Dragon Prince 03 - Sunrunner's Fire (45 page)

“What? Oh—yes.” He swung off his pony and groaned softly as a joint cracked. “Goddess in glory! Sitting this brute is like being in a sailboat during a storm.”

“How would you know, Sunrunner?” Ostvel smiled faintly. “Tell me what’s going on down there or I’ll take you back to Castle Crag the way we left it.”

Donato gave him a black look. “If so, I’ll make damned sure to throw up all over
you.
” He walked gingerly toward the moonlight at the edge of the trees.

“My lord?” Chandar asked. “Has anyone ever even thought about defending Dragon’s Rest?”

Ostvel had helped plan the palace. Familiar thoughts came easily enough to reassure him about the state of his wits, and he consciously polished them on well-known ideas. “Its situation is its best defense. The valley narrows to the south, the only approach for an army. You can ride four horses abreast, but that’s it. The area is regularly patrolled, even at night. The two towers are placed to defend against frontal assault, which is the only kind that can be made here. There’s a guardhouse halfway down the valley on the eastern slope. Invaders could make things difficult, but they can’t possibly take the place.”

Chandar looked thoughtful. “I don’t mean to argue, my lord, but it seems to me that this isn’t a regular kind of army.”

“How so?”

“I’ve been considering it. Where would Lord Morlen get so many people? From the Veresch. And they don’t think like soldiers trained elsewhere. Some of our own guards at Castle Crag are mountain folk, and they tell me there’s almost no place they couldn’t take if they set their minds to it. And I don’t believe it’s boasting, either, my lord. I think they’ll attack the expected way, up through the valley. But I also think they’ll come down out of the hills—
un
expectedly.”

Jofra spoke up. “I’ll go take a look if you like, my lord. Over on that ridge would be a good place to muster.”

“Do that. But be careful and be silent about it. If Chandar’s right, they may be waiting for you.”

The guard dismounted and vanished into the trees. Donato came back then, shaking his head. “Nothing unusual at the palace—unless you count a couple of servants dallying in the rose garden by moonlight. And nothing at all down the valley.”

“How far did you look?”

“To the narrows.”

Ostvel rubbed his forehead. “I don’t like this. Where are they? The man we bought the ponies from said he’d seen them last night. If they’ve melted into nothingness, then perhaps you’re right about their plan of attack, Chandar.”

“I’ll go look again, out beyond the valley,” Donato offered, and returned to the moonlight.

“And then there’s the sorcery,” Ostvel muttered to himself.

“My lord?”

“Nothing.” He dismounted, caught himself against the saddle as his knees buckled, and bent to rub his aching thighs. “I’m too old for this sort of thing. Does it seem to you as if the palace has been warned?”

Chandar shook his head. “Not at all. You see the horses down the valley, my lord? They ought to be in the stables, ready to be saddled in a hurry. Yet there they are in the paddocks as if this were any other spring night.”

“The guards commander could be trying to present as normal a face as possible, to lull the invaders into feeling secure.”

“Not with horses out of quick reach.”

“Damn.” So he’d been right about Andry. But why would Andry want Dragon’s Rest besieged?

Donato was fairly staggering back to them. Chandar jumped down from his saddle and caught the Sunrunner before he could fall.

“Ostvel—you were right, they’re out there! Hundreds and hundreds of them! Even more than I saw at Rezeld! And the banners are raised now in their camp.” He gulped in air. “Meadowlord’s black deer!”

“Meadowlord? What in the name of the Goddess does Halian think he’s doing?” Ostvel felt his brain whirl again, but with shock that chased all the exhaustion away. An idea occurred to him. “Donato—your rings. No burning?”

“None.”

Then their sorcerers were not at work tonight—obviously, or Donato would have seen peaceful, empty space instead of encampment and banners. Ostvel paced away from the two men, thinking quickly. Dragon’s Rest did not know the danger it faced. Halian’s forces did not know someone was aware of their presence. There might be a hope.

He spun around. “Chandar, what are the chances of organizing a raid? Tonight, now, as soon as we can get down to the palace.”

“If it’s done in total silence, my lord, and if Prince Halian’s army is caught unawares—but the narrowness of the valley entrance works against defenders as well as against invaders. Four horses abreast is no way to run a surprise attack.”

“Donato! What kind of horses did you see?”

The Sunrunner frowned. “A pretty wide mix. Mostly those feather-hoofed Kadar horses, but a good selection of Radzyn breed and a lot of mountain ponies. Why?”

“I was hoping you’d say just that. If the ponies are still tethered down below, then their owners won’t be up on the heights getting ready for their own surprise attack. When Jofra comes back, I think he’ll confirm. Donato, find Pol at Stronghold. Sioned will do. But
not
Andry. Avoid him at all costs. Say what’s happened and what we propose to do about it.”

“At once, my lord.”

Once more he walked out into the moonlight. While he was working, Jofra returned with exactly the news Ostvel had hoped for: signs of reconnoitering, but no troops waiting in the hills.

Donato took a long time about it, but finally joined them again. “I found Riyan out in the gardens with some untrained girl who was trying to hide her colors from me. He’s going to inform Rohan, Sioned, and Pol. But he says to start on his authority anyway while we’re awaiting formal word.”

“Excellent.” They remounted and rode slowly down the steep slope, not wishing to provoke general alarm. A pair of guards galloped up from their regular patrol and, recognizing Ostvel, heard him out. But by the time he had explained everything to the commander and the stabled horses were being readied as quickly and silently as possible, the moons were on a swift descent. Donato remained outside to receive Sioned’s message. When preparations were well underway, Ostvel joined his anxious wait.

“Tell me about the rings,” Donato said suddenly.

“I’m surprised you haven’t asked before now.”

“You had other things on your mind. Tell me, Ostvel.”

“It happens to Riyan as well. When sorcery is being done, usually nearby.”

Donato gave him a sharp look. “To Riyan—not to Sioned or other Sunrunners?”

“Only to those with
diarmadhi
blood as well as Sunrunner gifts,” Ostvel said levelly. “Lord Urival was one.”

A short silence. “Sweet Mother of All—you’re telling me I’m—”

“You have the heritage. So does my son, through his mother. You knew Camigwen. Was she a sorcerer? Was Urival? Is Riyan?”

“Am I?” Donato asked bitterly. Then he stiffened and his eyes lost focus. Ostvel was long familiar with the sight of a Sunrunner at work. He held his breath while moonlight seemed to glow brighter around Donato’s weary face. When it was over, the man stumbled against Ostvel.

“It—it was Sioned—but Andry more than she—Goddess, you’ve no idea of his power—”

“Donato!” Ostvel shook him.

“He just—he wove himself through the light, treated her as if she was a single thread in a huge tapestry that was only him—”

“Damn him!” Ostvel snapped. “Tell me what was said!”

Donato straightened a little, breathing heavily. “Sorry—they turned me inside out.” He raked the hair back from his face and went on more calmly, “Before he entered the weaving, Sioned told me about the Sunrunner in Gilad. She’s dead, Ostvel—purposely shadow-lost.”

“Oh, no,” he breathed.

“Rohan took the decision about her away from both Andry and Cabar. Andry’s furious, of course. And then he was there, like a blanket smothering us both. He knows everything. I got the feeling he’d been waiting for this. Before I was flung out of the weave—and I’d love to know how he did it—he said something about taking care of it himself. Sioned seemed . . . trapped somehow. Almost helpless.” His bewildered eyes met Ostvel’s. “I’ve known Sioned since she was at Goddess Keep. I know how strong she is. Andry was late into the weaving, but he took it over as if we were both first-ring novices. He took us completely by surprise.”

“And he says he’ll handle things? How can he, from Stronghold?”

“I don’t know. But he seemed absolutely confident of it.”

“I can’t trust him,” Ostvel muttered. “I can’t believe he can work at such long range.”

“Sioned did, years ago.”

“I know. I watched her do it. But I can’t believe Andry would risk what she did. Look at the moons. They’ll be down in only a little while. What light can be used then? Donato, I don’t
trust
him!”

“Then let’s get busy with our own work.”

“You’re too exhausted to stand, let alone ride.”

“After that nightmare of a journey here from Castle Crag, don’t you tell me what I can or can’t do. Come on.”

Mounted troops rode out of the stables in groups of three and four, harness muffled by rags. Archers slipped silently down the valley in slightly larger groups and disappeared up the vine-planted slopes into the woods. Ostvel, a black Radzyn stallion under him and a stiff drink inside him, cantered out of the stables last along with Donato and Jofra. Chandar had gone on ahead with Laroshin, the guards commander, to organize things.

Will it work? Ostvel kept asking himself. He couldn’t trust Andry to defend Dragon’s Rest—didn’t think he
could.
He had witnessed Sioned’s weaving that had protected Rohan from treachery years ago, during the battle with Roelstra. With her at Skybowl, he had watched as Tobin and even the newborn Pol, barely Named that very night, were helplessly caught in Sioned’s working. At the field of battle, Andrade and Urival and Pandsala had been used, too, as Sioned grasped at all the power she could reach. But hers had been an act of desperation, an instinctive creation of starlight to raise a dome around the combatants.

Andry had no such stake in protecting Dragon’s Rest. A defeat for Pol would be a vast satisfaction to him, especially after his humiliation over the right to judge the Sunrunner in Gilad. What motive could he possibly have for keeping this great symbol of Pol’s power and prestige safe?

By the time the riders had assembled at the hillside guardhouse, word came that the archers were well on their way to their assigned posts. As Donato dismounted, the last moonlight transfixed him.

Eighty men and women watched wide-eyed as the Sunrunner was caught in a powerful weaving. Ostvel feared it might be Andry again, but when Donato returned to them, he was smiling.

“The High Princess relays word from the High Prince. He approves our plan, but has a refinement of his own to add if we think it wise.”

“Anything,” Laroshin grunted. “In fact, I wish he was here!”

“So does he, to hear her grace tell it. But we have his orders, if not his sword.”

Rohan’s suggestion was that the archers attack from the rear, driving the invaders up through the narrows in as much confusion as they could cause. As they burst into the valley, they could be pounced on from either side and slaughtered, with no retreat possible.

The commander chewed his mustache and nodded. “His grace knows tactics.”

“He’s had experience in war that he never wanted,” Ostvel said.

“But here’s the best part,” Donato went on. “Not just arrows but Fire will chase them forward.
Sunrunner’s
Fire.”

Ostvel looked at him worriedly. “Are you up to it? It’s been a hellish trip and you’ve been using yourself up tonight at speed.”

“Are you saying I can’t manage to place a bit of Fire where it’ll do the most good? I’m not old and feeble yet!”

“Sorry.” Ostvel grinned suddenly. “Jofra, escort our lord Sunrunner here to a suitable spot for Fire-raising.”

When they were gone, Laroshin surveyed his troops. “It’ll take a while. Well after moonset, I’d say. Let’s divide up now and make ready for the flood. But if Prince Halian’s nails are so much as scuffed, I’ll have the culprit strung up by the short hairs. His grace has quite a few things to answer for and I want him in shape to do so.” He glanced at Ostvel. “Agreed, my lord?”

“Agreed.” Ostvel glanced around as a squire came up and offered him a sword. He shook his head. “I’ll stay to the rear, if you don’t mind. I was never much good with a sword.”

“That’s not what I hear,” the commander said. “All of us know about the battle for Stronghold.”

“That was many years ago.”

Laroshin grinned at him. “How old is your younger son? Not quite two?”

Ostvel couldn’t help laughing. “Success with
that
sword has nothing to do with this kind!”

“It’s my experience that a man who wields the one with excellent results isn’t too old to use the other.”

“Well, if you put it
that
way. . . .” He accepted the fine blade, tested its weight and balance, and nodded his satisfaction. The exchange was a useful antidote to nerves among the soldiers; Ostvel had played along for just that reason. It was suicidal, really, pitting eighty mounted troops, the same number of archers, and Sunrunner’s Fire against an army of many hundreds. But surprise was a useful weapon, too. He hoped the Goddess would be interested enough, amused enough, or impressed enough by this crazy undertaking to lend her considerable support.

When the moons vanished over the hills, everything was in readiness. Ostvel looked up at the stars, remembering once again the night after Pol’s birth. Kneeling on the lip of Skybowl’s crater on a night of no moons, listening to Sioned Name the child after the stars themselves. Watching the infant’s face as she wove his raw strength into the starlight and flung it hundreds of measures away to where Rohan battled Roelstra. Holding the terrified baby in his arms after the work was done. Realizing only then what he and she and Tobin had done by taking this child of Rohan’s body and Ianthe’s—and trying not to think about the moment when he’d plunged his sword into Ianthe’s breast.