Angus Wells - The Kingdoms 03 (55 page)

 
          
While
they ate Taron resumed his discourse.

 
          
“It
is, of course, Ashar’s desire to rule all the netherworld, and to extend his
sovereignty over your world. The Lady works to prevent this dominion, and I
imagine that is at least one of the reasons you are come here. The other, of
course, is to save your bride.”

 
          
“You
know of Wynett?” Kedryn gasped.

 
          
Taron
nodded. “Magoria maintains a degree of contact with the other realms, and thus
I learnt that Ashar had sent his creature forth and that it returned with a
woman wed to the man Estrevan calls the Chosen One. Now you come, wearing that
talisman and carrying Drul’s sword—who else might you be?”

 
          
Kedryn
wiped his mouth with a napkin of soft lawn. “Are you able to guide us to
Wynett?”

 
          
“It
is possible,” smiled Taron, “but do you think to overcome Ashar himself?”

 
          
“I
must first seek out a creature called Taziel,” Kedryn admitted.

 
          
“And
what would you have Taziel do?” asked Taron.

 
          
“Affix
this stone I wear to the sword,” Kedryn replied, “that I have a weapon to fight
the god.”

 
          
“A
lofty ambition,” Taron murmured.

 
          
“Less
ambition than need,” said Kedryn. “Ashar stole my bride and I would win her
back. It appears that only through combat may I achieve that aim. ”

 
          
Taron’s
yellow eyes hooded and he steepled his fingers against his plump lips, studying
Kedryn’s face. “Taziel may not be easily persuaded,” he said at last. “And to
approach the smith you must first pass his guards.”

 
          
“Would
you aid us to this?”

 
          
Kedryn
in turn studied the smooth features of the bald man, not yet convinced of his
amity, but neither ready to assume him hostile. Certainly he seemed to hold
nothing back, and had so far offered only a friendly face.

 
          
“Perhaps
not directly, for I am responsible for the folk of my realm and would not
submit them to Ashar’s wrath,” said Taron, “but I shall willingly furnish you
with instructions.”

 
          
“Who
are these folk?” asked Tepshen, speaking for the first time.

 
          
The
interruption seemed not to disturb Taron, who smiled and said, “They are
largely those who, like
myself
, fell in combat.
Presumably we had led lives unworthy of punishment and so found ourselves here;
others, though very few, came as you have come. Most consider Magoria a paradise.”

 
          
“You
are dead?” Three of Brannoc’s fingers passed in a sweeping gesture before his
face. “We dine with ghosts?”

 
          
“Aye
and nay,” beamed Taron, apparently finding both the questions and the
half-breed’s obvious discomfort vastly amusing. “That I am dead as you term the
condition, I cannot dispute. I was a chieftain of the Sandurkan and fell with a
Tamurin lance in my belly.” He patted the mound reflectively, chuckling. “But I
do not consider myself a ghost. I eat, I drink, I wench—I enjoy the attributes
of any man, as do all my folk. Death appears to be a state of mind, dying a
matter of translation. I cannot explain it better than that.”

 
          
“But
the spirits we encountered in the fog,” Brannoc protested. “They were not like
you.”

 
          
‘The creatures of the lakes?”
Taron shook his head. “They
are not like me. For one reason or another they find themselves condemned to
that sad plight. I know only that we fought a squadron of Tamurin and I
misjudged a stroke, thus finding myself struck. I felt my life flow out and
woke here.”

 
          
“When
was that?” asked Kedryn, intrigued by this explanation of the afterlife.

 
          
“Time
is of little consequence here,” returned the bald man. “It was Gudrun of.Bessyl
Hold that harried us, and Farryl who sat in Andurel.”

 
          
“Farryl?”
Kedryn summoned memories of history lessons spent
with Sister Lyassa. “Farryl ruled third after Corwyn. Centuries have passed.”

 
          
“Centuries?”
Taron said mildly. “Well and well, it is of no
matter; not here.”

 
          
He
nodded to a servant, who served him with cheeses that he set to consuming with
a most human gusto. Kedryn sipped wine, confused and fascinated. Taron
swallowed a wedge of milky white cheese and dabbed his lips. “But in this
matter of Taziel,” he continued, “I would not jeopardize the somewhat fragile
safety of my people by offending Ashar, or the Lady, and so I feel I can
instruct you on the means of reaching the smith, but no more than that.”

 
          
“Any
aid or advice will be greatly welcome,” Kedryn said.

 
          
"Then
listen carefully,” Taron advised. “The river you doubtless noticed as you
approached this hold flows into his domain. You may take a boat and follow the
river down. In time you will see a line of hills that belch fire at the sky,
and that is where you will find Taziel. He occupies a cave beneath the tallest
peak. It is reached by a trail that climbs from the river. If you are able to
surmount that trail you will come upon the smith’s cave, deep within the
mountains. It is not a pleasant place and Taziel will demand a price for his
work. You may find the fee he asks too high, but if you cannot pay you will
find yourselves entrapped, for there is no returning from that forge.

 
          
“Did
I not sense that you will not be persuaded otherwise, I would counsel you to
forget this
quest.
You would be most welcome here, and
I believe you would find the sojourn pleasant.”

 
          
“I
shall not be dissuaded,” smiled Kedryn, “but I thank you for your advice.”

 
          
“So
be it,” Taron murmured, “when would you depart?”

 
          
“As
soon we may,” replied Kedryn.

 
          
“Tomorrow
is soon enough,” said the small man. “Refresh yourselves with baths and sleep
first, and I shall have provisions readied for you.”

 
          
“You
are kind,” Kedryn said, “and you have my gratitude.”

 
          
Taron
beamed, saying nothing. He beckoned a servant and whispered in the man’s ear,
then turned again to his guests.

 
          
“Go
with Dukai and he will show you to your chambers.”

 
          
It
was a polite dismissal and Kedryn rose, Tepshen and Brannoc with him, following
the servant from the hall and along the colonnaded way to a winding flight of
steps that brought them to the upper levels of the hold. Dukai indicated three
adjoining chambers and an arch across the corridor that he told them led to the
baths. “Permit me to take your clothes,” he suggested, eyeing their grubby
outfits with some distaste, “and I shall have them cleaned. Your rooms contain
garments suitable to Lord Taron’s halls.”

 
          
Kedryn
felt little desire to don the popinjay garments favored by Taron’s folk, but he
admitted that his gear was in dire need of cleansing and so nodded.

 
          
“Simply
leave them in your chambers,” Dukai said, “and they will be returned you.”

 
          
Kedryn
ducked his head in agreement and the servant departed. The three comrades
turned to the rooms, Tepshen suggesting that he and Brannoc take those either
side of Kedryn’s. Kedryn nodded, eager to bathe, and entered the chamber.

 
          
It
was spacious, wide windows looking over the orchards, blue-shadowed now as
twilight fell. A bed stood against one wall, facing a small hearth before which
stood two chairs and a low table, a recessed closet holding a selection of the
bright outfits that were obviously the fashion here, and a garderobe in one
corner. After the food and wine Kedryn felt the need to avail
himself
of the garderobe and shucked out of his garments,
leaving them piled carelessly on the bed. Then he donned a flowing robe of the
least fanciful design he could find and made for the door. An afterthought sent
him back for Drul’s sword, which he carried with a degree of mild embarrassment
to Tepshen’s chamber.

 
          
He
was reassured to find the kyo holding his own blade, wearing a robe of
viridescent emerald with argent patterning about the sleeves and hem, in
conversation with Brannoc. The half-breed, too, carried his sword, though he
seemed at ease in his gown of scarlet and perse.

 
          
“I
believe he means well,” he was saying, “but it is a foolish man who forsakes
his blade in a stranger’s keep.”

 
          
“You
speak of Lord Taron?” asked Kedryn.

 
          
Brannoc
nodded and Tepshen said, “I do not trust him.”

 
          
“He
has offered no harm,” Kedryn returned, “and appears almost eager to help.”

 
          
Tepshen’s
mouth flattened suspiciously. “Why should he?”

 
          
‘The
balance he spoke of?” Kedryn suggested. “Mayhap he has no more
wish
to offend the Lady than Ashar.”

 
          
“At
least his food was good,” Brannoc shrugged, “and his baths are something I
shall enjoy.”

 
          
It
transpired that he enjoyed them even more than he anticipated, for when they
entered the room Dukai had indicated they found three maidens waiting to serve
them. One was fair, with golden hair and a lightly tanned complexion, the second
dark, her skin swarthy as the
half-breed’s
, while the
third was red-headed, with pale skin and a faint dusting of freckles. All were
nubile and dressed in filmy pantaloons and short, sleeveless tunics of sheer,
almost transparent material. They curtsied, smiling as the three men entered,
ignoring the weapons they carried. The blond maiden said, “Your baths are
ready.”

 
          
Kedryn
blushed, finding it difficult to remove his gaze from the thrust of her
breasts, the skimpy tunic doing little to hide them. He cleared his throat and
said, “It is not our custom to bathe with maidens.”

 
          
Her
face became a pantomime of disappointment. Brannoc said quickly, “It is not a
Tamurin
custom. But I am not Tamurin.”

 
          
“Have
care,” admonished Tepshen.

 
          
Brannoc
grinned and said, “Of three fair maidens? What harm can they do me?"

 
          
“I
thought you wary of ghosts,” replied to kyo.

 
          
Brannoc’s
grin stretched wider as he shrugged. “As Taron told us, it is a state of mind;
and these appear fleshly enough.”

 
          
“I
would bathe alone,” said Kedryn, addressing the women. “I intend no offense,
but it is my custom.”

 
          
“And
mine,” said Tepshen.

 
          
“As
you wish,” the fair-haired wench murmured, her gray eyes moving questioningly
to Brannoc.

 
          
The
half-breed spread his arms wide. “My dears,” he declared, “I would not
disappoint you. Nor, I hope, will you me.”

 
          
The
three maidens giggled. “You will find all you require there,” the fair one told
Kedryn, pointing to a door, and took Brannoc’s hand, leading him toward a
separate opening as she whispered, “And you will find nothing to disappoint
you.”

 
          
Kedryn
was loath to see the half-breed separated, but had little time to produce any
convincing argument as Brannoc disappeared with the maidens. He shrugged and
went with Tepshen into the other chamber. It held a large tiled pool, its water
steaming fragrantly, musk-scented soap and huge towels set close to hand. He
set Drul’s great sword down and let his robe fall, climbing gratefully into the
tub, where Tepshen joined him, both men luxuriating in the welcome warmth,
filled bellies and Taron’s good wine combining with the heat to render them
pleasantly drowsy. Kedryn decided that should the three women intend Brannoc
harm, he would hear the half-breed’s shout, and when he heard laughter he
allowed himself to relax.