Angus Wells - The Kingdoms 02 Read Online Free Page A

voice was tinged with alarm, and a hint of bitterness. Bedyr
studied him, pain in his brown eyes as he saw the bandage that encircled his
son’s face, knowing that within the dark world the young man now inhabited fear
must be a constant companion: so far neither the blue-robed Sister Hospitaler
seated beside Kedryn nor those of King Darr’s entourage had found a cure for
his blindness, and in that, at least, Ashar’s Messenger had won a victory. He
glanced at Wynett, seeing his own pain reflected in her blue eyes, wondering if
the latest potions with which the young Sister had steeped the bandage might
prove effective, not sure whether to go on or leave Kedryn to his brooding. He
frowned a question and Wynett ducked the wheaten glory of her hair in
agreement, urging him to continue.
                “Because you slew their leader,” he
said gently, “and it appears that only the man who defeated their hef-Ulan may
be accepted as spokesman for the Kingdoms.”
                “Spokesman!” Kedryn spat the word,
his hands clenching into fists around the stem of the goblet he clutched as
though he sought to crush the receptacle. “I suppose I am good for little
else.”
                “There is much for which you are
good,” Wynett said softly. “Is this not an opportunity?”
                “How so?” Kedryn’s head turned as he
spoke, as though the absence of vision imparted by the ensorcelled sword
affected his hearing too. “They will laugh at a blind man. And what can I say
to them? I am—was,” he corrected bitterly, “—a warrior, not a diplomat.”
                “You are the warrior who slew Niloc
Yarrum,” Wynett responded, her voice even, devoid of hurtful pity, “and they
know that. They respect you for it, no matter the wounds you sustained and they
will listen to you. You have an opportunity to do much good.”
                Kedryn grunted doubtfully and swung
his sightless head in Bedyr’s direction.
                “How say you, Father?”
                “Wynett is right,” said the Lord of
Tamur. “We have a unique opportunity to forge a lasting peace with the forest
folk, and I believe that chance hinges on you.”
                “The prophecy again?” Kedryn
murmured.
                “Perhaps,” Bedyr nodded. “At the
very least, surely the Lady must look with favor on the one who brings peace
betwixt the Kingdoms and the Beltrevan.”
                “And shall there be another price to
pay?” his son demanded. “Shall I give up some other part of myself to secure
another victory?”
                Bedyr opened his mouth to speak, but
Wynett raised a hand, urging him to silence. “Look into your soul, Kedryn,” she
advised. “You will find the answers there.”
                “I need an answer to this damnable
affliction,” he retorted. “Let the Lady restore my sight and I’ll gladly serve
her.”
                “She will give you back your eyes,”
Wynett promised with complete confidence, “I have no doubt of that. Mayhap you
must travel to Estrevan, but there will be a cure.”
                Kedryn let go the goblet and raised
his hands to his head, sinking fingers into long brown hair as he sighed, his
mouth downtumed.
                “Forgive me, Wynett; Father. This cursed
darkness renders me irritable. Let me think on it. Leave me alone for a while.”
                “Very well.” Bedyr rose, tall and
broad-shouldered, his sternly handsome features creased with a pity he knew his
son would not welcome. In that, as in appearance, they were alike: Tamurin were
proud; their suffering was done in silence, privately.
                Wynett came with him as he quit the
chamber, stepping out into the stone-flagged corridor that tunneled through the
depths of High Fort, sighing as the door