Angus Wells - The Kingdoms 03 (38 page)

 
          
It
had been a topic of barracks conversation for a while, but without answers to
the questions asked, it had lost its flavor soon enough. Kedryn went to parley
with the woodlanders was the generally agreed-upon solution, and because he had
won himself that barbarian title he needed no escort. Most accepted that, but
to Barris it seemed a trifle thin, especially with Kedryn married to Wynett,
who was not a woman Barris would leave in favor of barbarian hospitality. And
now there was another odd visit. This time, he saw from his vantage point atop
the tower, from three Sisters of Kyrie, one of whom bore a most remarkable
resemblance to Wynett.

 
          
“A
wagon approaches!” he bellowed.
“A driver and three Sisters.”

 
          
He
watched the vehicle draw closer, experienced eyes recognizing weariness in the
four horses hauling the carriage, noting the dust that grimed the sides, and
wished that he might be down at the gate to overhear what was said, perhaps
even put a question or two of his own. Instead, he could only study the wagon
as it came up the glacis and halted before the wall, wondering what was going
on as the captain of the watch shouted for the gates to be opened and the wagon
passed from his line of sight.

 
          
Wyxx
halted inside the fortress and stared around, seeming unimpressed by the
grandeur of the citadel. Beside him, Gerat took the hand offered by the captain
and clambered from the seat, sighing as she straightened a back that after so
long on the road felt more accustomed to sitting the wagon than treading firm
ground.

 
          
“I
would speak with Lord Rycol,” she announced as Ashrivelle and Donella were
helped down. “Inform him that Gerat, Paramount Sister of Estrevan, requests
immediate audience.”

 
          
“Sister!”
The captain saluted, startled that the Paramount
Sister herself should come to High Fort. “It shall be done.”

 
          
“My
thanks,” Gerat responded, then to her driver, “I am sure you can find stabling
for the horses and quarters for yourself, friend Wyxx; and you have earned a
rest.”

 
          
Wyxx
nodded and the captain issued instructions that he be escorted to the stables.

 
          
“Donella,
will you find the hospital,” Great suggested to the acolyte, “and I am sure our
Sisters will find you a room.”

 
          
A
soldier was detailed to bring Donella to the quarters of the resident Sisters
and the captain himself brought Gerat and Ashrivelle to Rycol.

 
          
The
chatelain was alone, studying manifests in a wood- paneled chamber overlooking
the Idre. He rose as Gerat entered, bowing.

 
          
“Sister Gerat, Princess Ashrivelle; greetings.
Your presence
is to do with Kedryn?”

 
          
Gerat
studied the hawk-faced soldier, liking him on the instant. She said, “It is, my
Lord Rycol. He has already entered the Beltrevan?”

 
          
Rycol
heard the urgency in her voice and bit off the suggestion that they bathe and
rest, talk later, instead ushering them to chairs, seeing them settled and
pouring wine, his stem features evincing concern as he stood before them.

 
          
“Some
time past, Sister, in company of Tepshen Lahl and Brannoc. He informed me of
your coming.”

 
          
Gerat
nodded. “Then by now he must be close to Drul’s Mound and we have no time to
waste.”

 
          
Rycol
stared at her, brows raised in unspoken query.

 
          
“You
know what he attempts?” asked Gerat, and when Rycol nodded, “Then you must also
know that he rides to gravest danger.
Not only to himself,
but to the Kingdoms.
Should he fail-should Ashar succeed—then what you
faced when the Messenger raised the Horde against you will be as nothing.
Should Ashar suborn the power of the talismans he will be all-powerful.”

 
          
“What
would you have me do?” Rycol asked, bluntly.

 
          
“I
require parchment and pen,” said Gerat. “And mehdri to carry word to my Sisters
in Estrevan.
Your instructions to the commander of the Morfah
fortress.
I would have all the strength of Estrevan stand in readiness
to aid Kedryn.”

 
          
“It
is done,” said Rycol, turning without preamble to the door.

 
          
Darkness
held dreary sway over the atrium as Wynett reached the foot of the stairs and
darted swiftly beneath the cover of the overhanging balcony. The fountain was
no more than a shadow in the gloom, the sound of its musically tinkling water
overwhelmed by the drumming of the rain. The flagstones seemed dulled, their
color leeched by the downpour that transformed them to a single muted sheet of
moisture from which splashes exploded as if the cloudburst sought to shatter
the stone. The perfumes of the flowers were gone, replaced by the warm, wet
odor of the rain, and petals of magnolia and oleander and roses lay
storm-battered and colorless, sad victims of the onslaught. Light showed in a
doorway, the perspectives of the courtyard so altered by the storm that she was
unsure whether she had entered the room beyond or not, and she turned toward
it.

 
          
Eyrik
waited inside, rising as she entered, his expression apologetic, as though he
assumed personal responsibility for the inclemency of the day. It was a small
and cheerful room, the windows shuttered against the gloom and the walls hung
with gay tapestries, niches that held alabaster vases filled with fresh
flowers. Candles burned, their glow cheering. The ceiling was low and plastered
white, like the walls, thick beams of dark, reddish timber lending a homely
air. The table at which he sat was spread with a spotless cloth of white linen,
and that with silver salvers, fine china cups, and a large pot that steamed,
exuding the aromatic scent of tisane.

 
          
“A
foul day,” he remarked, “I am sorry.”

 
          
"Are
you responsible then?” she asked, lightly as she was able, while he held her
chair and saw her seated.

 
          
He
smiled, resuming his place across from her, leaning back as he shook his head.
“Had I such control I should visit nothing but sunshine upon you.
Unless, of course, you desired differently.”

 
          
Wynett
essayed an answering smile, buttering bread still warm from whatever unknown
ovens produced it. “I am minded of the darkness Ashar’s Messenger visited on
High Fort when he sought to sap the will of the defenders.”

 
          
She
glanced at her host—or was he more correctly her cap- tor?—as she said it, but
his face remained bland.

 
          
“I
use no such magics,” he murmured.

 
          
“What
magics do you then use?” she asked, hoping that her tone was sufficiently
bantering as to allay any suspicion.

 
          
“Only
those permitted me,” he smiled, reaching to extract an apple from the bowl set
between them.
“Simple gramaryes.
You appear in better
humor.”

 
          
The
abrupt reference to her mood of the previous night took her somewhat aback and
she wondered if he prevaricated. It seemed too obvious to press her point, so
she smiled, shrugging, and said, “I am.
Despite this doleful
weather.”

 
          
“It
will change in due course,” he promised. “The seasons turn differently here.
Mayhap we shall see the sun again on the morrow."

 
          
Wynett
selected an egg, hard-boiled, and broke the shell. “How did you come here,
Eyrik?”

 
          
Had
she asked casually enough? It seemed so, for he smiled wistfully and said, “By
mischance—like you. I was once no more than other men, but circumstances
brought me here, and here I stay.”

 
          
Wynett
spooned egg. Chewed, thinking, and asked, “Why do you not leave?”

 
          
“I
enjoy this place,” he answered simply, “and 1 am not sure I could leave it.”

 
          
Alarm
clenched her jaw for an instant and she fought it, determined to hold fast to
her resolve to delve as deeply as she might into the mysteries of the place and
his presence. “If you cannot leave,” she said at last, “then how are you able
to aid me? How may I leave?”

 
          
“Circumstances
differ,”
came
the answer, “and as I have told you, it
may be beyond my power to send you forth—it may require Kedryn’s attendance.”

 
          
“Forgive
my ignorance,” she used a napkin to dab her mouth, “but why? Kedryn has no
sorcerous powers.”

 
          
“He
bears the other half of the talisman,” Eyrik said, evenly, his voice calm as
though he explained some minor point of procedure. ‘The strength of the two
stones, united, is—as you know—remarkable.”

 
          
“But
how
shall he find me?” she wondered.
“If I was brought here by the leviathan, and that beast is Ashar’s creation,
then how may Kedryn come here? Must he be swallowed, too?”

           
Eyrik laughed; a musical sound.
“No. I do not believe so extreme a measure will be necessary. Do the talismans
not attune you to one another?”

           
Wynett nodded: how did he know that?
“They do.”

 
          
“And
what does yours tell you?”

 
          
“That
Kedryn lives,” she responded.

 
          
“Then
doubtless he is privy to the same information. He must know that you five, and
so will seek you out. And the talisman will aid him; did it not before?”

 
          
“Aye,”
Wynett ducked her head again; again wondering how he knew, thinking that if he
controlled the images shown by the oracular pool this was an unlikely, an
unexpected, statement. “Then you believe the talisman will ward him should he
venture into this netherworld?”

 
          
“I
have no doubt of it,” said Eyrik. “There will be dangers—but what quest is
without hazard?”

 
          
“And
the talisman will guide him here?” she pressed.

 
          
Eyrik
nodded.
“The talisman and my own small efforts.”

           
“Even though he
come
through Ashar’s domain?”

           
“There will be dangers,” Eyrik
repeated, “but whilst Kedryn holds the talisman he is protected.”

 
          
“Against
the god?” asked Wynett.

 
          
“Ashar
himself is not all-powerful.” For the briefest of instants his gold-flecked
eyes sparked, as though the motes held within the brown whirled. “Does your
goddess not hold sway within the Kingdoms? Has she not penned Ashar behind the
Lozin wall with her own puissance? Did the talisman not overcome Taws?”

 
          
“All
that is true,” Wynett acknowledged, “but if Kedryn enters the netherworld he
comes into a place where Ashar is mightily powerful.”

 
          
“True,”
Eyrik agreed, “but there are powers beyond even the gods. Powers that bind even
them in balance, and I believe the talismans focus that omnipotence.”

 
          
"Then
Kedryn might withstand Ashar?”

 
          
She
wondered if the charging of the air she felt, as though a massive electrical
storm brewed, emanated from the atmosphere or the man seated across the table.
She could feel hairs rise on the nape of her neck; her teeth seemed to tingle.
Did the candles flicker, or was that merely a shifting of the light outside?

 
          
“He
might,” said Eyrik. “Is he not the Chosen One?”

 
          
Wynett
steeled herself and said, “Alaria’s Text suggests he is Ashar’s downfall.”

 
          
Eyrik
showed no reaction other than a shrug, the everpresent smile. “Mayhap he is.
Mayhap he must come into the netherworld for that very reason.”

 
          
“But
what,” she asked slowly, choosing her words with care, “if he should fail?”

 
          
“In what?”
Eyrik demanded.
“In his quest
for you?
Or his possible battle with Ashar?”

 
          
“What
if Ashar should secure the talisman?” she asked.

 
          
“Then
I think that he would have the means to breech the Lozin wall,” Eyrik told her
quietly. “He would have the means to overcome the gramaryes set upon that
barrier and wreak his will upon the Kingdoms.”

 
          
Wynett
suppressed a shudder, horrified by the magnitude of that awful thought. “But if
Ashar cannot harm Kedryn whilst he holds the talisman that is unlikely.”

 
          
Eyrik
nodded.

 
          
“And
what,” she continued doggedly, “
if
Kedryn should find
me but be unable to return? What if we should both remain trapped here?”

 
          
“Trapped?”
Eyrik’s expression grew instantly mournful. “Do you feel trapped? I had hoped
your sojourn was, at the least, sufficiently pleasant that you did not feel
trapped
.”

 
          
His
expression, his manner, was that of a man sorely disappointed at his failure to
make a guest comfortable and Wynett felt an emotion akin to embarrassment. Were
her suspicions unfounded? Was he truly no more than another victim? She forced
a smile and said, “You have made me very comfortable.”

 
          
“I
am glad,” said Eyrik.

 
          
“Though
my question remains,” she added, resolved that he should not equivocate. Trying
with all the skills imparted by

 
          
Estrevan
to read his expression, to determine whether it was irritation or concern that
flickered in his eyes; but with little success.

 
          
“Were
you both unable to return?” His smile Aided, the full lips settling in a
straight, solemn line. “Then I should have two guests and the Kingdoms would
lose their champion.”

 
          
“And
Ashar cross the Lozin barrier?”

 
          
“Mayhap,”
he shrugged. “I do not know.”

 
          
“Are
you not in danger?” She chose to take a different approach, perhaps to find
some other way to the truth. “If you work to unite us and return us, do you not
stand in jeopardy?”

 
          
Eyrik
gestured negligently, casual as some warrior dismissing the likelihood of
battle-hurt.

 
          
“Do
not disquiet yourself with that, flattered though I am by your concern. What I
do, I do from choice.”

 
          
He
appeared genuinely pleased, though Wynett felt his response did not exactly
answer her question. Nonetheless she could see no way to rephrase it without
revealing her doubts. The resolve that had descended upon her with contact with
the talisman remained, but so did the apprehension: the outright confrontation
that must surely come with direct questioning—should her suspicions be
valid—-could only, she felt certain, prove a disadvantage. If Eyrik did work to
aid her, he must be insulted by such doubts; if not, then better he did not
know she suspected his motives. She sipped tisane, seeking another avenue of
exploration.

 
          
“Will
the pool not show whether, or not, Kedryn traverses the netherworld safely?”
she asked at last.

 
          
Eyrik
frowned slightly. “Mayhap not,” he said. “The netherworld does not reveal
itself easily, not even to the pool. Though we may determine how he fares on
his approach.”

 
          
Wynett
nodded, quelling the ugly stirring of distaste that welled at the thought of
that last vision. If—as she was sure it did—the pool had lied to her, then it
might well be revelatory to see what
was Eyrik’s reaction to
a similar image
. It was an unpleasant prospect, but she felt it might
take her another step along the path of discovery, and knowledge must surely
aid her if she did deal with an enemy.