Angus Wells - The Kingdoms 03 (22 page)

 
          
“Welcome,”
the giant declared heartily. "By your leave, we sail as soon as we may.”

 
          
He
stepped forward to assist Ashrivelle from her saddle, his massive hands
spanning her waist to lift her down with no more effort than a normally sized
man would expend in playing with a kitten. Kedryn helped Wynett dismount and
they said their farewells, exchanging embraces and kisses, and crossing the
gangplank to the wide deck of the barge.

 
          
Compared
with the sleek
Vashti
the craft was
huge. Two stout masts lifted from the deck, and a bowsprit thrust from the
prow. A poop stood high at the stem, affording Galen a clear view over his
command, and down each side ran two series of recessed benches seating forty
oarsmen. A cabin filled the center of the craft, its walls painted a shining
gold that glittered in the sunlight. The rails and prow were of Estrevan blue
and the gunwales silver, as were the oars that dipped on Galen’s order and
eased the great vessel from the dockside.

 
          
“She’s
a pretty thing,” said Galen as Kedryn brought his party onto the poopdeck. “Not
my lovely
Vashti,
but she’ll do.”

           
“I am pleased you find her to your
liking,” Kedryn grinned, raising a hand in farewell as the barge moved away
from the dock.

 
          
He
watched until the figures standing there grew indistinct against the press of
buildings and then turned to escort the women to the cabin. The
soldiery were
already settled about the deck and before long
Wynett and Ashrivelle had the cabin arranged to their liking. It was
comfortable as a moderately sized room, equipped with chairs and a brazier,
cupboards containing food and drink, and more providing space for their
clothes. In a pinch it could be used for sleeping, though their intention was
to travel by day’s light and find harborage by night. Kedryn left his wife and
her sister there and went to rejoin Galen on the poop, Tepshen and Brannoc with
him.

 
          
The
captain was roaring orders that brought the two lateen sails down to catch the
wind, adjusting his tiller as the sheets billowed and the rowers shipped their
oars, the barge sailing smooth on the spreading bosom of the river.

 
          
“What
news of strange happenings?” Kedryn asked.

 
          
“No
more than I told you,” Galen answered.
“Though since your
coronation river traffic has lessened.”

 
          
Kedryn
gestured to the bowmen, their weapons held in oilskin wraps against the damp,
and the sword-bearing warriors. “With these we should be safe enough,” he
remarked.

 
          
“Aye,”
Galen nodded. “I doubt there’s any would dare attack so well-defended a
vessel.”

 
          
How
wrong they were they discovered as they approached Gennyf.

 
          
For
three days the wind had blown against them and Galen had tacked his craft
against the bluster, finally calling on the rowers to dip their oars as
twilight descended over the Idre and the lights of Gennyf beckoned in the
distance. Like men answering the call of a siren they bent to their task, the
great sweeps rising and felling in disciplined unison, glinting silver in the
dying light. The sails were furled and Kedryn went with Wynett to die prow,
pointing out the welcoming twinkle of the lights marking the riverside town. There
was a stir of activity as all on board readied
themselves
for the landing, the Tamurin eager to set foot on their own soil again. The sun
was gone behind the western horizon leaving only a band of red light across the
sky and the half-f moon hung pale in the east, a sundered disk against the
filigree stars. The Idre was a ribbon of blue velvet, slapping against the bow,
discordant with the steady rhythm of the oars. Kedryn draped an arm about
Wynett, hugging her as he studied the growing string of light that marked their
destination.

 
          
Then
his grip tightened as he saw something lift from the water. A chill that had
nothing to do with the night wind stung his spine and he was suddenly aware of
a tingling sensation where the talisman hung against his chest. He felt Wynett
stiffen in the circle of his arm as she raised a hand to clutch her own half of
the stone. She said, “Kedryn! The talisman!” and he glanced swiftly down to see
the blue jewel glowing between her clutching fingers.

 
          
“The
cabin!” he said. But before she could move from his side the shape rose above
them, blotting out the stars and the moon, gigantic, indistinct in form, but
palpable in the evil that emanated from it. He felt a shock of awful
recognition, knowing that he stared at the creature first encountered in the
gloomy mere of the netherworld, and roared, “To me!
Ware
danger!”

 
          
Tepshen
Lahl and Brannoc were at his side in the instant and the deck thudded with the
pounding feet of archers and swordsmen. Ashrivelle screamed from the cabin and
the barge tilted as Galen put his helm over.

 
          
The
leviathan towered into the night, larger than before, larger than any beast of
the mortal world, eyes like great rubes- cent shields burning with implacable
hatred, tendrils writhing about a gaping maw filled with teeth the size of
swords. The serpentine neck curved upward, lunging sideways as the barge
responded to Galen’s tiller, the jaws encompassing a bowman whole as the vessel
slid past the impossible shape. Oars broke upon its body and a fluke tipped
with wickedly curved talons tore a ragged gash in the starboard gunwale.
Oarsmen screamed as the great paddle crushed them and Kedryn drew his sword as
he saw a volley of arrows rattle against the slimey hide. Rattle and fall away
as if the creature were armored too thick for clothyard shafts to penetrate.

 
          
The
ugly head thrust toward him and he slashed his blade in a curving arc even as
Tepshen and Brannoc raised their own swords in defense.

 
          
The
kyo screamed, “Find the cabin!” as his blade bounced from a questing tendril,
and Kedryn threw Wynett back, his arm jarring as steel met something that was
not flesh, that had no place in the world of men.

 
          
He
saw Brannoc drive his Keshi saber at an eye, the lunge deflected by a tendril
that dashed the half-breed bodily to the deck, and then he felt the barge tilt
beneath him as a fluke found purchase and drove the craft down into the Idre as
if the behemoth sought to clamber on board. More arrows ricocheted uselessly
from the slug-like hide as he slid over the planks, scrabbling desperately to
his feet as he saw the hellgate mouth open, the hideously blank orbs burning
with red purpose. Tepshen hacked again, a great two-handed swing that would
have sundered a man, but seemed to have no effect on the beast. A tendril
snaked, seemingly of its own volition, about the kyo’s waist and tossed him
aside, sending him spinning through the air as the maw continued its awful
progress toward Kedryn.

 
          
He
could no longer stand upright, for the barge was taking water, half its
starboard planking stove in like match- wood, oarsmen screaming piteously as
the tremendous weight smashed down upon them and the taloned flukes raked out
their lives. Warriors slid helpless across the canting deck and Kedryn clutched
a rope and cut savagely at the descending jaws, his steel smashing against the
fangs that snapped shut a handsbreadth from his face. Stinking breath gusted
over him, redolent of decay and corruption, and he gagged on its nauseous reek,
feeling his feet go out beneath him. He clung to the rope for long,
heart-stopping moments as the head drew back, flicking irritably from side to
side as the few men still able to wield sword or bow assailed it from both
sides, his feet swinging over the water that now welled dangerously close. Then
a hand closed on his tunic and he was snatched back, the jaws colliding with
the tilted deck, driving into the boards as Galen Sadreth flung him to the
temporary safety of the cabin’s side, now almost horizontal. He saw Ashrivelle
clinging wide-eyed and screaming to the portside gunwale and turned with
upraised blade to seek Wynett.

 
          
Brannoc
was manhandling her across the tilted deck, pushing her to his side, and he
took her hand, dragging her onto the cabin.

 
          
The
head rose again, splintered planking spilling from
the ,
aws, and the furnace eyes swung again toward Kedryn. He leard Galen yell, “It
seeks you!” and saw the riverman hurl limself between the behemoth and its
quarry.

 
          
A
tendril flicked die giant’s weight aside as easily as Galen had lifted
Ashrivelle from her horse. Then a fluke stove in the roof of the cabin and
Kedryn felt himself falling again, toppling toward the anticipatory gape of the
hideous maw. He fastened a hand against the ragged edge of the structure and
swung his sword at the monster’s snout.

 
          
Above
his head he heard Wynett scream, “No! you shall not have him!” and screamed
himself as he saw her plunge past him, one hand outthrust in denial, the other
clasped about the talisman she wore. Saw her fell between the jaws, and the
jaws close about her.

 
          
He
saw the great head lift, oily lips closed tight, and let go his hold on the
cabin, intent on reaching the leviathan, intent on prising the jaws apart even
though it meant his death.

 
          
He
slithered over the jagged wood, sword driving at the snake neck, and felt a
tremendous blow against his ribs, hurling him away as pain flared like fire in
his side and a far greater pain burned in his soul as the monstrous creature
slid from the sinking barge and dove beneath the corpse-littered surface of the
Idre.

 
          
He
gasped, “Wynett!” and then water filled his mouth and despair filled his heart
as darkness closed about him.

 
          
Kedryn
swam in darkness, a stygian gloom filled with such soul-numbing despair that
panic gripped him and he struggled against the insubstantial bonds holding him
within that aphotic limbo. Whatever clutched him grew stronger as he fought its
retention and his exertions became more desperate, driven by a will that was
governed by the single heartrending memory of Wynett tumbling helpless into the
gaping maw of the leviathan. He choked out her name, and realized, less through
the conscious processes of his mind than through his body’s immanent knowledge
of itself, that water did not fill his lungs; he did not drown, nor did fangs
rend him: he was alive.

 
          
He
opened his eyes.

 
          
And
saw two orbs of blue, clouded with concern, close to his face.

 
          
A
voice he did not know said, “Kedryn! Kedryn, be still.”

 
          
There
was such benign command in that voice that his limbs ceased their struggling
without mental instruction, falling not into water, but onto the soft sheets of
a bed. He blinked, focusing his gaze, and saw the eyes belonged to a woman of
indeterminate age, not young but neither old, her face tanned, her hair a sleek
black, shining in the sunlight that filtered through the thick panes of glass
above and behind her.

 
          
“I
am Gerat,” she said, “Paramount Sister of Estrevan. And you are safe in Gennyf.
In the hospice of the Sisters.”

 
          
He
said, “Wynett?”

 
          
Gerat
let go his arms and placed a hand upon his forehead, the gentle pressure
forcing him back against the pillows more effectively than any strength. “Drink
this.”

 
          
She
held a cup to his lips and the tone of her voice, though not
an
order
, compelled obedience. He drank, wincing at the bitter taste, and
felt
a calm
he could not welcome grip him.

 
          
“Good.”
Gerat smiled thinly and set the cup aside. “Now listen to me, for my concern is
no less than yours, and what I must say to you is not easy for either of us.”

 
          
“Wynett?”
he repeated, aware that his voice was slurring about a thickened tongue,
feeling a lassitude assail his limbs and fighting against it, uselessly.

 
          
“Wynett
is taken,” Gerat said. “Lie still! There is nothing you can do for now and you
must rest.”

 
          
She
placed hands against his shoulders as he struggled to rise, her gaze and the
inflections of her voice combining with the potion he had drunk to overcome the
panic that once more threatened so that he could do no more than allow her to
press him back, helpless now as a newborn babe, and as insensately resentful of
the cataclysmic disruption of his world.

 
          
“You
must listen to me,” Gerat repeated. “If you are to do anything for Wynett you
must listen to me. Will you listen to me, Kedryn?”

 
          
The
urgency of her tone penetrated his anguish and he nodded dumbly, his head
heavy, thick with grief.

 
          
“Your
ribs are cracked,” she said. “They will mend soon enough, but until they do you
must rest. And before they are mended, there is nothing you can do. Now tell me
what you saw; tell me what happened.”

 
          
“The
beast came,” he mumbled, vaguely surprised that he was able to speak and then
grateful as his voice gained strength, seemingly from the hand she touched to
his lips. “The beast we saw in the netherworld. It rose from the Idre to attack
the barge. It was about to take me, but
Wynett. . .”
He broke off, tears forming unnoticed in his eyes, coursing down his cheeks.
“Wynett threw herself at it and it took her in my place.”

 
          
Gerat
reached to brush the tears away, her hand gentle as her eyes. “Did she wear the
talisman?”

 
          
“Always,”
Kedryn nodded. “It was in her hand.”

 
          
The
image was vivid in the eye of his mind, even as he squeezed his lids tight shut
on that awful vision.

 
          
“Good,”
said Gerat, the satisfaction in her voice snapping his eyes open in surprise.
“If that was the case, then mayhap she lives.”

 
          
“Lives?
How can she live? She fell directly in the mouth of the
beast.”

           
Kedryn stared at the Sister,
disbelief etching sharp lines of pain upon his face. Gerat took his hand, her
own cool and immensely comforting. “You above all should know what power there
is in the talismans,” she said quietly. “What happened when first you saw the
creature, in the netherworld?”

 
          
“It
threatened us,” he said, his own
voice slow
, as if
afraid to clutch at hope that might prove illusory. “It rose before us, but
when it saw the talismans it drew back.”

 
          
Gerat
nodded as though this confirmed some hoped-for belief. “I do not think it can
harm one who wears the talisman.”

 
          
“It
took her in its mouth and carried her under,” Kedryn groaned. “Can the talisman
prevent her from drowning?”

 
          
"I
am not sure,” said Gerat, “but I believe the beast can. I do not believe it was
Ashar’s intention to kill Wynett. You, mayhap, though I suspect he had rather
secure the talismans.” Kedryn
frowned
a question and
the Sister went on, “I believe Ashar sent the beast into this world in mortal
form after you defeated his Messenger because he knows that while you hold
Kyrie’s stone you remain a threat to his ambitions. Mayhap the leviathan was
sent to kill you; mayhap its purpose was to separate you from the talisman, but
I do not believe it can harm one who holds the talisman in faith.”

 
          
“So
where,” asked Kedryn slowly, “is Wynett?”

 
          
“Gone
into the netherworld,” said Gerat.

 
          
“And
good
as dead, therefore,” moaned Kedryn, fresh anguish
in his eyes, bitterness in his voice.

 
          
“Mayhap,”
said the Paramount Sister. “Or mayhap that depends on you. I feel a gathering
of destiny’s threads—were you not so overcome with grief you might well have
wondered what the Paramount Sister of Estrevan does in Gennyf.”

 
          
She
smiled as confusion clouded his features.

 
          
“I
have studied Alaria’s Text at length, Kedryn. That and other writings from our
archives, chief amongst them those of one called Qualle. My fellow Sisters
dismiss Qualle as a madwoman, or believe her words irrelevant, but I felt a
certainty that compelled me to break with all precedent and come here to meet
you. I was not sure until now that the Lady guided me, but these events confirm
what at first I felt only as compulsion.

 
          
“Along
the way I met a mehdri bearing a message from Bethany—that you contemplated a
second descent into the netherworld should I confirm your suspicion that Darr,
and others, might be saved from the fate to which the Messenger condemned them.
Now I wonder if that notion was not placed in your mind by the Lady,” She
reached behind him as he nodded thoughtfully, plumping his pillows that he
might sit straighter, alert now as he studied her face. “I will show you
transcriptions of Qualle’s text when you are better recovered, but for now know
that I translate them as a prophecy that you shall descend into the netherworld
to confront Ashar himself.”

 
          
“To
save Wynett?” he gasped.

 
          
“That,
aye,” confirmed Gerat. “Or mayhap in taking Wynett Ashar falls unwittingly into
a pattern established by the powers that govern even the actions of gods,
unknowingly strengthening your determination.”

 
          
“If
I may save Wynett I will face Ashar,” Kedryn said grimly. “Face him and slay
him if I can.”

 
          
Gerat
nodded again, smoothing the pale blue skirt of her gown. “I believe you can
save her,” she said, the single sentence igniting the fire of his hope, “for I
do not believe she is dead. I think the talisman protected her from the
leviathan, else it would have returned to seek you. As it did not, I believe it
must have gone back to that place from whence it came, bearing Wynett with it.
Now she will be Ashar’s prisoner, but I do not believe the god may harm her
whilst she retains the stone. Or that if he can harm her, he will not so long
as she serves to bait a trap for you.

 
          
“You
are the Chosen One, Kedryn, and Ashar knows that you are his enemy, the mortal
agent of the Lady.”

 
          
“But
if the talisman is protection against even Ashar’s might, then how could the
leviathan harm me?” Kedryn asked.

 
          
“You
might have drowned,” Gerat told him calmly.
“Or been crushed
by the flukes.
Had that blow landed a degree harder, your ribs would be
stove in now, and you dead.”

 
          
“Then
how,” Kedryn demanded, quickly lest fear of the answer still his voice, “can
you be sure Wynett lives?”

 
          
“You
say she held the stone,” said Gerat, “and that suggests she called upon the
Lady. In the face of that power I do not think the beast could close its fangs
upon her. I am not sure death
was
the
intention, for there is something in Qualle’s words that suggests to me the
talisman will be the agency of Ashar’s defeat and for that reason—for doubtless
Ashar knows of the stones and their power—I suspect the god’s intention may
have been to remove the stones from this world.”

 
          
She
paused, her eyes clouding and becoming slightly unfocused, as though she grew
lost in thoughts that locked together like the pieces of a jigsaw, and when she
spoke again her voice was grave. “Were the stones both brought to the
netherworld there would be little on this mortal plane that might stand against
the god’s future minions. Should he have created another like the Messenger,
then that minion would likely prove unstoppable without the talismans. And
should Ashar gain possession of them and bend them to his purpose, he would
have a key to unlock the magic that holds him beyond the Lozins—he could move
freely into the Kingdoms.”

 
          
Kedryn
frowned, dull dread fastening clammy hands upon his soul. “How should he obtain
them?” he asked slowly. “Wynett would not relinquish hers to the mad god.”

 
          
“Not
knowingly,” Gerat agreed, “but remember that Ashar is the god of lies."

 
          
“And,”
Kedryn said softly, his voice dulling as the fire of his hope diminished, “you
cannot be sure Wynett lives.”

 
          
“Touch
your own stone,” Gerat commanded, “and tell me what you feel.”

 
          
Kedryn
raised a leaden arm to fasten a hand about the blue jewel, clutching it within
his fist. It tingled against his palm, seeming to vibrate slightly with a
strange, crystalline life. He closed his eyes,
then
opened them as certainty filled him and he said, not knowing how he knew,
“Wynett lives!”

 
          
Gerat
smiled. “When you stood on the walls of High Fort with Grania to dispel the
gramarye of the Messenger Wynett was with you. Grania recognized what none of
us in the Sisterhood then knew: that your destiny was linked to Wynett. That
joining created a union deeper than may be easily explained, a union enhanced
by the wearing of the talismans. While Wynett lives, her talisman and yours—the
two halves of the one original stone—are attuned, and you will always know she
lives; as she will know you live. The Lady gives you hope, Kedryn!”
“Aye.”
He relinquished his hold on the jewel, his lips
curving in a wan smile. “There is hope. And I must go into the netherworld to
save my love.”