Angus Wells - The Kingdoms 03 (21 page)

 
          
Gerat
nodded, then: “Shall we reach Genyff by the half moon?”

 
          
“All
being well,”
came
the complacent answer.

 
          
“Can
you
be
sure Kedryn will be there?”
Donella, the acolyte, asked, her voice a trifle breathless, for she had no
great love of this perilous descent.

 
          
Gerat
turned on the high driving seat to see the acolyte clutching tenaciously to the
carriage sides, her usually calm face tense, and wished that Donella had told
her she had no head for heights before they had departed Estrevan. She smiled
reassuringly and said, “He sails on the first full moon after the coronation.
The journey up the Idre will last at least to the half moon, so—aye, we can be
reasonably sure.”

 
          
“Unless,”
said Donella, peering over the carriage side to the flank of tree-covered
hillside that swept away on her left, “we overturn. Or lose a wheel.”

 
          
“We’ll
not spill,” said Wyxx amiably. “And our wheels are sound. Have I not checked
the carriage each night?”

 
          
“Have
faith, child,” smiled Gerat.
Then clutched the woodwork
herself as the carriage slewed around a curve, the outer wheels dislodging a
tumble of stones that bounced away down the hillside.
“Have faith.”

 
          
Wyxx
clucked, flicking the reins to drive the horses a little faster, hauling the
vehicle clear of the angled section, its surface slippery where the stream had
overspilled its bank and run across the trail.

 
          
“Nothing
to fear,” he said over his shoulder.

 
          
Donella
did not reply because her eyes were closed tight and her lips were moving in a
silent prayer. Nor did Gerat speak because her thoughts had returned to the
matter of Qualle's book and the abrupt reminder that their journey was not
without a degree of peril prompted her to commence worrying again.

 
          
Were her Sisters right
in their belief that the book
contained no more than the arcane ramblings of a woman whose sanity was, in the
most charitable estimate, questionable?

 
          
Was
their opinion that the prophecies set down by Alaria were all fulfilled
correct?

 
          
Certainly,
they disapproved of her departure from Estrevan. Even Lavia, who would
willingly have gone in her place, deemed it unseemly and unwise that the
Paramount Sister should quit the city. Yet she could not see any alternative.
It was as though some voice she could not properly hear whispered about the
outer limits of her perception; as if the partially remembered fragments of a
dream lingered in her consciousness. It was an imperative she could not deny,
even though she could not explain it, and that in itself was strange, for she
was a pragmatic woman, usually able to comprehend and explain her impulses.
What she had read in Qualle’s book she did not properly understand, yet it
seemed some meaning had penetrated her inner consciousness, even taken hold of
her, for here she was, perched on the swaying seat of a carriage doing what no
Paramount Sister in living memory had done, breaking with all tradition to
attempt a rendezvous at which she did not know what she would say.

 
          
It
did not matter, she decided as the roadway flattened, curving around a spur,
what she felt; she felt and the power of that feeling was such that it could
come only from the Lady. She knew what she must do and she would do it, even if
it meant no more than handing to Kedryn the parchments contained in her
satchel.

 
          
“Have
faith,” she murmured, this time to herself.

 
          
“No
need to worry,” said Wyxx, misunderstanding her. “We’ll be off the Geflyn in a
day or two and the way runs flat from there.”

 
          
Gerat
smiled, forcing herself to study the magnificent terrain.

 
          
“We,”
said Kedryn, glancing at Wynett and wondering if he sounded pompous, “are
confident we leave the Kingdoms in good hands. Our council is formed and on it
sit
men trusted by all. Your loyalty and your wisdom are
undoubted, and we have faith that you will govern well.”

 
          
“You
have, after all,” he added softly so that only Wynett heard him, “more practice
than us.”

 
          
The
men and women gathered in the royal council chamber nodded, only Gerryl Hymet
looking as though he doubted the veracity of Kedryn’s words. His long face was
almost mournful and Jarl clapped him stoutly on the shoulder, saying, “Fear
not, my friend, this matter of governing is not so difficult.”

 
          
“You
set enough objections to Kemm’s appointment,” his wife remarked tartly,
prompting a black look from the Lord of Kesh.

 
          
“We
shall ward your realm,” Bedyr promised gravely. “Have no fear.”

 
          
“I—we—do
not,” said Kedryn. “And after we have visited Estrevan we shall return.”

           
“You will sojourn a while a Caitin
Hold, will you not?” asked Yrla. “It would be as well were you to attend affairs
there before returning.”

 
          
Kedryn
nodded enthusiastically, smiling his thanks to his mother for making such a
delay easier. Yrla smiled back, knowing that her son harbored a longing to see
his home again after so long away.

 
          
“Then
we are done,” said Bedyr. “The council is formed and the measures of future
appointment set in motion. You will ask of Gerat that she issue a fiat
instructing her Sisters to attend all those who seek a place?”

 
          
“I
will,” Kedryn promised.

 
          
“Do
not be gone too long,” his father smiled. “You are not alone in your desire to
see our homeland.”

 
          
“No.”
Kedryn shook his head, raising his voice for the benefit of the others. “I know
that you all wish to return to your homes, and I thank you for your aid in
this.”

 
          
“I
am perfectly happy to remain in Andurel,” remarked Arlynne, rearranging the
skirts of her latest gown, the movement jangling the array of bracelets she
wore.

 
          
“As
are the merchants of Andurel to have you here,” grunted Jarl, “though my
treasury is less happy.”

 
          
Arlynne
smiled at her hawk-faced husband and patted his hand. “You need only breed more
of your horses,” she said cheerfully. “Now that Kedryn has opened trade with
the Beltrevan you can find a new market
. ”

 
          
Jarl
snorted, but the smile that curved his thick lips suggested that the prospect
was not without its attractions.

 
          
“So
you sail on the morrow,” said Yrla, a note of regret in her voice. “It seems so
soon.”

 
          
“Galen
tells me the full moon offers the best tide,” Kedryn nodded, feeling
himself
a little saddened now that departure was so
imminent. Confinement in Andurel had been a constraint he had longed to break,
but at least it had been a confinement among those he loved, and now that he
was about to find the freedom he planned for he realized that he would miss his
parents and the others he had come to know so well.

 
          
“Galen
mans your barge?” asked Yrla, as much to dispel the note of sorrow as for any
other reason.

 
          
“He
has agreed to leave his beloved
Vashti
here,” confirmed Kedryn. “She is to be dry-docked while he captains the barge.”

 
          
“It
is good to know you will be in safe hands,” Yrla said with maternal concern,
glancing to where Tepshen Lahl and Brannoc stood.

 
          
“No
harm shall come to him whilst I live,” said the kyo.

 
          
“With
these two champions on guard, you need have no fear.” Bedyr set an arm about
his wife’s waist. “And what harm can there be in a journey to Estrevan?”

 
          
Kedryn
smiled encouragingly, wondering what his father might make of Galen Sadreth’s
stories of disappeared vessels. He had not mentioned the riverman’s gloomy yam
to anyone, and had pressed both Tepshen and Brannoc to silence on the matter,
for he could see no reason to cause alarm with so nebulous a tale, and knew
that if any present had the slightest suspicion there might be danger in the
trip they would argue fervently against his going. And what harm could befall?
As Bedyr said, he was guarded by champions, and the barge would carry a squad
of Tamurin bowmen together with a complement of warriors, surely safeguard
enough against any attack.

 
          
“Be
of good cheer,” he urged his mother, taking her hands. “We shall be safe
enough, and return soon enough.”

 
          
Yrla
nodded, essaying a smile that could not entirely hide her regret at having her
son taken once more from her. She studied him, seeing Bedyr reflected in
Kedryn’s tall frame, and told herself it was time she accepted he was a grown
man, married and crowned, with his own life to lead. She was too good a mother
to deny him that right and she forced a greater cheer than she felt into her
expression as she murmured, “I know, my dear, and you must forgive me these
maternal foolishnesses.”

 
          
“I
do,” Kedryn said, with
all his
father’s gravity.

 
          
“He
will be safe.” Wynett stood beside them, her own smile confident. “We shall be
well guarded, and besides—-do we not wear the Lady’s talismans?”

 
          
She
touched the blue stone that hung with the medallion of her office about her
slender throat and Yrla’s expression grew more genuine at the reminder. “Then
mayhap we should attend the dining hall,” she suggested. “There is the final
banquet requires your presence.”

 
          
Kedryn
groaned at the thought, for it seemed he had done little the past few weeks
save eat and dance and talk. There had been banquets in honor of Tamur, and for
Kesh, and for Ust-Galich; in honor of Gerryl Hymet; in honor of the Sisterhood;
in honor, it seemed, of anyone with the slightest claim to acquaintanceship or
royal notice. In that respect alone he looked forward with pleasure to his
departure, for he was wearied with the seemingly endless formalities and longed
for the simpler life he anticipated on the journey.

 
          
At
his side Wynett smiled innocently and said, “And there will be dancing after.”

 
          
Kedryn
groaned afresh at the thought.

 
          
Nonetheless,
he performed his duties with good grace and still succeeded in persuading
Wynett from the floor before the hour grew too late, finding their bed in good
time, so that they slept soundly and rose not long after dawn, their excitement
mounting as they dressed in preparation for departure.

 
          
It
was another fine day, the sky clear and the sun already warm enough to lift the
early chill. Andurel glittered, jewellike, as they rode their horses to the
harbor, a squadron of the Royal Guard trotting proud before them, the Tamurin
archers and warriors marching sturdily behind. Bedyr, Yrla, Jarl, Arlynne, and
Kemm composed the farewell party, and Kedryn rode between Wynett and
Ashrivelle, smiling broadly at the folk who greeted them along the way.

 
          
They
reached the harbor and saw Galen Sadreth awaiting them, decked in a flamboyant
tunic of purple, the trident emblem of the river guild on one breast, the
tripartite crown on the other. The travelers had chosen simpler garb, Kedryn
readily reassuming his plain tunic and breeks, his sword once more at his side,
while Wynett and Ashrivelle both wore gowns of practical cut, designed for the
relatively close quarters of the barge rather than for the banqueting hall.