Read Angus Wells - The Kingdoms 02 Online
Authors: The Usurper (v1.1)
“Am I to provide funding for this?”
asked Rycol in a carefully controlled voice.
“I feel we may safely leave our new
Warden with that task,” Darr said. “Some tithe on the merchants perhaps?”
“A true freebooter,” Brannoc
murmured.
“There is much of that in the duties
of a king,” Darr retorted, chuckling. “And now may we assume these matters
settled?” There was general agreement, followed by a scraping of chairs as the
assembly rose. Bedyr turned to Kedryn, saying, “I would speak with the king,
shall I see you in your chambers?” and Kedryn nodded, feeling Tepshen Lahl’s
hand upon his arm as he stood up.
He realized that Brannoc stood close
by from the woodsmoke odor of the wolf’s-head’s leathers and murmured, “Your
purse will doubtless gain weight from this, Warden.”
Brannoc laughed cheerfully. “But
with honest gold, now, my friend. ”
Kedryn heard Tepshen Lahl snort
laughter and began to chuckle himself.
“Will you accompany us? I’d enjoy
friendly company.”
“Of course,” Brannoc agreed, taking
his elbow to assist him in the negotiation of the corridors. “You have
something to drink in your chamber? This diplomacy has dried my throat.”
Bedyr watched them depart, thankful
that his son had two such good friends, though when he turned toward Darr his
face was somber.
“Come.” The king motioned for Bedyr
to follow him out of the Council Chamber to the rooms set aside for his use.
They were as regal as High Fort could offer, being a military' bastion rather
than a palace, though Darr seemed perfectly at ease within the stone-walled
chambers, the floor of the outer room strewn with rushes, a fire burning in a
simple hearth before which stood two plain chairs, a low table between them carrying
a flask of carved crystal and matching goblets.
“My bones begin to feel the chill,”
Darr smiled, filling the goblets with rich Galichian wine. “Or is it age?”
“You are scarce older than I,” Bedyr
replied. “Mayhap kingship puts the chill there.”
“Mayhap,” Darr agreed. “It is no
easy task guiding this realm of ours, though Kedryn has proven mightily useful
in that matter of late. He grows apace, my friend.”
“He has matured,” Bedyr nodded,
stretching his booted feet toward the fire, “and it is his future I’d discuss.”
Darr indicated that he should
continue, sipping the fruity vintage as he listened to Bedyr outline his
earlier conversation with Kedryn, his face growing troubled as he heard of the
young man’s declaration and Bedyr’s desire that Wynett should accompany him to
Estrevan.
“What would you have me do?” he
asked when Bedyr was finished. “I cannot command Wynett as a father, for such
ties were set aside when she chose to follow Kyrie. And I do not think it a
good idea to speak as a king. If she does accompany you, better it be of her
own free will.”
“Of course,” Bedyr agreed, “I would
not have it any other way. But as both king and father, might you not
suggest
?”
“Is that the wisest course?” Darr
asked. “By the Lady, old friend, I’d do everything in my power to see Kedryn
happy. Kyrie knows, we owe him enough; but I am uncertain that you see this
clearly. I feel the ties of blood may cloud your vision.”
“Tepshen Lahl said much the same,”
Bedyr admitted, “but I see Kedryn’s mood shift like the striker of a bell, each
movement wringing his soul. If he continues in this matter, I fear for his
sanity. I fear that if Wynett remains here he may sink into a darkness of the
soul to match his blindness. At least if she went with him to Estrevan he would
have that consolation along the way. ”
“But when he reached the
Sacred
City
?” Darr wondered. “What then?”
“Then the chance of his regaining
his sight becomes more probable,” Bedyr said. “And if he does not—and if Wynett
should then opt to return here—there would at least be the counsels of the city
to shore him up.”
“You have a point,” the king
allowed, his voice thoughtful. “I shall discuss it with the Sisters of Andurel,
and if they deem it best that Wynett go with you I shall ask her to consider
the possibility. I cannot do more than that, my friend—you know as well as I
the limitations of my authority.”
“I accept that and I thank you,”
Bedyr nodded.
“It is little enough,” Darr
murmured, stroking at his thinning hair, his eyes fixed thoughtfully on the
fire, as if the flames might provide answers to the doubts Bedyr read on his
face. “And while we talk of Kedryn, what thought have you given to his part in
Alaria’s prophecy?”
Now Bedyr turned toward the flames,
his features grave, the comers of his mouth tugging down as he contemplated the
question. “I am not so conversant with the Text that I feel able to give valid
answer,” he said at last, “but I believe we must accept that my son is the one
foretold, and that alone persuades me I am right to seek your aid in persuading
Wynett to accompany him. If the Messenger still lives then Kedryn must
eventually face him, and he will be better equipped for that struggle if his
mind is at peace.”
Darr grunted his assent and asked,
“Do you think Wynett’s resolve might weaken in his company?”
Bedyr smiled briefly, admiring his
friend’s perspicacity. “You see through me, Darr—Aye, I believe it might.”
“Were Ashrivelle to find favor with
him ...” the king said softly.
“I had thought of that,” Bedyr said,
“and tried to put the notion in his mind. But he is fixated on Wynett.”
“It would be so much easier,” Darr
went on, almost to himself. “I’d be happy to see my younger daughter wed to the
blood of Tamur. And it would resolve the problem of Hattim Sethiyan.”
“He presses his suit?” asked Bedyr,
recognizing the concern in Darr’s tone.
“He does,” the king nodded,
refilling his goblet, “and he finds favor in her eyes. There was an exchange of
tokens on our departure.”
“He has the right,” Bedyr said,
studying Darr’s features.
“And so I can do little to prevent
the courtship,” the king said, a mixture of sadness and irritation in his
voice, “even though I do not believe he loves her so much for herself as for
what she represents.”
“He still harbors that ambition?” Bedyr
asked.
“He would be king,” Darr confirmed,
“and even though marriage to my daughter cannot guarantee that elevation, it
would mightily enhance his claim.”
“You are not so old,” Bedyr set a
hand to his friend’s arm, thinking even as he did so that Darr
had
aged greatly during his years as
sovereign. “You will rule us long yet.”
“But not forever,” smiled Darr, his
gray eyes weary. “The time must come when the Kingdoms choose a new ruler. And
Hattim Sethiyan looks to that time.”
“He would not have my support,”
Bedyr grunted, reaching for the wine flask. “Nor Jarl’s.”
“To whom would you lend your voice?”
Darr asked, taking the Lord of Tamur by surprise. “The time must come to face
the question of succession and I have but the two daughters. Let us assume for
the moment that Wynett remains dedicated to the Lady, that leaves only
Ashrivelle heir to the High Throne. Whoever marries her claims by all our
customs first right to Andurel.”
“I had not thought much on it.”
Bedyr shrugged, frowning. “I had assumed a nomination of candidates and a
selection in the customary manner. The Sisterhood would have their usual say,
and I doubt they would support a Sethiyan claimant.”
“Who, then?” asked Darr. “Jarl might
well nominate his son.”
“Kemm?”
Bedyr shook his head. “Kemm is no
ruler. An excellent tender of horses—and I mean no disrespect—but not a king.
He will ward Kesh well enough when Jarl dies, but I do not believe he could
govern the Three Kingdoms.”
“Jarl might disagree,” Darr said.
“I wonder,” Bedyr shrugged. “Jarl
left Kemm behind to tend the herds. Had he looked to put a crown on the lad’s
head, he would surely have brought him north with the armies.”
“And Ashrivelle would not, I
suspect, favor such an alliance,” Darr nodded. “It is a problem, my friend.”
“But one that we need not face for
some time,” said Bedyr. “There are years in you yet, and who knows what the
future holds?”
“Estrevan might afford us some
guidance when the mehdri I sent return,” said Darr. “Meanwhile, I have no doubt
that when Hattim marches south he will pursue Ashrivelle, and if she accepts as
I believe she will, I shall have little alternative save to agree.” “But
marriage alone does not ensure his ascendancy,” Bedyr repeated. “He would still
require the agreement of myself and Jarl.”
“And you would withhold it,” Darr
said, not asking a question.
“Hattim Sethiyan is not the man to
take your place,” confirmed Bedyr.
“So we come full circle.” Darr
smiled wanly, staring at his goblet. “Who is to succeed me? Were Kedryn to
claim my daughter’s hand I should most happily announce him my heir. But if he
loves Wynett, and is anyway gone to Estrevan . . . Mayhap I should declare a
regency. ”
The suggestion took Bedyr by
surprise and so for a moment he stared at his royal friend nonplussed. He had
not known Darr so melancholy : it was as if the onslaught of winter set a
pessimism on the king that turned his mind to gloomy thoughts. He saw Dan-
staring at him and shook his head vigorously. “
for Andurel.”
“Jarl would support you.” Darr’s
voice was soft. “And Kemm would not object, I think.”
“But Hattim undoubtedly would,”
Bedyr said quickly, not liking the direction the conversation had taken. He had
sought the king’s help in persuading Wynett to accompany Kedryn to
Estrevan and not thought beyond
that, but now he suddenly found himself caught up in the politics of the
Kingdoms with Darr seemingly measuring his head for the crown. Devoid of such
ambition, he found the prospect alarming.
“As would the Sisterhood,” continued
Darr with what appeared to Bedyr a ruthless insistence.
“Darr,” he argued, “I am a warrior.
I defend my borders and do what I can to govern my Tamurin wisely. I lack your
foresight; your skills in handling people. I am not the stuff of which kings
are made.”
“Nor is Hattim Sethiyan,” Darr
countered.
“He cannot claim the
White
Palace
without the support of Kesh and Tamur,”
retorted Bedyr.
“But wed to Ashrivelle he
strengthens the claim,” murmured the king. “And should no other contender offer
himself ...”
“Marriage alone is not enough,”
Bedyr insisted.
“But the throne must be filled,”
Darr said. “And I have no son, so the crown must descend through the female
line. Without a ruler in the
White
Palace
, the Kingdoms will devolve back into
disunity. Would you see chaos again?”
“No,” Bedyr said helplessly, “but .
. .”
“Think on it,” urged Darr. “You
would have my support.”
“And I thank you for that,” smiled
Bedyr, “but I maintain that I am no king.”