Crystal Rose (14 page)

“And what is that to me?” asked Ladhar. “Do you imagine I
have some great loyalty to the House Malcuim? I have not. My loyalty is to the
Meri. I care very little whose buttocks grace the Throne of Caraid-land as long
as their owner does not seek to undermine everything I hold dear. Only the
Meri’s grace saved us from having that Wicke holding court at Mertuile. If
Airleas Malcuim cannot be brought out of her influence permanently, then I will
support Daimhin Feich. Whether it’s him or some distant Malcuim cousin at
Mertuile, it makes no difference to me. Either is far better than having a
little Taminist parked there.”

“Are you sure?” asked Fhada. He moved to stand below the
Altar just far enough from Lealbhallain that Ladhar still had to twitch back
and forth to watch them both.

“What do you mean, am I sure? Taminy-a-Cuinn would have
Airleas destroy the Osraed.”

Fhada shook his head. “Taminy wanted only to
renew
the Osraed, to make us pure and
whole and strong again. Yes, I know you’d argue that. Let me ask you this: What
would Daimhin Feich do to the Osraed? What does he intend for the religion of
the Meri?”

“He intends that it be left alone, in our hands. He’s an
unbeliever. He doesn’t care about our doings for any spiritual reason, I know.
But he does care that the Osraed institution is his best chance of controlling
the hearts of the people—”

“When Taminy has won so many of those hearts to herself?”
asked Leal.

“Taminy is no longer here. People will soon forget the
supposed miracles she performed. We will win those hearts back through miracles
of our own.”

“Ah, yes.” Fhada nodded his mop of curls. “With Fireweaves
and little smoke balls and colorful lights. Do you imagine that can compare
with making a broken body sound or bringing real Eibhilin light into a soul?”

The Abbod reddened. “We will win those hearts back.”

“And what will Daimhin Feich do with them once you have done
that?” asked Fhada. “Do you think he will let you keep them?”

“Where are your loyalties, Abbod Ladhar?” asked Leal, taking
a step forward. “You say they are with the Meri. If that is so, they cannot be
also with Daimhin Feich, for his loyalty is to himself alone.”

“I am Osraed,” Ladhar answered. “My loyalty is always to the
Meri—alone. I also believe in Her power. If Daimhin Feich threatens to
undermine Her religion, She will thwart him, just as She thwarted your Wicke
Cwen. She will raise up Her forces—”

“She already has,” Leal observed, “and you fight us.”

“I will never believe that. I am at Apex of the Osraed
Council now. I will appoint my Triumvirate and, as the tools of the Meri’s
will, we will destroy the forces of the Wicke. We will restore Her religion and
renew it, purge the unworthy from our ranks, recover the prestige of our
institutions. If Daimhin Feich stands in the way of that, we will see him
destroyed as well.”

Leal and Fhada’s eyes met in a silent exchange. Then, with
one accord, they began to withdraw toward a side entrance.

The Abbod Ladhar watched them depart, mute.

oOo

Safely away from Cyne’s Cirke, Leal reflected on what he
had learned. Of one thing he was absolutely certain; Abbod Ladhar was no toady
to Daimhin Feich. Not knowing Taminy, he might despise her, but he was not an
enemy of the Meri’s, merely a misguided defender. Perhaps, if he could be
convinced that Feich was not to be trusted . . .

Leal pulled himself out of his reverie enough to note his
surroundings. He had separated from Fhada lest Ladhar send someone after them,
and now stood on the edge of the marketplace.

He tugged at his forelock, making sure it covered his
forehead and aimed a small obscuring Weave at the heavily camouflaged Kiss on
his forehead. When he’d left Carehouse that morning it had been a muddy
green-gold stellate smudge. He prayed it still appeared so, then dove into the
crowds.

It seemed to him that people were a little less on edge
today than they had seemed the last time he’d been out. A week ago, now. He
lingered by knots of gossip, to glean any news from Mertuile. Regent Feich had
been seen about in the dead Cyne’s carriage. Some thought that an outrage, some
thought it was his due—all had seen the bans proclaiming his Regency.

Leal wended his way through flocks of market-goers,
side-stepped strolling merchants and performers, passed by bright tents and
stalls, eyes peering, looking for a certain little flower cart. At last he
spied it and made his way over to where another of Taminy’s followers, Haesel
Sweep, now pursued a new and flourishing business. Around the cart was a knot
of well-dressed gentlemen engaged in animated discussion of the muddy affairs
of state.

“Still,” opined one stout fellow, “to be a Regent without a
Cyneric is a pretty meaningless station. It’ll be of extreme interest to see
how all this turns out.”

“Who’s to say there’s no Cyneric?” asked an older gentleman
with a long gray beard. “I reckon that whole story of Airleas Malcuim’s kidnap
to be just so much piffle. Good God, all that about Eibhilin fires and Hillwild
hordes. Pah! A bunch of hysterical old women must’ve come up with it.”

“Do I look like an hysterical old woman?” asked a third man.
“I was there. Granted I was at the back of the public gallery, but I saw what I
saw. That young woman whipped fire and lightning all over the place. It was a
thing of awe. And there were Hillwild all over as well. But it was Iobert Claeg
who helped the girl escape. I saw him myself, leading her out of the Hall.”

“Speaking of the Hall,” said the first man, “have any of you
heard aught of their meeting?”

“I heard the last attempt ended in a riotous roil,” said the
graybeard. “The noble Houses are not falling in line behind our Regent, the
Osraed are fractured and fractious—”

“Give me a tell I’ve not heard!”

“Aye, well. I heard from the Regent’s own scribe that other
than a few Chieftains, only the Eiric and Ministers put in their appearance,
and even they were fewer than ought to be. Looks as if our government has
ground to a halt.”

“Near tax time, too,” mewed the stout one. “Tsk! Such a
shame. Come, let’s find us some hot cider—spend before Feich wakes up and duns
us double.”

Off the three of them went, chuckling.

Leal sidled up to Haesel and pretended to be looking over
her flowers.

“They seem happy enough,” he commented.

“Oh, aye.” The woman patted a lock of brown hair into place
and surveyed the crowd. “Government may have ground down, as that one says, but
commerce sure han’t. Things’ve settled a bit here, too. Looting’s down since
the merchants got together and formed a vigilance group. Funny, though, how
long it took ’em to come to the knowing that our Regent Feich is keepin’ all
his guards to himself. Some of the old Malcuim regulars still patrol here, but
not enough to keep these poor merchants from losing their goods. ‘Well,’ they
says, ‘we’ll just have to defend ourselves.’

“See, there’s one of the market guards now.” She dipped her
head in the direction of a young man with restless eyes and a heavily knotted
club at his side. “Thieves can’t tell the vigilants from any other body here.
Makes ’em real careful, I wager.”

She glanced at Leal’s face. “What’s the word from Cyne’s
Cirke?”

“Word is,” said Leal, “the Abbod is not Feich’s man, no more
than he’s Taminy’s.”

“Whose will does he bend to, then?” Haesel asked.

“The Meri’s, he thinks. I only pray She will find a way to
prove to him that he’s wrong.”

oOo

Daimhin Feich sipped his wine and reflected that it tasted
much better when things were going well. The whole dinner had seemed a feast
from the Eibhilin realm and he congratulated himself that he had only his own
pretty diplomacy to thank for it.

It was a dance, he thought. Show the right face to the
Mediator, make the right requests; the cannon was secure. Dispatch worthy gifts
to the Banarigh of El-Deasach and who knew what might be accomplished? Perhaps
the illustrious Lilias, herself, would see fit to let him keep the cannon, or
perhaps she would dispatch a gift to him in return—some fighting men wouldn’t
come amiss.

He’d lied a bit to Loc Llywd in saying he expected the Skarf
and the Madaidh to fall in behind him. He was working on that, certainly, had
gone straight to meet with the Chieftains of those Houses from his conference
with the Deasach Mediator, had told them about the marvelous cannon and the
alliance forming between the Feich and the Teallach and the Dearg. He’d hoped
it would decide them, but both men hemmed and hawed and prattled about needing
to convene a council of House elders.

Fools. In their desire to stay on the sidelines as long as
possible, they let destiny slip from their hands.

Daimhin swirled the wine in his goblet. Through the golden
liquid in its cut crystal he could see the dancing flame of one of the myriad
candles that graced the dinner table. It reminded him of the Osmaer Crystal
sitting aloof on its pedestal, sealed within its shrine.

He recalled that little spark of luminance he’d called from
it and felt for a moment as if hot honey flowed through his belly. The spark of
desire. Then it was
her
face he saw
in his golden wine—green-eyed, flax-haired Taminy. The Wicke who called herself
Osmaer.

He smiled. Woman and Stone were connected. The two were One.

“Alright, cousin.” Ruadh’s voice was tinged with irritation.
“You’ve been sitting there all through dinner with that cat-eat-cream grin on
your face. I’m damn tired of waiting to find out what it’s pertinent to. So’s
the Abbod, I reckon, eh, Abbod?”

The old Osraed, apparently lost in his own thoughts, looked
up from his half-empty plate and nodded. “Yes, of course, em—it’s good to see
you looking so happy.”

Daimhin took another sip of the sweet, thick wine. “I am
happy and I’ll tell you why. The cannon is ours.”

Ruadh raised his glass to his cousin in silent applause, but
the Abbod could only stare vacantly and murmur, “Cannon? What cannon?”

“The one that’s going to blow the doors of Halig-liath to
the skies.”

“What?” Now the old boar was clearly dumfounded.

Daimhin was both amused and irritated. “I’ve convinced the
Deasach to lend us a marvelous new machine of war. A cannon—three horses in
length—that fires explosive ordnance. With it, I intend to go up to Nairne and,
by fear or force, bring back Cyneric Airleas.”

“And destroy Halig-liath?” gasped Ladhar. “No. I won’t have
it. Attacking an Osraed institution—”

“At this juncture, Abbod, Halig-liath is no longer a
legitimate Osraed institution. It is taken over by the Wicke and her disciples.
I intend to give it back into your hands. Consider it a gift expressive of my . . . regard.”

Ladhar’s full lips puckered mutinously. “And Taminy-a-Cuinn?”

“I intend to bring her back to Creiddylad and drown her. She
should never have escaped the Sea in the first place; she will not do it
again.”

The large Osraed took a deep, noisy breath. “I’d rather see
her burned. It’s more certain.”

“Abbod, there is, in the depths of Mertuile, a chamber which
admits the Sea. There is always at least one hand’s width of water covering the
floor and, as the tide rises, so does the depth of the water in the cell. When
the tide is high, sea water fills the chamber to a depth of four feet.”

“Four feet of water,” said the Abbod, “will not drown a
woman who is over five feet tall.”

Feich smiled. “Everyone must sleep, Abbod. Even the wicked.”

Ah, the implications had sunk in; the Abbod’s chubby face
was gratifyingly pale. Daimhin almost thought he’d beg mercy for the poor girl,
but in a moment, he’d squared his massive shoulders and fixed his face with
stern determination.

“That could take forever.”

“Why do you care how long it takes? The longer it takes, the
more time you’ll have to visit her and listen to her screams and pitiable cries
for help.”

“God’s mercy, Daimhin!” Across the table from the Abbod,
Ruadh shook himself. “I had no idea you were such a blood-thirsty monster.
Surely you can think of a quicker, saner way of putting the girl away.”

“Not one I would enjoy so. I would like very much to hear
her beg me for mercy. I look forward to it.”

Ruadh threw back some wine and grimaced. “Well, don’t expect
me to enjoy it with you. I think it’s beyond cruel. I also think it’s a
dreadful waste. If the late Cyne’s portrait of her has any truth in it, your
Wicke is an astonishing beauty.”

Daimhin snorted. “That portrait only hints at the truth,
Ruadh. But you see, that’s part of her guile. Her face seduces a man’s eyes; her
voice, his ears; her craft, his soul. Ah, see how our friend, the Abbod,
shivers? He knows it’s true, don’t you, Abbod?”

“I do. I’ve seen it happen to many, yourself included. Which
is why I maintain, more strongly than ever, that her death should be quick.
Terrible, terrifying, but quick. A lingering death gives her too much
opportunity to Weave her wiles on you all over again.”

“Oh, very well,” said Daimhin easily. Easily, because he had
no intention of placing Taminy anywhere near that wretched sea-pit. That would
be, as Ruadh so aptly put it, a dreadful waste. “There are iron rings set into
the floor. I shall simply shackle her to those. The first high tide will set
your mind at ease.”

And what will it do to
your soul
,
old man
? he wondered.
You speak so glibly of quick deaths. I
wonder if you’ve ever witnessed one
.

The Abbod seemed somewhat mollified, and so Daimhin
proceeded down an intersecting path of conversation. He drew his brow into a
careful frown.

“Your reminder of her cunning disturbs me, Osraed. I’ve
tried to put out of my mind how strongly she . . . affected me. She’s powerful,
and I’m probably a fool to think I can simply trot up to Halig-liath and bring
her back by mere physical force. Have you no means of protecting us
spiritually?”