Crystal Rose (49 page)

“Why?”

“Because Wisdom is the foundation of all knowledge. What
good is either Healing or Clear Sight if you don’t know how to use it?” He
grinned. “It’s like when I first found this sword. I had the thing, but not a
clue how to wield it.”

Taminy smiled back at him. “A good analogy. Your aidan,
Airleas, is like that sword. The might of Cyneship is like that sword.
Possession of either is only the beginning of things.”

“I know this,” he hastened to assure her. “I understand the
need for wisdom.”

Taminy sat back in her fleece-covered chair, closing her
eyes for a moment and absorbing the movement and chatter in the hall around
them.

“Mistress, are you all right?”

She opened her eyes. “Tired, is all. But, better than
yesterday.” That was true, she realized. Yesterday, after weeks of near
sleepless nights, she had felt transparent, as if every sluggish beat of her
heart was visible to all eyes. Last night, she had slept the night through and
today she felt merely translucent. Dear Catahn seemed to have found some way to
guard her dreams after all.

“Airleas, answer me this: Given a choice, would you choose
wisdom . . . or the honor of your father’s House?”

“My father . . . my father dishonored our House—
your
House. I realize that now. I’m the
only one who can restore that honor.”

“How would you do that?”

“By stripping Daimhin Feich of any place or power and taking
back the Throne.”

Taminy gazed at her hands, folded upon her lap. “And?”

“Being a better Cyne than my father. I want to be as good a
Cyne as Ciarda.”

“You have powers Ciarda saw only in your grandmother, Brann
Hillwild. They could make you an even better Cyne than he, or . . . they could
make your every act of foolishness, weakness or selfishness a disaster.”

The boy blanched. “I don’t want to be weak or foolish or
selfish.”

“You didn’t answer my question. Which would you choose,
honor or wisdom?”

He looked very unhappy for a moment—consternated. Then his
face cleared. “Why, that’s a false choice, isn’t it? For there can’t be wisdom
without honor or honor without wisdom.”

“I suppose that depends on your definition of honor.”

His brow furrowed. “I don’t understand. How many definitions
of honor can there be?”

“When you know, tell me,” she said and sent him to study
with Wyth.

No sooner had Airleas left the hearthside than Catahn took
his place. He said nothing for a moment, but only studied her, eyes troubled.
“You slept well, Lady?” he asked at last.

She nodded. “But you did not. Were you guarding my dreams?”

He shifted uncomfortably, turning his eyes to the flames
within the cavernous fireplace. “I . . . Wove an inyx of my own device. I am
pleased it worked.”

She leaned toward him. “Catahn, you can’t do that every night.”

“Nor can you protect yourself as you sleep. Someone must
guard you from such . . . horrors.”

She glanced up at him sharply, sensing his uneasiness as
something heavy and dark. “What have you done?”

“A simple channeling Weave. I thought that if the inyx could
not be blocked at its beginning, it might be turned aside at its end.”

Taminy’s hands gripped the arms of her chair. “You took the
nightmares upon yourself, you mean. You absorbed them.”

His eyelids fluttered and swift color flooded his face. She
put her hand on his to claim his attention, but he flinched away and rose,
turning his back on her.

Stunned, wounded, she said, “Catahn, you can’t do this. I
won’t have you . . . I wanted no one to know what those nightmares were. They were
between me and him.”

“There should be
nothing
between you and him!” Catahn growled, still not looking at her. “Nothing but
six feet of earth.”

He strode away from her then, across the Hall, and would not
let her call him back.

oOo

The air at this altitude was chill and brittle; it entered
the nose and lungs sharply, as if made of invisible shards of frozen glass. A
light powder of snow dusted the ground under foot, but did not slow the advance
of the multitude at Daimhin Feich’s joint command. They climbed easily through
the dry valleys, Feich blessing the rain-shadow each morning when he rose to
clear skies.

“This won’t continue indefinitely,” Ruadh told him one
morning, as he squinted up at the shrouded bulk of Baenn-an-ghlo.

To the east the so-called Wailing Mountain, Baenn-eigh,
towered, flanks gleaming with snow. “When we get up there”—Ruadh nodded at the
shadowy pass between the two giants—“we’re going to have to fight the storms.”

Feich let out a streamer of breath. “Then we’ll fight the
storms. Or perhaps I shall fight them myself. We will not be beaten.”

“So certain?”

“Ruadh, you are such a pessimist. The pass is low and
sheltered. We shall come upon Hrofceaster from the southeast—also sheltered.
Only the last miles of the journey will be as dangerous as all that. When it’s
over, we shall have the Ren Catahn’s back to the ice. There will be nowhere for
him to run.”

Ruadh shook his head. “Sometimes I wonder if you know who or
what it is you’ve come after out here, or what you hope to get out of all this.
How hard would it have been for you to have compromised with Claeg and Jura? It
would have put you close to Airleas, given you some control over him, over
Creiddylad—”

“
Some
control? Not
enough, Ruadh. Oh, for you perhaps, for my father, for all the other complacent
elders of the House Feich. But I see a way to have complete control.” He
laughed. “My God, more control than any Cyne has ever wielded in Caraid-land.
Not just temporal power, cousin, but
spiritual
power.”

“You believe your . . . your aidan is that strong?”

Feich pointed a finger at his cousin’s nose. “Colfre thought
he was fey because of his Hillwild ancestry. I thought he was, too. It wasn’t
until the end—until just before his death that I realized the truth.” He
laughed again. “It was
me
, Ruadh.
I
was the one with the Gift. Oh, he had
some ability, true enough, but it was weak. Enough for me to make use of,
fortunately.”

Ruadh made no reply to that, but only stared at him in
wide-eyed amazement.

“You ask me why we come here. The reasons are not as simple
as you would have them be. I’ve come here for Airleas, obviously. But yes, I
want Taminy in my grasp, as well, for she is the key to spiritual power.” He
paused, wondering how honest he could be with his cousin, then said, “You’ve
noticed my . . . ways with women.”

“I’m not blind.”

“Practice. For the time when I have Taminy-Osmaer at
Mertuile. You understand, of course, that it’s not mere physical gratification
I seek—and get—from them.”

Ruadh turned his gaze to the mists crawling their way up
Baenn-an-ghlo. “You believe you draw power from them.”

“I do draw power from them. A different kind of power from
each. It’s like . . . like a banquet. I wish you could know, could taste, this
heady food, Ruadh.”

“Why? Then we’d be in competition. I’d be a fool to want
that. Thank God, I’m not a fool. Nor am I ‘gifted.’ But tell me, what will
become of these other women when you have Taminy?”

“I’ve given that a great deal of thought, actually, and I
think I will take the Banarigh Lilias as my wife. It would seal the alliance
between Caraid-land and El-Deasach, and perhaps—who knows—give birth to a new
nation.”

“Provided you maintain control of the Throne.”

Feich smiled. “Do you doubt that I can?” He clapped a hand
on Ruadh’s shoulder. “Look, cousin, I know you think I’m terribly foolhardy.
But if you want something badly enough, you must be willing to take risks. I
want the House Feich to be more to Caraid-land than a clan of court minstrels
and petty diplomats.”

“There’s nothing petty about being made Durweard to the
Cyne.”

“No, but in comparison with being made Cyne—no, no, not
Cyne, Osric—it is nothing.”

Ruadh gaped. “Osric? That title would have to be bestowed by
the Meri Herself. You’re not even a believer—never mind that you’re not a
Malcuim.” He shook his head. “When you spoke of marriage to the Raven, I
thought you shrewd and pragmatic, but Osric, for God’s sake . . . An unbelieving
Osric of Caraid-land, married to a heathen Cwen and sporting a stable of
gifted, wickish paramours? Why do I not believe the Meri will so bless you?”

“She may not, but her Regent on dry land will.”

“Taminy-Osmaer?”

Daimhin nodded. “Taminy-Osmaer.”

“And why will she do this?”

“Because if she refuses, everyone she holds dear will pay
the ultimate price for her refusal.”

“You’re not afraid of her power—of its Source? You have no
fear of God?”

“Less every day, cousin. Because every day I draw closer to
my own Source—my own god.”

“
Your
god? Does
our sanctimonious cleirach know you’ve brought your own god with you? I thought
you’d won his allegiance by pretending to worship his.”

“I won his allegiance by whipping him as Ladhar did, as he
whips himself. The pathetic creature spends every day in prayer and every night
in self-loathing. He knows nothing. Sees nothing but his hatred of Taminy.” He
chuckled. “Ironic, isn’t it? He who seeks only to preserve the flame of his
religion has unwittingly allied himself with one whose purpose is to snuff it
out.”

Ruadh gave his elder cousin an awful glance. “I don’t know
whether you’re powerful, shrewd and ruthless or simply mad.”

“I’m as sane as you are, Ruadh. Let that assurance set your
mind at rest. I’ll do what’s best for the House. And what is best for the House
is what is best for me.”

oOo

“This is taking too long,” Aine complained. “It will take
us weeks to get there if we keep angling south.”

“Would you rather have to deal with the inclement weather in
the foothills?” Saefren asked her.

“Rather that than deal with the Feich. If we head much
farther south, we’ll have to cross Feich land.”

“My intent, lady, is to cross Claeg land, which can be done
with complete safety.”

“But we’re over-riding the mouth of Baeg Cuillean pass.
We’ll have to turn north again when we reach the foothills.”

“We’re not going to take the Baeg Cuillean, Aine. That would
be ridiculous. We’re heading for the Vale of Orian.”

“Orian? That all but borders on the Feich estates! We’ll be
riding right into—”

“Will you two please stop?”

Aine turned guilty eyes to Iseabal, who was regarding her
with mixed exasperation and weariness.

“Yes,” agreed Leal, reining in his mount beside the
Cirkemaster’s daughter. “Will you? Or must I invent a Gagweave?”

“I’m sorry, Isha. It’s just taking so long.”

“Hrofceaster will still be there.”

“Under siege, most likely, by the time we get there.”

“And so?” said Leal mildly. “We can’t fly, Aine. But we can
pass unseen.”

Isha was right, of course, but patience was something Aine
had yet to master. Still, if Isha, having just visited hell, could be so
patient . . .

With three pairs of eyes on her, Aine felt foolish. “Sorry,”
she said, and put her horse in motion down the lowland track toward the Vale of
Orian.

oOo

There was a place, a quiet stream-side grove below the
pool where the Gwyr was said to live, that Catahn Hageswode considered his own.
Here, he had celebrated his Crask-an-duine—a late summer passage for him,
beneath a full moon, sung of by cricket bards. The grass had been green and
sweet-smelling, blending its perfume with the fragrance of the pines, and the
grove had sparkled with the light of tiny candles.

Snow lay upon the sweet grass now, and ice sparkled from
needle and branch. It was transformed—gleaming now, rather than verdant.
Catahn, sitting on the same rock he had sat upon for that summer rite, tried
not to find the place bleak or barren, but bleak, he felt. Bleak, ineffectual . . . evil.

In making Taminy’s nightmares his own, in intercepting
Feich’s touch, he had uncovered his own weaknesses, laying them horribly bare
to a self-condemning eye. Physical eyes closed, the sensations were an instant
away—the silken slip of her hair between his fingers, the sweet, spicy
fragrance of her skin, the warmth of her body. Her nightmares embraced his
wildest, fondest, most impossible dreams.

He opened his eyes, letting the snow glare burn them to
tears. The grove blurred. He was
not
Daimhin Feich, he told himself. He loved her. Did that not count for something?
Did that not lessen his sin?

“Here is a troubled man.”

Catahn jerked and brought his eyes up. Deardru-an-Caerluel
stood before him at the center of the grove, a bright spot of blue on a field
of white.

“I had meant to be alone here.”

She put back the hood of her azure cloak, letting dark hair
spill about her shoulders. “I recall you often came here
not
to be alone. Geatan told me she thought Desary was conceived in
this spot.” She glanced down at the snow about her feet. “Perhaps right where I
stand. I always wished it had been me rolling in the summer grass with you.”

Catahn rose and moved to leave, but she stepped forward,
hands raised to stop him. “Stay, Catahn. I’m not here to seduce you.”

“I would not be seduced.”

“No. Most likely not. At least, not with her here.” She
looked at him shrewdly. “Of course, one day she will leave. She will return to
Creiddylad with her boy-Cyne and teach him how to govern.”

“Perhaps. And perhaps I will go with them.”

“You? At court? What a picture that paints! Who will lead
the Hillwild in your stead? Your heir is one of her acolytes. Raenulf is dead.”

“If you are not here to seduce me, then what is your
purpose?”