is. And so are you.” He rose, stretched and ruffled the boy’s hair. “I’ve a tour to make of the lines, squire.”
“Yes, my lord. But when Lleyn’s ships arrive, may I please be excused from inspecting them with you?”
“More likely I’ll dump you in one and send you on a grand tour of all the princedoms to complete your education!”
“Father! How would it look for the next Lord of Radzyn to be seen puking from one end of the continent to the other?”
Chay growled affectionately at him and pushed him out of the tent. Rohan watched them go, smiling, then leaned back in his chair and addressed Davvi in all seriousness.
“This is your part of the world. When will the heavy rains come and how long will they last?”
“Soon—and perhaps until spring.” He traced the storms’ usual route on the map spread before them. “We’ll know when the river begins to rise that the bad ones have come to the Veresch and Meadowlord. Are you equipped for winter quarters?”
“Well enough.” He got to his feet, paced, caught himself at it, and scowled. “What will Roelstra do? Will he withdraw for the winter? If he does, should we? We could take ship when Lleyn’s people arrive and go to the relief of Tiglath. Or we could stay and wait, and take the first chance to march and establish you at High Kirat.”
Davvi shifted uneasily. “I would rather not be beholden to you there, my lord, if you’ll take no offense. I’d like to fight that battle myself.”
Rohan smiled, pleased by the answer. “I thought you might. And I doubt you’ll get much resistance. Another season of Roelstra and the athr’im of Syr will be only too glad to have you.”
“I realize you have first claim, Rohan, but leave me just a little piece of him, won’t you? Although I think I may have to fight Chay for a place at the front of the line.”
“Ah, no. He and I have a good understanding. He’s going to hold my cloak. I’m afraid there won’t be anything left of the High Prince. I hope you’re not too disappointed,” he finished dryly. Sitting back down at the desk, he stared at the map unrolled before him. “Rain,” he murmured. “We see very little of it at Stronghold, you know. We’re on the wrong side of the Vere Hills for it. Radzyn and the other coastal holdings get a sea-squall now and then, and it’s been known to flood and even snow in the far north.”
“You’ll get more rain here than you ever wanted to see.” Davvi gave his son a playful nudge. “And you’ll have to get used to it again after the Desert.”
“Can we go hunting? And take my lord with us?”
“We’ll show him the delights of getting soaked to the bone in pursuit of a single skinny elk!”
They laughed, obviously sharing memories. Rohan forced a smile, wondering if he would always be surrounded by loving fathers and their adoring sons, and hated himself for the petulance. He traced one finger along the map from the Faolain to Feruche, where Ianthe’s son was growing within her body. His son, whom Sioned had seen in faradhi vision.
Tobin and Ostvel stop her? He had fooled himself with that only for as long as it had taken to ride here from Stronghold. But since then he had made plans. He would end the war as quickly as he could and then raze Feruche. Ianthe would die and the child with her.
Could he kill his own unborn son?
Rohan sank into moody silence, and did not notice that Davvi and Tilal had left him alone.
Andrade, caged with a sly little girl, a sharp-tongued Sunrunner, and a passel of witless servants, counted off the dismal days of autumn with even less patience than she had numbered those of summer. The Storm God was having a good laugh, amusing himself with sheeting rain and endless clouds that frustrated all faradhi communication.
But at least she had accomplished one thing before the storms, she told herself one gray afternoon in Lady Wisla’s solar. Davvi was Prince of Syr in all but formal acclaim. That Roelstra controlled High Kirat and Princess Gemma within it, and that the full roster of princes had not yet affirmed Davvi, only made her shrug. She could call a convocation of princes anytime she pleased. Her predecessor had done it to ratify the Treaty of Linse that had given the Desert to Zehava’s line “for as long as