Mer: Crystal Rose Part 9

Airleas's world became suddenly very still. His breath stuck in his throat, hope and humiliation struggled in his heart, and on some barely palpable level, he felt his hushed soul expand. A smile twitched the corner of his mouth; despair tugged it down again. He found he had nothing to say except, "I'm sorry, Mistress."

"I know," she answered him and turned her beautiful face away from him to Iobert Claeg. "We'll be going now, Chieftain. I don't want to slow your progress. Meri's grace to you, sir."

She raised her hand. The gytha showed clearly in her palm.

Claeg's men murmured, eyes wide.

Taminy crooked a finger then, and the circling watchers made way for a second, riderless horse to pa.s.s among them. It was Airleas's own mare, Shena.

He mounted in silence and, pushing back through the a.s.sembled warriors, clattered up the trail toward Airdnasheen. Behind him, he vaguely heard Taminy give her blessings and good-byes to The Claeg and her two other waljan.

He was on the verge of kicking his horse into a dangerous gallop when she caught hold of his mind, bidding him wait for her. He hesitated, then obeyed, knowing that anything short of obedience would be fruitless and stupid. He felt her close regard of him all the way back to the holt.

Was this what it was to be a Malcuim? he wondered. Was this what his father had been as a boy-a stew of angers and vanities and false bravery? Was the essence of The Malcuim a rebellious soul? A soul only humiliation could impress for good or ill? A soul that could be led about by its own pride?

"I don't want to be like my father," he said to the silence of the trail.

Taminy's hand lit on his shoulder, fanning a strange Eibhilin warmth through his body. "Many people will be eager to tell you that you are your father's son. But don't mistake that to mean you are your father's likeness. You are not."

Airleas flipped the reins against his horse's neck. "I look just like him. Just like him. Even mother says so."

"Appearances are deceiving. Colfre Malcuim may have shaped your body and your face, but Toireasa has done more to mold your heart and mind. And your soul has a shape of its own that no man or woman in this world can mold."

"Except you, right, Taminy? You can mold it, can't you?" He was desperate to believe that.

She shook her head. "Only you, Airleas. Only you can mold the contours of your own soul."

Well, now there was an unsettling thought. Airleas let himself back into the rhythm of his mare's stride and rode to Hrofceaster in silence.

Saefren Claeg stretched out on his bedroll, his eyes on the leather satchel his uncle had settled gently on the ground-cover of their tent.

"The Lady's talismans?"

Iobert nodded. "Aye."

"What are they?"

In answer, the elder Claeg pushed the satchel toward his nephew. "Open it," he said, then lowered himself to his own bedroll.

Saefren tried not to appear over-eager as he picked up the satchel and flipped back the flap. Inside were a number of soft, dunnish leather scrolls tied at both ends with twine. Curious, he removed one and turned it in his hand. Painted on or pressed into the outer surface of the scroll at roughly its center was the Gilleas crest-a white star on an irregular field of purple. Inside was a small, hard lump.

He raised questioning eyes to his uncle's impa.s.sive face. "What are they?"

"The scrolls are messages. As to what's inside . . ." He shrugged.

"You didn't ask?"

"Why should I? I'm not among those who need to see such talismans."

And d.a.m.n proud of it. "May I look?"

Iobert seemed poised for a sharp retort, then merely shrugged again. "Aye, if you must."

Saefren untied the twine at one end of the scroll and parted the soft folds. Light from the tent's single lamp glittered on something within.

"It's a shard of crystal."

When Iobert said nothing, he opened the scroll further.

"There's nothing on it. This scroll is empty." He shook his head, incredulous. "You said they were letters."

"I said they were messages."

"That say nothing."

"To you, perhaps."

Saefren laughed, letting a bit of his scorn escape. "And for these you'd have us travel miles out of our way-to put an empty skin and a chip of rock into the hands of the Gilleas?"

"We'll not go out of our way."

"Uncle, the Gilleas holdings are well away to the northeast-"

"I know where the Gilleas holdings are, Nephew. We shall not be troubled to go there. The Gilleas will meet us in Nairne."

Saefren was dumfounded. "How can you know that?"

"Taminy said he would be there. He and his elders."

Saefren held up the scroll. "To receive a blank message."

His uncle rolled onto his side. "Put that away carefully," he said, and closed his eyes.

Exasperated, Saefren could only stare at him.

A moment later, one frosty gray eye opened. "And put out the lamp. Makes it hard for a man to sleep."

Saefren did as ordered, hoping he'd be around to see the Gilleas Chieftain's face when he opened his "message."

Chapter 5.

The World of Form and Shadow is set about by the direst of afflictions and the sorest of trials. It wastes away of its disease while those who hold power in their hands seek to treat its ills by their own devices. Yet, they are unable to fathom the cause of the disease and can only guess at its remedy. Only the Divine Healer can cure this patient, but these jealous doctors have imagined that Friend to be an Enemy.

- From the Testament of Osraed Bevol "A distant ally is better than no ally at all."

Ruadh Feich raised his finger from the map and looked his cousin Daimhin in the eye. "You think so, do you? It will take weeks for the Teallach to a.s.semble even a token force and get them here."

"Then we can march on Halig-liath in four days with Malcuim regulars, our own men and the Dearg's. The Teallach can meet us there in two weeks-one and a half if the weather holds and the rivers aren't running too high."

"Ah." The younger Feich traced the march between the Teallach lands northeast of the port of Eada and the foothill village of Nairne. "That's always supposing they don't have to take the long way around through the midlands."

"Now, why on earth should they have to do something like that? Surely it's more expedient to cut directly through the hills."

Ruadh's finger lit solidly on a green-tinted cl.u.s.ter of mounds just south of the lands held by the House Teallach. It sat squarely in the line of march he'd traced the moment before.

"You forget the Cuillean. Intelligence suggests they've shown support of the Taminists. They're unlikely to let a large force of our allies cross their lands unremarked."

Daimhin sat back in his chair and tried to look more relaxed than he felt. He was d.a.m.ned tired of this sitting around, waiting for the Houses he had been romancing to come into the fold-the Malcuim fold, he told them, hoping they would believe him.

Some did. Some didn't. The Chieftain of the House Gilleas had told him flat out that he thought Daimhin Feich's alleged love of his dead Cyne was a sham and that Airleas Malcuim in any Feich's hands was as good as dead. He'd been uncertain if he wanted to return a Malcuim to the Throne of Caraid-land; he'd been d.a.m.n certain he'd not help to put a Feich there.

Anarchy. A return to the days when the Houses fought, each for its own piece of the land. That was what Daimhin Feich faced if he could not get Airleas Malcuim back to Mertuile-and soon.

"What do you suggest, then, Ruadh?" he asked.

The younger man drew himself up, looking every inch the young Marschal, every inch a Feich. Daimhin was as proud of him as he might be of his own son, had he a legitimate one.

"I propose," said Ruadh, "that we meet the Teallach forces just south of Cuinn Holding, between the Ead-Tyne and the Bebhinn. That'll take them two weeks the long way round-southwest and up the Ead. This I believe they should do to avoid confronting the Cuillean and the Gilleas. We'll march our own forces up the Tuine side of the Halig-Tyne and cut a wide sweep around Nairne so as not to arouse any notice from that quarter. When we've ama.s.sed our army, we split it in two; one half seals off Nairne, the other half lays siege to Halig-liath."

"Siege."

"Aye."

"And how long do you think that'll last?"

"As long as it takes to force capitulation."

"How, force capitulation?"

Ruadh shrugged. "How long can they last sealed off from the town? When they run out of food, water-"

Daimhin smiled. "Cousin, you underestimate our persuasive power. With an entire town of innocent hostages at our disposal, the siege will last only until the first cailin screams. But . . ." Daimhin Feich held up his hand. "That will be only our contingency plan. I've my reasons for wanting to take Halig-liath in honest combat." He came forward in his chair, breath quickening. "There is a great symbology in breaching that sacred wall, Ruadh. Don't underestimate it. Halig-liath as an inst.i.tution, is legendary. The man who takes it . . ." His sword hand clenched and he paused to savor the sensations tightening his jaw and burning in his breast. "The man who takes it and subjugates it, subjugates the religion it represents."

Ruadh faded back from the table, an odd expression in his eyes. "Our religion, too, cousin. It is not the sole property of the Osraed you so detest."

"Well, of course! That's exactly it, don't you see? I want to take the Faith of the Meri out of Osraed hands and put it into the hands of the people. And for that reason, I believe we must be able to take Halig-liath by force. We'll lay siege only until we can penetrate its defenses."

Ruadh snorted. "Tell me, when we were at Halig-liath last, did you notice the blackened areas on either side of the main gates?"

"Aye, I did that."

"Do you know how they came to be there?"

Daimhin was wary of his young cousin when he was in one of his professorial moods. Ruadh often forced him to reveal that his own knowledge of military history was lacking.

"Not precisely. But I suppose you're going to tell me somebody tried to take them out with explosives or some such."

"Diomasach Claeg, to be precise. He trailed Cwen Goscelyn there after she absconded with little Thearl, and attempted, vainly, to blow up the front gates of Halig-liath . . ." He glanced at Daimhin significantly. ". . . after the dear Cwen dropped the portcullis on 'im. The wood is oak, reinforced with straps and rods of steel. Impenetrable."

Daimhin sucked the inside of his cheek. d.a.m.n the brat for reminding him how cleanly and unintentionally he'd repeated history with his own unsuccessful doings at Halig-liath.

"That was nearly two hundred years ago, cousin. Weapons technology has improved a great deal since then. Even I know that." He leaned across table and map, pale eyes glinting with zeal. "I propose to use a new type of cannon with exploding ordnance."

Again Ruadh snorted derisively. "And where do you propose to come by such a weapon?"

"The Deasach."

"The Deasach?" Ruadh repeated. "You've continued Colfre's negotiations with them?"

"I have."

"Trusting of you to tell me."

"Trust had nothing to do with it. Expediency was all. You have your work; I have mine. No reason for you to become distracted from yours. Anyway, I'm telling you now. There has been a Deasach commission in Creiddylad since spring. You may have noticed them at Colfre's funeral." Ruadh nodded and his cousin continued. "My intentions toward them are somewhat different than our dear departed Cyne, however. He was looking for weaknesses in them, something he could exploit with an eye to conquest."

Ruadh's eyes nearly popped out of his head. "Colfre? Colfre Malcuim, Peacemaker? The Dove of Mertuile? You scandalize me. I'd suspect you of such manipulations, but not Colfre."

Daimhin inclined his head. "Thank you, so much, for your vote of confidence. As it happens, I disagreed violently with Colfre's intentions toward the Deasach. I find their strengths much more interesting than their weaknesses. They have, as I mentioned, some very progressive military resources. They also have mineral resources and agricultural products we don't. On the other side of the coin, they would like expanded access to our fishing waters and our markets."

"Ah, a bargaining chip."

Daimhin smiled and let himself be distracted by a luxurious heat that tickled his bowels. "Oh, there's more. The Deasach are a perverse lot. They have no Cyne. All my meetings, indeed, all of Colfre's meetings were with a gentleman known as a Mediator. He is the representative of a sovereign female ruler."

Ruadh gaped. "A sovereign Cwen?"

"They call her a Banarigh-literally, 'a woman ruler.'"

Ruadh's brows drew together. "'Bana,' that's a Hillwild word, isn't it?"

"Indeed. Makes you wonder, doesn't it? At any rate. I'm of the thought that my face-to-face meeting with this important lady must be accomplished in the near future."

"You'd go there? To the Suderlands? Cousin, that's taking an awful chance."

"Of what? Do you imagine that there are monsters behind their rocks and bushes that are not also behind ours?"

Ruadh flushed as if that was exactly what he imagined. "Of course not. It's just that, well, we know so little about them."

"I know that the Banarigh is a woman. Her Mediator describes her as a 'mature' woman. I reckon that puts her between the ages of thirty and sixty. He says she's a beauty, although what that means to a Deasach may be something incomprehensible to us. Frankly, I don't care whether she's a beauty or as ugly as the backside of a pig. She's female, and that means she will ultimately succ.u.mb to flattery and charm."