Angus Wells - The Kingdoms 03 (24 page)

 
          
Abashed,
Ashrivelle lowered her eyes.
“Aye.
Gerat says I may
accompany her when she returns.”

 
          
“I
am pleased for you,” he said.

 
          
“But,”
she began,
then
shook her head. “No ... I shall not
journey to Estrevan until I know you are safe returned.”

 
          
Her
tone alarmed him and he said, “You can as easily await our return in Estrevan
as here, Ashrivelle.”

 
          
“Gerat
travels to High Fort,” was her answer. “She will wait there until you return
... Or not.”

 
          
“Once
these ribs are full-mended I travel fast,” he said. “On horseback I can take
the river trail north. You could not keep up.”

           
“Then we shall follow after.” There
was a trace of defiance in her voice. “Gerat came here by carriage and we shall
take that north.”

 
          
Kedryn
shrugged and forked egg into his mouth.
“As you wish.”

 
          
“Not
quite,” she murmured, almost too low for him to hear.

 
          
Then,
abruptly, she rose to her feet. “I shall leave you now. Forgive my . . .
weakness.”

 
          
Before
he could voice a response she was gone, closing the door behind her so that he
was left alone with his confusion. And his hunger, he realized as he swallowed
egg, and began to consume the breakfast with relish.

 
          
He
was sipping the last dregs of tisane when the door opened again and Gerat
entered, carrying a small satchel of blue leather and accompanied by Tepshen
and Brannoc. The kyo’s limp was gone and Brannoc’s arm was no longer in a
sling, though he held it cradled still. Gerat took the chair and the two
warriors settled upon the bed.

 
          
“How
do you feel?” asked the Paramount Sister.

 
          
“Rested,”
Kedryn answered.
“Though my ribs feel a trifle sore.”

 
          
“And
will for some days yet,” Gerat nodded, casually removing the bed clothes that
she might prod at his damaged side. Kedryn winced as her hands moved over his
bandages, but she appeared pleased with her findings for she nodded and said,
“Aye, they heal nicely. You’ll be fit enough to sit a horse ere long.”

 
          
“And these two?”
Kedryn gestured at his companions.

           
“Mending apace,” Gerat said.

           
“You’ll have companions on the
journey,”
grinned
Brannoc. “To High Fort,” Kedryn
nodded.

 
          
“Into
the Beltrevan,” Brannoc corrected.
“And beyond.”

 
          
Kedryn
began to shake his head, but Tepshen fixed him with a solemn look and said, “We
are sworn to ward you. We go with you.”

 
          
“There
are charms and cantrips fashioned for their protection,” Gerat told him as he
started to protest, “and their minds are made up. I think it no bad thing you
travel with such boon companions.”

 
          
“Besides,”
said Brannoc, “you are not so well-acquainted with the Beltrevan that you may
find Drul’s Mound unaided. And as I have told you, the Drott may not take
kindly to grave robbers.”

 
          
“Grave robbers?”
Kedryn frowned. "Do we go to rob graves?”

           
Gerat brought the satchel to her
knees and fetched parchment out, smoothing the vellum across her knees, her
expression serious.

 
          
“I have the writings I spoke of, and I have
discussed them with Tepshen and Brannoc. Listen.” She began to read: “And l saw
that what he had fashioned for his deathly purpose was his undoing, for that
which he had fashioned he had imbued with his own strength, that death himself
might be slain, should life and death be joined.”

           
“This is the Sister you spoke of?”
Kedryn asked. “Qualle— was that not her name? What does it mean? I do not
understand.”

 
          
“Nor,”
said Gerat, “did
I
, until I read the passage to
Brannoc.”

 
          
She
turned to the half-breed, who unconsciously shaped the three-fingered gesture
of warding as he cleared his throat and fixed his dark eyes on Kedryn’s face.

 
          
“There
is a legend amongst the Drott,” he said slowly, “that says when Drul raised the
first Horde Ashar gave him a sword.”

 
          
“Niloc
Yarrum’s blade was ensorcelled,” Kedryn interrupted, the confusion in his eyes
replaced with interest. “I felt it when I fought him.”

 
          
Brannoc
nodded.
“Likely by Taws.
The legend has it that Drul’s
blade was fashioned by the god himself.”

 
          
“What he had fashioned for his deathly
purpose,” Gerat read, “imbued with his own strength.”

           
“And Drul’s sword is said to rest
with his bones in the mound,” Brannoc added.

 
          
“His undoing,” Gerat quoted, “for that which
he had fashioned he had imbued with his own strength, that death himself might
be slain, should life and death be joined.”

           
“I am no wiser,” Kedryn murmured,
perplexed.

 
          
“The
sword is death—Ashar’s tool,” Gerat said, “and the talisman you wear is life. I
believe the jointure of the two may fashion the means of Ashar’s downfall.”

 
          
Kedryn
stared at her, a strange calm in his brown eyes. “You say I must go to Drul’s
Mound and join sword with talisman?” “I believe that to be the way of it,”
Gerat confirmed, “if you are to save Wynett. I do not say you
must.”

           
“Will the shamans agree?” he
wondered, as if the Sister’s final sentence had not registered. “Will even Cord
help in such a venture?”

 
          
“Likely
not,” said Brannoc.
"Hence our grave robbery.”

           
“We dig up a rusted sword?” Kedryn
demanded. “How, after, do I enter the
netherworld.
”

           
“We,”
Tepshen corrected. “You shall not dissuade Brannoc and me from accompanying
you.”

 
          
“We,”
Kedryn allowed, “
but
my question stands.”

 
          
Gerat
turned again to the parchment.
“And I saw
he who was raised up go down into the earth where dwell the worms of
corruption, and yet they could not overcome him for his purpose was high and I
saw the love of his fellows sustained him that he be not forgotten, nor those
he loved.”
She looked up, her eyes intense as they fastened on Kedryn’s. “I
believe Qualle foresaw this and has shown you the way. I believe that if you
enter Drul’s Mound again, whether through the agency of the woodsfolks’ shamans
or through your own enterprise, the way beneath will open to you.”

 
          
“And
Drul’s sword—joined with the talisman—may slay Ashar?”

 
          
Kedryn’s
voice was harsh with urgency now, his eyes burning with purpose.

 
          
“Aye,”
said Gerat, “I believe that is the meaning.”

 
          
Kedryn
nodded thoughtfully. “But if the Drott refuse help how may we obtain the sword?
How may we enter the tomb?” Gerat looked again to Brannoc, who grinned, a
trifle nervously, Kedryn thought, and said, “Until the summer Gathering the
Drott will be scattered throughout the northern reaches of the forest. None
will come near the mound before the time of the Gathering, so we have time
enough to find the place and start digging.”

 
          
“In
which venture,” Tepshen added, “three will make better headway than one.”

 
          
‘Then,”
Kedryn said, “
we
had best start out as soon as we
may.”

 
          
“As
soon as your ribs are healed,” said Gerat, firmly. “What you attempt will need
a hale body.”

 
          
“There
is no time to waste,” argued the young man.

 
          
“No.”
Kedryn was not sure whether Gerat’s negative was an agreement or a denial of
his implicit decision, “but nor will you accomplish what you intend with
cracked ribs—and they cannot heal on horseback. You must curb your impatience a
few days longer, lest it jeopardize all chance of success.”

 
          
“The
Sister speaks truth,” said Tepshen, and Kedryn sighed his frustration as he
nodded.

 
          
“So
be it.”

 
          
“A
few more days,” Gerat said consolingly. “And you will ride the faster for it.”

 
          
“Ashrivelle
spoke of your traveling to High Fort,” he said. “Was she right?”

 
          
“Aye,”
confirmed the Paramount Sister, “we shall ride my carriage north after you—I
shall not enter the Beltrevan for I should slow you down, but mayhap I can
still aid you.” Her unlined features became serious and her blue eyes traveled
from one man to the other, resting at last on Kedryn again, though her next
words were addressed to them all. “What you attempt is fraught with danger. I
do not pretend to know what you may encounter in the netherworld, though I am
confident Ashar will seek to destroy you, or entrap you there. This is not a
thing to take lightly: think on it before you decide.”

 
          
“There
is nothing to ponder—you believe Wynett lives, and that Qualle’s words suggest
I may overcome the god.”

 
          
Kedryn’s
gaze was no less somber than the woman’s and she ducked her head in agreement,
saying simply, “I do.”

 
          
“Then
there is no other way of it,” he said calmly. “As soon as you deem me hale
enough to ride, I
—we
—depart
. ”

 
          
“May
the Lady stand with you,” murmured Gerat; then, in businesslike tone, “Now let
me examine those ribs properly. After, you may rise.”

 
          
She
brought pots of unguent from a compartment of her satchel and peeled the sheets
from Kedryn’s body, her fingers deft as she unwound the bandages. He saw that
his side was colored from chest to waistline, an angry red mergirig into purple
edged with ugly yellow. Gerat began to smear her ointments over the damaged
flesh, their cool welcoming, seeming to seep into the very fibers of his being
so that the dull aching eased and ceased. She covered the bruised area with
unguent and then wound fresh bandages around him, swathing him, before
producing a small cup and a jar of colorless liquid. He drank without protest,
anxious now only to allow the Sister to heal him as swiftly as possible so that
he might go out to rescue his love.

 
          
That
he must attempt to battle a god to achieve that aim was a thought he pushed to
the hindmost compartments of his mind, for it was so large a thought he feared
it might cloy his purpose with its enormity.

 
          
Finally
Gerat was satisfied, rising from the bed to nod approvingly and tell him that
he might now dress and walk a little in the sun.

 
          
When
this time he stood upright his head remained clear, and though his side pained
him he was able to dress with the help of Tepshen and Brannoc, and Ranked by
them went out into the corridor.

 
          
“I
would see Galen,” he remarked, then shook his head, muttering a curse as he
realized that concern for Wynett had overcome all other thoughts. “How many
died?” he asked.