Angus Wells - The Kingdoms 03 (5 page)

 
          
“How
long?” asked Jarl,
bluntly.

 
          
“I
would speak with Sister Bethany,” Kedryn said. "Once I have eaten. I must
ask the guidance of the Sisterhood, but I shall set a date then.
Mayhap tonight.”

 
          
“Excellent,”
Jarl growled. “The sooner we settle this matter the better.”

           
“It will be settled,” Kedryn
promised, wondering how so traditional a lord as Jarl would take his
unprecedented proposal.

 
          
“The
Sisterhood supports you,” Bedyr murmured, knowing his son too well to miss the
equivocation in his response. ‘There is no question but that Estrevan will give
full blessing.”

 
          
Kedryn
toyed with his goblet, lowering his voice as he looked to his father. “There is
something I would ask
Bethany
; a thing that must affect my decision. I crave your patience, Father,
but in this I must be sure of my own mind, and until I have spoken with
Bethany
I cannot be sure.”

 
          
Bedyr
frowned slightly, studying his son as though seeing him for the first time in a
new light. Beyond him, Yrla smiled quizzically and set a hand upon his. “Our
son is grown, Bedyr. A man now, and as a man he must be allowed to act as such.
” Kedryn smiled his thanks as Bedyr nodded and said, “So be it. The High Throne
is oft a lonely seat and it is well you learn early to decide of your own
mind.”

           
There was a hint of sadness in his
tone, and Kedryn recognized it, sharing it: this was a new beginning, the departure
of the child from the family, the first steps along the road to true maturity.
He put a hand upon his father’s shoulder and said, “You were ever my guide, and
I thank you for that.”

 
          
“And
shall be still whenever you ask it,” promised Bedyr, cheering.

 
          
“Aye.”
Kedryn’s grip tightened in gratitude. “I know that.”

 
          
“So.”
Bedyr raised his voice that Jarl might hear.
“Hopefully we shall firm the future of the Kingdoms tonight
.
”

 
          
“Good,”
declared the Lord of Kesh bluntly, “now shall we eat?”

 
          
Kedryn
grinned, realizing that die servants hovering about the kitchen doors waited on
him to give the signal to bring out the food. No such protocol existed in
Caitin Hold and had he delayed so long there the cooks would doubtless have
emerged to tell him he allowed their work to go cold, or some warrior
complained that his stomach went empty. It seemed the duties of kingship were
already placed upon him and it firmed his decision the more as he raised his
hand, indicating the great platters should be brought out.

 
          
Conversation
faltered then, the assembled company foiling on the roasts with hearty
appetite. Kedryn ate with a will, his own hunger keened by the morning spent on
the practice ground and the knowledge that, whatever opposition his proposals
might find, he would soon resolve the problem that had nagged at him since
first he realized he was expected to spend his life in Andurel.

 
          
Beside
him Wynett murmured, “Tonight?” too low for any save Kedryn to hear.

 
          
“Aye,”
he whispered back, “I can delay no longer. And my father and Jarl are right—the
Galichian question must be settled.”

 
          
“It
is not that that will prompt discord,” Wynett returned. “It will be your
proposal of a council.”

 
          
“I
know.” He smiled, taking her hand as he caught Arlynne’s conspiratorial glance,
letting the dark-haired Keshi woman think they exchanged lovers’ pleasantries.
“But hopefully
Bethany
will stand with me on that.”

 
          
“She
may seek the guidance of Estrevan before she decides,” warned Wynett. “Mayhap
she will feel
this a
matter beyond her sole
discretion.”

 
          
“There
is not enough time,” he said. “Even using the senders and the
mehdri, that
would take too long. No—like me,
Bethany
must decide now.”

 
          
“You
sound,” Wynett smiled, “just like a king.”

           
“And you,” Kedryn countered, “look just
like a queen.”

           
“Thank you, my lord,” she laughed,
looking then less regal, but rather what she was: a young woman in love.

 
          
They
finished eating and Kedryn rose, anxious to consult with
Bethany
, bidding the others remain if they wished
as he left the hall with Tepshen Lahl and Brannoc at his back.

 
          
They
walked to the stables located in the outer courtyard of the palace and selected
three horses, fine, strong-limbed Keshi stallions brought across the Vortigen
by Kemm when he crossed with his men to lend support to Kedryn in the confusion
following Hattim’s death. There had been little fighting, for the Galichians
were in confusion, horrified to learn their lord had leagued himself with
Ashar’s Messenger, but sufficient of the southerners had stood firm against
Kedryn that he had been thankful for the sabers of the black-robed horsemen,
trusting them more than the demoralized jjalace guard. Now all opposition was
ended, either on sword s edge or in banishment, and the Galichians who remained
were sworn with binding oaths to loyalty, declaring fealty to the king-elect.

 
          
Kedryn
waited as the ostlers saddled the beasts, smiling his refusal of the watch
captain’s suggestion that a squadron of cavalry escort him to the Sisters’
College and ignoring the perplexed officer’s arguments that the king—or
king-elect— always traveled with a guard of honor.

 
          
“They
will find you a mightily strange king,” Brannoc remarked lightly as they
cantered down the wide avenue leading from the palace to the city below. “They
are accustomed to protocol here—to ritual—and you break their rules.” “Aye,”
chuckled Kedryn, wondering how Brannoc himself would take his pending
announcements, “but they will have to get used to me. A king who cannot travel
freely in his own capital must surely be doing something wrong.”

           
“You have a point,” acknowledged the
former outlaw, “but customs are hard things to break.”

           
“But not inviolate,” Kedryn said.

           
“Custom binds,” offered Tepshen, “it
is the mortar of tradition.”

           
“Is tradition always right?” asked
Kedryn.

           
The easterner turned in his saddle
to stare curiously at the younger man, his gaze shrewd. “You plan something,”
he stated flatly.

 
          
“Aye,
I do.” Kedryn nodded. “This visit to the College determines it. Tonight, when I
speak with my father and Jarl, I would have you both there, and have you both
speak
freely. I would hear your opinions of what I plan.”

 
          
Tepshen
nodded back. Brannoc said, “I know no other way to speak,” though his dark eyes
were alight with curiosity.

 
          
Kedryn
chose to ignore it, thankful that Brannoc curbed the questions that were
obviously tormenting him. He rode in silence for a while, studying the still
unfamiliar sights of the great city that waited for him to assume its
governance. There was no other metropolis in all the Kingdoms
so
large as Andurel, perhaps none other in all the world,
and he was not yet accustomed to so close a press of buildings. Nowhere in
Tamur was there a settlement a man could not walk through within a matter of
hours—far less in most—while Andurel was a maze that would take days to
explore, a place of alleyways and avenues, arching bridges and winding
stairways all lined with houses, shops, taverns, and a myriad other unfamiliar
emporiums. Parks and gardens provided open space, but to one raised in the open
country of the western kingdom the city had a claustrophobic feel, the more so
for the thought that he was expected to make it his home.

 
          
He
smiled politely as folk cried greetings, waving in answer to their encomiums,
staring about him with what he felt sure they must interpret as the wide-eyed
wonder of some country bumpkin marveling at the glories of their fabulous city.
Balconies overhung his passage as he turned his mount off the avenue in what he
hoped was the right direction, the narrowing of the visible sky emphasizing the
vague discomfort he felt at being so hemmed in by brick and mortar, albeit
brick and mortar wrought in marvelous designs, covered often in colored tiles,
or painted bright, with trailing plants hanging from baskets of intricate
patterns.

 
          
Then
the road entered a broad square and he saw the College of the Sisterhood before
him. The flags of the square were a dark blue, like deep water, so that the
building that housed the Sisters of Andurel seemed to float at its center, a
cube of pale azure stone surmounted by a gently angled roof of snowy white that
was a land-bound match of the clouds drifting overhead. Balconies ran the
lengths of the walls, then- wood painted the blue of Estrevan, as was the open
doorway facing him. He walked the Keshi stallion toward the portico, aware of
the clatter the animal’s hooves made in the stillness that seemed to surround
the College, a calm center in the bustle of the city.

 
          
At
the gate he dismounted, Tepshen Lahl and Brannoc following suit, and waited,
unsure of what protocols appertained. It was a brief wait, for a Sister
appeared, smiling, and without formality asked what she might do for them.

 
          
“I
would speak with Sister Bethany,” Kedryn said, “if that is possible.”

 
          
“She
expects you,” smiled the Sister. “Do you see her alone, or with your
companions?”

 
          
Kedryn
looked apologetically to his friends. “Alone. Will you wait here?”

 
          
“There
is a more comfortable chamber in which to wait,” said the Sister, and clapped
her hands, two younger women appearing on the summons to escort Tepshen and
Brannoc away, one taking the reins of Kedryn’s mount.

 
          
“Please,”
said
the first Sister, “
Bethany
’s chambers are this way.”

 
          
Kedryn
followed her down a low-roofed passage that opened onto an inner courtyard,
revealing the College as a hollow rectangle, the interior given over to gardens
redolent of medicinal herbs, though later in the year the flowers budding in
the carefully tended beds and the profusion of shrubs would doubtless fill the
air with different scents. Fountains played gently as the blue-robed woman
paced the pathway leading through the gardens to the far side of the rectangle.
There a wide stone stairway ran up to a balcony overlooking a well, the sound
of the water trickling over smooth stone restful as bird-song. Kedryn’s guide
halted before a plain wood door and tapped twice. From within, a voice bade
them enter and the Sister thrust the door open, gesturing for Kedryn to go in.

 
          
The
room was lit by the afternoon sun that entered through a wide window in the
farther wall, outlining the figure of a tall woman, her hair prematurely white,
the eyes that studied Kedryn hazel, and hawk-keen. He bowed, recognizing the
Paramount Sister, second only to Gerat of Estrevan.

 
          
“Sister
Bethany, thank you for granting me audience.”

 
          
Bethany
smiled, the expression transforming her
narrow face, banishing its natural severity. “I anticipated your coming, Prince
Kedryn. I imagine there is much you wish to discuss.”

 
          
She
gestured at a chair set before the simple, book-littered table and Kedryn sank
into it, not particularly surprised to find it far more comfortable than its
somewhat stark outlines suggested.
Bethany
seated herself across from him and folded
her hands, waiting for him to speak.