Angus Wells - The Kingdoms 03 (41 page)

 
          
“Forgive
me,” Lavia apologized, somewhat tartly, “but I have received word from Gerat
that brooks no delay in answer. It would seem that her fears were justified.”

 
          
“Qualle’s
writings have meaning?”

 
          
Porelle
sounded doubtful and Lavia nodded gravely, her expression stilling any further
interruption. “Wynett has been taken by a creature of the netherworld,” she announced,
“and Kedryn—accompanied by Tepshen Lahl and the former outlaw, Brannoc—has gone
into the Beltrevan, his purpose to enter the netherworld and save Wynett.”

 
          
“Both
talismans are in the netherworld?” Reena’s plain features grew stark as the
import of that statement sank in.

 
          
“Wynett’s,
without doubt; Kedryn’s, perhaps,” Lavia nodded. “Gerat surmises that Ashar sets
a trap that Qualle foresaw
. ”

           
“He should not have gone!” Porelle
glanced at her Sisters. “It is too dangerous.”

           
“He would not be dissuaded,” said
Lavia. “And further, Gerat believes that it is a gamble worth the taking. She
considers it an opportunity to destroy the god.”

 
          
“Or
grant him unimaginable powers,” said Porelle. “Should he succeed in securing
both talismans he will overcome any measures we may take to thwart him. With
the talismans in his possession he will be able to breach the defenses Kyrie
herself placed about the Kingdoms.”

 
          
‘The
talismans must be given,” Jara reminded them. “They may not be taken by force
whilst the rightful owner lives.”

           
“Even so,” murmured Porelle, her
eyes troubled. “Ashar is a god of lies and
deception,
mayhap he will trick one of them, or both, into presenting him their stone.”

           
“Wynett will not be easily
beguiled,” Reena said, “but what of Kedryn? Lavia, you have met him—do you
think he might be deceived?”

 
          
Lavia
shook her head. “Not easily.”

 
          
‘The
fate of the Kingdoms hangs on that,” Porelle said nervously.

 
          
“Aye,”
Lavia nodded, “what this action may unleash could turn the world on its head.”

 
          
“I
had misjudged Qualle,” Jara remarked thoughtfully. “It seems that in her
madness she spoke the truth.”

 
          
Three
faces turned toward her and her wrinkled features creased further in a wry
smile. “Do you not see it now? Gerat was right from the start, perchance
inspired by the Lady.”

           
“To send Kedryn
into the netherworld?”
Porelle
demanded,
her
question harsh with doubt.

           
“To send him there to slay Ashar,”
Jara confirmed. “I doubt, in any event, that she could have stopped him. Nor
would she send him to that limbo without the protection of the talisman.”

 
          
“That
Wynett is taken is misfortune enough,” Porelle argued. “Surely to further risk
the second talisman is . . . unwise.”

 
          
Jara
shook her silver head. “Mayhap not, even though the absence of the one half
must inevitably weaken our defenses against the god’s minions; but the rest is
a gamble I have no doubt Gerat has taken only after much calculation.”

 
          
“She
believes it the only way to secure Wynett’s stone,” Lavia said. “Listen, I
shall read you her message.”

 
          
They
sat in silence as she read the words. When she had finished Jara said, “Aye, I
see it, and although I doubted her wisdom in traveling to Gennyf I now find
myself in agreement.”

 
          
“As
I do,” Lavia declared.

 
          
“Do
we have sufficient Senders?” Porelle wondered. “And can we channel our strength
in such a way?”

 
          
“It
has never been attempted,” Lavia said, “therefore we cannot know, but it is
possible.”

 
          
“In
theory,” Reena said doubtfully. “But in practice?”

 
          
“We
shall find out,” said Lavia. “Let us gather all our Senders and explain what is
needed of them. Then we must arrange transport. Word is already delivered to
the Morfah garrison and Chatelain Lyon stands ready to support our efforts.”
“Wait!” Porelle raised a hand in protest. “Should we not first consider the
possible consequences? If we establish linkage with Gerat in High Fort, and she
is able to project the full strength of Estrevan into the netherworld, then we
also create a potential channel down which Ashar may send
his
evil might.

           
Should he secure the talismans he
may use them to return our own strength against us—that very linkage we
establish might well open the way for the god to strike at Estrevan itself!”

 
          
The
others paused, contemplating her warning. Jara said, “Gerat is still Paramount
Sister—do you question her clear instructions?”

 
          
“Mayhap
Gerat is too close to the problem,” Porelle replied. “Mayhap she had failed to
see the awful potential should her plan fail.”

 
          
“I
doubt that,” said Lavia.

 
          
“But,” murmured Reena, glancing at Porelle, “it is still possible
that this is a part of Ashar’s fell design.
Mayhap he seeks this very
channel to attack us.”

 
          
Lavia
sighed, ducking her age-streaked head in reluctant agreement. “Mayhap,” she
acknowledged. “But to do that he must first secure the talismans.”

 
          
“Therefore
all our hopes rest on the integrity of Wynett and Kedryn,” Porelle responded.

 
          
“Indeed,”
said Lavia, “and it is Gerat’s opinion that we may best lend aid by taking this
chance.”

 
          
“It
is a tremendous gamble,” Porelle protested.

 
          
“Aye,”
confirmed Lavia, “it is. This game is riddled with snares, but I see no other
way than to comply with Gerat’s instructions.”

 
          
“Nor
I,” said Jara. “Let us gather the Senders.”

 
          
“Can
we rely on Kedryn alone to save Wynett?” asked Reena.

 
          
“We
face terrible consequences should he fail,” said Lavia.

           
Reena nodded, smiling
apologetically at the young woman beside her. “Then I must vote in favor.”

           
Porelle sighed, shaking her head in
resignation. “I fear that we play into Ashar’s hands, but let it be done.”

 
          
“Let
us place our faith in the Lady,” Lavia suggested, “and in Gerat’s undoubted
wisdom.”

 
          
She
rose, allowing no further opportunity for debate, and hurried from the chamber
with the others close behind. Soon all of Estrevan’s Senders were gathered,
their faces grave as she explained the nature of the task before them. She saw
fear flicker in some eyes, excitement in others, for all there knew that what
they were asked to do might well leave them mad, or destroyed by Ashar, and that
no such thing had been attempted in the history of Estrevan. But none demurred,
and by nightfall the wagons were lumbering across the plain carrying Sisters to
the
Morfah
Pass
and beyond.

 
          
Kedryn
savored the roast venison won by Brannoc’s marksmanship as he stretched before
the fire. Across the blaze, over which a haunch was spitted, Tepshen Lahl sat
whetting his blade, his sallow (ace a mask of concentration. Brannoc squatted
cross-legged, chewing on the succulent meat with evident pleasure.

 
          
“Did
we but have a skin of wine,” he remarked, “this would be perfection.”

 
          
Kedryn
grimaced, recalling the effects of the Caroc liquor, more than content to forgo
such vinous pleasures and still embarrassed by the results. Long days had
passed since their encounter with the woodlanders, and they had met no others,
although numerous tracks had been found, at first those of Caroc bands moving
east and south, then more recently, those of Drott. They had avoided contact,
aware that the time of the Drott Gathering drew steadily closer, impressing
upon them an ever greater urgency as they approached Drul’s Mound.

 
          
“How
long?” he asked the half-breed.

 
          
Brannoc
wiped his mouth and shrugged.
“A day and a half; perhaps two.
No more, unless we are delayed.”

 
          
Kedryn
nodded,
his thoughts on the increasing signs of tribal
activity. “Shall we be delayed?”

 
          
“If
the Lady favors us and my woodscrait holds
good
, no.”
Brannoc’s face was innocent of expression, which to Kedryn indicated doubt.
“These tracks we have seen,” he began.

 
          
“They
meander,” said Brannoc.

 
          
“They
appear to move toward the mound,” Kedryn argued.

 
          
“If
they are there, they are there.” Tepshen’s sword slid into the scabbard,
punctuating the sentence.

 
          
“And
will oppose us,” said Kedryn.

 
          
The
kyo stared at him, saying nothing, his very silence lethally eloquent. Kedryn
shook his head: “I would avoid bloodshed.”

 
          
“It
may not avoid us,” the easterner said flatly, “and so it is time to speak
plainly—you seek Wynett and it would seem the only path to her lies through Drul’s
Mound. If Drott are there they will not permit that desecration and therefore
bar our passage. Do you forbid us to slay them?”

 
          
Kedryn
stared across the fire at his friend, aware for the first time of the change in
their relationship. He had grown accustomed to look to Tepshen for guidance, no
less than he sought and accepted the advice of his father, yet since that
morning—so long ago, it seemed!—on the high roof of the White Palace he had
formulated his own decisions, looking not to them but inside himself for the
answers. It had been so natural a process it had not occurred to him that he no
longer turned to Bedyr or Tepshen, or that the kyo followed his lead with
unquestioning loyalty.
Until now.

 
          
He
frowned,
his eyes troubled, for Tepshen presented him
with a quandary. “You know my belief,” he said slowly. “We go on the Lady’s
business and she does not welcome the careless shedding of blood. I would not
jeopardize the success of this quest with the taint of casual killing.”

 
          
“Casual?”
Tepshen asked softly, his jet eyes hooded. “What if it is the only way to the
mound?”

 
          
Kedryn
sighed, shaking his head. “I do not know. I can only trust in the Lady.”

 
          
“This
is Ashar’s domain,” Tepshen said gently. “Might it not be that the god seeks to
oppose your coming by the presentation of human obstacles?”

 
          
‘Then
to kill would be to take his path,” Kedryn responded.

 
          
“
Which may prove the only path.
Again I ask: do you forbid
the use of blades?”

 
          
Kedryn
studied the flat planes of the easterner’s face. Firelight threw shadows from
the high cheekbones, the dark eyes gleaming within the darkness. It was an
impassive visage, intractable, and it offered no solution to his dilemma.

 
          
That
came from Brannoc, who said, “If we are lucky—if the Lady rides with us—it may
not come to that.” He glanced up at the filling moon that showed through the
latticework of branches. “The time of the Gathering is yet four, perhaps five,
days distant and Drott custom has it that the ulan must come first to the
mound, on the first day of the full moon. Until then none may approach. The
clans come slowly, scattered, and the tracks we have seen are those wandering
toward the place. If we ride by night and day we should have time—so long as we
avoid all contact.”