Their going that day was slower, for they had first to dig the wagon out and then negotiate a trail heavy-laden with snow, halting often as riders attached ropes to aid the team through drifts or up the more vertiginous slopes. Around noon, however, the fall eased off and the sun poked tentatively through the overcast, then grew stronger, shining from a sword-blade sky to dance brilliant light over the drifts, the white becoming an eye-watering silver over which the horsemen moved like inkblots on an unpenned page.
They made camp before sunset under the lee of a high bluff, the bare stone a dark scar against the uniformity of the snow-clad scarp of mountainside, and in the morning found that fresh snowfall hid their tracks and made their ascent harder still. Wynett had crossed Tamur only twice before, traveling to Estrevan in the spring and to High Fort in late summer and early autumn. The winters she had known in Andurel and Estrevan and High Fort had not been like this, for she had passed them warm beneath roofs, protected by walls, with heated baths readily available and hot food prepared in hotter kitchens. She had seen the land burgeon green and gold, seen it fecund beneath the summer sun, and rich with the colors of autumn; but never like this. It was magnificent and threatening at the same time, the great spread of the downslope of the Geffyn’s eastern scarp spread out below her white as some vast, fresh-laundered sheet, the timber noble beneath its burden of snow; and she saw how easy it would be to die in that vastness, lost in drifts, frozen. It was little wonder the Tamurin were so hardy a folk, living in these extremes: it was a hard, proud land.
“Is all of Tamur like this?” she asked Kedryn as they ate breakfast. “So high and rugged?”
“Most,” he answered. “To the east—as you saw—the land is gentle, and to the south it runs down to the Ust-Idre, where it is very soft. Our best wines come from there, but the heart is up here. Beyond the Geffyn forest it flattens to the plateau, but then to north and west it is mostly mountain again.”
“And Caitin Hold?” she asked.
“Sits at the center of the plateau. There are hills, but not like this. This is the hardest part, save perhaps for the western reaches, where Tamur meets the Gadrizels.”
“We must cross there, surely?” she wondered. “To reach Estrevan. Will that be possible before spring?”
“I am not sure,” he said, smiling. “Mayhap you will be forced to spend the winter in Caitin Hold.”
“Is that so bad?” she responded, her tone bantering as his, though faint alarm stirred at the back of her mind.
“I would not think so.”
He continued to smile as he said it, but his voice no longer teased and Wynett pursed her lips, reminding herself that she trod a fine line and must be careful of her words. Quickly, seeking to save him from embarrassment, she said, “It would at least give me a chance to meet the Sister who taught you.”
“Lyassa?” Kedryn chuckled at the thought of his tutor. “She can likely inform you better than I what geography confronts us—she spent long enough drumming it into me. That and history, and all the other things she deemed a prince of Tamur should know. ”
“You are fond of her,” Wynett suggested, hearing affection in his voice.
“Of course,” he grinned. “Lyassa was a fine tutor, though at times I believe she despaired of me. Especially when the lesson was to do with matters of the court. She set great store on dance and musical accomplishment, whilst I was more concerned with learning to use my sword and riding out to take my blooding.”
“You have done that now,” Wynett responded more soberly. “And met the king—whose high opinion of you is obvious.”
Kedryn laughed. “Lyassa will be impressed by that. And by your royal blood.”
“My antecedents are of no importance,” Wynett told him, taking the opportunity to subtly remind him of her position, “I am a Sister now, no longer a princess of the High Blood.”
Kedryn nodded. “I do not forget. But still, I should not mind if we were snowbound.”
Bedyr shouted then that they should prepare to leave and any further conversation was curtailed by the preparations for departure. The tents were struck and packed on Dys’s wagon and Wynett took her place beside the silent old man as Kedryn mounted the Keshi stallion and the column commenced its seemingly unending ascent of the heights.
It went on throughout that day and all of the next and they did not reach Lathan until the middle of the third day.
The town sat precarious as an eagle’s eyrie on the very edge of the escarpment, its walls seeming an extension of the rimrock, the trail disgorging on a shelf before the gates, which stood open on a large staging area flanked by wooden buildings. Their approach had been watched and as they entered the eastern plaza a welcoming committee came out to greet them, forewarned of their arrival by returning warriors.
Once again they were feasted—and beset by townsfolk anxious to hear a fresh account of the war—so that the night was old before they were able to decently excuse themselves and seek out their beds. They learned that snow had been falling for several days on the uplands, but that as best the town knew the road ahead was clear enough for safe travel, the going relatively easy after the climb. Bedyr delayed their departure for a day to rest the animals, and Wynett seized the opportunity to replenish her stocks of herbs, which had become further depleted by the pleasant excesses of their arrival.
They left Lathan with the sun rising like a disk of polished silver against a sky of sparkling pure blue, the road ahead scintillating in the brilliant light. The horses’ breath plumed steam in the icy air and the hooves crunched on the packed snow, the wagon riding smooth over the harder surface. There was an air of mounting excitement as the Tamurin rode into the forest that spread dense all around, as if the hundred felt themselves to be in the heartland of their kingdom and now closer to the completion of their journey. It seemed to Wynett that these warriors belonged to the highlands, regarding the gentler eastern reaches of Tamur as soft, while the heights were theirs, as mountains were the natural abode of eagles. She watched them riding straight and proud, Bedyr and Kedryn and Tepshen Lahl at their head, setting a brisk pace as they drove into the great mass of trees.
For seven days they traversed the woodlands, encountering only two small villages, little more than hamlets built around inns too small to accommodate them all, but eager to provide what hospitality they might. At night they heard wolves howl, but the lupine predators stayed clear of so large a party, not yet driven by winter hunger to risk attacking the horses.
On the eighth day the forest thinned along the banks of a river sufficiently shallow they were able to ford the stream without difficulty, the timber steadily declining thereafter in both size and density until they rode across country mostly open. Low hills bulked to the north, rising into the distance to meet the Lozins, but the road they followed ran due west, scoured by the wind that began to blow once they reached the flatlands. There were occasional falls of snow, but never enough to impede their progress and they made good time, farms and villages becoming more frequent, and welcome as an escape from the bone-numbing chill of the wind. The sun shone bright for most of the way and Wynett was grateful for the charcoal stick Dys gave her to rub about her eyes as a precaution against snow blindness.
Four days from the forest they came upon a town, walled, it now seemed, as much for defense against the elements as against invasion, and found beds for the night.
Four days after that they reached Caitin Hold.
The road first descended into a broad valley, then climbed a ridge to cross a further section of flat country before climbing again to a vast mound of land at the center of which stood the stronghold of the Lords of Tamur. Wynett gasped when she saw it, for it was far larger than High Fort, a walled town rather than a citadel. The stone that bulked from the snow-covered mountain meadow stood high as four tall men, solid and square, with towers rising higher still at each comer, the gantries of catapults jutting from their ramparts. A town surrounded the hold on three sides, its
buildings dwarfed by the mass of the fortress, a broad expanse of open ground separating the two, the area facing toward the trail devoid of buildings. Bedyr called a halt three bowshots from the walls and there was a busy fixing of gear as the warriors prepared to enter their home again. Then they remounted and went forward, slowly at first but then lifting to a brisk canter. Dys grunted what sounded like a laugh and flicked the reins to bring the wagon team up to speed, prompting Wynett to clutch somewhat desperately for a secure hold as the vehicle trundled vigorously toward the gates.
She saw that they stood open, and that men lined the walls, whooping and waving as the column approached, but her eyes fastened on the woman who stood beneath the gate arch, for she realized this must be the Lady Yrla, Kedryn’s mother.
She was tall, Wynett saw, and slender despite the fur cloak that draped her. Her hair was straight, and black as a raven’s wing, bound by a simple fillet of silver from a face to inspire a balladeer. In repose it might have been serene, but now it was transformed to glowing radiance as she smiled and raised both her arms as though to embrace them all. Had that been her intent, she had no chance, for Bedyr spurred his mount to a gallop that ended scant feet from his wife, then sprang from the saddle and crossed the remaining distance at a run to sweep her into his arms, crushing her against his chest as she held him and laughed and kissed him fervently.
Their embrace lasted until the riders swept in through the gates and Kedryn dismounted, moving with a careless disregard for his blindness into his mother’s arms.
It was Tepshen Lahl who assisted Wynett down from the wagon into a courtyard filled with laughing, embracing warriors, their women coming to greet them with as little regard for formality as Yrla had shown. There was a warmth to the occasion that beat like the flames of a welcome hearthfire on Wynett’s Estrevan- heightened senses, and for a moment she felt almost lonely among so happy a throng.
Then Yrla pushed Kedryn to arm’s length and turned gray eyes toward the Sister.
“Wynett,” she said, extricating herself from her son’s hold to cross the gap between them, “welcome to Caitin Hold.”
“My Lady,” Wynett curtsied. “Thank you.”
“There is little formality here.” Yrla took the younger woman’s elbows to raise her, smiling as she hugged the Sister. “My name is Yrla, and I thank you for all you have done for my son.” Mention of Kedryn painted brief distress on her features and Wynett saw that beneath her obvious joy at the reunion there was deeper-seated concern. She said, “I have done little enough . . . Yrla. What progress he has made comes from within him. I have merely kept him company.”
“I think there is more to it than that,” Yrla responded softly, “but we can talk of it later. For now, I am sure you would welcome hot water and rest. There are Sisters here anxious to meet you and tonight there will be a banquet to celebrate this happy day, but first let me show you to your chambers.”
She smiled, releasing Wynett as she turned to Tepshen Lahl. “Tepshen, it is so good to have you safely returned.”
The kyo bowed, his usually impassive features creased by a smile to match hers, then put his gloved hands upon her shoulders and kissed her solemnly on both cheeks. Yrla laughed afresh and put her arms about his waist, holding him close for a moment as he said, “It is good to be back.”
Then Bedyr was there beside her, settling his arm about her as Kedryn came to her left and she slid an arm around him. holding husband and son together.
“I have prayed to the Lady for this day. Now let us retire and prepare to celebrate it in suitable fashion.”
“Wynett?” Kedryn extended his free hand and she came toward him, allowing him to hold her as he held his mother, feeling for that instant a part of the group.
“Wynett needs a bath,” Yrla chuckled, “to warm her. While you two need to scrub the smell of armor and horses away. Come, I have them readied.”
They moved across the yard, slowly to allow for Kedryn*s blindness, Tepshen Lahl joining them, one with the family, and Wynett found herself wondering at Yrla’s aplomb. Bedyr, she knew, must have sent word ahead so that his wife was not taken by surprise, but even so her control was impressive, for Wynett had sensed the pain she felt at her son’s predicament. Yet her manner gave no occasion for the anguish of pity; rather, she exuded a real joy that encompassed his blindness, accepting it for the present without allowing it to spoil the warmth of her heartfelt welcome or give Kedryn a chance to feel anything but upraised. The Lady Yrla, Wynett decided, was a most remarkable woman.
That conclusion was reinforced when Yrla joined her after she had bathed. Attendant women had shown her to the chambers prepared for her—warm, cheerful rooms in which she felt immediately at home—and then led her to the bathhouse. The steaming water had refreshed her, easing out the aches incurred on the wagon, and she had found Yrla waiting for her with a pewter jug of heated wine and two silver goblets.
“Bedyr wrote that Kedryn has fallen in love with you,” Yrla began, the expression of sympathy on her lovely face leavening the directness of her statement. “That cannot be easy for you.”
“No.” Wynett sipped the wine, not yet quite sure what tack her hostess took. “It is not.”
“He also wrote that he sensed reciprocation,” Yrla murmured. “I do not wish to pry, and I should understand were you to prefer we did not discuss this, but I believe I might aid you in bearing your burden if we can talk openly, without secrets. And I should not carry tales to either my husband or my son.”
Wynett believed her: there was an air to this woman that reminded her of the Sisters. She took another cautious sip of the heated wine and said slowly, “I chose early to follow the Lady, Yrla. I intend to hold to my vows—that must be understood.”
“It is,” Yrla nodded. “My dear, I was of Estrevan once, my sole desire to follow the way of the Lady. I had not taken the final vows, of course, but I can understand your dilemma—if dilemma there is.”
She studied Wynett’s face with unconcealed concern and Wynett felt a knot tie inside her and then unravel as her words came in a flood that mingled anguish with relief in equal measure.
“There is,” she confirmed. “I cannot deny the love I feel. But neither can I deny my vows! I would have remained in High Fort had sight not manifested, for I knew that Kedryn would come increasingly to rely on me; to want me with him. And I cannot give him what he wants! I am so afraid of hurting him! And that I would not do. I would not see him hurt further.”
“Poor child.” Yrla set down her goblet and came to where
Wynett sat, sliding an arm about the younger woman’s shoulders so that Wynett felt the sympathy she radiated and could no longer hold in her emotions. She began to weep, clutching at Yrla as the Lady of Tamur held her and stroked her hair and murmured, “Poor, poor child. It is so hard for you.”
“What am I to do? What can I do?”
Wynett felt no embarrassment, for there was something about the Lady Yrla that precluded so petty a concern, and she felt that from her she might glean sound advice, perhaps better even than that offered by her fellow Sisters.
“You have explained your position to Kedryn?”
“That I am vowed to the Lady, yes,” Wynett snuffled. “I have not told him that I love him.”
“That was wise,” Yrla confirmed.
“But what am I to doT asked Wynett.
“What would you do?” came the answer, surprising Wynett. “You need not go on to Estrevan—whatever Bedyr thinks, 1 believe my son is man enough to make that journey without you—and if you wish, you may remain here a while, then return to High Fort. If that is what you want.”
Wynett stifled her sobs, shock easing the flow of tears. “I made a promise,” she whispered. “Kedryn expects me to go with him. Besides, these manifestations of sight come only when he is with me—how could I desert him now?”
“Set that aside for now,” Yrla said gently. “Kedryn wants you to go with him. What do you want?”
&
nbsp; “I?” Wynett looked up at the older woman, her mind in turmoil from which a single fact emerged, slowly, as though drawn out by the loving sympathy she saw in the calm gray eyes. “I ... I want to go with him.”
“Then that is what you should do,” smiled Yrla.
“Can it be that simple?” Wynett wondered, doubtful.
“Sometimes,” Yrla smiled, “it can. Sometimes the Lady speaks to us through our hearts, rather than in texts or prophecies.”
“It was surely the Text that brought you to Caitin Hold,” Wynett suggested.
“Alaria’s Text brought me to Tamur,” Yrla said confidently. “It was Bedyr brought me to Caitin Hold.”
“But there is nothing in the Text to guide me even so far,” said Wynett.
“Are you sure?” asked Yrla. “Have you studied the Text?” “Not at length.” Wynett shook her head.
“Galina gave me a copy before I left the Sacred City,” said Yrla. “I still have it, and of late I have read and reread it. There is a part I should like you to consider, but first I wanted you to know your own heart.”
“I think I do,” said Wynett, “now. I will go with Kedryn.” “Good,” smiled Yrla. “Now dry your eyes and ready yourself for the banquet. I will show you the Text on the morrow. ”
Chapter Five
Hattim Sethiyan’s southward journey was met with more clement weather than greeted the westbound Tamurin. The relentless downpour that marked their departure from High Fort did not catch up with the Galichian’s barge save as squalls that his boat captain rode out in safe harbors, anxious to avoid giving his lord cause to vent his increasingly bad temper, and the snow that lay heavy on the uplands remained only a diminishing threat to the north, where the sky was leaden colored. Along the Idre, wintry sunshine sparkled from a metallic blue sky on the coruscating surface of the river and although the air was chill, and the trees that lined the banks bare of leaves, the harsh reality of winter did not yet strike the southerly reaches.
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