Angus Wells - The Kingdoms 03 (6 page)

 
          
Kedryn
cleared his throat, not sure where he should begin and choosing preamble: “You
have done with the purification?”

 
          
“The
rituals are finished,”
Bethany
nodded. “There remains no trace of the Messenger
. ”

 
          
There
was something in her tone that prompted a doubt in Kedryn’s mind and he asked,
“Taws is dead?”

 
          
“I
do not know.”
Bethany
’s gaze was direct. “He is gone from here, but whether such as he
can
be killed I have no way of knowing.”

 
          
“The
talisman . .
. ”
Kedryn touched the blue stone through
his shirt. “Surely that destroyed him.”

 
          
“His physical manifestation, yes.”
Bethany
nodded. “But that form was a creation of
Ashar’s
will
, and whilst the mad god exists, so does
his will. So perhaps Taws lives on in some other form.”

 
          
“Do
you say my task is not yet done?”

 
          
Kedryn
frowned, an ugly prickling of unwonted anticipation running down his spine.

 
          
“I
am not sure exactly what your task is,”
Bethany
replied evenly. “My own interpretation of
Alaria’s Text—and, it would
seem,
that of my Sisters in
Estrevan—is that you have fulfilled the prophecies outlined therein. But each
step we take must surely lead to another, so mayhap there is more you must yet
do. Your ascension to the High Throne, for example, appears a logical step. One
that is needful if the Kingdoms are to be truly united.”

 
          
“You
echo my father,” Kedryn murmured.

 
          
“I
echo all Andurel,” smiled
Bethany
, “and all the Kingdoms. But you are not happy with that.”

 
          
It
was a statement, not a question, and Kedryn found himself nodding in reflexive
answer. “You read me well.” He smiled.

 
          
“I
am trained to it,” said
Bethany
, mildly. “Do you have some alternative proposal?”

 
          
“Aye!”
Kedryn’s nod became emphatic. "This morning I
stood upon the highest of the palace’s towers and looked out over the city and
thought of all I must forgo if I accept the High Throne. I found the prospect .
. . daunting. Then I held the talisman in my hand and ... I am sure ... I felt
that an answer was given me.”

 
          
He
broke off, shrugging, no longer certain of his words.
Bethany
smiled gently and said, “The Lady may well
have spoken through the stone. It has, after all, remarkable properties.”

 
          
“Indeed,”
said Kedryn, his voice gaining enthusiasm, “but I am not sure how that answer
will be taken.”

 
          
“What
was it?” asked
Bethany
. “Outline it and I will tell you if you have my support, or not. That
is what you seek, is it not?”

 
          
“Aye.”
Kedryn smiled, marveling at her perspicacity. “It
seemed to me that the king is a symbol, a rallying point, more than he is a
real power. Oh, he deals with the minutiae of government—tariffs, trade
agreements, that sort of thing—but all important decisions are taken in concert
with the lords of the Kingdoms, without whose support the king is, effectively,
powerless.”

 
          
“You
have the grasp of it,” agreed
Bethany
. “But there is still a need for a king in
the
White
Palace
, and it is important that he should not be
an absolute ruler. No one man should be able to impose his will on the Three
Kingdoms.”

           
“Exactly,” said Kedryn, his voice
earnest as the expression that reminded
Bethany
of his father, “and to that end I propose
the formation of a council.”

           
He studied the Sister’s angular
face, seeking to read it, but finding only attention so that he went on
swiftly. “A council such as was proposed to hold Hattim Sethiyan in check, but
greater—a council that would truly represent the Kingdoms. Not individual
lordlings, but all the people.
A council that would be
elected by the folk of the Kingdoms so that whomsoever sat on it would speak
truly with the voice of his kingdom.
The members would advise their
lords, and they would sit not in perpetuity but agreed periods. They would
promulgate the laws, govern. Then no single man could ever hope to impose his
will; there would be no more opportunity for ambition such as Hattim showed—no
further chance for Ashar to suborn some lord to become usurper.”

 
          
He
halted, as much to catch his breath as to give
Bethany
a chance to reply, though the Sister took
the opportunity.

 
          
“This
came to you as you held the talisman?”

 
          
“Aye,”
he nodded.

 
          
“Jarl
of Kesh will not accept it lightly. Your father may have reservations.”

 
          
“I
know that,” Kedryn said. “But you, what do you think?”

 
          
Bethany
watched him for long moments, her face
calm, unreadable. Then she smiled: “I think it a most revolutionary
suggestion.”

 
          
Kedryn’s
enthusiasm faltered, his brown eyes clouding.

 
          
“And
a most excellent idea,” continued
Bethany
.
“One that shall have my
full support.”

 
          
Kedryn’s
spirit soared, as would a caged bird’s seeing the door left open that it might
once again reach the open sky.

 
          
While
spring brought a warmth to Andurel that would not yet have touched the more
northerly reaches of the Kingdoms the breeze blowing off the Idre grew chill
with the setting of the sun and so the windows of the chamber were closed,
though not shuttered, the thick glass diffusing the wan silver moonlight shed
by the half-girthed orb. It mingled with the citrine radiance of the candles
and the rutilant glow of the fire burning in the stone-mantled hearth to fill
the room with shifting patterns of warm light that, in a way, reflected a
luminous parallel of the arguments that echoed, not always softly, off the
paneled walls.

 
          
Kedryn
had chosen this room for several
reasons,
not least
among them the fact that it was not one used much by King Darr. He had no wish
to remind his wife of her lather’s unpleasant fate and so had generally taken
occupance of quarters that were not associated with die deceased monarch even
though Wynett appeared reconciled to his demise. Further, he felt that his
avoidance of such chambers served to emphasize that he did not simply assume a
continuance of tradition—one of the prime points under debate—but was, in every
way, his own man. Additionally, this chamber was large enough to house all
those he wished present around the central table, and so they had been able to
eat there, sequestered from the ever-present ears in the great dining hall.
Finally, the walls were solid stone beneath the veneer of paneling and the only
entrance from an outer chamber, beyond which guards were posted to ensure
privacy. Now the last remnants of dinner were cleared away and those present
able to speak freely.

 
          
They
did; and forcefully.

 
          
Bedyr
sat with Yrla beside him toward one end of the table, a goblet
of
ruby Galichian wine untouched by his
right hand,

 
          
his
handsome face set in grave lines as he listened
attentively to the harsh voice of Jarl, Yrla’s a match in solemnity. The
Keshi’s wife, Arlynne, occupied a cushioned chair beside the hearth, her dark
eyes enigmatic as her husband voiced his opposition. Kemm, their son, sat
facing the Tamurin couple, his plump features creased in a frown as he watched
his father pace back and forth before the fire. Wynett’s face was calm at the
table’s end, Tepshen Lahl impassive on her left, Brannoc grinning quizzically
to her right. At
the for
end, Sister Bethany was an
equal focus of tranquillity, her hands clasped before her as if in prayer.
Kedryn perched on the ledge of an embrasure, moonlight
pearling
his brown hair as he listened to the Lord of Kesh, his features shadowed by the
stone.

 
          
Jarl
was all black
robe
and rubicund feature, his green
eyes flashing as he spoke, seeming to draw light from the flames.

 
          
“It
is madness, Kedryn! It flies in the face of all precedent.”

 
          
“Corwyn
flew in the face of precedent when he imposed unity on three warring lands,”
Kedryn responded evenly, eyes and teeth white against the obfuscation of his
face. “Would you say he did wrong?”

 
          
Jarl’s
right hand chopped a dismissive gesture, thumb ring sparkling. “You play with
words—you know I do not say that. I say that Corwyn gave us peace and that what
you propose will likely destroy all that has been built since then.”

 
          
“How
so?” asked Kedryn. “I do not propose dissolution, but a different form of
government. A form I believe likely to create far greater unity.”

 
          
“You believe,”
barked Jarl, “but you do
not
know.
Why change what has worked
for generations?”

 
          
“Because
the world turns and we must turn with it,” Kedryn said, stroking absently at
his shirtfront, as though seeking inspiration from the blue stone that hung
beneath the linen. “Simply because a thing has existed for generations is no
reason to reject a better alternative when such arises.”

 
          
Jarl
made a sound deep in his throat that was the vocal equivalent of his gesture.
“You think it better; I do not.”

 
          
“Did
you think that when Hattim Sethiyan stood at the foot of the High Throne?”

 
          
Kedryn’s
voice was mild, eliciting a furious glare from the hot-tempered Keshi. “Again
you play with words.”

 
          
“I
intend no offense, but you welcomed a council then,” Kedryn pressed.
“Why not now?”

 
          
“Because
you are not Hattim Sethiyan!” snapped Jarl.
“Because I trust
you.”

 
          
“Thank
you,” Kedryn smiled, seeking to mollify the bow- legged man’s anger. “But after
me—do you not think the circumstances might again arise whereby an ambitious
lord might seek to elevate himself?”

 
          
“Not
whilst the council of lords exists,” said Jarl.

 
          
“Or,”
said Kedryn before the Keshi had a chance to continue, “
whilst
the council I propose exists. It would forestall any such ambition. It would
contain any monarch whose personal desires might run against the good of the
Kingdoms. It is, after all, nothing more than an extension of what you yourself
proposed.”

 
          
Jarl
threw up his hands, the sleeves of his black robe swirling dramatically, and
glowered at his wife as if willing her to support his arguments. “What do you
have to say to all this?” Arlynne arranged a fold of her rainbow gown and fixed
her husband with an even stare. “I say that much of what Kedryn proposes is
eminently sensible,” she answered. “There are niceties that must be ironed out,
but in essence I find myself in agreement.”

 
          
“Blood of the Lady!”
Jarl turned toward Bethany. “Forgive
me, Sister, but I see the Kingdoms fell apart.”

 
          
“Do
you, my Lord of Kesh?” Bethany’s voice was mild as her gaze. “Why do you see it
so?”

 
          
Jarl
stared at her as if unable to credit the words he heard. His mouth hung open a
moment,
then
snapped shut. “Do you then support this .
. . heresy?”

 
          
“I
do not see it as heresy,” Bethany returned, studying Jarl with what looked to
Kedryn like mild amusement. “Rather, I believe I detect the Lady’s hand in
Kedryn’s decision. He has told us how he came by the notion, and I can find
little fault in it. Consequently, I support him.”

 
          
Jarl
gazed at her with the same disbelief he had turned on his wife, spinning to
seek support from Bedyr.

 
          
“And
you, old friend, how do you see this?”

 
          
Bedyr
turned his goblet between his palms, his even gaze traveling from Jarl’s
suffused features to Kedryn’s, then back. “I find the notion shocking, but I
also find it hard to fault Kedryn’s reasoning.” His tone was thoughtful and he
paused before continuing as if weighing all that had been said, both pro and
con, throughout the long hours of debate. “Given the turmoil of recent months,
I cannot argue against the establishment of a council; as Kedryn has pointed
out, it was the first thought in our minds when it seemed Hattim must assume
the throne. Therefore I find I must ask myself if the shock I feel is merely
that of one long accustomed to a particular way of thinking faced with the
unexpected, the unfamiliar. I am not yet convinced, but I find merit in much of
what Kedryn suggests.”

 
          
“Am
I alone then?” Jarl gasped. “Yrla, your judgment has always been sound—what is
your opinion?’

 
          
Yrla’s
gray eyes regarded the Keshi’s flashing green orbs calmly, one hand smoothing
the folds of her russet gown. “My son has become a man, Jarl, and he has a
right to his own way of thinking. Like Bethany, I believe the Lady’s hand may
be detected in this, and for that reason—and others—I feel we should consider
what Kedryn says without anger.”

 
          
It
was a mild enough admonishment, but it rocked Jarl back on his slippered heels,
ending his furious pacing. He tugged at his drooping mustache, mouth pursed,
then turned toward the young man lounging in the cut of the window.

 
          
“If
I seem angry, Kedryn, I ask your forgiveness. I trust you know I feel only
friendship toward you. But this notion . . . This I cannot accept—the Kingdoms
must
have a king.”

 
          
“They
shall,” Kedryn said. “I do not propose to destroy all you and my father—all
here present—have worked to build and nurture. I do not reject the High Throne,
but rather seek to ward it against any such as Hattim.
Against
the machinations of Ashar.”

 
          
“Ashar?
What has Ashar to do with this?” Jarl asked,
frowning
his perplexity. “You and Wynett dispatched the
Messenger to whatever hell spawned him. That threat is surely ended.”

 
          
“Is
it?’ Kedryn’s voice was soft, but the simple question brought a silence to the
room that was broken only by the sputtering of the logs burning in the hearth.

 
          
“What
do you mean?”

 
          
It
was Bedyr who voiced the question, his eyes locking with his son’s, grave as
his tone.

 
          
Kedryn
shrugged, glancing at Wynett and then Bethany. “I am not sure. Wynett and I saw
Taws consumed in fire and heard a . . . voice is perhaps not the right word,
but I know no
other, that
said, ‘He is mine.” Then the
Messenger was gone. No trace remained, neither fleshly nor metaphysical; but
does that mean he is dead? I am not sure.”

 
          
“Bethany?”
Bedyr turned to the Paramount Sister, unaware that Yrla had taken his hand, her
eyes fearful as they studied her son’s calm face. “What have you to say on
this?”

 
          
All
looked to the Sister, whose composure remained undisturbed as she said, “Little
more than Kedryn, I fear. We of Estrevan believe the Messenger to be Ashar’s
creation, the embodiment of the god’s will rather than a naturally wrought
being, and so not necessarily bound by such laws as govern our existence. It
may be that he was, indeed, destroyed—it is to be hoped!—But it may also be
that the Lord of Fires took back what was his to send him against us in some
other form.”

 
          
She
paused, turning her hazel eyes on each in turn as the import of her words sank
in. “If that should prove to be the case then once again Kedryn, as the Chosen
One foretold in Alaria’s Text, will face the threat. And if Kedryn is inextricably
bound to Andurel by the duties of kingship he might well find
himself
torn between responsibilities.”

 
          
“There
can be no greater responsibility than defending the Kingdoms against Ashar,”
Jarl said softly, wide-eyed.

 
          
“Indeed,”
Kedryn declared abruptly, seizing the moment, “and for that reason, also, I
seek a freedom greater than that customarily enjoyed by our kings. Do you see
it now, Jarl? Were I required to spend all my time in Andurel how might I
combat Ashar?”

 
          
Jarl
nodded thoughtfully, finding a chair, slumping as though this sudden turn of
events deflated him, the fire dimming in his eyes.

 
          
“Were
it necessary that I ride against Ashar,” Kedryn added, “I should leave behind a
council capable of governing. There would be continuation, rather than the
chaos likely to foment about an empty throne.”

 
          
Bedyr
spoke then, his lean face thoughtful, directing his words at his son, though
the gist was addressed as much to Jarl. “You do not reject the High Throne?”

 
          
“No!”
Kedryn shook his head
emphatically.,
“I cannot say I
welcome such unanticipated elevation, but I see—and accept —the arguments in
favor.” He smiled at Wynett. “I am wed to the king’s daughter and it seems you
consider no other acceptable, so I do not reject your wishes in that direction.
I seek, rather, to establish a firmer order.”