Moons' Dreaming (Children of the Rock) Read online

  But doing the correct thing according to protocol and doing the correct thing for the convenience of King Hion were two separate matters entirely. Neither the king nor his son had reputations for tolerance among the Keepers outside Edian. Jordy hoped fervently that Damon’s sister knew what she was doing. He had no use for Shapers and their increasingly high-handed ways, but he had to give his grudging respect to the girl. She at least knew what she was supposed to do—and did it.

  An eddy in the crowd propelled them suddenly through the gate and onto the road next to the castle walls. As soon as they were outside Tob said, “So many people to remember one woman.”

  “Not just any woman, lad. An innocent playing piece in a game not many understand.”

  They started down the hill side by side, turning away from the road that would have led them to the town square, making instead for the pasture where they had left the horse and wagon.

  “Do you understand it, Dad?” Tob asked in a quiet voice.

  “Yes and no,” Jordy replied after a long moment. “What I do understand, I don’t like.”

  To his relief, the boy dropped the painful subject. Jordy enjoyed answering his son’s questions-when he had answers.

  Today he had none.

  * * *

  The final relay station west of Bronle was a lonely farm perched on the side of a hill. The Keeper and his family expressed neither gratitude nor resentment at being chosen to stable a pair of the queen’s horses for the use of passing messengers. At least not in Pirse’s hearing. Pirse only used the relay stations occasionally. He preferred his usual mount, an experienced animal who would carry him willingly against their enemies and back again with hardy endurance and a canny instinct for dragon fighting. But this mad a dash would have killed him—the animal would have galloped without complaint until his heart burst. Pirse had chosen instead to make for the messenger relay trail and leave his favorite horse, winded but still whole, at one of the stables.

  His eighth horse galloped valiantly into the cramped farmyard. The overcast sky, milky-white overlaid with ragged-edged clumps of gray cloud, hung low and menacing overhead, shifting with erratic gusts of wind. The horse shuddered as he reined it in in front of the barn. The farmer, gray-bearded and stocky, swung open the doors as Pirse slid down to the ground.

  “I’m Prince Pirse. I require a fresh horse for Bronle.”

  As the farmer saddled a long-legged gray, Pirse wolfed down the last of his supplies. The man offered no conversation. Pirse chewed hard cheese and harder bread, concentrating on that rather than on morbid imaginings. There was nothing threatening in the man’s silence. He probably just disapproved of anyone who arrived on an ill-used animal. Only a fool would read more into the farmer’s troubled expression than that.

  Except that he’d passed a shepherd girl just before noon with much the same look on her face. A pack of children weeding a field in the valley below had stopped to stare and point at him.

  That was not unusual. But none had waved. He was their prince. Whatever the failings of other Shapers, in his own family or elsewhere, he had always kept his vows. He was used to friendliness from those under his protection, not aversion. There was no excuse for the dread which had been following him all day. No excuse for the silent and closed faces.

  No excuse, at least among the Keepers. Perhaps they were only reflecting his own disgust—or he was reflecting it in what he thought he saw—with Hion’s maneuverings. Perhaps they worried about queen’s guards skirmishing on borders, when they should have been protecting roads from Abstainer bands. Perhaps they shared his impatience with his mother for succumbing to Rhenlan’s view of needing to have borders to fight across in the first place.

  The farmer led the gray out of the barn. Pirse transferred his sword to the fresh horse. Without trying to meet the farmer’s eye he threw himself into the saddle and rode away.

  Chapter 5

  “The citizens are starting to gather in the great hall, Captain.” The messenger stood in front of the battered old table in Dael’s private room above the guard’s quarters. Dael’s predecessor had used the table for a knife-throwing target. Dael looked down at the wood, absently counting the scars as he half-listened to each messenger’s report.

  Another heavy-booted youngster pushed through the doorway. “Sentries are posted as you ordered, sir,” the teenage girl said. “We’re putting merchants’ horses just outside the wall.”

  “Very good.” Without looking up, he recognized the step of the next lad. “Is Redmother Vissa coming?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good. Go to your posts.” They hesitated, and he remembered to look up. “Thank you.” They were used to him showing his appreciation of their efforts. He didn’t offer them a smile, but they filed out obediently after his words, apparently not troubled by the lapse.

  As the room emptied, the report of the night sergeant, the news with which he’d begun his day, ran through his thoughts again. Trying to ignore it wasn’t working. Trying not to worry wasn’t working. He sensed danger, though he had no solid reason for his fear.

  The sergeant’s words had not been particularly alarming. A carriage, accompanied by a half-troop of guards, had left the castle yard shortly after midnight. Nothing too unusual in that. Some of the king’s relatives were known to come and go from Edian at odd hours. Dael had assumed that some cousin had decided to leave for the family holdings, and thought no more about the report.

  Until Vray failed to appear for archery practice.

  The girl never missed archery practice. Or any other chance to pester him. After five years of his training, she was good with a bow. She had to be. She knew he wouldn’t put up with her if she didn’t take the work seriously. In the last year she’d used the lessons as an excuse to try to seduce him. Actually, she used almost every opportunity to try to seduce him. But she’d also continued to improve her skill, so he’d had no cause to send her away. Besides, he enjoyed her company, even when he had to dodge her inexperienced advances.

  When she didn’t come down to the archery range at the usual time, he began coaching his other students anyway. He thought her annoyance at missing a few moments of his awesome wisdom would be punishment enough.

  It was a few minutes before it occurred to him that she might still be grieving for Emlie. The gods knew that the dead girl was still on his mind. He had been hoping to pretend everything was the same as the day before the execution. When Vray didn’t appear, he realized it was a vain hope. He left his students to practice on their own and went in search of his princess.

  Her maid told him she was gone. The girl couldn’t say where. Sometime in the night they’d been awakened, the princess had been taken to a waiting coach, and the maid had just managed to throw a few things into a bag and convince a guard to take it down before the party left.

  Dael stood and paced away from the table. Perhaps she’d been sent to her mother’s estate. Perhaps to Garden Vale, or to some relative on the many outlying Shaper estates. It was best for the king to have the symbol of tradition out of the way, out of hearing, when Damon made his speech. If Vray wasn’t in Edian, she could not remind the citizens of yesterday’s Remembering. Hion had no love for his daughter. Dael had tended bruises inflicted by the king’s hand more than once in the last six years. Hion was astute, and the girl was an inconvenience.

  She’ll be back in a day or two, Dael reasoned. A nineday at most. She’ll be livid at having been shuffled out of the way, but perfectly safe.

  Another messenger appeared in the doorway. “The Prince is on his way down.”

  Dael adjusted his sword belt over his best blue tunic. “Fine. I’ll be right there.”

  * * *

  Prosperous merchants and landholders filled the great hall, a very different group than had gathered in the courtyard the day before. Again the clothing was bright, but this time it was of silk instead of linen, and gold and jewels flashed in the sunlight. Yesterday had been for everyone, a tra
ditional ritual. Today Damon held court with a more select group.

  Dael saw the rangy figure of his father in the crowd. Loras the goldsmith looked as puzzled as many of his neighbors. Others, the especially wealthy whom Dael recognized as frequent visitors to Damon’s wing of the castle, talked quietly together, giving an impression of proud self-satisfaction.

  Dael automatically checked the locations of the few guards in attendance, then took his usual place, leaning against the back wall of the hall, arms crossed.

  The prince of Rhenlan stepped up onto the dais at the front of the hall. He chose the exact spot that his father always favored when speaking to the people. A nice touch, Dael thought, although few in Damon’s audience would consciously appreciate it. They were more likely to be noticing his well-cut silver and blue brocade tunic. Damon was a handsome man, blessed as well with charm and an admirable force of character. He could smile at a counselor or a pretty girl, dark eyes caressing, and the effect would always be much the same: Damon got his way. Usually, with little more work than that smile.

  Nine years ago, Dael, a frightened and grieving seventeen-year-old, had felt the prince’s intense interest turned on him. Damon had decided to have a bit of sport on a dull autumn afternoon, and Dael had ended the day as a guard, instead of as a condemned criminal. For a long time after that fateful day, he’d been too grateful just to be alive and leading an honorable life to recognize that the prince had acted out of boredom rather than compassion. Resentment followed the realization, though by then he’d grown too sophisticated in the ways of Hion’s Court to show his anger. Besides, he forgave the prince almost instantly. He’d profited from the prince’s actions, whatever his motivation, hadn’t he?

  It was a long time before Dael began to see other hints that Damon was not entirely the generous, noble person he pretended to be. The prince had a talent for manipulating things—law, custom, emotions—to suit his own purposes. Given time, he seemed to exert an insidious influence on everyone he touched. Except Vray. For whatever reason, Vray remained immune to her brother’s charm.

  Part of it had to be sibling rivalry. The king and queen of Rhenlan were not easy parents to please, and Vray’s behavior often seemed willfully designed to do the opposite. Damon, in contrast, served his father without question or complaint. No wonder Vray resented him!

  No, that wasn’t fair. Some of Vray’s criticisms were valid. Damon was not perfect. But then, who was? Dael had sworn a vow to serve King Hion faithfully, and he served Prince Damon with equal loyalty. He could hardly resign every time he disagreed with a fine point of the ruling Shapers’ policies, or to satisfy a princess’s whim. Besides, with his background, if he left the guard, where else could he go?

  Dael’s lips twisted in an impatient sneer at his melancholy cynicism. You’re supposed to be working, Captain. Pay attention. The crowd had focused its attention on the man beside the throne. Damon bent his head solemnly, dark hair obscuring his features. Then he looked up and swept his glance around the large room, drawing them all in, holding them as he spoke.

  “We of Rhenlan obey the laws. Laws of ancient custom, based on the records kept for us in the books of the law readers and committed to the memories of the Redmothers. We live by law. Law holds us together. Laws that are the same for all of the Children of the Rock.

  “There has been a dispute over a forest. A bit of land. No one should die for a bit of land. But Queen Dea sent her guards to control the forest before any decision was made concerning the claims we made against her. My father responded by sending guards to watch on our side of the border while we waited for the decision of the law readers. We were not the first to send guards, and no hostility was meant. Princess Emlie said that her mother’s guards might fight to keep the forest for their queen. We did not give up our claim at this threat. It was not for us to give up. It was for the law to decide.

  “The situation between the border guards grew tense. The possibility of fighting grew each day. We did not want there to be bloodshed. But two guards did die. So we turned to the law, law that provides an answer to unnecessary deaths, and a just conclusion to difficult negotiations.

  “Queen Dea knows the law as well as we do. It is possible she will refuse to accept the just decision of the law readers. If so, the tragedy will be ours as well as hers.”

  A few voices murmured somewhere in the crowd. Dael turned his head. People were scowling. He caught a word here and there, enough to tell that Damon’s explanation was working. They were angry, not at Hion, but at the actions of the distant queen.

  “Dea chose a piece of land over the preciousness of life. I don’t understand how she could ignore the consequences of the law, but she did. King Hion could not ignore the law, though it was the hardest decision he has ever made.

  “Princess Emlie was executed in answer to the demands of the law. One life in exchange for the lives of many guards.”

  Again Damon’s audience stirred unhappily. The prince held up his hands, palms outward, keeping his command over his listeners with effortless skill.

  “It seems cruel. It was cruel,” he said, voice heavy with sorrow. “It was also necessary. It was the only choice the King had. Yesterday a Remembering was held for a tragically misguided young woman. Because of her death, many other such services may be avoided. The death of her daughter might finally convince Queen Dea that she is responsible to the law. It is a pity anyone died, but perhaps these deaths served a purpose. We must not resort to fighting over the possession of land.”

  Damon lowered his head again, then stepped down into the silent crowd. He touched a shoulder here and there in passing, exchanging a few quiet words with those who spoke to him. As he made his way out of the hall, he beckoned for Dael to accompany him.

  They passed through the wide double doors into the relative privacy of the corridor. “Captain, I have a message for you from my father. We both appreciate how considerate you’ve been in your dealings with Princess Vray these last few years, and how sorely her antics must have tried your patience.”

  The unexpected subject surprised Dael into blunt honesty. “At times, Your Highness. But she always means well.”

  “Indeed. I have the highest respect for my sister’s good intentions. However, she is young, and impulsive. Our father is aware, for instance, of her recent escapade at the Golden Owl.”

  Dael blushed at the memory. “No harm was done, Highness.”

  “Generous of you to say so. However, Vray is old enough to take responsibility for her actions. She proved that yesterday. King Hion was impressed by how well she led the Remembering. She is well on her way to becoming a truly gifted Redmother, if only she concentrates on completing her training. Therefore our father suggested, and Vray agreed, that it would be best if she continue her studies away from Edian for a while.”

  Damon placed a hand on Dael’s shoulder and gave him a rueful smile. “To be blunt, Captain, you are too tempting a distraction for my impressionable sister.”

  Dael felt another rush of embarrassment, and the first tingle of a new emotion: relief. “Your Highness, please believe me—I tried to discourage Vray’s interest in me. Nothing worked.”

  “Don’t worry, I understand.” Damon’s smile broadened. “Her Redmother training will keep her busy until she’s had time to get over you.”

  “Thank you for explaining the situation, Your Highness. I admit I’ve been concerned about the princess.”

  “Not at all, Captain. The king and I are well aware of your diligence, and we trust you to keep the matter confidential. No one wants details of a childish infatuation spread all over town.”

  “Indeed not, Your Highness.”

  With a knowing wink, Damon clapped Dael on the shoulder and walked away. Dael’s heart felt lighter than it had in days. That explained why Vray had gone away without saying good-bye. Dael had been so caught up in his own concerns—the possibility of further border fighting with Dherrican troops, his bitter grief over the execution of
Emlie—that he’d failed to fully appreciate anyone else’s point of view.

  Yes, he’d been embarrassed by Vray’s unceasing affection. But, to be honest, he’d also rather enjoyed it. Maybe it was for the best—her best, and his, not just the convenience of the king—that she spend some time away from Edian. He would miss her, but the important thing was that now he knew what had happened, and why. By the time she came back, maybe they could settle down to just being friends.

  Smiling to himself, Dael returned to his duties.

  * * *

  The first person who recognized Pirse as he led his horse up the steep road toward the castle burst into tears. So did the second. Pirse’s heart began to pound, and not with the exertion of leading his exhausted mount. Fortunately the guards on duty saw their approach, and had the gate open as they arrived at the courtyard.

  Pirse handed the animal’s reins to the first willing pair of hands. Few lights were lit in the courtyard or the windows around it, despite the deepening gloom of the evening. A harsh wind from the mountains above Bronle caught at the courtyard torches, giving their light an erratic, dangerous glow. The familiar voice of Cratt, captain of the guards, drifted from the direction of the barracks, its cadences unfamiliarly querulous. Pirse ignored it and everyone else, too aware of the eyes that wouldn’t lift to meet his. He took the shortest route possible to the great hall, a sense of warning and desperation growing as he passed through empty corridors on his way to the hall. Where was everyone? What had happened here?

  He had to pause when he reached the doorway into the great hall to catch his breath and still the trembling of his legs. The room appeared to have doubled in length since he’d last been home. His mother was a dim, distant figure at its far end, sitting motionless on her throne. Alone. None of her women, no guard, not even Uncle Palle, ever-present and carefully watchful of his elder sister, were to be seen in the darkened room. Pirse pushed himself away from the wall, squared his shoulders and walked the length of the shadowy room.