Free Angus Wells - The Kingdoms 02 by The Usurper (v1.1)

in the Sister’s company that must
inevitably result in a harder parting when such time came.
                “Dream of the unattainable,” the kyo
recited to the wind, "but do not live in dreams.”
                Then he set such musings aside as
the stallion’s hooves clattered on the glacis fronting the fort and he slowed
to a walk as the guards saluted, ushering him through the great gates.
                He crossed the courtyard and rode
down the long tunnel leading to the stables, dismounting as a groom came out to
take the reins. He loosened his cloak, grateful for the lessening of the wind
within the confines of the fort, and set a habitual hand to the scabbard of the
long, straight-edged sword that was now his only material link with his home as
he proceeded to negotiate the yards and walkways leading to Bedyr’s chambers.
                The place was busy with the work of
reconstruction, tilers repairing roofs holed by barbarian missiles, squads
leveling pitted yards, laying fresh flags cut from the Lozin walls, carpenters
lading the crisp air with the pleasant odor of cut wood, while on the ramparts
he could hear the creaking of the winches that hauled up the massive slabs that
would rebuild the ravaged buttresses. It was none too soon, for winter would
render such activities dangerous as ice and wind settled in, and a damaged fort
was like a wounded swordsman—open to attack. That was another sound reason for
Kedryn’s suggestion, and the kyo smiled his admiration of the young man’s
newfound wisdom.
                “You seem pleased,” Bedyr remarked
as Tepshen entered the room.
                The easterner nodded, shedding his
cloak and crossing to the fire as he said, “The repairs go well. And the men
are ready.”
                He slipped the fastenings of his
scabbard loose and set his sheathed blade against a chair, holding out his
hands to the welcoming blaze.
                “Brannoc is not yet returned,” Bedyr
told him, “so no time is yet agreed.”
                “Best soon,” murmured Tepshen,
turning to present his back to the fire as he eased the latchings of his jerkin
loose. “An idle army finds itself work.”
                “An eastern proverb?” queried Bedyr,
smiling.
                “A general observation.” The
easterner shrugged and settled himself in a chair, turning it to face across to
where the Lord of Tamur sat at a table covered with papers. “The town is too
small to accommodate them all and soon they will grow restless.”
                “Jarl is already anxious to return
home,” Bedyr nodded, “and I’d lief see Yrla again. No doubt the men feel much
the same way.”
                “They will do their duty,” Tepshen
said, reaching out to secure a mug that he filled from the copper jug warming
by the hearth, “but the sooner they can, and be gone, the better.”
                “Aye.” Bedyr pushed the papers aside
and stretched, flexing his shoulders. “I’d take Kedryn out of here, too.”
                Tepshen Lahl sipped the mulled wine,
staring across the rim of the mug at his friend. “Is there any change?”
                “No.” Bedyr shook his head, his
smile fading into melancholy. “Neither in his sight nor his feelings.”
                “You spoke to him?”
                Again Bedyr nodded. “Aye, and he
told me openly that he loves Wynett. ”
                Tepshen made a hissing sound,
drawing in his breath, that Bedyr recognized as alarm. He said, “And what was
your response?”
                “That he should consider whether his
feelings are genuine or prompted by Wynett’s care. He is certain they are
real.”
                “He knows his own mind,” grunted the
kyo.
                “He wants Wynett to