Angus Wells - The Kingdoms 03 (13 page)

 
          
“You
have other duties now,”
Bethany
reminded him. “You are to be crowned king, and even with this council
of yours you will still be needed here. Would you ignore your responsibilities
to the living?”

 
          
“No.”
Kedryn shook his head. “I would not. But I would still know Darr’s fate.”

 
          
“Then
ask Estrevan,” urged
Bethany
. “Gerat is Paramount Sister there and she is versed in such matters.
There are scholars there who will advise you better than I am able—listen to
them!”

 
          
“1
had not intended to attempt such a venture without the guidance of the
Sisterhood,” Kedryn murmured reassuringly. “But I would set Wynett’s mind at
rest.”

 
          
“Wynett
is mayhap better able to understand—to accept— fete than you,” suggested the
silver-haired woman. “Do not take too much upon yourself.”

 
          
“No,”
he assured her, “I shall not. In any event, it was the shamans of the Drott who
gave me entry before and mayhap they would not agree again.”

 
          
“Whether
they would or not,” said
Bethany
, “I should counsel against it. That limbo is Ashar’s kingdom, and not a
place for living flesh.”

 
          
“No,
it is not.” Memory sent a shudder through Kedryn’s body.

 
          
“Then
you will not act without the blessing of Estrevan?” asked the Sister.

 
          
“My
word on it,” Kedryn told her, smiling now, “and in return yours that you will
not mention this conversation to Wynett, or any others here—they are already
stirred enough by my notions.”

 
          
“None
here shall know of it from me,”
Bethany
promised.

 
          
“Thank
you.” Kedryn rose to his feet. “And now I had best find Wynett.”

 
          
Bethany
nodded and followed him to the door. There
he left her, going in search of his bride, and she, mightily troubled, returned
to the College, where she penned a report of the conversation and her fear that
he might risk so foolhardy a venture. She had not, she told herself as she
sealed the wax with the emblem of the Sisterhood, promised not to reveal his
thoughts to Estrevan, only to those present in Audurel. She summoned a mehdri,
entrusting the rider with the missive, instructing him that he was to deliver
it into the hand of Gerat herself and no other, and watched the man depart,
hurrying toward the docks. Gerat would dissuade Kedryn: Gerat was too sensible
to bless such a wild adventure.

 
          
Tam
Lemal had no great love of night-sailing, but his task was urgent and he
anticipated a bounty if he dispensed it with alacrity, so he shouted for the
VendrelW
s single squaresheet to stay up
as the sun went down and overrode the objections of his crew. That was not too
difficult as only three men rode the pitching boards with Tam, and they were
his brothers and so would divide the bounty equally with the captain. They
grumbled a little, but Tam’s assurance of reward quelled that and they settled
to their task without further argument.

 
          
It
was a fine night, the first quarter of the moon that would see Kedryn Caitin
crowned king riding graceful as a saber’s curve in a sky filled with stars.
Rafts of underlit cloud were drifting in from the east, but the wind that
propelled the barque hung steady behind them,
billowing
the pale green sail to send the
VendreUe
swift and smooth over the silver- traced surface of the Idre, her
crimson-painted prow cutting a vee-shaped swathe that hung milky foam on the
ripples of her passage. Tam lounged on the stemboards, the tiller in the crook
of his arm, his eyes studying the dark water ahead. Nathan was crouched in the
lookout position at the bow, his own eyes fixed warily on the river, ready to
shout warning of flotsam or reefs, and Harl and Dervin were settling to sleep
on the canvas-wrapped cargo that filled the scuppers.

 
          
That
was an added benefit. A hold filled with early fruit from Ust-Galich would
fetch a fine price in Bayard, and the message Tam carried for Xendral, the
Keshi
landril,
should earn the bounty
he had promised himself and his brothers. The Lady alone knew how many boats,
how many mehdri, were bringing word to the nobles of the Three Kingdoms of the
impending coronation, or how grateful Xendral might be to receive his summons
so swiftly. Tam had already received payment from the White Palace for carrying
the document that now sat snug between his shirt and leathern jerkin, but there
was never harm in hoping for more and so he had kept the
Vendrelle
moving through three nights now, docking only briefly to
sample the thick, sweet beer the Keshis brewed and snatch a hurried meal when
his brothers became overly insistent. Otherwise they had sailed relentlessly
northward, holding to midstream, where the wind blew stronger and there were
fewer vessels to impede their passage.

 
          
Aye,
Tarn
thought, we should reach Bayard by late
morning. The fruit can be off-loaded and I can leave Nathan to negotiate the
sale for he’s skillful enough to command the best price, while I take this
message to Xendral. He patted his chest, hearing the stiff parchment rustle
comfortingly, the sound equating in his mind with the clatter of coins falling
into his palm.

 
          
It
augured well for rivermen such as the Lemal brothers that the reign of this new
king should commence with so profitable a journey, not only in terms of the
pecuniary rewards, but also in the honor to be won from carrying his summons.
Tarn smiled at the thought, seeing himself as a royal messenger, even though
his employment had come not from Kedryn Caitin himself, but a palace orderly
who had appeared with a bag well-stuffed with coin and in urgent need of honest
boatmen willing to supplement the ranks of the mehdri, who were overstretched
by the sheer numbers of notables deemed worthy of invitation. The Lady knew it
could do no harm to gather the gentry of the Kingdoms to Audurel, for the past
months had left the land confused and the folk would be reassured to have word
of their new king from the lips of other than passing traders. The war with the
barbarians had been bad enough, but to find that followed by alarming rumors of
King Darr’s death and the assumption of Hattim Sethiyan, aided, it was said, by
Ashar’s foul magics, produced a state of near-panic in the far- flung reaches
of the Kingdoms. No doubt Xendral would set his people’s minds at rest before
traveling
south,
and doubtless return with further
comfort for them after Kedryn had assumed the High Throne.

 
          
Tam
nodded complacently, thinking that with the Chosen One in the
White
Palace
the Three Kingdoms must surely enjoy a time
of peace and prosperity that would benefit all.

 
          
Then
his peace of mind was disrupted by a shout from Nathan and he rose to his feet,
gripping the tiller in both his powerful hands as his eyes strained to follow
his brother s pointing finger.

 
          
“Ware flotsam!"
Nathan bellowed, the shout waking Harl
and Dervin.
“Hard aport!”

 
          
Tam
put the tiller over and the
Vendrelle
swung leftward, Harl and Dervin cursing as the motion rolled them from the
stacked cargo into the scuppers.

 
          
“Blood of the Lady!”
Tam heard his brother shout from the
prow,
then
echoed the oath as he saw the object Nathan
had spotted. He was not sure what it was—could not be for it seemed to have no
distinct shape—seeing only the vast bulk of green tinged blue-black that humped
from the water on his right.
A floating hulk?
A turtled vessel?
He was not certain. No eyots were charted on
this part of the river, yet the
Vendrelle
might have beached on that indistinct mass. Or grounded and sunk had he not
acted so promptly! Anger stoked his tongue as he shouted at Nathan.

 
          
“Do
you sleep up there, brother? How could you miss that?”

 
          
“It
was not there!” Nathan’s answer was tinged with disbelief and more than a
little fear. “I swear it on the Lady—it was not there!”

 
          
Tam
snorted, turning about as the
Vendrelle
passed the thing to study it. It was, without doubt, curious, for it seemed not
to reflect the stars or the moon that lit the night sky well enough, and he
knew Nathan to be the keenest-eyed of them all. He opened his mouth to say, “It
must have been,” but the words became a gargle of incredulity as he saw the
shape slide beneath the water, leaving behind a swirling pool of light-
speckled disturbance.

 
          
“What
goes?” Harl demanded surlily. “Do you deny us sleep?”

 
          
“Starboard and astern!”
Tam bellowed. “Mark the river! What
do you see?”

 
          
Harl
scampered over the cargo to peer downriver, shaking his head. Dervin, who had
landed in the scuppers beneath his brother, struggled upright cursing with all
the fluency of a bom riverman. Harl called, “I see nothing.”

 
          
Tam
screamed, “Dervin! Beware!”

 
          
Dervin
looked to the stem, the rank terror that he saw etched on Tam’s features
communicating so that his mouth gaped open and he turned slowly about to follow
the direction of his brother’s bulging eyes, his own growing to great owlish
circles as he found himself staring into a vast, fang-edged maw about which
writhed greasy tendrils seemingly equipped with a life of their own. His jaw
dropped and he staggered back, stark fear slowing his movements as he raised
ineffectual hands against a creature of nightmarish delineament.

 
          
Tam
reacted faster: he hauled the tiller over, sending the barque hard to
starboard, trusting in his brothers’ riverblood to lay hands to lines and hold
their position as the
Vendrelle
leaned
perilously over,
knowing
only that he must bring his
craft away from that awful leviathan.

 
          
The
barque was a dancer, built for speed, and she responded eagerly, surging away
from the creature as if her insensate boards knew the peril that threatened.
But the monster was faster still and
Tarn
saw a
massive, wedge-shaped head thrust forward on serpentine neck to snatch Dervin
from his place. For an instant he saw one huge, red-orbed eye, but then he
could see nothing save the kicking legs of his brother as the jaws closed and
cut off Dervin’s scream.

 
          
Blood
spurted in thick gushes from between the oily-looking lips, visible only in the
moonlight and the fluorescence of the river, for the skin of the thing seemed
to absorb light, only the glowing eyes and the jagged ivory fangs clearly
discernible. Tam heard a ghastly crunching sound, and Dervin’s legs disappeared
into the maw.

 
          
“Lady
preserve us!” he heard Nathan yell and screamed back, “Set the foresail!”
hoping they might outrun whatever demon the Idre had conjured up to assail
them.

 
          
He
crouched by the tiller, unaware of the liquid that fear sent spilling into his
breeks as he mouthed a prayer that the Lady grant them the speed to outpace the
creature, instinct governing his actions as he put his helm over in a desperate
attempt to reach the too-distant shore. At the prow, Nathan hauled the sheets
that brought the triangular foresail to position and forced his trembling
fingers to lash them fast. Then he snatched a knife from his belt and flailed
the blade wildly at the head swooping toward him. The whetted edge hacked
against a tendril as effectively as if he sought to carve granite, and the
writhing, vermicular thing fastened about his arm, others securing his legs so
that he found himself lifted from the deck of the barque and swung aloft, for
all the
world like some tidbit the monster dangled above its
hideous mouth. Tam screamed imprecations as he saw that the behemoth paced his
craft as easily as a Keshi charger might pace a plow horse, then closed his
eyes, unwilling to witness his brother’s descent into that gaping pit of teeth.