Taminy shook her head. “They’re two days out still. The escort will meet them-?”
“Tonight, I should imagine, Lady. Why?”
“They’re traveling by carriage, stopping at night. A fast company of horsemen could overtake them.”
Catahn’s glossy black brows scudded up his broad forehead. “You fear retaliation from Mertuile? They’ve done nothing.”
“Nothing overt.”
“The Cyne may yet come to believe in you, Lady.”
She contemplated that for a moment, then nodded. “Yes, though perhaps not in this life. You sent Osraed ... Eadmund.”
He nodded, awed by her growing abilities.
She would someday tell him that she knew him inside and out, heart and soul—but not today. “I’ll touch him. They must hurry back to Halig-liath. Something is moving at Mertuile.”
Catahn frowned. “I don’t like the sound of that, Lady. Shall we arm more guards?”
In answer she merely looked at him, humor tugging the corners of her mouth.
He actually blushed. “Forgive me. I forget we have other defenses than bow and sword.” He stood. “Osraed Ealad-hach wishes to see you. He’s outside.”
She gave him a look of mock reproach. “You made him wait.”
Catahn grinned. “He deserves to wait.” The Ren strode to the door and ushered the old Osraed in. “Shall I stay, Lady?” he said, growling a little for Ealad-hach’s benefit.
The old man cowered and Taminy felt pity well in her throat. “No, leave us. It’s all right. You wish to speak with me?” she asked Ealad-hach when they were alone.
“I wish to leave Halig-liath,” he said and refused, as always, to look at her face.
“Are you being mistreated here?”
“You know I am not. I simply find my position here untenable. To all intents, the Osraed Council no longer exists. Indeed, the Osraed Body no longer exists, as a body. You’ve seen to that.”
“Destroying the Osraed Institution was not my intention; I meant to renew its spirit.”
“You have brought chaos to Caraid-land, Lady Taminy.” He made the words a curse.
“Don’t call me that. ‘Cailin’ or ‘girl’ or even ‘Wicke’ would be more acceptable from your lips.”
He inclined his head. “As you wish, Wicke.”
She flinched. Hatred would always wound her and she must always lay herself open to it.
He smiled a little, seeing that. “Pain, Wicke? It amazes me that anything I do could hurt you.”
“Everything you do hurts me, Osraed. I wish I could make you see me for what I am. I wish you could believe.”
“If you’re what you claim to be, then that should be well within your powers.”
She smiled ruefully. “Within my powers, yes. Within my nature, no. The Meri did not force young Ealad-hach into Halig-liath. He came here of his own free will. He saw the Gwenwyvar in a dream, woke beside Her pool, and knew not how he’d gotten there in the middle of a summer night. After that he was in love. So very much in love that every breath he breathed and every word he spoke was of the Eibhilin worlds. Halig-liath was heaven to him. And now, he wishes to leave heaven.”
The old man stared at her, trembling as if with palsy. “How do you-? Oh, wicked. Wicked wonder to use that against me now, when I am so weak.”
She stood and moved to stand before him, eye to eye. “Ealad-hach, who do you think it was that called to you that night? Whose duan sang you from your room out onto the hills, out into the woods, down to the Gwenwyvar’s pool?” She pressed her fingertips to her breast. “It was I, your Beloved, who called to you. Why do you not recognize me?”
His trembling increased twofold and his eyes overflowed with tears. He went to his knees before her, hands beseeching. “Please,” he sobbed. “Please, release me from this prison.”
His pain smote her like a blast from a blacksmith’s forge, nearly felling her. Dear God, how horrible it was to be Ealad-hach, to be so torn and twisted that day looked like night and night looked like chill hell. She gazed into his soul and knew what he asked and knew what she must give him for his pain.
Spirit, forgive me for my presumption.
Dropping to her knees, she reached out and took the gnarled hands in her own. Wracked with sobs, he could not resist, but merely gazed at her from teary eyes. “You are released, Osraed Ealad-hach. And with Our blessing.” She lifted her left hand to his forehead placing there, a tiny flower of light.
His eyes widened and the sobs stopped in his throat. Something trembled on his lips—words that rushed up from his heart of hearts to overwhelm him.
Yes, now you see.
A quivering hand rose to her cheek and found a tear there. The old man smiled. “Beloved,” he said and collapsed into her arms.
She cradled him there for a time, only gradually becoming aware of Catahn’s presence in the room. She looked up, tears still coursing down her cheeks.
Seeing them, the Ren came to her side. “My Lady, what has happened?”
She stroked the old man’s brittle hair. “The Osraed Ealad-hach is dead, Catahn. His soul is in the arms of the Meri.”
oOo
“What did the doctor say, lord?”
“What else could he say? He said my health is failing.”
Daimhin Feich came across the room and dared to sit on the edge of his Cyne’s couch, facing the wasted man who lay there. “Then he will have medicines for you. You will be tended night and day. I’ll handle these problems of state until you’re recovered and-”
The Cyne uttered a wheezing laugh. “Daimhin Feich—one man diplomatic corps. Problems of state. My realm is crumbling, I will die heirless and you sum it up as problems of state. Such an optimist.”
“You will not die. Let alone heirless.”
“Well, I can’t father a child in this condition. Nor have I any desire to, even if any sane woman would have me. I could adopt an heir, I suppose.”
“You’ll need no adoption. We’ll get Airleas back. I promise. I’ve raised a force of men. They ride in two hours.”
“Ride? Ride where?”
“To Halig-liath. At flank speed they may be able to catch the Cwen and Riagan before they make the fortress, if not, we’ll take a larger force and lay siege. I’ll go myself if I have to, but I will get Airleas back.”
“For me. You’d do all that for me?”
“Anything. Anything for you, sire.”
Tears sprang to Colfre’s eyes. “Dear God, you are a loyal friend. The most loyal friend a man could find.”
Daimhin bowed his head deeply. “Thank you, lord. You do me honor.”
“No. You do me honor by standing so close beside me through all this. Lesser men would have deserted me. As did my Chancellor, half my Privy Council-”
“Don’t think of it, sire. Think of getting Airleas back. The Malcuim line will continue.”
Colfre nodded. “You must be Regent. Toireasa is not to be trusted.”
Daimhin flicked his eyes wide open—his mouth as well. “I, sire? Regent?” He ducked his head again. “You drown me in honor.”
Colfre was nodding more fiercely now. “Yes, call the Osraed Ladhar. He must witness and counter-sign. I will make you Regent now. Immediately.”
Daimhin lifted the Cyne’s hand to his lips and kissed it. “At once, sire.”
He had to use the seaward cliff passage to leave Mertuile—the same passage Cwen Goscelin had used in her heroic escape over a century before; the same passage young Cyne Paeccs, son of Malcuim, had used to flee the Claeg and Feich, who were attempting to overthrow the Malcuim line. Ironic, that. But he would enjoy the irony later; now, he had to bring Ladhar to Mertuile.
He did it in record time, though the cliff path was slippery with rheum, though the boat, hidden in its tiny cove, was so long unused, the mooring line had to be cut, though he was a poor oarsman. He resented the fact that, on the return trip, the Abbod could not be imposed upon to row a lick.
The
y were in the halls of Mertuile when he’d regained his breath enough to speak steadily. “I will now tell you why you’ve been brought here.”
Ladhar shot him an acerbic glance. “You told me Colfre was dying.”
“I exaggerated. I needed you to come unquestioningly. He wishes appoint a Regent to Airleas.”
“Airleas is gone.”
“Yes, but I’ve mounted a campaign to get him back.”
“Ah, is that what that was all about? I was informed something was going on out at Selbyr’s estate. It was a conscription.”
“It was loyal volunteers rallying to the aid of their Cyne and country.”
“Yes, well ...So, Colfre will appoint Regent to his Taminist brat. He is a Taminist, you know. Toireasa sent over two formal self-worded testaments in which they both denounced the ‘old order’ and embraced the ‘New Covenant.’”
“Poor child.”
“Yes, poor child. So he’s to be dragged back to Creiddylad and made to recant his heathen ways, eh? Think it’ll take?”
“I don’t know. It’s doubtful, I suppose.”
“So, who’s to be Regent?”
“I am.”
They were outside the Cyne’s salon now. Ladhar stopped and lowered his voice. “You? Rumor has it you were courting the Dark Sister.”
“I was attempting to inveigle my way into her good graces, hoping, for Colfre’s sake, it would make her more tractable.”
“Ah. Failed miserably, didn’t you?”
Daimhin bit back his sudden anger. “Yes, miserably. I am not a Taminist, if that’s what you’re thinking. Frankly, I’d like to see the wretched creature tied to a log and put out to Sea.” But not before-time.
“Tied to a tree and burned,” Ladhar said. “Burning leaves nothing to chance.” The old Abbod cocked his head to one side. “Airleas would be a poor Cyne. Surely, he might be persuaded to give up his dark faith, but there’s no guarantee he won’t go back to it the moment the Circlet is on his head.”
“No guarantee at all.”
“And if Airleas won’t recant, and Colfre dies, then we’ve no Cyne at all. Colfre should do more than appoint a Regent. He should appoint a Cyneric.”
Daimhin frowned. “A Cyneric? Is that wise? Doesn’t that rather make both the Cyneric and Airleas targets for foul play?”
“Not if the Cyneric is someone we can all trust.” Ladhar tapped lightly on the Cyne’s door and, receiving permission, preceded Daimhin into the room.
Ten minutes later, Daimhin Feich was Regent to Airleas—to be Cyneric if Airleas were to die or abdicate. A testament was signed by all three attending parties and lackeys were sent to post the public bans.
Not, Daimhin thought wryly, that anyone would care. Word had spread far and wide that he was the man who had taken a crossbow and aimed it at Caraid-land’s new Beloved. He would not be a popular figure, but he would at least be a powerful one.
oOo
“Daimhin, is that you?” Colfre turned from his writing and squinted into the darkness beyond the glow of the lightbowl mounted on his desk.
“Yes, sire.” Feich stepped into the half-light, raising his hand. Bits of fire gleamed off the metal goblet in his hand. “I saw you were up late and brought you some hot cider.” He smiled. “It’s so good to see you feeling better, friend.”
Colfre smiled in return. The very sight of Daimhin Feich filled him with gratitude. Loyalty. There was no price you could put on that. The man should have been his brother, so much alike were they. He held out his hand for the cup.
“Thank you, Daimhin. I am feeling better. You’ve handled this ‘problem of state’ very well.” He took a sip of the cider, then set the cup on his desk. “Mm. Very good. I notice the rabble is gone. Did we wear them out?”
“Some. I had them barred from the Cyne’s Market. There will be no one but merchants there in the morning.”
“Where did you get the men to accomplish that? I thought you sent them all after my faithless wife.”
“Feich is a populous House, my lord. And one which commands great ... respect.”
Colfre laughed. “Yes. Yes, it does. Especially from its enemies.”
Feich bowed deeply. “It does me good to hear you laugh, sire. Even if my family’s legendary treachery is the cause.”
“Forgive me, friend. I shouldn’t make a joke of that.”
Feich merely inclined his head, then left the Cyne to his writing.
Colfre sighed. He really did feel better. Airleas would be brought back and the Malcuim line would continue. Daimhin Feich had promised it and therefore it would be done.
Colfre took another sip of the cider and bent back to his testament.
CHAPTER 22
The mystic Beloved, before concealed by the veil of words, is now revealed to the eyes of men. I bear witness, my friends, that the benediction is complete, the testimony fulfilled, the proof demonstrated, the sign given. Let all now see what your efforts in the path of the Meri will unveil and accomplish. Divine grace has been bestowed on you and on all that dwell in the Land of Shadow and Light. Sing duans of praise to the Spirit of All Worlds.
— from the Testament of Bevol
Blood thundered in his ears. Daimhin Feich listened, heeding its siren call. He wondered at the strange visceral elation he felt just strapping on this sword. He had never worn one, save for ceremonial purposes, and this was no ordinary sword—it was a Malcuim sword, worn, so legend said, by the Malcuim himself. It was a sword intended for fighting, and Daimhin Feich had every intention of putting it to that use.
He strode the corridors of Mertuile with a new vigor this morning. A vigor the black banners and bundles of dead flowers that festooned the halls could not dampen. He was Regent to Airleas Malcuim, Cyneric if Airleas failed to take the Throne. Dark joy bubbled in his breast, threatening to make him laugh. That would be inappropriate now, with Mertuile in mourning; he would laugh when he stood before the Stone and felt the Circlet on his head. A Feich on the Throne!
He began to whistle a tune, but Mertuile’s empty interior threw it back at him misshapen. He stopped whistling.
In the lower hall, the Abbod Ladhar met him, along with his own cousin, Ruadh, commander of his fighting force. One was dressed for travel, the other for battle.
The Abbod’s face was screwed into a disapproving mask and he glowered fiercely. “Why do you insist that I accompany you on this war crusade? My place is here.”
“To comfort the mourners?” Daimhin asked. “To pray for the soul of your poor dead Cyne? His soul is wherever it deserves to be, Abbod. With the souls of other men who have taken their own lives. Your place is with those living, those who will march to free the Cyne’s heir from the clutches of the Taminist evil. Your place is beneath the banner of the Meri, facing that evil. Or do you fear facing it?”
“I fear no man, nor woman, nor Wicke. But the period of mourning is not passed. It has barely begun.”
“Mourn on the road, Abbod. Now, we ride to Halig-liath.” He passed through the door his cousin held open for him, out into the morning Sun that slanted over Mertuile’s landward wall. The gates to the outer ward were open and, through them, he could see the ranks of horses and men that were now at his command. He smiled, letting his earlier elation rise to a boil within him. Sensual, it was. He felt heat fan out from his groin and listened, again, to the song of blood in his ears. A quest. A crusade. And it would end at Halig-liath.
It was not Airleas Malcuim he thought of as he and his hundreds rode east.
oOo
The Feich forces were arrayed before the gates of the Holy Fortress. Regent Daimhin Feich rode at their head with Ruadh Feich at his side. Behind them, the Abbod Ladhar glowered from the back of a sturdy horse, the Malcuim standard fluttering overhead. Beside it, on a second staff, the Star Chalice was borne aloft.
This was a bit of grandstanding that did not sit well with the Abbod, but to Daimhin Feich, it added a twist of historical irony to his crusade. Centuries b
efore, another army had rallied to face down another Malcuim heir, using the same holy relic to confound his forces. Now, as then, hundreds had rallied. Not only Feich, but Feich allies—southern Eiric, for the most part, to whom the Osraed were a nuisance and the idea of supernatural intervention, an anachronism. For the Feich it was a return to the glory days. The days when the great House was a thorn in the side of whatever Malcuim happened to sit upon the Throne.
Daimhin Feich, Regent and would-be Cyneric, turned to glance up at the standards aloft behind him. He would tear down that Malcuim emblem soon, replace it with his own. But for now, the Feich crest appeared only on the arm bands of the troops massed behind him.
He moved his mount forward, all the way to the shadow of Halig-liath’s gates. The heavy oaken doors were open, but the portcullis was down. The Ren Catahn stood behind it, Iobert Claeg at his side.
Feich spoke to the lowland Chief. “A twist in history, this, old friend—that Feich and Claeg face each other across defenses.”
“Aye, well, it was inevitable. The Claeg do what they believe is right. The Feich do what they think is profitable.”
Feich chuckled. “Barbed words, Claeg.”
“May they draw blood.”
“I must speak to the Cwen Toireasa and the Riagan Airleas.”
From behind the sill of the gate, Toireasa Malcuim heard the words and came out to face him, with Airleas on her left and Taminy on her right.
Feich’s pulse kindled when he saw them, and he dismounted, coming to stand before the portcullis. “This is absurd,” he said. “I merely wish to reason with you, mistress. Can’t we do without further barriers between us?” He gestured at the heavy wood and iron grille that separated them. “Your men have their bows aimed and ready. What could we do against them?”
Taminy turned her head and glanced behind her. The portcullis rose ponderously.
“Thank you.” Feich dropped his gaze to Airleas. “I bring you sad news, Airleas. Your father, Cyne Colfre Malcuim, is dead. You are now Cyneric of Caraid-land.”
The boy’s face paled, but he showed no other sign of emotion. “We know,” he said. “We felt him die.”
Taminy Page 44
