Angus Wells - The Kingdoms 02 (22 page)

           
“You need fear no one whilst I stand
beside you, Hattim Sethiyan. You need only do as I bid you and you shall have
all that you want.”

           
The words were seductive and Hattim
felt his doubts slip away. Surely not even the Sisterhood could stand against
Taws, and was it not the natural way of ambitious men to side with the
strongest?

           
“What must I do?” he asked.

           
“Obey me,” said the mage. “No more
than that.”

           
Hattim rose from the bed and stood
before the white-maned creature. Then he fell to his knees, lowering his head,
ambition slicing a smile across his lips.

           
“Master, command me.”

           
Taws looked down on the man, triumph
burning in the craters of his face. How easy it was to tempt such as this. How
easy it would be to bring the Kingdoms beneath his master’s heel.

           
“Rise,” he ordered, “what we do
requires time. And first I must come on board your vessel, then we must reach
Andurel. Once there I will give you Ashrivelle.”

           
Hattim rose, smiling. “And Darr?”

           
“The princess first,” Taws husked.
“Her father after.”

           
The Lord of Ust-Galich nodded,
reminded of practicalities. “You will require clothing,” he suggested. “And
your presence will be questioned. What shall I tell them? And the doxy . . .”
he glanced toward Ellebriga’s corpse. “How shall I explain that?”

           
“That? It is nothing.”

           
Taws gestured and Hattim saw the
blue fire bum about his fingers again, glowing fiercer this time, and lancing
out to encompass the body. For an instant Ellebriga’s form was wreathed in
dancing light, as though flame consumed her from within. The stench of roasting
flesh pervaded the chamber and he pinched his nostrils to shut it out,
unwilling to tear his hideously fascinated gaze from the crisping flesh. It
blackened as he watched, peeling from bone and bursting organs that burned and
were devoured until only a flaking of ash remained, skirling on the floor as an
unholy wind whistled eerily, dispersing them.

           
There was nothing left. No remnant
of the woman or anything she had worn, only the fading odor.

           
Hattim crossed to the window and
threw the shutters open, breathing in the cold, river-damp air of early dawn.
The sky was gray, fetid with rain, and across the Idre faint light pearled the
horizon. A cock crowed and a dog barked. Hattim felt sweat chill upon his naked
chest and drew the shutters closed again.

           
“She left you while you slept,” Taws
said. “As for my presence . . . who will question the Lord of Ust-Galich? Once
on board, there are glamours I can lay on your party that all will accept me
for what I am—your friend and adviser. ”

           
“I will order clothes brought,”
Hattim nodded. “Do you require food?”

           
Taws studied him somberly, then
smiled and shook his head.

           
“Not such as you offer. In time I
will take sustenance.”

           
The banquet Yrla arranged to welcome
home her loved ones was marred only by Kedryn’s blindness, for although no
reference was made to his disability, it remained necessary that his food be
carefully prepared that he might eat without the need to employ a knife, and
that occasioned some degree of awkwardness. Wynett was seated beside him and
helped him as much as he would permit, while all about them jubilantly set to
demolishing the delicacies that emerged from the kitchens in a seemingly
endless stream.

           
It seemed to Wynett that the entire
population of Caitin Hold and the adjacent town must be present, and that every
man and woman there came forward to express their pleasure at having Kedryn
safely returned and offer their congratulations on his defeat of Niloc Yarrum.
Among them were three Sisters, and their interest was directed as much at
Wynett as at Kedryn, for Yrla had discussed the letters Bedyr had sent with
Darr’s mehdri and they were intrigued by her ability to endow sight on the
blind hero. One was a Hospitaler, a tall, slender woman in her middle years
whose name was Rasha; the second an elderly, dumpy woman who reminded Wynett of
Grania, and whose maternal fussing over Kedryn marked her even before she was
announced as his tutor, Lyassa. The third was not of Caitin Hold, though only
one of the Sorority might have guessed the fact for she appeared much at home
and offered no explanation of her presence. She had about her a serenity that
Wynett knew came only from long years spent cloistered in the Sacred City,
although—despite the gray that streaked her fair hair—she did not seem old;
ageless, rather, with a calm beauty that set an aura of stillness about her Her
name was Lavia, and when Wynett essayed a question as to her function she
smiled gently and murmured, “Tomorrow. Let us first celebrate the homecoming.”

           
Wynett had to be content with that
for Lavia refused to be drawn and joined the other Sisters at the end of the
high table, too far away for easy conversation. Indeed, any conversation became
difficult after a while as the returned warriors expanded loudly on the
accounts of the fighting that had already reached the hold and voices became
raised in noisy retelling of the battle. Wine flowed freely; jongleurs sang
songs newly composed, extolling the heroism of their lord and prince and
Tepshen Lahl, whose standing, Wynett saw, was near as great as Bedyr’s or
Kedryn’s. Yrla, who had organized it all, looked on with glowing eyes, reaching
often to touch Bedyr’s hand or lean past her husband to catch sight of her son.
Kedryn, too, appeared lifted by the welcome, smiling and laughing as the
minstrels sang his praises and the warriors imposed toasts upon him until he
protested that he would sooner fight barbarians than attempt to match his
fellow Tamurin in drinking.

           
It went on long into the night, and
Wynett was grateful for the relief of her bed when finally it ended, though not
so tired she failed to inquire of Yrla what Lavia’s presence meant.

           
“I trust you will not take it
amiss,” Yrla smiled as she stood at Wynett’s door, Bedyr’s arm about her
shoulders, “but when the mehdri came with word of Kedryn’s blindness I felt I
understood the meaning of part of the Text. I sent a rider on to Morfah, that
the senders there might contact Estrevan. Gerat’s response was to send Lavia.”

           
The explanation confirmed Wynett’s
suspicion, but failed to enlighten her further. Nor would Yrla, who told her
when she asked, “Lavia imposed a promise on me—that I would not seek answers
until she met Kedryn face to face. I believe she will tell us all on the
morrow, for she has asked that we attend her. Until then, let us sleep.”

           
Wynett was pleased enough to accept
that, for she was mightily tired, Tamurin hospitality being somewhat more
boisterous than that of High Fort, and she had consumed more wine than she was
accustomed to. She nodded and went into her room, where within moments, despite
her curiosity, she was sound asleep.

           
She woke to birdsong and the
brilliance of sunshine on snow, the fire that had warmed her room burned down
to embers. The day was well advanced and when she looked from her window on to
the courtyard below, she saw the folk of the hold going about their business,
clearly more accustomed to carousal than she. Her head throbbed from the liquor
she had drunk, and before taking food she had a servant direct her to the
bathhouse.

           
Yrla found her there, bringing a pot
of aromatic tisane that joined the steaming waters of the tub in clearing her
head. Still replete from the feasting, she ate sparingly in a near-empty dining
hall and then went with Yrla to meet Lavia.

           
The Sister was ensconced in Caitin
Hold’s library, a pleasingly quiet chamber warmed as much by the rare
collection of leather- bound tomes that lined the walls as by the fire that
burned cheerfully in the hearth. High windows let in the morning light, shining
on polished boards and gaily colored carpets, shining on the small book bound
in leather dyed the blue of Estrevan that rested on the round table before
Lavia. Bedyr sat to her right and Tepshen Lahl to her left. Kedryn faced her
and there were two empty chairs on either side. Yrla took the one closest to
her husband and Wynett the other.

           
“Wynett?” Kedryn asked. “Mother?”

           
“I am here,” Yrla said, touching his
left hand.

           
He held out his right and Wynett
took it, finding pleasure in the touch, and a degree of guilt, for she saw that
Lavia’s eyes were upon her, studying her as she said, “And I, Kedryn.”

           
Lavia smiled then and Wynett felt
her guilt dissipate, for there was only approval in the expression. She
withdrew her hand gently, murmuring a greeting to Lavia.

           
“You come on the wings of praise,”
said the older woman. “The reports from High Fort commend you most highly for
what you have done, and I bring you greetings from our Sisters in the Sacred
City. Most particularly Gerat sends greetings.”

           
“Thank you.” Wynett bowed her head,
flattered and a little embarrassed by such lofty notice. “I did no more than
any Sister.”

           
“You did your best,” said Lavia,
“and your best appears to be most excellent. In particular, you have proven a
boon companion to Kedryn.”

           
Wynett felt a momentary alarm at
this, for she sensed something behind the words and recognized, now that she
could see it clearly, that the book before Lavia was a copy of Alaria’s Text.

           
“I will come directly to the point,”
Lavia announced, “for our studies indicate there is little time to be lost.”

           
“We are to go on to Estrevan?”
Excitement rang in Kedryn’s voice. “Or have you found a cure? Is that why you
are here?”

           
Lavia smiled sympathetically and
shook her head.

           
“I must explain, Prince Kedryn. It
is difficult to answer you directly without some preamble. Forgive me, but you
must understand what lies behind my presence here.”

           
“I am sorry,” Kedryn bowed his head
apologetically. “I am impatient. ”

           
“Understandably,” Lavia murmured
gently, “for you have suffered a great hurt in service of the Lady and the
Kingdoms— one that we of Estrevan hope to remedy. ”

           
Kedryn stirred in his chair, visibly
curbing his impatience. Lavia opened the book and glanced at the pages.
Anticipation was palpable in the sunny room, Bedyr leaning forward, taking
Yrla’s hand, she smiling with a mixture of excitement and wariness. Even
Tepshen Lahl’s impassive features showed interest. Wynett imposed calm upon
herself.

           
“Since first we learnt of Ashar’s
Messenger the scholars of Estrevan have sought enlightenment in the Text left
by Sister Alaria,” Lavia began. “The writings are enigmatic to say the least,
and written in archaic language, for Alaria was a visionary, not a storyteller.
What came to her was, we believe, sent by the Lady to warn the Kingdoms of
future danger, and because the Lady would not dictate our actions, those
warnings were left open to interpretation.

           
“It was, as you must now know, study
of the Text that prompted the Lady Yrla to depart the Sacred City and thus
fulfill that part of the prophecy the Paramount Sister Galina had discerned.
Thus Kedryn was born and stood ready to defeat the leader of the Horde, ending
Ashar’s bellicose plan of invasion. However, that does not end the threat: the
Messenger still lives and will go about his master’s work. In what way, we are
not yet sure, but time will doubtless reveal the design.

           
“We had not, despite all our
studies, foreseen Kedryn’s blindness, but now that we are confronted with that
fact there are parts of the Text that become clearer. Yrla found clues in her
studies, and in Estrevan we discovered others. I will not bore you with direct
readings of the Text unless you wish a lengthy—and perhaps tedious—lesson in
archaism. Will you accept my translation?”

           
There was a murmur of assent and she
glanced toward Yrla, who nodded, and then continued, “It is our belief that
Alaria’s vision was a prognostication of several possible futures, her Text a
maze of words in which paths become clear only as events reveal their course.
The only sure facts readily discernible are that Ashar seeks to gain victory
over his eternal opponent, the Lady, and to achieve this end he must dominate
the Kingdoms—for the