Angus Wells - The Kingdoms 02 (58 page)

           
Corradon issued orders to the men on
the door and summoned a squad to clear a way as they hurried to the chambers
set aside for the Lord and Lady of Kesh. Arlynn was dressed when they arrived,
her plump, pretty features lined with concern. Her husband explained briefly
what had transpired and she clapped beringed hands to her mouth in alarm,
moaning, “Poor Darr, poor Ashrivelle.”

           
“Poor Andurel,” snapped Jarl, “poor
Kingdoms.”

           
Bedyr flung himself onto a pile of cushions,
Yrla settling more decorously beside him. “Hattim is king,” he said, “there is
no gainsaying it.”

           
“Unless we prove some gramarye slew
Darr,” said Jarl. “And that Hattim took a hand in the fell work.”

           
“If Hattim is the Messenger’s
creature,” Yrla said, “then surely it is of greater importance that we discover
his identity.”

           
“Aye,” Bedyr agreed, “but how?”

           
“Will the one not stem from the
other?” Arlynn asked. “If Bethany’s investigation proves the use of magic
surely Hattim cannot assume the throne until the matter is resolved. And the
Sisters will sniff out Ashar’s minion.”

           
“They have not yet,” grunted Jarl.

           
“You are the one who foresaw this,”
Bedyr said to Yrla. “What is your prognostication?”

           
“The Messenger must be close to
Hattim,” she said thoughtfully, “though how he is disguised I cannot suggest.
If I am right, he established this train of events and so has likely been with
Hattim for some time.”

           
“He was not seen after the Horde’s
defeat,” said Bedyr, “but might he have revealed himself to Hattim after the
battle?”

           
Corradon coughed discreetly then,
confusion and embarrassment in his eyes as attention focused on him. “Are you
convinced the Lord of Ust-Galich can fall so low?” he asked. “Might King Darr
not have died from natural causes?”

           
“No,” said Jarl firmly.

           
“It is possible,” Bedyr allowed
doubtfully, “but it seems unlikely. There was no reason to suspect Darr ill,
and I have faith in both my wife’s identification of a pattern and in Bethany’s
sensing of magic.”

           
“But the Paramount Sister was not
absolutely sure,” said Corradon.

           
“Bethany is naturally cautious,”
said Bedyr.

           
“Would that we had listened to
Yrla,” said Jarl. “We might have prevented this.”

           
“We did not,” said Bedyr, flatly,
“and it has happened. What we must do now is plan for a future that holds
Hattim Sethiyan as our king.”

           
“Do you accept him then?” Jarl asked
disbelievingly.

           
“I have no choice if he is lawfully
come to the High Throne,” Bedyr answered. “The White Palace is his by marriage
right if Darr was not slain by magic.”

           
“And if he was?” Jarl demanded.

           
“If there was a glamour involved,”
said Bedyr, choosing his words carefully for he knew where they must lead, “and
if—as I believe must be the case in that event—Hattim Sethiyan has leagued
himself with the Messenger, then we have no choice but to oppose him as an
apostate and a murderer. ”

           
“Civil war,” said Arlynn, her voice
hushed.

           
“Aye,” nodded Bedyr, “likely civil
war, unless Ust-Galich denounces Hattim.”

           
“It must depend on Bethany’s
findings,” said Yrla. “Hattim will waste no time in declaring himself king, but
what if Bethany announces magic? How do we react then?”

           
“Kemm holds five squadrons of our
finest cavalry on the Vortigen,” said Jarl fiercely. “I summon them across the
river to join with Corradon’s Palace Guard and we denounce Hattim as traitor
and apostate. Arrest him; try him; and execute him.”

           
“There remains the matter of the
Galichian army,” said Bedyr. “My own Tamurin are disbanded and Kedryn still not
found— should the Galichians choose to support Hattim, Andurel will be hard to
hold.”

           
“Do not forget Galen Sadreth,” Yrla
reminded. “He waits e’en now to carry us north on the
Vashti.
”

           
“Aye,” Bedyr nodded, “but we cannot
go north, not now. We must remain here until this affair is resolved.”

           
“But he could still take word,” said
Yrla. “If he could carry word to Kedryn, then Kedryn could raise our forces.
And if Wynett is with him, her claim to the throne is stronger than
Ashrivelle’s.”

           
“If she renounces the Sisterhood,”
Bedyr murmured.

           
“It would fit the pattern I
discern,” said Yrla.

           
“Hattim Sethiyan bears little love
for any of us,” Jarl interposed. “Whatever the nature of his course to the
throne, he will seek to hold it. I suggest we ward ourselves.”

           
“Aye,” agreed Bedyr. “Let us be
prepared for all eventualities and keep our swords loose.”

           
“I must dress,” said Yrla. “I am
hardly garbed for intrigue or battle.”

           
“To our chambers, then,” said Bedyr,
“and meet again, where?”

           
“The throne room?” Jarl suggested.

           
“Excellent,” Bedyr applauded. “Any
measures we announce must have the trappings of formality, and I suspect Hattim
will find his way there soon enough.”

           
“Let me gird myself,” said Jarl,
“and I shall come to your quarters.”

           
“And I?” Corradon asked. “What shall
I do?”

           
“Gather those guards you consider
the most reliable,” said Bedyr. “Bring them to my chambers that we may present
a unified front to Hattim and his Galichians.”

           
“It is done,” said Corradon, rising
to his feet and saluting.

           
The others rose, Jarl to dress while
Bedyr and Yrla followed the captain from the chamber to make their way back to
their own rooms. There Yrla hurried to exchange night attire for clothing more
suitable to the business in hand, Bedyr to tug a stout leather jerkin over his
shirt, hoping despite the weight of evidence that seemed to build against
Hattim that their suspicions were wrong. If not, he thought, loosening his
blade in its scabbard, there might well be sword-work before the day was out.

           
Confusion still reigned as Corradon
arrived with a squad of guardsmen, Jarl and Arlynn, accompanied by ten
grim-faced Keshi warriors, close on his heels. He ordered his men into a wedge
that drove remorselessly through the crowded corridors to the throne room,
collecting a retinue of curious followers along the way. Once inside the
stately chamber, Bedyr had the captain set watchmen on the doors with orders to
allow entry only after permission was granted by himself or Jarl, regardless of
the petitioner. It was, by now, midmoming and none of them had eaten, and while
they had scant appetite, hunger edged their tempers, rendering their debate
increasingly irritable.

           
Jarl spoke for the immediate
impeachment of Hattim, urging that they send for Kemm to bring the Keshi
cavalry across the river to join with Corradon’s men and hold the White Palace
until the cause of Darr’s death was uncovered, convinced that such revelation
must condemn the Galichian. Bedyr was more circumspect, seeing that so
precipitate course must inevitably result in war with Ust-Galich, and wary of committing
the Kingdoms to such turmoil. Although he was swayed by Yrla’s conviction, and
more and more convinced that Hattim was, indeed, leagued with the Messenger, he
remained loath to follow so perilous a course until firm evidence should be
provided by Sister Bethany.

           
Finally it was agreed that two of
Jarl’s men should ride to Kemm with word, alerting him to stand ready to cross
the Vortigen into Andurel, while Corradon dispatched guards to bring food and
drink.

           
They were eating in a desultory
fashion when Jarl’s men returned with word that Galichian troops ringed the
palace, denying exit and entry, placed there by Hattim, ostensibly that the
murderer of King Darr should not escape.

           
“Proof!” raged the Lord of Kesh,
wine spilling as he slammed down his hand to punctuate the single word. “Do you
need more, Bedyr? The upstart shows his hand.”

           
“There is some justification in his
reason,” Bedyr said carefully, “but, yes—I think you must be right.”

           
“Yrla,” Jarl turned to the
raven-haired woman, modulating his anger, “your husband was ever more cautious
than me—and I respect him for his tact—but now the time to act has come. How
say you? Am I right or wrong?”

           
“I believe Hattim must seek to
preempt any measures we may take,” Yrla responded, “and I am now convinced he
does dance to the Messenger’s tune, but I am not sure that open warfare is the
answer. Let the battle flags be flown and all will be confusion. Do we seek to
arrest Hattim and he will have the chance to cry treason against the king—for
that, until he is proven guilty, he remains— and thus might confuse honest
folk. I think we must wait on Bethany’s findings. Let us have firm proof that
we may openly impeach him, with none to claim betrayal on our part, and we have
the chance to nip this heresy in the bud without risk of war. ” “Arlynn?” Jarl
turned to his own wife. “You have a say in this.”

           
“Yrla speaks sense as ever,” said
the plump woman, dabbing with a silken kerchief at the spilled wine, “and we
none of us seek war, I think. But shall we have time to wait on Bethany’s
findings? If the Messenger is the eminence behind Hattim, will he allow us that
evidence? Or that much time?”

           
Her eyes moved toward the windows as
she spoke, the movement eloquent as they turned to see the light filtering through
the tall panes of stained glass waning. Candles were already lit and they were
shocked by the realization that the afternoon shortened inexorably toward
evening.

           
“Aye,” said Bedyr, “both our wives
speak sense, Jarl. Corradon? Will you send men to inquire of the Paramount
Sister as to her investigation?”

           
Corradon nodded and barked orders
that sent five guardsmen hurrying from the throne room.

           
“We wait on them,” said Bedyr.
“Mayhap they will return with confirmation of our fears. If so, we declare Hattim
suspect, and consequently uncrowned.”

           
“And then?” asked Jarl. “Do not
forget he has the palace ringed with warriors.”

           
“Let them know Darr died by magic,
by the Messenger’s hand,” said Bedyr, his voice grim as his stem features, “and
they will hopefully take our side. If not—then we must endeavor to fight our
way out. Remember the
Vashti
awaits
us, and Galen Sadreth is loyal.”

           
Jarl nodded, looking to Corradon.
“You have, what? Fifty men here. Can you muster others?”

           
“Aye, my Lord Jarl,” promised the captain.
“These are the men of my own troop, and were most convenient, but others will
follow our call if they believe Lord Hattim an apostate. I cannot answer for
all the Palace Guard, but I think we should have sufficient to cut our way
through the Galichians.”

           
“So be it,” murmured the Keshi,
fingering the jeweled hilt of his saber. “We may escape Hattim’s plot, but what
then?”

           
“You go into Kesh to raise your full
army,” said Bedyr, “and I to Tamur. Galen sails north to High Fort in search of
Kedryn.” “And we leave Andurel in Hattim’s hands?” Jarl barked. “His and the
Messenger’s?”

           
“What other choice do we have?”
asked Bedyr evenly. “The Royal Guard, even augmented by Kemm’s squadron, will
not be enough to face the Galichian army. Remember, Jarl, this is our last
resort. If
Bethany
uncovers magic we may not need to flee.”

           
“Hattim will not relinquish his
dream easily,” grumbled the bowlegged lord.

           
“He may have little other choice,”
said Bedyr.

           
Corradon’s men returned then,
confusion writ large on their faces. The sergeant saluted and said, “We were
denied entrance, my Lords. Galichians—and men of the Royal Guard—hold the
king’s chambers and allow no entry. They say it is on the order of Lord
Hattim.”