Angus Wells - The Kingdoms 02 (24 page)

           
“You are brave as you are
beautiful,” he murmured, and she blushed, turning her attention to the wine a
servant set before her as the others at the table looked discreetly away. All
save Lavia, who caught Wynett’s eye and smiled enigmatically, her expression
one of fond concern and curiosity.

           
The hall was subdued that night, for
there were many present who doubted Kedryn would return, and others who felt it
the wiser course to wait out the winter and attempt the crossing of the Lozins
in the spring; and all were sorry to bid their prince farewell so soon after
his homecoming. Lyassa, in particular, was moved by his going, having believed
that he would make the safer journey to Estrevan rather than penetrate the
barbarian lands and—worse—the spirit world, and after several cups of wine she
found it impossible to hold back her tears.

           
“I am a disgrace to my calling,” she
keened, her plump cheeks glistening. “The Lady has set you a course to follow
and I complain of it, but I cannot help it.”

           
“I shall return,” Kedryn promised
her. “Do I not ride with true companions? And this,” he touched the blue
talisman at his throat, “will doubtless guard me.”

           
“But when shall you practice the
lessons I taught you?” sniffed the aging Sister. “I had thought to see you
dance in the White Palace, not ride always into danger.”

           
“I ride that the danger may be
ended,” Kedryn smiled, reaching across the table to take her hand. “Do not
weep, Lyassa; your teachings stand me in good Stead and I shall return to show
how badly I dance.”

           
This sally, small though it was,
brought a sad smile to the Sister’s cheeks and she turned to face Tepshen Lahl.

           
“Ward him well, kyo,” she
admonished. “He is your charge now.”

           
“He is his own man,” said the
easterner calmly, “but rest assured my blade will be ever at his back. ”

           
Lyassa shuddered at the warlike
promise, but cheered a little and stilled her weeping.

           
There were other farewells said that
night, but they were less emotional for it was not the Tamurin way to make any
great thing of danger and the men and women who approached the high table to
take Kedryn’s hand or kiss his cheek were mostly content to simply express
their desire that he come safe home again, his sight fully restored.

           
They retired early for their
intention was to depart soon after first light and the hold was in no mood for
prolonged festivity. Wynett went with Kedryn to the door of his chamber, their
hands entwined that he might see his way.

           
“A moment,” Yrla said as Wynett was
about to disengage the grip. “I would have my son see my face.”

           
Wynett nodded and retained his hand
as Yrla hugged Kedryn and then set palms to his cheeks, her head tilted back a
little that she might look into his eyes.

           
“There is nothing I would say to
hold you here,” she murmured, “though my heart aches to see you go. I entrust
you to Wynett and Tepshen; and the Lady, who I know will be with you. You have
a duty that is hard to bear, but I know you will dispense it as befits a true
warrior of Tamur. The heart of Caitin Hold is with you and whatever the
outcome, know that I love you.”

           
“I do,” Kedryn answered, letting go
Wynett’s hand that he might embrace his mother, setting his arms about her
shoulders and holding her close as she rested her face against his chest, “and
I return that love.”

           
“Aye.” Yrla drew back, quickly brushing
a hand across her eyes that he would not see the tears glistening there. “Go
with the Lady, my son.”

           
Bedyr stepped forward then, his face
grave, to place hands upon Kedryn’s shoulders.

           
“I am proud of you,” he said
huskily. “You are a credit to the Caitin blood and I would that I might ride
with you.”

           
Kedryn reached then for Wynett’s
hand, facing his father, no longer a youth but a man, full grown. “Your duty
lies here,” he said, “and mine is to ready myself for whatever lies ahead. We
shall meet again.”

           
“I pray so,” nodded Bedyr, and
turned to take his wife’s arm, steering her toward their own chamber, his back
straight and stiff.

           
“Leave-takings are sad things,”
Kedryn murmured.

           
“You will see them again,” Wynett
said. “And when you do it will be unaided. You will have your own sight.”

           
“And shall that mean another
farewell?” he asked softly, studying her.

           
Wynett’s blue eyes looked into his
brown gaze, then she lowered her face to hide the confusion there.

           
“You look too far ahead,” she
whispered.

           
“Is that an answer?” he chided
gently, “or a promise of hope?”

           
“I . . .” She shook her head,
torchlight glinting golden on the brighter yellow of her hair, “I cannot say.
Please, Kedryn, do not press me. I am a Sister still.”

           
“Forgive me,” he asked. “I will not
speak of this again until we return. ”

           
That was at least small respite and
Wynett essayed a tentative smile. “Thank you, my Lord. Now—should we not
sleep?”

           
“Aye,” he agreed, and let go her
hands, tapping on his chamber door that the servant waiting within might emerge
to see him safely to his bed.

           
It was strange to lie abed in such
familiar surroundings yet not see those things he had for so many years taken
for granted. He had grown accustomed to his chamber in High Fort, indeed, had
set out to learn its configurations with such determination that he needed no
help there, but now—in his own home, in his own rooms—he required a housecarl
to closet his gear and guide him to the washstand, even to the bed. And when
the man was gone he was alone, once more lost in the dark world. He could feel
the warmth of the fire banked in the hearth and the stirring of the night wind
that came through the shutters. The sheets were pleasantly cool, smooth about
his naked body, but he could see neither hearth nor shutters; he did not know
if a moon shone outside his window, or even if the carl had left a torch
burning. Sightlessness rendered him a stranger to the familiar, and that
knowledge pressed upon him thoughts of Wynett. Without her he was lost, doomed
to wander blind. Yet his dependence brought her into danger and he loathed that
thought. The ride north would be arduous enough, the crossing of the
Fedyn
Pass
harder, and after that there was the
Beltrevan. The tribes had hailed him as hef-Alador and the chieftains had sworn
fealty; Brannoc had seemed confident that their word was good and neither
Lavia—who spoke as the voice of Estrevan—nor Bedyr—whom he trusted
utterly—seemed to have any doubt but that he would find safe passage through
the forests. But would the forest folk extend that hospitality to his
companions? Tepshen Lahl and the Tamurin warriors were dangerously able to look
after themselves, but Wynett was defenseless. And he knew that if harm came to
her, a part of him would die.

           
He turned in the bed, conjuring a
vision of her standing looking into his eyes. She was so beautiful, not merely
of visage but of spirit, too. For all that he could not bear the thought of
parting from her, he knew what duress he placed her under and he could only admire
the way in which she comported herself, with a nobility of spirit that elicited
frank admiration of her character.

           
Were she not a Sister.

           
Were she but willing to forgo her
vows.

           
Had he but met her as his father had
met his mother, before those vows were taken.

           
The thoughts spun headlong about his
mind as he drifted into a troubled sleep that was roiled with dreams.

           
The first was familiar, an echo of
that first dream encountered in High Fort, of walking with her in sunlit
meadows where birds sang and brooks splashed cheerfully, the sky above blue as
her gown, her hair bright as the sun that warmed them. Then it changed with the
unnatural normality of such fantasies and the sky became dark with thunder
clouds, great storm heads tearing across the azure to obfuscate the purity of
the blue behind a pall of livid, lightning-seared darkness as hollow laughter
took the place of the thunder and they cowered beneath a tree no longer green
with the freshness of spring, but withered and sere, stripped by something more
than winter. The birdsong died away and as he gazed about the brooks no longer
ran blue-silver, but were sluggish and red, the dark carmine of life’s blood.
He realized that Wynett no longer stood beside him, but faced him across the
meadow, her features riven with grief and terror, though whether for herself or
him he could not tell. He moved toward her, but when he stepped from the scant
shelter of the tree great bolts of lightning struck down, filling the air with
the stink of burning, sickly with the odor of roasting flesh, and the grass was
blackened where they hit and fires started up, sparkling small at first, but
soon growing to a roaring wall of flame that seemed to reach toward him,
driving him back so that he could not go to Wynett and she became lost behind
that barrier of incandescence. He heard the laughter louder then and it became
a voice that rang from within the flames and said his name, over and over
again, a longing in its tone, an awful, hungry anticipation.

           
He raised his hands to protect his
face, but the flames scorched his palms and he cried out, shouting, “Wynett!
Wynett!”

           
And he felt hands grasp him and
struck out as the voice repeated his name and became familiar, recognized as
that of the carl set to watch his door.

           
“Vigrund?” he gasped. “Is that you,
Vigrund?”

           
“Aye, Prince,” came the answer, “it
is I. You dreamed, I think. I heard you call the Sister’s name. Should I fetch
her to you?”

           
“No.” He shook his head, though in
that moment he wanted nothing more than to have Wynett by his side, to feel her
close, hold her hands, clutch her to him. “No, do not disturb her.”

           
“A cup of
oenomel,
perhaps?” Vigrund suggested, and Kedryn nodded,
embarrassed now, for he could feel the aftermath of the tremors that had shaken
him and the dampness of sweat-soaked sheets.

           
He waited, driving his mind to
stillness as the carl brought the honeyed wine and set his hands to the cup.
The solidity of the plain earthenware beaker reassured him as much as the
strong hands that raised him, shaking sweat-dampened pillows that he might sit
more comfortably.

           
“Thank you,” he said between sips,
relishing the warmth and sweetness of the drink. “I suffered a disturbing
dream.”

           
“It is not unusual.” He felt the bed
shift as Vigrund settled on the edge, informal as any Tamurin. “I always
dreamed before I rode to battle. Terrible dreams, they were, that had me
yelling and fighting so that the captain would often as not set me on night
watch just so the rest of them could get some sleep. I remember the night before
the Sandurkan put a lance in my leg and made me a housecarl I dreamed I was a
boar, but my tusks were broken and I couldn’t seem to run when I heard the
hunting horns. I tried, but I couldn’t, and the dogs sounded me and I was
wallowing along when the biggest Sandurkan I’d ever seen came thundering up on
one of those hairy ponies they ride and stuck his lance clean through me.

           
“The captain-—Ramur, it was then,
though he’s long dead now—woke me and told me if I couldn’t sleep quiet he’d
cut my throat just so the rest of them wouldn’t fall asleep in their saddles
when they should be fighting Sandurkan. You’re finished with that cup? Good,
let me have it then. Anyway, that day I got stuck, though I don’t suppose it
was anything to do with the dream. And after ...”

           
He paused as he heard a soft snore
from Kedryn and smiled as he rose carefully from the bed, drawing the coverlet
up to his prince’s chest.

           
“You sleep sound, Kedryn. For what’s
ahead of you, you need sleep.”

           
He stared fondly at the young man,
wondering when—or if—he might return again, then shuffled on his twisted leg to
the outer chamber where he settled on his own bed and fell swiftly into a
dreamless sleep.