Angus Wells - The Kingdoms 02

by The Usurper (v1. 1)

  She had followed his gesturing hand and seen the plain stretching out before them, given over to grass and small farms, the only obstacles seeming to be the trees that sheltered the holdings from the wind.

  It had been thus for the next three days, the land undulating somewhat but never dramatically, the gently rolling terrain the Tamurin called dumbles stretching out on all sides until they came to the river Sol.

  There was a small town that spread along either bank, the two parts connected by ferryboats and a larger, flat-bottomed raft that was capable of carrying wagons or livestock, the houses built low against the ground, some even descending into the earth so that they were entered by steps that went down to warm, cellarlike rooms. The column halted there, sleeping under roofs for the first time since quitting High Fort, and Wynett was able to use the public bathhouse. They ate and rested on the east bank, and it seemed that the west must have emptied, for the ferries were in constant use, accompanied by smaller craft as the inhabitants came cheerfully to set eyes on the visitors, and the men of the settlement—who had marched with the army—gave greetings to old companions.

  The next morning the rain eased off and a melancholy sun essayed a way through the clouds, painting the village—Solanul, it was named—with golden light. The river was swelling with the outspill from the Lozins, but passage over was effected without incident and they continued their westward progress cheered afresh by the warmth of Solanul’s hospitality.

  By midaftemoon the dumbles gave way to a less even topography, and on the horizon bulked a plateau dark with timber. This was the Tamurin heartland, the distant swell of the massif called the Geffyn. There was, Kedryn told Wynett as they sat around the campfire that evening, a town at the foot of the heights, commanding the trail that ran through the forest, and another at the crest of the rise, then only woodland until they emerged onto the central Tamurin plateau, at the heart of which stood Caitin Hold.

  Mention of his home seemed to produce conflicting feelings in Kedryn, and Wynett sensed that he was tom between his desire to be reunited with his mother and his disappointment that he should return blind. She tried again to restore his sight, but the attempt proved fruitless and she soon abandoned it for fear its failure should sink him into despair.

  “I hope too much,” he said morosely. “Or for too much.”

  “No,” she told him, “you are right to hope, but you must have patience, too.”

  “At least you are here.” He smiled, the expression wan in the firelight. “And I thank the Lady for that.”

  “Aye.” Wynett adjusted the folds of her cloak. “Give thanks, for she will restore your sight.”

  Kedryn nodded and began to speak again, but then bit off his words, shaking his head when Wynett asked what it was he said, so that she knew it was to do with his feelings for her. She studied him as dispassionately as she was able, knowing how hard it was for him to leave the words unsaid and sensing how afraid he was to say them. A frown creased his brow and in the glow of the flames he looked older, shadows planing his cheeks, his hair russet in the light, and she felt a great desire to hold him, and to feel his arms about her.

  She bit her lip and rose, murmuring some excuse to leave him, and crossed to where the wagon stood, setting her hands to the cold metal of the wheel rim as she murmured a prayer to the Lady.

  “You are well?”

  She turned, recognizing Tepshen Lahl’s slightly accented speech, and smiled thinly.

  “Aye, thank you.”

  “It is not easy for you.”

  She was surprised by the easterner’s comment: he had spoken little to her since leaving the fort and she knew he did not share her belief in the Lady or agree with her vows, yet concern was evident in his tone.

  “No,” she said, “but it is harder for Kedryn.”

  “Whom we both love,” the kyo murmured.

  “Aye,” Wynett nodded, then gasped at the admission.

  Tepshen Lahl smiled, his teeth very white in the darkness.

  “Love is not easy. Harder still for you. That you ride with us is an honorable thing and I thank you for it.”

  “You care for him,” she said, slightly nervous, for the kyo had about him an air of controlled violence that her Estrevan-trained senses felt as palpably as she would feel the menace in a caged wolf or the green eyes of a forest cat.

  “I love him,” Tepshen Lahl answered simply. “I have no son but Kedryn. In my country I would be called his ahn-dio— his . . . foster father is the nearest you have. I share his pain, and because you lift that pain I share some of his feeling for you. Should you ever need a friend know that you have me.”

  He bowed then, ceremoniously, as might a man on completion of a formal undertaking, and turned without further word to walk back to the fire, where he drew his sword and began to oil the blade. Wynett stood a moment longer before returning herself, better composed now, and able to engage again in conversation with less likelihood of revealing the full depth of her feelings.

  The journey, for all the good she knew it did, was not easy.

  The next day they traversed increasingly broken terrain and Kedryn’s displays of horsemanship were curtailed, the trail dropping steeply into gullies and crossing streams beginning to swell with the threat of seasonal flooding. Stands of timber loomed about them, winter-bare forerunners of the forest ahead, and the pace of the column slowed to allow for the wagon that rocked and groaned its way down vertiginous descents and slithered wildly on the rain-slickened gradients as they climbed; Dys’s taciturnity was impressive as he urged the straining horses on with little more than grunts and clicking sounds of encouragement. The rain seemed to have held off only to gain strength, for it began to lash their camp at dawn and by the time they set out it had become a downpour that masked the way ahead behind a pall of gray, driving into faces and eyes so that even Tepshen Lahl drew up his hood and rode slump-shouldered, as though driven down by the weight of liquid cascading from the sky. Wynett huddled beneath the canopy, her own cloak drawn tight about her, the hood masking her face as she clutched the bench to prevent the lurching vehicle from throwing her off. She began to think that she should forgo the dignity of her blue robe and obtain riding gear and a horse, were a spare mount available.

  Their camp that night was wet and less cheerful than usual, cold with the wind that clattered the bare-bones branches of the surrounding trees, threatening constantly to douse the fires as it seemed to douse conversation.

  Soon after dawn they started out again, clothing clammy beneath the protective hide cloaks, the horses fretful at the ceaseless downpour and the warriors silent, save for occasional curses as water found a way into boots and cloakfronts

  They were all glad when the scouts Bedyr sent out ahead came galloping back to announce their imminent arrival in Murren, the town that marked the commencement of the trail into the Geffyn.

  It was dusk by then and the lights that shone through the gloom filled them all with welcome anticipation of hot baths and wine, food and soft beds. Wynett peered out from beneath her hood as they came to the walled town, seeing lanterns bobbing through the shadows as a welcoming party came out to greet them.

  It seemed composed of all the civic dignitaries, some dozen men and women, for Murren was a settlement of some size, commanding not only the approach to the Geffyn Heights, but also the crossroads that joined before the city walls, northern and southern trade routes intersecting there with the road between Caitin Hold and High Fort. There was little formality in the reception, the alcar merely displaying the loudest voice as he welcomed the party on behalf of his fellow councillors and urged them to take swift shelter from the rain. He would have had ostlers take in their horses, but the Tamurin warriors preferred to see the animals safely stabled themselves, allowing the eager townsfolk to take over only when they were satisfied the beasts were comfortable. Having no part to play in those arrangements, Wynett watched as Kedryn rubbed down the Keshi stallion, his movements deft with the ski
ll of long practice and needing no eyes to govern his hands, then joined him as he walked with Bedyr and Tepshen Lahl to the inn where rooms had been reserved for them.

  As in Solanul, there was not a building large enough to hold them all, and the party split into groups, each one accompanied by townsfolk intent on making them at home. The larger number, inevitably, went with Bedyr and Kedryn to the hostelry indicated by Kendar Vashan, the alcar, and the place was rapidly crowded with bodies intent on catching sight of the heroes of the recent war.

  It was, fortunately, a large caravansary, three stories high, with balconies around the first level providing shelter from the still- teeming rain. Inside, the central room was bright with torchlight and warm with the heat emanating from the two deep hearths at either end of the low-ceilinged room. Baths were already heated, and after that luxury, their cloaks set to drying, they were offered the best Murren could offer.

  Seated close to the fire at a long table decorated with dried flowers and several candelabra that looked to have been brought out of storage for the occasion, they were feasted royally. A thick vegetable soup, sufficient for a meal in itself, was followed by river trout grilled crisp, the sweet flesh succulent, then slabs of venison dressed with herbs and accompanied by numerous vegetables, finally a pudding confected of milk and sugar and eggs that led to several of the party loosening their belts and joking about the burden their hosts set upon the horses. Wines from the south and sturdier Tamurin vintages were served, and throughout the meal they were pressed with questions from those who had not taken up the call to arms and so sought firsthand accounts of the battle. Wynett noticed that everyone avoided mention of Kedryn’s blindness, though all cast surreptitious glances at the prince, who was kept busy—and more than a little embarrassed—retelling the story of his duel with Niloc Yarrum.

  At last, drowsy from the wines and the rethin—a local speciality, Vashan explained—that followed, they made their excuses and retired.

  Kedryn escorted Wynett to her door, bidding her good-night while Bedyr waited discreetly along the hall before leading his son to his own quarters. Inside, she found a small, candlelit room with a fire burning in a stone chimney and shutters drawn against the night. It was considerably more luxurious than her chambers in High Fort and the softness of the bed necessitated much turning before she was able to sleep.

  She woke soon after dawn, momentarily confused at the absence of rain plopping against wet ground, and rose to use the basin set beside the bed. Dressed, she threw the shutters open and was delighted to see sunlight reflected in the puddles dotting the cobbled yard. The sky was still stormy, but bright to the east, with random shafts of brilliance lancing the cloud, hailed by the gaily plumed cockerel that strutted proudly among a gaggle of hens. The promise of dry weather cheered her enormously and she went down to the hall smiling.

  Kedryn and the others were already eating, serving women bringing a seemingly endless supply of steaming wheatcakes and sweetened porridge, kettles of aromatic tisane in constant motion from hearth to table. Wynett joined them, her own breakfast interrupted regularly by warriors requesting remedies for the previous night’s excesses, which she dispensed from the satchel she had brought with her, thinking that she would soon need to replenish her supplies.

  When they quit the inn the sun had risen, though to the north dark clouds pushed winter south across the Lozins and Kendar Vashan warned them that he expected to see snow fall before they crested the Geffyn Heights. Nonetheless it was a cheerful party that grouped in the town square and rode out through the western gate as the waving citizens gathered along the walls to see them g°.

  Almost immediately the road began to climb, gently at first, but then steeper, as high timber clustered ever closer on all sides until they moved along an avenue of trees. As the gradient steepened the trail began to meander, following ridges and hogbacks, traversing the rising terrain in sweeping curves, the dense woodland denying sight of the way ahead so that their journeying assumed a timeless quality, confined within the walls of the forest. Oak and ash and pine rendered the air sweet, preferable, despite the increasing chill, to the sodden odor of rain-soaked leather and damp horsehide.

  “Snow comes,” Dys announced in a rare burst of eloquence. “Tonight.”

  “How do you know?” Wynett looked to the ribbon of sky visible between the treetops and saw only a bluish gray silvered by the sun.

  “Smell it,” grunted the driver and lapsed back into his customary silence.

  He was right, for when they halted that night, pulling off the trail into a clearing ringed by looming conifers, a soft drifting of white began to fall, lending the campsite an ethereal air, and the fires were banked high, gloves and fur-lined boots appearing from saddlebags.

  “You are warm enough?” Kedryn asked as he sat beside Wynett, carefully spooning the stew that was their evening meal, courtesy of the hunters who had ranged ahead to bring down a deer and several flavorsome birds.

  “Aye,” she told him, smiling. “It is beautiful.”

  “Is it?” He set his bowl aside and held out his hands, palms upward to the flakes.

  “Yes,” she said, “it is.”

  “I wish that I could see it,” he murmured, bringing a hand to his mouth to touch tongue to snow crystal. “It seems so long since I saw snow fall on Tamur. Tell me what it looks like.”

  There was such a longing in his voice that she reached out to grasp the hand, taking it in both of hers, for the ache she heard touched her, resounding in her soul.

  “It is not like the snow that falls on High Fort,” she began. “There the wind blows down the canyon and hurls snow at us like missiles. Here it falls gently, like powder from the sky. The flakes swirl above the fire, dancing in the air, and the ground whitens where they land. The tents are white with it, and the trees are frosted like the icing on a sweet cake. It dusts your hair, and . .

  She broke off as she felt his grip tighten and saw his face turn toward her, a smile breaking on his mouth.

  “I see it,” he whispered. “Wynett, I see it! Tepshen stands there, blanketing his horse. My own is already covered. My father,” he swung his head, looking around the clearing, “speaks with Torim. And all around us the trees stand like old men, white-haired and silent.”

  “And I only hold your hand,” she said in a hushed voice.

  “Yet still I see!” he answered fiercely. “You were right—I must hope. And have faith.”

  “Aye,” she said.

  “Wynett,” he turned again toward her, his eyes solemn, and she felt a pang of fear for what he might now tell her, seeing it in his gaze, “I thank you—for being here; for what you do.”

  The fear faded a little and she said as calmly as she was able, “Thank the Lady, Kedryn, for I am merely her acolyte.”

  “I know,” He nodded, his gaze clouding a fraction, then blanking once more as he groaned and said, “It is gone.”

  “But it comes more frequently.”

  “Because you are here.”

  “And will be long yet.”

  “Until Estrevan,” he murmured, his voice forlorn again.

  “At least until then,” Wynett said slowly. “And that is far away yet. Do not think so far ahead, Kedryn.”

  “No.” He squeezed her hand and let it fall, extending his own toward the fire as he squared his shoulders and assumed a resolute expression.

  “We shall be together a long time,” she promised.

  “I hope so,” he said quietly, and then, so softly she barely heard the words, “A lifetime, I hope.”

  It was impossible for her to bear the burden of that longing and she turned her face away as though he might see the tears that filled her eyes, lifting her gaze toward the white-flecked darkness of the sky so that the droplets on her cheeks merged with the falling snow and were hidden. Lady be with me, she asked inside herself Be with me and help me to be strong.

  “I am sorry,” he murmured, his voice husky. “I promised . . . I sho
uld not have said that.”

  “No matter.” She made her voice cheerful, afraid it might sound brusque. “You still make progress.”

  “Aye,” he nodded. “In one direction, at least.”

  In more than one, she thought, though I must never tell you that.

  She was thankful that Bedyr came to join them then, hunkering by the fire with a skin of evshan in his hand.

  “The night will be cold,” he promised, “and tomorrow colder still.”

  Wynett took the skin and allowed some of the liquor to trickle into her mouth. It warmed her body, but the chill of fear remained in her mind: this journey was by no means easy.

  “Thank you,” she said, returning the skin, “I think I will sleep now. Better for that.”

  Bedyr nodded, the eyes that studied her so full of understanding she experienced a flush of embarrassment and rose quickly to her feet, crossing to where her tent had been erected and crawling inside as though to hide from that compassionate, knowledgeable gaze. She drew the flaps shut behind her and laced them tight, thankful for the protection of the screening canvas, and sat crosslegged as she used her training to impose calm upon her agitated thoughts.

  After a while she felt composed again and shed her cloak, spreading it over the bedroll laid out for her, then undid her robe and removed her boots to climb, dressed only in her shift, beneath the covers. The evshan did, indeed, warm her, and made her drowsy so that sleep descended swift and soft as the snow.

  She woke to the sounds of muffled movement and clambered from the bedroll to peek out through the tent flaps at a scene transformed during the night. The snow still fell and the clearing was a veiled panorama of white and gray, the pine limbs thick with the fall, the Tamurin moving knee-deep through the drifts, the Fires hissing and crackling as they struggled to survive beneath the soundless onslaught. The horses stood patiently, caped in whiteness, the sun, when she looked for it, a pale memory in a sky blank as Kedryn’s eyes. She dressed quickly, running fingers through the tangle of her long, blond hair, and waded to the nearest fire, where kettles already steamed, the last night’s stew aromatic in the crispness of the early morning.