Angus Wells - The Kingdoms 02 (31 page)

           
It seemed they rode in the heart of
the blizzard, barely visible to one another even though they were so close
their animals jostled as they thundered down the pass. Their ears were deaf
with the raging of the avalanche, their mouths speechless, their hearts filled
with dread, for it seemed their quest was doomed to end here, almost before it
had begun. Snow filled their world and the ground beneath their horses’ hooves
trembled with the destruction that threatened to engulf them.

           
Then sound returned, the crashing of
rock and the sullen roaring of snow fading. The blizzard faltered, the wind
dying so that crystals of glittering light filled the pass. There was a final
moaning sigh, a frustrated sound, and then only the pounding of hooves.

           
Tepshen slowed his panic-stricken
animal, seeing Wynett and Kedryn clearly again, and shouted, “It is over. Are
we safe?”

           
This last was directed at the
Sister, who raised frightened eyes to look around, her head cocked as though
she listened for a recurrence of the laughter before she said cautiously, “I
think so.”

           
The kyo brought his mount to a halt,
rubbing at the trembling neck, soothing the beast. Wynett and Kedryn followed
suit, and Kedryn took her hand, seeing for the first time what lay behind them.

           
He gasped when he saw it, for where
the
Fedyn
Pass
had been there was no longer any way
through the mountains. Snow- covered stone filled the gap, black slabs of
jagged granite thrusting from the enveloping white, great drifts spilling out
and down, impassable. He shuddered, his grip tightening on Wynett’s hand so
that she winced with the pressure, seeing awe and anger mingled in his gaze,

           
“The others?” he asked.

           
“There,” said Tepshen Lahl somberly,
pointing toward the barrier that blocked the way to Tamur. “Entombed.”

           
“Ashar’s work,” murmured Wynett. “He
seeks to halt us. He seeks to destroy us.”

           
“He will not!” Determination rang in
Kedryn’s voice. “By the Lady, I swear he will not!”

           
“We have more than Ashar to contend
with now,” Tepshen said softly. “Our supplies lie there. We have only what we
carry with us. And all the Beltrevan to cross.”

           
Kedryn turned to face the kyo, his
features pale with drifted snow and a heartfelt fury. “We shall cross it,
Tepshen! We shall find the Drott and seek the shade of the warrior who took my
sight. And when I have that back we shall return to destroy the Messenger. I
swear it in the name of the Lady!”

           
“We shall try,” agreed the kyo, the
grief he felt at the loss of so many true friends not showing on his impassive
face. “For the sake of Tamur and the dead.”

           
“What chance do we have?” asked
Wynett, staring at the Tamurin warriors’ rocky tomb.

           
“We have our horses still,” said
Kedryn, fiercely, “and our lives. The tribes can live through the winter—so can
we.”

           
“Aye,” she responded, drawing
courage from his determination. “And surely the Lady must protect us, else we
should have fallen.”

           
Tepshen Lahl was less sanguine, but
nonetheless practical. “We had best find the egress of this cursed place,” he
announced. “And build a fire—night will be on us soon and we’ll likely freeze
without timber to bum.”

           
Kedryn nodded, still staring at the
rubble that filled the pass. “You shall not have died in vain,” he promised.
Then he turned his mount to follow Tepshen Lahl.

           
They rode as swiftly as they dared,
fearful that the clatter of hoofbeats might dislodge further falls of snow
rendered unstable by the disruption, and their mounts winded by the headlong
charge. Despite their resolve their spirits were downcast and what remained of
the
Fedyn
Pass
grew dark with natural shadow as the day
waned. Soon they rode in semidarkness, hunched beneath their furs, anxious to
find the ending of that gloomy place and kindle the optimism of a fire. It seemed
to Kedryn that he still heard a faint echo of that insane laughter, as though
Ashar mocked him, sneering at his determination, and he ground his teeth in
rage at the god’s wanton destruction. The cold grew as the light faded and he
clung to the candle of his hope in the midst of his darkness, not allowing
himself to contemplate failure. So many had died to further Ashar’s purpose,
not only here, but also in the battle of the Lozin Gate, and now only Wynett
and Tepshen Lahl rode with him. his sole companions on the quest that might now
end in the frozen wastes of the mountains. Yet they
had
escaped the avalanche, and surely that was the Lady’s doing;
and with the Lady’s aid he
could
succeed. Would! he told himself, just as he had told Wynett and Tepshen.
Would
, no matter what obstacles Ashar
might set to block him.

           
“I will defeat you,” he told the
echo. “Do you hear me, you bloody, hate-filled god? I will bring down your
Messenger and thwart your plans. And if the Lady grant it, I shall destroy
you!”

           
He heard a faint whisper of laughter
that might have been no more than the first stirring of a night-wind and
reached beneath his furs to clutch the talisman that hung about his neck. It
was warm to the touch and he found reassurance in its feel, a sense of calm
pervading him so that he closed the anger from his mind and concentrated on the
immediate business of survival.

           
“Look!” he heard Wynett cry, as if
the Lady granted him a sign. “Is that not light ahead?”

           
“Aye,” said Tepshen, as Kedryn took
the hand Wynett offered him.

           
Sight came with the contact and he
saw the trail dip before him, descending toward a cut that showed pale between
the darkness of the stone walls.

           
It grew brighter, more distinct, as
they approached, and he saw that it was the egress of the pass outlined by the
radiance of a rising moon. The orb was full, hanging low in a clear, cold sky
all filled with twinkling stars, its light reflected off snowfields, spilling
the long shadows of trees over the moon-sparkled whiteness.

           
“Timber,” grunted Tepshen. “Fire.”

           
“Praise the Lady,” murmured Wynett.

           
“Aye,” Kedryn agreed heartily,
“praise the Lady.”

           
They came out of the pass on to a
wide slope dotted with wind-stripped pines. The night was even colder beyond
the sheltering walls, and snow was drifted in deep banks, treacherous on the
gradient that stretched down to the vast, dark sea of timber that was the heart
of the Beltrevan. Tepshen Lahl called a halt, surveying the way ahead before he
announced that they had best remain close to the mountainside until the sun
rose to light their way. He turned his mount along the flank of the crags,
studying the moon-washed rock for some sheltered spot. It was hard going, for
snow was piled steeply against the hills and the horses plunged awkwardly through
the drifts, but in time they found a place where a solitary spur thrust out,
the bare rock at its base offering some small measure of shelter.

           
They dismounted in the lee of the
stone and rubbed down the animals, anxious to avoid the danger of chills that
might leave them afoot in the wilderness. Then, leaving the three horses draped
with saddle blankets, Tepshen set out to gather wood. Kedryn found fresh reason
to curse his blindness then, for he was unable to help and could only wait with
Wynett as the kyo waded through the snow. He took the Sister’s hand, thinking
that at least he could assess the contents of their saddlebags and have what
food they possessed waiting for the easterner’s return. It was little enough:
cured meat and journey bread apiece sufficient for one day’s travel, a little
fruit, but nothing for the animals. Their only blankets were needed more by the
horses than their riders and Kedryn huddled close to Wynett as they listened to
the thudding of blade against wood.

           
“It will be easier when we reach the
forest,” he promised. “There will be better shelter there, and game to hunt;
forage for the animals.”

           
Wynett shifted closer, seeking to
augment the warmth of their furs with that of their bodies, and Kedryn put an
arm about her shoulders, thinking that this was their closest contact since
they departed High Fort.

           
“How long will it take?” she asked,
her breath a cloud before her face.

           
Kedryn took her hand and stared into
the night. The moon shone bright on the hoary slopes but it was difficult to
judge the distance, snow and darkness robbing the landscape of perspective. No
trail was visible and he guessed the descending foothills must conceal ravines
and drifts that would inevitably slow them.

           
“I am not sure,” he told her
honestly. “It will not be easy.”

           
Wynett made a sound like laughter,
or a sigh, and said, “I did not think it would be. I have cordials that will
warm us—give us strength—but nothing for the horses, and we are lost without
them. ”

           
“Aye,” he acknowledged, “we are.”

           
“But we still have hope,” she
murmured, and he turned to study her face, seeing faith there, and trust, and
nodded, hugging her closer to him.

           
“Aye! We are not defeated yet.”

           
He came close to adding, Not while I
have you, but remembered his promise and bit back the words, content to hold
her, relishing that contact.

           
They were huddled like that when
Tepshen returned, staggering beneath a weight of timber that he flung down
close against the rock face,

           
“Start a fire,” he advised. “I will
fetch more wood.”

           
Kedryn nodded and Wynett fetched a
tinderbox from her saddlebag, passing him branches that he broke blind,
following her instructions until a cone of smaller limbs was raised over a
patch of the dried moss each carried. By the time Tepshen returned with a
second load the fire was started, and after three more expeditions the kyo
announced a sufficiency of fuel, adding larger branches until a fierce blaze
glowed against the rock, the stone reflecting the heat so that the lee side of
the spur was almost cosy. Tepshen produced a kettle and set snow to melting,
adding meat to make a watery stew that Wynett enhanced with restorative herbs.
They ate hungrily, replenishing the energy drained by shock and fear as much as
by the cold.

           
“The horses must keep the blankets,”
the kyo decided when they had finished, turning an almost diffident face to
Wynett, “and our tents are lost.”

           
“So we had best sleep close,” the
Sister finished, “and share our warmth.”

           
Tepshen nodded, “If we are to live.”

           
Despite the gravity of their
situation Wynett could not resist giggling at the serious expression on the
easterner’s face, certain that it stemmed more from a sense of decorum than
concern with their predicament. It seemed incongruous that he should consider
such matters in the aftermath of disaster and the face of what lay ahead, but
she sensed that both he and Kedryn had set the loss of friends behind them with
Tamurin stoicism, leaving their mourning for some more appropriate time as they
concentrated on the immediate problems of survival.

           
“I am sure my honor is safe,” she
said solemnly, “and I have no doubt the Paramount Sister would approve in such
circumstances.”

           
Kedryn chuckled and Tepshen smiled
briefly, then settled himself close to the fire. Wynett took Kedryn’s hand,
guiding him, and stretched between the two men. Their bulky furs negated any
real sense of physical contact, though she could feel Kedryn’s breath on her
face and could not help wondering, in the short time before she slept, what it
would be like to wake next to him in a bed.

           
In that place it was uncomfortable:
she woke cramped, jammed tight between them, a rock gouging her back, what
little flesh her furs left exposed stinging with the cold. She opened her eyes
and gasped as brilliant sunshine lanced her vision. Tepshen Lahl was already
awake and rose as she sat up, brushing snow from his furs as he moved to the
horses, who nickered in anticipation of food and whinnied plaintively when none
was forthcoming. She nudged Kedryn awake and took his hand that he might see
the brightness of the day. Where moonlight had glistened, the sun burned,
transforming the snowfields to a sparkling effulgence that dazzled sight,
watering their eyes. She remembered the masks Yrla had provided as a safeguard
against snowblindness and fastened the devices over both their eyes as Tepshen
stoked the fire to fresh life and set the kettle to boiling.