Part 17 (1/2)
”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.