Angus Wells - The Kingdoms 02 (49 page)

           
Bedyr and Jarl nodded their
agreement. Darr said, “What we need do here is establish a dynasty that may not
be challenged later by Sethiyan claimants. We need a man we can trust. One
whose position is unassailable.”

           
“So far as any Galichian may be
trusted,” Jarl sniffed.

           
“I offer Chadyn Hymet again,” Darr
said. “Hattim’s cousin he may be, but that relationship is by marriage rather
than blood, and he is young yet, and already the father of three.”

           
“I could accept Chadyn,” Jarl
nodded. “Unless my wife has some further information from the bedrooms of
Tessoril.”

           
“Chadyn is a model of probity,” said
Arlynn. “In fact, he is rather boring.”

           
“He grows more acceptable,” smiled
Jarl. “How say you, Bedyr?”

           
“He fought well at the Lozin Gate,”
Bedyr responded, “and I have heard no ill of him. He is wealthy enough to
withstand the temptation of bribery and the succession of his children should
secure his resistance to any pressure of Hattim’s.”

           
“Are we then agreed?” asked Darr.
“Yrla, you have not spoken.”

           
Yrla smiled absently, as if her
thoughts were far away. “Let it be Chadyn,” she nodded. “On those occasions I
have met him he has struck me as a sensible young man.”

           
“Then Chadyn it shall be,” Darr
said. “We shall put his name to Hattim with a concerted front.”

           
“There remains the question of his
army,” Bedyr said, remembering the cantonment spread along the west bank of the
Idre.

           
“He has spoken of that. He came to
me with apologies and the offer of levies.” Darr’s words surprised Bedyr, for
he had not anticipated such civility from the Lord of Ust-Galich. “What his men
eat, they pay for; and they pay a tithe on the land they occupy. The location
is justified by the cascades—Hattim would have his forces accessible for his
proposed triumphal journey after the wedding. He said that he wished to provide
Ashrivelle with a fitting escort when he proceeds into Ust-Galich. I could not
fault him.”

           
“He has become a diplomat,” Bedyr said,
his tone dubious.

           
“And you like it no more than I,”
Jarl remarked. “It is too great a change in the man.”

           
“Mayhap Ashrivelle has changed him,”
suggested Arlynn.

           
“I doubt that,” her husband said,
returning his keen gaze to Bedyr. “And to that end 1 left Kemm in Keshaven with
instructions to raise a modest force—just sufficient to oppose the Galichians
should such measures become needful.”

           
“My Tamurin are disbanded,” Bedyr
said.

           
“I do not believe it will come to
that.” Darr spoke optimistically. “If Hattim plays some underhand game, I do
not think it includes civil war.”

           
“He would be foolish to attempt that
ploy,” Jarl agreed. “Your

           
Palace Guard could defend this place
long enough for Kemm to bring our cavalry south, and we have access to the city
from the Vortigen side. Thus reinforced, we could hold Andurel until Bedyr’s
Tamurin were raised.”

           
“It is some other game,” murmured
Darr, “Though what, I cannot surmise.”

           
“Then we can do no more,” said
Bedyr. “We are agreed on Chadyn Hymet as our candidate, and Jarl’s foresight
offsets the Galichian army. If Hattim pays for what his men eat, I have no
valid quarrel.”

           
“But still you like it no more than
I,” Jarl rasped.

           
“No,” agreed Bedyr, “but it seems
Hattim has maneuvered us into a comer.”

           
“We cannot oppose him, not without
the risk of such insult as might bring down civil war,” Darr nodded. “We can
only seek to bind him.”

           
“Mayhap the High Throne is all he
seeks,” Arlynn suggested, “and he will be content with that. Once on it, he is
constrained by those same rules as appertain to all our kings.”

           
“Mayhap,” said the incumbent,
doubtfully.

           
“We might do more,” suggested Bedyr
slowly, continuing as all turned toward him, waiting. “Were we to establish a
fixed council, precipitate decisions might be circumvented.”

           
“How so?” asked Darr.

           
Bedyr thought for a moment, then:
“This winter—indeed, our tardy arrival for so propitious a ceremony as our
cousin’s wedding—emphasizes the difficulty of travel. Were there
representatives of our kingdoms, and of Ust-Galich, resident in the palace then
regal business might be decided in concert, and more swiftly. ”

           
“A council!” Darr nodded
approvingly.

           
“One that would serve to bind
Hattim,” Jarl grinned.

           
“Purely in the interests of unity,”
smiled Bedyr.

           
“An excellent suggestion,” said
Darr.

           
They fell to discussing the nature
of the council and its composition, selecting candidates of character stem
enough to resist pressure, devising a format that would bind all future rulers
that no one man might impose his will upon the Kingdoms.

           
Finally they were done and Bedyr
said, “Our business is finished, I think. We can do no more for now.”

           
“Aye,” Darr agreed, “I shall inform
Hattim in due course, but now you doubtless wish to bathe and rest. You will
meet Hattim at dinner, and perhaps then you will see changes in the man. Or see
what I have missed.”

           
Bedyr nodded, rising. “Until dinner,
then, my friends.”

           
Yrla rose, too, and Darr called for
servants to escort them to their quarters, where baths were already drawn and
clothes suitable for the palace laid out.

           
As were the chambers occupied by
Hattim, and by the Lord and Lady of Kesh, so were these designed in the style
of the occupants’ homeland, and the familiarity of the fitments brought a pang
of homesickness to them both. They bathed separately and met again in the
dressing room, their surroundings reminding them painfully of Caitin Hold and
High Fort, and consequently of their missing son.

           
“You were withdrawn,” Bedyr remarked
as Yrla brushed her long black hair before the fire. “Do you think of Kedryn?”

           
“Aye,” Yrla replied, “but not as you
suspect. I am convinced he lives, and Wynett, too. I cannot explain it, but
that conviction has grown since we arrived in Andurel.”

           
“Intuition?” queried Bedyr.

           
“I am not sure.” Yrla paused in her
brushing, sweeping raven strands from her face that she might see her husband
clearly. “I cannot put a name to it, but the feeling is more than that, I
think. I should like to speak with
Bethany
. ”

           
“That should be easy enough.” Bedyr
slid a shirt of cream silk over his head, the material muffling his words.

           
Yrla resumed her toilette. “Darr
spoke of sensing a web about him. And I thought—do you remember?—that perhaps
some pattern exists.”

           
“Concerning Kedryn and Wynett?”
Bedyr drew on dark gray breeks of supple leather.

           
“Aye,” Yrla confirmed.

           
Bedyr grunted, seating himself on
the bed to pull boots of black hide up his legs. “Kedryn is not here,” he said.
“And as best we can know, Wynett remains true to her vows. And that supposes
they live.”

           
Yrla tugged her lower lip between
her teeth, knowing he intended no infliction of pain with his bluntness, and
said, “I know that. But still I feel ...”

           
“Something,” Bedyr concluded as her
voice tailed away into a pensive silence, “and I respect that. But as Darr
pointed out, we are faced with immediate problems that we must resolve here and
now. ”

           
“I shall discuss it with
Bethany
,” Yrla declared.

           
“Mayhap she can clarify your
feelings,” Bedyr smiled, rising to cross the room and run his fingers through
her hair. “Certainly clarification would be welcome, for Hattim Sethiyan
appears to act in most uncharacteristic a manner. ”

           
“Indeed,” murmured Yrla, “he has
done nothing to give offense. It seems he acts with the utmost correctitude,
and that is unlike our Lord of Ust-Galich.”

           
“Most unlike,” agreed Bedyr,
selecting a dark blue overrobe, the clenched fist of Tamur embroidered in
silver on back and chest. “It is all so . . .
neat
. There is no evidence of Hattim’s usual high-handed behavior.
”

           
“Mayhap he has matured.” Yrla set
down the brush and began to select clothing, Bedyr watching, enjoying as he
always did the supple movements of her body. “Mayhap Arlynn was right.”

           
“Arlynn did not believe her own
words.” Bedyr watched as she slipped off the silken dressing robe and lifted a
chemise to the light. “Do you?”

           
Yrla was silent for a moment as she
slid the chemise over her head, smoothing the soft material over her body,
then: “No, I do not.”

           
“Do you suspect some plot?” he
asked.

           
Yrla cast a critical eye over
several gowns, finally choosing a bodiced dress of pale blue stitched with
heavy silver threads. “I do not see what plot he might hatch,” she said. “If he
is
prepared to accept your nomination
of successor, then what can he do? He cannot share the throne until Darr is
dead and Ashrivelle announced queen. Long before then his army will disband.
Would he now employ force of arms? He must know that Jarl guards his back, and
that all Tamur would rise against him should he venture down such a path.”

           
“Exactly,” Bedyr grunted, frowning.
“It is too neat.”

           
Yrla fixed a circlet of silver in
her hair and a chain of matching design about her slender neck.

           
“Perhaps
Bethany
will shed some light.”

           
Bedyr nodded somewhat doubtfully and
belted the waist of his overrobe, settling the Tamurin dirk on his left hip.
“Perhaps,” he said, “And perhaps we shall learn more when we speak with
Hattim.”

           
Speaking with Hattim, however,
served only to confuse him further. They found the Lord of Ust-Galich in the
great salon leading to the dining hall. He was resplendent in pale green robe
edged with gold, his shirt of matching silk and his breeks silver, the boots,
too, gold. He glowed, basking in the unalloyed adoration of Ashrivelle, whose
gown resembled his attire as though she sought to identify with him totally,
the two of them the focus of an admiring throng of nobles, most of them
Galichians, Hattim’s original retinue now swelled by those come south with the
army. He greeted Bedyr and Yrla as if they were old friends, inquiring
solicitously after Kedryn and expressing dramatic concern when he heard of Gann
Resyth’s news from the
Fedyn
Pass.
Bedyr could not fault him, though it seemed
to the Lord of Tamur that some emotion less than friendly lurked behind the
Galichian’s eyes, and he wondered if it was not satisfaction at Kedryn’s
apparent fate. Of Chadyn Hymet there was no sign, and when Bedyr inquired as to
his whereabouts, he was told the young noble remained with the army.

           
“He seems polite enough,” Yrla
whispered as they followed Darr into the banqueting chamber.

           
“Aye,” answered Bedyr, “yet he bears
no love for Kedryn.”

           
“Mayhap he is merely glad our son is
not present,” she responded.

           
“Mayhap,” Bedyr nodded.

           
They took their seats at the high
table, occupied now solely by the Lords of the Kingdoms. Darr was at the
center, Ashrivelle to his right and Hattim to his left. Bedyr and Yrla sat
beyond the princess, while Jarl and Arlynn, her gown now a veritable rainbow,
were to Hattim’s left. Ashrivelle spoke only of the impending wedding, voluble
in her delight that now all those required by custom were present it might
proceed. Bedyr was forced to endure her paean of praise to Hattim, smiling
politely as she regaled them with the details of the celebration she planned.
She was, as Dan- had suggested, utterly besotted. Toasts were drunk to the
betrothed couple, to Dan, to the victory at the Lozin Gate, and it was Hattim
who rose with filled goblet to shout for silence, saying,