Crystal Rose (50 page)

“Eyslk has spoken to me often about how Taminy readies our
Cyneric for his own Crask-an-duine.” She smiled. “Our daughter very much wants
me to like her goddess.”

“Eyslk does not worship Taminy.”

“Do you?”

“Your point, Deardru.”

“Her reports disturb me. She tells of Airleas Malcuim’s
strong aidan. Of how Taminy schools him in its use. I’ve seen this myself. I’ve
seen the child walk upon the water of the Gwyr’s pool as if it were solid
ground. I’ve overheard her lessons with him.”

Catahn frowned. “Airleas is a boy who must quickly become a
man. More than that, he must become Cyne—a Cyne with powers he must know how
to—”

“Catahn, are you that passion-blind? She doesn’t school a
mere Cyne. She schools an Osric.”

Catahn had to allow he’d never considered that. It made
sense. With his strong Gift, Airleas Malcuim would be unique among the Cynes of
Caraid-land. His appearance now, at the time of an equally unique Cusp was all
part of a Plan, surely.

“I think you may be right. What disturbs you?”

She stared at him. “I tell you she would give us an Osric,
and you accept it? No, wait. You needn’t answer. You accept whatever she
desires. But this? Catahn, think what this means. An absolute ruler. One who
will determine law through revelation, one who will govern with another
whispering in his ear.”

“Cynes ears have always been whispered into. Only now the
Whisperer will have the best interests of all Caraidin at heart.”

“Including the Hillwild, you think? What faith you have. So,
the Hillwild are now to be under the yoke of a lowlander?”

“We have long existed in willing cooperation with the
Malcuim and the Hall. I would remind you that there is Hillwild blood in
Airleas Malcuim’s veins—else he would likely not have his Gift.”

Deardru shook her head, face eloquent with disgust. “You’d
sell your soul for her. No, not only your soul, but your daughters’ souls and
the soul of every Hillwild, living or dead. Well, you may be willing to
surrender your honor to a pretty Wicke and a lowland boy, but I am not.” She
put up her hood and turned away with a flourish of her cloak.

“What do you think you can do, Deardru?” Catahn asked,
pausing her. “You’re a gifted woman, surely, but she is the Osmaer.”

“Oh, and what is that?”

“Something you should respect, if you weren’t so blinded
by . . .” He found himself unable to say it.

Deardru’s eyes flashed wry anger at him. “By jealousy? Why
not revenge? You took my husband from me, my daughter, my home, my pride. I
offered you love and you rejected it. I would have given you more children—”

“Deardru,” said Catahn wearily. “I never loved you. I loved
only Geatan.”

“Oh, yes? And yet, you bring her here with your worshipful
lust—”

Catahn thought his face must peel away in the sudden blast
of inner heat. “Don’t—” he began, but Deardru was already laughing at him.

“Yes, you give yourself away. Does your tender virgin know
how you burn for her? Well, of course she does. She’s Osmaer.”

She walked away from him, back toward the village, her cloak
sending up a sparkling wake.

Catahn stood where she left him, a hulk of darkness—shadow
stretched across the field of gleaming white. He was all shadow. All.

In the midst of his despair, he sensed Taminy’s call but
could not bring himself to answer it.

oOo

Ice crystals, flung by a biting wind, tattooed Daimhin
Feich’s face with random patterns of red. They stung without his notice.
Through the veil of snow, bright pinpoints of light glinted against the
sky-eating flank of Baenn-an-ratha.

Airdnasheen.

Feich turned triumphant eyes to Lilias Saba. “There. The
holt of the Hillwild—Catahn. We have but to send our troops up to encircle it.”

Lilias smiled, nodding. “Then I will soon avenge my
brother’s death. Do you think that girl, Iseabal, will be here?”

“Doubtful. I can’t imagine the Madaidh would have consented
to bring her here. If they tried, they’d still be struggling through the
foothills.”

“Then I shall have to take my revenge upon her Mistress.”

Feich glanced at her sharply. “Taminy is my affair.”

“My brother’s blood—”

“And my dead Cyne’s. And the honor of Caraid-land’s ruling
House. And my own honor. All these cry for retribution as well.” Seeing a hard
look cross her face, he smiled and softened his voice. “Trust me, Lilias. The
revenge I exact will satisfy all. Now . . . we will deploy our men to the west,
along the mountain’s flank and to the east through the gap.” He gestured
sweepingly.

To Feich’s left, his cousin Ruadh nodded agreement. “My
thoughts as well. The gap ought to take us around to their main access. Though,
it will likely be a difficult climb.”

“See to it, then. I want the siege troops to be in place by
morning.”

Ruadh gaped at him. “You can’t be serious.”

“Never more so.”

“Daimhin, those maneuvers will be dangerous in daylight. In
this dark and wind, this blowing snow—”

“You’re afraid.”

“Afraid? Yes, I’m afraid! Of losing men and horses to these
God-forsaken crags. You’re mad if you think I’d send our men up there now.”

Daimhin twitched in irritation. “Then send Dearg to secure
the positions and our kinsmen may follow them up after.”

“No. Not even Dearg will I sacrifice to your . . . obsession.”

“I am your superior, Ruadh,” Feich reminded him blandly. “I
speak with the authority of my father, The Feich.”

“You’re not
The
Feich, Daimhin. You’re only his lieutenant. As Marschal of the Feich forces,
it’s up to me to decide as to their deployment. The Feich’s Marschal is telling
you, Regent, that to do as you plan would undermine the military success of
this campaign you seem so attached to pursuing.”

“I’m not sure military success is even necessary.”

“Then why in the name of all that’s holy are we here? Why
have you dragged hundreds of men into this Spirit-blasted wilderness? Why did
you not simply wage your war from Creiddylad?”

“You mistake me. I didn’t mean—”

“Are all Feich this argumentative?” Lilias’s voice was
tinted with laughter.

The two men ceased their debate and turned to her, faces
blank.

“You argue needlessly. My corsairs know these mountains well
by night or day. They will secure the siege positions, and Hrofceaster will
wake to find herself in the embrace of the Deasach.”

From the North,
the South, the East, and the West,

let the Glory of
the Spirit turn on this village sustenance, welfare and ease.

Let the might of
the Spirit free us from our enemies,

extinguishing all
fear, averting all anger.

Above and beneath,
behind and before, free us from our

enemies, O Glory
of God.

—Traditional Hillwild prayer

Few were the denizens of Airdnasheen who were ignorant of
the night-time approach of the enemy. Those who slept unaware were warned by
their more gifted neighbors. Their reaction was not panicked, but swift.

By morning a legion of eyes was focused on the escarpment
upon which the Hillwild village sat, prying at the gray walls of her guardian
fortress. In daylight, the owners of those eyes could be seen; beneath red, raven-crested
banners, men in black flocked and fluttered. By late morning, they had been
joined by reinforcements wearing the colors of the Dearg and Feich.

At mid-day, a handful of horsemen rode to the gates of
Hrofceaster beneath brilliant banners, while on the tallest standard among
them, the Star Chalice winked fire.

“Sacrilege,” murmured Airleas, watching the approach from
the windows of the fortress’ Great Hall. He turned angry eyes to those watching
with him—Catahn, Taminy, his mother, the Cwen.

“Feich commits sacrilege. The Star Chalice should not leave
Creiddylad.”

“The Chalice is a symbol,” Taminy told him. “Its removal
from Creiddylad is not so spiritually significant as Daimhin Feich’s intent in
removing it.”

Cwen Toireasa gasped and pointed. “Look, Taminy! Below the
Chalice—the casket there. Can Feich possibly have the Osmaer?”

Taminy shook her head. “No. The Stone of Ochan is not in his
hands, but it’s clear he wants all watchers to believe it is.”

“He sends a courier,” observed Catahn, watching a messenger
slip through the well-guarded gates to scurry across the forecourt and
disappear into the building below their vantage point.

“I want to hold parley with him,” Airleas said. “I’m
Cyneric. It’s me he’s come for. I should stand at the parley. I should speak on
my own behalf.”

Catahn started to object, but Taminy halted him, a firm hand
on his arm. “He’s right, Catahn. He should speak for himself. After all, it’s
his throne that’s in question. All four of us should go. We’ll take Osraed Wyth
as scribe.”

Catahn capitulated immediately and, when the courier arrived
with his message that Feich requested a meeting outside the gates of
Hrofceaster, he sent back an affirmative reply. The four donned coats and
cloaks, neither hastily nor lazily, and went down to the forecourt where a
nervous Osraed Wyth awaited them, scribe and pad in hand.

The gates of the fortress opened, and their party moved to
stand in the open arch, face to face with the adversary. Taminy could not help
but be reminded of their last meeting at Halig-liath. This would not be
negotiation, Taminy knew. This would be an attempt to manipulate.

Still astride his horse, flanked by the Dearg, the Deasach
Cwen and Caime Cadder, Feich beckoned them forward. “Will you not come out on
neutral ground?”

“We do not move beyond this gateway,” said Catahn.

“Will you not dismount and meet us?” asked Airleas. “You
need not fear deceit from us . . . as you well know.”

Feich stared at the boy with obvious surprise, then smiled
and dismounted. His party, save for the four standard bearers, followed suit.
He did not waste time on diplomacy, but came directly to the point. “You know
why I’m here. Airleas Malcuim must be returned to Creiddylad. As his Regent, I
insist that he return with me.”

“As his Regent?” echoed Taminy. “But you are not his sole
Regent. The Chieftains of two noble Houses are co-Regents with you according to
an agreement which you signed and which the Abbod Ladhar witnessed. An
agreement this man drafted.” Her eyes moved to the cleirach at Daimhin Feich’s
side.

Caime Cadder started, eyes wide. “How can she—?”

“How can she know?” Feich finished for him. “You amaze me,
Cadder. You know what she is, yet you doubt her powers. Unwise of you. In
answer to your question, Mistress—yes, there was a compact drawn. But the other
signatories—including the Abbod—proved to be traitors. Heretics. Much like
yourself, Mistress. Much like this Cwen of yours.”

Toireasa stirred. “I am not the traitor to Caraid-land,
Durweard Feich. I will fight you to the death rather than let you take my son
from me.”

“Regrettable, madam. But if those are your conditions . . .”

“I will not leave Hrofceaster as your prisoner,” said
Airleas. “Nor as your ward. I will leave here only with Taminy, for I have
chosen her as my Durweard.”

“You are a child, Airleas,” Feich told him. “A child who has
been mesmerized and bewicked. You are my ward, like it or not, and I am your
legally appointed Regent—by your father’s decree.”

“A decree witnessed by Abbod Ladhar. You called him a
traitor and a heretic, just now.”

Feich’s lips compressed. “Taminy-a-Cuinn has no place in
your government. She is a danger to the established order and to the spiritual
life of your country.”

“I am Cyneric of Caraid-land and The Malcuim,” answered
Airleas. “I’ll not have a murderer and a traitor as my Durweard. Take your men
and weapons away, Daimhin Feich. I’m not going anywhere with you.”

Feich’s face reddened to the tips of his ears. He looked to
Taminy. “Mistress, do you expect me to believe that this child speaks for
himself? You have thoroughly bewicked him.”

“Airleas speaks freely, sir. Since he is what you’ve come
for, it’s only right he should speak on his own behalf.”

“No, Mistress. He is not all that I’ve come for. Caraid-land
is divided. Torn. You are the cause of that division. As much as the people
clamor for their Cyneric, they clamor for you. The Osraed are powerless,
barricaded in their Shrine; the Assembly has not met; the Houses are in a roil;
the streets of Creiddylad are not safe for anyone—”

“Most especially waljan,” murmured Catahn.

Feich did not so much as glance at him. “Mistress, we cannot
speak of such important matters like this. Before Airleas can be considered, I
must deal with you directly. If we could but speak in private?”

“Without your allies and standard bearers?”

“Yes.”

As Taminy inclined her head, Catahn objected sharply, laying
a protective hand on her shoulder. “Lady, no! You’ll go nowhere with him alone.
I must be with you.”

“Lady,” echoed Feich, “I need to talk to you, not to your
guard dog. Let us go aside—where we can be seen but not heard—and speak
privately.”

Taminy looked to Catahn, who reluctantly nodded his
agreement. “Away from all soldiers,” he insisted.

Feich returned the nod. “As you wish. Shall we go sit upon
that rock?” He gestured toward a large flat boulder shaded sparely by the bare
branches of several trees.

They spoke no words as they moved to the spot. Taminy
brushed the snow from one end of the boulder and sat upon it, her cloak beneath
her. Feich sat opposite and favored her with a long, appraising look, taking in
her woolen breeches and leather jacket.

“You fill out boys’ clothing much too well to pass. You
don’t dissuade me from finding you alluring, still. I admit, I recall our time
together at Mertuile with some fondness . . . and frustration. You haunt my
dreams, Lady Taminy.”