Angus Wells - The Kingdoms 03 (16 page)

 
          
Close
to the hearth he espied a familiar figure, a bald head glistening above
gigantic shoulders, hands like hamhocks clutching what appeared to be one whole
leg of the spit-roasted pig, a flagon that would undoubtedly contain
evshan
beside an elbow sleeved in garish
green. Flanked by Tepshen and Brannoc he forced a way through the throng to
confront Galen Sadreth.

 
          
The
master of the
Vashti
looked up as the
three men halted before his table and wiped a hand across his greasy mouth,
beaming hugely.

 
          
“Well,
met, Galen,” Kedryn said, adding before the river captain could speak, “I come
incognito.”

 
          
“My
friends,
sit down.” Galen’s voice was a stentorian
rumble that turned heads on all sides, rising to a bellow as he added for
benefit of the closest serving wench, “Three mugs and a new jug, woman!”

 
          
His
eyes twinkled beneath overhanging brows, like stars shining from the moon-round
of his face. “It seems you always come incognito, Kedryn.
How
fere you?”

 
          
“Well
enough,” Kedryn smiled.
“Though wearied by the formalities of
the palace.”

 
          
Galen
nodded sagely, as if familiar with palace protocols. “You discover that your
new-won fortune brings its own restrictions? Little wonder—responsibility is a
hard mistress.” He wiped a hand on a soiled napkin, glancing about to ensure
none listened.
“And your bride?
How is Wynett?”

 
          
“Well,”
responded Kedryn. “And you?”

 
          
Galen
spread expansive arms, the gesture serving to clear space on either side and
simultaneously
expose
the embroidered frontage of his
viridescent tunic. “I do well, my reputation enhanced by our acquaintance. I
have already brought several guests to your,” he lowered his voice to a
conspiratorial level, “forthcoming event.”

 
          
“I
am delighted to aid you,”
grinned
Kedryn, stretching
long legs beneath the table. “And I trust you will attend the . . . event.”

 
          
“I
would not miss it,” said the riverman, looking up as a buxom woman appeared
with a flagon and three mugs clutched to her ample bosom.
“My
thanks, Bella.”

 
          
The
woman smiled as he tossed coins on the table, dismissing Kedryn’s offer to pay
with a wave of one mighty hand and the whisper that few might claim to have
bought the new king a mug of evshan. He filled the mugs and raised his in
silent toast. Kedryn sipped cautiously, savoring the fiery liquor that was the
chosen brew of the rivermen. Brannoc sighed and smacked his lips.
“A pleasant change from all that vintage wine.”

 
          
“If
the gods drink, they drink evshan,” beamed Galen.
“Health to
us all.”

 
          
“And
prosperity,” added Brannoc.

 
          
“That,
it would seem from those fine clothes, has come already,” Galen remarked,
studying the half-breed’s outfit with some envy. “Your tailor has improved
since last we shared a cup.”

 
          
“There
are certain advantages to living in the palace,” murmured Brannoc.

 
          
“And
you wear them well,” chuckled the giant. “And you, Tepshen? Does the palace
suit you?”

 
          
Tepshen
had seated himself across the table from Kedryn, where he was able to study the
room, and his dark eyes flickered sideways, a brief, thin smile curving his
lips.

 
          
“My
place is at Kedryn’s side. That suits me well enough.”

           
Galen clapped a hand to the kyo’s
shoulder, rocking the easterner forward.
“Ever loyal, eh?
You are fortunate to have such friends, Kedryn.”

           
“Aye,” the young man nodded, “I am.”

 
          
“So,
what,” Galen enquired, “brings you incognito to the harbor?”

 
          
“A
desire to be myself,” Kedryn shrugged.
“To be free again for
a little while.”

 
          
"And
a great boredom with tailors,” Brannoc chuckled. “He takes to the fitting of
his ceremonial robes like an unbroken stallion to its first taste of the
saddle.”                                                                
'

 
          
Galen
nodded. “There is much to be said for the life of the common man. But rumor has
it our new king already lays plans to free himself. I have heard talk of a
council.”

 
          
An
inquiring eyebrow cocked in Kedryn’s direction and he grinned, asking, “How do
you know that?”

 
          
“Secrets
are hard to keep in a city packed as close as Andurel,” said the captain
blandly.

 
          
“And
how are they received?” Kedryn took another mouthful of evshan.

 
          
“Well,”
said Galen. “Folk say that our new king must be a man willing to listen to his
people—not that they had complaint of Darr! But they feel the notion of a
council affords the common man a greater say in his own destiny.”

 
          
Kedryn
nodded, smiling, for this was the reaction he had hoped for. “I intend to
announce it after I am crowned,” he said. “Initially my father and Jarl will
preside, but in time I hope to see representatives elected from amongst the
folk of the Kingdoms.”

 
          
“Bedyr and Jarl?”
Galen’s bushy brows rose. “You make it
sound as though you will take no part.”

 
          
“I
go to Estrevan,” Kedryn explained. “To seek the blessing of the Sisterhood, and
deliver Ashrivelle to the
Sacred
City
.”

 
          
“Poor
Ashrivelle,” Galen murmured. “There are those who name her traitor.”

 
          
“Calumny!”
snapped Kedryn, his voice fierce. “What Ashrivelle did was done under the
influence of a love potion. She was not responsible for either.
Hattim’s treachery or Darr’s death.”

 
          
Galen’s
head ducked in agreement. “I do not name myself amongst those who say it,” he
remarked mildly. “Merely that it is said.”

 
          
“Best
not in my hearing,” grunted Kedryn. “And when you hear such imputations I
should mark it a favor were you to correct them.”

 
          
“Consider
it done,” beamed the riverman.
“But this journey to Estrevan?
Might my services be required? The
Vashti
is ever at your beck.”

 
          
“I
know that, and you have my gratitude for all you have done,” Kedryn replied,
“but this will not be a warrior’s mission; rather a royal progress. Wynett
accompanies me, and Ashrivelle, and these stalwarts.”

 
          
He
gestured toward Tepshen and Brannoc, adding apologetically, “The
Vashti
is built for speed more than
comfort, and I suspect the ladies would prefer a cabin.”

 
          
“No matter.”
Galen dismissed the apology with a smile and a
wave of one huge hand. “There’ll be work enough for all honest rivermen when
your guests depart. And a larger vessel will afford you room for a guard.”

 
          
“A guard?”
Kedryn heard something in the captain’s voice
that chilled his smile a little. “Why should I need a guard? I had thought to
sail as far as Gennyf and travel overland from there, and in Tamur there will
be warriors enough to provide escort.”

 
          
Galen’s
broad shoulders lifted in a shrug that threatened to burst the seams of his gaudy
tunic. “Likely you’ll not, but ...”

 
          
"But?”
Tepshen Lahl’s voice cut sword-sharp into the
pause, his dark eyes fixing on the riverman’s face.

 
          
“There
is talk,” Galen continued, his moon-face growing serious under the easterner’s
scrutiny. “Likely no more than river gossip, and so feu
^-
unproven,
but still ...”

 
          
He
paused again, topping his mug, glancing at each man in turn before returning
his gaze to Kedryn’s face.

 
          
“I
have heard of craft disappearing with all their crew. No explanation is
offered—and these things are prone to exaggeration—but I have heard it said
that boats have been found in splinters; destroyed as though struck by a
thunderbolt, and their crews gone the Lady alone knows where.”

 
          
“Pirates?”
asked Brannoc, his swarthy features alert with interest.

 
          
“I
think not.” Galen shook his head. “Pirates are not wont to wreck what they have
taken, and from what I have heard— which is, I must admit, vague—no cargoes
have been offered for sale.”

 
          
“How many?”
Kedryn asked.

 
          
Again
the riverman shook his massive head. “I do not know. I simply repeat what I
have heard of waterfront gossip. There is only one such of which I have
personal knowledge.” He swallowed evshan and licked his lips. “I have recently
brought a Keshi landril by name of Xendral south from Bayard. That holding
stands a little downriver from Gennyf, on the eastern bank, and the landril
anticipated a summons to Andurel. I know it for a fact that Tam Lemal and his
brothers sailed under palace commission, and with a cargo of Galichian fruit,
for Bayard. But they did not arrive there and the Keshi booked passage with me.
The
"Vendrelle
has not been seen
farther north than Lam—some four days’ sail from Bayard—and though I have
inquired of fellow captains, none has word nor sight of the
Vendrelle
or the Lemal brothers.”

 
          
“Mayhap
they grounded,” Kedryn suggested.
“Or sold their cargo
elsewhere.”

 
          
“Not
Tarn
,” said Galen. “He’d know his best profit
was to be made the farther north he traveled, and he carried the summons for
Xendral, besides. He’s a greedy man, but he’d not renege on that undertaking.”

 
          
“Might
he have encountered some problem?” Kedryn wondered.
“Something
that caused him to put ashore so that you passed him on the river?”

 
          
“Were
that the case,” Galen answered, “he’d have put in on the Keshi side, and I
brought the
Vashti
in close enough to
spot any beached craft. There was no sign.”

 
          
“A
storm?” queried Brannoc.

 
          
“There
have been no storms,” said the riverman. “The spring floods are ended and the
Idre runs smooth as a compliant woman. Besides, it would take a most powerful
storm to sink the
Vendrelle,
and Tam
was an experienced captain—he’d not be caught out by bad weather.”

 
          
“Mayhap
he sought the western bank,” said Kedryn.

 
          
“No.
” Galen was positive, emphasizing the negative with a further shaking of his
head. “Bayard
bound,
Tam would sail closer to Kesh
than Tamur. Had he put in for any reason it would be on the Keshi side.”

 
          
“I
still say it could be pirates,” Brannoc mused.

 
          
“You
do not know the Idre,” retorted Galen, a trifle sharply, as if he considered
the comment critical of his undoubted expertise. “Were pirates abroad we
captains should have word of it; and they’d need dispose of that fruity cargo
swiftly—or lose their profit.”