Angus Wells - The Kingdoms 02

by The Usurper (v1. 1)

  There was nothing left. No remnant of the woman or anything she had worn, only the fading odor.

  Hattim crossed to the window and threw the shutters open, breathing in the cold, river-damp air of early dawn. The sky was gray, fetid with rain, and across the Idre faint light pearled the horizon. A cock crowed and a dog barked. Hattim felt sweat chill upon his naked chest and drew the shutters closed again.

  “She left you while you slept,” Taws said. “As for my presence . . . who will question the Lord of Ust-Galich? Once on board, there are glamours I can lay on your party that all will accept me for what I am—your friend and adviser. ”

  “I will order clothes brought,” Hattim nodded. “Do you require food?”

  Taws studied him somberly, then smiled and shook his head.

  “Not such as you offer. In time I will take sustenance.”

  The banquet Yrla arranged to welcome home her loved ones was marred only by Kedryn’s blindness, for although no reference was made to his disability, it remained necessary that his food be carefully prepared that he might eat without the need to employ a knife, and that occasioned some degree of awkwardness. Wynett was seated beside him and helped him as much as he would permit, while all about them jubilantly set to demolishing the delicacies that emerged from the kitchens in a seemingly endless stream.

  It seemed to Wynett that the entire population of Caitin Hold and the adjacent town must be present, and that every man and woman there came forward to express their pleasure at having Kedryn safely returned and offer their congratulations on his defeat of Niloc Yarrum. Among them were three Sisters, and their interest was directed as much at Wynett as at Kedryn, for Yrla had discussed the letters Bedyr had sent with Darr’s mehdri and they were intrigued by her ability to endow sight on the blind hero. One was a Hospitaler, a tall, slender woman in her middle years whose name was Rasha; the second an elderly, dumpy woman who reminded Wynett of Grania, and whose maternal fussing over Kedryn marked her even before she was announced as his tutor, Lyassa. The third was not of Caitin Hold, though only one of the Sorority might have guessed the fact for she appeared much at home and offered no explanation of her presence. She had about her a serenity that Wynett knew came only from long years spent cloistered in the Sacred City, although—despite the gray that streaked her fair hair—she did not seem old; ageless, rather, with a calm beauty that set an aura of stillness about her Her name was Lavia, and when Wynett essayed a question as to her function she smiled gently and murmured, “Tomorrow. Let us first celebrate the homecoming.”

  Wynett had to be content with that for Lavia refused to be drawn and joined the other Sisters at the end of the high table, too far away for easy conversation. Indeed, any conversation became difficult after a while as the returned warriors expanded loudly on the accounts of the fighting that had already reached the hold and voices became raised in noisy retelling of the battle. Wine flowed freely; jongleurs sang songs newly composed, extolling the heroism of their lord and prince and Tepshen Lahl, whose standing, Wynett saw, was near as great as Bedyr’s or Kedryn’s. Yrla, who had organized it all, looked on with glowing eyes, reaching often to touch Bedyr’s hand or lean past her husband to catch sight of her son. Kedryn, too, appeared lifted by the welcome, smiling and laughing as the minstrels sang his praises and the warriors imposed toasts upon him until he protested that he would sooner fight barbarians than attempt to match his fellow Tamurin in drinking.

  It went on long into the night, and Wynett was grateful for the relief of her bed when finally it ended, though not so tired she failed to inquire of Yrla what Lavia’s presence meant.

  “I trust you will not take it amiss,” Yrla smiled as she stood at Wynett’s door, Bedyr’s arm about her shoulders, “but when the mehdri came with word of Kedryn’s blindness I felt I understood the meaning of part of the Text. I sent a rider on to Morfah, that the senders there might contact Estrevan. Gerat’s response was to send Lavia.”

  The explanation confirmed Wynett’s suspicion, but failed to enlighten her further. Nor would Yrla, who told her when she asked, “Lavia imposed a promise on me—that I would not seek answers until she met Kedryn face to face. I believe she will tell us all on the morrow, for she has asked that we attend her. Until then, let us sleep.”

  Wynett was pleased enough to accept that, for she was mightily tired, Tamurin hospitality being somewhat more boisterous than that of High Fort, and she had consumed more wine than she was accustomed to. She nodded and went into her room, where within moments, despite her curiosity, she was sound asleep.

  She woke to birdsong and the brilliance of sunshine on snow, the fire that had warmed her room burned down to embers. The day was well advanced and when she looked from her window on to the courtyard below, she saw the folk of the hold going about their business, clearly more accustomed to carousal than she. Her head throbbed from the liquor she had drunk, and before taking food she had a servant direct her to the bathhouse.

  Yrla found her there, bringing a pot of aromatic tisane that joined the steaming waters of the tub in clearing her head. Still replete from the feasting, she ate sparingly in a near-empty dining hall and then went with Yrla to meet Lavia.

  The Sister was ensconced in Caitin Hold’s library, a pleasingly quiet chamber warmed as much by the rare collection of leather- bound tomes that lined the walls as by the fire that burned cheerfully in the hearth. High windows let in the morning light, shining on polished boards and gaily colored carpets, shining on the small book bound in leather dyed the blue of Estrevan that rested on the round table before Lavia. Bedyr sat to her right and Tepshen Lahl to her left. Kedryn faced her and there were two empty chairs on either side. Yrla took the one closest to her husband and Wynett the other.

  “Wynett?” Kedryn asked. “Mother?”

  “I am here,” Yrla said, touching his left hand.

  He held out his right and Wynett took it, finding pleasure in the touch, and a degree of guilt, for she saw that Lavia’s eyes were upon her, studying her as she said, “And I, Kedryn.”

  Lavia smiled then and Wynett felt her guilt dissipate, for there was only approval in the expression. She withdrew her hand gently, murmuring a greeting to Lavia.

  “You come on the wings of praise,” said the older woman. “The reports from High Fort commend you most highly for what you have done, and I bring you greetings from our Sisters in the Sacred City. Most particularly Gerat sends greetings.”

  “Thank you.” Wynett bowed her head, flattered and a little embarrassed by such lofty notice. “I did no more than any Sister.”

  “You did your best,” said Lavia, “and your best appears to be most excellent. In particular, you have proven a boon companion to Kedryn.”

  Wynett felt a momentary alarm at this, for she sensed something behind the words and recognized, now that she could see it clearly, that the book before Lavia was a copy of Alaria’s Text.

  “I will come directly to the point,” Lavia announced, “for our studies indicate there is little time to be lost.”

  “We are to go on to Estrevan?” Excitement rang in Kedryn’s voice. “Or have you found a cure? Is that why you are here?”

  Lavia smiled sympathetically and shook her head.

  “I must explain, Prince Kedryn. It is difficult to answer you directly without some preamble. Forgive me, but you must understand what lies behind my presence here.”

  “I am sorry,” Kedryn bowed his head apologetically. “I am impatient. ”

  “Understandably,” Lavia murmured gently, “for you have suffered a great hurt in service of the Lady and the Kingdoms— one that we of Estrevan hope to remedy. ”

  Kedryn stirred in his chair, visibly curbing his impatience. Lavia opened the book and glanced at the pages. Anticipation was palpable in the sunny room, Bedyr leaning forward, taking Yrla’s hand, she smiling with a mixture of excitement and wariness. Even Tepshen Lahl’s impassive features showed interest. Wynett imposed calm upon herself.

 
“Since first we learnt of Ashar’s Messenger the scholars of Estrevan have sought enlightenment in the Text left by Sister Alaria,” Lavia began. “The writings are enigmatic to say the least, and written in archaic language, for Alaria was a visionary, not a storyteller. What came to her was, we believe, sent by the Lady to warn the Kingdoms of future danger, and because the Lady would not dictate our actions, those warnings were left open to interpretation.

  “It was, as you must now know, study of the Text that prompted the Lady Yrla to depart the Sacred City and thus fulfill that part of the prophecy the Paramount Sister Galina had discerned. Thus Kedryn was born and stood ready to defeat the leader of the Horde, ending Ashar’s bellicose plan of invasion. However, that does not end the threat: the Messenger still lives and will go about his master’s work. In what way, we are not yet sure, but time will doubtless reveal the design.

  “We had not, despite all our studies, foreseen Kedryn’s blindness, but now that we are confronted with that fact there are parts of the Text that become clearer. Yrla found clues in her studies, and in Estrevan we discovered others. I will not bore you with direct readings of the Text unless you wish a lengthy—and perhaps tedious—lesson in archaism. Will you accept my translation?”

  There was a murmur of assent and she glanced toward Yrla, who nodded, and then continued, “It is our belief that Alaria’s vision was a prognostication of several possible futures, her Text a maze of words in which paths become clear only as events reveal their course. The only sure facts readily discernible are that Ashar seeks to gain victory over his eternal opponent, the Lady, and to achieve this end he must dominate the Kingdoms—for the

  Kingdoms represent the benign order of the Lady, and so are hated by the Lord of Chaos. To this end, Ashar raises minions—the Messenger is the one we face now—to work his foulness. He cannot himself enter the Kingdoms, for the Lady set barriers against so direct an intervention, and so he imbues his creatures with ungodly power to do his fell work. The Lady redresses that imbalance by providing situations in which a counterforce comes into being. That force for good is now Kedryn Caitin—the Chosen One of the Text.”

  “Blind?” asked Kedryn. “How may I oppose anyone blind?” “I come to that,” Lavia said mildly. “There is a part of the Text your mother brought to our attention. It is the part that concerns our Sister Wynett; and concerned poor Grania, too. Listen . . .” She turned to the blue-bound book and recited, “7n one shall be three, the pair one, seeing what is and what is not until the one is one.

  “When you joined with Grania on the walls of High Fort a part of her power entered you both. Further reading—I will not try you with the ancient words—indicates that Sister Wynett has become for a while your eyes, and only through her will you regain sight. Further, you will not find it in Estrevan.”

  “What?” Kedryn could not hold back the shout, panic ringing in his voice. “Estrevan cannot help me? Where then? How?”

  “That taken shall be returned,” Lavia read, “ the thief the giver. We believe this refers to the one who blinded you. We believe that only he may restore your sight.”

  “He is dead.” It was Bedyr who spoke now, his voice hollow. “He was a berserker. He was slain and his body by now will be in the Beltrevan. Burned by woodlander custom.”

  Wynett felt Kedryn’s hand close on hers, squeezing. She felt tears fill her eyes as she looked toward him and saw stark anguish on his face.

  “I am condemned to blindness,” he groaned.

  “No,” said Lavia, her voice firm. “You may regain your sight—by entering the Beltrevan again to find the one who took it.”

  “A corpse?” Kedryn’s voice was bitter. “A body gone to ashes?” “The sword that robbed you of vision was ensorcelled,” Lavia answered, “the man who bore it sent by the Messenger, doubtless imbued with some gramarye. Such as he do not find easy peace, and as he failed in his appointed task he is unlikely to have found a welcome in Ashar’s domain. We of Estrevan believe his spirit must now wander the netherworld. You must follow him there and seek the restitution of your vision.”

  She paused as the five seated around the table stared at her aghast. Kedryn’s mouth hung open and Wynett felt the tension in his grip as he demanded huskily, “How may I do that?”

  “You may easily enter the Beltrevan,” Lavia responded, her tone reassuring, “your status as conqueror of Niloc Yarrum will win you support amongst the tribes. I have brought certain talismans that will grant you a degree of protection from the . . . things . . . you will face thereafter, and the shamans of the dead man’s tribe will know the way you must take. In the netherworld you must seek out the berserker. ”

  “And then?” asked Kedryn softly.

  “Then,” said Lavia, “you must persuade him to give back that which he took from you—your sight.”

  Kedryn laughed, an empty sound. “You set me no easy task, Sister,” he murmured.

  “No,” Lavia agreed, “I do not. But there is no other way; of this we are confident.”

  “Then,” Kedryn announced grimly, “I depart for the Beltrevan. May the Lady be with me.”

  “And I,” Tepshen Lahl declared. “I ride with you.”

  “There is more,” Lavia said. “Wynett must accompany you. She will be your eyes.”

  “No!” Kedryn shook his head, his expression fierce. “It is too dangerous.”

  Lavia looked to Wynett, her eyes unreadable. Beside her, Bedyr drew a hand across his face, hope and horror mingled there. Yrla studied the young Sister as if she already knew what her decision would be. Tepshen Lahl was inscrutable.

  Wynett had no decision to make. The fact came to her as she saw Kedryn’s eyes lose their blankness, the strength of his emotion bringing another brief return of sight. She smiled at him, then turned to Lavia.

  “Of course I will go with him.”

  Chapter Six

  It seemed to Kedryn that he was condemned to wander, forever questing, a vagrant in his own land, denied respite in the endless struggle between the opposed forces of Ashar and the Lady, for now he was again preparing to depart his home with scant idea how long this new journey might take, or even whether he would survive it.

  Nonetheless, despite all his qualms, he accepted Lavia’s word that only in the Beltrevan might he regain his sight, and that thought he kept foremost in his mind, choosing to live by the day rather than contemplate the greater issues raised by the Sister’s interpretation of Alaria’s Text. That he was the Chosen One foretold by the long-dead sybil he relegated to some hinder compartment of his consciousness, just as he pushed back the thought that at some future date he must fight Ashar’s minion. It was enough for now that she gave him hope of sight regained, albeit hope achieved only through arduous travail. The notion was as exciting as his imminent departure from Caitin Hold was depressing, and he knew that he must leave before the wolf- weather closed in to seal the mountain passes, so he clove to the promise of Lavia’s interpretation, refusing to allow himself the sad luxury of self-pity.

  There was a bright side: after explaining Estrevan’s estimation of the prophecy and the part he must play, Lavia had suggested that she might increase the bonding through which Wynett was able to restore partial vision. He had instantly agreed, and the Sister had requested a quiet room and sundry items of equipment and herbs that were immediately supplied. She had spent the better part of a day in preparation and then summoned Kedryn and Wynett to join her. He had entered a chamber redolent of materia medica, the air within warm and aromatic, the mingled scents unidentifiable. Lavia had given him something to drink, a bitter brew that left a sour aftertaste, and then dripped some mildly astringent liquid into his eyes. Next she had sat him down and taken his left hand while Wynett took his right, and he had felt the heat of a brazier on his face, its coals giving off a sharp, sweet odor that reminded him of the preparation Grania had burned on the ramparts of High Fort. He had lost all sense of time, the emanation of the brazier inducing a dreamy, trancelike
state through which he heard only faintly the voice of the older Sister as she intoned words that seemed to reverberate with a power of their own in a language he did not comprehend. Then, slowly, as if a mist cleared from before his eyes, burned away by the sun, he had realized that he was looking at a metal pot set on a trivet borrowed from the hold’s kitchens; that coals glowed red within; and that the pot was standing on a small, round table of polished oak. He had turned his head to see Wynett smiling at him, her golden hair tinged russet by the brazier’s glow, a beading of sweat on her smooth forehead.

  “I can see!” he had gasped, tearing his gaze from Wynett to stare at Lavia, seeing for the first time that she was a tall woman with a serene face framed by fair hair streaked with gray, her dark eyes studying him with compassion and anticipation.

  “Praise the Lady,” she had murmured, returning his smile as she gently let go his hand. “If all has gone well, you will now see whenever you touch Wynett. That is why she must go with you—I have strengthened the bonding made by Grania so that it will come into force on a touch, no longer reliant on emotion.”

  He had nodded and experimented by releasing Wynett’s hand. And, indeed, when he did that his sight instantly faded, returning when the younger Sister reached out to touch him again.

  “Praise the Lady,” he had murmured in agreement, though later both he and Wynett found it a mixed blessing. It meant that they were more than ever together, Kedryn’s joy at being able again to see his home and show it to Wynett, to look upon the faces of his friends, tempered by his desire to speak his heart to the lovely woman who now accompanied him everywhere, her hand constantly in his. It became increasingly difficult to hold his tongue when he gazed at her beauty, though he did his best, remembering his promise, even as his eyes said the words he would not let past his lips.