“In which venture,” Tepshen added, “three will make better headway than one.”

  ‘Then,” Kedryn said, “we had best start out as soon as we may.”

  “As soon as your ribs are healed,” said Gerat, firmly. “What you attempt will need a hale body.”

  “There is no time to waste,” argued the young man.

  “No.” Kedryn was not sure whether Gerat’s negative was an agreement or a denial of his implicit decision, “but nor will you accomplish what you intend with cracked ribs—and they cannot heal on horseback. You must curb your impatience a few days longer, lest it jeopardize all chance of success.”

  “The Sister speaks truth,” said Tepshen, and Kedryn sighed his frustration as he nodded.

  “So be it.”

  “A few more days,” Gerat said consolingly. “And you will ride the faster for it.”

  “Ashrivelle spoke of your traveling to High Fort,” he said. “Was she right?”

  “Aye,” confirmed the Paramount Sister, “we shall ride my carriage north after you—I shall not enter the Beltrevan for I should slow you down, but mayhap I can still aid you.” Her unlined features became serious and her blue eyes traveled from one man to the other, resting at last on Kedryn again, though her next words were addressed to them all. “What you attempt is fraught with danger. I do not pretend to know what you may encounter in the netherworld, though I am confident Ashar will seek to destroy you, or entrap you there. This is not a thing to take lightly: think on it before you decide.”

  “There is nothing to ponder—you believe Wynett lives, and that Qualle’s words suggest I may overcome the god.”

  Kedryn’s gaze was no less somber than the woman’s and she ducked her head in agreement, saying simply, “I do.”

  “Then there is no other way of it,” he said calmly. “As soon as you deem me hale enough to ride, I—we —depart. ”

  “May the Lady stand with you,” murmured Gerat; then, in businesslike tone, “Now let me examine those ribs properly. After, you may rise.”

  She brought pots of unguent from a compartment of her satchel and peeled the sheets from Kedryn’s body, her fingers deft as she unwound the bandages. He saw that his side was colored from chest to waistline, an angry red mergirig into purple edged with ugly yellow. Gerat began to smear her ointments over the damaged flesh, their cool welcoming, seeming to seep into the very fibers of his being so that the dull aching eased and ceased. She covered the bruised area with unguent and then wound fresh bandages around him, swathing him, before producing a small cup and a jar of colorless liquid. He drank without protest, anxious now only to allow the Sister to heal him as swiftly as possible so that he might go out to rescue his love.

  That he must attempt to battle a god to achieve that aim was a thought he pushed to the hindmost compartments of his mind, for it was so large a thought he feared it might cloy his purpose with its enormity.

  Finally Gerat was satisfied, rising from the bed to nod approvingly and tell him that he might now dress and walk a little in the sun.

  When this time he stood upright his head remained clear, and though his side pained him he was able to dress with the help of Tepshen and Brannoc, and Ranked by them went out into the corridor.

  “I would see Galen,” he remarked, then shook his head, muttering a curse as he realized that concern for Wynett had overcome all other thoughts. “How many died?” he asked.

  "Nineteen,” said Tepshen. “Seven warriors, the rest oarsmen. Fifteen more were injured.”

  Kedryn was chagrined. “The survivors?”

  “Our Tamurin I sent home,” said the kyo. “The rivermen await a southbound vessel.”

  “I must send word to Andurel,” Kedryn murmured. “And order compensation for the families of those slain.”

  Tepshen nodded his agreement, but said, “Your council will not likely approve our venture.”

  “No.” Kedryn smiled tightly, the curving of his lips humorless. “But by the time word reaches the city we shall be long gone.”

  “Galen would make a reliable courier,” suggested Brannoc, “and he will be confined here for some time yet. ”

  “Aye.” Kedryn smiled his thanks. “An excellent suggestion. Now let us find him.”

  They found the giant river captain in a room farther down the corridor. He dwarfed the bed, his girth thrusting up the sheets in a mound of sunlit white, his ruddy features less than amiable, though he cheered a little as they entered.

  “Kedryn!” he cried. “I am happy to see you on your feet.”

  “And I am sorry to see you laid low,” returned the younger man.

  Galen shrugged as best he could, his moon-round face darkening as he grumbled, “I have never lost a vessel before this.”

  “You—nor any other—have ever faced such a hazard,” Kedryn said. “You were not to blame.”

  “And Wynett?” Galen spoke the name lowly, afraid of causing grief.

  “Gerat believes she lives.” Kedryn eased gingerly onto a chair. “Once I am healed we go to seek her.”

  Disbelief showed in Galen’s eyes and Kedryn explained the nature of Gerat’s discourse.

  “So,” the riverman murmured when he had finished, “you ride against a god. Would that I might accompany you.”

  “I have another task for you,” Kedryn told him, “if you agree.”

  “Of course,” Galen nodded enthusiastically, wincing as the movement shafted pain through his broken bones. “Whatever you command.”

  “I must send word to Andurel,” Kedryn said. “To my father. I shall prepare the message before we leave, but I would not have it reach the council in time for mehdri to overtake us with dissuasions.”

  Galen nodded again, this time more cautiously, and gently patted the mounded sheets. “These ribs of mine will be some time knitting,” he smiled, “or so the good Sisters tell me. If you depart within the next few days I doubt I shall be in fit state to journey south for several more; And I shall needs find passage on a passing craft, so you will be into the Beltrevan before Andurel hears the news.”

  “Thank you,” Kedryn smiled.

  “It is the least I can do,” said Galen. “Is there nothing more? Would you have me advise Bedyr to march an army north?”

  “No.” Kedryn shook his head. “An army cannot enter where we go, and my father can serve the Kingdoms better in Andurel.”

  Unspoken was the thought that should he not return the council would need to choose another king, and it imposed a moment of somber silence upon them.

  Brannoc ended it as though he, like Kedryn, preferred not to dwell upon the less optimistic possibilities: “Do the Sisters tend you well?”

  “Excellently,” Galen answered, “save for a most curious denial of a riverman’s most cherished nourishment.”

  Brannoc nodded sagely. “Fear not—we are permitted to exercise ourselves a little and might well return with evshan.”

  “Were that the case,” said Galen with ponderous solemnity, “and were a flask or two to find its way to my chamber, I should be forever in your debt.”

  Brannoc tapped his nose in a conspiratorial gesture and they rose, leaving the heavily bandaged riverman alone again.

  They went into the ward of the little hospital, where Kedryn spoke with the wounded, reassuring them and promising them reparation for their injuries, then found their way into the town.

  Summer touched Tamur now and the air was warm, a refreshing breeze blowing off the Idre, the sun shining golden from a near-cloudless sky, where larks darted and sparrows fluttered busily about the rooftops and streets, vying with raucous gulls for the bounty to be found along the waterfront. Gennyf was tiny in comparison with Andurel, but for Tamur it was a settlement of respectable size, both a fishing port and a jumping- off place for the long trail into the heartland. The road to Caitin Hold began here, cutting west and north from the river to cross the lowlands before rising up the scarp of the central plateau to breast the Geflyn and roll on to Kedryn’s home. How long might it be before he saw that place again, he wondered as they strolled toward the river. How long before he saw Wynett again? Unconsciously he inserted a hand beneath his shirt, clutching the talisman that he might again experience that reassuring warmth, confident that so long as he could feel that vibrancy hope remained.

  “We shall bring her back,” Tepshen murmured, noticing what he did.

  “Aye,” said Kedryn, and forced himself to let go the stone.

  They walked on across the square surrounding the hospice and found a road that went down between low houses, their stuccoed walls bright in the sun, to the banks of the Idre. The town was quiet, going about its own business, and the informality, after the ceremoniousness of Andurel, was refreshing as the breeze. Those who recognized Kedryn did little more than murmur brief condolences, characteristic of the Tamurin not wishing to intrude upon what they felt was private grief, and he reached the riverside feeling simultaneously more at home than in long weeks and gripped by a terrible impatience to be gone again.

  Warehouses faced the river here and they turned to stroll past the looming buildings to where nets were strung out to dry, tended by fishermen whose boats bobbed on the swell, their tanned faces incurious as they glanced at the trio of strangers. Kedryn paused, staring across the river. It shone a silvery blue, tranquil, without any hint of the terrible menace that had so recently risen from its depths. The far bank was lost in the distance, sky and water seeming to merge in a fusion of dazzling azure, while to north and south the great waterway rolled smoothly to the horizons, implacable as fate. There was no sign of the royal barge and Kedryn turned to ask of his companions what had become of the vessel.

  “It sank,” said Tepshen, succinctly.

  “The beast crippled her,” Brannoc expanded. “Fortunately for us there were fisherfolk out and they brought the survivors off. Had they not come to our aid likely more would have died.”

  Kedryn nodded, saying nothing, his eyes fixed on the water. It occurred to him that none of them had suggested taking a boat north, as if it were tacitly understood that they preferred to travel overland, regarding the Idre as potentially dangerous now.

  “Let us find a tavern,” he suggested at last, feeling he had seen as much of the river as he wanted; for a long time.

  They moved away from the water, turning back into the town, and found a cheerful-looking alehouse with benches and rough-hewn tables set outside in a small courtyard where apple trees flourished white blossoms above the sun-warmed flagstones.

  It felt good to sit in the open air, the. breeze soft on their skin, and sip the cool ale the serving wench brought them, though the calm exterior each presented was more facade than reality, for each hid private thoughts of the future and their quietude was that of warriors before battle. They drank the dark beer and requested food, eating platters of cold meats and cheese, with bread, and then more beer, speaking little for there seemed little to say. Finally Kedryn felt he could sit no longer and suggested they deliver Galen his evshan and explore the town, purchasing two flasks that were secreted under tunics as they went back to the hospice.

  Galen greeted them with more cheerful aspect when they produced the liquor and they sat a while with the riverman, sipping the fierce brew, until a Sister chased them out, confiscating—much to Galen’s distress—the flasks that she declared would be kept for him.

  “Sister!” he cried dramatically. “You do not know rivermen! Do you not know that evshan is the finest cure for whatever ails us? We are not like you land-dwellers—we need that balm to fuel us.”

  The Sister turned calm eyes on the moon-faced giant, a small smile twitching the corners of her mouth, and said, “Mayhap you shall be allowed a mug or two after your evening meal, but for now you must sleep. Drink this instead.”

  She poured a draft that she held to his lips, ignoring his stricken countenance. Kedryn and the others watched from the doorway, amused at the grief he pantomimed, his eyes rolling as he allowed the diminutive woman to tilt the mug and swallowed with a grimace of distaste. The Sister nodded approvingly and set the cup aside, watching as Galen’s lids grew heavy and his eyes closed. Within seconds stentorian rumbles echoed from the walls and the Sister left the room, fixing the three onlookers with a stem gaze.

  “You should have sought our permission before bringing him evshan,” she informed them, rank meaningless here in the domain of the Sorority. “There is no harm in it, but that great tub is likely to drink himself to a state of agitation from sheer boredom. And should so large a man be drunk, we should find it difficult to control him.”

  “He is a difficult man to control at the best of times,” Brannoc said solemnly, “but it was his majesty’s wish we bring him the liquor he requested.”

  “There are no kings here,” the Sister retorted brusquely, “only patients in need of care. Now find yourselves something to do.”

  Dutifully, they nodded and made themselves scarce, wandering back into the town.

  By late afternoon they had explored Gennyf from die waterfront to the small holdings that bordered the landward perimeters. A stable was found bearing the insignia of the mehdri on its board and they selected three good mounts that the ostler promised to have in prime condition for their departure, together with tack, and with litde else to occupy their attention they made their way to the hospice again.

  Gerat awaited them, asking them to enter the room set aside for her use.

  “You have had the day to think on it,” she declared. “What is your decision?”

  Tepshen stared at her as though he did not understand her words; Brannoc shrugged and said, “Our decision was made this morning, Sister.”

  “Then I should lief begin the preparation of the cantrips,” she announced. “Kedryn, your presence is not needed and might prove a distraction—will you leave us alone?”

  Kedryn nodded, quitting the room as Gerat drew the shutters closed over the windows. He felt no desire to return to his own chamber, nor any wish for company, and so he avoided the more populous quarters of the hospice and found his way once more to the little courtyard.

  Although the sun was close to setting the yard remained warm, the wall against which he rested his back pleasantly heated, the still air heavy with the scent of flowers, vibrant with the buzzing of insects. It reminded him of that similar yard in High Fort, where first he had kissed Wynett, and that memory brought a sharp stab of pain so that he felt his teeth grit as he fought against the image that threatened to form in his mind’s eye, of the behemoth rising from the river, the great maw gaping as Wynett plunged between the awful teeth. He clasped the talisman, turning his face to the sky, seeking calm in contact with the stone. In some measure it came, for with the touch he felt that certainty that Wynett did still live, and with that resolve descended again, the determination that he would—no matter what the odds—uncover Drill's sword and enter the netherworld to free Ashar. But it was not the all-consuming certitude he had known before; not that overwhelming resolution that had carried him into battle with Niloc Yarrum, nor the unflinching will that had upheld him as he contested with Taws; not even the conviction that had guided him in forming the council. That he would attempt the quest was beyond doubt, but behind that lay a slippery ambiguity, as if not even Kyrie’s talisman, not even die Lady herself, could be certain of the outcome. Before it had not occurred to him that he might lose the struggle, the strength of purpose imparted by the blue stone filling him with unimpeachable optimism, but now there existed an element of doubt, as if the stone, Gerat, Qualle's words, showed him a way, but not the outcome.

  This time, he thought, struggling against the terrifying scepticism that threatened to assail him, I face a god. They say I am the Chosen One, the only one who may defeat Ashar, but can I? Can even the Lady protect me in the realms of the dead? Does her power extend so for, or do I go into a place where Ashar holds full sway?

  He shook his head as if to disperse the unwelcome misgivings, staring blindly at the sky as he mounted a silent prayer to the Lady, asking her for strength, his fist tight about the jewel, its contours imprinting on his palm.

  There can be no doubt, he told himself. Doubt is the father of despair, and despair is to lose all. I will not lose Wynett! I will go into the netherworld and face Ashar and bring her back!

  Or I will die in the attempt.

  Slowly he relaxed his grip on the talisman, peace returning, and a grim certainly. His eyes focused again and he saw a brace of hawks wheel high above, planning the air currents, outspread wings bearing them majestically across the heavens. He watched them until they were gone from sight beyond the walls of the courtyard and lowered his gaze to see bright butterflies dancing over the flowerbeds, as delicately regal as the birds, and he smiled, wondering if the Lady sent him a sign.

  He did not know, but he felt a return of calm, a benison after that threatened upsurge of panic. He would inevitably suffer reminders of Wynett, for everywhere he was about to go he had gone before with her, but those, he told himself, would be memories from which he would draw strength, for each would recall how much they shared and firm his purpose until he had her back.

  He watched the butterflies until shadows fell across the yard and they disappeared into the commencing twilight, and when he looked up he saw that the sun was close to setting, the sky to the east already dark. He rose to his feet, stretching his torso cautiously, gratified to feel an easing of the stiffness, knowing that his damaged side mended apace and that soon he could be gone on his way. The sound of a door opening brought him round, unaware that his hand fell in reflex action to the dirk sheathed on his belt, and he saw Tepshen and Brannoc enter the court.

  The kyo seemed unchanged, but his mien was naturally solemn and now Brannoc wore a matching expression, as if he had undergone some experience that imposed an unusual gravity on his cheerful features.