Angus Wells - The Kingdoms 02 (13 page)

           
“I cannot restore his sight,” Wynett
interrupted. “I have tried! I have done everything in my power, but my talent
is not strong enough.”

           
“Perhaps not,” continued
Bethany
calmly, “but you do offer him hope.”

           
“I will not offer him false hope,”
Wynett said quickly. “I cannot believe the Lady would ask that of me, and 1
would not insult Kedryn with duplicity. ”

           
“I do not ask that you should,”
Bethany
informed the younger woman firmly. “I state
a fact: in his present mood Kedryn is weakened. Despair breeds doubt and he is
vulnerable to whatever machinations Ashar’s minion might bring against him.
Your presence alone uplifts him, and therefore I ask that you consider Bedyr’s
request.

           
“It is your decision. Sister, and
should you choose to remain here none will lay blame at your door. ”

           
“But he must know his hopes are
futile.” Wynett’s voice was plaintive. “I could not offer him what he wants;
nor allow him to believe falsely.”

           
“No,”
Bethany
agreed, “were you to decide it best to
accompany him you should make clear your feelings. Let Kedryn know that you go
with him as Kyrie’s acolyte, companion to the Chosen One, and for that reason
alone if that is truly the diktat of your heart.”

           
“Would that not be to fuel hope
where none exists?” asked Wynett, her frown dubious.

           
“You can do no more than tell him
the truth,”
Bethany
advised. “What he believes then is of his
choosing.”

           
“So his hopes would be dashed when
we reached Estrevan,” Wynett said. “Is that kind?”

           
“He would have hope until then,”
countered the older woman, “and be consequently warded against despair.”

           
Wynett shook her head helplessly,
unsure which way to turn. In Bedyr’s eyes she saw a mute plea that she should
help his son, the desire of a fond father to aid his child in whatever way he
might; Bethany’s gaze was calm and unreadable, forcing upon her the prime
consideration of the Lady’s teachings: that selfdetermination, free choice, was
all. She looked to Darr, who smiled and shrugged, speaking for the first time.

           
“I do not speak as your father,” he
declared, “nor do I wish to influence you with royal desires. I speak as one to
whom the governance of these Kingdoms has been entrusted, and as a friend to
Kedryn. What
Bethany
says is true; what Bedyr says is true: Kedryn is prey to black despair
and that may—I cannot know for sure—threaten the Kingdoms. I would therefore
lend my voice to the entreaties you have heard. I cannot, nor would I, command
you, but I ask that you ponder on these things and decide for yourself.

           
“Perhaps this will aid you.” He
brought a sealed packet from within his robe and Wynett gasped as she
recognized the signet of the Sorority imprinted in the wax. Darr’s kindly
features assumed an expression of embarrassment. “I hope you will forgive me
the assumption, but it seemed to me a matter in which the advice of Estrevan
may well be helpful. I do not know what it says—I sent mehdri to the
Morfah
Pass
with a report of the situation and the
senders there communicated with Estrevan. This is Gerat’s reply. Best read it
at your leisure, 1 think.” ,

           
Wynett nodded, staring at the blue-tinted
parchment, her fingers touching the violet wax nervously.

           
“I would be alone,” she murmured,
“to think. With your permission?”

           
Darr smiled his agreement and she
rose, inclining her head politely to Bethany and Bedyr.

           
In the corridor outside she halted,
breathing deeply as confusion skirled through her mind random as the wind that
buffeted the ramparts. The letter seemed to vibrate in her grasp and she
clutched it to her bosom, disciplining herself to think calmly. She needed to
be alone and she suspected that Kedryn would find her should she return to her
quarters in the hospital. Just now he was the last person she wanted to see,
for his presence would serve only to confuse her further and the decision she
knew she must reach was too momentous to allow for such distraction. Therefore
she walked away from the stairs that would carry her down to the lower regions
of the fort and paced instead toward the narrow well that thrust upward to the
outer walls.

           
The air grew chill as she climbed,
oblivious of the curious stares of the soldiery she passed, emerging onto the
crenellated rampart that faced across the Idre to the east. Low Fort was a
misty bulk in the overcast of late afternoon, the sky above ominously gray,
livid to the north with the threat of snow. The wind streamed her blond hair
and she brushed it unthinking from her eyes, feeling her gown flatten against
her body, caressed by the gusting. She found a buttress that afforded shelter
from the blustering draft and leaned against the cold stone while her fingers
found the seal and broke it, carefully unfolding the parchment as she mouthed a
prayer to the Lady for guidance and slowly tilted her head to read what was
written there.

           
It was brief enough, a few lines
only, the commencement offering greetings from her faraway Sisters and the
mundane hope that she was well. She did not recognize the hand that had penned
the words nor the signature at the foot, but the brief sentences that offered
guidance seemed to blaze from the page.

           
You
must remember that Kedryn Caitin is the
Chosen
One and that you are a Sister, and therefore the Lady stands with you both. She
will guide you. Look into your own heart and seek Her aid in your decision.

           
Wynett reread the words, finding no
further advice on the second examination, and folded the parchment. If my
father hoped this would sway me, she thought, he will be disappointed. Then she
dismissed the conceit as unworthy: Darr’s concern was for the welfare of the
Kingdoms, transcending pettiness and personal consideration. He had stated his
case fairly and left the final decision to her, As had they all, which in a way
rendered it that much the harder. Were it taken from her it would be so easy, and
she might find the excuse of duty lifting the burden of choice from her
shoulders. But that was clearly not to be: the decision was hers alone.

           
She turned, moving to the embrasure
that afforded a view of the river, looking to the tumbling waters as if seeking
answers in the waves that foamed the surface of the Idre. She had known it must
come to this but had succeeded in driving that knowledge to the back of her
mind, refusing to contemplate the inevitable until it arrived, knocking on the
doors of her consciousness, indeed, upon her conscience. As much as Bedyr—as
much as anyone—she had witnessed Kedryn’s shifting moods. She had been aware of
the fortitude with which he endured his affliction and knew that to be a
barrier against the dark vampire of despair prowling the edges of his mind. She
knew how much he relied on her, less now in hope of cure than of mere presence.
He had not spoken his love, but it was there in his voice and his touch, and
when she dared permit herself such risk as to consider it she knew that were
she not a Sister she would gladly accept his affection. That was what
frightened her: that the long journey to Estrevan would throw them so close
together she would find herself unable to resist, forget her vows and succumb
to the temptation of his embrace. And that would mean the ending of her
Sisterhood, a relinquishment of everything she had sought, all she had wanted
since first she felt her healing talent and secured her father’s permission to
depart the
White
Palace
to take up the blue robe of the Sorority.
It would, surely, render her life meaningless.

           
Yet she could not deny that she did
love him and the thought frightened her: she had felt herself secure within her
vows, content to dispense her love generally, manifesting in healing. She had
not believed one man might so affect her, prompting her even to contemplate
forsaking her place within the ranks of the Sisterhood.

           
She felt a tear course down her
chek, for she felt confronted by an insoluble problem. They were right, Darr
and Bedyr—if she did not accompany Kedryn he would most likely succumb to
despondency. It had not occurred to her that that chimera might render him
victim to the Messenger, and
Bethany
’s comments on that possibility served to
confuse her further. Should she agree from a sense of duty? Or would that
merely, as she suspected, render Kedryn prone to false hope and the
consequently greater disappointment of unsatisfied anticipation? She had hoped,
perhaps wrongly, perhaps unfairly, that he would depart without forcing the
agony of decision upon her, but now she must face the dilemma.

           
“Lady,” she whispered to the wind
howling along the river canyon, “show me what I must do.”

           
The wind offered no more answer than
the river, its shrilling only the threat of encroaching winter, the promise of
snow cold as the knife of choice that turned inside her and she turned from the
sheltering alcove to walk weary along the ramparts.

           
Below, moving solemnly along the
Beltrevan road, she could see the forest folk carrying their dead back to the
woodlands. There were so many lost to Ashar’s design, wasted lives spent in
futile hatred, driven by the blandishments of the Messenger. She had not wept
for them because she had been too occupied with the task of healing, of giving
life, but now her tears came, cold upon the cheeks as she observed the pitiful
remnants borne on carts and litters dragged by the hulking forest hounds. She
did not hear the warrior who approached her, grounding his spear as he tugged
his cloak from his shoulders and held it to her.

           
“Sister, take this. The walls are
chill.”

           
She turned and he saw her tears,
settling the warm cloth about her with a nervous smile.

           
“Why do you weep, Sister?”

           
“For the dead,” she replied,
grateful for his kindness.

           
“They sought it,” he said with a
warrior’s blunt acceptance of the bloody facts of war. “There would have been
far more had Prince Kedryn not slain the hef-Ulan. Perhaps they would have
overcome us, and we should be dead. They would not mourn us, Sister.”

           
“Mayhap,” she allowed, “but still
they died.”

           
“They followed Ashar’s minion.” The
guard held his spear to his chest as though the stout ash pole warmed him.
“They sought to bring us down with magics. We sought no war.”

           
“No,” Wynett nodded, “we did not,
But they were misled by the Messenger. He set promises before them like baubles
before children, and they reached out to take what he offered.”

           
“He will meet his due,” the soldier
grunted, shaping Kyrie’s sign as though to ward off the evil even mention of
the Messenger’s name might provoke. “Is Kedryn not the Chosen One? When Estrevan
restores his sight he will face the Messenger and destroy him.”

           
“Is that what they say?” Wynett
asked, wiping drying tears from her eyes.

           
“Aye.” The soldier appeared
surprised that she should ask.

           
“Niloc Yarrum brought Ashar’s power
against him, but still the prince defeated the barbarian. I do not properly
understand these things, but I know that Prince Kedryn is a hero blessed by the
Lady. And I know the Messenger was not amongst the dead, so he lives still. But
Kedryn will defeat him. You are of Estrevan, Sister—you must know that.”

           
Wynett smiled, smoothing hair that
tangled and blew about her face. “I am a Sister Hospitaler, my friend. My
talent is for healing, not foretelling.”

           
“It is common talk,” the warrior
shrugged, confused that one of the Sorority should evince such lack of
knowledge. “Some call him the Defender and say the blood of Corwyn flows in his
veins. I do not know if that is true—and good Tamurin blood is enough for
me—but I know we likely owe him our lives.”

           
“We do,” Wynett agreed.

           
The soldier glanced along the
windswept ramparts to where his teleman stood beside a group of masons. “I must
return to my post, Sister. Will you leave the cloak in the guard room below?”