Angus Wells - The Kingdoms 02 Read Online Free Page B

closed.
                “There will be a cure,” she said
fiercely. “There must be. I cannot believe the Lady intends him to remain
blind.”
                Bedyr studied her lovely face,
hearing in her voice more than he thought she was prepared to acknowledge. He
had watched them since the fighting ended with growing concern, for he could
see his son falling in love with the youthful Sister; and see in Wynett’s
responses a reciprocated affection that she could not admit for her vows of
celibacy. It was more than a dependency on the Sister, even though her
ministrations had inevitably thrown them closer together than would have been
possible had Kedryn soldierly duties to attend; and on Wynett’s part he could
see in her eyes, hear in her voice, a burgeoning feeling that must eventually
conflict with her promises to the Sisterhood. She was a dedicated hospitaler,
sworn since she had chosen to forgo her rank as King Darr’s daughter to the way
of the Lady; yet to maintain that promise she must remain celibate, or lose her
healing talent. He was uncertain how it all might end, and afraid that his son
might suffer a hurt as great as blindness in result.
                “Once matters here are settled he
must go to Estrevan,” he said, not voicing the certainty that Kedryn would want
her to accompany him.
                “Aye,” Wynett nodded. “In Estrevan
they must surely find a cure.”
                “I pray so,” Bedyr murmured.
                While they spoke Kedryn sat in
silence and darkness, fighting the fear that was never far from the surface.
Save, perhaps, when Wynett was with him and he could feel her hands in his or
smell the sun-scent of her hair. He would not admit it to anyone, but it was
always there like some lurking beast prowling about the edges of his
consciousness, seeking to rend his mind and drive it into the escape of
madness. He hardly dared admit it to himself, for to do so would be to
acknowledge that he was blind forever, and so he forced himself to cope as best
he could. To do as much as he was able alone, without assistance. But this—how
could he face the warlords of the defeated Horde and argue terms? A blind man?
                “Lady,” he moaned, “how much more do
you ask of me?”
                He stretched out a hand until he
found the table beside him, then spidered his fingers across the smoothly
polished surface until they touched the wine jug. Lifting it carefully, he filled
his goblet, cursing as the beverage overflowed, wetting his hand. He brought
the vintage to his lips and drank, and as he did so a random thought flitted
across his mind. Sister Grania had enjoyed this wine and Grania had given her
life to the defeating of Ashar. She had used her power to speed the Vashti north up to the Idre and then,
even though she knew that disruption of the natural order had weakened her
greatly, she had pitted herself against the glamour of the Messenger. And died
as the price of victory. She had done that unquestioningly, and in the moment
of her dying he had heard her voice speak inside his head. Now it seemed she
spoke again, not in words he might transcribe or repeat, but in emotions, in
certainties, and he knew suddenly what he must do.
                He raised the goblet in a toast and
set it aside, his leather breeks rustling as he rose and walked warily across
the room, halting when his outthrust hands touched the cool stone of the wall.
He moved sideways until he found the door. Opened it and stepped into the
corridor.
                “Prince Kedryn!”
                The guard stationed there came
close, a hand cupping Kedryn’s elbow.
                “Take me to my father,” he
commanded, and allowed the man to lead him slowly along the echoing corridor,
once again doing his best to memorize the route.
                Bedyr was found in the