Angus Wells - The Kingdoms 02

by The Usurper (v1. 1)

  “Deer tracks,” the kyo announced. “Wait here.”

  Kedryn heard the rustle of furs as the easterner dismounted, then the faint twang of waxed cord as a bow was strung. He swung down, accepting blindly the reins Tepshen thrust into his hand and reaching for Wynett as he heard her step close behind him. Before her touch restored his sight Tepshen was gone, and all Kedryn saw was the channel of trampled snow that marked the game trail disappearing between thick stands of pine like palisades all around. He looked to the sky. finding a watery sun to his left, its light sparking off the snow that bent the limbs of the lofty trees, glistening faintly through the near-impenetrable wall of perpendicular trunks. The air was still and silent, sepulchral, and he turned to smile at Wynett, finding joy in the sight of her cold-rosed cheeks and calm, blue eyes, the strands of wheat-fair hair that escaped the confines of her hood. She smiled back, close to him as she cupped his hands, and he fought the urge to bend and kiss her.

  “Fresh venison would be good,” she murmured, deliberately turning her face from the adoration she saw in his gaze to study the trail.

  “Aye,” he responded, staring openly at her profile, thinking that she was surely the loveliest woman he had ever known, or would ever know.

  “And a fire,” she added, stamping her feet as the cold began to bite through the fur-lined soles of her boots.

  “Let us prepare one,” he suggested. “If Tepshen succeeds we’ll travel no further today, and gathering wood will keep us warm.”

  “Will that not frighten the deer?” she asked, and he shook his head.

  “No more than our presence.”

  “Very well.” Wynett’s smile was brighter than the sun and he wound the reins of their horses about a low-hanging branch, retaining her hand as they waded through the snow in search of wind-felled limbs.

  It was a pleasant diversion and it did, indeed, keep them warm as, hand-in-hand, for all the world like two lovers, they gathered branches and dragged them to the trail.

  Dusk was settling and they had a sizable pile built ready for kindling when Tepshen returned, dragging a yearling buck, his customarily emotionless features beaming at the prospect of such an abundance of fresh meat.

  “You show great confidence in my hunting,” he remarked, glancing at the readied fire.

  “We never doubted,” Kedryn grinned.

  “Then use your tinder,” suggested the kyo, “while I butcher this stag.”

  No further bidding was needed and soon a blaze was melting sufficient snow; the horses found winter grass as the deer was quartered. The hide and entrails were buried under snow some distance away and the choicest cuts set to roasting, the remainder—sufficient to last them several days—stowed in their saddlebags.

  The meat was excellent, restoring their spirits as much as their strength, and the prospect of traversing the Beltrevan seemed less daunting as their bellies filled and they began to experience the soporific comfort of satisfied appetites.

  “We had best mount a watch,” Tepshen declared, wiping grease from his lips. “Such a feast may attract wolves, or worse.”

  Kedryn’s cheerfulness dimmed slightly at this, for he knew he would be useless, but Wynett cheered him by saying, “You had best share mine—to keep me awake after this kingly repast.”

  He nodded, smiling at her, even though he recognized it was merely a gesture to keep up his spirits. Wynett, after all, was accustomed to the long watches over hurt men in the wards of High Fort. Nonetheless, he sat with her, happily silent as they watched the moon flirt cold brilliance through the lattice of branches and Tepshen slept beside the fire. They heard mournful wolfsong as the silver orb crept higher, and toward the end of their watch a scuffling from the direction of the buried entrails, followed by a noisy gulping that was counterpoised with low, chesty growls.

  “What is it? Wynett whispered, her hand tightening on Kedryn’s.

  “A forest cat, I think,” he told her, tossing fresh branches on the fire so that the flames rose, hurling stark shadows over the surrounding snow. “It will likely come no closer, but if it does, wake Tepshen.”

  A horse nickered nervously and was joined by its companions, then the Keshi stallion screamed a challenge, rearing on its tether line with hooves pawing the chill air. Its scream was answered by a coughing roar from the timber, the sound rebounding off the trees to fill the night with savage feline menace.

  There was no need to wake Tepshen Lahl for he was roused by the sound, rolling from the comfort of his furs to stand with naked blade, staring into the darkness.

  “It was at the offal,” Kedryn called.

  The kyo nodded, replacing his sword with the bow, and moved to the edge of the firelight, arrow nocked ready to fly.

  “Quiet that war-horse,” he commanded, and Kedryn went with Wynett to the tether line, soothing the frightened, stamping beasts.

  The bay and the gray gentled readily enough, reassured by the familiar presence of humans, but the black stallion was angered by the implicit threat of the cat, its ears flattened back and its eyes rolling as it sought an outlet for its fury. Kedryn seized an ear, releasing Wynett’s hand as he dragged the plunging head down and murmured softly to the belligerent animal.

  “Kedryn, stay with the horses,” Tepshen called. “Wynett, bring a brand to me.”

  The Sister was loath to leave Kedryn, but the kyo’s tone Drooked no argument and she hurried to the fire, snatching a Dlazing branch.

  “Throw it,” Tepshen ordered, indicating the direction with a :hrust of his chin.

  Wynett flung the brand into the trees, sparks trailing and sputtering as they hit the snow. The burning wood cast random shadows and before it died she saw a tawny shape slink back from the flame, the impression brief but frightening, for it was one of glaring yellow eyes and gnashing fangs, of raw power and ferocity.

  “Another,” Tepshen said and she obeyed instantly.

  The second brand burned longer, but showed no sign of the cat save a shadow that seemed to move, shifting back into the timber, leaving behind a rasping growl.

  “It is gone,” Tepshen announced after a while, and Wynett sighed, suddenly aware that she had been very frightened.

  She returned to Kedryn, taking his hand to lead him back to the fire. Tepshen Lahl eased his bowstring down and replaced the arrow in the quiver, announcing that he would take sentry duty for the remainder of the night. Kedryn nodded without speaking and Wynett sensed a tension in him as they huddled in their furs and reached to take his hand again.

  “What is it?” she asked. “The cat is gone.”

  “Were it here I should be of no use,” he answered, the bitterness she remembered from High Fort in his voice. “Save, perhaps, as bait.”

  “You are of great use,” she responded gently.

  “Blind?” he rasped.

  “RememberLavia’s words,” she urged, reaching across the gap between them to touch his cheek. “You are the Chosen One—the only one able to defeat the Messenger. Were it not for you, we should not be able to approach the Drott—you were the one forged that peace, so already you have proven your worth.”

  “And brought you into danger,” he replied.

  She smoothed his tousled hair and smiled. “I came of my own free will, Kedryn. There was no coercion.”

  “Save this accursed blindness.” He turned his face so that his lips brushed her palm. “I would see you safe, Wynett. I would see you! I would defend the woman I . . .”

  He bit off the word, but she knew what it would have been and felt a sudden, heady flood of emotion that, unbidden, before she even knew what she did, had placed her arms about his shoulders, I drawing him to her so that she felt his cold cheek against hers, his mouth against her skin.

  “I know,” she whispered into his hair, and almost said, And I love you, but caught herself in time, the vows she had made again interposing between them, “but we have a duty to the Kingdoms. We must remember that.”

  “My feelings will not c
hange,” he said, though more calmly now.

  “Regain your sight,” Wynett murmured, knowing she should draw back, but unwilling to end the closeness, feeling guilty that she could not, “and then let us talk of feelings.”

  It was Kedryn who drew back then, lifting his head that he might look into her eyes, the beginnings of a smile stretching his mouth.

  “You promise?” he asked, excitement in his voice, making it husky.

  Wynett gazed back, resisting the impulse to draw his head down that she might feel his kiss, remembering the intoxication, the confusion, she had experienced before, wanting it again, and frightened by the wanting.

  “Aye,” she agreed, and placed a gentle finger on his lips before he could speak again, “I promise.”

  Kedryn’s smile spread, his even, white teeth glinting in the fireglow, his handsome features leached of bitterness as he nodded and settled contentedly into his furs.

  Dawn found them sleeping hand-in-hand, the sight eliciting a wry smile from Tepshen Lahl as he tossed branches onto the fire and began to carve meat from the haunch roasted the night before. Shared hardship, shared danger, he thought, forged bonds far stronger than those formed in easier times, and when this quest was ended the Sister Wynett would likely find it difficult to remember her vows. He climbed to his feet and went to examine the tracks left by the forest cat, leaving the star-crossed lovers to wake of their own accord.

  He found them risen on his return and wondered what that whispered conversation had been to make Kedryn so happy. He posed no questions, however, nor offered any comment, content to see the young man he regarded as a son in such good spirits.

  That mood continued as they progressed steadily deeper into the Beltrevan, though it was marred the next night by the return of the forest cat.

  “The creature paces us,” he decided as the great coughing roar echoed through the trees again. “Mayhap it is maimed and seeks easy prey.”

  “Will the fire not keep it off?” asked Wynett.

  “Hopefully,” the kyo told her.

  “Should we—you,” Kedryn corrected himself, “kill it?”

  “They are not easy creatures to kill,” Tepshen shrugged, “and that would take time we can ill afford. Perhaps we may placate its hunger.”

  Without further ado he took a cut of venison from his saddlebags and a brand from the fire and strode into the trees. He tossed the meat far into the shadows and returned to the camp, listening to the growling of the cat as it consumed the offering.

  The following day he surprised a deer floundering through drifted snow and brought it down with a single well-placed arrow, leaving the carcass for the prowling cat. That night they were not troubled, nor was there any sign of the predator for several nights after, though they continued to maintain a watch and rode always with ears straining for sound of the hunter.

  The days grew steadily shorter as they moved into the heartland of the woods, the pines giving way to more varied timber, massive beeches spreading cathedral branches above them, gnarled oaks standing like wise old men, birches silvery slender. Animal life became more abundant and their diet of venison was enhanced with hares and wild birds, and roots and winter berries Wynett found. There was increasing forage for the horses and their speed picked up. It seemed they had left the cat behind, though Tepshen still left a haunch to placate the beast whenever he brought down a deer, and they relaxed a trifle as their strength and confidence grew.

  They were some weeks into the forest before they sighted the first Drott.

  They had forded a river and decided to make camp on the far bank, building a fire to dry their boots and furs after the kyo strung a line in the water, hoping to add fish to their diet. The sun was poised above the trees with a little daylight still in hand, and the blaze crackled merrily as the companions shivered, clustering close to the flames. Their furs were hung on frameworks of branches and they had changed their undergarments, modesty dictating that Wynett use the draped furs as a makeshift screen, all three wrapped in the saddle blankets as they waited for the fire to work its heat into their outer garb. Kedryn wiped carefully at his blades as Tepshen Lahl checked his bowstrings and Wynett examined the contents of her satchel, but despite the discomfort there was a festive mood to the halt and they called promises to one another that in future they would find shallower crossing places.

  Then their badinage was interrupted by a harsh shout and four men emerged from the surrounding trees with nocked bows and hostile expressions.

  They were short, burly men, their stocky frames rendered bulkier by the furs they wore, jerkins of wolf and otter drawn tight by swordbelts, their lower limbs encased in leather-bound leggings. Two bore shields strung on their backs and all were heavily bearded, bareheaded, with dark skin and narrow, darker eyes.

  Tepshen Lahl set a hand to his sword’s hilt, then halted the movement as two arrowheads leveled on his chest. Kedryn was already holding Wynett’s hand and his grip tightened as he saw the surly eyes appraise her blondness. “Ka emblan pasa,” he called, dragging the phrase from his memory, “We come in peace.”

  “Ka emblan pasaechoed the foremost warrior, his guttural tone mocking. “Ku emblan estro, chaddah. Emblan dyla vistro serra wird. ”

  The others guffawed, moving closer.

  “He says we have come to die,” Wynett said quickly, her voice low. “Because we are strangers with no right to be here.”

  Kedryn stepped back from the fire, seeing from the comer of his eye that Tepshen was ready to attack should the chance present itself; but doubting that even the kyo, for all his lethal speed, could move faster than four arrows.

  “Tell them who we are,” he urged.

  Wynett spoke rapidly in the byavan and her words halted the barbarians for a moment. Then the spokesman frowned and stepped closer, still holding his bow nocked and ready to fire, more of the harsh speech bursting from his lips as he studied Kedryn’s face.

  “He says the hef-Alador is blind,” Wynett translated, “and as you are not, you cannot be the hef-Alador.”

  Kedryn let go her hand, bringing down his personal darkness, and pointed to his eyes. “Yi hef-Alador ” he cried, then could summon no more of the forest argot.

  “He is the hef-Alador,” Wynett declared, drawing the saddle blanket closer, conscious of the lustful glint in the warriors’ gaze. “He is come to the Beltrevan to regain his sight, and I am come with him because my touch allows him to see.”

  “I should welcome your touch,” leered the barbarian.

  “I am a Sister of Kyrie,” she responded, struggling to hold her voice firm, “and sworn to celibacy. It will go ill with you if you harm any of us.”

  “We will not harm you, little one,” the man promised ominously. “You are worth too much as a slave. But these . . .” He gestured carelessly at Kedryn and Tepshen Lahl, “they are worth nothing so I think we shall kill them.”

  “The Ulan of the Drott will carve the blood eagle on you for such a crime,” Wynett warned him, calling on all the training of Estrevan to put iron in her tone. “And your souls will wander for all eternity in limbo.”

  “For killing strangers who trespass?” sneered the warrior, though an element of doubt had entered his voice and his bowstring eased a little.

  “For killing the hef-Alador and his chosen companions,” Wynett snapped. “For preventing the hef-Alador from presenting himself to your Ulan.”

  “I see only a blind man,” came the answer, “and there are many blind, but only one is the hef-Alador.”

  “This one!” Wynett cried. “Harm him and your soul is in peril!”

  The barbarian glared at her, chewing on his mustache, then stepped close, raising his bow until the arrow was aimed directly at Kedryn’s face. The tip of the arrowhead almost touched the sightless orb of Kedryn’s right eye. Kedryn sensed the presence of the man, caught the sour odor of ancient sweat, and held his ground, wondering what it was Wynett had said.

  “Mayhap he is,” the barbar
ian allowed at last, “though he does not look like the slayer of Niloc Yarrum to me.”

  “Did you see him defeat the hef-Ulan?” Wynett demanded. “Were you there when he faced your chieftain?”

  The tribesman glanced at her and grimaced, lowering the bow. “No,” he allowed, “I was not, but ...”

  “You had best tread carefully,” Wynett interrupted, seizing the advantage she saw in his doubt. “Unless you are anxious to embrace the eagle. You slay the hef-Alador at your peril.”

  The man licked his lips and turned his head toward his fellows, barking a question.

  One shrugged and said, “Kill them anyway. Who will know?”

  The others appeared less sanguine, though one shrugged and said, “It would be easier than guarding them. And we should still have the horses.”

  The last frowned and said, “Mayhap we should take them all prisoner. If he is the hef-Alador it will be as she says.”

  The first spat and said, “They ride fine horses. We could sell them, and none the wiser.”

  “You would kill the woman?” asked the shortest of the four. “What if she is a holy woman?”

  “If she is, then she is a holy woman of the Kingdoms, not the Beltrevan,” was the answer, “and she is still formed like a woman. I have never had a holy woman. We could kill her afterward.”

  His eyes appraised Wynett with a horrible frankness and she shivered, fighting to keep fear from her voice.

  “Take us to your Ulan,” she suggested, “and let him decide. If he decides against us—which he will not!—then you still have slaves, but when he sees the truth you may well find yourselves rewarded. ”

  “Cord will have those horses for himself if we go to the Gathering,” said the barbarian in favor of rape.

  “And give us to the eagle if she tells the truth,” argued the doubter.

  “We could trade with the Caroc,” opined the third man.

  “Do you trust the Caroc?” said the leader.

  The warrior frowned and shook his head.

  “I must think about this,” the leader decided. “Bind them.”