into the Desert again. The princess had told him on the sunlight to head for Skybowl with the twin purposes of finding out where her husband was and to give warning about the Merida. Her colors had been strictly controlled as befitted a ranking faradhi and a princess, but beneath them Kleve had felt a black terror that had given urgent depth to her orders.
Eltanin had provided a horse half again as large as Kleve’s own faithful pony, and the gelding’s strong, smooth gait proclaimed him one of Lord Chaynal’s blooded stock. Kleve had never bestrode an animal as fine and fast as this one, and made silent apology to his abandoned old friend for his disloyal enjoyment of the gelding’s speed.
But swiftness alone could not have saved him from the threat that appeared on the first afternoon of his journey. Four riders came toward him out of the sun. Kleve tightened his fingers on the reins to feel the comforting pressure of his rings. Only five, but enough to defend himself with Fire and a judicious bit of conjuring if necessary. In his years as a roving Sunrunner he had encountered his share of bandits and thieves who had scant respect for his calling. He had always obeyed the injunction against killing, but he had never scrupled to leave his attackers much the worse for their foolishness.
He reined in the gelding and began his preparations as the four riders bore down on him. When they were near enough to see him clearly, he held up his right hand, fingers spread and angled to catch the light on his rings.
“Thank the Goddess!” a young voice shouted. “Sunrunner, we’re in need!”
Kleve stayed where he was as they rode up—a youth, a girl of about the same age, a man older than Kleve, and a boy with green eyes blazing in a bruised, angry face. He noted swords, knives, and telltale colors at a glance as well as the quality of clothing beneath the dirt. A young knight, a man-at-arms retired to more peaceful pursuits, a squire, and a girl whose position was not immediately clear. The faradhi nodded to himself, relieved. The only threat they posed was to the health of their horses, which bore all the signs of having been ridden too hard and too fast.
“How may I help?” Kleve asked politely.
“Where do I begin?” the girl asked bitterly, raking her hair from her face.
“Names might help,” he suggested. “Mine is Kleve, and I think I’m the person you rode out from Skybowl to find.”
“Exactly,” the young man said. “We have news for Princess Sioned that can’t be entrusted to couriers—and she’s far from Stronghold in any case.” Then he paused, blue eyes narrowing. “How did you know we’re from Skybowl?”
Kleve smiled, accepting the belated tribute to powers of observation and deduction drilled into him at Goddess Keep, and declined to answer the question. After all, Lady Andrade never did. He cast a look at the sun, which barely topped the western hills. “Tell me quickly what message you wish to send, before the light fails and it becomes impossible for me to reach her before moonrise.”
“They’ve taken him!” the boy burst out. “Princess Ianthe has stolen my lord to Feruche!”
The young knight hushed him with a glance and began the tale. Their names were Walvis, Tilal, Feylin, and Lhoys, the latter two of Skybowl, the former from the prince’s own suite at Stronghold. Only Lhoys contributed nothing to the telling, and sat glowering on his horse as the other three traded the story quickly back and forth. Kleve readied himself as he listened, boiling all down to essentials even as he began the lightweave that he would ride to Faolain Lowland where the princess was. Along the ribbons of fading sun he flew, his second such journey today. He was grateful for her instantaneous response and her strong, steadying touch on the light.
Goddess blessing, my lady. Hear me quickly, for the sun dies and I have but five rings. Your prince, seeking dragons, found ambush instead and is now held at Feruche. His squire was released unhurt and found others who were crossing the Desert to me at Tiglath. Your garrison below Feruche is slaughtered. Skybowl has no troops for storming the castle. Lord Farid is dead. Tiglath cannot help, for the squire learned that the Merida will attack within days. Give me your orders, and I will relay them to Walvis.
ROHAN! Her anguished cry nearly shattered the sunlight