Dragon Prince 02 - The Star Scroll (37 page)

Andrade rose, grabbed the bucket of water, and plunged Morwenna’s hand into it. “Congratulations,” she snapped at Andry. “You were correct. Now destroy that terrible brew at once!”

“But—”

“Destroy it!” she thundered. “And you’re lucky I don’t order the Star Scroll burned as well! If this is the kind of knowledge it contains, then it
ought
to be burned!”

“No!” Andry exclaimed, unable to help himself. Hollis put a warning hand on his arm and he subsided.

“Hold your tongue,” Andrade told him. “And say nothing of this to anyone. Do you understand me, Andry?”

“Yes, my Lady,” he muttered.

When Morwenna had recovered, she and Urival left the little kitchen with Andrade. No one had said another word. Andry slumped into a chair by the glowing hearth and stared into the flames, grim silence like a too-heavy cloak on his shoulders. Hollis stood beside him, hands deep in the pockets of her trousers.

“She’s blinded by fear,” Andry muttered. “She doesn’t understand.”

“Perhaps you chose the wrong sort of demonstration,” Hollis suggested. “It was dramatic, I’ll grant you, but something that causes such pain wasn’t the wisest choice you could have made.”

“What else could I do? I couldn’t very well make somebody sick and then cure it with something else from the Star Scroll, could I?” He rose and began to pace the tiled floor. “But I was right, Hollis. I was
right.
She just doesn’t want to admit it. Do you know what it says about
dranath?
That it cures the dragon sickness, what we know as the Plague. Lady Merisel wrote in the scrolls that
dranath
can cure the sickness, and we know that’s right because we saw it happen. If we’d known sooner, if we’d had the scrolls, then maybe my brother Jahni and my grandmother and Lady Camigwen and all the others would still be alive! And
she
talks of burning the Star Scroll!”

The usually soft-spoken Hollis rounded on him in sudden fury. “Can’t you see why she’s afraid? She’s seventy winters old, Andry! The scroll threatens her—not because she’s set in her ways, but because she’s
old
and may not have time enough left to control the danger you’ve shown her! Can’t you understand that?”

He stared at her. In all the times he had secretly put himself in Andrade’s place as ruler of Goddess Keep, he had never considered that one day he, too, would grow old, that time would grow short, that he would not be able to make plans and see them through. That he would die.

Hollis evidently found something in his face that satisfied her. In quieter tones she continued, “It’s not that she doesn’t want to know what’s in the Star Scroll. She’s frightened of a future she may not be around to shape. She’s spent her whole life at it. Do you wonder that it scares her?”

“But she can’t order me to burn it. She
can’t.
”

“I don’t think she will. She knows how important it is. But she also sees dangers you don’t.” Hollis rubbed her forehead wearily. “And forgive me for saying that you’d better learn to fear those dangers yourself.”

Silently he took the two small copper pots from the table, went to the fire, and scraped out their contents onto the coals. A sickly stench rose and he coughed, backing away hastily as his nose began to burn. Hollis, who had also gotten a faceful of the smoke, staggered over to a chair and slid into it, choking. Andry glanced around frantically, barely able to see through the tears clouding his eyes, and snatched up a cloth to soak in fresh water at the sink. He ripped the cloth in two, placed half to his own nose and the other against Hollis’ white face.

“Breathe!” he ordered.

After a moment the burning sensation faded, soothed by the droplets of water they both inhaled. But their eyes teared and they coughed for some while afterward. When each had recovered, Andry crouched beside Hollis’ chair and looked anxiously up at her.

She wiped her eyes and tried a smile. “It seems we haven’t translated far enough into the scroll to learn
that
one. Believe me now?”

Andry bent his head. “Yes. I’m sorry, Hollis.”

He felt her fingers tousle his hair fondly. “Listen to me, little brother—for I hope that soon you
will
be my little brother. You’re brave and clever and more intelligent than you have any right to be, and your gifts are far greater than you realize just now. I love you for yourself, Andry, and for Maarken’s sake.”

“But?” he asked in a muffled voice.

“You’re young. It takes years to learn how to be patient, how to be wise and cautious. Don’t let your powers and your intelligence blind you to the fact of your youth.”

He looked up, about to reassure her that he would be cautious and wise. But the deathly weariness of her face swept all other thoughts from his head. “Hollis—are you all right? You look awful.”

She chuckled softly. “Another thing you’ll learn with age is how to talk to a woman. The proper words would be, ‘You look a little tired, why don’t you go rest?’ But never mind. I’ll find Sejast and get him to brew me a cup of that special taze of his. It works wonders.”

“I feel in need of a little, myself,” Andry admitted.

“He swears the recipe was given to him in secret by an old witch in the mountains,” she said smiling.

Andry grinned and got to his feet. “Who made him swear never to reveal its contents, or she’d pry out his eyes with her fingernails and draw his veins from his living body—”

“Andry!” she chided. “Don’t make fun. Maarken told me you were terrified of lizards when you were little, because you thought they were baby dragons that had crawled out of their shells to breathe fire on you!”

“A perfectly natural assumption! But I suppose it really doesn’t do to make fun of witches.” He glanced significantly at the door where Andrade had disappeared. “You go to bed. I’ll clean up in here. And you really do look awful, you know.”

She pushed herself to her feet. “What happened to your share of your father’s infamous charm?”

“I’m saving it for a girl who’s not already promised to one of my brothers!”

 

It was very late, and Riyan had to keep pinching himself to stay awake. Following Lady Kiele on her nocturnal excursions in and around Waes was usually very dull. Tonight looked like no exception.

Riyan had made quite a few friends in Waes through the natural inclinations of a sociable nature, through ulterior motives, and through sheer boredom. His informant, the servant of Jayachin’s father and sometime drinking companion at a local tavern, had heard from a footman, who had heard from an undercook, who had heard from Lady Kiele’s maid (whom the undercook was courting) that she had ordered a horse saddled for an evening ride. A groom had accepted Riyan’s help in readying the horse, and it had been child’s play to cut a deep groove in the mare’s off hind shoe. The mark would show up very clearly on ground still moist after the previous night’s light rain, making it simple to follow Kiele.

Riyan had done just that after posting another servant outside his door with orders to answer all inquiries with the news that he was abed with a summer chill. Slipping out by one of the multitude of doors was easy. And now he huddled beside a bush, watching a small manor house tucked into a stand of trees.

The windows had been hung with black curtains, but jagged lines of light seeped through here and there, tempting him closer. He resisted, not knowing how many people might be within. He had no intention of being caught; he’d seen no guards thus far, but there was always a chance.

Over the spring and early summer he had followed Kiele whenever he could manage it. Most times she went to the homes of various notables in the city—including that of Jayachin’s father. The visits were undoubtedly connected with plans for the
Rialla,
but every so often Riyan strongly suspected that Kiele’s arrival was a complete surprise to her hosts. She went out every eight or ten days, and once he had traced her to a dockside house. Investigation the next afternoon had revealed only a very large sailor and a very ugly servant woman, neither of whom he could imagine being of use to the Lady of Waes. Riyan had not seen her go to the house again, and cursed himself for scaring her away. His own visit had doubtless been reported, and she had not dared go there again.

But tonight the marked horseshoe had led him from the city gates to this country manor. Riyan had lost her in a wood, not being overly familiar with the paths around Waes despite interesting excursions with Jayachin. (They usually had more to do than conduct a comprehensive walking tour—although Riyan had thus far enjoyed little romantic success.) But the nick in the horse’s shoe had served him well, and he had only to conjure a wisp of Fire as needed in order to know where she had gone.

Kiele’s journeys might be nothing more sinister than meetings with a lover—Riyan wouldn’t have blamed her, Lyell being the dullard he was—but Kiele had struck him as a cold woman whose passions would be reserved for power and hate. He’d heard the stories about her father and her sister Ianthe.

And there was an odd feeling slithering around the residence these days. Chiana, after being rebuffed more than once by Riyan, had at last left him alone and concentrated on Lyell. Kiele didn’t even seem to notice. She spent a great deal of time away from the residence, saying she worked on arrangements for the
Rialla.
But sometimes Riyan saw her sitting with plans spread out before her, staring into space with a secret, feral smile on her lips.

After waiting what he considered enough time to make certain no one would come marching around the side of the house with sword in hand to guard whoever was inside, Riyan moved closer. He was sufficiently familiar with the mare tethered outside so that the animal did not sidle nervously or whinny at this appearance; he patted her neck in thanks and crept up to the windows.

He could see a slice of the room through the chink in the curtains. Clean, neatly but not luxuriously furnished, blazing with light that made him blink, it was the home of comfortable but not wealthy people. Kiele walked past and he started at her closeness to the window. She was wearing a light summer gown of green silk and he could almost hear it swishing with the angry swiftness of her steps. Riyan squinted, trying to bring into focus a figure standing just out of his range of vision.

A steely hand clamped own on his shoulder. “What in all hells are you doing here?” a voice hissed in his ear.

He nearly yelped with fright. Another hand grabbed his jaw shut to prevent just that. Riyan considered struggling, abandoned the idea as too noisy, and was just about to go for his boot knife when he realized the hand over his mouth wore rings. He relaxed completely and lifted his own hand.

“So,” the voice breathed, and let him go.

Riyan followed the man away from the house. Safe in the cover of the trees, he saw a little finger of Fire dance delicately atop a waist-high bush, and nearly yelped again.

“Kleve?” he whispered. “What are you doing here?”

The older man grinned tightly. “What I’ve done for most of my life, of course—following Lady Andrade’s orders.”

“So am I! She told me to watch Kiele—”

“But not, I think, to follow her all over Waes and beyond.” Kleve sank down in the dirt, shaking his head, and Riyan crouched beside him. “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve had to hide from you as well as from her when she takes her little jaunts in the night!”

“You mean you—and I didn’t
see
you?”

“Of course not. Count your rings, Sunrunner. And then count mine.” Kleve gave him a genial slap on the shoulder. “You’ve grown since last I saw you at Skybowl.”

Kleve was one of a few itinerant
faradh’im
who traveled the princedoms at Andrade’s behest, observing and reporting things that Sunrunners attached to specific courts did not usually hear about. He had been instrumental in certain maneuverings during the war the year Prince Pol was born, and during Riyan’s childhood at Skybowl had sometimes arrived for a few days of relaxation, companionship, and good food. Ostvel set great store by Kleve, and a running joke between them was the
athri
’s attempt to persuade Kleve to become his court Sunrunner. Kleve hated walls of any kind, be they around a city or a small keep; he was happiest traversing the rugged lands around Cunaxa, Princemarch, and the northern Desert.

“Why so far from home?” Riyan asked now.

“I could ask you the same. Has Clutha given up and thrown you out of Swalekeep in despair at your ever becoming a knight?”

“He doesn’t trust Kiele or Lyell, either,” Riyan answered, grinning. “And I’m to be knighted at the
Rialla.
Father will be here, I hope—say you’ll stay long enough to see him.”

“Wouldn’t miss it. Do you know what Kiele’s up to?”

“I know about the house by the docks,” he began.

Kleve snorted. “You mean the one you scared her away from? I could have throttled you for that!” He doused the finger-flame with a gesture and peered out at the house. “Get back to the residence now, Riyan. I can take it from here.”

“Lady Andrade told me to watch,” the youth said stubbornly.

Kleve gripped Riyan’s shoulder. “Andrade would half-kill me and your father would finish the job if I let anything happen to you. So far you’ve been safe enough—you haven’t seen anything or learned anything important. But if what I suspect is true, then it’s more dangerous than you know to be here tonight.”

“What have you found out?”

“A few things,” he evaded. “I hope to know for sure tonight. You did me quite a service, by the way—by following you, I found Kiele. She’s given me the slip the last few times out.” He got to his feet. “I’m going for a look and a listen. You can help me best by returning to town. There’s a goldcrafter named Ulricca who lives on New High Street. Meet me at her place tomorrow morning. Now, move.”

Riyan looked rebellious. “Kleve—”