly honest, I didn't at first-not until I noticed something else interesting. In a place famous for the quality of its goats, I was served cream made of cow's milk one morning over a dish of moss-berries."

Pol suddenly laughed. "Where was he hiding the cattle?"

"Oh, the cattle weren't even the problem. They were only the clue to the private deal he had going with the Cunaxans across the border to supply him with more than just a few cows every year. I won't go into the details, but suffice to say he supplied me me with excellent cheese until the cows died-as any self-respecting cow does as soon as she can in the Desert." Rohan winked. with excellent cheese until the cows died-as any self-respecting cow does as soon as she can in the Desert." Rohan winked.

Shaking his head ruefully, Pol said, "I never would've seen it! And I would've made a fool out of myself by promising to make Pandsala do more for them! Father, may I ask you something?"

"Whatever you like."

"I don't understand about being a prince."

"Oh, dear," he murmured. "Is it things in general, this manor in particular, or something else?"

"All of it." Pol sighed. "We can't trust them for an instant, can we?"

"Of course we can."

"But you just said-"

"In the important things, we have to trust them. Pol, this matter of tapestries and candles is unimportant. I'll let Lord Morlen know that I know what he's up to-discreetly, of course, to save his pride-and fine him some of his quarried stone for a building project I have in mind. I doubt he'll ever try it again. He'll know I'll catch him at it. But he'll also respect me and trust me, because not only was I smart enough to see through this, but I didn't execute him for it." Rohan shrugged self-mockingly. Getting to his feet, he paced to the windows and stood looking out at the mountain twilight.

"He's only doing what his father did, you know, hiding his real wealth from Roelstra. In his time, if Morlen had been caught, he'd be dead. He'll be free to try try to outwit me again, but my guess is that he won't. People only hide what they fear will be taken from them. I won't take what he can't afford to give-he'll come to trust me for it and appreciate the way I work. Which means he'll fight if I ask him to, so he can keep me as his overlord." to outwit me again, but my guess is that he won't. People only hide what they fear will be taken from them. I won't take what he can't afford to give-he'll come to trust me for it and appreciate the way I work. Which means he'll fight if I ask him to, so he can keep me as his overlord."

"And will you trust him?"

Rohan faced him and grinned again. "As much as I trust any of them-which is to say that I trust my own judgment and wits."

"You know, I think I'm beginning to understand how we got to be where we are," Pol mused, his eyes dancing suddenly. "Maybe we just outlasted everybody-but maybe we were smarter than all the rest!"

"That's one way of looking at it, and probably as accurate as any other."

Pol was silent for a moment, then burst out, "But why do people have to treat us different? I mean, everybody bowing and deferring to us and all-do they do it because we're princes, or because they really think we're special?"

"Why do you ask?"

"Just-the way people react when they find out who I am."

"Mmm. I see. Makes you nervous, does it?" he asked sympathetically. "Me, too. I suppose they have to believe in someone, Pol. We are where we are because people believed in our ancestors for one reason or other. Your grandfather won battles and convinced everyone he could protect them. My ways of protection are different. Morlen will come to understand them in time, if he's smart. He'll trust me and you the way his father never could trust Roelstra. But what all this means is that we have to work very hard to keep their trust and faith."

"It sounds awfully difficult-and grim."

"Grim? Not at all. My son, we have to put up with some very tedious people because that's part of the way a prince does business. But it's worth enduring all the fuss because a prince can do so much to serve."

"You mean serve the G.o.ddess?"

"If you want to think of it that way. Personally, I let Aunt Andrade take care of that aspect of things. I meant to serve the people who trust us to look after the peace they need in order to live out their lives."

Pol nodded slowly. "Grandfather did it with his sword. You do it-"

"-by outsmarting everyone I possibly can." Rohan laughed again. "Which I sometimes think is infinitely harder!"