Angus Wells - The Kingdoms 03 (52 page)

 
          
It
occurred to her, obliquely, that the disciplines of Estrevan were of little
help where he was concerned. For all that she had surrendered those gifts folk
considered magical with her celibacy, she still retained many of the aptitudes
instilled by the Sisterhood, among them that ability to read expressions, body
movements, to see past words to the truth implicit in the muscles and the skin,
the movement of the eyes, the sheen of sweat, but that talent was useless where
Eyrik was concerned. She could not read him; she could see only the face he
chose to present to her. Or did she take too complex a view? Was that face
true?

 
          
“Perhaps?”
she prompted when he fell silent.

 
          
He
nodded again, hesitantly, apparently unsure of himself, or unwilling to reveal
his thoughts.

 
          
“It
may not be a means much to your liking,” he said at last.

 
          
“How
can it not be if it allows me news of Kedryn?” she asked.

 
          
“Because
it would involve the use of the talisman,” he said quietly.

 
          
Wynett
bit back the negative that sprang to her lips, wondering if some verbal trap
was laid. Eyrik appeared devoid of guile, his face serious as he studied her,
troubled even, as though he feared her reaction. He wore, as ever, the
semblance of a man intent only on aiding her, anxious to help and wary of
giving offense. If he did prepare some snare, it was subtly layed: she craved
knowledge of Kedryn, and to refuse out of hand was to both deny herself that
knowledge and imply mistrust of Eyrik.

 
          
“How
so?” she prevaricated. “You suggest the talisman’s strength is weakened here,
so how might it be used?”

 
          
Eyrik
shrugged, the motion rustling the soft material of his surcoat. “It is a
complicated thing,” he said, “involving certain cantrips and apparatus of my
own devising. If the talisman was unable to impose order on the pool then it
is, undoubtedly, weaker here, but still not without power. Mayhap that power is
become limited by the nature of our surroundings, but mayhap, also, I can
enhance its strength.”

 
          
‘To
what end?” she asked, a hand curling instinctively about the jewel.

 
          
“I
believe that I may establish a beacon,” he replied in an earnest tone, leaning
forward again as though to impress his words the more forcefully upon her. “I
believe that I am able to augment the magic of the stone so that it will guide
Kedryn here. That is what has occupied me of late—the reason I have neglected
my duties as host. I should not have left so lovely a guest alone had I not
been anxious to satisfy your heart’s desire! Today, however, I set the final
touches to the machineries necessary to my purpose and all is ready. Only the
talisman is needed to complete the cycle.”

 
          
“And
it will guide Kedryn to this place?” she wondered.

 
          
“Aye,
so I believe,” nodded Eyrik, grinning as though proud of what he had
accomplished on her behalf. “His part of the stone will respond to the clarion
I broadcast and he will be guided through the intricate layers of the
netherworld.”

 
          
“And
when he comes?” Wynett felt excitement flutter, quickening her heartbeat,
optimism threatening to overwhelm caution.

 
          
“Then
the two halves of the talisman will be joined,” Eyrik responded eagerly, his
smile prompting her to share his excitement. “And joined, the power of the
stone will be magnified. Was it not so when you faced the Messenger in the
White
Palace
?”

 
          
Wynett
nodded agreement, remembering that terrible duel, when the strength of the
stone had seemed to possess her, guiding her, guiding Kedryn, that together
they were able to overcome the awesome power of Ashar’s minion.

 
          
“Thus
enhanced it will, I am confident, open an avenue of escape,” he continued. “We
shall all be free.”

 
          
“We?”
Wynett enquired. “Would you, too, leave this place?”
Eyrik’s smiled faded, his features rearranging in serious lines as he ducked
his head. “I am no less a prisoner than you, my dear. I would walk the byways
of the Kingdoms freely, without hindrance. I grow tired of my confinement.”

           
His eyes flashed with exhilaration,
as if the very thought transported him. Wynett studied him cautiously, seeing
only excitement, wondering if some deeper emotion she could not read lay behind
it.

 
          
“How
should this
be accomplished?” she asked.

 
          
His
free became serious again and he said, “I should need to employ the talisman,
as I told you.”

 
          
“You
ask that I remove it?”

 
          
He
nodded, seeming nervous now.

 
          
“You
know that such action is forsworn.”

 
          
Eyrik
raised his hands palms upward, spreading long fingers in a gesture of
helplessness. “There is no other way. I have constructed certain devices that
will work in concert with my cantrips to establish the beacon. Without the
talisman they are useless, yet their design is such that the stone must be
removed from your neck.”

 
          
“I
cannot,” she said, shaking her head. “I am sworn.”

           
“Surely by vows taken without
cognizance of your present fate,” he murmured.

           
“Taken in good faith,” Wynett
returned. “Nor am I confident the talisman would operate as you hope if
separated from me.”

 
          
“If
not, then not,” said Eyrik, his voice a trifle subdued, but still underlaid
with enthusiasm. “Though I believe the strength rests in the stone itself.”

 
          
It
was a subtle admonishment and Wynett blushed at the unspoken suggestion that
misplaced pride guided her. She felt a terrible dread and a mighty confusion,
for if Eyrik spoke the truth then she denied him the means whereby he might
guide Kedryn to her and denied herself the means of escape from the
netherworld. Yet if he lied he doubtless sought the jewel for his own ends. And
if he was Ashar, or a minion of the awful god, then to deliver the talisman
into his hands was to betray all she believed in, to invest the god with
frightening strength.

 
          
“There
remains the matter of Kedryn,” Eyrik murmured, his tone apologetic again, as
though he felt embarrassment at the implicit suggestion of disloyalty. “If we
are correct in our belief that he seeks you, then he has likely sought some
means of entering the netherworld. If he succeeds, then
he
feces all the mazes Ashar will set before him. And they will be exceeding
hazardous labyrinths! It may even be that the god seels to ensnare him, so that
he shall wander forever through the realms of limbo. The beacon I suggest would
be such that his path would be the clearer.”

 
          
He
paused, fixing her with his gold-flecked stare. Wynett lowered her eyes, caught
in the mesh of his words, clutching the talisman, no longer defensively but in
search of guidance, of inspiration.

 
          
All
she felt, however, was that tingling that told her Kedryn was still alive. She
raised her eyes, answering Eyrik’s gaze, and said, “Still you ask me to forget
a vow freely given.”

 
          
He
nodded agreement, a hint of melancholy entering his voice as he answered, “So
it must be, though I am confident those to whom you gave your word would
understand. I repeat—I doubt they considered this eventuality when they
entrusted you with the talisman.”

 
          
“Mayhap
not,” Wynett allowed, “but still the vow was taken.”

 
          
“You
took others,” he reminded her, mildly enough. “Did you not embrace celibacy
when you donned the blue of Estrevan?”

 
          
“Aye.”
Wynett ducked her head. “So I did.”

 
          
“And
you were released from that undertaking when the time came.”

 
          
She
could not deny it: she nodded again.

 
          
“I
am confident the Sisterhood would understand,” said Eyrik softly, his tone
persuasive. “Estrevan would surely condone your motives now, for they must
surely be above reproach—you would seek only to protect the man you love from
inestimable dangers.”

 
          
“Even
so,” she said slowly, feeling his blandishments wind about her as must, she
thought, the web of a spider wind about a butterfly, each attempt at escape
serving only to affix a further sticky strand until finally all hope was gone.

 
          
“Even
so,” he echoed, reaching out now to take a hand, enclosing it in both of his,
“I believe you must decide this for yourself. I can do no more—without the
talisman my efforts are useless and you must likely remain here.” He smiled
somewhat ruefully, “I confess that notion has its attractions, but I know that
you love Kedryn and so I would do all I can to reunite you. Please trust me,
Wynett—there is no other way.”

 
          
He
stared into her eyes, retaining her hand in silence for a while,
then
let loose his grip, smiling as though to reassure her.

 
          
“Sleep
on it and give me your answer in the morning.”

 
          
“Aye,”
she agreed, glad that he
rose
now, frightened by the
decision he forced upon her and wishing only to be alone with her disordered
thoughts.

 
          
Eyrik
bowed graciously and left the bedchamber. When she heard the outer door close
she rose and bolted it again, then dragged a chair across the room and wedged
its back against the bolt. Then she shed the dressing gown he had selected and
took a garment of her own choosing from the wardrobe. She set the lacquered
tray
aside,
its contents barely touched, and regained
the bed.

 
          
“Lady,”
she prayed, the talisman clutched in both hands, “guide me, for I am lost.”

 
          
The
landscape stretched uninterrupted before them, flat and featureless, the
horizons lost in the gloomy gray that joined land and sky in seemless union.
Only the strange cracks broke the vista, zigzagging beneath their feet, neither
deep nor wide enough to offer hindrance to their steady progress. Nothing
moved, either in the sky or on the ground. There was no wind, nor any sun, the
canescent light unchanging and their march leaving no footprints behind, so
that it seemed almost as though they walked in place, the only measure of
progress the weariness that began gradually to assail their legs. Finally,
Kedryn called a halt and they spread their blankets, grateful for the chance to
ease muscles protesting the endless marching.

 
          
The
hills lay far behind them, lost in the leaden blur of distance, the air, now
that they no longer moved, chilly.

 
          
“A
fire would be welcome,” Brannoc remarked.

 
          
“Three
horses, more so,” retorted Tepshen.

 
          
“But
we have neither,” said Kedryn. “Nor much chance of finding kindling or mounts
here.”

 
          
Brannoc
shrugged, opening his satchel, his features doleful as he examined the
contents. “Supplies become short, too. And I grow weary of joumeybread.”

 
          
Kedryn
nodded,
his own face thoughtful as he watched the
dark-skinned half-breed thrust his pack aside, the food ignored. “How long have
we walked?” he asked.

 
          
“A day?”
Brannoc shrugged again, reaching down to massage
his calves. “There is no way to tell time here.”

 
          
“We
have not halted,” Tepshen offered, glancing at Kedryn, his sallow features
curious.

 
          
“No,”
agreed the younger man, “and that is odd, is it not?

 
          
My
legs tell me we have marched for leagues, yet we none of us thought to halt for
food or drink.”

 
          
“I
felt no hunger,” said Brannoc.
“Only boredom.”

 
          
“Nor
I,” Kedryn murmured. “I did not think of food until now.”

 
          
He
looked to the kyo, who shook his head, saying, “I am not hungry even now.”

 
          
“This
is strange,” Kedryn declared. “My muscles tell me I have worked hard, yet I
feel no need of sustenance. Is this some attribute of the netherworld?”

 
          
“If
so, it is to our advantage,” Brannoc declared, gesturing at his pack. “I have
supplies for no more than a day or two.”

 
          
Tepshen
raised his canteen and shook it, listening to the splash of water inside. “Nor
water,” he added.

 
          
“The
netherworld is the realm of the dead,” Kedryn mused, “or of Ashar’s creatures,
who presumably do not require sustenance as would normal beings. Mayhap by
coming here we lose these needs.”

 
          
“Or
Ashar tricks us into starvation,” suggested Brannoc.

 
          
“I
do not feel starved,” Kedryn said.

 
          
“Eat
nonetheless,” Tepshen advised. “If you are correct, then we need not trouble
ourselves over dwindling provisions.”

 
          
“Food
alleviates boredom,” said Brannoc, “And this is, without doubt, the most boring
vista it has been my misfortune to encounter.”

 
          
“Aye.”
Kedryn grinned tightly, chewing food that seemed
somehow as devoid of flavor as the terrain was empty of character. “Mayhap
Ashar seeks to bore us to death.”

 
          
“Would
you rather he challenged us with more daggerthrowing trees?” chuckled Brannoc.
“Or perhaps another spidery attack?”

 
          
Kedryn
smiled back and shook his head.
“No, my friend.
I
would find Wynett and bring her safely from this place.”

 
          
"But
first, Taziel,” admonished Tepshen. “I doubt Ashar will readily relinquish his
prize, and if Gerat is correct, you must join your talisman to that great sword
if you are to defeat the god.”

 
          
Kedryn
nodded, drawing the glaive closer, studying the ornate hilt. “And first
persuade Taziel to do the work,” he said quietly.

 
          
“To
which end we must find his cave,” said Brannoc, looking about. “And it is not
here, I think.”

 
          
“No.”
Kedryn swallowed a little water, more to wash down the flavorless food than
from thirst. “We must cross this miserable plain before we may hope to find the
smith.”

 
          
“We
shall,” said Tepshen, his voice firm. “Now sleep. I shall take first watch.”

 
          
Neither
Kedryn nor Brannoc offered argument, and the easterner watched as they rolled
themselves into their blankets, squatting cross-legged as they slept. Although
he did not show it, he felt mightily uneasy, disturbed by the unchanging light
and the unrelieved tedium of their surroundings. He was a man of action and,
had the truth been told, he preferred the dangers of the spider-haunted ravines
to this characterless vista. There was no sign of anything he might have
described as a sunset and after a while he decided that there would not be,
that so long as they remained on this flat plain there would be only the
depressing gray light and—as both Kedryn and Brannoc had remarked—boredom.
After a while he rose to his feet and walked a little distance off, drawing his
sword and executing a series of exercises that had the long blade whistling
through the unmoving air. He did not know how long he diverted himself thus,
but in time he ceased, resuming his squatting position, forcing himself to
ignore the tedium that threatened to leech his concentration.

 
          
When
he could fight it no longer he woke Brannoc and fell soundly asleep.

 
          
Brannoc
in turn found the same disquieting problems. He sat watching the unshifting sky
for a while, then stared at the gray he assumed marked the edge of the
mountains they had descended. For all he could tell they had walked a circle:
they left no tracks, nor were there any landmarks by which to judge direction
or distance. It occurred to him that Kedryn was better suited to withstand this
absence of diversions than either he or Tepshen, for Kedryn had experienced the
darkness sent against High Fort and his subsequent blindness, and both must
have been akin to this unalleviated tedium. He was more accustomed to the
forests of the Beltrevan than this unending featurelessness and he felt the
disturbing beginnings of agoraphobia.

 
          
He
climbed to his feet and stepped out twenty places. Noth- tag changed. Kedryn
and Tepshen lay huddled in their blankets, the air was chill but not so much
that he felt any great physical discomfort. He studied a scissure, seeing
nothing so much as a shallow crack such as might be formed in sunbaked mud, and
began to follow it for want of any other action with which to occupy his mind.
It ran straight for a while,
then
split into two,
those branches dividing in turn, then those until he could no longer trace the
course, seeing only a jigsaw pattern that extended into the gray distance. He
returned to his companions, hoping that the plain would end before long:
whatever lay ahead must surely be preferable to this nothingness. After a while
he realized that he was grown drowsy and woke Kedryn.

 
          
His
surmise of Kedryn’s ability to withstand the tedium was, in some measure,
correct. Kedryn was, at least, able to recall the utter darkness that had
gripped High Fort, and he could favorably compare even this characterless gray
landscape with the awful night that had descended with Borsus’s sword across
his eyes, but there was a difference now. In High Fort there had been a very
real enemy beyond the walls, the presence of the Horde made known by the
missiles that fell, and in his blindness Wynett had been at his side. Here he
could only wonder at her fate as he sat with Drul’s blade across his hips, and
with that wondering he felt fear grow, doubts assail him.

 
          
Before
long, he, too, felt the need for movement, to do something that would impart
action of some kind to the watch. He rose and began to heft the glaive,
familiarizing himself with its weight, swinging it in sweeping cuts, adjusting
his customary style to the different balance of the weapon, working until he
felt his shoulders ache, then settling again to wait.

 
          
The
doubts pressed in then, fear for Wynett mingling with the creeping pessimism
that they would never find a way off the plain, never locate Taziel, or if they
did, would foil to persuade the smith to attach talisman to hilt. He was glad
when Tepshen stirred, casting off his blanket to rise, staring disapprovingly
about before nudging Brannoc to wakefulness.

 
          
The
half-breed sat up, rubbing at his eyes and
yawning,
then took a comb from his satchel and began to dress his plaited hair.

 
          
“You
will find no maidens to admire you here,” Tepshen grunted
,
his voice edged with irritation.

 
          
Brannoc
glanced at him and shrugged, offering no responsive comment. He continued
combing,
then
wound his braids afresh, setting the
shells and feathers that decorated them in place.

 
          
“Are
we to await your toilette?” Tepshen demanded gruffly. “Or may we commence our
journey?”

 
          
Brannoc
climbed to his feet, stretching, then sniffed and said, “If we find water I
feel a bath in order, for I fear I must smell as bad as you.”

 
          
Tepshen’s
eyes narrowed and Kedryn moved between them, raising a placatory hand.

 
          
“My
friends, you grow irritable. I believe this doleful place works some spell upon
us—fight it, lest Ashar set us against one another.”

 
          
“Aye,
forgive me,” Brannoc essayed a tight smile as he studied Tepshen. “I feel
ill-humored.”

 
          
“And
I,” nodded the kyo. “I believe Kedryn is right.”

 
          
“Let
us march then,” Kedryn suggested. “The sooner we quit this plain the better.”

 
          
They
began to walk, forgetting that they had not eaten for none felt hungry,
marching in silence for none felt like speaking, each lost in his own thoughts
as they proceeded across the flat, gray terrain.

 
          
After
a while Kedryn gestured at the maze of cracks indenting the ground and said,
“Are they not wider?”

 
          
The
others glanced down and Tepshen ducked his head.
“Aye, and
deeper.”

 
          
“I
wonder what caused them," murmured Brannoc. “There is no sun to bake the
soil and they do not seem like watercourses.”

 
          
No
one offered an answer and they continued their march.

 
          
As
they had done on the previous day—if such chronology could be applied—they did
not halt to eat, but maintained a steady pace until their bodies told them to
rest, spreading their blankets again and forcing themselves to partake of the
supplies remaining in their satchels. Brannoc produced a set of dice,
suggesting a game, but Tepshen shook his head, saying that he had no taste for
it. The denial surprised Kedryn, for the kyo was an eager gambler, but he said
nothing, taking up the cubes himself and rolling a few desultory hands before
Brannoc announced that he, too, had lost his enthusiasm.

 
          
“I
prefer to sleep,” he declared, “at least then I may dream of more pleasant
things.”