But these were not the lands of the Bundakai, and so Kedryn went frustrated by more than his blindness while Wynett was clearly tom between duty and desire. Better for Kedryn to quit High Fort, the easterner thought, and seek the ministrations of Estrevan, leaving the woman behind. Or console himself with one of the fort’s doxies. At least put Wynett from his mind. Yet he would not, or could not, and now his plan for the parley meant a longer sojourn and more time in the Sister’s company that must inevitably result in a harder parting when such time came.
“Dream of the unattainable,” the kyo recited to the wind, "but do not live in dreams.”
Then he set such musings aside as the stallion’s hooves clattered on the glacis fronting the fort and he slowed to a walk as the guards saluted, ushering him through the great gates.
He crossed the courtyard and rode down the long tunnel leading to the stables, dismounting as a groom came out to take the reins. He loosened his cloak, grateful for the lessening of the wind within the confines of the fort, and set a habitual hand to the scabbard of the long, straight-edged sword that was now his only material link with his home as he proceeded to negotiate the yards and walkways leading to Bedyr’s chambers.
The place was busy with the work of reconstruction, tilers repairing roofs holed by barbarian missiles, squads leveling pitted yards, laying fresh flags cut from the Lozin walls, carpenters lading the crisp air with the pleasant odor of cut wood, while on the ramparts he could hear the creaking of the winches that hauled up the massive slabs that would rebuild the ravaged buttresses. It was none too soon, for winter would render such activities dangerous as ice and wind settled in, and a damaged fort was like a wounded swordsman—open to attack. That was another sound reason for Kedryn’s suggestion, and the kyo smiled his admiration of the young man’s newfound wisdom.
“You seem pleased,” Bedyr remarked as Tepshen entered the room.
The easterner nodded, shedding his cloak and crossing to the fire as he said, “The repairs go well. And the men are ready.”
He slipped the fastenings of his scabbard loose and set his sheathed blade against a chair, holding out his hands to the welcoming blaze.
“Brannoc is not yet returned,” Bedyr told him, “so no time is yet agreed.”
“Best soon,” murmured Tepshen, turning to present his back to the fire as he eased the latchings of his jerkin loose. “An idle army finds itself work.”
“An eastern proverb?” queried Bedyr, smiling.
“A general observation.” The easterner shrugged and settled himself in a chair, turning it to face across to where the Lord of Tamur sat at a table covered with papers. “The town is too small to accommodate them all and soon they will grow restless.”
“Jarl is already anxious to return home,” Bedyr nodded, “and I’d lief see Yrla again. No doubt the men feel much the same way.”
“They will do their duty,” Tepshen said, reaching out to secure a mug that he filled from the copper jug warming by the hearth, “but the sooner they can, and be gone, the better.”
“Aye.” Bedyr pushed the papers aside and stretched, flexing his shoulders. “I’d take Kedryn out of here, too.”
Tepshen Lahl sipped the mulled wine, staring across the rim of the mug at his friend. “Is there any change?”
“No.” Bedyr shook his head, his smile fading into melancholy. “Neither in his sight nor his feelings.”
“You spoke to him?”
Again Bedyr nodded. “Aye, and he told me openly that he loves Wynett. ”
Tepshen made a hissing sound, drawing in his breath, that Bedyr recognized as alarm. He said, “And what was your response?”
“That he should consider whether his feelings are genuine or prompted by Wynett’s care. He is certain they are real.”
“He knows his own mind,” grunted the kyo.
“He wants Wynett to accompany him to Estrevan,” said Bedyr. “Will she? It might be better she did not.”
“I cannot speak for the Sister,” Bedyr answered, “but I think I shall do my best to persuade her. ”
Tepshen Lahl’s inscrutable features creased in an expression Bedyr recognized as a frown. “You do not agree?” he asked.
The kyo hissed again, thoughtfully this time, then said, “Will that not prolong the inevitable?”
“Is it inevitable?” Bedyr heard the defensive note in his voice and wondered if he truly acted wisely, or merely out of sympathy for his blinded son. “By the Lady, Tepshen! Has he not suffered enough? Is he not due some small compensation?”
Tepshen nodded his agreement. “But if Wynett remains true to her vows, would a swift parting not be for the best?”
“I am not sure. ” Bedyr shook his head hopelessly. “Perhaps. Or perhaps it would fuel the darkness that pervades him. He needs hope, and if Wynett’s presence will give him that, then I shall do my utmost to obtain it.”
The kyo shrugged, focusing his attention on his wine, and Bedyr saw disapproval in the motion. Tepshen would not voice his objections unless asked, for his devotion to the Caitin line was unswerving and save on those occasions when he considered contrary counsel of greater value than silence, he obeyed his chosen leader with an unstinting devotion.
This, it seemed, was such a time, though Bedyr, unsure of himself, was not certain but that he would prefer voiced argument. He rose from the table, pushing his chair noisily over the stone floor of the outer chamber, and crossed to the fire, helping himself to wine. He sipped the spicy brew, studying Tepshen’s face as he leaned against the mantel.
“Tell me why you object,” he asked: in this, as in most things, he felt the kyo’s advice would be of value.
“Wynett has taken vows,” responded Tepshen, “and she appears unwilling to forswear them. Sooner or later Kedryn must accept that, and if she will not change her mind, then it is better he accepts it early. To bring her with us to Estrevan merely prolongs foolish hope.”
“If it is foolish,” Bedyr nodded. “But if it is not? You have seen them together; you have seen how she looks at him.”
Tepshen nodded. “I have, but she is still a Sister.”
“That is not irrevocable,” Bedyr pointed out.
“But unlikely to change,” Tepshen answered.
“Mayhap,” Bedyr shrugged, “and mayhap I shall not be able to persuade her to go, but I think I must try.”
“You are his father: if you think it best, then so be it.”
Bedyr smiled ruefully. “It may be that in this instance a father’s wishes are not for the best.”
“But,” said Tepshen, “you believe they are.”
“I do,” said Bedyr. “At the very least, Wynett—if she agrees to accompany him—will have a chance to continue her ministrations, and they may have some effect. Even if not, he will have her company—and I think that without that his mood will become bleak. I would avoid that if I can.”
“Then persuade her,” said Tepshen.
Bedyr nodded again, his smile becoming warmer as he heard the acceptance in his friend’s voice. “Until this parley is done, however, we are bound to High Fort.”
“Aye,” the easterner grunted, then turned as a knocking echoed against the door. Unthinking, he set a hand to his scabbard as Bedyr crossed the room, shifting the lacquered case to his knees as he set down his mug.
Bedyr swung the door open to reveal a soldier in messenger’s livery, his face alight with excitement.
“My Lord,” he announced, “Brannoc has returned with word from the barbarians and the king requests your presence in the Council Chamber,”
Bedyr thanked him and beckoned for Tepshen Lahl to follow him as he strode toward Kedryn’s quarters.
“Lord Bedyr,” the messenger called after them, “Prince Kedryn is already summoned. He was with Sister Wynett.”
“Where else?” Bedyr murmured, exchanging glances with Tepshen.
Darr was conversing with Brannoc when they reached the chamber, the outlaw lounging at ease as thou
gh speaking with kings was an everyday occurrence, his casual attitude eliciting a disapproving frown from Rycol, who sat, stiff-spined, across the table. Jarl and Hattim joined them moments later, and then Kedryn, led by a liveried warrior. Bedyr saw his son seated and waited eagerly for the monarch to speak.
“I believe,” Darr announced, “that it is Brannoc’s words you would hear rather than mine. So . . .”
He gestured for the wolf’s-head to proceed and Brannoc beamed, setting elbows to the table as he studied the expectant faces turned in his direction.
“I have spoken with the ulans,” he began, “and they are agreed on a parley. Vran speaks for the Yath; Darien for the Grymard. There are three contenders for Yarrum’s torque—Threnol, Farlan and Cord—who had best be present if the Drott are to be bound by the terms. The Caroc have already decided the ascendancy and will be represented by Remyd. Ostral and Gryth speak for the Vistral.
“They will enter High Fort only on Kedryn’s word, however. And that they will not hear unless he goes to them. I suggest that on the morrow Kedryn ride out to meet them—they will be waiting on the Beltrevan road.”
“In ambush?” demanded Hattim. “Ready to seize the Prince of Tamur?”
“Alone,” countered Brannoc cheerfully, “I have their word on it.”
“The promise of barbarians?” sneered the Lord of Ust-Galich, his tone prompting Kedryn to wonder if he spoke out of genuine concern or merely a desire to oppose.
“The blood promise of ulans and ala-Ulans,” Brannoc answered, making little attempt to conceal the contempt in his voice. “The equivalent, in the Beltrevan, of you, my Lord.”
Hattim gasped at the insult, but before he was able to protest, Kedryn asked, “Do you trust them, Brannoc?”
“Aye,” the outlaw told him. “In this, I do.”
“Then I place my trust in them,” said Kedryn.
“With an escort,” Bedyr said cautiously.
“I would suggest Tepshen and myself,” Brannoc advised. “And ten good men. More would indicate a lack of faith.”
“I shall ride with you,” Bedyr declared. “In case.”
“Bedyr,” Darr murmured, “would you place all Tamur’s eggs in the one basket? I understand your concern, but should this prove the ambush our Lord of Ust-Galich suggests then your presence can make little difference—save to deprive your kingdom of lord and prince together.”
“The king speaks wisely, Father,” Kedryn added. “And I trust Brannoc’s judgment in this matter. Let us demonstrate faith—and show we are not afraid.”
“Again, wisdom,” Jarl complimented. “Listen to your son, Bedyr. ”
Bedyr nodded, unhappy with the arrangement but willing to accept the terms. Darr said, “I would ask my Lord Kesh to have four squadrons of his swiftest horsemen standing ready. In case.”
“So long as they do not show themselves,” said Brannoc.
“They will be ready,” Jarl promised. “And I shall be at their head.”
“You will assure them safe conduct,” Brannoc continued, addressing Kedryn. “For themselves and their Gehrim.”
“Their bodyguards?” Hattim snorted. “They dare ask that bodyguards accompany them?”
“It is their custom,” said Brannoc. “Twelve warriors from each tribe. Sixty men are small threat to the armies of the Kingdoms.” “It is a matter of protocol,” Hattim argued. “They are the defeated ones, yet they dictate terms.”
“I am not sure there is a protocol to cover this,” Darr murmured gently, “and as Brannoc points out—there is scant threat to us.” Hattim’s face blackened at this further reverse, but once again Kedryn preempted his objections by suggesting a vote. All save Hattim voiced their acceptance, and the Lord of Ust-Galich was once more forced to acquiesce.
“After I have given them my word,” Kedryn asked, “what then?”
“With safe conduct guaranteed you need only arrange a time,” said Brannoc. “Perhaps the following day?”
“The armies are ready?” Darr asked, and when he had that confirmed said, “Then—if Kedryn is agreeable—let us set the time for noon.”
It was agreed and they set to discussing the exact form of the parley. It was decided that pavilions should be raised below the fort, through which the barbarian chieftains would proceed, emerging from the southern gates, the first woodlanders to set foot in the Three Kingdoms. Escorted by a guard of honor, they would meet Darr and the lords of Tamur, Kesh and Ust-Galich in full sight of the massed warriors. In return for their promises of peace they would be allowed to retrieve their fallen and return to the Beltrevan. Then Brannoc, much to Kedryn’s amusement for he suspected an ulterior motive, suggested that the time was ripe for opening stronger trade links with the forest folk.
“There is much they cannot obtain in the forests,” the wolf’s- head pointed out, his voice earnest, “and the goods of the Kingdoms are highly prized. What small degree of trade has taken place has been—let us say, unofficial. Scarcely sufficient to satisfy the demand.”
Kedryn heard Rycol’s splutter, midway between merriment and vexation, and wished that he could see the chatelain’s visage as Brannoc outlined a plan that made excellent sense—and would undoubtedly provide the outlaw with a far greater profit than his previous clandestine activities as a smuggler.
“Let them but acquire a taste for the goods of the Kingdoms and they will likely be loath to forgo such luxuries,” he continued, ignoring Rycol’s grunt, “and consequently less likely to sever the links by act of war. ”
“You would have some experience of such transactions,” Rycol remarked drily.
“I have some small personal interest,” Brannoc responded in an innocent voice, “but my purpose now is to cement the peace.”
“There is another advantage beyond the commercial,” Darr interjected. “Should we regularize trade, we should afford ourselves excellent opportunity to maintain a degree of surveillance within the Beltrevan. Perhaps we should suggest seasonal fairs.”
“My Lord,” Brannoc announced admiringly, “you have the foresight of a freebooter.”
Darr laughed and said, “How say you, my Lords?”
“Who would organize such junkets?” asked Rycol. “And where? For all the parleys in the world, I’d not be overjoyed to see barbarian tents encamped below my walls.”
“Within the forest,” Brannoc said quickly, confirming Kedryn’s suspicion that this was something the outlaw had dreamed up with an eye to turning a personal profit, “a day’s ride from either fort. A packhorse’s ride—less for cavalry.”
“I could accept that,” Rycol allowed.
“It would also provide an opportunity to renew peace promises,” Darr added, “though organization would be necessary, and my Lords Rycol and Fengrif are doubtless busy enough tending their forts, so we should need a trustworthy administrator.”
“One familiar with the forest folk,” Kedryn said, no longer able to contain himself. “A man who speaks their language and knows their ways. One they trust and who can be trusted by us. Is there such a man?”
Brannoc cleared his throat.
“Who else?” asked Bedyr, understanding his son’s drift.
“Whom do you suggest?” wondered Jarl.
Kedryn heard Rycol bark laughter and say, “I nominate Brannoc.”
“I?” responded the wolf’s-head with transparent surprise.
“You,” Rycol chuckled, echoed by Bedyr. “You have, after all, the advantage of familiarity with such dealings.”
“Do you agree?” Darr asked, and Kedryn heard the lords voice their assent.
“And you, my friend?” the king queried. “Would you undertake such an appointment?”
“I am honored by your trust,” Brannoc said modestly. “It would behoove me ill to refuse.”
“We had best give you a suitable title then,” the king decided, his own voice betraying laughter. “One to match so elevated a position. ”
“Warden of the Forest?” sugg
ested Kedryn.
“Excellent!” Darr applauded. “Brannoc, from henceforth you are our Warden of the Forest. I shall have my scribes draw up official documents, and we shall announce your appointment at the parley. ”
“I am overwhelmed,” the newly appointed Warden declared. “Though such responsibility weighs heavy I shall administer my duties loyally. Whatever they may be.”
“You will, of course, keep the commanders of both High and Low Forts informed of your activities,” the king decided, “though I am sure you will receive every assistance.”
“I look forward to working closely with my Lord Rycol,” Brannoc said solemnly, and Kedryn wondered what expression that produced on the chatelain’s stem features, for it had not been so long ago that he had advocated hanging Brannoc for the very activities now rendered legal. It was strange, he thought, how the world turned.
“Am I to provide funding for this?” asked Rycol in a carefully controlled voice.
“I feel we may safely leave our new Warden with that task,” Darr said. “Some tithe on the merchants perhaps?”
“A true freebooter,” Brannoc murmured.
“There is much of that in the duties of a king,” Darr retorted, chuckling. “And now may we assume these matters settled?” There was general agreement, followed by a scraping of chairs as the assembly rose. Bedyr turned to Kedryn, saying, “I would speak with the king, shall I see you in your chambers?” and Kedryn nodded, feeling Tepshen Lahl’s hand upon his arm as he stood up.
He realized that Brannoc stood close by from the woodsmoke odor of the wolf’s-head’s leathers and murmured, “Your purse will doubtless gain weight from this, Warden.”
Brannoc laughed cheerfully. “But with honest gold, now, my friend. ”
Kedryn heard Tepshen Lahl snort laughter and began to chuckle himself.
“Will you accompany us? I’d enjoy friendly company.”
“Of course,” Brannoc agreed, taking his elbow to assist him in the negotiation of the corridors. “You have something to drink in your chamber? This diplomacy has dried my throat.”
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