“I would sacrifice my own life if it would stop what I know is to come.”
For the first time his father looked truly shaken. “Andry—you’re right, I don’t understand Sunrunners. I ought to. I’ve lived with your mother for—Goddess, thirty-eight winters now!—I’ve two faradhi sons, and it looks as if my grandchildren will be Sunrunners as well. The destruction you tell me is coming—”
Andry stiffened. “You don’t believe in it.”
“You do,” Chay said softly. “So I must.”
He had never felt so proud or so humble in his life. He put one hand on his father’s arm, unable to speak. But the moment of warm communion dissolved with Chay’s next words.
“I said before that people fear what they can’t understand. It’s also true that they can’t be afraid of something they do understand. You’re turning Sunrunner arts and skills into magic. It’s not merely that you can do things the rest of us can’t. You’re rubbing our noses in it. These invocations to the Goddess, all the words taken from the old language that no one understands, elaborate rituals within your own community—”
“Who’s been watching?” he demanded. “Pol? Sioned?” The gray eyes held his in a level stare. “Your brother. And he doesn’t much like what he’s seen.”
“Maarken?” The betrayal crippled his breathing for a moment. Alone—he was alone in this. Forbidden his home, undefended by his own parents, suspected by his family—and now this. Maarken, spying on him.
Chay’s voice was heavy with weariness. “Andry, is it truly respect you’re after? Wouldn’t it be better to strive for trust? To work in the open so all can see and understand?”
“You do fear me,” he whispered. “All of you do.”
“You’re my son,” Chay rasped. “I want to trust you, but you’re making it almost impossible. Why didn’t you come to us when you first heard about the army marching on Dragon’s Rest?”
“Why are you objecting to the use of Sunrunner power against Desert enemies? Isn’t that what Andrade wanted?”
“She wanted a line of princes who were also Sunrunners. Not Sunrunners behaving as if they had all the rights and privileges of princes.”
“Oh, I understand now,” he said, bitterly angry and hurt. “All of you were amazed that I’d lift a finger to defend Dragon’s Rest! You thought I’d watch laughing while it was destroyed!”
“Andry!”
“It’s true, though, isn’t it?” he raged. “Well, Ruval can destroy Pol for all I care! Neither of them matters. Compared to the horror that’s been in my mind for nine years now, no one else matters at all!”
“Except you?” Chay asked harshly.
Andry froze for an instant, then turned on his heel and strode off.
Rohan listened to Pol and Riyan without question or comment. When they had finished he said only, “Come with me.” He led them to the library and office he shared with his wife and locked the door. This coupled with his silence made the young men fidget slightly. But their eyes popped half out of their skulls when he opened the secret place where the translated Star Scroll was kept.
“This is a copy of what Meath found on Dorval years ago. The original and another translation are at Goddess Keep. You know about the Star Scroll, Pol, even though you’ve never seen it. Urival and Morwenna taught you some of what’s in here. But only your mother and I knew where it was hidden. When I put it back, I’ll show you how the compartment works. One day you may have to get at this in a hurry.”
Pol came forward as he set the case on the double desk. But Riyan held back. Rohan glanced over at him.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, knowing full well what troubled him.
“This is . . . a lot to trust me with,” Riyan said uneasily.
Rohan smiled slightly as he unrolled the parchment. He’d guessed right—not too difficult. The son was much like the father, and he’d known Ostvel for half his life. “I trust you with the secret of dragon gold,” he pointed out.
“But—this—” Riyan faltered.
“You’re as curious as I am,” Pol said impatiently. “Stop equivocating and get over here.”
Brows arching at his son’s vehemence, Rohan held the scroll open at its first page. “Urival insisted on reproducing this section exactly as it appears in the real thing. Two words and a border of stars.”
“ ‘On Sorcery,’ ” Riyan whispered, standing at Pol’s shoulder.
“Yes.” He wound the scroll down to its opening sections. “The cunning part about the original is the interior code. It seems Lady Merisel was scholar enough to want this knowledge preserved. But she was also wise enough to hide what it contains from casual perusal. This is a decoded version. Everything in it is accurate. Which is why it’s kept hidden.”
“How much of this has Mother tried out?” Pol asked. “Not much. She, too, is wise.” He sat and began searching for the sections he wanted. “Is there anything about shape-changing in here?”
“Nothing.”
“Pity. It might have been useful.”
“And dangerous,” Riyan murmured.
Rohan chose to ignore the byplay. “Pol, you’ve remarked before that I wait for events to develop, that I don’t act until I must. I have my reasons—even though I know you don’t always agree with them.” The Star Scroll spread out page by page, telling of power he could never possess—and didn’t want to. “Nine years ago I let the pretender Masul live long enough to challenge your claim because rumor can become more real sometimes than truth. He had to be heard and defeated publicly or your right would always have been in doubt. What I didn’t count on was sorcery. And Maarken nearly died because of my mistake.”
“But that wasn’t your fault—”
“I’m High Prince. That made it my fault—and my responsibility to kill him before he could kill Maarken. My mistake, my fault, my responsibility. That’s what being High Prince is.” He gestured for Riyan to hold the top of the scroll while he secured the bottom. “I determined then not to repeat the error. When Urival brought this to Stronghold, Sioned wasn’t the only one who studied it. I know this scroll backwards, and the histories Meath found with it. They enabled me to invoke my rights in the matter of the Sunrunner in Gilad.”
“You knew all along,” Riyan said admiringly. “The words were there for you to use, and you did.”
Rohan leaned back in his chair and blew out a long sigh. “Words,” he repeated. “I told Andry the other day that all my life I’ve thrown words at problems. They’re the weapons of a civilized man, or so I keep telling myself. But we’re not civilized, none of us. We always have our knives within reach.” He ran his fingertips over the parchment. “What are these words but a different kind of knife?”
“Power,” Pol said flatly. “More effective than any knife.”
Rohan heard him with sadness. The innocence Sioned had spoken of, the quality of being untouched, was gone from Pol’s eyes and voice. He had not been sheltered in the ways Rohan had been, but it was clear he could no longer be protected.
“I knew all along that neither Andry nor Cabar would give up a whit of their privileges. But I had to wait until they petitioned me for a decision. I was hoping they’d work it out between themselves and spare my having to use the power given me by the scrolls. But each of you has power—the hidden knife, if you will—that’s out of my reach. In this, I’m blind. But you’re a Sunrunner, Pol. Riyan, you’re gifted in both ways. Sorcery is without doubt the means Ruval will choose. So I give you this knife.”
All the bright gold and bronze glints had left Riyan’s dark eyes. “I still say that’s a lot to trust us with.”
To burden you with, he thought, hiding his melancholy behind a calm answer. “I wouldn’t give it if I didn’t trust you.”
Pol bent over the scroll and read aloud, leaning one elbow on the desk. “ ‘The rabikor is bound only by rules agreed to before battle. Learn the traditions well, therefore, lest your opponent catch you in your ignorance and legally cast aside all honor, to your defeat.’ ” He glanced at Rohan. “Rabikor—that’s ‘crystal battle’ in the old language.”