Angus Wells - The Kingdoms 03 (66 page)

 
          
For
an instant Kyrie’s face grew sad and she shook her head. “That may not be. I am
able to restore Wynett because she died on Ashar’s blade and that weapon was
forged with something of mine to lend it power. In his hatred and his pride
Ashar did not realize that what is good may never be totally overwhelmed, so
the stolen part of my talisman enabled me to return Wynett’s life. But
Brannoc’s was taken by Taziel’s hammer and that I cannot give back.”

 
          
Kedryn
sighed, holding tighter to Wynett. “Does he then dwell in this foul place?” he
asked mournfully.

 
          
“No,”
said Kyrie. “Brannoc gave his life willingly that you might succeed, and now
inhabits those realms where dwell my followers. He is at peace, Kedryn—you need
not mourn him.”

 
          
“I
shall miss him, however,” he said.

 
          
“He
was a true friend,” the goddess nodded, “and you should not forget to name him
to the balladers.”

 
          
Kedryn
smiled then and promised, “I shall not. The coffers of Andurel shall reward the
finest elegy.”

 
          
“He
will like that,” smiled Kyrie. “Now, let us depart this miserable place.”

 
          
“One
thing more,” Kedryn said, “I promised Dnil’s shade the return of his glaive—how
may I now honor that undertaking?”

 
          
“Bring
him the other,” Kyrie advised. “He will accept it.”

 
          
“I
will fetch it,” said Tepshen, rising to stride into the hall.

 
          
Kedryn
was glad enough to leave that task to the kyo, for he had no great desire to
see Ashar’s transfixed body again, and waited until Tepshen returned with the
weapon.

 
          
“So,”
Kyrie declared. “It is done.”

 
          
She
rose, motioning them to follow her. Kedryn helped Wynett to her feet, frowning
as he realized she was naked. Kyrie saw his expression and stooped to retrieve
the bloodstained gown, holding it a moment before handing it to Wynett.

 
          
“It
is cleansed,” she murmured as Wynett hesitated to take the robe, “and it will
do for now.”

 
          
Wynett
accepted the gown and as she took it, it became a dress of purest Estrevan
blue, unsullied.
“My thanks, Lady.”
She smiled,
donning the garment.

 
          
Kyrie
acknowledged her gratitude with a nod and led the way to the door. “Come,” she
urged. “Change is afoot and we had best be gone.”

 
          
Her
words were emphasized by a peal of sullen thunder that shook the walls of the
keep. The fecal stench was gone, replaced by a sulfurous odor reminiscent of
Taziel’s cavern. Above, lightning roiled scarlet, the fiery sky avid, great
gusting billows of black cloud racing on the growing wind. Kedryn pressed the
talisman into Wynett’s hand saying, “This fell from die sword.”

 
          
Wynett
studied the jewel, her eyes troubled. “I gave it to Ashar,” she whispered. “Do
I have the right to hold it now?”

 
          
“Child,”
smiled Kyrie, “Ashar deceived you and you acted only to aid Kedryn—take it and
wear it in the knowledge it carries my blessing.”

 
          
She
paused beside the column that had held Wynett prisoner, taking the severed
chains and passing them through her hands to form a necklace of delicate silver
links that she attached to the talisman, sealing the chain about Wynett’s neck.

 
          
“With
my blessing,” she repeated. “Now hurry, lest this odious place fall about our
ears.”

 
          
There
was an urgency in her tone that brooked no delay and they hurried through the
courtyard as fresh thunder rumbled above them, the lightning striking the black
towers now, ebon stone burning red, the flags trembling under their feet. They
passed through the gates and walked quickly to the bridge, halting there as
Kyrie beckoned them closer, raising her arms so that the effulgence surrounding
her held them all within its light. Kedryn looked back, seeing Ashar’s hold
shudder beneath the onslaught of the storm, the towers crumbling, crashing down
upon the
walls, that
in turn fell, sealing the place.
Forever, he hoped, as the vision faded and he clutched Wynett, suspended in
blue light.

 
          
When
that radiance faded they stood within the confines of Drul’s tomb, firelight
bright above, throwing stark shadows over the moldered armor and the yellow
bones. Tepshen placed Ashar’s sword between the gauntleted hands and Kyrie
said, “Now all is done, and done well. The woodlanders will not harm you—go out
amongst them and they will bring you safely home.”

 
          
She
gestured and they stood atop the mound, the great bonfire of the Gathering
blazing fierce all around. Of the Lady there was no sign, but from the talisman
Wynett wore there came a radiance that surrounded them and Wynett said, “Come,
the fire will not harm us.”

 
          
Kedryn
set an arm about her shoulders and she linked hands with Tepshen as they walked
through the flames to confront the startled faces of the Drott. Cord stepped forth,
his bearded features awed as he bowed and raised his arms in greeting.

 
          
“Hef-Alador?”
he said wonderingly.

 
          
“Aye,”
Kedryn answered. “And come to tell you of the world’s new turning.”

 
          
Barris
Edon felt his close-cropped hair rise beneath his leathern helm and took a
firmer grip on his sword, deciding that one of the disadvantages of keen
eyesight was that it placed him always on watch, and while that was an easy
enough duty on the walls of High Fort, here in the Beltrevan it was somewhat
less desirable.
Especially with so vast a throng of
woodlanders moving remorselessly toward him.
He shaded his eyes,
wondering why the horde cheered so, and why the warriors held, not swords and
axes, but clusters of white and red feathers. He rose to his feet, shouting up
the slope, seeing bows nocked and Chatelain Rycol come running down with an
agility that belied the commander’s age, Gerat close on his heels. Then he
shouted again as he saw the three figures riding at the head of the barbarian
column and recognized them.

 
          
“Kedryn
returns!” he bellowed.
“And the Lady Wynett with him!
The kyo, too!”

 
          
Rycol
slithered to a stop beside him, staring in wonder at the mass of warriors.
“Peace feathers?” he asked, disbelievingly.

 
          
Barris
Edon saluted the chatelain and bowed to the Paramount Sister, whose descent
was, he felt, most unbecoming to one of Estrevan.

 
          
“Peace
feathers!” she cried, clutching Rycol’s arm, her ageless face split by a huge
smile. “They are safe! They have won!”

 
          
To
the amazement of both soldiers she promptly clambered over the breastwork of
rocks and, her skirts lifted high, proceeded to scamper down the slope, her
laughter loud on the summer air.

 
          
“Praise
the Lady!” Barris Edon heard her shout. “Praise the Lady you are come back
safe.”

 
          
Rycol
bellowed orders for his archers to put up their shafts and further surprised
Barris by following the Paramount Sister. The soldier could not hear what was
said, but from the smiles he could see, he guessed that the news was good.
Indeed, the very air felt suddenly fresher, and as he watched Kedryn embrace
Wynett he thought they made a decidedly handsome couple, ideal rulers of the
Three Kingdoms. He was not sure what duty had taken them into the Beltrevan,
nor what caused such joy to lighten their faces, even the stem-featured kyo
beaming mightily, but somehow he felt certain that a new age dawned.

 
          
Beaming
himself, Barris Edon sheathed his sword and began to cheer, his cry taken up by
his fellows so that soon the Lozins rang with their joyful shouts:

 
          
“Hail
Kedryn! Hail Wynett!”

 
          
“And
praise the Lady,” Kedryn whispered against Wynett’s cheek, holding her tight to
him, her arm about his waist, her lovely face radiant.

 
          
“Aye,”
she answered. “May her blessings be with us always, and we always together.”

 
          
And
it seemed then that a calm voice spoke in both their minds, saying, “So shall
it be.”