The Star Scroll (Dragon Prince, #2)

by Melanie Rawn

Audrite,

“You should pay more attention to rumors,” his father told him. As Audrite caught her breath, Lleyn nodded. “I see you’ve taken my meaning, my dear.” Chadric’s plain, pleasant face tightened to grimness. “If you’re talking about that possible son of Roelstra’s—” “He’ll be nearing twenty-one. Pol’s barely fourteen,” Lleyn remarked. “But it’s ludicrous!” Audrite protested. “Even if the boy is Roelstra’s, he’d have to rally all Princemarch behind him. And that won’t happen. Rohan has done well by them in making Pandsala regent—no one but a fool would trade certain prosperity for an unknown pretender.” “Nicely put,” Lleyn grunted, fingering the dragon’s head. “But it so happens that Rohan is an honorable fool. He’ll feel compelled to meet this young man and hear him out.”

Pandsala, Regent of Princemarch and daughter of the late High Prince Roelstra, scowled at the letter on her desk and told herself that life would have been much simpler without sisters. Her father had provided her with seventeen of them. Though ten were dead now—some in the Plague of 701, others since—and good riddance, she was still left with far too many for her peace of mind.

Her lack of filial devotion to her dead father’s aims troubled her as little as her lack of sisterly affection. Years ago she had accepted a charge from the man who might have been her husband, on behalf of the boy who might have been her son. Her life had found focus when Rohan made her Pol’s regent. For them she governed sternly and well; for them she had made this land a model of law and prosperity; for them she had learned how to be a prince. For them, anything.

Ailech

His sister’s black brows slanted down. “If it’s necessary, you’ll fight. Whatever pretty notions you have about honor and law, there are times when steel is the only answer. You know that as well as I. And Pol’s training will make sure he knows it, too.” “He will not live by the sword as our father did.” If Tobin heard the warning in his voice, she ignored it. “Don’t be a fool. I’m not saying Pol ought to enjoy war the way Father did. I’m saying that at times a prince has to fight or he’s no longer a prince.” Rohan met her gaze calmly. “You’re correct, Tobin. No longer a prince, but a barbarian. And that is what I intend my son to learn, much less painfully than I did.” Into the awkward silence that followed came Pol, all fair hair and bright eye and limitless energy. His excited smile died away as he slammed up against the room’s tension. After a swift inspection of each face, he said, “I can always tell when you’ve been talking about me—you all stop talking.” The peevish tone hit Rohan all wrong. “Perhaps if you knocked at a door and waited for permission to enter, we’d be able to change the subject gracefully.” Pol blinked and turned crimson. Sioned cast a disgusted glance at her husband and rose. “Come have something to drink,” she said to her son.

A full circle of ninety and nine ringed the glen outside the flat granite markers, hands clasped and breathing nearly stilled in the silence. In times past it had been difficult to gather so many, but rumors this spring were as plentiful as newborn lambs, and had brought people to her. Waiting for the last sunlight to vanish, she mused on the magic of this multiple of three, a special number since the beginning of the world. Three moons in the sky, three winters between dragon matings, three great divisions of land in Mountain, Desert, and River Meadow. The princes met once every three years. The ancients had honored three deities: The Goddess, the Father of Storms, and the Nameless One who dwelled in the fastness of these mountains. The faradh’im had long ago denied the power she would call on tonight—the more fools they. For there were three kinds of light as well: sun, moons, and stars. With ninety-and-nine here, she became the one hundredth, representative of the Nameless One who ruled all.

I haven’t really had time to talk to you abut your training and your life at Graypearl.” “But shouldn’t we start planning things?” Rohan laughed. “Consider it the first lesson in being High Prince. I’ve sent everyone off to do work they know very well how to do without me. Chay and Maarken and Walvis will present me with excellent plans for Tuath, Tobin will bury herself in books and maps for the next ten or twelve days, and when they’re ready, my experts will tell me what they’ve come up with. But until then my time is my own. Never do yourself what someone else can do for you better and faster, Pol.

“You promised a long time ago to give me Feruche,” Sioned reminded him. “There are dragons near it who need watching and protecting. I want Feruche, Rohan.” “No. Never.” “It’s the only way either of us will ever forget what happened to us there. I destroyed it with Sunrunner’s Fire—for me, it lies in ashes. But for you it still stands, because you never went back to see it razed to the ground. I want it rebuilt, Rohan, so that it’s not Ianthe’s anymore but ours.” “No!” he shouted, turning on his heel for the door. “I won’t rebuild it, I won’t set foot within ten measures of it! And I won’t have you speak of it again!” “When we tell Pol the truth, shall we also present him with the charred ruin where he was conceived and born—and where his mother died? Or will we make a new place that has nothing in it of the old, nothing to bear witness to what happened there?” He stopped, his hand on the doorlatch. “If you love me, you will never say the name of that place in my hearing as long as we live.” “It’s because I love you that I have to say it. I want Feruche, Rohan. And if you won’t rebuild it, then I will.”

“Next time let’s do the count from the battlements.” He wiped sweat from his forehead, leaving a streak of black behind. Tobin scrubbed it away. “I agree. It’s a furnace in here. That was probably the most chaos I’ve seen since my sons grew up. But the dragons are beautiful, aren’t they?” “Don’t tell me you’ve finally come round to my way of thinking about them!” “I don’t appreciate losing our stock to them, no. But they’re wonderful creatures. Besides, you always pay for what they gobble down.” “I pay inflated prices,” he accused, following her out of the room. The heavy door swung shut behind them with a hollow thud that echoed down the empty stairwell. “That wounds me deeply, little brother.” “I don’t hear you denying it.” “Well, if you’re foolish enough to pay for what the dragons steal. . . .” She grinned at him. “Besides, thanks to the dragons themselves, you can afford it. How much gold did you get out of their caves last year?” They turned a corner and nearly bumped into Pol. His face seemed unable to decide whether excitement, shock, or bewilderment was the expression it wished to convey; his eyes said one thing, his brows another, and his slack jaw a third. Rohan threw his sister a disgusted glance, and she had the grace to blush as he told Pol, “I hope you won’t follow her example by chattering that piece of information all over the keep.” Pol shook his head, wide-eyed. “And remember to make more noise when climbing stairs,” Rohan advised.

Pol looked up at his mother and tensed for a scold. When it came, it was both less than he deserved and worse than he expected. “A prince who reminds people of his rank isn’t much of a prince,” she said. And that was all.

“Do you want me to try and touch a dragon tomorrow?” She joined him in bed after draping her robe over a chair. Rohan gathered her close beneath the light sheet, stroking her damp hair. “It might be interesting. They’re all thinking about nothing other than mating, and who knows what you might sense—and want to act on?” “Don’t you just wish!” she retorted, biting his shoulder. “Stop that. Or at least do it as if you mean it.” She raised her head and looked into bright blue eyes that danced with humor and desire. “If this is middle age, then it’s a wonder we both survived our youth!”

Consider Rohan at his age.” “My darling brother was perfect, too. Just ask him.” “He was the slyest, wickedest, most impossible brat I ever met. He just never got caught at it.” “Well, perhaps Pol’s like him—too clever to get caught.”

Rasoun

“You’re a dangerous woman, High Princess.” “No more so than you’re a dangerous man, High Prince.” She smiled a little. “That makes us very well mated, doesn’t it?” Rohan snorted.

Rohan went to the animal’s head, stroked the long neck where life beat slower and slower. He had never touched a live dragon before, never been so close to one. The hide was smooth and cool, dark green shading to brown in the moonlight. His fingertips traced the proud lines of brow and nose and angle of jaw. Very lightly he touched the eyelids, feeling how silky-soft they were. Beautiful, even in death.

As Pol listened, it had become clear that his own father was surrounded by people of differing viewpoints who never hesitated to speak their minds. Pol hoped that when it came his turn, he would hear the same advice as freely given. Moreover, Rohan was in complete control of the debate, though he rarely spoke and then only to steer the conversation back to its major concerns. The decisions would be his alone, and everyone knew it. They would argue their own points of view, but it never occurred to any of these powerful people to question Rohan’s authority. Pol was awed by this quiet proof of his father’s power.

They watched the dragon fly low over the lake, sweeping close enough to approach Sioned and look on her with wide, fine dark eyes. She trumpeted again, a single silvery note that echoed around the crater as she flew off into the Desert. Feylin exchanged glances with Maarken and said, “I heard it in her voice.” He nodded. “I think I even saw it in her eyes. She’s glad Sioned’s all right, and now she can go back to the others.” He regarded his aunt with thoughtful eyes. “Whatever happened between you, I’d say you’ve made a friend.”

Jayachin

“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.”

Pol turned stubborn about snow. He not only wanted to look at it, he wanted to touch it and make sure it was real. Rohan, secretly sharing his son’s curiosity, received directions from a bemused shepherd who obviously thought them all deranged for going to find snow when winter would bring it to them soon enough. The royal party spent two days coaxing their outraged Desert-born horses across frozen crystal fields, and two nights shivering under blankets inadequate for the temperature and the altitude. “Had enough?” Maarken asked hopefully on the morning of the third day. Pol, clutching a blanket around him on top of every stitch of clothing he had brought with him, nodded emphatically. Pelting everyone with snowballs had been great fun, and the crisp air was literally breathtaking—but he wanted above all things to be warm again.

“That’s a very interesting analysis, Pol, based on what I’m sure were careful observations.” The boy’s eyes lit with pride until Rohan added, “Unfortunately, all of it is wrong.” “What? Why?” Pol demanded. “The young lady was indeed wearing row on row of ‘carved stuff’ in a necklace. Very pretty it was, too. If you’d really been listening to some of the people we’ve met on the road, you’d know that each betokens a certain number of sheep, goats, cattle, bushels, or other local produce a family lays claim to. Rezeld boasts a rather fine quarry nearby, I’m told, administered by his lordship.” He grinned. “But remember, we’re only ignorant Desert folk and don’t know about that. We think these are her only jewels, poor girl, and not much of a dowry it is to our way of thinking—when in fact she’s wearing more dowry than most of our own girls can offer! She also made big eyes at you—yes, I was watching!” he teased as Pol blushed. “Not that I’m surprised. You’re a well setup young man and a prince into the bargain. But she hasn’t a hope of attaching you and she knows it—so her probable intention was to make you wistful that so pretty a girl doesn’t have more in the way of material wealth. It appears she succeeded, too. Clever girl. His lordship is, in fact, flaunting what he owns and trusting our ignorance to lead us to believe that he’s poor.”

“He’s only doing what his father did, you know, hiding his real wealth from Roelstra. In his time, if Morlen had been caught, he’d be dead. He’ll be free to try to outwit me again, but my guess is that he won’t. People only hide what they fear will be taken from them. I won’t take what he can’t afford to give—he’ll come to trust me for it and appreciate the way I work. Which means he’ll fight if I ask him to, so he can keep me as his overlord.” “And will you trust him?” Rohan faced him and grinned again. “As much as I trust any of them—which is to say that I trust my own judgment and wits.” “You know, I think I’m beginning to understand how we got to be where we are,” Pol mused, his eyes dancing suddenly. “Maybe we just outlasted everybody—but maybe we were smarter than all the rest!” “That’s one way of looking at it, and probably as accurate as any other.”

“It sounds awfully difficult—and grim.” “Grim? Not at all. My son, we have to put up with some very tedious people because that’s part of the way a prince does business. But it’s worth enduring all the fuss because a prince can do so much to serve.” “You mean serve the Goddess?” “If you want to think of it that way. Personally, I let Aunt Andrade take care of that aspect of things. I meant to serve the people who trust us to look after the peace they need in order to live out their lives.” Pol nodded slowly. “Grandfather did it with his sword. You do it—” “—by outsmarting everyone I possibly can.” Rohan laughed again. “Which I sometimes think is infinitely harder!” A derisive snort greeted this remark. “You love it and you know it.” “I have to admit it can be fun. It’s a great responsibility, but a joyful one. To conclude a treaty that gets a better price for sheep, to give a dowry to a boy or girl whose parents haven’t anything for them—just knowing that armies won’t trample the grain while it ripens—there’s goodness in those things, Pol. And if the joy ever goes out of being a prince, then ask yourself who it is you’re serving: the people who trust you, or yourself.”

“Do you know, I haven’t slept beside anyone but your mother in longer than I can remember. I do hope you don’t snore.” “Snore! Mother says that sometimes you rattle the windows!” “A vile and insulting lie, for which she will pay dearly the next time she kicks all the covers on the floor.”

Athmyr,

“Do you know, with all the differences between you and my father—both as men and as High Prince—I think it all may come down to one simple thing. My father never said ‘please’ to anybody in his life.”

“I’m going to try again,” Pol insisted. “And next time I’ll make it to the top and earn the flight back down—and I’ll do it all on my own, too!” “Not if I have anything to say about it!” The large, burly form of Cladon, athri of River Ussh, stomped forth from chair to aisle. “You proved your courage and that’s what the climb is for! We’ll not risk you again, young prince!” “But it’s the closest I’ll ever come to flying like a dragon!” Pol was instantly aware of how childish that sounded, and felt his cheeks burn. But though laughter rippled through the hall, it was kind, understanding, even admiring. He was confused until he heard his father whisper, “Well done! You have them now, my hatchling.” And he realized that without meaning to, he had done something very clever. The highborns of Princemarch would have been duly impressed with a completed climb—but the attempt on Pol’s life had done more to increase his value in their eyes than anything else could have done. And he had sealed their commitment by vowing to do the climb again. He was theirs now, claimed by them all as their prince. It was an odd feeling, vaguely reminiscent for a moment of his reaction on arrival, a little like being offered up on a golden plate. But then he understood. In claiming him, they had also given themselves. His father was right. He had them. If he was theirs, they were also his.

Rohan sat heavily in a chair and rubbed his eyes. “But I want the wind off the Long Sand for myself, Pol. Promise me that wherever I end, you’ll bring me back home.”

Pol said softly, “Thank you for saying ‘we.’ You never have before.” Rohan blinked. “Haven’t I?” “No. It’s always between you and Mother, or Chay, or Maarken—never me included as an active partner.” His father looked bemused. “It seems as if you’ve impressed me as well as everyone else today with the fact that you’re growing up. Very well. We, meaning you and I, have a great deal to talk about. But we also need to sleep until at least noon tomorrow. And that is an order that we, as the High Prince and your father, will hold you to obeying.” Pol made a face, then laughed. “I’m going to climb that cliff and fly down one day. I’m not the Dragon’s Son for nothing!” “But still a hatchling. Fly over to your bed and get some sleep.”

Ulricca

Joscenel,

a wager going with him, and more than anything else, I hate to lose.”