Angus Wells - The Kingdoms 02 (18 page)

           
“And Caitin Hold?” she asked.

           
“Sits at the center of the plateau.
There are hills, but not like this. This is the hardest part, save perhaps for
the western reaches, where Tamur meets the Gadrizels.”

           
“We must cross there, surely?” she
wondered. “To reach Estrevan. Will that be possible before spring?”

           
“I am not sure,” he said, smiling.
“Mayhap you will be forced to spend the winter in Caitin Hold.”

           
“Is that so bad?” she responded, her
tone bantering as his, though faint alarm stirred at the back of her mind.

           
“I would not think so.”

           
He continued to smile as he said it,
but his voice no longer teased and Wynett pursed her lips, reminding herself
that she trod a fine line and must be careful of her words. Quickly, seeking to
save him from embarrassment, she said, “It would at least give me a chance to
meet the Sister who taught you.”

           
“Lyassa?” Kedryn chuckled at the
thought of his tutor. “She can likely inform you better than I what geography
confronts us—she spent long enough drumming it into me. That and history, and
all the other things she deemed a prince of Tamur should know. ”

           
“You are fond of her,” Wynett
suggested, hearing affection in his voice.

           
“Of course,” he grinned. “Lyassa was
a fine tutor, though at times I believe she despaired of me. Especially when
the lesson was to do with matters of the court. She set great store on dance
and musical accomplishment, whilst I was more concerned with learning to use my
sword and riding out to take my blooding.”

           
“You have done that now,” Wynett
responded more soberly. “And met the king—whose high opinion of you is
obvious.”

           
Kedryn laughed. “Lyassa will be
impressed by that. And by your royal blood.”

           
“My antecedents are of no
importance,” Wynett told him, taking the opportunity to subtly remind him of
her position, “I am a Sister now, no longer a princess of the High Blood.”

           
Kedryn nodded. “I do not forget. But
still, I should not mind if we were snowbound.”

           
Bedyr shouted then that they should
prepare to leave and any further conversation was curtailed by the preparations
for departure. The tents were struck and packed on Dys’s wagon and Wynett took
her place beside the silent old man as Kedryn mounted the Keshi stallion and
the column commenced its seemingly unending ascent of the heights.

           
It went on throughout that day and
all of the next and they did not reach Lathan until the middle of the third
day.

           
The town sat precarious as an
eagle’s eyrie on the very edge of the escarpment, its walls seeming an
extension of the rimrock, the trail disgorging on a shelf before the gates,
which stood open on a large staging area flanked by wooden buildings. Their
approach had been watched and as they entered the eastern plaza a welcoming
committee came out to greet them, forewarned of their arrival by returning
warriors.

           
Once again they were feasted—and
beset by townsfolk anxious to hear a fresh account of the war—so that the night
was old before they were able to decently excuse themselves and seek out their
beds. They learned that snow had been falling for several days on the uplands,
but that as best the town knew the road ahead was clear enough for safe travel,
the going relatively easy after the climb. Bedyr delayed their departure for a
day to rest the animals, and Wynett seized the opportunity to replenish her
stocks of herbs, which had become further depleted by the pleasant excesses of
their arrival.

           
They left Lathan with the sun rising
like a disk of polished silver against a sky of sparkling pure blue, the road
ahead scintillating in the brilliant light. The horses’ breath plumed steam in
the icy air and the hooves crunched on the packed snow, the wagon riding smooth
over the harder surface. There was an air of mounting excitement as the Tamurin
rode into the forest that spread dense all around, as if the hundred felt
themselves to be in the heartland of their kingdom and now closer to the
completion of their journey. It seemed to Wynett that these warriors belonged
to the highlands, regarding the gentler eastern reaches of Tamur as soft, while
the heights were theirs, as mountains were the natural abode of eagles. She
watched them riding straight and proud, Bedyr and Kedryn and Tepshen Lahl at
their head, setting a brisk pace as they drove into the great mass of trees.

           
For seven days they traversed the
woodlands, encountering only two small villages, little more than hamlets built
around inns too small to accommodate them all, but eager to provide what
hospitality they might. At night they heard wolves howl, but the lupine predators
stayed clear of so large a party, not yet driven by winter hunger to risk
attacking the horses.

           
On the eighth day the forest thinned
along the banks of a river sufficiently shallow they were able to ford the
stream without difficulty, the timber steadily declining thereafter in both
size and density until they rode across country mostly open. Low hills bulked
to the north, rising into the distance to meet the Lozins, but the road they
followed ran due west, scoured by the wind that began to blow once they reached
the flatlands. There were occasional falls of snow, but never enough to impede
their progress and they made good time, farms and villages becoming more
frequent, and welcome as an escape from the bone-numbing chill of the wind. The
sun shone bright for most of the way and Wynett was grateful for the charcoal
stick Dys gave her to rub about her eyes as a precaution against snow
blindness.

           
Four days from the forest they came
upon a town, walled, it now seemed, as much for defense against the elements as
against invasion, and found beds for the night.

           
Four days after that they reached
Caitin Hold.

           
The road first descended into a
broad valley, then climbed a ridge to cross a further section of flat country
before climbing again to a vast mound of land at the center of which stood the
stronghold of the Lords of Tamur. Wynett gasped when she saw it, for it was far
larger than High Fort, a walled town rather than a citadel. The stone that
bulked from the snow-covered mountain meadow stood high as four tall men, solid
and square, with towers rising higher still at each comer, the gantries of
catapults jutting from their ramparts. A town surrounded the hold on three
sides, its buildings dwarfed by the mass of the fortress, a broad expanse of
open ground separating the two, the area facing toward the trail devoid of
buildings. Bedyr called a halt three bowshots from the walls and there was a
busy fixing of gear as the warriors prepared to enter their home again. Then
they remounted and went forward, slowly at first but then lifting to a brisk
canter. Dys grunted what sounded like a laugh and flicked the reins to bring
the wagon team up to speed, prompting Wynett to clutch somewhat desperately for
a secure hold as the vehicle trundled vigorously toward the gates.

           
She saw that they stood open, and
that men lined the walls, whooping and waving as the column approached, but her
eyes fastened on the woman who stood beneath the gate arch, for she realized
this must be the Lady Yrla, Kedryn’s mother.

           
She was tall, Wynett saw, and
slender despite the fur cloak that draped her. Her hair was straight, and black
as a raven’s wing, bound by a simple fillet of silver from a face to inspire a
balladeer. In repose it might have been serene, but now it was transformed to
glowing radiance as she smiled and raised both her arms as though to embrace
them all. Had that been her intent, she had no chance, for Bedyr spurred his
mount to a gallop that ended scant feet from his wife, then sprang from the
saddle and crossed the remaining distance at a run to sweep her into his arms,
crushing her against his chest as she held him and laughed and kissed him
fervently.

           
Their embrace lasted until the
riders swept in through the gates and Kedryn dismounted, moving with a careless
disregard for his blindness into his mother’s arms.

           
It was Tepshen Lahl who assisted
Wynett down from the wagon into a courtyard filled with laughing, embracing
warriors, their women coming to greet them with as little regard for formality
as Yrla had shown. There was a warmth to the occasion that beat like the flames
of a welcome hearthfire on Wynett’s Estrevan- heightened senses, and for a
moment she felt almost lonely among so happy a throng.

           
Then Yrla pushed Kedryn to arm’s
length and turned gray eyes toward the Sister.

           
“Wynett,” she said, extricating
herself from her son’s hold to cross the gap between them, “welcome to Caitin
Hold.”

           
“My Lady,” Wynett curtsied. “Thank
you.”

           
“There is little formality here.”
Yrla took the younger woman’s elbows to raise her, smiling as she hugged the
Sister. “My name is Yrla, and I thank you for all you have done for my son.”
Mention of Kedryn painted brief distress on her features and Wynett saw that
beneath her obvious joy at the reunion there was deeper-seated concern. She
said, “I have done little enough . . . Yrla. What progress he has made comes
from within him. I have merely kept him company.”

           
“I think there is more to it than
that,” Yrla responded softly, “but we can talk of it later. For now, I am sure
you would welcome hot water and rest. There are Sisters here anxious to meet
you and tonight there will be a banquet to celebrate this happy day, but first
let me show you to your chambers.”

           
She smiled, releasing Wynett as she
turned to Tepshen Lahl. “Tepshen, it is so good to have you safely returned.”

           
The kyo bowed, his usually impassive
features creased by a smile to match hers, then put his gloved hands upon her
shoulders and kissed her solemnly on both cheeks. Yrla laughed afresh and put
her arms about his waist, holding him close for a moment as he said, “It is
good to be back.”

           
Then Bedyr was there beside her,
settling his arm about her as Kedryn came to her left and she slid an arm
around him. holding husband and son together.

           
“I have prayed to the Lady for this
day. Now let us retire and prepare to celebrate it in suitable fashion.”

           
“Wynett?” Kedryn extended his free
hand and she came toward him, allowing him to hold her as he held his mother,
feeling for that instant a part of the group.

           
“Wynett needs a bath,” Yrla
chuckled, “to warm her. While you two need to scrub the smell of armor and
horses away. Come, I have them readied.”

           
They moved across the yard, slowly
to allow for Kedryn*s blindness, Tepshen Lahl joining them, one with the
family, and Wynett found herself wondering at Yrla’s aplomb. Bedyr, she knew,
must have sent word ahead so that his wife was not taken by surprise, but even
so her control was impressive, for Wynett had sensed the pain she felt at her
son’s predicament. Yet her manner gave no occasion for the anguish of pity;
rather, she exuded a real joy that encompassed his blindness, accepting it for
the present without allowing it to spoil the warmth of her heartfelt welcome or
give Kedryn a chance to feel anything but upraised. The Lady Yrla, Wynett
decided, was a most remarkable woman.

           
That conclusion was reinforced when
Yrla joined her after she had bathed. Attendant women had shown her to the
chambers prepared for her—warm, cheerful rooms in which she felt immediately at
home—and then led her to the bathhouse. The steaming water had refreshed her,
easing out the aches incurred on the wagon, and she had found Yrla waiting for
her with a pewter jug of heated wine and two silver goblets.

           
“Bedyr wrote that Kedryn has fallen
in love with you,” Yrla began, the expression of sympathy on her lovely face
leavening the directness of her statement. “That cannot be easy for you.”

           
“No.” Wynett sipped the wine, not
yet quite sure what tack her hostess took. “It is not.”

           
“He also wrote that he sensed
reciprocation,” Yrla murmured. “I do not wish to pry, and I should understand
were you to prefer we did not discuss this, but I believe I might aid you in
bearing your burden if we can talk openly, without secrets. And I should not
carry tales to either my husband or my son.”

           
Wynett believed her: there was an
air to this woman that reminded her of the Sisters. She took another cautious
sip of the heated wine and said slowly, “I chose early to follow the Lady,
Yrla. I intend to hold to my vows—that must be understood.”