“Why? It’s of no real use.”
“Why are you so afraid of it?”
“I’m not afraid—at least, no more than any Sunrunner confronted with one of the tools of sorcery.”
“I wonder what it would show for someone who also has diarmadhi blood,” he mused, then said, “Riyan.”
The mirror went black.
“Riyan,” he said again.
Nothing. Andry thought this over, then shrugged. “Chiana,” he said, and the Princess of Meadowlord appeared—without an aura of color, for she was not even a halfling faradhi. As with the other images, Chiana looked oddly lifeless; the mirror presented unmoving portraits, not views of people such as might be conjured by a skilled Sunrunner in Fire.
“There really doesn’t seem to be much use for it,” Andry remarked, disappointed. “If it was really useful, it’d show me what these people are doing right now.”
“You play with that awful thing as you wish,” Valeda snapped. “I’m not coming near it again.” And she strode out.
He was too intrigued by the mirror to care what she thought. On a whim he spoke the name of Goddess Keep. But evidently the mirror showed only people; gray mist clouded its surface again. He attempted a variation, wondering if the mirror would accept a more complex command, if it could reveal the living present and not just static portraits. “Princess Alasen at this moment.”
Nothing.
Andry shrugged. It had been worth a try. So was something else. “Rohan on the day he married Sioned.” Still nothing. A request to see them ten years in the future yielded only silvery blankness.
So. Portraits only of living persons, not future or present or past. What a waste of silver, glass, and sorcery, he thought in disgust. Still, despite the mirror’s limited value, he wanted it. Extinguishing the fingerflame, he covered the mirror once more with the tapestry and considered the best method of concealment until he could send someone to fetch it. He decided to wrap it well and bury it beneath a tree outside.
Nialdan filled the doorway, blocking out most of the sunlight, as Andry was pulling the blanket and sheet from the narrow cot in the corner. “My Lord? We can leave anytime you choose.”
“Help me with this, would you? Did Valeda tell you about the mirror?”
The big Sunrunner nodded without a trace of curiosity or unease. “What do you want done with it?”
“Dig a hole outside big enough to rest it in. We’ll send someone for it this spring. It should be safe enough until then, don’t you think?”
“Of course, my Lord.” Nialdan gathered up the blanket and cloaked the mirror in its folds.
Andry gave thanks for a subordinate who never questioned and tugged the two pillows from their coverings, intending to rip up the cloth into ties to secure the sheet and blanket around the mirror. There was something else here besides the pillow. He nearly yelped with delight as a thin parchment came loose, much-creased and yellowed with age. His fingers shook as he picked it up. Complex formulas or notes on sorceries or some such would have been welcome. A blank page he could have dealt with; there were recipes in the Star Scroll for making ink appear where there seemed to be none. Instead, he squinted his way through a dauntingly ungrammatical letter from someone who signed himself “yor luving grandson.”
Andry gave a rueful chuckle. So much for his hopes of a momentous discovery: a mirror of scant use and a barely literate note. He tore the pillow cases into strips and helped Nialdan tie them around the mirror.
“I won’t need help carting this out,” the Sunrunner said. “It’s very light. The digging shouldn’t take more than three winks of a maiden’s eyelash.”
Andry poked a finger into the bulging muscle of Nialdan’s arm. “For you, of course. Whatever would I do without you, you bloody great tree?”
Nialdan grinned and left with the mirror firmly embraced. Andry lingered a while, wishing the woman had possessed something of real import. Still, he was lucky to have the mirror. He must remember to tell those he sent out in future to search for others. Who knew, one of them might—
In the gloom he almost missed it. There, on the shelf with the plates, was another glint of silver. Probably nothing more interesting than a spoon, he told himself, which means I’ll make a fool of myself again! But he investigated anyway. Nothing more extraordinary than a narrow circle of polished metal rested in his hand. But rolled within it was another sheet of parchment, sealed and ready to send. He inspected the clasp and saw a pattern of mountains and stars etched into the silver. This time his excitement was justified. Breaking the seal, he smoothed the parchment onto the table and conjured a fingerflame over his shoulder to read by. The translation didn’t take very long. He was used to the ancient words.
Mireva received exactly what she deserved. You in your wisdom long understood this, and though I have doubted, I see now how right you always were. Our path lies in becoming Sunrunners and princes, not in killing them. Urival and Camigwen were the first of many who lived and worked at Goddess Keep. It is a satisfaction that her son now enjoys fine holdings and a place of trust with the High Prince. We may take the greatest pride in the fact that the next High Prince is one of our blood—and it will surprise even you to know that my researches have finally revealed exactly how this came to be. Mireva thought it must come through Sioned. But it is not so. His power comes from the strongest line among us. I have studied his aleva in secrecy—never satisfied with Mireva’s explanation. I was frustrated by the fact that he has never used his gifts from us—his colors were all Sunrunner up until late spring of this year. But though diluted from purity by two generations—the mating with ungifted Roelstra and the faradhi taint of Rohan, I have discerned our own beloved Lallante in him. He is her grandson—the boy born to Ianthe who did not die at Feruche.
Andry was so stunned that his knees gave way, and he only realized it when he landed hard on the rough planks of the floor.
Ianthe’s other sons never would have served; much as all of us value pure line of descent from our ancient forebears, the combination of our blood and the Sunrunners’ has made Pol more powerful than any of our own people could ever be. Bitter this might be to admit; but we saw it in Urival and to a lesser extent in Camigwen and now her son Riyan. Thus it is with Pol—but his line being stronger than that which produced these others, it is only to be expected that his powers are the greater. He will be a High Prince of inestimable gifts. Under his rule, we will be safe—for he is one of us and knows it.
Andry turned the sheet over with hands that shook so hard he could barely grip the parchment. There was only a little more.
In the spring, subject to your approval, I will present myself at Dragon’s Rest and learn all I can of Pol. Should he show willingness, I will reveal myself and teach him those things he needs to know about the battles you have foreseen. By the Nameless One, what a warrior he will make! I will come to you, if I may, and school myself in the details of history and defense, that Pol may be sword and shield. For he belongs not just to the Sunrunners or the common folk he rules, but to us as well.
The letter was signed by the woman Nialdan had just killed. There had been no salutation; Andry surmised that the silver circle around it was identification enough. He levered himself up off the floor. There was a bucket of clean water hanging from a nail near the hearth, and he dipped several cupfuls to flood his dry throat. Stronger drink would have been welcome, even tainted with dranath as it was bound to be, but he saw no wine bottles. He placed a chair at the table and sat down, still shaky but more ready now to think.
Forget for the moment whether or not this was true; should he keep it or destroy it? Would it be more valuable in his possession or was the knowledge alone enough? How could it be used? Was it really proof that Rohan and Sioned had lied all these years? Did Chay and Tobin know? Was there advantage in revealing Pol’s ancestry? Was this incredible thing true?