Crystal Rose (26 page)

Feich was clearly amused. “You realize, of course, that the
last time a Claeg and a Feich shared Regency the results were disastrous.”

“Surely, Regent, we are capable of learning from history.”
The Jura’s smile did not reach his eyes.

Daimhin Feich’s gaze moved to the Claeg Chieftain. “Are we,
Iobert Claeg, capable of learning from history? Or shall we only repeat it?”

“I can only speak for myself, Regent,” replied Iobert,
laying a slight and condescending stress on the title. “I want what is best for
my people—by that, I mean all Caraidin. It is not best that the Throne of
Caraid-land remain empty.”

Saefren swore Daimhin Feich actually flinched, but he did
not rise from the throne he occupied. Instead, he leaned back in it with
studied calm and folded his hands upon his stomach.

“For this you bring your assembled forces to Creiddylad—to
make this benign proposal?”

The Jura shrugged, smiling. “Forces? Regent, the people
outside your gates are merely well-wishers of Cyneric Airleas. They are here
voluntarily to show support for the young Malcuim’s return and call for his
continued success. I assure you, Daimhin Feich, that any fighting force we
sought to assemble would be much more formidable.”

Feich’s jaw tightened. He rose from the throne at last,
straightening his tunic with sharp, jerky motions. “A triune Regency? Why
should I accept this proposal? I am Airleas Malcuim’s Regent by royal decree.”

“To show good will. To satisfy the people of Caraid-land.”

“You are not a popular man,” added Iobert Claeg. “By
demonstrating a willingness to work with other Houses . . .”

“I work with the Dearg and the Teallach—”

“Such as the Jura and the Claeg,” Iobert persisted.

“Surely, you can see the advantage of that,” added Mortain
Jura. “As you say, you are Regent. It behoves you to choose your allies carefully.”

Feich’s pale eyes flickered between the two Chieftains’
faces. “You are undoubtedly right. It behoves all of us to choose our allies
carefully.”

Fencing. That’s what they were doing—fencing. The subject of
Taminy was broached without her name ever being mentioned. Saefren’s hand
worked the leather-wrapped hilt of his sword.

You know each other’s
thoughts. Why won’t you speak them?

“What of Cwen Toireasa?” Feich asked. “You’ve not mentioned
her.”

“The boy needs his mother,” The Jura observed.

“The woman is a Taminist.”

“She is also a Malcuim. Mother of the House Chieftain.
Respect is due her, regardless of how little real influence she has at court.”

“She’ll have neither respect nor influence if she comes
here,” Feich promised. “She is a traitor to her husband’s House and his memory.
A heretic. Perhaps even a Wicke. Yet you wish me to install her at Mertuile?”

“Airleas needs his family about him.”

“Airleas needs discipline. If he needs family, we will
import cousins from Creiddylad or Storm.”

Mortain’s eyes flicked to Iobert and back. “Will you agree
to the triune Regency?”

“Perhaps. But Toireasa Malcuim shall not reside in Mertuile,
unless it be in her dungeons.”

“That one concession we are willing to make,” said Mortain
mildly, casting another glance at The Claeg. “Toireasa may return to the Selbyr
estates to live with her family. That is as flexible as I am prepared to be.”
He waited for some response from Feich, and when there was none said, “Shall we
send to Ochanshrine for a cleirach and have an agreement drawn up?”

Feich raised his hand, remounting the dais to the throne.
“Too hasty, brother. There is another name that’s gone unmentioned here.” He
seated himself and gazed out at them, eyes cold. “What of Taminy, who dares
call herself Osmaer?”

Saefren’s blood iced over in his veins and he felt, suddenly
and to the bone, the rashness of this undertaking. The Madaidh was right; all
they would get for espousing Taminy’s Cause was Daimhin Feich’s enmity and with
it the enmity of his allies.

Before Saefren’s inner eye was the specter of war—horrible,
mad war between Houses that had been at peace for a century or more. He could
hear the clashing of swords and the cries of a torn land. The sudden vision
rattled him, making his knees quiver. He was not a coward, but he had no
illusions that there was glory in battle. Perhaps he was less a Claeg for that.

He shook himself.

The Jura was speaking, his face still composed and smiling.
“What of her?”

Feich’s eyes narrowed to icy slivers. “Do you not serve
her?”

Mortain Jura looked down at his hands. Gloved, they rested
on the eagle’s head cap of his staff. An affectation, Saefren had once thought,
until he discovered that the ornately carved thing housed a thin sword.

“We serve none but the Golden Meri, Regent. We worship none
but the Spirit of All. We venerate Its Chosen Ones and we obey Its precepts.”

“Then Taminy-Osmaer is nothing to you?”

“She is as the air, Regent Feich. One looks, and sees
nothing.”

Saefren expelled the draft of air he’d been holding and
hastily sucked up another lungful, this time vowing he’d remember to exhale it.
There was a warning in his uncle’s eyes and a spark of something sterner. He
said nothing.

“Then you are not one of her followers?”

“How does one follow the wind?”

“Your words are elusive, Mortain. Speak plainly: Are you or
are you not a Taminist?”

“I am not a ‘Taminist.’”

This seemed to mollify Feich. He looked to the other
Chieftains. “What of the rest of you?”

“I worship the Spirit of All,” said The Gilleas. “I serve
the Golden Meri; I venerate Her Chosen Ones and obey Her commandments.”

“The Gilleas speaks for me, as well,” said Karr Graegam.

“I am no Taminist,” said Iobert Claeg and his nephew
remembered to breathe.

Daimhin Feich smiled. “I’m not certain I believe you. I seem
to recall you arising to proclaim the truth of her mission not so long ago.”

“The Dearg also proclaimed it,” Mortain reminded him. “And
the Teallach. Yet . . .” He shrugged. “Taminy has great powers, Daimhin. Can you
doubt them capable of bewicking the Hall? We are not Osraed to be able to
withstand such Weaving.”

“Then, the inyx has worn off?”

“So it would seem. We are not now bewicked.”

Saefren wished he could read minds as the waljan were said
to do. He could only read the Regent’s sharp features and try to wring meaning
from his words.

Feich’s eyes were wary, if hopeful. “Are you then saying you
are my allies?”

This time it was Iobert Claeg who spoke, and his voice
carried steel. “We are the subjects of the Cyne of Caraid-land and the allies
of his House. Our cause is his cause. His success and safety is our mission.”

“You would have a Malcuim Cyne?”

“We
have
a Malcuim
Cyne. We would have him set upon his throne.”

Iobert Claeg’s eyes would have flayed a lesser man than
Daimhin Feich—or perhaps a man more aware of his moods—but Feich continued to
sit in his pirated throne and smile as if the Universe had arisen to call him
“beloved.”

“Then you are neutral?”

“We are committed to Airleas Malcuim.”

Feich inclined his head. “As I am. Very well, gentlemen. Let
us have an agreement. Airleas Malcuim will be returned to Mertuile and be set
before the Stone. He will have three Regents: myself, and the Chieftains Jura
and Claeg. Do you gentlemen intend to reside at Mertuile?”

The Jura glanced at his Claeg peer. “We do.”

This seemed to surprise Feich. “But your holdings—”

“Will be in the hands of my brother,” said Mortain.

“And you, Iobert? Will you, too, hand your powers of estate
into the hands of a kinsman?”

“I intend that my powers be vested in my eldest daughter.”

Saefren was all but felled by amazement. Apparently, Feich
was similarly afflicted. Fortunately, he was seated—Saefren merely
wanted
to sit. Damn, Uncle Iobert and
his Claeg gall!

Feich quickly regained his composure. “A Taminist idea that,
isn’t it—to accord the right of succession to a woman?”

“An Osraed idea, Regent. The Meri decreed that a woman may
now became Osraed. If that is so, surely she may also be a House Elder, or even
a Chieftain.”

Feich let that pass and, apparently satisfied that the four
Houses had drifted from Taminy’s influence, sent to Ochanshrine for a cleirach
to draw up an agreement and an Osraed to witness it. It was the Osraed Ladhar,
himself, who appeared, the Minister Cadder in tow.

Saefren was much impressed—Feich seemed to hold some sway
with the illustrious Abbod. He was impressed with something else, as well—the
Abbod’s Meri Kiss. Where the Taminist Osraed wore stars of the brightest
emerald or gold, Osraed Ladhar’s glimmered a reluctant peridot. He wasn’t sure
what that meant, precisely, but suspected it spoke of Taminy’s power and the
Covenanter Osraed’s lack.

Before the Abbod, the Chieftains once more stated their
loyalty to the House Malcuim and disavowed their Taminist leanings. The Abbod
was clearly unconvinced. Further, he raised objections Feich had not.

“The boy is a Taminist. How can you contemplate putting him
in a position of power?”

“He is a boy, Abbod,” The Jura told him mildly. “His
education is far from complete.”

“The Jura is right,” Feich assured him. “Airleas is not lost.
Frankly, I doubt the child gave willing consent to his abduction.”

Ladhar glanced at him sharply. “Abduction?”

“Surely you don’t believe a twelve year old boy is to be
held responsible for decisions made under duress. He did not ally himself with
Taminy, but with his own mother. What else could be expected of a child?”

Ladhar’s expression was sour. “He will turn thirteen before
long. Malcuims that age have ruled this country.”

“If Airleas has grown in maturity, he may be quite ready to
be reunited with his heritage.”

“And if he’s not ready?”

Feich looked to the Chieftains. “These gentlemen will assist
me in readying him.”

The agreement was haggled over and, some hours later, signed
by all present either as party or witness. Feich agreed to dispatch a message
to Halig-liath, disclosing the nature of the agreement to Airleas and offering
him safe passage to Mertuile.

A last minute stipulation had it that, except for a small
contingent from each House, which would accompany Daimhin Feich to retrieve
Colfre’s heir, their forces would disperse to House-held lands.

Saefren didn’t like that stipulation. He liked little about
this agreement.

“You changed your petition,” he observed as he and his uncle
rode side by side through Creiddylad to their hillside camp.

Iobert nodded. “Aye. Madaidh is a fool to eschew Taminy, but
he is no fool when it comes to reading Feich. Nor are you. You were both
right—now is not the time to antagonize.”

“Do you trust him?”

“Does rain fall up? He will serve his own interests, not the
Malcuim’s. I trust him to do that.”

“So, you let him believe the Cyneric is still at
Halig-liath.”

“Even so.”

“Even so . . . you lied.”

Iobert scowled. “I did not.”

Saefren laughed. “Come, Uncle. ‘Taminy is as the air—she is
as nothing.’ I heard The Jura.”

“Aye, but did not understand him. How long, Saefren, would
any of us survive without air? How precious is that invisible substance?”

Saefren had to smile at that. “Clever. A riddle.”

“Aye. And is it not true that we worship the Spirit, serve
the Meri, revere Her Chosen and obey Her commandments?”

“As you perceive them.”

“Of course.”

“You denied being a Taminist.”

“I’m not a Taminist, Nephew, nor do I know what that is. I
am waljan.”

He lifted his left hand from its resting place on the pommel
of his saddle and turned the palm to Saefren’s gaze. He only offered a glimpse,
but a glimpse was enough.

Saefren’s heart stuttered in his breast. There was no doubt
—Iobert Claeg belonged completely to Taminy-Osmaer.

oOo

“We will post troops here, here and here.” Ruadh’s finger
found the ridge-back road up the Holy Hill, the river below Nairne, the quay
beneath the Halig-liath’s massive flank. “The main force will follow your
mighty cannon to the gates of the Fortress.”

Daimhin Feich had scarcely heard his cousin’s words. In his
mind a variety of battles played out. The battle for Halig-liath was the least
of them; with the combined forces of the four Houses arrayed behind Iobert
Claeg, he’d have the little Malcuim back in no time. It was the matter of a
triune Regency that disturbed him. It couldn’t happen, of course. It was out of
the question. Airleas would be in his power alone or Airleas would be dead—it
was that simple.

The key to that was Taminy. Despite the Chieftain’s
protestations to the contrary, he knew where their allegiance really lay—his
Gift told him that much. He would never confront them with it, of course—not as
long as he could string them along, manipulate them to his own ends. Besides
that, the last thing he wanted or needed was an all-out war.

It was clear to Daimhin Feich that, in addition to Airleas
Malcuim, Taminy controlled at least four Chieftains. Therefore, he must control
Taminy.

He realized, suddenly, that his cousin had stopped speaking
and was staring at him.

“Did you hear me, Daimhin?”

“Yes. Yes, I heard you. A good plan, Ruadh.”

“With one flaw. Your wonderful cannon is nowhere in sight.
Will we wait for it, or will we simply have our men clamber over Halig-liath’s
walls?”

“The cannon will be here in a matter of days. It will take
that long to assemble our forces and brief the House Marschals on the plan.”

“Aren’t you forgetting something?”

“And what might that be, dear cousin?”