Crystal Rose (42 page)

Saefren’s breath caught in his throat, sweat started from
every pore in his body. He wanted to glance at Aine, pressed to the wall beside
him, and couldn’t. He had done it once and found the blank spot where he knew
she must be too unsettling to contemplate.

An invisible hand grasped his, pressing it, holding it
against the cold stones of the refectory wall. He took a deep, painful breath.
Humiliation washed over him, blanketing his fear. If he was invisible to
Daimhin Feich, he was not to Aine-mac-Lorimer’s aidan.

Not four feet away, now, Daimhin Feich snarled something to
his men and turned on his heel. His entourage followed him to the refectory
doors, trading uneasy glances. The skittish cleirach trailed after—it seemed he
couldn’t move quickly enough—but the Dearg Wicke lingered a moment to wander
among the long tables, pondering the room with bemused eyes. Then she, too, was
gone.

Saefren thought he might collapse, but could not, yet. The
danger wasn’t past and would not be until Feich and his party rode away.

Minutes stretched. Sounds from the outer corridors
continued, waned, ceased.

After long moments of listening to each other breathe, Aine
loosed her grip on Saefren’s hand and sagged back into the wall, becoming a
solid and visible presence.

“They’re gone.”

Saefren let his own body relax against the firm stones of
Carehouse. “Thank God. I thought . . .”

“That they’d be able to see us?” asked Aine. Her face, too,
was sheeny with sweat.

“Forgive me, Aine Red,” he begged, mocking, “but I’ve never
been caught in the midst of a Cloakweave before. It was an unsettling
experience.”

“Unsettling,” repeated Leal, wiping perspiration from his
brow. “I was terrified. I wasn’t sure I could hold it that long. It’s one thing
to Cloak yourself, but to hide an entire roomful of people . . .” He shook his
head, glancing around the room to where others stretched or slumped or shook
themselves. “I’m exhausted.”

“No time for that, I’m afraid.” Osraed Fhada stood in the
doorway of the cellar passage, a wide-eyed little girl attached to one arm.
“We’ve got to get these people out of here.”

“Do we?” Saefren asked. “Feich’s searched and found nothing.
Surely the place is safe now.”

Fhada shook his head. “We don’t dare take a chance, Saefren.
He’s Gifted. It could be only a matter of time before he realizes what we’ve
done. Or he might put a watch on the place. We’d be in constant danger of being
surprised. We can’t stay cloaked forever.”

So, they gathered up belongings and food and divided their
number into small groups of five or six, the better to make clandestine
journeys. Of the fifty or so people that had congregated at Carehouse, only a
handful had mastered the Cloakweave. Those would be needed to ferry the
refugees to safety.

When they had completed their plans for the exodus, Saefren
gathered up his own belongings and loaded them onto his horse, thankful Feich
hadn’t seen fit to take the four-legged inmates of Carehouse’s stable. He was
tightening the cinch of his saddle when he sensed movement in the stable
doorway.

Nerves still fired, he whirled, hand finding his sword. But
it was only Aine who stood in the broad aisle, her robust form silhouetted
against the silvery haze of moonlight washing in from the courtyard.

“You’re going to Mertuile?” she asked.

“I promised I would. A Claeg doesn’t go back on a promise.”

“I still think I should go with you.”

“Feich’s not stupid. He’ll be expecting Taminists to try
escaping him. You’re one of the few here who can muster a Cloakweave. You’ll be
needed.”

The silhouette shifted. “You speak of Weaving as if its
something you now believe in.”

“It saved my life. Have I a choice?”

“Then you believe the future of Caraid-land is in Taminy’s
hands.”

“I believe the future of Caraid-land is in Daimhin Feich’s
hands, as frightening as that is. I also believe it’s my duty to help pry it
out again. I’ll concede your . . . abilities and those of your Mistress, but that
doesn’t make me a Taminist.”

She said nothing to that and, without further comment, Saefren
led his horse from the stable and mounted. He’d ridden halfway to the gate when
Aine, following him, spoke again.

“Are you just going to ride right out into the street?”

“Am I expected to fly?”

“Feich might have posted men in the streets. Had you thought
of that?”

He hadn’t, but should have. He glanced up at the evening sky
with its undercoat of wood and peat smoke, and sighed. “Have you a suggestion?”

“I can cloak you as far as the next block. Just in case.”

“All right,” he agreed. “As far as the next block, then.”

She smiled, triumphantly, he thought, and faded from sight
as if obscured by a piece of the night sky.

I will never get used
to that
, he thought, and steered his mount through the half open gate and
out into the narrow street.

oOo

“And we can do nothing?” Airleas’s eyes stung with tears
of futility and the snow-covered trees and houses blurred.

“We do what we do,” Taminy answered him. “It’s not as little
as you think.”

Airleas thought he would explode with pent up rage. The
situation in Creiddylad grew worse by the day, and yet he could do nothing but
sit here, aloof on this mountainside, praying and practicing inyx. He blinked
into the chill wind that roamed fitfully over the flank of Baenn-an-ratha.

“But when will we act?”

“We act already. We prepare our minds and souls for the
future. What more should we do?”

“We should go to Creiddylad, free Iseabal and throw Daimhin
Feich off of my father’s throne and out of Mertuile. Between the men The Claeg
left here and the ones camped in the lowlands, plus the Hillwild, we could
surely rout them.”

He turned to Taminy on a wave of passionate certainty and
found her poking at a mound of snow with the toe of her boot.

“Daimhin Feich hasn’t mounted an attack on Hrofceaster
because he can’t get to it right now. How do you propose to get your forces
down off the mountains?”

Airleas chewed on that momentarily. “We don’t really need a
force,” he concluded. “We need only a handful of people—but all must be Artful.
Then we could enter Mertuile by stealth, and deal with Feich. Maybe even force
him to admit that he killed my father.”

“I don’t think Daimhin Feich will be at Mertuile much
longer.”

Airleas shivered. Damn snow. Damn cold. Damn wind.

“Then he comes to Hrofceaster? Good! The allied Houses can
sweep in behind him, squeeze him into the blocked passes and crush him against
the mountain. Then I could lead the Claeg men and the Hillwild down to—”

“I thought we’d already covered that. Do you really think
the Claeg and the Hillwild will follow you on a suicide mission?”

“I’m their Cyne.”

“Cyneric, until you’re set before the Stone.”

“That’s right. And I need to show leadership, don’t I, if
I’m to win their respect? If I lead my own defense—”

“You’d put yourself and your House at great risk.”

“Catahn says that taking risks is the mark of a great
leader.”

Taminy’s breath appeared in a steamy sigh. “Calculated
risks, Airleas. Well-reasoned and backed by experience and intuition. There’s
more to leadership than taking troops into battle.”

“Yes. Yes, I know, but how can I learn that here on this
mountain? When will I have a chance to prove myself?”

“When you’re ready to be proven, I suppose.”

“But Daimhin Feich—”

“Is not your concern now, Airleas. He is mine.” Her voice,
always gentle, carried a new touch of iron.

“You don’t think I’m ready, do you? Not ready to be Cyne—not
even ready for Crask-an-duine.”

She glanced at him out of the tail of her eye. “That’s
become very important to you hasn’t it?” When he nodded emphatically, she told
him, “I don’t decide when you’re ready for Crask-an-duine. The Aeldra and the
Ren decide that.”

“But you know—”

She turned to face him, laying her hands on his shoulders.
“I know that you’re being asked to grow up very quickly, Airleas. You’re twelve
years old and yet you must struggle toward manhood with every ounce of
strength. I’ll help you all I can, but I can’t learn your lessons for you. You
must learn them for yourself.”

“But you won’t even give me a crystal of my own to Weave
with—just that tiny schooling stone. When will I have a crystal of my own,
Taminy?” He was whining and he knew it. Abashed, he added, “It’s just that
there’s so much I have to do.”

“I know. And when you’re ready to do it . . .” She left the
rest unsaid.

Disappointed, Airleas turned away from her and continued
down the trail to Airdnasheen.

Gracious Spirit! If none
strays from Your Path, how can Your children know mercy? If wrong is never
committed, how can Your forgiveness be tasted? May I be a living sacrifice for
those that err, for they shall know both Your mercy and Your forgiveness. God
preserve them from Your justice.

—Utterances of Taminy-Osmaer
Book of the Covenant

Saefren Claeg had no trouble gaining access to Mertuile
and hadn’t expected to. The gatekeep was hardly going to tell Iobert Claeg’s nephew
and aide he wasn’t welcome in the Cyne’s castle.

Daimhin Feich was not in the throne room. Neither his House
Elders nor his guards seemed to be aware of his whereabouts; Saefren thought
intentionally so—they seemed strangely uneasy with the subject. He had to
content himself with wandering the quiet halls.

When Colfre was Cyne, the castle Mertuile had been a nest of
activity—scurrying servants, visiting Eiric, Ministers, merchants, House
Chieftains and Elders. The most purposeful activity he’d seen here took place
in the outer ward around the Deasach cannon. The Feich and their allies did
seem to be preparing for some sort of action.

The scent of cooking food
drew Saefren to the dining rooms. The larger one was unoccupied, but in the
smaller private room, a fire burned in the far hearth and a screen had been
drawn around the table there to help hold in the warmth.

Here Ruadh Feich ate a solitary meal, his shadow lying long
across the floor. He glanced up as Saefren entered the room, his eyes widening
in surprise.

“Saefren Claeg! Good-eve. Your presence . . . astonishes me.
Is your uncle with you?”

“No. I was just in the city passing time, and I thought I
might have a word with your cousin, the Regent.”

Ruadh sipped hot cider, watching Saefren’s approach over the
rim of his cup. “About?”

“Uncle was concerned about your young hostage.”

Ruadh’s lips pursed and he peered into the depths of his
cup. “Hostage?”

“The girl, Iseabal.”

“Ah, the little Wicke, you mean. How did your uncle know
about her? He’d left Nairne—”

“Surely her capture wasn’t a state secret. That sort of
intelligence does tend to slip out.”

“To the concern of Iobert Claeg?”

“We delivered the girl to Halig-liath ourselves. We’re
concerned with her welfare.”

“Ah. Most people around here are concerned about Daimhin’s
welfare. Consorting with Wicke has never been popular with the Feich Elders. It
makes them nervous. Well, you’ve good reason to be concerned, I think.”

Saefren tensed. “Has anything happened to her? Is she well?”

Ruadh’s laughter was false. “My cousin happened to her. I
haven’t seen her for above a week, myself, though Daimhin sees her a good deal
more than is probably good for her. Under the circumstances, I can’t believe
she’s well. I only know she’s not dead . . . yet.”

Saefren tried to ignore the tight, cold lump that sat in the
pit of his stomach. “Where is she?”

Ruadh gestured at the ceiling with his cup, which sloshed
its contents down his arm. He seemed not to notice and Saefren realized he
drank something stronger than cider. “Up there, somewhere.”

“Somewhere.”

“Her room adjoins my cousin’s. I understand that’s going to
change soon.”

“Can you take me to her?”

“
Should
I take you
to her?”

“I only want to make sure of her health.”

“You were looking for my cousin. If I take you to the girl,
chances are you will find him.”

So much the better, Saefren thought and caressed the hilt of
his sword.

Ruadh did not miss the movement. “Or, he could be with our
other auspicious prisoner. The Abbod Ladhar is a Taminist, did you know that?”

“I very much doubt that. Ladhar is ruthless when it comes to
their persecution.”

“Found one of their books on him.”

“One he probably lifted from the hand of a dead Taminist.”

Ruadh watched the firelight trace bright tracks in the
etched silver surface of his cup. “I read some of it.”

Saefren did not react.

“Have you, ever?”

“No. I’ve heard some of their . . . doctrine, if you will. But
read, no.”

Ruadh merely nodded.

“The girl?” Saefren prompted.

Ruadh rose from his chair, only a little unsteady, and led
from the room.

“I noticed a lot of activity in the outer ward,” Saefren
remarked as they negotiated the chill halls. He didn’t remember Mertuile being
quite so cold and dark. “Are you still planning on trekking into the
Gyldan-baenn?”

“Have to. Daimhin promised we’d get them back their little
demi-god.”

“Isn’t that foolhardy?”

“Oh, but you forget—or perhaps you don’t know—my cousin is
fey. Kissed by the aidan, overflowing with Eibhilin energies sucked from his
wickish lady-friends, his enemies, and probably every other living thing within
a twenty mile radius. Cousin Daimhin can now have whatever he wants, which
makes it his right, I suppose.”

That had an ominous sound even to Saefren’s ears. He forced
a chuckle. “I see. Will he fly over the Gyldan-baenn, then?”