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BOOK: Angus Wells - The Kingdoms 02
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It ended all too soon with the
ruckus that marked the awakening of the Gathering. Cord’s voice, shouting
hoarsely for food, brought them from slumber, waking to the unfamiliar
sensation of a shared bed, of limbs that twined enticingly, blond hair spread
wide on furry pillows, smiles of shy modesty. Kedryn studied Wynett’s drowsy
face and kissed her gently, glorying in the cornflower eyes that shone into
his.

           
“You are lovely,” he said.

           
“As are you,” she answered, her lips
inviting further caresses. “But I knew that.”

           
Kedryn smiled a question, his eyes
drinking in her body.

           
“Do you not remember?” she giggled.
“When you came wounded to High Fort? When I found you naked in my hospital?”

           
Kedryn laughed, taking her in his
arms again, speaking against her hair.

           
“I did not think then that we should
come to this, but I loved you then. I think I loved you from the first moment I
saw you.”

           
“I think,” she said, her mouth
against his, “that I loved you, but I did not know it. Or how great was my
love.”

           
“You do not regret anything?” he
asked, knowing that soon they must rise and enter a more public world.

           
“Nothing,” she answered, her voice
confident. “Whatever I have lost, I have gained more. I saw that when we faced
Borsus.”

           
“Praise the Lady,” Kedryn said
fervently.

           
“Aye,” Wynett agreed, “praise the
Lady.”

           
They dressed then and went out of
the sleeping chamber to find Cord and Tepshen Lahl eating breakfast, the smells
of fresh-baked bread and roasted meat awakening their appetites. Cord turned a
disheveled head toward them and smiled blearily.

           
“You . . . slept . . . well?”

           
Kedryn felt the skin of his face
grow warm at the good-natured innuendo and realized, uncomfortably, that he was
blushing as he nodded and said, “Aye, thank you.”

           
He glanced at Wynett as the Ulan
began to laugh and saw that she, too, was flushed, though her smile remained
radiant as she said solemnly, “Very well indeed,” thus reducing Cord to
table-pounding merriment.

           
Tepshen Lahl behaved as though
nothing had changed, rising to his feet to bow courteously and indicate the
empty chairs, asking, “Are you hungry?”

           
“Ravenous,” Kedryn said, and began
to laugh simply because he felt so happy.

           
It was a glorious winter day, the
sun that shone through the open tent flap seeming to bestow its own blessing on
their joining, the sky a blue so pure it dazzled the eye, streaked here and there
with streamers of white cloud run out like celebratory pennants on the wind.
The air was crisp, stifling the noisome odor of the Gathering, the woodsmoke
smell of the fire on the mound lending a homely scent. They sat and ate, no
longer embarrassed, for in Cord’s laughter and Tepshen’s smile there was only
approval, expression of pleasure in their happiness.

           
“What now?” asked the Ulan, reality
intruding. “Do you remain here, or return to the Kingdoms?”

           
“We return,” Kedryn said, then
looked to Wynett for confirmation.

           
“We must,” she nodded. “There are
tasks yet to accomplish.

           
Cord’s smile dulled then, for he
knew what those tasks were and for all his opposition to the shaman’s power he
was wary of offending the god who still ruled the Beltrevan.

           
“You ride against the Messenger,” he
murmured in his heavily accented Tamurin.

           
“I must,” Kedryn confirmed. “It is
my duty.”

           
“I cannot help you in that,” Cord
said. “You have strengthened my position—and I thank you for that—but I cannot
ask my people to go against the elect of Ashar. ”

           
“I would not ask it of you,” said
Kedryn. “I ask only that you observe the agreements we made and keep the
peace.”

           
“I will,” Cord promised, “and I will
give you an escort to the gates of High Fort. When will you leave?”

           
Kedryn looked to Wynett and Tepshen
and said, “Today?”

           
Cord nodded. “So be it. 1 will have
provisions readied, and my own Gehrim shall furnish your escort.”

           
“Thank you,” Kedryn said, wondering
that such bonds of friendship could be formed so easily when men spoke openly
together.

           
They were once again the center of
attention as they prepared to depart the Drott Gathering. It seemed the whole
tribe clustered about their path as they rode between the lodges, Cord slightly
ahead on one of the geldings donated at the peace talks, and Tepshen Lahl
behind, flanked by the escorting Gehrim, now armored beneath their heavy furs
as befitted the convoy of the hef-Alador. The shamans, won over to a new
respect, capered before them, shaking their rattles and blowing noisily on bone
flutes in what, Cord explained, was a ceremony of prayer for their safe return.

           
On the rim of the great hollow that
held the
camp
Cord
reined in, a hand lifted in salute.

           
“Go in safety,” he said, “and may
your goddess be with you. Whatever should transpire, know that Cord of the
Drott is your friend. And do not forget those horses you promised.”

           
“I shall not,” Kedryn averred.

           
Cord’s eyes, still bloodshot from
his enthusiastic drinking, twinkled as he added, “And take care of your
woman—she is a prize.”

           
“I know,” Kedryn said solemnly.
“Farewell, Cord. Farewell, my friend.”

           
The Ulan nodded and waved them away,
the Gehrim rising up to take the lead as they wound their way among the trees
over snow frozen hard now, the figures on the ridge soon lost as the great
woods of the Beltrevan swallowed them.

           
The horses, rested and well-fed
after their sojourn, made a good pace and Kedryn saw how much he had missed in
his blindness. For all that Wynett’s touch had granted him sight, it had not
been possible to maintain that necessary contact throughout their entry into
the forests, and now he was able to see with his own eyes the magnificence of
winter’s mantle. The massive, ancient trees were hung with cloaks of snow that
sparkled under the brilliance of the sun, glittering with a myriad frosty
colors that danced and swirled, rainbow cascades of shimmering flakes falling
as birds started from their path. The undergrowth took on new forms, like
crystalline statuary, limbs draped with icicles like pendant jewels, their
shadows dramatic on the unsoiled albino ground. Breath steamed in the cold air
and from the pounding hooves exploded clouds of drifting white. There was a
wild beauty to the place that filled him with awe, a feeling of reverence, and
a deep resentment that so willfully evil a god as Ashar claimed sway over so
lovely a domain.

           
It occurred to him that the god
might yet seek to block their way, preventing their return to the Kingdoms, for
if he had been able to bring the
Fedyn
Pass
down about their ears, then surely he must
be able to conjure some obstacle here, so much deeper into his territory. Yet,
even though good companions had been lost to the avalanche, he and Wynett and
Tepshen Lahl had survived, and then Tepshen’s sword skill had won them a way to
the Gathering; and there Cord had overridden the objections of the shamans to
open the way into the shadow world; and there the talismans and Wynett’s love
had seen them safely through. Perhaps then, he thought, Ashar’s dominance was
indeed weakened, and the god would not be able to prevent their return. And in
the Kingdoms, where the Lady ruled, surely Ashar’s power must be weaker still,
his Messenger an enemy capable of defeat.

           
The thought, allied with the certain
knowledge of Wynett’s love and the sheer magnificence of their surroundings,
cheered him and he threw back his head, laughing at the sky.

           
The sound prompted Wynett to turn
from her own contemplation of the scenery, her eyes twinkling from the
enfolding cowl of her cloak’s hood, tendrils of sun-blond hair curling over the
edges of the fur.

           
“Will you share your happiness?” she
asked.

           
“I feel that we shall win,” he told
her. “I feel that nothing can prevent us now.”

           
“We have achieved much,” she agreed,
though a trifle more soberly, “but the Messenger remains.”

           
“Aye,” Kedryn smiled at her, their
mounts matching pace, the wind-rush exhilarating, “but we have braved the
underworld, you and I, and I feel that nothing can defeat us.”

           
“The Lady grant you truth,” Wynett
shouted back, then answered his smile with a radiance that stilled his breath.
“And I believe she will.”

           
They continued on, halting at
noon
to eat and rest the horses, then proceeding
until dusk, when the Gehrim set up tents in the shelter of enormous oaks. They
ate, seated around a blazing fire, and then retired, Kedryn and Wynett
delighted at the privacy afforded by the shelter of hide, climbing swiftly
beneath the furs to rediscover the intoxicating pleasure acknowledgment of
their love had introduced.

           
The reserve Wynett had affected, the
restrictions imposed by her calling, were gone now, as if, having come to that
inner resolution of purpose, she gave herself to Kedryn as fervently as she had
embraced the duties of a Sister. There were no regrets, no doubts or second thoughts,
but rather a wholehearted acceptance of their newfound relationship that found
ardent expression in their shared bed. Her pleasure, as his, was unalloyed, and
when finally they slept, it was in one another’s arms, innocently, free of any
qualms of conscience, justified by the deep inner conviction that what they did
was right, approved of by that deity to whom they still gave service. They did
not see, though perhaps they sensed, the gentle pulsing of the talismans that
shone with a soft blue effulgence as they slept.

           
They rode on through days of fine
weather. Occasional flurries of snow served only to enhance the beauty of the
forest, the Gehrim leading them swift and sure over the woodland trails to the
river called the Saran, whose course they followed south and east. Five days
along that trail they met a solitary rider.

           
At first they did not see him, for
he was hidden behind the dark boles of massive beech trees, dismounted, with a
nocked bow in his hands until he recognized them. Then he shouted:

           
“Hail, friends! You are well met.”

           
The Gehrim formed a protective
phalanx about their charges, bows with the red and white peace feathers still
attached lifting to cover the shadowy figure. Tepshen Lahl eased his shaft down
and called, “Brannoc?”

           
“None other,” declared the Warden,
emerging from the trees with lowered bow and a huge smile.

           
Wynett called out in the byavan to
the Gehrim and they set their weapons at rest, those who recognized the former
wolf’s-head shouting to the others that he was a friend.

           
Brannoc sheathed his bow and fetched
his horses from the trees, coming out of the shadows to study the trio of
Kingdomers and their escort.

           
“I would surmise,” he remarked,
casually as if they met on some street comer, “that your quest was successful.”

           
“Aye, it was,” Kedryn grinned,
dismounting to embrace the fur-clad man. “But what brings you here? Do you come
as Forest Warden?”

           
“As a seeker after truth,” beamed
Brannoc, affecting an air of mystery and clearly enjoying the surprise he read
on their faces. “Sister Wynett, Tepshen—you are well?”

           
“Aye,” the kyo replied. Then,
bluntly, “Why are you here?”

           
“The truth I seek concerns you,”
Brannoc said, ignoring Tepshen’s gesture of impatience as he studied Kedryn’s
face. “You have won back your sight. You found the quadi?”

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