Angus Wells - The Kingdoms 03 (26 page)

 
          
“Then
I should lief begin the preparation of the cantrips,” she announced. “Kedryn,
your presence is not needed and might prove a distraction—will you leave us
alone?”

 
          
Kedryn
nodded, quitting the room as Gerat drew the shutters closed over the windows.
He felt
no desire to return to his own chamber, nor
any
wish for company, and so he avoided the more populous quarters of the hospice
and found his way once more to the little courtyard.

 
          
Although
the sun was close to setting the yard remained warm, the wall against which he
rested his back pleasantly heated, the still air heavy with the scent of
flowers, vibrant with the buzzing of insects. It reminded him of that similar
yard in High Fort, where first he had kissed Wynett, and that memory brought a
sharp stab of pain so that he felt his teeth grit as he fought against the
image that threatened to form in his mind’s eye, of the behemoth rising from
the river, the great maw gaping as Wynett plunged between the awful teeth. He
clasped the talisman, turning his face to the sky, seeking calm in contact with
the stone. In some measure it came, for with the touch he felt that certainty
that Wynett did still live, and with that resolve descended again, the
determination that he would—no matter what the odds—uncover Drill's sword and
enter the netherworld to free Ashar. But it was not the all-consuming certitude
he had known before; not that overwhelming resolution that had carried him into
battle with Niloc Yarrum, nor the unflinching will that had upheld him as he
contested with Taws; not even the conviction that had guided him in forming the
council. That he would attempt the quest was beyond doubt, but behind that lay
a slippery ambiguity, as if not even Kyrie’s talisman, not even die Lady
herself, could be certain of the outcome. Before it had not occurred to him that
he might lose the struggle, the strength of purpose imparted by the blue stone
filling him with unimpeachable optimism, but now there existed an element of
doubt, as if the stone, Gerat, Qualle's words, showed him a way, but not the
outcome.

 
          
This
time, he thought, struggling against the terrifying scepticism that threatened
to assail him, I face a god. They say I am the Chosen One, the only one who may
defeat Ashar, but can I? Can even the Lady protect me in the realms of the
dead? Does her power extend so for, or do I go into a place where Ashar holds
full sway?

 
          
He
shook his head as if to disperse the unwelcome misgivings, staring blindly at
the sky as he mounted a silent prayer to the Lady, asking her for strength, his
fist tight about the jewel, its contours imprinting on his palm.

 
          
There
can be no doubt, he told himself. Doubt is the father of despair, and despair
is to lose all. I will not lose Wynett! I will go into the netherworld and face
Ashar and bring her back!

 
          
Or
I will die in the attempt.

 
          
Slowly
he relaxed his grip on the talisman, peace returning, and a grim certainly. His
eyes focused again and he saw a brace of
hawks
wheel
high above, planning the air currents, outspread wings bearing them
majestically across the heavens. He watched them until they were gone from
sight beyond the walls of the courtyard and lowered his gaze to see bright
butterflies dancing over the flowerbeds, as delicately regal as the birds, and
he smiled, wondering if the Lady sent him a sign.

 
          
He
did not know, but he felt a return of calm, a benison after that threatened
upsurge of panic. He would inevitably suffer reminders of Wynett, for
everywhere he was about to go he had gone before with her, but those, he told
himself, would be memories from which he would draw strength, for each would
recall how much they shared and firm his purpose until he had her back.

 
          
He
watched the butterflies until shadows fell across the yard and they disappeared
into the commencing twilight, and when he looked up he saw that the sun was
close to setting, the sky to the east already dark. He rose to his feet,
stretching his torso
cautiously,
gratified to feel an
easing of the stiffness, knowing that his damaged side mended apace and that
soon he could be gone on his way. The sound of a door opening brought him
round, unaware that his hand fell in reflex action to the dirk sheathed on his
belt, and he saw Tepshen and Brannoc enter the court.

 
          
The
kyo seemed unchanged, but his mien was naturally solemn and now Brannoc wore a
matching expression, as if he had undergone some experience that imposed an
unusual gravity on his cheerful features.

 
          
“Is
Gerat done with you?” Kedryn asked.

 
          
Tepshen
shook his head: “Not yet. A day or two more, she says.”

 
          
“You
appear . . . ,” Kedryn studied Brannoc, “changed.”

 
          
The
half-breed grinned, his natural good humor returning, though there remained in
his dark eyes a faraway look. “I believe I am,” he said. “It was
an
. . . interesting . . . experience.”

 
          
He
offered no further explanation and Kedryn turned to Tepshen, who shrugged
slightly and said, “I recall nothing of it. Gerat lit scented candles and we
sat in near-darkness. She sang and it was as though her voice mesmerized me. It
felt like sleep.”

 
          
Brannoc
nodded and stretched his arms wide. “I feel stronger,” he murmured.
“As though some power awakens in me.”
He turned slowly
around, studying the yard. “It is as though I see more clearly. I feel . . .
confident. Is that what your talisman gives you?”

 
          
“Certainty?
Aye,” Kedryn nodded, “a sense of surety,
a strength
of purpose.”

 
          
“It
is a fine feeling,” Brannoc said. “It banishes doubt.”

 
          
“But
it does not banish hunger,” remarked Tepshen.

 
          
“No,”
agreed the half-breed, no less solemnly.

 
          
They
quit the yard in search of food.

 
          
In
three more days Gerat’s ministrations had healed Kedryn’s ribs. The bruising
disappeared and he was limber as ever, racked now with impatience. The
Paramount Sister declared Tepshen and Brannoc readied, protected to the best of
her ability, and they determined to leave Gennyf on the morrow. Kedryn prepared
messages for Andurel, an official account of his intentions and more personal
letters for his parents; Gerat added her own documents and the package
was
entrusted to Galen. The riverman was still confined to
his bed, saddened at the departure of his friends, but hearty in his blessings
on their venture. Gerat declared her intention of following them north to High
Fort, accompanied by Ashrivelle, and blessed them in the name of the Lady.

 
          
“May
she stand beside you and ward you from evil,” she intoned. “May she strengthen
you in your purpose and guide you back safe.”

 
          
“Amen,”
Kedryn said firmly, echoed by his two companions.

 
          
They
turned to the waiting horses, anxious to be gone.

 
          
Then
Ashrivelle came forward, laying a nervous hand on Kedryn’s arm, worry in her
blue eyes as she gazed at him. He had seen little of her since that morning she
had surprised him, and her manner then had confused him, as if there were
things she wished to say but dared not utter, and so he had avoided her as much
as possible, wary of unwanted complications.

 
          
Now
she stared at him with a mixture of fear and that adoring look he had seen in
Andurel and said, “May the Lady protect you, Kedryn. I would not lose you.”

 
          
He
smiled at her, masking his impatience, and said, “My thanks, Ashrivelle.”

 
          
“I
. . . ” She broke off, then swiftly leaned forward to brush her lips against
his mouth, blushing as she did so and spinning instantly about to retreat into
the group of watching Sisters.

 
          
Kedryn
swung astride his horse, dismissing her from his thoughts as he raised a hand
in farewell and drove his heels against the animal’s flanks. The gelding sprang
forward, hooves clattering on the cobbles, and Kedryn led the way out of
Gennyf, following the ribbon of the Idre northward, to High Fort and the
destiny that waited beyond.

 
          
Wynett
woke bathed in sweat, the claws of nightmare still fastened in her dawning
consciousness, tenacious as burgeoning insanity. For long, agonizing moments
she relived the horror of that twilight attack, seeing the leviathan rise from
the darkened surface of the Idre, its vast crimson orbs encompassing her gaze
so that she could only stare in horror at the monstrosity unleashed from the
peaceful river. She saw it strike at Kedryn, saw Tepshen Lahl and Brannoc flung
aside like rag dolls tossed by a willful child. She saw it heave athwart the
barge, timbers and men alike crushed beneath its massive bulk. She heard her
sister scream and Kedryn roar in outrage and anger.
Saw Galen
Sadreth snatch Kedryn up, and the giant riverman smashed down.
Saw
Kedryn sliding helplessly toward the questing maw, and then that ghastly
orifice hurtle closer as she floated, time slowed by terror, toward the fangs.
She screamed as those wicked teeth closed about her, putrescent breath
assailing her nostrils, her world becoming a place of darkness and fetid stink.

 
          
And
her own screaming brought her to full wakefulness, and she opened her eyes to
sunlight and the scent of flowers.

 
          
She
realized that she clutched the talisman suspended about her throat and that she
was naked in the same moment of disbelief. She blinked and drew a hand across
her eyes, wiping away the sweat of fear, unconsciously summoning the
disciplines imparted by her training with the Sisterhood to impose calm on her
trembling body and agitated mind. Was she alive? Or was this the afterlife
promised the followers of the Lady? Could such be so mundane as to include
sunlight and flowers and sweat? She stared down at her body, instinctively
drawing a sheet of fine, white linen over her breasts, seeing then- heaving
ease as she calmed, aware that the cloth clung to her, moist with the
outpouring of her panic. She closed her eyes and took several deep breaths,
then, fear and curiosity mingling, snapped her lids up and looked about her.

 
          
She
was in a wide bed of pale, honey-colored wood, its covers a startling white,
set in the center of a spacious, airy chamber, its wall and high ceiling no
less immaculate than the sheets, pure as fresh-fallen snow, seamless and
unbroken save by the single tall window through which the sunlight entered. The
floor, too, was white, though
this the
pearly
lactescence of fine marble, hued with gold where the sun struck, gleaming like
the surface of a calm river in midsummer. To either side of the bed stood
fragile tables fashioned of the same pale wood as the couch, each one
supporting an alabaster vase filled with a profusion of flowers that lent the
chamber its delicate scent. At first she could see no door, but then, facing
her, she made out the shape of a portal so finely cut into the dazzling wall
that it was almost invisible. She could see no handle with which to open the
door.

 
          
Confused,
she rested back against die pillows, gathering her wits, the talons of the
nightmare loosed now, hiding back into her memory as she confronted the
reality—or, perhaps more properly, the unreality—of her situation.

 
          
She
squeezed her fist about the talisman and felt its outline dig hard into her
palm: whether dead or alive, it seemed she retained physical awareness. She
lowered her feet to the floor, vaguely surprised to find the marbled surface
pleasantly warm beneath her bare soles, and drew the sheet demurely about her
nudity as she crossed to the window.

 
          
The
casement consisted of a single pane of the purest glass she had seen, finer
than anything in Andurel, set within a frame of what appeared to be wood
bleached so white as to be indistinguishable from the surrounding wall. There
was no obvious catch, but set into the recess at one side were two hinges, so
she pressed on the opposite edge and the entire pane swung smoothly outward. As
if summoned by her action, a warm breeze caressed her face, redolent of
new-mown grass and apple trees heavy with fruit, refreshing, vivifying as
spring water or a fine, chilled wine. She felt the perspiration evaporate from
her brow artd lips as she leaned out, resting her elbows on the embrasure so
that she might study what lay beyond.

 
          
It
was a tranquil scene. She looked down from the height of a high, smooth wall
that appeared as clean as those of her chamber onto a sweep of lawn boundaried
by a sparkling brook. Color exploded from the verdancy of the grass where beds
of flowers broke the smooth spread, scattered in a pleasantly random manner,
busy with the darting of small, bright-plumaged birds. Trees trailed gnarled
limbs thick with foliage over the water of the brook, and rushes thrust tall
leaves upward to meet the descending branches. Beyond the freshet the trees grew
more densely, though not so close as to preclude pleasantly shaded walking, and
from her vantage point she could see that the wood was interspersed with little
meadows, shining a lush green among the darker hues of the timber. Above, the
sky was a translucent blue, soft
billows
of white
cloud floating stately across the azure, the sun a huge, golden disk, so bright
it was edged with silver.

 
          
She
craned out, looking to
either side, and
saw that the
lawns and woodlands appeared to surround the white edifice, which gave no sign
of battlements or any other defensive structure.

 
          
Leaving
the window open, for the breeze was most pleasant, she returned her attention
to the room.

 
          
It
was empty of any furniture save the bed and the two tables, and an examination
of the walls revealed no hidden cupboards so, with the sheet still draped about
her, she approached the door. Like the window it opened at the touch of her
hand.

 
          
She
stepped through into a chamber larger than the other, the ceiling spanned by
heavy beams of light wood, seemingly taken from the same source as the material
of the bed and tables. The walls were again white, but the floor was planked to
match the rafters and spread with rugs woven in subtle patterns of blue and
gray, and silver, shades of red, green, hints of gold, white, and violet, as
though the petals
of a myriad flowers
were scattered
over the boards. Two high windows of the same impossibly perfect glass let in
sunlight, shining on a hearth in which stood a gleaming golden firebox piled with
logs. Two high-backed chairs stood before the fire, padded with silk that was
gold and gray and silver at the same time, between them a low table of
smooth-beaten copper on which sat a black lacquered tray holding a decanter of
glittering crystal and a single goblet of intricate workmanship. Between the
windows, placed so that sunlight should fall on whoever sat before it,
was
a dressing table and a stool covered with the same
delicate fabric as the chairs, and against the wall, to either side of the door,
stood high wardrobes. Past them, set within an arched recess, she saw a tub,
seemingly constructed of gold, faucets of the same bright metal fashioned in
the shape of gaping fishes’ heads. Soap and washcloths and towels were set on a
separate stand beside a sink of pale blue marble. For an instant she thought to
go to it and lave herself of the stickiness left by the nightmare, but then she
thought that such action must leave her naked, vulnerable, and she ignored the
temptation, turning back to her inspection of the room.

 
          
She
moved slowly to the center of the chamber, the carpets a delight beneath her
bare feet, soft as wool and smooth as silk, and saw that another door faced the
inner portal, this one more clearly marked, for there was a handle of gold and
a heavy bolt of the .
same
metal. It was drawn back
and she crossed quickly to slide it shut, then returned to the alcove and let
the sheet fall as she spun the faucets to fill the tub with clean, fresh water
that seemed far too tinglingly real to be part of either a dream or death. She
bathed swiftly and dried herself, then moved toward the wardrobes, gasping as
she opened the first.

 
          
It
was filled with a profusion of garments such as she had never seen, not in
Andurel or any other place, and the second revealed a like plethora of raiment.
Magnificent formal gowns hung there, alongside only slightly more mundane
apparel, robes and riding clothes, filmy pantaloons such as the women of
Ust-Galich favored, and tunics, blouses, nightwear, cloaks; more costumes, it
seemed, than a woman might wear in one lifetime. There were shelves and
interior compartments holding underwear, shoes, boots, jewelry, belts, veils,
scarves, an incredible cornucopia of trinkets, all wrought with the same
delicate workmanship as everything else she had seen in these two unbelievable
rooms.

 
          
She
selected undergarments and a simple gown of blue silk that fastened with tiny,
pearly buttons, cinching it with a belt of silver filigree so intricate it
wound cord-smooth about her waist, and drew soft boots of darker blue hide,
soft as the gown, on her feet.

 
          
She
was, she decided, alive, for she could not believe such material luxuries
existed in death, and that decision led instantly to fresh confusion.

 
          
If
she did live, then where was she? The leviathan had attacked with the lights of
Gennyf in clear sight, but no such place as this existed in that little
riverside town, nor—as best she knew—anywhere within the boundaries of the
Three Kingdoms. She had plunged into the maw of the beast, of that she was
certain, so wherever she was now, presumably the creature had brought her here.
And the creature was remembered from her descent into the underworld—so was
this the netherworld?

 
          
The
thought chilled her, despite the pleasant, summery warmth of the chamber and
she set her hand to the talisman again, holding the stone tight as she voiced a
prayer to the Lady. The stone tingled against her palm, seeming filled with an
internal vibration, as if
its
crystalline structure
trembled with a life of its own, but it offered her no answers and she sensed,
without knowing how, a suppression of its powers.

 
          
She
went to the dressing table, settling on the stool to study her face in the
mirror hinged above the table’s surface. Blue eyes stared back at her, wide
with wonder and more than a little fear, and she quelled incipient panic with
the ordinary gesture of brushing her long, wheat-blond hair. Cosmetics were
arrayed before her but she ignored them, setting the silver- handled brush down
and rising to take a deep, determined breath as she crossed to the outer door
and put her hand on the bolt.

 
          
However
she had come to this mysterious place no harm had so far been offered.
Someone—or, she told herself nervously—some
thing
had undressed her and placed her in the bed, but as best she could tell had
done no more than that, leaving her to sleep until she woke.

 
          
How
long after the attack?

 
          
And what of Kedryn?

 
          
Was
he alive?
Or dead?

 
          
Was
he here?

 
          
Before
trepidation could overcome her she slid the golden bolt back and opened the
door.

 
          
On
a colonnaded balcony that ran around four sides of an interior courtyard
scented with the honeysuckle and magnolia and jasmine that clambered up the
supporting pillars of pink-shaded marble, spreading over the loggia to form a
delightfully shadowed, sweet-perfumed arbor, she looked down on an atrium of
soft yellow flagstones, a fountain of basalt spilling clear water into the
surrounding pool at the center. Benches of the same dark stone were spaced
about the yard, and the three sides she could see were flanked by a stoa so
thick with climbing flowers it seemed more arboreal than lithic. She halted,
confused afresh by this idyllic scene, her sense of unease mounting. She looked
up, seeing a series of balconies climbing toward a square of blue sky, then
along the vine-hung gallery to left and right. Three doors stood to her left
and three to her right and she identified the source of her immediate
confusion, stepping back into the chamber she had just vacated. It was unchanged,
sunlight still streaming through the tall windows in the left-hand wall.
Impossibly: for when she stepped onto the balcony again she confirmed the
chamber was flanked on both sides by the doors, presumably opening into more
rooms.

 
          
She
moved to the door on her left and tried the handle. It turned in her grip, the
door swinging open to reveal a chamber similar to the other in its dimensions,
but tiled in Keshian fashion, the floor a kaleidoscope of geometrically
patterned ceramics, the walls hung with gay tapestries, the ceiling replaced
with a great dome of colored glass that filled the chamber with shifting
patterns of multihued light. There were no windows and when she touched the
wall that must adjoin the chamber she had just vacated it was solid under her
hands. The place was empty and she left it, going along the balcony to the door
beyond her own room, amazement furrowing two shallow lines upon her brow.