Angus Wells - The Kingdoms 02 (15 page)

           
“Three,” he said. Then moaned,
anguish contorting his features as he pressed fists to his temples and cried,
“It is gone! Oh, Lady, it is gone!”

           
Excitement burst within Wynett and
she tilted his head again, peering into his eyes. Abruptly his face calmed and
in a hushed voice he said, “It is your touch! Now I see again.”

           
“Look.” Wynett kept her left hand on
his temple and lifted a phial from the shelf behind her. “What is this?”

           
“Ajar,” he said firmly. “A small jar
of dark brown glass. It has a wax-sealed stopper.”

           
“Now?”

           
She removed her hand and he bit his
lip. “It fades. It is gone.” “And now?” She replaced her hand and he smiled.

           
“It returns. And your smile is like
the rising sun.”

           
She set the phial back in its place
and cupped his head. “I asked the Lady to show me what I should do,” she told
him softly. “I believe she has answered my prayer.”

           
“Your touch restores my sight,” he
murmured, touching the fingers that held his face reverently.

           
“The Lady restores your sight,” she
corrected. “Mayhap I am her instrument, but it is she returns vision to you.”

           
“Will it last?” he wondered.

           
“It must!” she answered fiercely.
“Perhaps not immediately, but in time . . . With the wisdom of Estrevan to aid
the healing.”

           
He turned his face into her palm,
pressing his lips to the warm flesh as Wynett smiled down at him, knowing now
what she must do, knowing that the answer to her quandary was given.

           
“I will come with you,” she
promised.

           
Kedryn whooped laughter, pulling her
to him unthinking, rising to his full height as she came into his embrace with
joy on her face to match his. Her hands were still against his cheeks, but as
he bent his head and kissed her on the lips he closed his eyes, not caring now
that hope was rekindled.

           
He felt her mouth respond and his
hope soared, but then she pulled away, still touching him so that he could see
her face as she said, “I will come with you, but I am still a Sister. You must
remember that. We must both remember that.”

           
It made no difference: he was too
happy.

           
Kedryn’s right hand clenched on the
pommel of his saddle in frustration as he listened to the warriors about him
tidy their gear in preparation for triumphal entry into Caitin Hold. His mood
communicated to the Keshi stallion so that the great black war-horse skittered
sideways, dancing out of line to prompt a grunt of warning from Tepshen Lahl.
Kedryn sighed through gritted teeth, forcing himself to relax as he unfastened
his hand to reach down and pat the nervous animal, feeling the neck rise as the
beast sensed the tension leave him. At the head of the column, Bedyr turned his
own mount to ride back to where his son was, his face clouded as the sky above.

           
“I am all right,” Kedryn assured his
father, though the grim set of his features told the Lord of Tamur this was
more facade than truth and Bedyr reached across to set a hand on the young
man’s shoulder.

           
“How many miracles can you expect?”

           
“One,” Kedryn answered, his voice
terse.

           
“It will come,” Bedyr said, making
his tone confident. “Already you know the blindness may be lifted.”

           
“Randomly!” Kedryn’s response was
bitter, “Does the Lady toy with me?”

           
“I do not think so.” Bedyr stared at
his son’s sightless eyes, watching the wind ruffle his thick brown hair. “I
think she mayhap demands patience of you, but I believe she
will
ultimately restore your sight, I do
not understand these things—Estrevan will give you better answers.”

           
“Aye.” Kedryn nodded wearily. “But,
Father, it is so hard to bear. To see, then not! To feci a cure in sight,” he
snorted cynical laughter, “only to return to darkness.”

           
“Knowing now there is hope,” Bedyr
said.

           
“I am impatient.” Kedryn shrugged,
forcing a smile onto his mouth. “I would have that hope realized.”

           
“It will come.” Bedyr’s hand
tightened, squeezing, and Kedryn’s smile grew a fraction more genuine.

           
“I will bear it,” he promised.

           
“I know you will.”

           
Bedyr released his son’s shoulder
and reined his mount over, letting the column of Tamurin pass him until the
wagon bearing Wynett and their supplies drew abreast. The Sister smiled a
greeting from beneath the canopy, turning on the seat as Bedyr came alongside.

           
“How is he?” she asked.

           
“Moody,” came the reply. “With hope
in sight he longs for it the fiercer.”

           
Wynett nodded. “I can only counsel
patience. It is a strange thing and I do not properly understand it, though I
am sure my Sisters in Estrevan will.”

           
“I pray so,” Bedyr said fervently.
“And I am thankful you decided to accompany us.”

           
“I believe the Lady wants it,”
Wynett told him. “It is her will.”

           
“Aye,” Bedyr acknowledged, raising a
hand in brief salute before cantering back to the head of the westward-moving
riders.

           
Wynett watched him until he reached
the point where Kedryn rode the big stallion and her eyes fastened on the broad
shoulders that squared as though in determination, the head resolutely up as if
he looked to the distant horizon, his hair, no longer confined by the bandage,
tumbling loose in the wind that gusted steadily over the plain. The wagon
creaked beneath her, the prairie regular enough that its passage was mostly
smooth, the swaying of the vehicle almost soporific and the handler, a grizzled
warrior called Dys, taciturn to the point of speechlessness. She was grateful
for the quiet—it gave her time to think. And she had much to ponder now that
the first stage of their journey was ending and Kedryn’s home was in sight.

           
She had gone with him to bring the
news of her agreement to Bedyr, but when she had again set her hands to
Kedryn’s face his vision had failed to return. His disappointment was writ
large on his features and she had sent for
Bethany
, her own excitement turning to alarm as
Kedryn cursed and ground the heels of his hands against his eyes as though he
would beat sight into the orbs. Darr had appeared with the Sister and when a
further demonstra-

           
tion was suggested, sight had
briefly returned, then as quickly faded.

           
Bethany and the king had applauded
Wynett’s decision to accompany the Tamurin and urged on Kedryn a patience he
clearly found hard to bear. Afterward,
Bethany
had taken Wynett aside to speak privately.

           
“Tell me exactly what happened,” she
had demanded. “Not what you did, but how you felt.”

           
“Felt?” Wynett had asked. “I felt
excitement.”

           
“No,”
Bethany
had said gently, “not when he saw, but
before that. When he came to you and asked you to go with him.” Wynett
remembered clearly how her heart had fluttered at that, but although she would
have preferred to remain silent, she realized the older Sister was probing for
an explanation that might well help Kedryn, and so she replied with complete
honesty.

           
“I felt pity,” she had said slowly.
“I saw his pain and I wanted to soothe it. I touched his face and I knew that
it would be very hard to bid him farewell. I did not want to. I felt . . .
love.”

           
“Which he clearly feels for you,”
Bethany
had murmured. “You were both gripped by a
powerful emotion.”

           
“I am still a Sister,” Wynett had
said defensively. “And I told him 1 would not break my vows.”

           
Bethany
had made a dismissive gesture, smiling at
the younger woman as she said, “I do not suggest you would, but the emotion was
there and I wonder if that bonded you. Remember you shared the joining with
Grania—and that clearly has imbued Kedryn with unusual powers. Mayhap it has
fused you in some way.”

           
“I do not understand.” Wynett had
shaken her head. “I feel the same now as then.”

           
Bethany
had nodded thoughtfully. “But when you
sought to demonstrate to Bedyr, nothing happened. You felt disappointment? And
Kedryn’s anguish was obvious. You shared that pain, too, and when you tried
again, his sight returned, albeit briefly.”

           
“Extremes,” Wynett had said softly,
beginning to see an explanation,

           
“I think it must be that,” Bethany
had agreed. “When there is some major eruption of feeling between you, a link
becomes established and you are able to restore Kedryn’s sight. When calm
descends, the power fades. Heartfelt love, shared pain—perhaps even anger—forge
a bond that enables you to give him back his sight. Is that not a sign from the
Lady?”

           
“I took it to be so,” Wynett had
nodded.

           
“And you must work at it,”
Bethany
had told her. “It will not be easy, but you
must experiment. ”

           
“With my emotions?” Wynett had
asked. “How, Sister? I can hold my emotions in check—I must if I am to spend so
much time with him!—but I cannot arouse them at will.”

           
“No,”
Bethany
had agreed, “but while you travel there
will be times enough for opportunity to arise. Use them! And when you reach
Estrevan tell them everything you have learnt.”

           
“Very well,” Wynett had promised.

           
After that she had spent more time
than ever in Kedryn’s company and recognized that Bethany’s assessment was
likely correct, for when they experimented calmly nothing happened, but when
Kedryn grew angry or despondent, and she felt her own emotions respond, his
sight came back, sometimes for only moments, at other times for longer periods.
It was hard for them both, harder since quitting High Fort, and Wynett prayed
daily to the Lady for fortitude and strength of purpose that she might aid
Kedryn without relinquishing her vows. She was increasingly aware of the
danger, of how easily she might erase the delicate barrier that stood between
them and succumb to physical expression of her emotions. And that, she felt
certain, would destroy her talent and render her unable to help Kedryn at all.

           
He, in turn, was clearly at odds
with himself. Delighted that she was with him, yet frustrated by his carefully
guarded promise of respect for her status as a Sister of Kyrie. He treated her
with the utmost gentility, making no allusions to his obvious feelings for her,
yet unable to hide them when they spoke together, for they were expressed in
his tone and his touch and did not need words. Sometimes, as the days passed, she
wondered if it had not been the wiser course to remain in High Fort; yet at the
same time she knew she could not have done that, for he needed her to give him
hope, just as Bedyr had suggested, and for all the vagaries of his condition
there
was
hope.

           
Darr had commended her before he
left, pausing at the gangplank while the
Vashti
rocked on the winter-turbulent Idre to take her hands, his visage less regal
than fatherly, his thinning gray hair fluttering in the wind.

           
“I thank you for what you do,” he had
said softly, the words intended for her and none other. “And I have some
inkling of what it means to you. For what strength it may lend you, know that I
believe you act in the best interests of the Kingdoms—that perhaps your
decision is vital to our safe future. May the Lady be with you, daughter.”

           
He had bent and kissed her then, and
she had hugged him as child to father, letting him go as Galen Sadreth shouted
irreverently that wind and tides paid little heed to monarchs, prompting the
king to hurry in a most unregal fashion onto the pitching barque.

           
Darr had stood at the stem, beside
the portly boatmaster, his cloak whipped by the growing wind as the crew cast
off and Galen took his craft rapidly to the flood of the river, waving until
the
Vashti
was a dwindling mark
against the forbidding gray of the water.

           
Wynett had thought on his words
since then, and on
Bethany
’s parting remark: “Remember that you are a Sister, child, and serve the
Lady. Remember, too, that her service takes many forms.”

           
She would have questioned the older
woman as to her meaning, but
Bethany
had given her no time, bustling on board
behind the king with her blue cloak wrapped tight about her and an expression
on her face that suggested her fellow Sisters would be soon administering
remedies for river sickness.

           
There were no such farewells from
Hattim Sethiyan when the Lord of Ust-Galich set sail the next day. He appeared
so anxious to depart that he forgot the normal courtesies, mounting the
gangplank of the vessel that would bear him south with the meanest of
farewells, his adieus to Rycol and Bedyr curt to the point of rudeness, his
only words to Kedryn a grunted, but somehow ominous, “We shall doubtless meet
again, Prince.” Wynett had noticed that he wore a high-collared tunic beneath
his cloak, the sage green material hiding his neck, and she had wondered if he
still suffered the flea bites, though only briefly, for she was curiously glad
to see the Galichian sail away: there was something about him that set her
nerves on edge.

           
Jarl’s departure had been far more
convivial, accompanied by much slapping of shoulders and promises of
friendship. He had presented Kedryn with the war-horse loaned for the first
meeting with the forest folk, managing to suggest that the animal was of a
nature and discipline that would serve the Prince of Tamur well without making
any reference to Kedryn’s blindness, and in his gift, and his bluff tone,
Wynett had recognized genuine fondness. He had gone on board the vessel that
was to ferry him over the river accompanied by Brannoc, who explained gleefully
that he was traveling to Kesh to discuss the matter of horse trading—in, of
course, his newfound capacity as Warden of the Forest.