The Star Scroll Part 38

"And yet-if precedent and traditional right to what we hold is the highest law, where does that leave possession by right of war? If that is the paramount law, then we would all be at each other's throats-as in the past." He flicked a glance at Volog, who gave him stare for stare.

"If a man has the right to his lands, then he has the right to give them to his son. Usually the eldest, and one born of his wife's body-but there are several instances in the recent past of a younger son or an illegitimate one inheriting. If we take away that right, and if we decide that war is the more legitimate means of gaining a princedom or a holding, then we announce chaos and we might as well gird ourselves for battle here and now. For none of us will be secure in what we hold, from prince to most obscure athri. athri."

He paused a long moment, then shook his head. "I do not disbelieve the Lady Andrade and the Princess-Regent. I do not disbelieve this young man before us now. But I do believe in the law, and in my own conscience. And both tell me that Princemarch by rights belongs to the son of the late High Prince Roelstra." He cast a quick glance around the table again, and sat down.

Rohan held in the long sigh that wanted to escape his chest, kept back the twist of bitter disappointment that threatened his lips. Saumer was not trying to spite Volog or anyone else; he was honest in his misgivings and in his beliefs. Actually, Rohan told himself with grim humor, he ought to be cheering the words that had come from Saumer's mouth: "I do believe in the law." He'd been working to instill those words and that belief in his fellow princes for over twenty years. And what a time to succeed!

Andrade broke the silence with a rustle of parchment. "The count is as follows. Ossetia, Dorval, Syr, Kierst, and Meadowlord against; Cunaxa, Gilad, Grib, Fessenden, and Isel for." She lifted her gaze from her notes. "My lords, it appears we have a deadlock."

Rohan did not meet her eyes, knowing what he would find in them. Masul was chewing his lip, the fingers of one hand drumming on the carved wooden support of the water clock.

At last Rohan got up, consciously drawing all eyes to him. "My lords, it is as the Lady has said. Both sides lack a majority. Firon being without a prince, and both myself and the Princess-Regent being obviously disqualified, I can see few ways of breaking this deadlock."

All of them sat up straighter at his implication, but it was Masul who voiced their question. "What do you mean?" When someone sucked in an outraged breath at his peremptory tone, he added, "My lord."

"I mean there are alternatives. Such proofs as are readily available have been presented, and have failed to convince one way or the other. But . . ."

He finally looked at his aunt. She nodded slowly, placing her long hands with their ten rings and gleaming bracelets on the table before her.

"What is it, my Lady?" Lleyn asked, his voice soft.

She answered, "The faradh'im faradh'im have certain skills not generally known among the populace-or, indeed, among most have certain skills not generally known among the populace-or, indeed, among most faradh'im faradh'im themselves. Some of us are able to catch quite detailed visions of the future, for instance." themselves. Some of us are able to catch quite detailed visions of the future, for instance."

Miyon leaned back in his chair with an angry gesture of one hand. "Your pardon, my Lady, but surely you don't propose to show us what the world would be like with Prince Masul at Castle Crag? I never heard of anything so-"

Andrade continued as if he had not spoken. "I have done such things myself, my lords. But what is relevant to us at present is something else. The past-and specifically that night twenty-one years ago-is in my memory. Using certain . . . techniques . . . I will be able to conjure that past for all of you to watch with your own eyes. It is a difficult thing, and possibly a dangerous one. But those of you who do not believe me me will, I think, believe the evidence I will present before you." will, I think, believe the evidence I will present before you."

"And why should we believe this-or even allow it?" Velden exclaimed. "I've never heard of this supposed ability, either! Why should it be trusted?"

"You dare question the Lady's word?" Lleyn asked, his eyes like thunder.

"Peace, my friend," Andrade said. "He has every right to question. Would it satisfy you, Prince Velden, if I first conjured a scene from the past that you and I both witnessed?"

Cabar stared slack-jawed; Miyon was anxious and trying to hide it; Masul's lip curled scornfully. Pimantal looked intrigued, and Saumer, hopeful. He said, "If it will settle our doubts and if it is not too dangerous for you-"

"It probably is," she said with a shrug. "But I consider this person more so." She fixed Masul with a sardonic eye. "Well? Are you secure enough in your claim of truth to have the truth revealed to you through Sunrunner arts?"

"In which I have very little faith," he shot back. "But if their graces wish it, then why not?" He smiled.

"Very well." She rose and bowed to Rohan. "With your permission, my lord, I will retire to my pavilion and prepare."

"Will tomorrow serve, my Lady?" He was appalled by her sudden pallor.

"Tonight at sunset will do. I'd like to get this over with." Again she speared Masul with her gaze. "You've taken up quite enough time and energy as it is, and their graces have more important matters to discuss."

Without another word she walked from the tent, leaving an apprehensive silence behind her. Each prince looked at every other prince, and finally at Rohan. He cleared his throat.

But before he could say anything, Masul spoke-drawling, amused, yet with an undercurrent of hostility seething in his voice. "Well, cousin," he said to Rohan, "it seems your family witch is your last hope. But I'm not worried. Nothing scares me."

"Then you are a fool," Rohan replied tranquilly. "We meet here at sunset, my lords. I trust no one will object to the presences of the High Princess and my son, as well as the Princess-Regent."

There were no objections; there could be none. In renewed eerie quiet they left Rohan alone. He stood silent and unseeing for some time after they had gone. Then, sinking down into his chair, he put his face in his hands.

"Gentle G.o.ddess," he whispered. "What have I done? What am I about to do?"

There was no one to answer.

Chapter Twenty-three.

Of all the people in Waes that Sioned wished to see that noon-day, the very last was Chiana. But the would-be princess was not far behind Tallain, who had run to the great blue pavilion at once with word of the princes' decision. Sioned had been there all morning, waiting in solitude and silence for her husband, wanting not even Pol to share the time with her. Tallain, respecting her obvious wishes, told his news and withdrew. But Chiana invaded close on his heels and paced the carpets with every intention of wearing them into the dirt.

"How could you allow this to happen?" she cried. "How could could you?" you?"

"Be silent," Sioned told her in a tone that ought to have warned her to do so immediately.

Chiana was beyond even rudimentary understanding of another's emotions-not her specialty to begin with. Sioned rose from her chair, a small frantic voice in her head demanding that Chiana be evicted at once, before Rohan could come back with his undoubted need for what little peace Sioned could give him. But Chiana continued to berate her, shrill and voluble in her furious panic.

"You had only to order it, and this pretender would be dead! My father would have executed him before he even opened his mouth! What use is the power of a High Prince if you don't use it? And now I must pay for this cowardice! I must suffer doubts of my birth! I must-"

Sioned bore it with phenomenal patience before her temper simply snapped.

"You, you, you! Is your precious self the only thing you can think about? Roelstra's daughter! If I'd ever had any doubts, they're gone now! Only the sp.a.w.n of that vicious self-centered viper would behave so! Now let me be, Chiana, or I'll throw you out of here with my own hands!"

She had the odd sensation that it was someone else's voice shouting, someone else's hand that lifted threateningly. But sight of the emerald ring reminded her that the hand raised to strike was indeed her own. She swung away, nauseated. "Get out," she whispered. "Get out before I forget who I am."

"You seem to have forgotten who I I am!" am!"

Tallain's frantic voice rose in the outer chamber of the pavilion. "Your grace, please-"

"Is Rohan here? I must speak with him at once!"

Pandsala; all that Sioned needed at this point was another of Roelstra's daughters. She turned as the part.i.tion rustled and Chiana gave a blurt of laughter.

"Pandsala! Tell her! We demand the death of this pretender!"

Pandsala started at the sight of her half sister-and looked guilty. Sioned's fists clenched.

"Well?" Chiana snapped. "Go on! Tell her! If none of you has the courage, I'll order that b.a.s.t.a.r.d killed myself."

"If he dies," Sioned heard that strange voice that was not her own say, "your death will follow, Chiana-and by my Sunrunner arts."

The younger woman gasped and turned white. "You wouldn't dare!"

A tiny smile hovered around Sioned's lips. "Would I not?"

At that precise moment Rohan stepped into the tent, and stopped instantly at the sight of the three women. He noted and dismissed Chiana's rage with one piercing glance. Then he regarded Pandsala for a moment, his eyes chips of colorless ice. At last he looked at his wife, a flicker of irritation spasming over his features. To her he said, "I come here expecting respite, and find a battlefield."

And with that, he was gone.

Chiana's mouth hung open. Pandsala looked as if she would either scream or attack her half sister, perhaps both. Sioned wanted to weep with the pain of seeing Rohan's eyes so cold and dead, his face carved in stone. Her own blood congealed into rivulets of ice, her own features drawing into a hard mask as she glared at the intruders into her husband's peace.

"Leave me," she snapped.

"I am not a servant!" Chiana retorted, but without her earlier righteous fury. "I am a princess!"

"Shut up, you fool!" Pandsala hissed, and dragged her by one arm out of the pavilion.

When Sioned was alone, she spent a long time staring with blind eyes at the empty doorway. Then, with a brisk command, she called Tallain in and told him to fetch her son.

Having rid herself of Chiana through the simple expedient of pushing her into a nearby tent and shouting at the guards to keep her there, Pandsala set off after Rohan. She had a fair idea of where he would be headed. If quiet was his goal, then he would surely seek the river downstream from the encampment. She knew she would have, and her heart thrilled to recognize a similarity of impulse between them.

Sure enough, there he was-striding purposefully through the damp gravel at the water's edge, a slim figure in dark blue trousers, black boots, and a loose white shirt, crowned by blond hair. Pandsala s.n.a.t.c.hed up her long skirts and hurried after him. When she was within hearing distance, well beyond the last of the tents up on the wooded slope, she called out.

"My lord! Wait!"

Rohan swung around with a furious movement, ready to snarl at anyone who dared intrude. And again Pandsala's heart quivered when his expression changed at sight of her. Though the ice and stone of him did not melt or soften, neither did he vent his temper on her. He would have done so with almost anyone else. But now he found in Pandsala, as he had not in Sioned, the respite he needed.

This was what she told herself as she neared him, and the catch in her breath was more at having him all to herself than at the exertion of her run.

"My lord-I'm sorry for Chiana's outburst. It was unforgivable."

"But then, so much of Chiana is unforgivable," he replied. "You didn't race after me to tell me this, my lady."

"No," she admitted quietly, her heart and respiration slowing. "I wanted to discuss some possibilities with you, my lord. Things that might save Lady Andrade the danger of a conjuring."

Blue eyes narrowed. "She's already told me that you have neither the skill nor the strength for something similar. Please don't suggest it, Pandsala."

"I would do it," she maintained, tearing her gaze from his to look at the river. "But it may be that neither of us will have to attempt it."

"Explain yourself."

She glanced up the wooded bank. "If you please, my lord, shall we walk a little farther? I can't see anyone, but-"

Rohan nodded, and they walked. After a time Pandsala spoke in a low, urgent voice.

"The princes are deadlocked without hope of persuading any of Masul's supporters to change their minds. You know as well as I that this means he will have to be recognized as ruler of Princemarch. Without votes enough to deny him, your own honor will demand that he be confirmed, no matter if there are five other princes who believe him false. Had there been six, or seven, then he could have been denied. But even then, even with only two or three princes to champion him, he could have mounted an army to fight for Princemarch, with those princes at his side. If he is denied now, there are five who will gird and supply him. I want war no more than you do, my lord. But war will surely come, and not just between you and Princemarch. All the others will be drawn in, and all our substance spent."

"Succinct and accurate," Rohan said in clipped tones. "What do you propose as a solution?"

"If the results of the trouble cannot be removed, then we must go to its source. Masul himself."

"And what would you do?"

She cast him a sidelong glance, drawing in a deep breath.

"What Chiana proposed just before you entered the pavilion. Kill him."

Rohan stopped and turned on her. "Pandsala-"

"Hear me out, my lord! Please! I have killed using faradhi faradhi means before, we both know it." means before, we both know it."

"So has Sioned," he snapped. "That doesn't mean either of you will do it again, and especially not now!"

"She has?" This was news to Pandsala, who reminded herself to rethink her opinion of the High Princess. "Then she will understand. I will do it, my lord, you can blame it all on me-and punish me as you see fit afterward. Masul is no son of my father-and even if he were, I couldn't endure seeing him in Pol's place at Castle Crag."

"Stop this! No more!"

"My lord, it is the only way." She grasped his arm, feeling the strong muscles beneath the shirt. "All of this is my fault. Chiana was right about that. If I had not conspired with Ianthe and then with Palila, none of this would be happening. The responsibility is mine. I accept it freely. I will kill Masul by Sunrunner means in full sight of everyone. You and Andrade both will have the punishment of me-and if it's death, then so be it."

For a wonderful instant she thought he was tempted. But then he snarled, "I won't hear any more of this!" He pulled away from her, boot heels crunching angrily in the sand.

"Rohan, please!" She caught up again, seizing his hand in both her own this time, so hard that his topaz ring dug into her palm. The noon sunlight swept across his hair and brow, gilding his already golden fairness, sinking his eyes into shadow. "With Masul dead, and with me punished however you like, there would be no more danger to Pol!"

"With Masul dead, there would always be doubts! If this were a viable alternative, I would have done it myself. Do you think I require others to do my killing for me? I managed quite well enough killing your father!" He wrested his hand from hers, closed both palms on her shoulders. "What you're saying is madness. You know it, I know it. G.o.ddess witness that I'm close to a kind of madness myself. Listen to me, Pandsala. Masul cannot die until everyone believes not in him but in Pol! Once that happens, his death is certain-but not because he challenged me. I can't be the one to kill him, and neither can you!"

"What difference would it make?" she cried. "I've killed for Pol often enough before!"

For a moment Rohan did not fully comprehend. Then, slowly, he searched her desperate, pa.s.sionate dark eyes, and the gold of his face paled to gray, like ashes. His fingers dug painfully into her flesh. "What are you saying?" he breathed. "What have you done?"

Pandsala faced him, excitement like strong wine in her blood, and told him the truth of the last fourteen years.

Rohan listened, unbelieving, to the frightful catalog of her crimes. In growing horror he heard the words pour forth, Pandsala's feverish voice and wild eyes giving frantic reality to things out of nightmares. At last she panted to a halt, hands clenched on his chest, Sunrunner's rings and his own gift of amethyst and topaz winking mockingly at him in the sunlight.

She had killed for Pol before. Not just that archer, living torch on the battlements of Castle Crag. Oh, no. And how efficiently, how logically she had chosen whom to kill, and how.

Naydra's unborn son-her own sister's child-had been the first, murdered in the womb a year after Pandsala had become regent. Naydra had nearly died of the miscarriage. But with no heir, Port Adni would revert to Kiers on Lord Narat's death. And Kierst was ruled by Pol's kinsman.

Another sister, Cipris, had been murdered by slow poison lanced through the parchment of her private letters. Proposed wife of Clutha's heir, Cipris had died before she bore a male of Roelstra's line who might one day challenge Pol.

Then Obram of Isel. Saumer's only son had married Volog's daughter Birani; there had been no issue of the marriage before his drowning off the Iseli coast one spring. His sister Hevatia, wife of Volog's heir, had already borne the child who, with Obram's death, became heir to both princedoms. A united Kierst and Isel would one day be ruled by Pol's kinsman.

Lady Rusalka had died in a hunting accident shortly before her marriage. Lady Pavla had succ.u.mbed to a necklace with poison-tipped p.r.o.ngs barely a year after her marriage to Prince Ajit of Firon. Both women had been Pandsala's half sisters, and both had been killed for the same reason as Cipris.

There were more. Lord Tibayan of Lower Pyrme, resisting cooperation with Davvi on regulation of port fees and other matters along with the Syrene border with Ossetia, had paid for his intransigence with his life. So had Lady Rabia of Catha Heights, whose death in childbed delivering her third daughter had come just after her husband had blocked construction of a port at the mouth of the Faolain, a primary trade objective of both Syr and the Desert. Patwin had been much more pliable since his wife's death. Doubtless Pandsala had had this in mind when she'd killed another sister.

And yet another, two years ago-Lady Nayati, who had fallen to the knife of what had appeared to be a common street bandit in Waes while on a visit to Kiele. She, too, would produce no male heirs to challenge Pol.