“Yes, my Lord.”
Andry drew in a deep breath and addressed his people. “Since faradh’im left Dorval to end the sorcerers’ control of the princedoms, we have been forbidden to use our gifts to kill. This is a wise law. Without it, we might have become hired assassins like the Merida, our honor the price of a wineskin—or worse.
“But in reading the scrolls left by Lady Merisel, who led the Sunrunners with her husband Lord Gerik and their friend Lord Rosseyn, I discovered something. They and their faradh’im went into battle alongside their allies—and they used their gifts to protect.”
He waited for this to sink in, then continued. “The concept of warrior faradh’im was as astonishing to me as I know it is to you. But the fact remains that they were. And it was only after the so-called Stoneburners had been defeated that the law was made forbidding us to kill with our gifts.”
Torien had reached Maarken by now, and was urging him politely toward the main gate. Andry ignored the little rustling they made through the crowd. He also did himself the favor of ignoring the many faces eloquent with suspicion that he was about to unmake that particular law.
“Lady Merisel was wise,” he said quietly. “We are so made as Sunrunners that we cannot conceive of causing death with our art. This is as it should be. We are here to work with and for the princedoms, not to terrorize them with our power as the diarmadh’im did.
“But I have come to believe that we must learn to do what our ancestors did. Not to kill in battle, but to protect. Many of you were at Goddess Keep in 704, when Lyell of Waes camped outside our gates—ostensibly to protect us against the war between Roelstra and Prince Rohan. You who were here remember how helpless you were against only fifty or sixty armed soldiers.
“You may rightly say that times are peaceful now, with no need for learning what I propose we learn. But consider the possible results of a single death: that of Prince Pol.”
Hollis’ dark golden head jerked up at that. He met her gaze calmly, knowing he need not spell it out in words of one syllable or less. But he explained it anyway. They had to understand. This was a thing dire enough to convince them, while leaving the real threat unrevealed. The prospect he detailed was real enough in any case, and frankly made him sick to his stomach.
“My cousin is heir to two princedoms, and to the High Prince. He is the only heir. He is a strong young man in excellent health—but so was Inoat of Ossetia, who died very suddenly with his only son, leaving Chale without an heir. Had there been no Princess Gemma to inherit Ossetia, war would have come—and in the very princedom Goddess Keep inhabits.
“My cousin’s life has been threatened before, by the Merida. I don’t need to number Roelstra’s grandchildren for you—enough to make life interesting, certainly, should the Merida or mere accident claim Pol’s life, Goddess keep it from happening. Which of Roelstra’s get have parents powerful enough to back a claim to Princemarch? Don’t remind me that their mothers signed away all right—what would that signify, with a princedom at stake?
“My brother Maarken would inherit the Desert, of course.” He nodded at the tall, composed man in their midst—Sunrunner, able warrior, Radzyn’s heir—and his heart gave a skip of sheer pride. There was no finer man alive. “But there would be war over Princemarch. We all know it.”
He paused again, gathering all his determination. “I don’t believe any of this will happen. But it could. And who can say what else might occur that none of us could ever d-dream of?” The stumble was almost unnoticeable; he had a sudden vision of Sorin’s worried eyes. “One day we may be called upon to defend ourselves. Quite frankly, I don’t intend to be trapped within Goddess Keep as Lady Andrade was. Beside this, it is unfortunate but true that my kinships excite the suspicions of certain princes. If war comes, for whatever reason, Goddess Keep is the first place they would attempt to capture. And how easy it would be to do it!”
Andry gestured to Nialdan. The tall Sunrunner stepped forward and with one lifted hand called a flame to a torch pole set just outside the open gates. A moment later the crowd was startled by the quiet thunder of hoofbeats. All eyes fixed on the forty riders, led by Oclel, galloping across the fallow fields. Andry knew what they were imagining: not men and women they knew, wielding blunted swords and cloth-wrapped arrows, but soldiers under enemy banners. He slipped down the inner stair, deliberately unobtrusive, but few marked his passage in any case. He nodded his satisfaction. Let them see danger, he thought; let them see their own helplessness.
Oclel raised his sword, and arrows thickened the sky. They thudded to the ground, hopelessly out of range. But the next volley hit the walls—away from the open gates, yet close enough to emphasize the threat. There were gasps, and a few cries of protest or outrage. Andry repressed a smile.
“What in all Hells do you think you’re doing?” demanded a familiar voice at his side, anger echoed in the strong grip on his arm.
“Hush,” Hollis murmured to her husband. “We’re about to find out, I think. Let him work, Maarken.”
Andry gave her a sharp glance, surprised that she knew his mind better than his own brother. He shook Maarken off and strode to the gates. Standing in the center of the wide gap, he lifted both arms. Jeweled rings and wristbands flared in the sunlight—and in the glow of a wall of Fire that sprang up fifty paces from the castle.
Nialdan was nearby, arms similarly raised, rugged features clenched with the strain of calling another barrier of Fire just this side of Andry’s. What no one but the two men knew was that whereas Nialdan worked with the sun, Andry had mastered the diarmadhi technique of constructing the wall without it.
The riders slowed when Fire appeared. Oclel bellowed an order and they abandoned their frenzied horses to approach on foot. Andry whispered a silent apology to his friend; Oclel had no idea what he was letting himself and his people in for.
Sunrunners approached Fire—and began to scream.
Andry silently counted to twenty, then lowered his arms. He spoke Nialdan’s name into the horrified stillness of the courtyard and the smaller Fire sputtered out. Oclel led his weak-kneed troop through the gates, pausing only to fling an order to the grooms to gather the horses.
“Sorry,” Nialdan muttered to Oclel, who gulped and shook his head.
Andry said nothing. The testimony of those who had felt the spell would be enough. He watched solemn-faced as furtive glances slid to him and then away.
The shaken “attackers” had recovered their voices. Andry listened to scraps of conversation and once more had to keep his lips from curving in a grim smile.
“—dragon-sized wolf with eyes of flame and claws bigger than my fingers—”
“—came right at me, I tell you—”
“—one of those rock lizards like the ones on Dorval, only with teeth—”
“Wolf? Lizard? I saw dragons, all black and breathing fire—”
“Dragons I’ll grant you, but blood-red, and dripping it from talons and jaws—”
“My Lord?”
Andry looked around. Oclel stood there, expressionless. A wave of sympathy nearly swamped Andry’s glee over how well his ploy had worked. “Rough, hmm?”
“Indescribable.”
“It had to be done this way the first time.”
“I understand, my Lord. May I tell the others that?”
“It should be common knowledge by dinner tonight.”
Oclel nodded. “As you wish. I think—”
What he thought would have to wait. Maarken strode up, coldly furious.
“Andry,” was all he said.
“In a moment, Maarken—”
“Now.”
Oclel bristled; no one spoke to the Lord of Goddess Keep in that tone, not even the Lord’s own brother. Andry gave brief consideration to asserting rank over a man who was, after all, a Sunrunner, then discarded the notion. He wanted understanding and cooperation, not resentment. And Maarken, though in general even-tempered and gently-spoken, was proud as a dragon—and the son of their fiery mother.