Angus Wells - The Kingdoms 02

by The Usurper (v1. 1)

  Her husband’s bushy brows lifted at this tidbit of gossip. “You had not told me that,” he complained.

  “I do not tell you everything,” Arlynn replied, archly innocent.

  “Then neither Domme nor Forwyn are acceptable,” said Darr. “Are there other candidates?”

  “Lerwyn Chanyth is a sound man,” Bedyr said, “and he commands the respect of the army. ”

  “But is childless,” countered Darr, “and if he were to become lord, would have no heirs. That would open the way to Hattim’s appointee after his death.”

  Bedyr and Jarl nodded their agreement. Darr said, “What we need do here is establish a dynasty that may not be challenged later by Sethiyan claimants. We need a man we can trust. One whose position is unassailable.”

  “So far as any Galichian may be trusted,” Jarl sniffed.

  “I offer Chadyn Hymet again,” Darr said. “Hattim’s cousin he may be, but that relationship is by marriage rather than blood, and he is young yet, and already the father of three.”

  “I could accept Chadyn,” Jarl nodded. “Unless my wife has some further information from the bedrooms of Tessoril.”

  “Chadyn is a model of probity,” said Arlynn. “In fact, he is rather boring.”

  “He grows more acceptable,” smiled Jarl. “How say you, Bedyr?”

  “He fought well at the Lozin Gate,” Bedyr responded, “and I have heard no ill of him. He is wealthy enough to withstand the temptation of bribery and the succession of his children should secure his resistance to any pressure of Hattim’s.”

  “Are we then agreed?” asked Darr. “Yrla, you have not spoken.”

  Yrla smiled absently, as if her thoughts were far away. “Let it be Chadyn,” she nodded. “On those occasions I have met him he has struck me as a sensible young man.”

  “Then Chadyn it shall be,” Darr said. “We shall put his name to Hattim with a concerted front.”

  “There remains the question of his army,” Bedyr said, remembering the cantonment spread along the west bank of the Idre.

  “He has spoken of that. He came to me with apologies and the offer of levies.” Darr’s words surprised Bedyr, for he had not anticipated such civility from the Lord of Ust-Galich. “What his men eat, they pay for; and they pay a tithe on the land they occupy. The location is justified by the cascades—Hattim would have his forces accessible for his proposed triumphal journey after the wedding. He said that he wished to provide Ashrivelle with a fitting escort when he proceeds into Ust-Galich. I could not fault him.”

  “He has become a diplomat,” Bedyr said, his tone dubious.

  “And you like it no more than I,” Jarl remarked. “It is too great a change in the man.”

  “Mayhap Ashrivelle has changed him,” suggested Arlynn.

  “I doubt that,” her husband said, returning his keen gaze to Bedyr. “And to that end 1 left Kemm in Keshaven with instructions to raise a modest force—just sufficient to oppose the Galichians should such measures become needful.”

  “My Tamurin are disbanded,” Bedyr said.

  “I do not believe it will come to that.” Darr spoke optimistically. “If Hattim plays some underhand game, I do not think it includes civil war.”

  “He would be foolish to attempt that ploy,” Jarl agreed. “Your

  Palace Guard could defend this place long enough for Kemm to bring our cavalry south, and we have access to the city from the Vortigen side. Thus reinforced, we could hold Andurel until Bedyr’s Tamurin were raised.”

  “It is some other game,” murmured Darr, “Though what, I cannot surmise.”

  “Then we can do no more,” said Bedyr. “We are agreed on Chadyn Hymet as our candidate, and Jarl’s foresight offsets the Galichian army. If Hattim pays for what his men eat, I have no valid quarrel.”

  “But still you like it no more than I,” Jarl rasped.

  “No,” agreed Bedyr, “but it seems Hattim has maneuvered us into a comer.”

  “We cannot oppose him, not without the risk of such insult as might bring down civil war,” Darr nodded. “We can only seek to bind him.”

  “Mayhap the High Throne is all he seeks,” Arlynn suggested, “and he will be content with that. Once on it, he is constrained by those same rules as appertain to all our kings.”

  “Mayhap,” said the incumbent, doubtfully.

  “We might do more,” suggested Bedyr slowly, continuing as all turned toward him, waiting. “Were we to establish a fixed council, precipitate decisions might be circumvented.”

  “How so?” asked Darr.

  Bedyr thought for a moment, then: “This winter—indeed, our tardy arrival for so propitious a ceremony as our cousin’s wedding—emphasizes the difficulty of travel. Were there representatives of our kingdoms, and of Ust-Galich, resident in the palace then regal business might be decided in concert, and more swiftly. ”

  “A council!” Darr nodded approvingly.

  “One that would serve to bind Hattim,” Jarl grinned.

  “Purely in the interests of unity,” smiled Bedyr.

  “An excellent suggestion,” said Darr.

  They fell to discussing the nature of the council and its composition, selecting candidates of character stem enough to resist pressure, devising a format that would bind all future rulers that no one man might impose his will upon the Kingdoms.

  Finally they were done and Bedyr said, “Our business is finished, I think. We can do no more for now.”

  “Aye,” Darr agreed, “I shall inform Hattim in due course, but now you doubtless wish to bathe and rest. You will meet Hattim at dinner, and perhaps then you will see changes in the man. Or see what I have missed.”

  Bedyr nodded, rising. “Until dinner, then, my friends.”

  Yrla rose, too, and Darr called for servants to escort them to their quarters, where baths were already drawn and clothes suitable for the palace laid out.

  As were the chambers occupied by Hattim, and by the Lord and Lady of Kesh, so were these designed in the style of the occupants’ homeland, and the familiarity of the fitments brought a pang of homesickness to them both. They bathed separately and met again in the dressing room, their surroundings reminding them painfully of Caitin Hold and High Fort, and consequently of their missing son.

  “You were withdrawn,” Bedyr remarked as Yrla brushed her long black hair before the fire. “Do you think of Kedryn?”

  “Aye,” Yrla replied, “but not as you suspect. I am convinced he lives, and Wynett, too. I cannot explain it, but that conviction has grown since we arrived in Andurel.”

  “Intuition?” queried Bedyr.

  “I am not sure.” Yrla paused in her brushing, sweeping raven strands from her face that she might see her husband clearly. “I cannot put a name to it, but the feeling is more than that, I think. I should like to speak with Bethany. ”

  “That should be easy enough.” Bedyr slid a shirt of cream silk over his head, the material muffling his words.

  Yrla resumed her toilette. “Darr spoke of sensing a web about him. And I thought—do you remember?—that perhaps some pattern exists.”

  “Concerning Kedryn and Wynett?” Bedyr drew on dark gray breeks of supple leather.

  “Aye,” Yrla confirmed.

  Bedyr grunted, seating himself on the bed to pull boots of black hide up his legs. “Kedryn is not here,” he said. “And as best we can know, Wynett remains true to her vows. And that supposes they live.”

  Yrla tugged her lower lip between her teeth, knowing he intended no infliction of pain with his bluntness, and said, “I know that. But still I feel ...”

  “Something,” Bedyr concluded as her voice tailed away into a pensive silence, “and I respect that. But as Darr pointed out, we are faced with immediate problems that we must resolve here and now. ”

  “I shall discuss it with Bethany,” Yrla declared.

  “Mayhap she can clarify your feelings,” Bedyr smiled, rising to cross the room and run his fingers through her hair. �
�Certainly clarification would be welcome, for Hattim Sethiyan appears to act in most uncharacteristic a manner. ”

  “Indeed,” murmured Yrla, “he has done nothing to give offense. It seems he acts with the utmost correctitude, and that is unlike our Lord of Ust-Galich.”

  “Most unlike,” agreed Bedyr, selecting a dark blue overrobe, the clenched fist of Tamur embroidered in silver on back and chest. “It is all so . . . neat. There is no evidence of Hattim’s usual high-handed behavior. ”

  “Mayhap he has matured.” Yrla set down the brush and began to select clothing, Bedyr watching, enjoying as he always did the supple movements of her body. “Mayhap Arlynn was right.”

  “Arlynn did not believe her own words.” Bedyr watched as she slipped off the silken dressing robe and lifted a chemise to the light. “Do you?”

  Yrla was silent for a moment as she slid the chemise over her head, smoothing the soft material over her body, then: “No, I do not.”

  “Do you suspect some plot?” he asked.

  Yrla cast a critical eye over several gowns, finally choosing a bodiced dress of pale blue stitched with heavy silver threads. “I do not see what plot he might hatch,” she said. “If he is prepared to accept your nomination of successor, then what can he do? He cannot share the throne until Darr is dead and Ashrivelle announced queen. Long before then his army will disband. Would he now employ force of arms? He must know that Jarl guards his back, and that all Tamur would rise against him should he venture down such a path.”

  “Exactly,” Bedyr grunted, frowning. “It is too neat.”

  Yrla fixed a circlet of silver in her hair and a chain of matching design about her slender neck.

  “Perhaps Bethany will shed some light.”

  Bedyr nodded somewhat doubtfully and belted the waist of his overrobe, settling the Tamurin dirk on his left hip. “Perhaps,” he said, “And perhaps we shall learn more when we speak with Hattim.”

  Speaking with Hattim, however, served only to confuse him further. They found the Lord of Ust-Galich in the great salon leading to the dining hall. He was resplendent in pale green robe edged with gold, his shirt of matching silk and his breeks silver, the boots, too, gold. He glowed, basking in the unalloyed adoration of Ashrivelle, whose gown resembled his attire as though she sought to identify with him totally, the two of them the focus of an admiring throng of nobles, most of them Galichians, Hattim’s original retinue now swelled by those come south with the army. He greeted Bedyr and Yrla as if they were old friends, inquiring solicitously after Kedryn and expressing dramatic concern when he heard of Gann Resyth’s news from the Fedyn Pass. Bedyr could not fault him, though it seemed to the Lord of Tamur that some emotion less than friendly lurked behind the Galichian’s eyes, and he wondered if it was not satisfaction at Kedryn’s apparent fate. Of Chadyn Hymet there was no sign, and when Bedyr inquired as to his whereabouts, he was told the young noble remained with the army.

  “He seems polite enough,” Yrla whispered as they followed Darr into the banqueting chamber.

  “Aye,” answered Bedyr, “yet he bears no love for Kedryn.”

  “Mayhap he is merely glad our son is not present,” she responded.

  “Mayhap,” Bedyr nodded.

  They took their seats at the high table, occupied now solely by the Lords of the Kingdoms. Darr was at the center, Ashrivelle to his right and Hattim to his left. Bedyr and Yrla sat beyond the princess, while Jarl and Arlynn, her gown now a veritable rainbow, were to Hattim’s left. Ashrivelle spoke only of the impending wedding, voluble in her delight that now all those required by custom were present it might proceed. Bedyr was forced to endure her paean of praise to Hattim, smiling politely as she regaled them with the details of the celebration she planned. She was, as Dan- had suggested, utterly besotted. Toasts were drunk to the betrothed couple, to Dan, to the victory at the Lozin Gate, and it was Hattim who rose with filled goblet to shout for silence, saying,

  “My friends, you drink to my future, and I thank you for that, for with the Princess Ashrivelle at my side it can only be joyous. I ask you now to raise your goblets in toast to the Lord and Lady of Kesh, and to Lord Bedyr Caitin of Tamur and his Lady Yrla. Yet while you do, let us not forget their son, Kedryn, whose sad plight denies us his welcome presence.”

  He turned, his goblet lifted first to Jarl and Arlynn, then toward Bedyr and Yrla.

  “Let us drink in hope that Kedryn shall return.”

  A great shout of approval met this announcement and after he had drunk, Hattim turned to speak across Darr.

  “We have had our . . . disagreements ... in the past,

  Bedyr, but now I hope we may be friends. My wish that Kedryn may return is sincere.”

  Bedyr nodded, a rigid smile on his lips. “My thanks, Hattim,” he answered.

  “Is he not the most wonderful man?” Ashrivelle asked Yrla.

  The answering smile was noncommittal, for like her husband, Yrla felt she detected the ring of falsehood in the Galichian’s unctuous manner.

  The toasting went on, great roasts of venison and boar carved below the high table, fishes from the Idre and delicate vegetables from the gardens of Ust-Galich and Andurel offered to the feasters. The musicians worked busily, their tunes a selection from the three Kingdoms. Dancing followed the feasting and it was late before Darr suggested an end to the festivities. Ashrivelle protested, declaring her wish that so congenial a gathering continue until at least dawn, but Hattim took her hand, murmuring softly in her ear so that she affected a pout before kissing his cheek and agreeing to find her bed.

  “I would speak with you,” Darr murmured, a hand restraining Hattim from following his betrothed. “There is business we must discuss and it is best settled as soon as possible.”

  “I am at your command,” Hattim smiled.

  “I will see you in my chambers,” nodded the king. “With Bedyr and Jarl.”

  Hattim’s smile remained firmly in place; it was still there when he entered Darr’s rooms, offering formal salute as the king motioned him to a chair. Lanterns cast warm yellow light over the polished chairbacks set about the hearth, sparkling from the facets of the crystal decanters resting on the low table. Jarl lounged with slippered feet close to the fire, a goblet of Keshi lyr in his right hand, the left toying with the ornate hilt of the curve-bladed dagger sheathed on his belt. Bedyr sat beside him, sipping evshan, his features stem in the fireglow. Darr sighed and arranged his purple robe as he sat down, selecting a pale wine of Andurel vintage. Hattim took evshan, looking from one man to another with an open, facile smile.

  “The wedding may now proceed,” Darr began, “and if Ashrivelle has her way it will be within days.”

  Hattim nodded without speaking, attentive for all the wine he had consumed, seeming unaffected by the fierce liquor he was now drinking.

  Darr was somewhat nonplussed by his calm, and did his best to hide it. “We must, therefore, agree on the matter of your succession. That announcement needs be made before the wedding.”

  “May I first speak on another matter?” Hattim inquired.

  Darr nodded his assent and the Lord of Ust-Galich turned toward Bedyr.

  “I ask your forgiveness for my presumption in leaving my forces on Tamurin land. Our king has, perhaps, explained it to you, but I would have you hear it from my own mouth—I offer no threat, nor intend insult. The portage down the cascades is arduous and my people expressed a desire to remain close by, wishing to celebrate my marriage. Once that is done, they will escort my wife and me south to Tessoril and disband. Meanwhile, we have accepted those terms good Darr suggested for our tenure. Do you agree to this?”

  Bedyr found himself taken aback by such reasonableness from a man he knew as arrogant, overbearing. What Hattim said was logical, and to respond in the negative would be to proffer insult. He ducked his head.

  “The cantonment will depart after the wedding?”

  “Of course,” said Hattim.

  “Then I have no obje
ction,” Bedyr agreed.

  “My thanks.” Hattim smiled afresh, turning politely to Darr. “My apologies for interrupting you, my Lord King. You spoke of the succession?”

  “Aye.” Darr was as confused as Bedyr. “I have spoken with our Lords Bedyr and Jarl and we are agreed on Chadyn Hymet. I would suggest he be summoned here and informed of our decision. If he is agreeable, then we may announce him as Lord of Ust-Galich, his assumption of that post becoming effective in the moment you take Ashrivelle as your wife. Do you agree?”

  “Chadyn Hymet is a most excellent choice,” said Hattim. “No one can dispute his loyalty to the Kingdoms; or claim he is my man. I am in full agreement.”

  So smooth was his acceptance that Jarl could not stifle a gasp of surprise. Indeed, Bedyr found himself staring at the Galichian with wonder in his eyes.

  “Shall I send for him on the morrow?” Hattim asked innocently. “Or shall the summons come from the White Palace?”

  “From,” Darr said slowly, “you, I think.”

  “So be it,” Hattim beamed.

  They spoke then of ceremonies and residencies, Hattim agreeing easily to all suggestions, offering no resistance when asked that he voluntarily strip himself of all holdings in Ust-Galich, disassociate himself from all political ties there, and make his home from henceforth in Andurel. He agreed to the council, and that representatives of all three Kingdoms be domiciled in the White Palace to ensure fair and concerted government. He was a very paragon of moderation, giving none cause to object or find fault. It was so unlike him that when they were finally done he was the only man present at ease. He was magnanimous in his promises and effusive in his assurances, wishing them each a courtly good-night that sent them troubled to their beds.

  That politic demeanor continued as he at last made his way to his own chambers, where Mejas Celeruna and the other courtiers waited eagerly to hear what had been agreed. Hattim told them of the conversation and smoothly dismissed their sycophantic complaints that he should remain Lord of Ust-Galich and king, both. He assured them of his continued affection and sang Chadyn Hymet’s praises, knowing that reports of his words would rapidly circulate throughout the White Palace.