The Star Scroll Part 19

Maarken returned the smile. "I'm his the same way my father is yours."

"And Ossetia will be Princess Gemma's. Chale has no other heir."

"Gemma? His cousin?"

"Niece. Her mother was Chale's sister."

Rohan saw Maarken look down at the first of his Sunrunner's rings-a garnet that had belonged to Gemma's older brother Jastri, Prince of Syr, who had died fighting on Roelstra's side against the Desert.

"She's suddenly become a very important young lady," Maarken observed.

"And Waes will be overflowing with men trying to catch her eye."

Maarken gave a start. "Not me!" he exclaimed.

"Have you someone else in mind?"

Blanching slightly, he hesitated and then shook his head. Rohan only smiled. Maarken returned to the main subject, a tactical maneuver not lost on his uncle. "Where's Gemma now?"

"At High Kirat with Sioned's brother Davvi. They're all cousins through the Syrene royal house. Gemma's still a Princess of Syr, of course, and technically Davvi's ward."

"She'll need the High Prince's consent to marry."

"Yes. And what if she chooses someone I can't stomach as the next Prince of Ossetia? Or even worse, what if the man she picks is unpalatable to Chale? He and I don't agree on much."

"If you interfere too much, you'll be accused of trying to control Ossetia through Gemma." Maarken made an annoyed gesture. "And there's Firon! This on top of that isn't going to make you very popular."

"Watch the greedy High Prince gobble up land and power," Rohan agreed bitterly. "We don't need to explore this fully right now, Maarken. Is Pandsala competent at Moonrunning?"

"I'm not sure. She has five rings, and that makes her an apprentice-but I'm not sure how much training she had before she left G.o.ddess Keep. I'll ask."

"Good. If she's capable, then you two can divide up faradhi faradhi duties for me tonight. I need to get word to Davvi to put a guard on Gemma, if he hasn't already done so. Pandsala can send our condolences to Chale, Regent to Prince. They'll both appreciate that. You'll have to contact Andrade. I don't think she and Pandsala have exchanged a word in fifteen years. And Sioned will have to know all of it after you've finished with the rest." Rising from the bed, he looked at the clothes laid out for him. "Have Pandsala arrange with her steward for gray mourning. Where is the ritual held here?" duties for me tonight. I need to get word to Davvi to put a guard on Gemma, if he hasn't already done so. Pandsala can send our condolences to Chale, Regent to Prince. They'll both appreciate that. You'll have to contact Andrade. I don't think she and Pandsala have exchanged a word in fifteen years. And Sioned will have to know all of it after you've finished with the rest." Rising from the bed, he looked at the clothes laid out for him. "Have Pandsala arrange with her steward for gray mourning. Where is the ritual held here?"

"For the dead of other princedoms, the oratory."

"Ah. I'd hoped to see it under more pleasant circ.u.mstances. I'm told it's a marvel. Have I forgotten anything, Maarken?"

"Not that I can think of. Do you want me to send Pol in here to you?"

"Yes-do that. Thank you. Then go find Pandsala for me, and we'll get started." Brushing the hair from his eyes again, he said, "And remind me to tell Pol that under no circ.u.mstances is he to so much as look look at Gemma unless he absolutely has to. The only thing I lack is a rumor that their marriage will give us Ossetia. Besides, she's-what, ten winters older than he?" at Gemma unless he absolutely has to. The only thing I lack is a rumor that their marriage will give us Ossetia. Besides, she's-what, ten winters older than he?"

"Boys grow up fast at nearly fifteen," Maarken commented.

Rohan made a sour face. "I don't think he realizes yet that girls exist."

"Boys grow up fast at nearly fifteen," Maarken repeated, and grinned.

The candles guttered in neat rows, the warm brilliance of their first burning faded to uncertain glimmers. Rohan stood before them, acutely aware of the darkness behind him. It was long past midnight, the ritual over. He had spoken to the a.s.sembled highborns and dignitaries here in the oratory, brief words about the loss suffered in the deaths of Inoat and Jos, fulfilling his obligation as High Prince. The candles had been placed along the back wall, and everyone had gone down to the dinner waiting for them. Rohan told himself he ought to be there, too, even if this was no longer an official ceremonial banquet, for he was hungry and Pol would want him near while everyone took his measure. But Pol had Maarken and Pandsala to see him through any rough patches, and Rohan wasn't ready to join them just yet.

The oratory was an exquisite thing, a half-dome of faceted Fironese crystal projecting out from the cliffside castle, furnished with white chairs covered by white velvet. By sun, moons, or stars, it would glow. But the sky had turned black shortly after moonrise, clouds the color of smoke obscuring all light. Only the candles shone, and they burned low.

Outside the Ossetian seat of Athmyr, the bodies of father and son would be ablaze now on a shared pyre. Old Prince Chale and his faradhi faradhi would wait and watch through the night until flesh became ash, and then the Sunrunner would call up a gentle breath of Air to carry the ashes over land that had given the two princes birth, land that they would never rule. Candles would burn in honor of that funeral fire here in this oratory and at similar places in each princedom: the small gla.s.s-domed chamber at Davvi's High Kirat, the central hall of Volog's court at New Raetia, the would wait and watch through the night until flesh became ash, and then the Sunrunner would call up a gentle breath of Air to carry the ashes over land that had given the two princes birth, land that they would never rule. Candles would burn in honor of that funeral fire here in this oratory and at similar places in each princedom: the small gla.s.s-domed chamber at Davvi's High Kirat, the central hall of Volog's court at New Raetia, the faradhi faradhi calendar room at Graypearl that Pol had described in awed detail. Rohan wondered where Sioned would hold the ritual at Skybowl; Stronghold had a chamber for the purpose, but Skybowl had no such facility. He imagined she would choose a place outdoors by the lake, perhaps even float candles out across the dark water. calendar room at Graypearl that Pol had described in awed detail. Rohan wondered where Sioned would hold the ritual at Skybowl; Stronghold had a chamber for the purpose, but Skybowl had no such facility. He imagined she would choose a place outdoors by the lake, perhaps even float candles out across the dark water.

The same had been done at Skybowl for his father-of whom Roelstra had spoken here in this very chamber on the night Zehava's body had burned to ashes in the Desert. Rohan doubted that Roelstra's elegy had been heartfelt.

Turning from the candles, Rohan glanced up at the crystal ceiling where flickering lights reflected in the etched panes. Where the clear dome met the stone floor thirty paces from him was a table bearing silver and gold plate and two cups of beaten gold. The chunks of uncut amethyst set into the goblets were said to have fallen from the sky with the first sunset. Only one marriage had ever been celebrated with them, that of Roelstra to his only wife, Lallante. Rohan supposed that sooner or later Pol would stand here to wed some suitable girl. The ruler of Princemarch could hardly avoid being married in his own oratory. Yet despite its beauty, Rohan could not banish the chill he sensed within this room. Roelstra had ruled here too long.

He paced silently down the white carpet to the center of the chamber, directly below the place where crystal met smoothed rock high overhead. The panes were set in delicate stone traceries that must have taken years to carve. He admired the workmanship but wondered why he could sense none of the crafters' joy in creating such beauty. His mother's gardens at Stronghold-her life's work and her pride-had a different feel altogether. She and a small army of workers had transformed the barren wards of the castle into a miracle of grace and growing things: every flowerbed, tree, bench, and curve of the little stream bespoke pleasure in the making. His own refurbishing of the Great Hall had something of the same feel to it-artisans delighting in their skills that produced such marvels. This oratory, despite its magnificence, was a cold and lifeless place that not even the gentle candlelight could warm.

He told himself he would feel differently about it once he had viewed it in full sunshine. He would be able to see across the vast canyon to the opposite cliffs, and down to the rush of the Faolain far below. The oratory would not then feel like a crystal bubble clinging in darkness to the side of a mountain, isolated and chill and redolent of his enemy.

Rohan turned quickly as the doors swung open. Pandsala stood there, candlelight limning her body and turning her gray mourning gown and veil to dark liquid silver.

"Everyone is asking for you, my lord."

"I'll be down in a moment. How fares my son?"

She smiled, dark eyes glinting with pride. "Charming everyone, of course, just as I expected."

"Don't let his pretty manners fool you. He can be a terror when he pleases, and stubborn enough for six."

"Would he be a boy if he weren't? My chamberlain's four sons have been my pages, one after the other, and each more mischievous than the last." She moved into the room and the doors swung shut behind her. "Because he is is a boy with those qualities, though, I thought I should warn you. He's heard about the old custom of proving one's strength and courage by scaling the cliffs opposite the castle. I'm afraid he's taken it into his head to try." a boy with those qualities, though, I thought I should warn you. He's heard about the old custom of proving one's strength and courage by scaling the cliffs opposite the castle. I'm afraid he's taken it into his head to try."

"I've heard about it. The idea is to slide back down on the ropes-a little like flying. I can see how that would appeal to him."

"You'll forbid it, naturally."

Rohan chuckled. "Let me tell you something about my hatchling, Pandsala. Forbidding him to do something is tantamount to issuing an open invitation for him to work his way around to doing it anyhow."

"But it's too dangerous!"

"Probably."

"And he's so young!"

"He's older than Maarken was when he went to war. Pandsala, if I forbid it, he'll only go off and do it on his own I could lock him in his rooms and he'd still find a way of getting out and doing just as he pleases. With Pol, you have to use sweet reason and a guile even greater than his own-and sometimes not even that that works." works."

"But, my lord-" she began.

"Let's go downstairs. I'll show you something about our stubborn prince."

Rohan had only just supplied himself with a plate of food and a winecup when his offspring came through the crowd, Maarken right behind him. "Watch," Rohan whispered to Pandsala, who looked on worriedly as Pol sought permission to test his strength and courage against the cliffs.

"And I was thinking, Father, that it would be good for us politically, too," he finished with admirable if transparent shrewdness.

"As well as terrific fun," Rohan added.

Pol nodded enthusiastically. "I've done some climbing around Stronghold and Skybowl, and Prince Chadric took all the squires to some rocks near Graypearl for lessons. It was right over the ocean, too, so I know all about how to go climbing over water without getting nervous. May I, Father? Please?"

Rohan pretended to consider, though his decision had already been made-prompted partly by Pandsala's automatic a.s.sumption that he would forbid this. "What arrangements would you make for this feat?"

"Well, I know it's a little dangerous. But Maarken could come with me if he wants to, and Maeta loves to go climbing-and if we had a group of people who've done it before, then they could take the lead and show us how. It won't be that much of a risk, Father. And if I'm going to be prince here, I really ought to show them what I'm made of."

Rohan's lips twitched in a smile. "Maarken, how do you feel about this?"

The young man shrugged. "If he's determined to do this crazy thing, then I'll go with him."

"Hmm. I'll think it over."

A flicker of disappointment showed in Pol's face, but then he decided to put the best possible interpretation on the words. "Thank you, Father!"

A man approached, was introduced as Lord Cladon of River Ussh, and talk turned to other things. When Rohan and Pandsala were comparatively private once more, he turned to her and smiled. "Well?"

"I think I understand, my lord. He thought up ways to convince you it would be safe in order to win your permission. Had you dictated dictated those terms, however, he would have been resentful-and defied you." those terms, however, he would have been resentful-and defied you."

"Exactly. A few days from now he'll have researched the problem and presented me with further precautions for his safety-and he'll know a great deal more about climbing than he does at present." he'll know a great deal more about climbing than he does at present."

"But you'd already made up your mind."

"He's right, you know-it would be an excellent thing if he proved himself at so young an age." He watched as shock widened her eyes, correctly interpreted her expression, and answered it with, "Don't think I'm not afraid for him, Pandsala. But I can't wrap him in silk. I can guide his steps, but I won't prevent him from getting a few bruises. It's the only way he'll ever become a man on his own, a prince worthy of the lands he'll inherit."

"Forgive me, my lord, but-" She hesitated, then went on, "We've all been reminded very painfully today of how quickly a prince's life can be lost. Pol is simply too valuable to risk."

"So was I." He paused, then went on softly, "My parents kept me sheltered until I was thirteen-well past the usual age for fostering. When they did let me go, it was to my cousin Hadaan at Remagev-barely a day's ride from Stronghold. I had a little more freedom there, but not much. By the time my father's last war with the Merida came, I was frantic to prove myself, so I marched out disguised as a common soldier. It was a d.a.m.ned foolish thing to do. I could very easily have been killed. But they'd forbidden me to go as the heir, you see. Maeta's mother, who commanded the Stronghold guard before her, caught me but decided to look the other way. She understood that I'd been more or less driven to it by my parents' cosseting. My poor mother nearly had heart failure and my father was furious with me. But he also knighted me on the field."

"And you don't want Pol driven to the same kind of thing," Pandsala mused. "Even so, my lord, it's a terrible chance to take."

"Sioned will be livid when she finds out, of course. But I can't help that. I often wonder why I didn't defy my parents much sooner. Perhaps it was lack of opportunity-but I suspect it was really fear of my father." He shrugged.

"It was the same for me," she said, looking anywhere but at him. "We were all terrified of Roelstra. But you never hated your father the way I did mine."

"With us as examples, do you wonder why I allow Pol the freedom to do this? He won't have the need to do anything as foolhardy as I did-"

"Or as wicked as I did. We are indeed edifying examples, my lord." She gave him a tiny smile. "Very well, I understand-but I'll make sure my best people go with him on the climb."

"Thank you. It's all we can ever do, you know-take what precautions we can, and trust to the G.o.ddess' mercy for the rest." He sighed ruefully. "Frankly, the whole idea of this scares me silly. But I have to let Pol be who and what he is. He's going to be, whether I allow it or not-so why fight it?"

"As you wish, my lord."

"Besides," Rohan finished with a grin, "my hatchling quite naturally wants to fly. Pandsala, I'd like to meet privately with each of the va.s.sals tomorrow. Will you arrange it for me, please?"

"Of course, my lord." She paused thoughtfully, searching his eyes. "Do you know, with all the differences between you and my father-both as men and as High Prince-I think it all may come down to one simple thing. My father never said 'please' to anybody in his life."

Pol was glad of his thick leather jacket as updrafts from the river far below sent chill gusts along the cliffs. Summer was three-quarters over, and whereas in the Desert and at Graypearl the days would still be searingly hot, here in the mountains clouds had formed again last night. Having finally won permission from his father to make the climb-after four days of alternating pleas with detailed plans-Pol had been frantic lest a late-summer rain spoil his chance. They were due to leave for Waes in two days; the climb had to be this morning or not at all.

He looked down for the first time since beginning the upward struggle, and gulped. He hadn't realized how far he'd come, how far below him the river now was. He clung more tightly to the iron ring driven into the rock face and forced himself to lift his head, trying to judge the distance to the top and how long it would take to get there. A tug on the rope around his waist signaled that it was time to make the next move across the cliff. He swallowed hard, refusing to admit that he had been a fool to attempt this climb.

As fingers and toes found holds, his confidence returned. This wasn't much different from scrambling up ragged, wind-sculpted stone in the Vere Hills, except for the distance down. The view was splendid; he really did feel akin to the dragons. He imagined himself equipped with wings, bracing for flight and then soaring out over the gorge, every fiber of his body singing- "Pol! Pay attention!"

Maeta's command alerted him, and he was reminded that he definitely was not a dragon. He scrambled up to join her on a tiny ledge, breathing hard.

"Some fun, eh?" She grinned at him. "You're doing fine. Give Maarken's rope a tug and let's get started for the top."

"How much farther?" He squinted upward.

"About half the time it took us to get this far. Then we can have lunch, rest, and fly back down."

"I wish we could've flown up. up."

Maeta laughed and rubbed his shoulder affectionately. "It's the challenge that counts. The privilege of flight has to be earned, you know. Besides, think of the nice, quiet ride back up the canyon when we're done! I'll even let you fall asleep on your horse. See you at the top, hatchling."

She set off again and Pol watched her find the handholds near the next iron ring. Maeta threaded the rope through and tied it off to provide Pol's support for the next part of his climb, just as she was linked to the man above her for safety. Soon Maarken had joined Pol on the ledge, panting to catch his breath.

"I must've been crazy to agree to this!"

"You and me both," Pol admitted. "I'm running out of fingernails." He held out hands sc.r.a.ped and bloodied by gripping sharp stone, and grinned at his cousin. "But it's worth it! Take a look!"

Maarken seemed to inhale the sky and trees and cliffs, his gaze lingering as Pol's did on the multicolored wild-flowers clinging to the rocks. "Wonderful!" he exclaimed. "But I don't dare look down-last time I did I nearly lost my breakfast. I don't think I'll be able to climb my way out of bed tomorrow! But you're right, it's worth it." He peered across the canyon, and pointed. "Is that your father and Pandsala?"

Pol waved and nearly lost his balance. Maarken steadied him with a firm grip on his shoulder. "Thanks," he said shakily. "D'you think they can see us?"

"That blue jacket of yours must be visible for half a measure."

"As if you're inconspicuous!" Pol scoffed, flicking a finger against his cousin's bright red. Another tug on the rope alerted him, and he set off again. After half a morning of this he was sure of what he was doing, but the ridges cut into the stone had been made for a full-grown person, not a boy coming up on his fifteenth winter. He had to stretch quite a bit sometimes to reach the holds, and his shoulders and legs were beginning to ache in earnest. "When the h.e.l.l am I going to grow? grow?" he muttered as he scrabbled for a niche and barely reached it.

He was also eager to grow in ways other than height. Over the past few days Pol had sat in on talks with men who were nominally his va.s.sals, and the amba.s.sadors and emissaries from other princedoms. Rohan's warning that a prince must listen to some very tedious people had been forcibly demonstrated; at times, Pol could barely keep his eyes open. But it was amusing to watch these people look back and forth from him to Rohan-one the real owner of Princemarch and the other its real ruler. They couldn't seem to decide if they ought to be seriously concerned with Pol's opinions or treat him with a kind of half-amused indulgence: the boy pretending to be a prince. It would be nice to be older, he mused as he sought for the next toehold, to be Maarken's age and Maarken's height, with Maarken's easy authority.

He had just secured himself to the next ring when a metallic clang hit rock. His head turned, and something gray and slightly rusty flew past him down into the canyon. Looking up, he saw Maeta frozen on the cliff face, arms and legs outspread.

"Maeta!"

"Check the ring, Pol. Hurry."

He inspected the iron circle and terror stopped his heart for a moment. The spike anchoring the ring had worked loose. If stressed, it probably would hold no weight greater than his own, and might not even support him him for very long. for very long.

"It's coming out, isn't it?" Maeta called softly, her voice slightly breathless.

He explored the joining of spike and stone. "Somebody's picked at it!"

"I thought as much." She hesitated, then said, "My rope's frayed, too."