Angus Wells - The Kingdoms 02 (8 page)

           
“If it is foolish,” Bedyr nodded.
“But if it is not? You have seen them together; you have seen how she looks at
him.”

           
Tepshen nodded. “I have, but she is
still a Sister.”

           
“That is not irrevocable,” Bedyr
pointed out.

           
“But unlikely to change,” Tepshen
answered.

           
“Mayhap,” Bedyr shrugged, “and
mayhap I shall not be able to persuade her to go, but I think I must try.”

           
“You are his father: if you think it
best, then so be it.”

           
Bedyr smiled ruefully. “It may be
that in this instance a father’s wishes are not for the best.”

           
“But,” said Tepshen, “you believe
they are.”

           
“I do,” said Bedyr. “At the very
least, Wynett—if she agrees to accompany him—will have a chance to continue her
ministrations, and they may have some effect. Even if not, he will have her
company—and I think that without that his mood will become bleak. I would avoid
that if I can.”

           
“Then persuade her,” said Tepshen.

           
Bedyr nodded again, his smile
becoming warmer as he heard the acceptance in his friend’s voice. “Until this
parley is done, however, we are bound to High Fort.”

           
“Aye,” the easterner grunted, then
turned as a knocking echoed against the door. Unthinking, he set a hand to his
scabbard as Bedyr crossed the room, shifting the lacquered case to his knees as
he set down his mug.

           
Bedyr swung the door open to reveal
a soldier in messenger’s livery, his face alight with excitement.

           
“My Lord,” he announced, “Brannoc
has returned with word from the barbarians and the king requests your presence
in the Council Chamber,”

           
Bedyr thanked him and beckoned for
Tepshen Lahl to follow him as he strode toward Kedryn’s quarters.

           
“Lord Bedyr,” the messenger called
after them, “Prince Kedryn is already summoned. He was with Sister Wynett.”

           
“Where else?” Bedyr murmured,
exchanging glances with Tepshen.

           
Darr was conversing with Brannoc
when they reached the chamber, the outlaw lounging at ease as though speaking
with kings was an everyday occurrence, his casual attitude eliciting a
disapproving frown from Rycol, who sat, stiff-spined, across the table. Jarl
and Hattim joined them moments later, and then Kedryn, led by a liveried
warrior. Bedyr saw his son seated and waited eagerly for the monarch to speak.

           
“I believe,” Darr announced, “that
it is Brannoc’s words you would hear rather than mine. So . . .”

           
He gestured for the wolf’s-head to
proceed and Brannoc beamed, setting elbows to the table as he studied the
expectant faces turned in his direction.

           
“I have spoken with the ulans,” he
began, “and they are agreed on a parley. Vran speaks for the Yath;
Darien
for the Grymard. There are three contenders
for Yarrum’s torque—Threnol, Farlan and Cord—who had best be present if the Drott
are to be bound by the terms. The Caroc have already decided the ascendancy and
will be represented by Remyd. Ostral and Gryth speak for the Vistral.

           
“They will enter High Fort only on
Kedryn’s word, however. And that they will not hear unless he goes to them. I
suggest that on the morrow Kedryn ride out to meet them—they will be waiting on
the Beltrevan road.”

           
“In ambush?” demanded Hattim. “Ready
to seize the Prince of Tamur?”

           
“Alone,” countered Brannoc
cheerfully, “I have their word on it.”

           
“The promise of barbarians?” sneered
the Lord of Ust-Galich, his tone prompting Kedryn to wonder if he spoke out of
genuine concern or merely a desire to oppose.

           
“The blood promise of ulans and
ala-Ulans,” Brannoc answered, making little attempt to conceal the contempt in
his voice. “The equivalent, in the Beltrevan, of you, my Lord.”

           
Hattim gasped at the insult, but
before he was able to protest, Kedryn asked, “Do you trust them, Brannoc?”

           
“Aye,” the outlaw told him. “In
this, I do.”

           
“Then I place my trust in them,”
said Kedryn.

           
“With an escort,” Bedyr said
cautiously.

           
“I would suggest Tepshen and
myself,” Brannoc advised. “And ten good men. More would indicate a lack of
faith.”

           
“I shall ride with you,” Bedyr
declared. “In case.”

           
“Bedyr,” Darr murmured, “would you
place all Tamur’s eggs in the one basket? I understand your concern, but should
this prove the ambush our Lord of Ust-Galich suggests then your presence can
make little difference—save to deprive your kingdom of lord and prince
together.”

           
“The king speaks wisely, Father,”
Kedryn added. “And I trust Brannoc’s judgment in this matter. Let us
demonstrate faith—and show we are not afraid.”

           
“Again, wisdom,” Jarl complimented.
“Listen to your son, Bedyr. ”

           
Bedyr nodded, unhappy with the
arrangement but willing to accept the terms. Darr said, “I would ask my Lord
Kesh to have four squadrons of his swiftest horsemen standing ready. In case.”

           
“So long as they do not show
themselves,” said Brannoc.

           
“They will be ready,” Jarl
promised. “And I shall be at their head.”

           
“You will assure them safe conduct,”
Brannoc continued, addressing Kedryn. “For themselves and their
Gehrim
.”

           
“Their bodyguards?” Hattim snorted.
“They dare ask that
bodyguards
accompany them?”

           
“It is their custom,” said Brannoc.
“Twelve warriors from each tribe. Sixty men are small threat to the armies of
the Kingdoms.” “It is a matter of protocol,” Hattim argued. “They are the
defeated ones, yet they dictate terms.”

           
“I am not sure there
is
a protocol to cover this,” Darr
murmured gently, “and as Brannoc points out—there is scant threat to us.”
Hattim’s face blackened at this further reverse, but once again Kedryn
preempted his objections by suggesting a vote. All save Hattim voiced their
acceptance, and the Lord of Ust-Galich was once more forced to acquiesce.

           
“After I have given them my word,”
Kedryn asked, “what then?”

           
“With safe conduct guaranteed you
need only arrange a time,” said Brannoc. “Perhaps the following day?”

           
“The armies are ready?” Darr asked,
and when he had that confirmed said, “Then—if Kedryn is agreeable—let us set
the time for
noon
.”

           
It was agreed and they set to
discussing the exact form of the parley. It was decided that pavilions should
be raised below the fort, through which the barbarian chieftains would proceed,
emerging from the southern gates, the first woodlanders to set foot in the
Three Kingdoms. Escorted by a guard of honor, they would meet Darr and the
lords of Tamur, Kesh and Ust-Galich in full sight of the massed warriors. In
return for their promises of peace they would be allowed to retrieve their
fallen and return to the Beltrevan. Then Brannoc, much to Kedryn’s amusement
for he suspected an ulterior motive, suggested that the time was ripe for
opening stronger trade links with the forest folk.

           
“There is much they cannot obtain in
the forests,” the wolf’s- head pointed out, his voice earnest, “and the goods
of the Kingdoms are highly prized. What small degree of trade has taken place
has been—let us say, unofficial. Scarcely sufficient to satisfy the demand.”

           
Kedryn heard Rycol’s splutter,
midway between merriment and vexation, and wished that he could see the
chatelain’s visage as Brannoc outlined a plan that made excellent sense—and
would undoubtedly provide the outlaw with a far greater profit than his
previous clandestine activities as a smuggler.

           
“Let them but acquire a taste for
the goods of the Kingdoms and they will likely be loath to forgo such
luxuries,” he continued, ignoring Rycol’s grunt, “and consequently less likely
to sever the links by act of war. ”

           
“You would have some experience of
such transactions,” Rycol remarked drily.

           
“I have some small personal
interest,” Brannoc responded in an innocent voice, “but my purpose now is to
cement the peace.”

           
“There is another advantage beyond
the commercial,” Darr interjected. “Should we regularize trade, we should
afford ourselves excellent opportunity to maintain a degree of surveillance
within the Beltrevan. Perhaps we should suggest seasonal fairs.”

           
“My Lord,” Brannoc announced
admiringly, “you have the foresight of a freebooter.”

           
Darr laughed and said, “How say you,
my Lords?”

           
“Who would organize such junkets?”
asked Rycol. “And where? For all the parleys in the world, I’d not be overjoyed
to see barbarian tents encamped below my walls.”

           
“Within the forest,” Brannoc said
quickly, confirming Kedryn’s suspicion that this was something the outlaw had
dreamed up with an eye to turning a personal profit, “a day’s ride from either
fort. A packhorse’s ride—less for cavalry.”

           
“I could accept that,” Rycol
allowed.

           
“It would also provide an
opportunity to renew peace promises,” Darr added, “though organization would be
necessary, and my Lords Rycol and Fengrif are doubtless busy enough tending
their forts, so we should need a trustworthy administrator.”

           
“One familiar with the forest folk,”
Kedryn said, no longer able to contain himself. “A man who speaks their
language and knows their ways. One they trust and who can be trusted by us. Is
there such a man?”

           
Brannoc cleared his throat.

           
“Who else?” asked Bedyr,
understanding his son’s drift.

           
“Whom do you suggest?” wondered
Jarl.

           
Kedryn heard Rycol bark laughter and
say, “I nominate Brannoc.”

           
“I?” responded the wolf’s-head with
transparent surprise.

           
“You,” Rycol chuckled, echoed by
Bedyr. “You have, after all, the advantage of familiarity with such dealings.”

           
“Do you agree?” Darr asked, and
Kedryn heard the lords voice their assent.

           
“And you, my friend?” the king
queried. “Would you undertake such an appointment?”

           
“I am honored by your trust,” Brannoc
said modestly. “It would behoove me ill to refuse.”

           
“We had best give you a suitable
title then,” the king decided, his own voice betraying laughter. “One to match
so elevated a position. ”

           
“Warden of the
Forest
?” suggested Kedryn.

           
“Excellent!” Darr applauded.
“Brannoc, from henceforth you are our Warden of the
Forest
. I shall have my scribes draw up official
documents, and we shall announce your appointment at the parley. ”

           
“I am overwhelmed,” the newly
appointed Warden declared. “Though such responsibility weighs heavy I shall
administer my duties loyally. Whatever they may be.”

           
“You will, of course, keep the
commanders of both High and Low Forts informed of your activities,” the king
decided, “though I am sure you will receive every assistance.”

           
“I look forward to working closely
with my Lord Rycol,” Brannoc said solemnly, and Kedryn wondered what expression
that produced on the chatelain’s stem features, for it had not been so long ago
that he had advocated hanging Brannoc for the very activities now rendered
legal. It was strange, he thought, how the world turned.