Angus Wells - The Kingdoms 02 (32 page)

           
They ate breakfast as the sun rose
higher, painting the slopes of the Lozins in rainbow hues, black birds wheeling
high above them against a sky of startling blue. It was clear that on this side
of the mountains full winter held sway. The air was icy, but devoid of threat
of snow, and when they started out they found the snow-crust afforded
reassuringly firm footing. Even so they were no more than halfway to the
timberline when dusk fell and there was no handy spur of stone to shelter them.
Their camp was miserable, the trunk of a fallen pine the only refuge from the
wind and their fire scantier than before. They devoured what remained of the
meat and fed the journey bread to the horses, who nickered protestingly at such
meager fare. They huddled together to sleep, disturbed by the cold and the
eerie whistle of the wind, and rose chilled and stiff, weary as they remounted
and continued down toward the forest.

           
They did not reach the trees that
day for the lower slopes grew more treacherous, snowbanks forcing them to
detour and gullies causing them to retrace their path. Wynett drew upon her
stocks of herbs to brew a cordial that was their only sustenance when they
halted and their fire was a poor memory of the blaze that had raised their
hopes on the first night. They slept even more fitfully, and when they started
again the horses were irritable for want of food. Wynett produced leaves that
would usually be applied to wounds, to numb pain, and they chewed them, as they
rode, the anesthetic effect going some little way to counteract the
debilitation of hunger and cold.

           
Then, some time after
noon
, they saw the slope drop steeply away and end
against a great wall of timber that ran in somber magnificence to the horizon,
vast and dark and brooding.

           
“The Beltrevan,’’ Tepshen announced
through chattering teeth.

           
“Thank the Lady.” Kedryn shivered,
surprised that he found the previously hostile forest so welcome a sight.

           
They floundered down the slope, the
horses skidding on their haunches, and crossed the final drifts into the trees.

           
There the snow was less, held off by
the canopy of branches, and they were able to make better time, driving deeper
into the forest, aware that the air grew fractionally warmer, more aware that
they could again light a decent fire—and hopefully find food.

           
The fire came first, a great
celebratory blaze that lit the surrounding timber and eased the chill from
limbs so numbed the return of sensation was at first painful. Then the horses
were hobbled and set to foraging while Tepshen Lahl disappeared into the trees
to return with two hares startled from their winter hiding places and a
partridge brought down with a lucky throw. It was a feast, and that night they
slept contented, though Kedryn missed the feel of Wynett’s body close against
him.

           
Revivifying though the meal was, it
was little enough in that winter-bound wilderness and they awoke to protestations
from their stomachs, which craved further sustenance to fuel bodies depleted by
cold and hunger. With the sun up and filtering through the canopy of snow-clad
branches there was little chance of finding fresh meat, and so they made do
with a tisane brewed from Wynett’s herbs, rebuilding the fire so that at least
they had the comfort of warmth as they assessed their situation.

           
The horses were in slightly better
shape, having found some measure of forage among the trees, but the overall
prospect remained bleak. The euphoria that had followed their narrow escape
from the avalanche, and the determination to survive the uplands, had faded,
replaced by the stark reality of the fact that they were, effectively, stranded
in the Beltrevan with only Tepshen Lahl in good enough condition to hunt or
fight. He carried his long eastern sword and Tamurin dirk, and in addition
still had a bow and quiver of arrows on his saddle. Kedryn bore a sword and
dirk but could hardly use them blind. Wynett wore a small knife on her belt,
but that was more for cutting plants than any other purpose. They had the
clothes on their backs and the saddle blankets that protected the animals;
nothing more.

           
“We make a sorry party to approach
the Ulan of the Drott,” Kedryn remarked.

           
“If we get that far,” Tepshen
grunted in reply.

           
“Why should we not?” Wynett
wondered, “You can hunt, surely? So we need only press on until we encounter
the woods- folk.”

           
“The woodlanders are not known for
their hospitality toward we of the Kingdoms,” Kedryn told her mildly.

           
Ever blunt, Tepshen said, “The
tribesmen might well seek to kill us for our horses.”

           
“But Kedryn is the hef-Alador,” the
Sister protested. “And treaties have been signed. Surely they will acknowledge
that?”

           
The kyo’s jet eyes fastened on her
face, a small smile that was empty of humor playing upon his narrow lips. “Does
he look like the hef-Alador?” he demanded. “We look more like some trio of
wanderers—and wanderers are fair game in the Beltrevan, treaties or no.”

           
He turned his gaze to Kedryn, and
the young man saw a warning in the look: a woman as fair as Wynett would
command a high price as a slave after her takers had had their way with her. He
nodded briefly and asked, “Do we have the white and red?”

           
Tepshen nodded in reply. “For what
difference the peace signs will make.”

           
“We can announce ourselves,” Wynett
said, a trifle nervous now, for she sensed the apprehension in the two men.

           
“We have no Brannoc to translate,”
the kyo answered. “Lethyn and Dum were to be our spokesmen, and they are buried
in the
Fedyn
Pass.
”

           
“And we speak no Drott,” Kedryn
amplified. “I have a few words of the forest argot, but scarce enough to
explain our presence or our purpose.”

           
“I speak the
byavan
,” the Sister declared.

           
Tepshen Lahl grunted approvingly.
The byavan was the lingua franca of the Beltrevan, the common tongue that made
communication between the tribes and traders possible; that Wynett might thus
speak for them was a considerable advantage.

           
“So,” he exclaimed, “we have a
spokeswoman, a bow, and our animals. We need only continue northward until we
encounter the tribes.”

           
His face was impassive,
expressionless as he spoke, and it was impossible to tell whether he voiced
cynicism or determination. Kedryn grinned, squeezing Wynett’s hand encouragingly.
“So we have little to worry about.”

           
“Save living,” replied the kyo. But
this time he smiled as he said it.

           
“Then we should delay no longer,”
Kedryn said firmly. “Let us find whoever rules the Drott now and state our
business.”

           
“In the byavan,” Tepshen nodded,
bowing formally to Wynett.

           
They saddled their horses, fastening
ribbons of white and red to the bridles, and ploughed snow over the fire,
mounting the still-hungry animals and moving out in a northerly direction.
There were no maps of the Beltrevan, for it was the domain of the woodsfolk and
Kingdomers had never penetrated deep enough to chart the forest ways. They knew
they were already in the territory of the Drott, and that the approaching
equinox would find the clans joined for the winter Gathering around the mound
that marked the burial place of the first great overlord, Drul. That, they knew
from Brannoc, lay to the northwest, deep within the forest’s confines. To find
it, they must rely on luck.

           
It was a dismal journeying for Kedryn
because the trail they followed was narrow, forcing them to ride in single file
and thus denying him the contact with Wynett that granted him sight of their
surroundings. As it was, he allowed the Keshi stallion to plod after Tepshen
Lahl’s gray while the Sister called warning of low branches and commented on
the landscape from behind. Mostly she spoke of trees, for they moved through an
arboreal world, mostly pines here, where the slopes of the Lozins still ran
down to the heartland of the woods, and what little animal life existed among
the looming conifers fled from their approach. He heard occasional snatches of
birdsong and once, far off, the howl of a wolf. Deeper into the woodlands he
knew they might well encounter the great forest cats, or the fierce bulls with
their harems of cows, and the contemplation of such meetings rendered him
nervous in his darkness, for he knew he would be helpless to defend his love or
himself.

           
That glum thought transformed to
fresh determination as the day wore on. and he resolved anew that he
would
penetrate the forest kingdom to
Drul’s Mound and call upon the sworn allegiance of the Drott chieftains to
enter the netherworld and regain his sight.

           
Then determination became fresh hope
as Tepshen called a soft warning and the horses halted.

           
“Deer tracks,” the kyo announced.
“Wait here.”

           
Kedryn heard the rustle of furs as
the easterner dismounted, then the faint twang of waxed cord as a bow was
strung. He swung down, accepting blindly the reins Tepshen thrust into his hand
and reaching for Wynett as he heard her step close behind him. Before her touch
restored his sight Tepshen was gone, and all Kedryn saw was the channel of
trampled snow that marked the game trail disappearing between thick stands of
pine like palisades all around. He looked to the sky. finding a watery sun to
his left, its light sparking off the snow that bent the limbs of the lofty
trees, glistening faintly through the near-impenetrable wall of perpendicular
trunks. The air was still and silent, sepulchral, and he turned to smile at
Wynett, finding joy in the sight of her cold-rosed cheeks and calm, blue eyes,
the strands of wheat-fair hair that escaped the confines of her hood. She
smiled back, close to him as she cupped his hands, and he fought the urge to
bend and kiss her.

           
“Fresh venison would be good,” she
murmured, deliberately turning her face from the adoration she saw in his gaze
to study the trail.

           
“Aye,” he responded, staring openly
at her profile, thinking that she was surely the loveliest woman he had ever
known, or would ever know.

           
“And a fire,” she added, stamping
her feet as the cold began to bite through the fur-lined soles of her boots.

           
“Let us prepare one,” he suggested.
“If Tepshen succeeds we’ll travel no further today, and gathering wood will
keep us warm.”

           
“Will that not frighten the deer?”
she asked, and he shook his head.

           
“No more than our presence.”

           
“Very well.” Wynett’s smile was
brighter than the sun and he wound the reins of their horses about a
low-hanging branch, retaining her hand as they waded through the snow in search
of wind-felled limbs.

           
It was a pleasant diversion and it
did, indeed, keep them warm as, hand-in-hand, for all the world like two
lovers, they gathered branches and dragged them to the trail.

           
Dusk was settling and they had a
sizable pile built ready for kindling when Tepshen returned, dragging a
yearling buck, his customarily emotionless features beaming at the prospect of
such an abundance of fresh meat.

           
“You show great confidence in my
hunting,” he remarked, glancing at the readied fire.

           
“We never doubted,” Kedryn grinned.

           
“Then use your tinder,” suggested
the kyo, “while I butcher this stag.”

           
No further bidding was needed and
soon a blaze was melting sufficient snow; the horses found winter grass as the
deer was quartered. The hide and entrails were buried under snow some distance
away and the choicest cuts set to roasting, the remainder—sufficient to last
them several days—stowed in their saddlebags.

           
The meat was excellent, restoring
their spirits as much as their strength, and the prospect of traversing the
Beltrevan seemed less daunting as their bellies filled and they began to
experience the soporific comfort of satisfied appetites.

           
“We had best mount a watch,” Tepshen
declared, wiping grease from his lips. “Such a feast may attract wolves, or
worse.”

           
Kedryn’s cheerfulness dimmed
slightly at this, for he knew he would be useless, but Wynett cheered him by
saying, “You had best share mine—to keep me awake after this kingly repast.”

           
He nodded, smiling at her, even
though he recognized it was merely a gesture to keep up his spirits. Wynett,
after all, was accustomed to the long watches over hurt men in the wards of
High Fort. Nonetheless, he sat with her, happily silent as they watched the moon
flirt cold brilliance through the lattice of branches and Tepshen slept beside
the fire. They heard mournful wolfsong as the silver orb crept higher, and
toward the end of their watch a scuffling from the direction of the buried
entrails, followed by a noisy gulping that was counterpoised with low, chesty
growls.

           
“What is it? Wynett whispered, her
hand tightening on Kedryn’s.

           
“A forest cat, I think,” he told
her, tossing fresh branches on the fire so that the flames rose, hurling stark
shadows over the surrounding snow. “It will likely come no closer, but if it
does, wake Tepshen.”

           
A horse nickered nervously and was
joined by its companions, then the Keshi stallion screamed a challenge, rearing
on its tether line with hooves pawing the chill air. Its scream was answered by
a coughing roar from the timber, the sound rebounding off the trees to fill the
night with savage feline menace.

           
There was no need to wake Tepshen
Lahl for he was roused by the sound, rolling from the comfort of his furs to
stand with naked blade, staring into the darkness.

           
“It was at the offal,” Kedryn
called.

           
The kyo nodded, replacing his sword
with the bow, and moved to the edge of the firelight, arrow nocked ready to
fly.

           
“Quiet that war-horse,” he
commanded, and Kedryn went with Wynett to the tether line, soothing the
frightened, stamping beasts.

           
The bay and the gray gentled readily
enough, reassured by the familiar presence of humans, but the black stallion
was angered by the implicit threat of the cat, its ears flattened back and its
eyes rolling as it sought an outlet for its fury. Kedryn seized an ear,
releasing Wynett’s hand as he dragged the plunging head down and murmured
softly to the belligerent animal.

           
“Kedryn, stay with the horses,”
Tepshen called. “Wynett, bring a brand to me.”

           
The Sister was loath to leave
Kedryn, but the kyo’s tone Drooked no argument and she hurried to the fire,
snatching a Dlazing branch.

           
“Throw it,” Tepshen ordered,
indicating the direction with a :hrust of his chin.