Angus Wells - The Kingdoms 02

by The Usurper (v1. 1)

  It was a spread of wooden buildings flanking the forest that had provided the timber for the low, slope-roofed houses, all overhung with balconies painted in bright colors and narrow streets that wound among cowsheds and storage bams. In summer, Kedryn explained, the upper meadows were clear of snow and the cattle grazed there, fattening through the warm months before coming down to the shelter of the lower slopes when winter covered their forage. There was a pond, frozen over, with children sliding and screaming on the ice, and as they promenaded they heard the tinkling of the bells that hung from the horse-drawn sleds that were the chief means of winter transport. It was a pretty town, picturesque and welcoming, and after the days on the trail—and the rigors ahead—their brief sojourn assumed the mood of a holiday.

  The inn in which they found quarters was homely and cheerful, a fire roaring at all hours in the hearth of the common room, cunningly arranged chimneys spreading the warmth to the sleeping chambers so that even as snow drifted down outside, their rooms were snug. The snowfalls came by night and each dawn the slopes above the village were painted pink by the rising sun, a rosy red at sunset. Wynett thought that Loswyth must be a pleasant place to live, brighter and less damp than the canyon of the Idre containing High Fort. There were two Sisters resident in the settlement, one a healer, the other a teacher, and they welcomed Wynett as both friend and colleague. She was almost sorry when Tepshen Lahl announced that they had rested long enough and should proceed before further snow blocked the pass.

  “The going will be harder,” the kyo warned, “the trail steeper and likely drifted. The Fedyn Fort stands at the entrance, and past it we shall have the full weight of winter against us.”

  “How long shall we be in the mountains?” Wynett wondered.

  “If we are not delayed, perhaps eight or nine days,” Tepshen replied.

  Wynett turned then to peer through the window of the common room, looking to where a quarter moon shone on the peaks. They seemed ominous in that light and she shivered at the thought of traversing that vastness of snow and stone.

  Kedryn squeezed her hand. “It will be easier once we enter the Beltrevan,” he promised.

  Wynett smiled, dismissing the premonition of danger that seemed to emanate from the great white wall as though she sensed the presence of Ashar beyond, pent behind the barrier the Lady had created.

  “Sleep,” Tepshen advised. “We depart at sunrise.”

  His suggestion was accepted and soon after dawn the next day the travelers grouped in the courtyard of the inn. It was another fine day, though the nightly snowfall seemed thicker, reminding them that winter progressed apace, and threatened to bar their passage, so that they mounted swiftly and rode out to a chorus of good wishes from the landlord and his folk, the two sturdy pack ponies Tepshen had purchased trailing behind on lead reins.

  Kedryn’s blindness became more of an encumbrance as they began the climb, for once past the easy going of the meadows the trail wound through the timber, rising steadily steeper. It was thick with snow, great drifts built up between the trees so that the horses plunged through, raising great clouds of sunlit powder, the warriors taking it in turns to break trail. Kedryn and Wynett stayed to the rear, the Keshi stallion following the path made by the forerunners and the Sister calling advice when hazards such as low branches or drops presented themselves. By midmoming she saw how deceptive the view from Loswyth had been, for what had appeared a smooth slope was, in fact, a perilously steep ascent, their path often running alongside near-vertical gradients, or angling up ridges that promised an ugly fall for the unwary. Several times Tepshen Lahl put a rope on the stallion, ignoring the animal’s protests as he guided it upward, and by dusk they seemed to have made little progress.

  “We shall reach the fort on the morrow,” Tepshen assured his charge when Kedryn grumbled at their lack of speed, blaming himself. “We make good enough time. See?”

  He pointed back the way they had come and Wynett took Kedryn’s hand that he might follow the kyo’s direction.

  They were halted on a shelf of the mountains, protected on two sides by flanks of naked stone. The tents were up and the animals tethered, munching the oats carried by the pack ponies. A fire had been lit and the air was sweet with the savory odor of a cooking stew. Far away to the west the sky was crimson flecked with gold, and the peaks above them were brilliant in the dying rays, silver and blue and gilt, iridescent colors glittering and sparkling in a rainbow farewell to the day. Below, the timber lay dark and silent, stark back and white, and beyond, full night already filled the land like a brimming midnight lake in which the tiny pinpricks of light that showed where Loswyth lay marked the distance they had come.

  “It is lovely,” Wynett murmured, moved by the vastness and tranquillity of the panoply spread out below her.

  “It is Tamur,” Kedryn replied simply.

  “As an eagle might see it,” she said.

  “I wish I were an eagle.” He grinned, turning to face her, thinking that even swathed in furs, hidden beneath her bonnet, she was lovely. “Then I should fly into the Beltrevan and not subject you to these rigors.”

  “I chose to accompany you,” she answered, “and I have not yet proven too great a burden, have I?”

  “No.” He shook his head. “You could never be a burden to me.

  “You have done well.” Tepshen joined them, presenting bowls of stew.

  Kedryn laughed, even though he needed to loose her hand to eat. “Did you but know Tepshen as well as I,” he chuckled, “you would realize that is high praise indeed.”

  “It is merited,” said the kyo solemnly. “The Sister rides like a Tamurin.”

  “Thank you,” Wynett said, studying the impassive features.

  “Gahn-vey” Tepshen bowed from the waist. “In the tongue of my birthland that means deserved praise requires no thanks.”

  Wynett smiled at him, surprised that she found such pleasure in '7d his approval. It felt, she realized as he turned and walked to the fire, as though she belonged here, were genuinely an accepted member of the Tamurin rather than a mere necessity, brought along for Kedryn’s sake. The feeling wanned her as much as the stew.

  Next morning the shelf was blanketed with fresh snow and the sky did not brighten. A sullen sun glistened listlessly from behind |f gray cloudbanks and the air smelled moister than before. An air of expectancy rendered their departure urgent, the waniors saddling their animals huniedly, looking to the sky as if they expected it to tumble onto them. It did not, but while they negotiated the steep rise behind the shelf, snow began to fall steadily and soon they rode through a curtain of white, the lead riders hidden from those at the rear. Tepshen called a halt and passed a rope to Kedryn, insisting that he permit himself to be led.

  Their going was much slower through the snowstorm and Wynett began to think they would not reach the Fedyn Fort by nightfall. The terrain grew increasingly precipitous, the mountain flank no longer a steady rise but a jumble of ravines and gullies that sometimes forced them to dismount and lead the horses. She saw the way the peaks turned and twisted on themselves, less a single line of hills than a great spreading cluster of joined mountains filled with high valleys and dead ends, promising a lonely fate to anyone not familiar with the trail to the pass. Rivers ran up here, appearing in great tumbling falls from lips of water-washed stone all slick with fantastic ice shapes, to disappear in the tortuous undulations of the land. Bare rock like dragons’ teeth jutted from the snow, and as the fall continued the animals plunged chest-deep through the drifts that built between. Three times warriors needed to scramble up vertiginous gradients to throw ropes down and manhandle the beasts to the crests, and Kedryn cursed his blindness afresh as he, too, was forced to grasp the cords and allow himself to be drawn up like baggage.

  Then, around midaftemoon, the snow eased off and the cloud above began to break apart, permitting a watery sun to filter through. It was fading as they came in sight of the Fedyn Pass and saw the fort.

&nbs
p; They had climbed out of a shallow valley and were standing on a ridge that ran at a slight angle to the mouth of the pass. The downslope facing them curved to form a bowl, too steep, save for the spot where they stood, to climb, the mouth of the pass directly across from their position. It was a cleft in the rocky wall, the sides vertical and bare of snow, the dark stone forbidding, reaching up until it became lost against the rapidly darkening sky, the interior already shadowed. The fort stood on a promontory jutting from the west side, squat and square, built out to the edges of its vantage point so that it commanded both the pass and the bowl beyond. No trees grew here and even to Wynett’s unmilitaristic eye it was obvious that no force could cross the Lozins without first overwhelming the fort, and that would be a task so costly as to render the attempt worthless. Bonfires burned along the ramparts and the embrasures glowed with light, casting a welcoming radiance against the gloomy rock.

  “It is a lonely place,” Wynett murmured.

  “It is necessary,” Kedryn replied. “Or was, so long as the tribes threatened war. ”

  “Come.” Tepshen was already urging his mount down the slope. “While some little light remains.”

  They followed the kyo down, the horses slithering on the treacherous surface, Tamurin moving in close to flank Kedryn protectively, and began to cross the bottom land.

  An angled glacis ran up to the gates, turning back on itself so that any approaching force would be slowed, and when they crested the ascent they were faced with a drawbridge. It was down, but archers manned the walls above, their bowstrings part drawn, and soldiers in heavy fur cloaks faced them across the planking.

  “I bid you open the gates for Kedryn Caitin, Prince of Tamur,” shouted Tepshen, and Kedryn threw back the hood of his cloak that the watchers might see his face.

  “I bid the Prince and his party welcome,” came the answer, given by a burly figure, bearded and mailed. “Gann Resyth of the Fedyn Fort is at your service.”

  They moved forward then, clattering over the drawbridge and onto the dressed stone before the gates. The guards formed a gauntlet that closed behind them as they passed through the portals, the thick timbers creaking shut as they came into the yard.

  “Prince Kedryn.” Gann Resyth came respectfully to Kedryn’s stirrup, white teeth flashing through the dense russet of his beard. “I am honored to offer you the hospitality of my command.”

  “I thank you, Lord Resyth.” Kedryn dismounted and Wynett saw the commander stare at his eyes, unsure as he bowed and took the hand his prince offered. “May I introduce my companions? The Sister Wynett and Tepshen Lahl.”

  Resyth bowed again, clearly confused by the presence of a Sister among the retinue. “Please,” he said, “let us make formal introductions in my quarters. Your men will find food and hot baths waiting, and your horses will be stabled.”

  Kedryn ducked his head and fumbled for Wynett’s hand, further confusing the commander, who led the way across the yard to a door that seemed part of the mountain wall.

  They found themselves in a low-roofed chamber that appeared both guard room and vestibule, for they doffed their cloaks there and proceeded through torchlit corridors to more airy rooms, with windows looking across the pass, albeit windows that were cut deep to provide firing points for bowmen. Tapestries colored the walls and rugs the floor, a cheerful fire burned in a hearth, and as they entered, three massive dogs stirred, raising alert heads until Resyth murmured a reassurance and they settled back to their dozing.

  “You must forgive me, you were not expected.” Resyth gestured to the chairs set about a table of polished oak and shouted over his shoulder for wine to be mulled. “Is there trouble? I thought the war ended,”

  “It is,” Kedryn assured him as he unlaced his jerkin and shucked out of the fur-lined garment, “peace has been made with the tribes.”

  “The mehdri brought word,” Resyth nodded, “but I thought you traveled to Estrevan.”

  “No.” Kedryn took Wynett’s hand that he might see Resyth’s face as he explained, outlining Lavia’s instructions and Wynett’s part in his quest, the commander’s ruddy features frowning as he listened.

  When Kedryn was done he said, “I cannot advise you to attempt the pass, Prince. Snow has been falling up here for weeks now and the way is treacherous. There is a danger of avalanches. I urge you to wait until the upper slopes are settled.”

  “How long?” Kedryn demanded.

  “I cannot say for sure,” Resyth shrugged. “A few weeks, mayhap longer, ”

  “If Lavia’s interpretation is correct, we cannot afford that long a delay.” Kedryn looked to Tepshen Lahl, who nodded. “If the Messenger does indeed go abroad to work his magics, I must find the burial place without further pause.”

  “But the pass is not safe,” Resyth protested.

  “Have there been avalanches?” Kedryn asked.

  “Not yet,” said Resyth, “but even so . . .”

  “Then we shall attempt it,” Kedryn declared, “and trust in the Lady to see us through safely. ”

  The commander frowned afresh at this and stroked his beard worriedly, as though seeking the words that would convince them of his doubts. Finally he said, glancing apologetically at Wynett, “It is not wise to place all your trust in the Lady where the Fedyn Pass is concerned. 1 mean no blasphemy, but you stand on the northern boundary of Tamur and beyond these walls lies Ashar’s domain. Strange things happen in the Fedyn Pass—the forest folk may be sworn to peace, but the Lord of the Fires is not.”

  Kedryn looked to Wynett, who asked, “Does a Sister reside here, Lord Resyth?”

  “Aye,” the commander confirmed, “Sister Hospitaler Gwenyl. She will tell you the same.”

  “I should like to speak with her,” Wynett said.

  Resyth nodded and rose, crossing to the door to bellow into the corridor for Sister Gwenyl.

  The resident Hospitaler proved to be a woman of Wynett’s age, though the effects of sun and snow and wind made her seem older, her homely face textured like leather, her hair bleached almost white. She greeted them excitedly, listening to Kedryn’s explanation of their quest with narrowed eyes and a doubtfully pursed mouth.

  “What Lord Resyth has told you is true,” she said. “This fresh snow is dangerous until it has firmed down, but worse than that is Ashar’s presence. I feel it sometimes, like a wolf prowling the night. The Lady erected this barrier to keep him from the Kingdoms, but even her power does not extend into the Beltrevan.”

  “We are warded by her power,” Wynett countered, fingering the talisman hung about her throat, “and Kedryn is the Chosen One.”

  “All the more reason for Ashar’s wrath,” said Gwenyl.

  “Is his power not drained by the Horde’s defeat?” asked Kedryn.

  “Surely,” Gwenyl agreed, “but it is not ended. You may well be safe from barbarian attack, but Ashar may still bring elemental magic against you.”

  “I do not believe I have any other choice but to attempt the passage,” Kedryn announced.

  “We entered the Beltrevan when Ashar’s power was strong,” said Tepshen Lahl, “and he could not prevent us. I say we go on. ”

  “Wynett?” asked Kedryn.

  “We must,” she said. “We must restore your sight and return to face the Messenger. It is likely the fate of the Kingdoms depends on this and I do not believe we have any choice now that we have begun. And I go with you.”

  “I will put it to the others,” Kedryn decided, admiration for her fortitude in his gaze.

  “They will not turn back,” said Tepshen.

  They did not. When Kedryn spoke to them in the dining hall that night, they rose as one to declare their loyalty and determination and none of Gann Resyth’s or Sister Gwenyl’s misgivings could dissuade them.

  They rested for a day and a second night in the comfort of the

  Fedyn Fort and then started into the pass. It was a snowless day, the sky that showed above the narrow walls bright as polished steel,
with no hint of wind. Gann Resyth bade them a reluctant farewell and Sister Gwenyl announced her intention of praying for their safe passage. The men of the fort waved from the ramparts as they descended the glacis and wound about the foot of the promontory, the snow underfoot packed hard enough that they rode easily into the looming gap.

  It was shadowy there, even with the sun over their heads, and soon the pass curved, hiding the fort from sight. The walls seemed to press in above them, the stone rimed with ice, gleaming silver and blue, the way bare of snow so that the horses’ hooves clattered on rock, the sound echoing melancholically from the vertical flanks. There was a foreboding atmosphere, as if the Lozins themselves watched their going with bated breath, or some immeasurable presence lurked, waiting. At sunset they were still within the confines of the ravine and made a cold camp, for no trees grew, nor any undergrowth that might provide fuel. Their talk was muted and they went early to the comfort of their furs, unwilling to admit even to themselves the eerie feeling of being observed.

  Dawn came late in that lonely place and they started off again in semidarkness, anxious to find the egress and ride beneath open sky once more.

  At noon the avalanche thundered down upon them.

  Chapter Seven

  The wind that had propelled the Vargalla so swiftly down the Idre faltered and died before the barge hove in sight of Andurel, prompting the boatmaster to reef his sheets and shout for his oarsmen to man their stations. Before the great sweeps were unshipped, however, Hattim Sethiyan came out on deck accompanied by his mysterious cabinmate to countermand the order. Startled, the boatmaster halted his crew and dropped a drift anchor to hold the vessel on course in midstream. Sunset approached and he had counted on docking by midnight, but if the Lord of Ust-Galich delayed them for any length of time he knew they would face either a night passage or an overnight anchorage at the closest riverside settlement. Both alternatives irked him, for he had a woman in the city and had built up a thirst for good Andurel ale, which was shared, he knew, by his crew. Consequently his face, as Hattim came toward him along the swaying deck, was empty of its customary obsequiousness, bland obedience replaced by a frown of irritation. The frown faded as Hattim’s companion drew closer and the riverman found himself transfixed by twin points of strangely glowing red light. He opened his mouth to protest the delay, but the words clogged on his tongue and he lowered his gaze, eyes fixing on his boots.