“You are the king now,” Bedyr smiled. “You may end it when you wish.”

  Kedryn shook his head, grinning. “I am not used to such authority,” he murmured.

  “You will grow accustomed to it,” his father informed him, the notion mildly alarming to the young man.

  “What should I do?” he asked. “Must I make some kind of announcement?”

  Bedyr laughed aloud and Yrla spoke past him. “You need only retire, Kedryn. No official proclamation is necessary.”

  “Good.” Kedryn yawned hugely and rose, extending a hand to Wynett.

  “You would not like one more dance?” she asked, her blue eyes shining.

  “No,” he said firmly, tugging her upright as she chuckled and leading her toward the doors.

  Their departure was marked by a hail of good wishes that slowed their exit and when they finally succeeded in breaking free Kedryn sighed, circling Wynett’s waist with his left arm as she rested her blond head on his shoulder and they followed a lantern-bearing footman toward their chambers. Guards stood before the door and sleepy-eyed servants waited within the antechamber. Kedryn dismissed them, happy to be once more alone with his wife. The room was warm, heated by a banked fire, and the windows were shuttered against the dawn chill, the candles burning in the sconces along the walls lending a mellow light that danced in Wynett’s golden hair. Kedryn shrugged off his surcoat, tossing it carelessly over a chair, and pulled Wynett close.

  “I thought,” she murmured when he finally removed his mouth, “that you were tired.”

  “Of official celebration,” he answered, smiling, leading her toward the bedchamber.

  “Does my king command?” she asked as he began to unhook the fastenings of her gown.

  “Does my queen object?” he countered, lowering his mouth to her neck as the silk slipped from her shoulders.

  “No,” she said huskily. Then, as his hands moved over her hips and his mouth over her breasts, “Oh, yes.”

  Had Gerat been given to cursing, she would have cursed the lack of equestrian skills that denied her the use of swift horse and confined her to the carriage that lumbered with seemingly irrevocable slowness across the high plateau of central Tamur. As it was, she did her best to compose herself to acceptance of so tardy a method of travel and prayed to the Lady that she would be in time. In time for what, she could not exactly define, but the feeling of unease that had gripped her in Estrevan grew as she traversed the highlands of the Geflyn, as though the menace she sensed drew closer with each passing day, and she willed the four animals pulling her carriage to maintain their pace as they hauled their burden along the mountainous trails.

  Urgency rendered time meaningless and the Paramount Sister could not say exactly when she had departed the Sacred City, overriding the objections of Porelle and the others even though she could not tell them just why she felt it so needful she go. A single acolyte accompanied her, and the driver, a bluffly cheerful man called Wyxx, whose concern was as much for his animals as for the immediacy of the Sister’s mission.

  Blown horses, he told her with phlegmatic calm, would pull no carriage, and unless—no disrespect intended—she could persuade the Lady to propel her vehicle, she must allow him to set their speed.

  It had seemed swift enough as they traversed the fertile plain between Estrevan and the Gadrizels, but then they had slowed on the long climb to the Moriah Pass, and beyond that more as they ascended the winding roadways that brought them into the Tamurin heartland. The commander of the Morfah garrison had furnished them with a fresh team, and that had been replaced by another when they reached Caitin Hold, but Gerat knew that if she could only sit a galloper she could make far better time. If she could entrust her mission to a mehdri word would travel faster, but she could do neither, the one because she had no skill with horses, the other because she did not know how to word the message. It did not seem a thing she could put into words: she had tried to explain it to Porelle and Lavia, to Reena and Jara, but could not, so how to word it that a mehdri might carry it to Kedryn? It was impossible and she knew that she must confront the new king herself, no matter what customs were broken by her departure.

  Indeed, she was not certain what she would say when she did finally meet him. That there was something iri.the words of Qualle that seemed to relate to Alaria’s Text and that disturbed her? That she sensed a threat? That she felt, in a manner she could not clearly define—let alone express in words—that Kedryn’s mission as the Chosen One was not yet done?

  It was so nebulous; and yet, she was sure, so urgent.

  And the word that had come from Bethany in Andurel, carried by a mehdri who—thank the Lady!—had met her on the road east of the Morfah Pass, appeared to relate to her sense of unease. Again, she was not certain how, but that Kedryn contemplated a second descent into the netherworld had a bearing, of that she did feel sure, though not of why such certitude gripped her. She could only trust in the Lady, both to bring her to Kedryn in time and to lend her eloquence. She did not know what she would say to him, though she had read and reread the transcribed documents she carried in the satchel slung about her shoulders, never letting the pouch out of her sight, as though afraid it might disappear, transported by some fell gramarye to thwart her.

  She smiled at the thought, wanly, and let her gaze wander over the landscape unfolding before her as Wyxx jammed a boot against the lever of the brake and close-hauled his traces as the carriage tilted on the steeply descending trail.

  It was a magnificent landscape, all sweeping hillsides thick with timber, dotted here and there with mountain meadows like green pools among the trees. A brook ran noisily beside the trail, splashing over stones as it tumbled toward the distant foot of the scarp, the water iridescent in the morning sun. She saw a kingfisher dart, a flash of brilliant color, across the stream, and when she looked to the blue sweep of sky above, she saw two falcons circling in stately isolation. A pleasing breeze blew, taking the edge off the heat, rustling the burgeoning foliage of the oaks and beeches and ash trees, a susurrant counterpoint to the ever-present birdsong, itself balanced by the clop of hooves and the creaking of the carriage. Wyxx mumbled softly, reassuring the four horses as they moved downward, his barely vocalized words a drone like the buzzing of the insects in the warm air. It had been a long time since Gerat had seen Tamur and she had all but forgotten how different it was to the country surrounding Estrevan. A high, hard land that bred a hardy, proud people, majestic in its mountain fastnesses, lovely in its luxuriant forests. Far off, no more than a blur at this distance, she could see the gentler footlands, blue-green in the haze, knowing that she must cross them to reach the Idre, to reach Genyff, where Bethany had said Kedryn would disembark and strike out overland.

  ‘This is the Genyff road?” she asked her driver, knowing the question to be unnecessary, but needing to speak.

  “Aye.” Wyxx nodded, not taking his eyes from the horses. “As I told you yesterday, Sister. And the day before.”

  “Forgive me.” Gerat turned eyes that were blue and gray at the same time on the burly wagoner. “But I am anxious that we should not miss the king.”

  “If you told me aright, we shall not,” Wyxx grunted. “If Kedryn comes ashore at Genyff he’ll take this road to Caitin Hold.”

  Gerat nodded, then: “Shall we reach Genyff by the half moon?”

  “All being well,” came the complacent answer.

  “Can you be sure Kedryn will be there?” Donella, the acolyte, asked, her voice a trifle breathless, for she had no great love of this perilous descent.

  Gerat turned on the high driving seat to see the acolyte clutching tenaciously to the carriage sides, her usually calm face tense, and wished that Donella had told her she had no head for heights before they had departed Estrevan. She smiled reassuringly and said, “He sails on the first full moon after the coronation. The journey up the Idre will last at least to the half moon, so—aye, we can be reasonably sure.”

  “Unless,” said Donella, peering over the carriage side to the flank of tree-covered hillside that swept away on her left, “we overturn. Or lose a wheel.”

  “We’ll not spill,” said Wyxx amiably. “And our wheels are sound. Have I not checked the carriage each night?”

  “Have faith, child,” smiled Gerat. Then clutched the woodwork herself as the carriage slewed around a curve, the outer wheels dislodging a tumble of stones that bounced away down the hillside. “Have faith.”

  Wyxx clucked, flicking the reins to drive the horses a little faster, hauling the vehicle clear of the angled section, its surface slippery where the stream had overspilled its bank and run across the trail.

  “Nothing to fear,” he said over his shoulder.

  Donella did not reply because her eyes were closed tight and her lips were moving in a silent prayer. Nor did Gerat speak because her thoughts had returned to the matter of Qualle's book and the abrupt reminder that their journey was not without a degree of peril prompted her to commence worrying again.

  Were her Sisters right in their belief that the book contained no more than the arcane ramblings of a woman whose sanity was, in the most charitable estimate, questionable?

  Was their opinion that the prophecies set down by Alaria were all fulfilled correct?

  Certainly, they disapproved of her departure from Estrevan. Even Lavia, who would willingly have gone in her place, deemed it unseemly and unwise that the Paramount Sister should quit the city. Yet she could not see any alternative. It was as though some voice she could not properly hear whispered about the outer limits of her perception; as if the partially remembered fragments of a dream lingered in her consciousness. It was an imperative she could not deny, even though she could not explain it, and that in itself was strange, for she was a pragmatic woman, usually able to comprehend and explain her impulses. What she had read in Qualle’s book she did not properly understand, yet it seemed some meaning had penetrated her inner consciousness, even taken hold of her, for here she was, perched on the swaying seat of a carriage doing what no Paramount Sister in living memory had done, breaking with all tradition to attempt a rendezvous at which she did not know what she would say.

  It did not matter, she decided as the roadway flattened, curving around a spur, what she felt; she felt and the power of that feeling was such that it could come only from the Lady. She knew what she must do and she would do it, even if it meant no more than handing to Kedryn the parchments contained in her satchel.

  “Have faith,” she murmured, this time to herself.

  “No need to worry,” said Wyxx, misunderstanding her. “We’ll be off the Geflyn in a day or two and the way runs flat from there.”

  Gerat smiled, forcing herself to study the magnificent terrain.

  “We,” said Kedryn, glancing at Wynett and wondering if he sounded pompous, “are confident we leave the Kingdoms in good hands. Our council is formed and on it sit men trusted by all. Your loyalty and your wisdom are undoubted, and we have faith that you will govern well.”

  “You have, after all,” he added softly so that only Wynett heard him, “more practice than us.”

  The men and women gathered in the royal council chamber nodded, only Gerryl Hymet looking as though he doubted the veracity of Kedryn’s words. His long face was almost mournful and Jarl clapped him stoutly on the shoulder, saying, “Fear not, my friend, this matter of governing is not so difficult.”

  “You set enough objections to Kemm’s appointment,” his wife remarked tartly, prompting a black look from the Lord of Kesh.

  “We shall ward your realm,” Bedyr promised gravely. “Have no fear.”

  “I—we—do not,” said Kedryn. “And after we have visited Estrevan we shall return.”

  “You will sojourn a while a Caitin Hold, will you not?” asked Yrla. “It would be as well were you to attend affairs there before returning.”

  Kedryn nodded enthusiastically, smiling his thanks to his mother for making such a delay easier. Yrla smiled back, knowing that her son harbored a longing to see his home again after so long away.

  “Then we are done,” said Bedyr. “The council is formed and the measures of future appointment set in motion. You will ask of Gerat that she issue a fiat instructing her Sisters to attend all those who seek a place?”

  “I will,” Kedryn promised.

  “Do not be gone too long,” his father smiled. “You are not alone in your desire to see our homeland.”

  “No.” Kedryn shook his head, raising his voice for the benefit of the others. “I know that you all wish to return to your homes, and I thank you for your aid in this.”

  “I am perfectly happy to remain in Andurel,” remarked Arlynne, rearranging the skirts of her latest gown, the movement jangling the array of bracelets she wore.

  “As are the merchants of Andurel to have you here,” grunted Jarl, “though my treasury is less happy.”

  Arlynne smiled at her hawk-faced husband and patted his hand. “You need only breed more of your horses,” she said cheerfully. “Now that Kedryn has opened trade with the Beltrevan you can find a new market. ”

  Jarl snorted, but the smile that curved his thick lips suggested that the prospect was not without its attractions.

  “So you sail on the morrow,” said Yrla, a note of regret in her voice. “It seems so soon.”

  “Galen tells me the full moon offers the best tide,” Kedryn nodded, feeling himself a little saddened now that departure was so imminent. Confinement in Andurel had been a constraint he had longed to break, but at least it had been a confinement among those he loved, and now that he was about to find the freedom he planned for he realized that he would miss his parents and the others he had come to know so well.

  “Galen mans your barge?” asked Yrla, as much to dispel the note of sorrow as for any other reason.

  “He has agreed to leave his beloved Vashti here,” confirmed Kedryn. “She is to be dry-docked while he captains the barge.”

  “It is good to know you will be in safe hands,” Yrla said with maternal concern, glancing to where Tepshen Lahl and Brannoc stood.

  “No harm shall come to him whilst I live,” said the kyo.

  “With these two champions on guard, you need have no fear.” Bedyr set an arm about his wife’s waist. “And what harm can there be in a journey to Estrevan?”

  Kedryn smiled encouragingly, wondering what his father might make of Galen Sadreth’s stories of disappeared vessels. He had not mentioned the riverman’s gloomy yam to anyone, and had pressed both Tepshen and Brannoc to silence on the matter, for he could see no reason to cause alarm with so nebulous a tale, and knew that if any present had the slightest suspicion there might be danger in the trip they would argue fervently against his going. And what harm could befall? As Bedyr said, he was guarded by champions, and the barge would carry a squad of Tamurin bowmen together with a complement of warriors, surely safeguard enough against any attack.

  “Be of good cheer,” he urged his mother, taking her hands. “We shall be safe enough, and return soon enough.”

  Yrla nodded, essaying a smile that could not entirely hide her regret at having her son taken once more from her. She studied him, seeing Bedyr reflected in Kedryn’s tall frame, and told herself it was time she accepted he was a grown man, married and crowned, with his own life to lead. She was too good a mother to deny him that right and she forced a greater cheer than she felt into her expression as she murmured, “I know, my dear, and you must forgive me these maternal foolishnesses.”

  “I do,” Kedryn said, with all his father’s gravity.

  “He will be safe.” Wynett stood beside them, her own smile confident. “We shall be well guarded, and besides—-do we not wear the Lady’s talismans?”

  She touched the blue stone that hung with the medallion of her office about her slender throat and Yrla’s expression grew more genuine at the reminder. “Then mayhap we should attend the dining hall,” she suggested. “There is the final banquet requires your presence.”

  Kedryn groaned at the thought, for it seemed he had done little the past few weeks save eat and dance and talk. There had been banquets in honor of Tamur, and for Kesh, and for Ust-Galich; in honor of Gerryl Hymet; in honor of the Sisterhood; in honor, it seemed, of anyone with the slightest claim to acquaintanceship or royal notice. In that respect alone he looked forward with pleasure to his departure, for he was wearied with the seemingly endless formalities and longed for the simpler life he anticipated on the journey.

  At his side Wynett smiled innocently and said, “And there will be dancing after.”

  Kedryn groaned afresh at the thought.

  Nonetheless, he performed his duties with good grace and still succeeded in persuading Wynett from the floor before the hour grew too late, finding their bed in good time, so that they slept soundly and rose not long after dawn, their excitement mounting as they dressed in preparation for departure.

  It was another fine day, the sky clear and the sun already warm enough to lift the early chill. Andurel glittered, jewellike, as they rode their horses to the harbor, a squadron of the Royal Guard trotting proud before them, the Tamurin archers and warriors marching sturdily behind. Bedyr, Yrla, Jarl, Arlynne, and Kemm composed the farewell party, and Kedryn rode between Wynett and Ashrivelle, smiling broadly at the folk who greeted them along the way.

  They reached the harbor and saw Galen Sadreth awaiting them, decked in a flamboyant tunic of purple, the trident emblem of the river guild on one breast, the tripartite crown on the other. The travelers had chosen simpler garb, Kedryn readily reassuming his plain tunic and breeks, his sword once more at his side, while Wynett and Ashrivelle both wore gowns of practical cut, designed for the relatively close quarters of the barge rather than for the banqueting hall.

  “Welcome,” the giant declared heartily. "By your leave, we sail as soon as we may.”