Angus Wells - The Kingdoms 03 (57 page)

 
          
“By the Lady!”
Brannoc muttered when Tepshen was done,
essaying a smile. “I have known hellcats before, but none like that.”

 
          
“Henceforth,”
returned the kyo solemnly, “you had best choose your bedmates with more care.”

 
          
“Until
we quit this place,” Brannoc declared, no less gravely, “I shall sleep alone.
Save for my sword.”

 
          
Wynett
woke to the cheerful play of sunshine on her face, opening her eyes to see the
sky blue beyond the window. She rose, opening the flawless glass, and felt a
breeze gentle on her skin, fresh with the scents of grass and flowers,
delightful after the morbid opacity of the rain. The lawns and woodlands
gleamed with the aftermath, their colors heightened by raindrops and the
brilliance of the sun. Birds fluttered, darting kaleidoscopes of color among
the blossoms, and she felt her spirits lift despite her doubts. She went into
the outer chamber, seeing the chair still firm against the door, and shed her
robe, making swift toilet before selecting a demure gown of soft pink, slippers
of a matching hue.

 
          
On
the balcony outside her rooms the air was heady with the perfume of roses and
magnolia, the atrium a glory of color where Eyrik waited, rising politely as he
caught sight of her face. He lifted a hand in greeting and she essayed a smile,
her mind racing as she descended the arboreal stairs to the breakfast table.
Her decision was as yet unmade, but she knew that she could not delay it and
somehow, in the warm light of the welcome sun, she found it hard to doubt the
sincerity of the tall, chestnut-haired man who beamed as she approached,
radiating pleasure at sight of her.

 
          
“Are
you cheered by this glorious day?” he asked as he saw her seated. “Does the sun
not lift your spirits?”

 
          
She
nodded, accepting the cup he offered, the aromatic steam of the tisane
enticing. She sipped and said, “Aye, the sun is a wondrous cure for poor
humor.”

 
          
Eyrik
nibbled delicately on warm white bread spread with rich, yellow butter, his
gold-flecked eyes alight as he studied her. “I have thought,” he said, “on our
discussion and I see that I was, perhaps, a trifle precipitate. My enthusiasm
was founded on alarm at your distress and the fear that the denizens of these
realms might waylay Kedryn. I desire only to aid you, and that urgency in some
measure rendered me abrupt.” Wynett offered no response save a smile as she
helped herself to eggs and Eyrik paused, watching her before he continued. “I
would not have you think I hurry you to a decision. More important, I would not
have you think I seek to rob you of the talisman! Therefore, I suggest that you
examine the apparatus I have constructed and permit me to explain it as best I
may, and decide after.”

 
          
Wynett
nodded.
“And Kedryn’s danger?
What of that?”

 
          
“It
is very real.” His handsome features grew solemn, his lips pursing as though he
hesitated to outline the jeopardies. Wynett made a small, impatient gesture and
he said, “As best I am able to know, the nether world consists of numerous
overlapping realms. A few are benign as this, but most are fraught with peril.
Some appear tranquil but conceal deceptive hazards; others are overtly
dangerous, filled with malign creatures. To steer a safe course through is no
easy matter—hence my desire to establish a beacon. I believe that my creation
may guide Kedryn and also in some measure protect him.”

 
          
“He
wears the other half of the talisman,” she murmured, seeing only sincerity in
his eyes, honesty on the planes of his face.

 
          
“Indeed,”
he agreed, “and that will doubtless afford some measure of protection, but I
fear it may not be sufficient. Remember, my
dear, that
Ashar holds sway here and his power is mighty. He will doubtless seek to
destroy Kedryn if he is able.
To thwart him if not.
I
would circumvent such design and bring your love safely to you.”

 
          
Wynett
dabbed at her lips, still unable to choose between trust and suspicion as Eyrik
fell silent, clearly awaiting some response. Finally she said, “Mayhap I should
see this construction.”

 
          
He
smiled hugely then, his handsome features rendered boyish, emanating the
enthusiasm of a child with some new toy to display.

 
          
“When
you are ready,” he said.

 
          
“Let
us go now,” Wynett returned, and he rose, moving around the table to take her
chair, offering his arm.

 
          
She
took it and he escorted her across the courtyard to a door of beaten silvery
metal, runes engraved on its surface. Beyond was a chamber tiled in dusty red,
the walls black and marked with further runes, pillars of crimson marble
standing in two lines to either side, dividing the room. There was no furniture
and he led her through the chamber to a second door of metal, this locked
unlike any others she had encountered. He produced a golden key from his tunic
and turned it, swinging the door open. Wynett was surprised despite herself to
find they entered the great, dark hall beyond the chamber of the pool. It was
brighter now, candles and flambeaux set in rows along the walls, chandeliers
she had not previously noticed suspended from the vaulted ceiling, their
candles giving off a sweet, somewhat cloying scent. The yellow light outlined
the thronelike chair, glinting off its basalt surfaces, seeming to penetrate
the dark stone to fill it with a shifting, lithic life. Set around it in a
circle were high tripods of dull black metal, each holding a tall, thick
candle, and within the circle stood a construction of gold filigree and
crystal.

 
          
Its
design was fantastic, its usage unguessable. Slender columns wound in intricate
convolutions about their neighbors, shards of multifaceted crystal exploded
candlelight in rainbow profusions, dazzling her eyes so that she found it
difficult to follow the lines, the complicated curves. Eyrik indicated a point
atop the device, where nine fine ribs joined to form a shallow cup.

 
          
“That
is where your talisman will,” he smiled, correcting himself,
“
should
be
placed. Without it the device is no more than some fanciful sculpture.”

 
          
“And
with it?” she asked softly, blinking as the light assailed her eyes.

 
          
“With
it,” he said proudly, turning to face her, taking both her hands as if to
impress upon her his honesty, his enthusiasm, “I shall be able to establish a
beacon that will send out a call to Kedryn, guiding him here. More than that, I
believe it will open a path down which he may travel safely, the power inherent
in the two halves of the stone linking to ward him against the pitfalls of
Ashar’s domain.”

 
          
He
stared down at her, the gold flecks in his brown eyes dancing, inspired by the
candles’ glow, hypnotic,
radiating
an intensity of
purpose Wynett found hard to resist. She felt the pressure of his strong hands
and it was a reassuring pressure. She studied his face and found it honest. She
looked into his eyes and found her doubts dissolving. It was a sensation akin
to waking, finding sunlight on her face, the dismal rain ended, this weird
realm again beautiful. Memories of lost hope, of the despair that had gripped
her as she stood upon the roof of the palace, as she watched the multiple
possibilities of the oracular pool unfold, flashed through her mind.
Trust me,
said his eyes.
I seek only to aid you,
said his hands.
Believe me,
said his smile. And she felt
her suspicions falter, her doubts waver.
If
he is your enemy,
said a small voice deep inside her mind,
then surely the talisman will be anathema to
him. The Messenger could not stand against its power, nor can any opposed to
Kyrie.
And another whisper said
,
Kedryn may fall without this aid. Kedryn and
Tepshen Lahl and Brannoc, all of them, may go down victims of Ashar. You must
aid them. You must allow Eyrik to aid them. It is the only way.

 
          
“You
are sure?” she asked slowly. “You are sure this
is
the only way?”

 
          
“I
am,” said Eyrik, solemnly.

 
          
Wynett
eased her hands free of his grip and felt them rise to the chain about her
neck. His eyes did not leave her face as she drew the chain over her head. He
stood immobile as she cupped the jewel.

 
          
“Then
use it,” she said, extending her hand. “Use it to aid Kedryn.”

 
          
“You
give this willingly?” he asked, not touching the stone.

 
          
“Aye,”
she nodded, “I do.”

 
          
Eyrik
held out his hand, palm upward, and Wynett gave the talisman to him.

 
          
“My
thanks,” he smiled. And laughed triumphantly as the world shifted and Wynett
screamed in raw terror.

 
          
The
leather-bound manuscript Gerat studied fell unnoticed to her feet as she
gasped, eyes widening in shock. Her body shuddered, wracked by a force she
dreaded to define. Her mouth opened to emit a strangled cry, part anger, more
fear. Malign laughter echoed inside her skull and she shook her head, lips
dried by awful apprehension mouthing words she was loath to utter.

 
          
“He
has it,” she moaned. “Lady
stand
by us now, for he has
the talisman!”

 
          
Kedryn
and his companions woke to a new day that revealed a landscape disconcertingly
normal, for the horrors of the previous night were fresh in their memories;
indeed, in Brannoc’s case they were engraved upon his living flesh. The dory
drifted leisurely down a broad stream banded by timber and meadows, the scene
bucolic, woodlands and grass both verdant as the Tamurin highlands. Sunlight
dappled the water, spreading harlequin patterns of light and shadow among the
trees, a gentle breeze rustling the foliage, from which birdsong rang, so
natural the horrendous attack ofTaron’s changelings seemed a nightmare left
behind them in the darkness. Several times they saw gaily clad folk along the
bank, and these called to them, beckoning, urging them to beach their craft and
partake of food or ale. None, however, ventured onto the river and Kedryn came
to the conclusion that running water was a barrier they could not cross.
Taron’s folk gave no pursuit and the watchers on the banks did no more than
cajole, so the journey became a respite from the travails they had so far
freed. Kedryn lounged at the dory’s stem while Tepshen sat peering ahead over
the high prow and Brannoc slumped on the thwarts, dozing in the warm sun.

 
          
It
was not until he began to moan that either of his companions realized he was
hurt worse than he admitted.

 
          
At
first Kedryn assumed him in the grip of a dream and ignored the faint sounds
that escaped his lips, but then they became louder and the half-breed began to
shudder. Kedryn moved from his position in the stem to find a seat alongside
the wounded man, shaking him gently to wake him. His hands, where they touched
flesh, found skin slick with sweat, and when Brannoc opened his eyes they were
glazed, failing at first to focus. Kedryn unstoppered a canteen and raised it
to Brannoc’s mouth. As he drank, Kedryn saw that his lips were dry and caked with
spittle, his swarthy features drawn,
a
greenish hue
shining beneath the tan.

 
          
“I
dreamt,” Brannoc said slowly, the words ponderous as he stared about, seeming
at first not to know where he was. “I dreamt that I was taken by
that.
. . creature . . . and become one of them.”

 
          
“You
are safe,” Kedryn assured him. “I do not think they are able to cross water.”

           
Brannoc smiled his relief and
abruptly lapsed back into sleep. Kedryn washed his face and looked to Tepshen.
The kyo’s features were grave as he moved from the prow, settling beside the
half-breed and easing him gently upright as he said softly, “We must examine
his wounds.”

 
          
Kedryn
nodded and they slipped Brannoc’s tunic loose, unwinding the makeshift bandages
to reveal the cuts beneath. Parallel gashes latticed his torso and midriff, cut
deep by the therianthrope’s claws. All were inflamed, the edges swollen in
pinkish yellow ridges, pus oozing from beneath the blood that had crusted
there.

 
          
“Would
that we had retained our packs,” Kedryn murmured, thinking of the salves stowed
therein.