Sunrunner's Fire Part 10

It seemed to take forever. Finally a long shudder coursed through him and he braced himself on one arm, head raising slowly. "Sorin?"

"Have some water." He unhooked the water skin from his belt and made Riyan drink. A few moments later he steadied and sucked in a deep breath. "What happened?" Sorin asked.

"I-I touched him. G.o.ddess, the colors! But all lit in black. I can't describe it." He shook himself and reached for the water skin. More firmly, he went on, "He's furious enough to have nearly killed me with his emotions. Sioned explained that. They don't communicate in words, but in pictures and feelings. And this one, if he had any strength, would be feeding off our entrails right now. The only reason he didn't didn't kill me is because we gave him water-and you were soothing him by rubbing his face." kill me is because we gave him water-and you were soothing him by rubbing his face."

Sorin glanced over his shoulder at the dragon. Could dragons kill with a thought? In the half-closed eyes was only pain, none of the fierce intelligence he had so often seen in the creatures. "What else?" Sorin asked.

"I tried to ask who did this to him. That's when he remembered and-I felt it," he ended in a whisper.

Sorin took him by the shoulders. "What did you feel?"

A shake of the dark head. "It was-something grabbed hold of him, something he couldn't see, only sense. Then he crashed to the ground from full flight, as if he'd been slammed in the head with a club. But nothing touched him! Nothing! Just this-something-pulling him down out of the sky."

"Grandfather Zehava killed quite a few dragons in his day," Sorin mused. "But not even he could pull them down out of the sky."

"That's what happened to this one." Riyan stared at the dragon, whose breathing was shallow but regular now. "Somebody more powerful than he got to him, and he couldn't even struggle. It wasn't a battle at all."

Sorin pointed out what he had noticed earlier. "Riyan, look at the spikes. They're new and made of fine steel. Like rock-climbing spikes, but thicker. As if they'd been made for this. And they're hammered in as if at leisure, straight as nails in the floorboards of Feruche." He rose and began trying to prize one out of the dragon's wing. A low, keening moan quivered the creature's throat; Sorin stopped.

"Evidence?" Riyan asked.

"Exactly. We're going to find the filth who did this, and use his own spikes on him."

"We'll have to track him down first. Sorin, I want to talk to Sioned. She may know how to get the image from the dragon. And there has to be something we can do to ease his pain."

"Are you strong enough for a Sunrunning? The dragon's colors must've hit you pretty hard."

"I'm all right."

Sorin eyed him, then shrugged. "I'll see what I can do for the dragon."

While Riyan wove sunlight in the direction of Stronghold, Sorin used the rest of the water to cool the worst wounds. By the time Riyan spoke again, the dragon's breathing was stronger and some of the pain had left his eyes.

"She says I can do it, if the dragon trusts me." He rubbed his palms on his thighs.

Sorin saw reluctance in the dark face. "Riyan . . . all we really have to do is ask around for someone who's been flaunting a dragon kill. No one does this kind of thing unless he wants it found. He'll be bragging bragging about it," he added bitterly. about it," he added bitterly.

"No. I mean, yes, I agree with you about that. But it might take all spring to find him in these mountains, whatever he meant by this, I doubt he wants to be caught for punishment." He eyed the dragon. "If I can get a picture, it'll be that much easier to find him." He gave a quick smile. "Besides, Sioned's a good teacher, even at a distance. She showed me how to weave sleep, too."

Sorin glanced at Riyan's six rings. Four had been given by Lady Andrade; he had made a special journey to G.o.ddess Keep last year to request that the fifth and sixth be given. But the skills he had demonstrated to earn them had been taught by Urival and Sioned, not Andry. And sleep-weaving was known only by those with eight or more rings. "You're not supposed to know things like that."

"Andry wouldn't approve," Riyan agreed somewhat sharply. "But then, I don't entirely approve of him, either." An instant later he shrugged an apology. "I'm sorry."

Sorin s.h.i.+fted his shoulders uncomfortably. "Do what you have to."

Riyan gestured him back and pulled in a deep breath. A moment later the dragon quivered delicately. Riyan gasped, fists clenching, tension again making a ramrod of his spine. One hand came up as if to ward off a blow; the dragon's right wing trembled at the same time. Both throats growled simultaneously-deep, threatening, raising the hairs on Sorin's nape. All at once the dragon hummed, and Riyan's drawn face responded with a smile at once feral and triumphant. As if, Sorin thought suddenly, as if he had the murderer pinioned by his sword-or his talons.

Dragon and Sunrunner continued their bewildering communion for some moments longer. At last Riyan's eyes opened and he sighed his satisfaction.

"Got it," he said, the strange smile still on his face.

Sorin wordlessly handed over the water skin again, and after a long drink Riyan looked more like himself. The dragon had totally relaxed. Sorin thought the sleep-weave must be responsible until he saw that the amber eyes were open, lucid, and gleaming through the pain.

Riyan spoke before he could ask. "He's tall, dark-haired, blue-eyed, very good-looking if one favors arrogance. Dressed expensively, silk and good Cunaxan wool, that light stuff that slips through the fingers like velvet. But what's really interesting is the color he wore." That fierce smile flickered across his face again. "Violet."

Sorin's brows shot up toward his hairline. "Princemarch? Pol's color? But why?"

"I couldn't say. But the dragon was most emphatic-they think in colors even more than faradh'im faradh'im do." do."

"So we know who to look for." Sorin crouched beside the dragon's head again. "We'll get him for you," he promised, stroking the soft hide around the eyes and forehead. "Riyan, can't you put him to sleep now? He's in terrible pain."

"Move away from him. I don't want to catch you up in it, too."

A few moments later lids drifted shut over sleep-hazed eyes. A long sigh coursed through the dragon's body, and then he lay still. When he was certain the dragon was oblivious to all physical sensation, Sorin began removing one of the spikes from the wings. Riyan helped. It took all their strength to work the steel from the wood. At last it was free, stained with blood that superst.i.tion said was poisonous to the touch. Untrue, of course, just as the legends about dragons having a taste for virgin girls or being able to kill with a glance were untrue. Dragons were dangerous only when their food supply was threatened or when they were directly attacked. The wolves of the Veresch were the same-but wolves did not inspire the same fear dragons did. Wolves were, like men, creatures of the ground and could be fought more or less as equals. But wings made dragons terrifying.

Then again, Sorin thought suddenly, Riyan had said that the dragon had been capable of killing him while in contact with his colors. Perhaps there was some truth in the legends after all. He didn't much want to consider it.

Still, what creature would not use any means at its disposal to kill an enemy? They were men; a man had done this to the dragon, a man powerful enough to bring him down out of the sky like a falling arrow. He examined the fine, elegant structure of the wings, the sweep of strong bone and muscle covered in blue-gray hide. The contasting underwings were black, the skin almost silky to the touch. He had never seen a dragon this close. And he wished for this dragon's sake that he had not had this opportunity.

He considered the tall, blue-eyed, arrogantly handsome man responsible for this horror. And abruptly the connection was made between what Riyan had said about the method and the dragon's ability to kill. No Sunrunner could have done this-but a sorcerer, a diarmadhi, diarmadhi, might. might.

"Will he wake up again?" he asked Riyan, who shook his head.

"He'll only last until sunset at most. Sioned tells me the sleep-weaving is good for a whole night." He ran one hand down the dragon's neck. "Poor beast. Sorin, when we find the man who did this-"

"Rohan will want him brought to Stronghold for trial." He met his friend's eyes. "Somehow I don't think he'll live that long, do you?"

"Funny you should put it that way."

In perfect agreement, they hiked back through the hills to their horses.

Late afternoon found them in the congenial comforts of Elktrap Manor, and in the more than congenial company of Lord Garic and Lady Ruala. The former had reached the colossal age of eighty-six; the latter, his granddaughter and only surviving relative, had just seen her twenty-seventh winter. Ruala's parents had died of Plague the year after she was born, and her only sister had succ.u.mbed to injuries suffered in a climbing accident four summers ago. It was just the old man and the young woman now in the sprawling manor house, supervising a few servants, the herds of sheep harvested for their wool, and the elk harvested for meat and the tough, beautiful black hooves that were carved into anything from drinking vessels to jewel boxes. The dinner service they brought out to honor their lordly guests was a gorgeous collection of plates, bowls, and goblets inlaid with elk-hoof that Lord Garic himself had made over the course of his long life. The food was simple but good, and wine fermented from honey-pine resin was served in very old Fironese crystal stemware. Sorin and Riyan were made happily welcome, and it was not until they sat with the athri athri and his granddaughter in her private antechamber that they got around to explaining their presence. and his granddaughter in her private antechamber that they got around to explaining their presence.

Word of a slain dragon had brought them into the Veresch. Decreed with uncharacteristic imperiousness twenty-three years ago on a.s.suming his t.i.tle, High Prince Rohan's strict law severely punished anyone who killed a dragon. Most thought the law sentimental nonsense, if not actually threatening; Rohan was known to have a ridiculous love for the frightening creatures who decimated herds and crops when food supplies in their habitual ranges grew low. It was true that he wished to protect dragons because of his feeling for them-but also because their melted sh.e.l.ls yielded gold. Riyan, Lord of Skybowl where abandoned dragon caves were mined for their gold-bearing sh.e.l.ls, knew this; Sorin did not. That the law was Rohan's law was enough for Sorin, who shared his uncle's love of dragons.

But the law had been broken, and they had come to investigate. Lord Garic told them that he had heard of a dead dragon several measures to the north, confirming their guess that the dragon they had found that morning was a second kill. Lady Ruala paled as Riyan described the scene. He apologized for the graphic description.

"Forgive me, my lady, but I had to make clear the horror of the crime."

She nodded silently and gestured for him to continue.

But he hesitated a moment, glancing at Sorin, before deciding he might as well tell it straight out. "I was able to get a description of the man. From the dragon."

Lord Garic's unfaded blue eyes narrowed in a direct look at Riyan's faradhi faradhi rings. "Ah," was all he said. His granddaughter, whose eyes were so dark a green that in shadow they seemed nearly black, merely nodded again, as unsurprised as the old man. Riyan found this disconcerting. He hadn't thought Sioned's trick of communicating with a dragon to be common knowledge. rings. "Ah," was all he said. His granddaughter, whose eyes were so dark a green that in shadow they seemed nearly black, merely nodded again, as unsurprised as the old man. Riyan found this disconcerting. He hadn't thought Sioned's trick of communicating with a dragon to be common knowledge.

But he let their lack of reaction pa.s.s. "He's tall, with dark hair and blue eyes, very handsome, arrogant, strongly made. I suppose it's too much to hope that you've heard anything about such a person."

Midway through his description Lady Ruala's gaze twisted around to Lord Garic. "Grandsir-it's not possible!"

He fixed a grim stare on the two young men. "Not only have we heard of such a person, we gave him shelter not two nights ago."

Sorin leaned forward eagerly. "What did he say? Did he tell you his name? Did he give any clues about who he is, where he's from, where he's bound?"

Ruala shook her head. "None. He gave the name Aliadim, but after what you've said we can deduce that it was false. He told us he was of independent means, traveling through the Veresch for pleasure. He was alone and he only smiled when we cautioned him against wandering too far from the main roads." She frowned, her eyes darkening. "He rode a very fine horse, I remember-not one of our mountain ponies, but feather-hoofed."

"Kadar Water," Sorin supplied. "Lord Kolya's breed. What about the saddle, my lady? The bridle? Anything at all you can remember."

"Grandsir? You were in the stables when he arrived."

The old man rocked gently back and forth, gnarled fingers laced together over his lean chest. "Plain saddle, nothing special. Bridle the same. But the blanket-deep violet. Like his tunic."

That settled it for Riyan. He had deliberately not mentioned that detail of color, hoping that Sorin's questions would elicit the information and confirm the man's ident.i.ty. "Which direction did he ride out?"

"North, but that means nothing," Ruala explained. "There's a crossroad a measure up the north road. He could be anywhere."

"We know where he was today," Sorin said tightly.

"Not today, my lord. Three days ago." Ruala set down her cup. "I remember now. There was a strangeness to his horse's eyes, calm enough to ride but still skittish from some recent fright. And the first thing he asked for was a bath to wash the road from him. But dirt isn't red-brown the way dried blood is-and that was the color I saw beneath his nails."

Riyan felt his stomach lurch. "You're saying it took that dragon three days three days to die?" he whispered. "Sweet G.o.ddess." to die?" he whispered. "Sweet G.o.ddess."

"This 'Aliadim' killed the dragon on purpose, you know," Garic mused. "He deliberately broke the law."

"But why, Grandsir?" Ruala pleaded. "Why would anyone want to kill anything as miraculous as a dragon? The wisest thing the High Prince ever did was decree their protection!"

Riyan glanced at her with interest; most people were terrified of dragons and thought Rohan's law the stupidest thing he had ever done.

"The dragon was killed in challenge, to flout the law," the old athri athri replied. "To bring investigating Desert lords into the Veresch, as has happened. But-no disrespect intended, my lords-I believe this man was hoping not for those of Skybowl and Feruche but Stronghold and Dragon's Rest." replied. "To bring investigating Desert lords into the Veresch, as has happened. But-no disrespect intended, my lords-I believe this man was hoping not for those of Skybowl and Feruche but Stronghold and Dragon's Rest."

"You have to tell them," Sorin said some time later, when they were alone in the pleasant, well-lit chamber allotted to them.

Riyan came out of the bathroom, rubbing his face with a towel. Elktrap Manor was a well-appointed place with many modern conveniences. Lord Garic had kept his wealth secret during Roelstra's rule for fear of its being legally confiscated, but in the years Rohan had been High Prince he had gleefully used his h.o.a.rded treasure to make improvements in his beloved holding. Unlike Roelstra, Rohan believed that as long as the contract between lord and prince for supplies in return for protection and shrewd bargaining with other princes was upheld, an athri athri's goods and lands belonged to an athri. athri. Unlike Roelstra, Rohan was not a thief-legal or otherwise. Unlike Roelstra, Rohan was not a thief-legal or otherwise.

"I suppose I will will have to let them know," Riyan said. "But you know Rohan, you know Pol-and you know what will happen." have to let them know," Riyan said. "But you know Rohan, you know Pol-and you know what will happen."

Sorin nodded. "They'll be here like arrows shot from a single bow. But there's a nasty section of that law saying that anyone who fails to report a dragon's killing immediately is judged as guilty as the one who did the deed."

Tossing the towel onto a chair, Riyan laughed. "Can you seriously see Rohan stripping us of half our wealth?"

Sorin did not find this particularly amusing. "There have been rumblings lately that there's one law for the highborns and Sunrunners, and another for the common folk. Frankly, I don't want to be caught in the middle of the same kind of dispute."

Riyan sobered. "I suppose you're right. Very well. At moonrise I'll contact Sioned and then Pol. But I can't help hoping that clouds will blow up so I can't work. I think Lord Garic is right. 'Aliadim' isn't interested in us. He's out to provoke Rohan and Pol."

"And knew exactly how to do it." Sorin picked up a rolled parchment borrowed from Elktrap's surprisingly fine library. "A treatise on dragons," he explained as Riyan's brows arched. "I'll try to borrow it for Lady Feylin, but right now I want to do a little reading myself. Did you get a look at the dates on some of Lord Garic's books? Right back to the year G.o.ddess Keep was established. As old or older than the scrolls Meath found on Dorval."

"But not as dangerous, I hope," Riyan murmured to himself. He sat in a deep armchair by the windows and stared at the purple mountains, waiting for the moons to rise.

After a time he heard the rustle of parchment that meant Sorin had rerolled it. "Interesting enough to borrow for Feylin?" he asked.

"Yes." Sorin's voice was strained, and Riyan glanced around curiously. "But that's not what I want to talk about. I didn't want to mention it until you did. But you don't seem to realize how that dragon was killed."

"What do you mean?"

Sorin raked pale brown hair out of blue eyes, an impatient gesture. "Don't you see? You're a Sunrunner. Could you you bring a dragon down from the sky? You told me that's what happened, and for all my admiration for bring a dragon down from the sky? You told me that's what happened, and for all my admiration for faradh'im, faradh'im, I don't think any of you could have done it. You probably have the power- I don't think any of you could have done it. You probably have the power-but not the right spell."

Riyan felt himself go absolutely still, mind and body and spirit.

"Which means Andry should be told about this, too," Sorin continued stubbornly. "I know you don't much like what he's done the last nine years, but you would've told Lady Andrade, wouldn't you? My brother is Lord of G.o.ddess Keep now. He needs to know this."

"The law is Rohan's," Riyan heard himself say.

"But the spell was diarmadhi. diarmadhi."

"No proof."

"Oh, for the love of-Riyan, you were the one who communicated with that dragon! And by the way, Pol's going to be crazy once he hears. He still hasn't managed it and neither has anybody else. But did the man who killed that dragon wear Sunrunner's rings? Yet he yanked the creature right out of the sky! Andry has to be told."

"I'll mention it to Sioned," was as far as Riyan was willing to go, and with that Sorin had to be content.

Chapter Nine.

Dragon's Rest: 4 Spring.

Pol hung on as best he could, but the effort was in vain. Daylight opened up between him and the saddle. The next instant he was flat on his back in the lush spring gra.s.s with the wind knocked out of him. The filly, with fine regard for his comfort now that it no longer depended on her, sidled over and poked her delicate nose into his ribs. Propping himself on his elbows after he'd caught his breath, he frowned up at her in disgust. "I'm fine, thanks for asking," he growled.

A young man leaning on the paddock rails had been laughing uproariously all this time. "I don't see what's so d.a.m.ned funny," Pol complained as he regained his feet.

"Don't you? From where I'm standing, it was hilarious."

"You have no respect for your prince's dignity, Rialt-let alone his sore backside."

"If your dignity depended depended on your backside, you'd have a problem," Rialt replied as grooms loosened the filly's saddle girth. She was perfectly reasonable now without a man's weight on her back. "I just hope the mount you bring to your marriage bed is easier to ride than this lady here," he teased. on your backside, you'd have a problem," Rialt replied as grooms loosened the filly's saddle girth. She was perfectly reasonable now without a man's weight on her back. "I just hope the mount you bring to your marriage bed is easier to ride than this lady here," he teased.

"And no respect for your prince's privacy, either," Pol snapped.