Angus Wells - The Kingdoms 03 (15 page)

 
          
His
two comrades watched him as he frowned, sensing a most uncharacteristic
indecision. He toyed with his goblet, studying the play of light on the crystal
facets, turning the cup between his hands.

 
          
Finally
he said, “I tell you this because you are true companions, but I ask your
confidence, for I would have it go no farther lest it raise false hopes.”

 
          
“It
will not,” Tepshen Lahl promised.

           
“No word” Brannoc confirmed.

 
          
“The
manner of Darr’s dying troubles me,” Kedryn went on, his voice low, “and that
of Sister Thera. I have spoken with
Bethany
, but she cannot offer enlightenment and
suggests I seek it of the
Paramount
sister, Gerat, in Estrevan.”

 
          
“I
had thought you sought her blessing,” murmured Brannoc when Kedryn lapsed
silent again. Tepshen Lahl said nothing.

 
          
“There
is that; but more,” Kedryn nodded. “It irks me that the father of Wynett might
wander the netherworld as did the shade of Borsus. I would also ask of Gerat
what may be done to remedy that.”

 
          
“Ashar
does not willingly relinquish his playthings,” Brannoc said warily.

 
          
“Do
you think to enter that place again?” Tepshen demanded, fixing Kedryn with his
jet stare.

 
          
“Mayhap,”
nodded the young man. “If Gerat believes that by so doing I might bring Darr to
the Lady.”

 
          
“You
cannot know he is there,” Brannoc said.

 
          
“No,”
agreed Kedryn. “But if he is ...

 
          
“You
would risk too much,” said Tepshen, unaware that he echoed
Bethany
’s warning. “When you made that journey
before, Wynett was with you, uniting the two parts of the talisman. Would you
risk both king and queen? Risk depriving the Kingdoms of their newfound
monarchs?”

 
          
“Is
this why you form the council?” asked Brannoc.

 
          
Kedryn
shook his head, unconsciously touching the blue stone that hung about his neck.
“That notion came to me through the talisman. This came later, and though I
have sought the guidance of the stone I have felt no further enlightenment. I
have promised Bethany that I shall abide by Gerat’s advice in this—but if she
deems it propitious that I attempt such a venture I would ask you to stand
beside Wynett as you have stood by me.”

 
          
“If
such is your future quest,” Tepshen said firmly, “then I shall take that road
with you.”

 
          
“And
I,” said Brannoc, though a trifle less readily, his right hand shaping the
warding gesture of the tribes as he spoke.

 
          
“No.”
Kedryn shook his head. ‘I would not ask that of you. Nor am I certain one not
wearing the talisman might survive.

 
          
What
I ask is that you ward my bride until such time as I return.
Or
not.

 
          
“Besides,
if Gerat should say me nay, I shall not attempt it.”

           
"This is not a thing to
attempt alone,” Tepshen declared.
“Nor to decide alone.
Wynett should have a say.”

           
“No!” Kedryn spoke fiercely. “Wynett
hides it well, but I am sure her father’s death troubles her—I would not raise
false hopes. Nor fears that may prove groundless. I am bound by my promise to
take Gerat’s word on this, and until I have that there is no point to alarming
Wynett. Therefore I ask that you say nothing to
her—nor
any other—of this.”

 
          
He
studied their faces almost defiantly until they both nodded and gave their
words afresh, then he smiled and said, “It may come to nothing, but I would set
my own mind at rest.”

           
“What brings you to this idea?”
asked Tepshen. “Your place is with the living, not roaming the halls of the
dead.”

           
Kedryn shrugged, uncertain of the
answer. Exactly when the notion had come to him he was not sure. It had not
been there when first he spoke with Wynett of his desire to form the council,
nor had she spoken much of her father or the manner of his dying. It seemed
that she had steeled herself to acceptance of Darr’s untimely end and did not
allow herself to contemplate the possibility that the Messenger had condemned him
to the netherworld. As with
Bethany
, her concerns were more for the living than the dead and the whirlwind
rapidity of events since their triumph over Taws had swept her along just as
they carried Kedryn. He had asked her what she would have him do in memory of
Darr and her response had been to suggest no more than a simple service—which
Bethany had already carried out—after which she had made no further mention of
the dead king, her manner prompting Kedryn to avoid discussion of his demise.

 
          
Perhaps
it had been Ashrivelle who put the idea in his mind, for her grief manifested
itself in copious weeping and selfaccusation, the younger sister declaring
herself
responsible, blaming herself for her potion-induced
infatuation with Hattim Sethiyan. Both Wynett and Kedryn had sought to dissuade
her from such inwardly directed reproaches, but Ashrivelle remained adamant,
imposing upon herself a virtual banishment that kept her to her own quarters
despite the blandishments of her sibling or Kedryn, or even Bethany, who—in the
name of the Lady—had absolved her from guilt.

 
          
It
was with the intention of expunging that notional culpability that Ashrivelle
declared herself for Estrevan and a life of service to the Lady, and perhaps it
had been her threnodies that awakened the idea in Kedryn. He was not sure, and
could only shrug in answer to Tepshen’s question.

 
          
“It
may well come to nothing. Gerat may well give me the same advice, in which case
debating it now is fruitless. Let us forget it until I have spoken with the Paramount
Sister.”

 
          
He
smiled afresh as he said it, setting down his goblet to glance around the
chamber. “And let us remove awhile from the palace—I begin to feel caged by
these luxurious walls.”

 
          
Both
the kyo and Brannoc were ready enough to accept the suggestion and Kedryn led
the way from the room into the winding corridors.

 
          
“Where
do we go?” asked Brannoc as he slung his swordbelt across his chest, the
well-worn leather contrasting dully with the splendor of his new garments.

 
          
“The
waterfront,” Kedryn declared impulsively. “Let us find Galen Sadreth.”

 
          
They
made for the palace stables, where Kedryn once again threw the Royal Guard into
confusion by refusing an escort, overcoming the fastidious objections of the
watch captain by pointing out that two swordsmen of Brannoc’s and Tepshen’s
quality were surely bodyguard enough. Leaving the officer muttering behind
them, they mounted and rode out through the palace gates.

 
          
The
day was cooler than of late and Kedryn availed himself of a cloak that served both
to fend off the wind blowing from the river and disguise him sufficiently that
they succeeded in reaching the harbor area with a minimum of fuss. There he was
able to move unnoticed, for the quarter was marked by a refreshing degree of
informality, and busy besides. As Tepshen had remarked, folk were already
arriving for the coronation and the docks were packed with boats disembarking
Tamurin and Keshi from the farther reaches of the Three Kingdoms. The sky had
become overcast, a threat of rain redolent in the moist air, mingling with the
odors of fish and fruit and people that hung about the warehouses. Bustle was
everywhere, stevedores manhandling cargo from the vessels bobbing on the swell
as captains bellowed instructions and merchants screamed offers and
counteroffers, the harbor officials adding their own cries to the cheerful
tumult, and more than one man cursing the horsemen who pushed among the throng.

 
          
“By
the Lady!” complained one red-faced exciseman. “Do you know no better than to
bring animals here? Are you too good to walk like the rest of us?”

 
          
Kedryn
saw Tepshen Lahl about to respond and gestured the easterner to remain silent.
“Forgive us,” he smiled, “we seek Galen Sadreth.”

 
          
The
official craned his head back to peer up at the tall young man on the massive
Keshi charger, the irritation writ fierce on his ruddy features dissolving as
recognition dawned.

 
          
“You
are . . . ,” he stared doubtfully, confused by the absence of escort for one so
exalted,
"... are you not Prince Kedryn?”

 
          
Kedryn
nodded, “But I would not have it voiced abroad, my friend.”

 
          
“Sir,
forgive me.” The exciseman ducked an obsequious head. “I had not recognized
you. Let me summon an escort to clear a way.”

 
          
“No!”
Kedryn shook his head quickly. “I travel incognito. Simply tell me where I may
find Galen Sadreth and I shall no longer clutter your harbor.”

 
          
“I
did not know,” spluttered the
embarrassed
official. “I
crave your pardon, Sire.”

 
          
Kedryn
curbed his impatience at this reminder of Andurel’s formality: in Tamur the
directions would have been given without such rigmarole, and said, “You have
it.
And my thanks if you can furnish directions.”

 
          
The
official nodded vigorously and pointed across the seething dockside. “You might
try The Grapes, Prince.
Or The Lantern.
Otherwise you
will find the Vashti anchored on the farther pier.”

 
          
“Thank
you,” Kedryn responded, and urged the Keshi war- horse forward before the man
could reveal his identity with his bowing.

 
          
“Lady’s blood!
Get that clubfoot nag out of my way.”

 
          
Now
Kedryn laughed aloud as a stevedore wide as he was tall and laden with a huge
crate pushed past.

 
          
“Forgive
me, I do not mean to block your path.”

 
          
“Then
don’t,” grunted the sturdy man, adding in a milder tone, “You’d do better
afoot, lad. And offend fewer folk.”

 
          
“Sound
advice,” Kedryn agreed, and dismounted, leading the horse toward the tavern the
exciseman had indicated.

 
          
The
place had a small courtyard where they were able to leave the animals happily
investigating the vines that gave it its name as they went inside, the interior
only slightly less crowded than the harbor. The ceiling was low and beamed with
smoke-stained oak, a pall of bluish vapor hanging in the body-heated air. The
floor, what little of it was visible, was planked and strewn with straw, the
walls stone, their whitewash covered with graffiti of remarkable imagination. A
massive hearth occupied most of the far wall, the remains of a roast pig
impaled on a spit above a bed of cold charcoal. A second wall was fronted by a
long counter of stained wood on which stood numerous barrels and sundry mugs,
glasses, and cups, and the others were hidden behind trestle tables occupied by
rivermen and stevedores. Rough tables filled the space between, and a
troubadour was attempting vainly to make his
balur
heard above the racket.

 
          
Kedryn
paused at the entrance, aware of Brannoc slipping his saber to his side and
Tepshen hiking a thumb with seeming casualness over the scabbard of his
longsword. He studied the room, feeling, for all its claustrophobic press, more
at ease than in the spacious halls of the
White
Palace
,
more at home in this noisy, inelegant
gathering where men jostled him with cheerful unconcern and the tavern wenches
eyed him speculatively.