"Rawn, Melanie - Dragon Star 1 - Stronghold" - читать интересную книгу автора (Dragon Stories)

Despite the absurd comedy of that particular incident, the school was an overall success. It had the same foundation as Rohan's carefully slow insistence that squires not be fostered exclusively with those princes and lords with whom their fathers were on good terms. People who knew each other, who had ties of respect and affection, were reluctant to make war.
He stroked Pashtul's glossy neck and from a tall dune watched his little war unfold before him down on the plain. He had chosen a simple strategy todayЧcavalry only, no bows. Each side was split into two wings with instructions for an orderly fight. Order had long since vanished in the excitement of battle. Walvis shook his head, wondering when and if anyone would have the sense to withdraw and regroup. The instant any action disintegrated into chaos, it was usually problematical which side would lose. Discipline brought victory. He had proved that himself at Tiglath.
Discipline learned here helped these youngsters in later life. When some hardship or difficulty faced them, they always looked back to their year at RemagevЧwith its searing heat and glare, days away from cool shade and water, let alone anything that could honestly be called a treeЧand thought, "I did that, therefore I can do this." Walvis often had the same reaction. He'd won the Battle of Tiglath at only nineteen; not much had given him pause since.
He heard hoofbeats behind him and turned in his saddle. Another grin lit his face, and this time his eyes kindled as well, for it was his wife who rode up the dune on a gray gelding. He didn't know who had first called Feylin "Lady Azhben"Чmainly behind her back, sometimes to her faceЧ but today especially it fit her. The folds of her cloak blew back from her shoulders like dragon wings, pale green lined with yellow. A daughter of the northern Desert, up near the border with Cunaxa that had seen more skirmishes against the Merida than any other area of the princedom, she had been with him at Tiglath all those years ago and was a discerning critic of his annual war.
"What a mess!" she pronounced as she drew rein beside him and surveyed the field. "Are you sure you told them
STRONGHOLD 49
what to do? Or did you just saddle them up and turn them loose?"
"They'll learn," he replied complacently. "I'm going to try out your maneuver tomorrow. What did you call it? 'Dragon Claw'?"
" 'Winged Dragon.' If it doesn't work, I'll let you take the credit."
They observed the disaster below for a while. Swords were blunted and no one was ever seriously injured, but when the discipline of ranks was forgotten, the combatants tended to forget the niceties of not wounding their fellows. Happily, Feylin's mother had been a physician and had taught her daughter most of what she knew. Walvis suspected that part of the reason they called his wife Lady Dragon-woman came from the scant sympathy she gave to the wounded.
Walvis sighed and waited out the chaos, wondering if the masters at the physicians school in Gilad and the scriptorium on Kierst-Isel had similar problems. Andry didn't, of that he was sure. No one would dare defy a man who did not discourage the notion that he enjoyed the constant and favorable attention of the Goddess.
"Ah, look," Feylin said. "Sethric has rallied some of them."
"Perhaps 1*11 put him in charge of one of your wings tomorrow." Walvis squinted at the sunlit plain, seeing the blazing red pennant Sethric had raised to signal his leadership. It was difficult to follow the battle for the sand kicked up by the horses, but many on the red team were wheeling around, gathering near Sethric, massing for a thrust through the thick of the fray.
"A pity he's the younger son of a younger son," Feylin mused. "He's shown some initiative now that he's out from the shadow of his father and brothers."
That was the dilemma faced by many young men: what to do with themslves. Heirs presented certain problems of their ownЧand he frowned as he remembered the scant summer Rinhoel of Meadowlord had spent hereЧbut those without expectation of place or property beyond what they might marry troubled Walvis considerably. A year's training here provided occupation for youths who would otherwise have almost nothing to do. But though most families were pleased
50 Melanie Rawn
to send out boys and receive back men, what was there to occupy the lives of extraneous sons?
Before giving final approval to the school, Rohan had told Chay and Walvis either to come up with a plan for helping such landless young men after training at Remagev was completed, or to scrap the idea altogether. Three things were recommended. First, that wealthier fathers with lands to spare should be persuaded to give their younger sons manors or other responsibilities to keep them busy. Second, those youths from poorer places should be offered positions in their prince's guard. Third, if neither of these was appropriate or acceptable, they could join a company which, from its base here at Remagev, ranged out through the Desert, keeping order and settling disputes.
This idea was completely new. Walvis had had the rare satisfaction of seeing Rohan's jaw actually drop open in astonishment when he and Chay had proposed it. The concept of representatives of the High Prince, armed but traveling in unthreatening groups of five, riding the land to keep the peace was so compellingly outrageous that it had taken Rohan only enough time to recover his powers of speech before he agreed to it.
"But not one of them sets foot out of Remagev until fully versed in the law," he warned. "If they're going to uphold it, they're damned well going to know what it is."
The first six of these groups had been sent out as an experiment in the spring of 734. They had ridden Prince-march as well as the Desert, returning in time for the Riatta at Dragon's Rest that year. Pol reported himself and his vassals pleased with the resultsЧKerluthan of River Ussh especially, who told the princes that outlaws who had eluded his own punitive expeditions had been caught at last by the High Prince's men.
The other princes, even Rohan's allies, greeted this novel idea with skepticism. Their obvious fear was that he would propose to send these Medr'im, as Chay named themЧ"the Fives"Чinto their lands as well to uphold the High Prince's laws. Something else troubled Tilal, however, which he told Rohan in private. If each prince established his own corps of Medr'im, he might end up with a small but very well-trained army that could become bored, restless, and dangerous. Twenty armed horsemen could easily seize and hold a fair-sized manor; sixty could lay successful siege to a keep. Once
STRONGHOLD 51
a princely army took the field, they would not retain a conquest longЧbut why tempt fate?
Rohan's response was that the Medr'im were not to be copied by other princes, and for one of the few times in his long rule as High Prince he issued a summary decree to that effect.
"I'm not going to use my money in pursuit of your justice," he told the princes, thus allaying their fears that he would expand the Medr'im's sphere of influence. "I have no objection to giving these young men something to do for a few years, until they marry or settle to some occupation. By taking them off your hands and out of their families' hair, I'm doing you a favor and we all know it." He grinned briefly, then shrugged. "But my investment is in the Desert and Princemarch. I claim the right of the High Prince to exclusivity on this matterЧjust as Volog has sole rights over the scriptorium and Cabar over the physicians school. The Medr'im are my solution to a problem faced by us all, but they are my resourceЧno one else's."
No one argued with him. They were too busy congratulating themselves that the High Prince's people would not be riding their lands and superceding their laws with his own.
The Medr'im had proved a resounding success. They made sure that criminals were taken to the proper authority for justiceЧwhether it be the local athri or the High Prince. Walvis chose them with great attention to their maturity, character, and understanding of the law as well as their prowess at arms. Fifteen groups rode the two princedoms, seventy-five men total, but he could have fielded twice that many. He dreaded the day he would be faced with a mistake in his own judgment, but tried not to worry overmuch about it. The beginning had been made.
He had spotted a few likely candidates in this year's collection of young blades, but two had been promised manors on their return home and one was needed to succeed his brother, who had died that summer without an heir. But Lord Sethric of Grib, youngest son of Prince Velden's youngest brother, was showing himself an effective leader today. Remagev had taught him he had much of value to offer; he might make a very effective Medri.
Currently he was rallying troops to the red banner. He took them into a retreat, regrouped, and charged. The blue
52 Melanie Rawn
forces split neatly down the middleЧneat not because of any tactical plan, but because Sethric's riders sliced through them like a knife through a ripe apple. The reds pivoted in good order, trapped the blues, and pushed them across the field in a frantic retreat.
"Nicely done," Feylin said. "But I'll be busy tonight stitching up their foolish hides."
"Do try to be a little sweeter to them, my love," he urged, laughing. "They have their pride, after all."
"I'm very sweet to them. I rate their scars on a scale of probable allurement to young ladies."
"How comforting. They get no sympathy from Chayla, either."
"She's perfectly nice to themЧas long as they don't flirt too much," Feylin laughed. "And she's an excellent pupil. Maarken and Hollis will have a hard time deciding whether to send her to Goddess Keep or Gilad."
Chayla was fifteen, and had been renewing memories of her great-grandmother Princess Milar's golden loveliness practically since her cradle. Her mother was tawny as a topaz, but Chayla was all the colors of dawn, like Milar: pale gold, soft blue, rose pink, cream white. Her beauty was matched by her instinctive feel for medicineЧand her faradhi gifts. Her Sunrunner parents had acceded to her plea to spend this year learning the basics of healing from Feylin. But a decision would have to be made soon about her future. Goddess Keep, for training as Sunrunner and physician? Stronghold, to learn faradhi skills from Sioned as Pol had done, and then Gilad for medical schooling? It hinged on Maarken's evaluation of Andry's intent.
Being unable to trust his only living brother rent Maarken's soul. He'd spoken of it when he brought Chayla to Remagev this spring, and from certain clues, Walvis guessed that Maarken would send her to Andry if only to prove that his fears were unfounded. After all, had not Andry given his eldest daughter Tobren into Maarken's care at this year's Rialla? Surely this was a sign of love and trust between them. Surely that was what it meantЧto anyone who did not know him.
It was Maarken's undeserved Hell that he must always doubt his own brother. Walvis gave grateful thanks that his own loyalties were so simple. He had been Rohan's man all his life and would be until one of them died.
STRONGHOLD 53
Sethric was about to claim victory for the reds over the blues. Walvis chuckled as his horse blew out a long sigh; Pashtul fretted when not allowed to join in the fun. Grandson of Rohan's own great war stallion out of one of Chay's best mares, Pashtul liked nothing better than to show off his training by lashing out with hooves and teeth in the annual mock war. Tomorrow he might get his chance when Walvis experimented with Feylin's new tactic.
All at once the stallion bellowed a challenge. Walvis hung on hard to keep Pashtu! from bolting down into the cloud of sand on the field. A second cloud rose in the north, a charge accompanied by the most bloodcurdling howls this side of a battle between dragonsires.
Walvis laughed so hard he nearly fell from his saddle. Feylin whooped with glee beside him as fifty men mounted on fifty identical gray horses swept across the sand and surrounded the thunderstruck young warriors as easily as a wedding necklet clasps the throat of a happy bride. When red and blue banners had been confiscated to the accompaniment of more savage shrieks, one of the gray horses galloped up to where the Lord and Lady of Remagev were trying without success to regain their composure.
The young man was tall and lean, his brown eyes snapping with excitement in a sun-darkened face, his white teeth gleaming in a broad grin beneath a hawk's beak of a nose and a fierce black mustache. His head was covered by a white cloth held in place by a band of beaten gold set with white jade, and a white cloak billowed back from broad shoulders. He reined in ten paces from Walvis, planted red and blue banners in the sand, and touched the fingers of his right hand to his eyelids, his lips, and his heart.
"I have the honor to spit in your face after my great victory, once-mighty athri, former lord of all you survey!" he announced.
"Kazander! You simpering goat-footed idiot!" Feylin laughed in delight. "Trust you to make a grand entrance!"
"And scare those poor children out of a year's growth," Walvis added. "I didn't expect you until tomorrow evening. Rude as usual, coming early when the wine hasn't been poisoned for you yet! Not that anything could possibly be more lethal than that sheep-piss you had the gall to serve me. How are you?"
54 Melanie Rawn
"Refreshed by my victory, renewed by your regard, and resentful at the sight of the Lady Feylin's loveliness." He grinned. "She has not yet seen fit to leave you, you pathetic excuse for a goat's backside, for the obvious charms of my person."