Crystal Rose (23 page)

Alas, his efforts ended in failure and humiliation. While
Kieran worshipped in his little chapel among loyal subjects, Buchan Claeg rode
up to the altar on a fully armored war horse and snatched the royal Circlet
from the Cyne’s head.

He then dragged Kieran from the chapel by the hair and
staged a mock coronation in which he had the Circlet placed upon his own brow.
In further retaliation for his resistance, The Claeg appropriated the Graegam
family estates and laid waste to the village of Ailis Graegam’s birth,
slaughtering hundreds of innocent men, women and children and leaving their
bodies lying out for all to see.

(Saefren laid aside his stew, finding it suddenly
unappetizing.)

Other Chiefs and Eiric that The Claeg considered possible
adversaries, Buchan had brought to the village by force so they might view the
carnage. He then imprisoned the Cyne beneath his own castle and ruled openly
from Creiddylad as Regent, proclaiming the Cyne mentally unfit to sit upon the
Throne.

Kieran’s son, Bearach Malcuim, was now seventeen years old.
Outraged by the actions of the Claeg, the young Riagan left his hiding place in
the village of Storm and moved about the countryside in disguise, rallying the
lesser Houses, nobles and commoners who were now chafing to be rid of the
brutal Claeg.

(
I should leave
,
Saefren thought.
I should get up and go
to my tent.
But he didn’t leave; he stayed and listened further to the
Storyteller.)

Most of all did the Osraed want the Claeg usurper gone, for
in his rage at their support of Bearach, he had placed Halig-liath under
virtual siege. But Bearach infiltrated the Holy Fortress and found the Osraed
willing allies. They had already been using the Divine Art on his behalf, and
were gratified when he turned to them for aid.

His foremost champion among the Osraed was Gartain Jura,
whom he made his Durweard. The two became as brothers—never apart, always of
one mind and heart. Together they brought the people of Caraid-land to revolt
and challenged the Claeg at every pass.

Buchan Claeg had grown tired of keeping Cyne Kieran as pet
and now, enraged by the bold actions of Bearach and Gartain, he let it be known
that he had every intention of setting himself before the Stone of Ochan in a
real coronation.

This was the rallying point Bearach and Gartain had been
waiting for. Moving swiftly, they visited Ochanshrine just long enough to
remove the Osmaer crystal. When The Claeg rushed in, seeking to lay hands on
it, it was gone.

Buchan Claeg demanded it be handed over to him so he might
be set before it, but Bearach, now called Spearman for this bold thrust at his
enemy, rejected Buchan’s demand, knowing that once the Stone was in The Claeg’s
hands, his father’s life would be forfeit. Alas, it was lost anyway, for the
treacherous Claeg, in retaliation for Bearach’s effrontery, tortured and killed
the Cyne.

Bearach was mad with grief. At once, he launched an attack
on the Claeg forces. Passion driving him, bolstered by the Art of the Osraed,
he routed the enemy from Creiddylad, but in the battle to take Mertuile, Osraed
Gartain was captured and carried away to the Claeg capitol.

Hoping to save his beloved friend’s life, Bearach Malcuim
went into the Cave of Ochan and brought out a crystal all but identical in size
and color to the Osmaer. He offered this false Stone to The Claeg in exchange
for Gartain’s life.

The counterfeit nearly fooled The Claeg, but even as the
hostage Gartain was on his way to Creiddylad to be released, the cautious
Chieftain took the stone and presented it to a Hillwild woman of his household.
The woman tested the crystal and found it to be false.

Furious, The Claeg raced to Creiddylad, reaching the release
point in the court of Kieran’s Chapel as Gartain began his walk to freedom and
reunion. In full sight of Bearach Malcuim and the people of Creiddylad, Buchan
Claeg took up a crossbow and shot the young Osraed in the back. The heroic
Gartain fell dead into the arms of his young Cyneric.

Grief doubled and driven by vengeance, Bearach entered into
a pact with the Chief of the House Feich, knowing that with the forces of this
mighty family, he might hope to trample the Claeg once and for all. They might
have done this if The Feich had not played traitor and run straight to Buchan
Claeg with the news that Bearach Spearman was planning a massed attack on the
Claeg estates.

Learning of his ally’s treachery, Bearach confronted the
Feich Chief in the Cirke at Storm. There he reviled him for his disloyalty and
then, when The Feich drew sword, he slew him, saying, “I, Bearach Spearman,
make certain.”

Ah, but the murder lay heavy on his conscience, so he
hastened to Ochanshrine to beg forgiveness of the Osraed, bringing with him the
Osmaer crystal.

The Osraed rejoiced in the return of the sacred relic. The
Osraed assured Bearach that his forgiveness was in the hands of God. They bid
him take the Great Crystal up to Halig-liath where he might safely be set
before it.

At Halig-liath, one week before Solstice, Cyneric Bearach
Malcuim was set before the Stone by the Osraed at Apex, Affric. The Malcuim
Circlet, however, was still in the hands of The Claeg.

Bearach remained at Halig-liath only long enough to preside
over the Farewelling within its walls. While he did this, Buchan Claeg dallied
outside, trying to get in. It was his opinion that the right to oversee the
leave-taking belonged to him and he presented the false Osmaer as proof. The
Osraed, who now possessed the true Stone, challenged him and cleverly kept him
at bay. When Farewelling was over and the Pilgrims at last departed the
fortress before the eyes of Claeg’s men, Bearach Malcuim was among them.

Now, while Bearach hid in and about Caraid-land, aided by
loyal commoners and lesser nobles and Chiefs, his family dispersed to the four
winds. But it was to no avail. The Claeg got his hands on them and treated them
all shamefully, humiliating and imprisoning them all—men women and children.

Bearach, meanwhile, fled into the Gyldan-baenn and threw
himself on the mercy of Garmorgan, Renec of the Hillwild clan of Mor. She kept
him safe in her stronghold at Moidart, while his countrymen rallied to his aid.
He was close to losing faith during this time, when one night he was visited by
a vision of his beloved Gartain. In the aislinn, the Osraed showed Bearach a
spider patiently weaving its web in the lee of a window embrasure and bid him
perceive how the tiny creature persevered regardless of how many times the
strong winds about Moidart blew its silken home away. Bearach was cheered by
this lesson and began to plan his return to Mertuile.

As for Garmorgan, she became Bearach’s fast friend and when,
in the dead of winter of the Year of Pilgrimage 168, Bearach led his troops
down out of the Gyldans, she rode beside him.

By now, The Claeg had set up court at Mertuile, openly
flying the banner of his House over its ramparts. Bearach Malcuim, accordingly,
seized the Claeg estates and stronghold and raised his own standard there. He
allowed the “escape” of the House Steward who carried the tale of Claeg’s
capture to his master in Creiddylad.

The Claeg at once assembled his troops for battle, but on
the eve of their departure for Claeg, Buchan fell ill. In a matter of days, he
was dead of the mysterious malady, but not before he extracted a harrowing
promise from his heir—that he would retake the Claeg lands, boil the dead
Chief’s flesh from his bones and bury those relics in the retaken soil.

The son, Gery, made the grisly pact, then violated it as
soon as his father’s spirit fled its body. He carried his father’s corpse to
Ochanshrine, where it was prayed over by the Osraed and buried in the wood
overlooking that sacred place. The new Claeg Chieftain then went straight to
Bearach, relinquished Mertuile in return for his own lands, and made a pledge
of fealty to the House Malcuim.

The Claeg kinsman were furious with their young leader and
attempted to continue the struggle against the Throne, but Bearach had the will
of the people, the forces Garmorgan, and the spiritual strength of the Osraed.
With those he could only be victorious. He brought his family out of captivity,
restored the Osmaer crystal to Ochanshrine and began a long and glorious reign.
The Malcuim were back in Mertuile to stay.

oOo

After a moment of silence, the Storyteller bowed his head
to indicate he had finished his Tell. The others about the fire nodded and
hummed in approval.

“Until now,” murmured Saefren.

Heads turned.

“What do you mean?” asked a Jura kinswoman.

He hadn’t meant to say it aloud; it had just slipped out.
Saefren reddened, but stood his ground. “You say the Malcuim were back to stay,
Mortain Jura, but there is no Malcuim at Mertuile now.”

Protests came from Jura and Claeg alike, while the Nairnian
girl sat back and watched all with eyes the size of silver sorchas. The Jura
Chieftain stopped the outcry by raising his hand. He spoke, but Saefren barely
heard him. His eyes were riveted on the palm of that hand. The star-shaped mark
there gleamed brightly enough to rival the light of the fire. He had never seen
a gytha before, though he knew from talk that it was the Sign that accompanied
initiation into the ranks of the waljan—the Osmaer’s elect.

The sight of the thing stunned him. Before, he had thought
of the gytha only in connection with those close to Taminy-Osmaer—Aine,
Iseabal, Osraed Wyth. It had never occurred to him until this moment that the
circle of chosen might expand, might embrace people like Mortain Jura, who had
only seen the woman once.

He found his eyes drawn to his Uncle Iobert. Was there also
such a mark in his palm? Saefren had never seen it, but he realized now that it
was likely there.

He glanced around now, noticing only that The Jura had
stopped speaking and was watching him.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I meant no disrespect. Only perhaps . . . that it is the lot and duty of the Claeg to return to Mertuile what we once
attempted to remove from it—a Malcuim Cyne.”

He had acquitted himself well and would have begged leave to
go to his tent, but The Jura turned immediately to Aine-mac-Lorimer and
respectfully requested her to give a tell of the Lady Osmaer. Aine complied,
timidly at first, regaling them with a tale that kept Saefren sitting right
where he was.

She spoke of an evening in summer past when Taminy had told
her what she had not wanted to hear—that she, Aine, had the aidan and a Gift
for prophecy. She had fled, rushing on horseback into Nairne where, hard by the
Cirke, her horse had shied and thrown her into a stone wall.

“My neck was broken,” she said, “and I died.”

Just that, so calmly—
I
died.

“The Osraed Torridon Wove over me and tried to save me, but
he couldn’t. When he’d turned his back and given up, Taminy came and laid her
hands on me. She healed my broken body and gave my spirit back into it.”

The group by the fire sat in awful silence, listening to the
whispers of the flames. That they believed the tell, Saefren could see in their
fire-lit eyes. He could only suppose that Aine believed it too.

He shook his head. A glowing mark in the palm, words of fire
written on hide by a flaming crystal—these things were difficult to accept,
though having seen them, he had no choice but to do so. But this—a resurrection
of sorts . . .

He rose, weary and overwhelmed, and went to his tent.

oOo

The Graegam put up little more fight than The Jura had
done and, two days after adding representation from that House to their
contingent, they were trekking southwest again, angling toward the seaside
holdings of the Madaidh. They would lay by there to await the arrival of some
Gilleas kin.

If nothing else, Saefren reasoned, they would impress
Daimhin Feich with their sheer numbers. At worst, they would scare him into a
fight which he might lose, even ensconced in Mertuile . . . unless, of course, he
had managed to win some allies in his time there.

Saefren considered recommending the construction of a few
siege engines while they were at Madaidh, but hearing the religious tone of the
Chieftains’ conversations, thought better of it. Instead, he sparred with Aine.

“That story you told our first night out of Jura . . . was it
true?”

His opening gambit caused a gratifying reddening of the
girl’s face. He’d expected that, and sat back to watch the fireworks.

There were none. Aine fought her obvious outrage to a draw,
returned her red face to a mere pink and said, “It was true.”

Disappointed and curious, he pursued the subject. “But such
an incredible tell! Can you honestly believe you were dead?”

“Yes.”

“And Taminy resurrected you.”

“It’s called an Infusion Weave,” she said as if that label
made it any less miraculous.

“Whatever. But you believe she did it?”

Aine turned to look at him, eyes kindling. “There were
enough witnesses, including Osraed Torridon, who first tried to save me.”

“Ah, but they’re all in Nairne.”

“Ask Osraed Wyth the next time you’re at Hrofceaster. Or
wouldn’t the word of an Osraed be enough for you?”

“Well, he might be rather partial to his Lady.”

“You’re a Claeg, all right,” Aine told him. “Stubborn as
that sword-poked lump on your standard.”

“It’s a rock.”

She’d nettled him a bit and her eyes said she knew it. “A
lump of clay, more like—your House namesake. A hard lump. Very hard. You could
never really get a sword through it.”

“As it happens,” Saefren informed her, “that rock forms the
altar of the Claeg chapel. It’s been an altar stone since our ancestors
worshipped in the fields. And you’re right—it’s damned hard.”

She laughed at him. Actually laughed at him, the ignorant
creature.