Rawn,Melanie - Dragon Prince 2 - The Star Scroll

Chapter One

Graypearl, Prince Lleyn's elegant jewel box of a palace, nestled atop its hill

in a sculpted setting of lush spring grass and flowering trees. Built of stone

that gleamed at dawn and sunset with the subtle iridescence from which it drew

its name, it was one of the few princely residences that had never been a

fortress. No defensive architecture had ever been needed on the island of

Dorval, at peace with itself and the nearby continent for longer than anyone's

great-grandfather could remember. Graypearl's towers had been fashioned for

beauty, not war.

Gardens spread in curved terraces overlooking a tiny harbor where boats sailed

out in season to harvest the pearl beds. A small army of groundskeepers kept

the luxuriant spring growth of flowers, herbs, and trees from running riot—but

no one could impose similar order on the boy who ran an intricate pattern

between the rose trees, kicking a deerhide ball before him. He was a slight

youth, rather small for his fourteen winters. But there was the promise of

height in his long bones and he moved with an agility that older squires had

reason to bemoan in games of skill with blunted knives and wooden swords. Dark

blond hair crowned a clever oval face whose most vivid feature was a pair of

large, fine eyes that changed from blue to green depending on his mood and the

color of his clothes. It was a quick face, intelligent and sensitive, with its

share of inherent pride in bones which were becoming more visible as his

features lost their childish roundness. But there was nothing about him to

suggest that he was anything more than a squire fostered to Prince Lleyn's

court for training, released from afternoon duties and playing happily by

himself in the gardens. Certainly there was no indication that he was the only

son of the High Prince, destined to inherit not only his father's Desert lands

but those of Princemarch as well.

Princess Audrite, wife of Lleyn's heir Chadric, watched the boy with an

indulgent smile. Her own sons had gone to other courts just as this youth had,

and returned as young knights skilled in all the graces—not her little boys

anymore. She spared a sigh for having missed their growing years, but other

youngsters had filled up her time and, some of them, portions of her heart.

Maarken, Lord Chaynal of Radzyn's eldest son and cousin to the boy playing in

the gardens, had been one of her favorites, with his swift mind and sunny

smiles. But this golden princeling she watched now was special. Made of

air and light he was, with a temper like flashfire through summer-

dry timber and a streak of mischief that had more than once landed him in

trouble. In fact, he ought not to have been excused his duties like the other

squires this afternoon, for he still owed her the copying of a hundred lines

of verses after a misdemeanor yesterday in the kitchens-something involving a

large quantity of pepper and an exploding fish bladder. She was not sure she

wanted to know the particulars. An inventive mind, had young Pol, and Audrite

chuckled in spite of herself. She had chosen a most appropriate punishment by

selecting poetry for him to copy; had she specified a hundred mathematical

problems, he would have completed them in a wink and considered it no

punishment at all.

The princess shook out her thin silk gown and settled on a bench, not wishing

to interrupt Pol's game until she had found the right phrases for what she had

to tell him. But all at once the deerhide ball shot past her, propelled by an

enthusiastic kick, and the boy skidded to a stop before her. Surprised by her

presence, he nevertheless gave her a bow worthy of the most elegant young

lord. "Your pardon, my lady. I didn't mean to disturb you." "It's all right,

Pol. Actually, I came here looking for you and thought I'd sit in the shade

for a little while. It's quite hot this spring, isn't it?"

He was not yet skilled enough in the art of polite conversation to take her

lead on to further chat about the weather. "Do you have news for me, my lady?"

Audrite chose to be as direct as he. "Your father has asked permission to take

you away from us for a time.

He wants you to go home to Stronghold by way of Rad-zyn, then to the Rialla

with him and your mother."

Excitement shone in the young face. "Home? Really?" Then, realizing that his

reaction might be taken amiss, he hurried on, "I mean, I like it here and I'll

miss you and my lord Chadric and my friends—"

"And we'll miss you, Pol." Audrite smiled her understanding. "But we'll bring

you back to Graypearl with us after the Rialla so you may continue your

training. It's unusual, you know, for a squire to be allowed a holiday from

the work he must do in order to become a knight and a gentleman. Do you think

what you've learned thus far is enough to uphold Prince Lleyn's reputation?"

Pol gave her a cheerful grin. "If it isn't, then Father will know it's my

fault, not anyone else's!"

Audrite grinned back. "Yes, we had a long letter about you when you first came

to us."

"But I was just a child then," he assured her, blithely forgetting the

transgression of the previous day. "I won't do anything to embarrass anyone.

I've outgrown all that." He paused, glancing at the sea far below. "Except—

I'll have to cross water, won't I? I'll try to behave better than I did the

first time."

The princess ruffled his blond hair. "It's nothing to be ashamed of, Pol.

Indeed, you ought to be proud. AH Sunrunners lose their dignity along with

their breakfast when they cross water."

"But I'm a prince, and I should be in better control of myself." He sighed.

"Oh, well. Once to Radzyn and once coming back—I suppose it won't be too bad."

"There's a silk-ship leaving in two days for Radzyn port, and Prince Lleyn has

bespoken a place for you on it. He's sending Meath with you for company."

Pol made a face halfway between a grin and a grimace. "Then we can be sick

together!"

"I'm convinced it's the Goddess' way of keeping you faradh'im humble! Why

don't you go upstairs now and start packing?''

"I will, my lady. And tomorrow—" He hesitated, then went on, "Could I go down

to the harbor and find presents for my mother and Aunt Tobin? I've saved

almost

everything Father's sent me since I got here, so I've money enough."

He had the right instincts; he was already generous and thoughtful about

pleasing ladies. That face and those eyes would be breaking hearts before he

was too much older, Audrite reflected, and relished the notion that she would

be around to watch. "You and Meath may be excused tomorrow for the day. But I

seem to recall you have a certain project to complete for me first. How many

lines was it?"

"Fifty?" he asked hopefully, then sighed. "One hundred. I'll have them done by

tonight, my lady."

"If they're not in my hands until tomorrow evening, I'll understand," she

suggested, winning another of his wide smiles and a bow of thanks. Then he ran

back up the terraces to the palace.

Audrite spent a few more moments enjoying the shade before she, too, left the

gardens. Her steps were lithe and energetic as she climbed; a passion for

riding had kept her slim and supple for all her forty-nine winters. She

unlatched the gate that led into the private enclave and paused to admire the

oratory that rose like a shining gem from the formal gardens. It was said that

the one at Castle Crag, a crystal dome built into the side of the cliffs

there, was the most splendid in all the thirteen princedoms, but she could

imagine nothing more beautiful than this oratory at Graypearl—and not only

because she had had a great deal to do with its construction.

Carved stone columns had been taken from an abandoned keep on the other side

of the island to support walls of pale wood and brilliant stained glass. The

painted wooden ceiling rose far above, punctuated with small, clear windows in

an uneven pattern that looked random but was not. It could be said that the

oratory was in reality a temple: lit by the Fire of sun and moons, open to the

Air, built of the things of the Earth, and circled by a stream of Water that

irrigated the gardens below. Audrite crossed the little footbridge and stepped

between the columns, catching her breath as always at the beauty of the place.

It was like walking into a rainbow. And if standing here embraced by all the

colors in the world was

a moving experience for her, it must be near ecstacy for faradh 'im.

The ceiling had been the hardest to reconstruct. Some of its supports had been

demolished, and it had taken years of study for Audrite to discern the proper

placement of windows. The tiled floor had been painstakingly lifted from the

soil and overgrown grasses on the far side of Dorval, and was marked with

various symbols for the seasons and indicated the position and phases of the

three moons on any given night of the year. Audrite had spent years checking

its accuracy, and several new tiles had been fashioned at her direction to

replace ones worn or broken long ago at the other keep. Her calculations on

the exact relationship of ceiling to tiles, and the observations of Lleyn's

Sunrunners, Meath and Eolie, had awed everyone. For the original design of

this oratory had been correct down to the slightest nuance.

Twenty-one years ago, Prince Lleyn had learned from Lady Andrade—she who ruled

Goddess Keep and all Sunrunners—that the abandoned castle had once belonged to

the faradh 'im. Stone had been taken from it for hundreds of years to

construct other places, including Graypearl, but on Lleyn's return from the

Rialla that autumn an excavation had begun in earnest. This master-work had

been their most important find, save one. Audrite walked softly over the

summer tiles, a smile on her face for the sheer beauty of the oratory and the

sheer joy of understanding it. The structure had become again what it had been

meant to be: the most remarkable calendar in all the princedoms.

She heard steps on the footbridge and turned. Meath entered the oratory and

bowed a greeting. "Full moons tonight," he said, smiling as he shared her

delight at their knowledge.

"You can use them to contact Princess Sioned," Audrite told him.

"You've talked to Pol, then?"

"Yes. I'll have to give you my notes on the scrolls." She frowned slightly.

"Meath, do you think it's wise to give them to Andrade now? She's very old. It

may be that she won't have time to discover their meaning—and .it

may also be that the next Lady or Lord of Goddess Keep won't use the knowledge

wisely."

Thefaradhi shrugged and spread his hands wide, rings glinting in the colored

sunlight. "I'm convinced she'll outlive us all, if only through pure

cussedness." He smiled, then shook his head. "As for the other thing—I agree

that it's a risk. But I'd rather have Andrade examine the scrolls now and

decide what to do with them than wait and see who next rules Goddess Keep."

"You were the one who found them," she said slowly. "I've helped with as many

of the words as I could—and, Goddess knows, there wasn't much I fully

understood," she added regretfully. "But the responsibility for them is

yours."

"Well, it's true that I dug them out of the rubble, but I'd prefer not to have

the choice of what's done with them. If they're as important as we suspect,

then it's knowledge I'm not qualified to deal with. I'd rather see the scrolls

in Andrade's hands, not mine. She'll either understand them and use them, or

destroy them if they're too dangerous."

Audrite nodded. "Come by my library later tonight and I'll give you my notes."

"Thank you, my lady. Andrade will appreciate it, I know." He smiled again. "I

wish you could be there to see her face!"

"So do I. I just hope the shock isn't too much for her.''

* * *

The hundred lines of verse duly copied and presented to Princess Audrite, Pol

was free by late morning to ride to the harbor with Meath. Shops snuggled

along the village's narrow main street, not as varied in their wares as the

stores in Dorval's main shipping center down the coast or in Radzyn's port.

But there were interesting things to be had here—crafts native to the island

and not much traded elsewhere, small items made of silk remnants, jewelry

cunningly fashioned to hide defects in pearls not suitable for the general

market. Pol and Meath tied their horses in front of a dockside inn where they

planned to have lunch later, and walked up and down the street, window-

shopping.

The merchants all knew Pol, of course, and were of two attitudes when it came

to selling him things. Some, aware of his father's great wealth, quoted

outrageous prices in hopes of siphoning off a little of that wealth for

themselves. Others cared more about royal favor, and un-derpriced their wares

in a shameless bid for Pol's further patronage. The young prince usually did

his looking through the windows, then consulted with companions on the fair

price of goods that caught his eye before making his purchases. Patient for

the first and second tours up and down the street, Meath finally asked Pol if

he intended to spend all day at this. A third perusal was all the Sunrunner

would stand for; he ordered the boy back to the inn for sustenance.

Prince Lleyn did not tolerate seafaring roughnecks in this port. He

discouraged them elsewhere, naturally, but here in the precincts of his palace

they were forbidden. Thus everything catering to such men—taverns where strong

drink was served and brawls were common, disreputable lodgings where they

bedded down between voyages, and the girls they bedded down with—were missing

from Graypearl's little harbor. The law assured domestic peace and the safety

of the residents as well as of the highborn youths who came to Dorval as

squires, and the old prince himself often ventured down to the port for a meal

or a day's ramble in the fresh air. The inn Meath chose was one Lleyn had

introduced him to years ago, a clean and merry establishment perfectly safe

for the heir to the High Prince. But even if it had not been, Meath's great

height, broad shoulders, and faradhi rings would have ensured Pol's safety.

"Goddess greeting to you, Sunrunner! And to the young master, as well!" The

innkeeper, Giamo by name, came out from behind his counter and bowed his

respects before escorting them to a table. "Honored to be of service to you

both! Now, we've some fine cold roast today, and bread right out of the oven,

and the first berries of the season, so sweet that they don't need any honey

dol-loped on them—although my good wife having a tooth for it, she slathers it

on anyway! Will that suit?"

"Perfectly," Meath said with a happy sigh. "You can

add a tankard for me and something appropriate for my friend, here."

Pol cast him a deeply reproachful look, and when the innkeeper had gone to

fetch the meal said, "What's 'appropriate' for me, anyway? A glass of milk?

I'm not a baby, Meath!"

"No, but not tall or hefty enough for a bout with the ale Giamo brews, either.

Not at just over fourteen winters! Put on a few fingers' height and some flesh

on those bones, and then we'll see." Meath grinned. "Besides, all I lack is

your mother raving at me for letting you get drunk."

Pol made a face, then turned his attention to the other noontime patrons of

the inn. There were a few pearl-fishers, easily identifiable by their lean,

lithe bodies, well-developed chest muscles, and the scars on their hands from

digging shells out of rock crevices. Skin weathered by sea and salt had paled

a little during the winter months, but soon they would be out in their small

boats again, browned from head to heels by summer sun during the annual

harvest. Lleyn's squires often enjoyed the treat of a day's sail in the pearl

coves—but not Pol. The first time he'd taken a look at those tiny, flat-

bottomed boats bobbing gently at their moorings, he'd been most humili-atingly

sick.

In one corner of the room a pair of merchants haggled pleasantly over their

meal, swatches of silk on the table between them. A young man wooed a pretty

girl nearby, their lunch forgotten as he whispered in her ear and sent her

into gales of laughter. Near the door sat five soldiers, four men and a

middle-aged woman, all dressed in light harness but without swords, according

to the law here. They wore the solid red tunics and the white candle badge of

Prince Velden of Grib.

"Meath?" Pol asked softly. "What are they doing at Graypearl?''

"Who?" he glanced around. "Oh, them. The Gribain ambassador got in this

morning. Something about arranging silk trade."

"But there's been a treaty forever that says all silk goes through Radzyn."

"Well, they can try to convince Lleyn, can't they? But

I don't think they'll get anywhere. I wouldn't be too worried for your uncle's

revenues—or your own," he finished teasingly.

Pol bristled. "Dorval can do as it likes with its silks—"

"As long as the Desert sees the profits?" Meath laughed, then held up a

placating hand as blue-green eyes began to flash. "Sorry. Couldn't resist."

"I was talking about treaties and the law, not profits," Pol said sternly.

"I think you'll find such things are flexible when it comes to making money."

"Not since my father's been High Prince," he stated. "The law is the law, and

he sees to it that laws are obeyed."

"Well, it's all beyond a simple Sunrunner like me, your grace," Meath said,

barely controlling another smile.

Giamo arrived with a tray, and set before them two huge plates of food, a

tankard of ale for Meath, and a Fironese crystal goblet filled with a clear,

pale pink liquid that frothed gently with golden bubbles. Pol took a sip under

his host's watchful eye, and smiled in delight. "Wonderful! What is it?"

"My own brewing," Giamo answered, pleased. "The most delicate and refined of

ciders, barely blushing."

"It tastes just like spring itself," Pol said. "And I'm honored by the goblet

it's served in."

"The honor is my wife's," Giamo replied with a bow. "It's not every woman can

say that so important a lord has eaten at her table and sipped from her most

treasured possession."

"If she's not too busy, then perhaps I can visit her in the kitchen and thank

her.''

"After you've finished your meal in peace," Giamo grinned. "My good wife Willa

could talk the tail off a dragon."

Sunrunner and prince dug into the food. The healthy appetites of a growing boy

and a large, active man required seconds; Meath requested a third piling of

meat and flaky bread, and Pol was sincerely sorry that he was too full to do

likewise. He lingered over a dish of berries

in honey glaze and sipped at his cider, wondering if he might persuade Giamo

to part with a bottle as a gift for his mother, who adored fine wines.

The pearl-fishers had gone, replaced by a trio of shipwrights come to enjoy a

few tankards of ale. The young man and the girl were now being teased by the

two silk merchants; Pol grinned to himself as the couple blushed. In a few

years that would be him over there, enjoying the company of a charming lady.

But he was in no hurry.

Replete at last, Meath leaned back with tankard in hand, ready for

conversation again. "You didn't say if there was anything in the shops you

liked well enough to buy."

"Well . . . the green silk slippers were pretty, and that comb of pearl shell.

But Prince Chadric told me that a man should never buy a gift for a lady

unless he takes one look at it and can see her wearing it or using it."

The Sunrunner laughed. "An excellent policy—and doubtless the reason Audrite

always looks so lovely."

"You might try his advice out on that new maid in the west wing," Pol said,

his eyes at their widest and most innocent. "I hear you haven't had much luck

so far."

Meath spluttered on a swallow of ale. "How did you know about—"

Pol only laughed.

Willa, Giamo's wife, emerged from her kitchen then, wiping her hands on her

apron and obviously intending to gather compliments from her exalted guest.

The merchants had risen to leave, still arguing amiably over their silk. The

young girl squealed, "Oh, Rialt, you're terrible!" in response to some sally

of her companion's; the shipwrights laughed in response and raised their cups

to him. All was warm good cheer—until one of the soldiers suddenly shoved his

chair back and sprang to his feet, growling a difference of opinion that

turned every head in the room. Meath saw the glint of steel and rose, his

substantial frame instinctively placed between the soldiers and Pol. The

merchants, caught between their table and the angry Gribains by the door, sent

a look of frantic appeal to the Sunrunner, and he nodded reassurance.

"Here, now," Meath said casually. "You can settle this outside, can't you?"

Usually his height, his breadth of shoulder, and his rings made his point. But

these were seasoned troopers, angry and resentful of any interference, even

that of a faradhi. The bearded one who seemed to have started the quarrel

snarled, "It's no concern of yours, Sunrunner."

"Put the knife away," Meath replied, his voice less pleasant now. The

merchants were trying to slip past, silk swatches rustling in their clenched

hands, and the girl had shrunk back in her chair.

Willa marched forward, hands on hips. "How dare you threaten the peace of this

inn?" she demanded. "And in the presence of—"

Meath interrupted before she could identify Pol. "Get out of here before you

make a very serious mistake, my friends."

The woman—their captain judging by the braid at her throat—drew her own knife.

"You have a loud and offensive mouth, faradhi. And you are mistaken in using

that tone to members of Prince Velden's own guard."

The bearded man brought up his knife in obvious threat, sunlight through the

windows striking silver off the blade, and the innkeeper's wife shrieked a

protest. The merchants tried to vanish behind a couple of chairs. And the

knife sped through an abrupt silence toward Meath's chest.

"No!" a young voice cried. Meath rocked easily out of the knife's path as a

fountain of Sun runner's Fire rose from the middle of the soldiers' table.

They yelled and leaped back, and in that precious moment of their star-tlement

Meath surged toward them. He slammed two into the wall and shoved the woman at

the terrified merchants. Rialt shook off his girlfriend's clutching hand,

jumped to his feet, and launched himself at the bearded soldier. The three

shipwrights, bulky muscles barely covered by thin shirts, hastily downed the

last of their ale before leaping up to join the fight.

By brawl's end, Meath had a sore jaw and a shallow slit in his arm. Neither

deterred him from overturning a table on top of the Gribain who was foolish

enough not to stay where Rialt had kicked him. Two of the shipwrights were

holding a second soldier so Rialt could take whatever punches he liked; Willa

was engaged in tying

up the unconscious woman with knotted napkins. The fourth soldier had gone

headfirst into the brick hearth; the fifth sprawled on the floor, and the

shipwright seated casually on the Gribain's spine looked up with a grin at

Meath.

"Many thanks for the entertainment, my lord Sunrun-ner! I haven't had so much

fun since I worked over to the other port!"

"My pleasure," Meath answered, and looked around for Pol. The boy was

administering ale to the white-faced girl. He was unhurt, and Meath felt

relief shake his knees just a little. He didn't want to consider what he would

have told Sioned if her son had been injured.

Giamo puffed up the cellar stairs and gave a shocked cry. Meath patted his

shoulder.

"All taken care of. But I'm afraid we've made a shambles of your room." He

glanced down as capable hands went to work on his wounded arm. "It's nothing,"

he told Willa.

"Nothing?" She snorted and tied off the bandage she had made with strips torn

from her apron. "Nothing that could have been deaths in my house, that's what

nothing! Now, you find out who these ruffians are and what they're about while

I find some good strong wine to restore the blood you've lost."

Meath was about to protest that it was only a scratch-then remembered the

glorious wine Prince Lleyn had treated him to at this very inn last autumn. He

nodded enthusiastic approval and Willa snorted once more.

There were more casualties among the furniture and plates than among the

people involved. Rialt would have a sore shoulder for a few days, and the

merchants' dignity had been more bruised than their backsides. Meath righted

an overturned chair, tested it for soundness, and pointed to the Gribain

commander, who sat on the floor with her hands bound behind her. "Have a

seat," h« invited.

Sullenly and awkwardly, she obeyed. Her red tunic was a little darker along

one shoulder, but Meath judged the wound to be superficial. Of her companions,

three would have very bad headaches and the other would not be walking

entirely upright for a while. After assuring him-

self of their relative good health, Meath stood before their captain with arms

folded, unimpressed by her arrogant demand to be released on the instant.

"Captain," he told her, "I don't care if you stand guard outside Prince

Velden's own bedchamber while he favors his wife with his attentions. You know

the law here."

"It was a private matter between me and my men," she snapped. "You have no

right—"

"I have the right of any man or woman to make sure the law is obeyed. I want

several things, and I want them now: your name, those of your men, and the

reason for this outrage against Prince Lleyn's peace. And then you may make

your- apologies as well as restitution to those you've offended here today."

"Apologies!" She sucked in a breath and glared at him.

Meath glanced down as Pol plucked at his sleeve. "What is it?"

"I've sent Giamo to fetch the patrol. They should be here soon."

"Good thinking. Thanks." The boy looked a little pale, but seemed in perfect

control of himself. "Are you all right?"

"Fine. But I don't think this was any simple disagreement," he added

thoughtfully. "In fact, I'm sure the one with the beard started it on

purpose."

Meath was almost afraid to find out why. Neither was he looking forward to an

explanation about Pol's conjuring of Fire. Meath and Eolie had never shown him

how. Perhaps Sioned had before Pol left Stronghold, but somehow Meath doubted

it. Pol would have told him.

The faradhi looked down into clear eyes. "Why would he start a fight?" he

asked quietly.

"Because he wanted to kill me." Pol shrugged. "Rialt kept him from throwing

his second knife. You were busy with the others and didn't see. But he wasn't

aiming at you the first time, either. He was after we.''

It wasn't natural for a fourteen-year-old to speak so calmly about such

things. Meath started to put an arm around his shoulders, but Pol slid away

and went to the cellar door, where Willa had just appeared with clay mugs

of wine. Pol appropriated one and took a long swallow, then helped her serve

the rest. Meath downed the contents of his mug in two gulps and then

approached the man who lay trapped and unconscious beneath the overturned

table.

He was unremarkable in every way—height, weight, coloring, features—and that

very plainness signaled dan- ; ger. Who would notice this man, but for the

uniform and the beard? Yet both were too easy to identify, and Meath could not

help but wonder about them. Even if Velden of Grib had had a compelling reason

to kill Pol, Meath couldn't believe anyone was stupid enough to send an

assassin dressed in the colors of his own princedom— unless he counted on

everyone's assuming that no one would be that stupid. Intricate schemes made

Meath's head ache. And he could just hear himself accusing a ruling prince of

attempted murder. It was much easier to absolve Velden of complicity and

decide that the uniform was borrowed protection, gaining the assassin access

to Graypearl as part of the Gribain suite, with chance placing the soldiers

here at the inn at the same time as Pol.

Besides, there was the beard—a disguise that could be discarded almost as

easily as the uniform. Meath crouched down to peer at the man's face.

"What are you looking for?" Pol asked over his shoulder.

"I'm not sure," Meath admitted. "I don't think he's had his beard very long.

It's uneven and hasn't grown long enough to trim neatly. And that place on his

chin is practically bald."

The boy knelt and fingered the beard. When he met the Sunrunner's eyes, his

own were haunted. "Merida," he whispered.

"Impossible. They were all but wiped out the year you were born. Walvis got

them at the Battle of Tiglath."

"Merida," Pol repeated stubbornly. "The scar's on his chin in just the right

place. They're trained assassins. And who else would want to kill me?"

Meath heard reaction beginning at last as Pol's voice rose slightly, and he

pulled the boy to his feet. He snagged another cup of wine from the tray on

the table and gave it to Pol after seating him firmly in a chair.

Rohan had sent his son to Dorval for its safety, with the understanding that

Meath, Sioned's friend since their student days at Goddess Keep, would act as

bodyguard whenever the boy was not in the immediate confines of Graypearl.

Meath's hands shook as he thought about what might have happened here today.

Pol's color and poise had come back. He complimented the merchants and

shipwrights on their fighting skills, speaking as easily as if this had been a

simple tavern brawl, not an attempt to kill him. But Lleyn's carefree squire

had vanished, replaced by a young man who now knew how much his death was

worth. Rohan and Sioned would find that their son had taken a very long step

toward manhood in the space of a few moments. Pol's identity known by now, as

he thanked Rialt for his quickness the low bow he received seemed to embarrass

him. This reassured Meath for reasons he did not immediately understand.

The patrol arrived and Meath was glad to hand over the prisoners to their

keeping. They would be brought before Prince Lleyn; he looked grimly forward

to hearing the Merida explain himself.

"I'm sorry about the damage," Pol was saying to Giamo. "And your goblet was

broken. I'll find a replacement for it at the Rialla, I promise."

"My goblet?" Willa exclaimed. "Great Goddess watch over us, what's a foolish

goblet? If your Sunrunner hadn't called Fire and startled them so much, more

than my goblet and a few sticks of furniture would have been broken!"

Rawn, Melanie - Dragon Prince 2 - The Star Scroll

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