Crystal Rose (53 page)

But sneaking into his tent, killing him by stealth . . . “No.
No, that wouldn’t be right,” he murmured. “I need to meet Feich face on, and
not in secret.”

“Noble,” said Deardru. “But if you wait for that time,
Taminy will fall into his hands. Can you allow that?”

“Maybe Raenulf would do as you say. Maybe he would seek
Feich out and kill him. But I . . . I can’t do that. If I did that, I’d be no
better than Feich. I’d betray all Taminy has taught me. All she intends for
me.”

Deardru’s eyes were shadowed now—guarded—Airleas could not
read them, but only feel their pressure. “Yet, if you do nothing, do you not
betray Taminy, herself? Do you not betray all those who look to you as their
Cyne? Do you not betray the honor of your House? Feich spits at the Malcuim; he
defiles your father’s throne; he would defile your own dear Mistress. Are these
not things that cry for vengeance? For sacrifice?”

Airleas pushed back against the weight of Deardru’s regard.
“If I murdered Feich in such a way, I’d sacrifice my soul. Where would be honor
then? Or vengeance? No. Taminy would never wish me to do that.”

Deardru shook her head, spraying him with impatience and
contempt. “Perhaps you are not so much like Raenulf as I thought—nor so ready
for manhood. No, poor Airleas, you are still a little boy, after all.”

When she was gone, he could still taste her disappointment
as something bitter and acrid in the damp chill of the alcove. It seemed
excessive and the excess bemused him. Why should her disappointment be so deep?
Could she harbor such a hatred for Daimhin Feich, a man she had never met, that
she willed him dead?

He rubbed the little jet catamount between thumb and
forefinger. Futile to wonder. Yet flowing back to him through the little
effigy, he could still feel her anger, her contempt, and a cold current of
resolve.

oOo

They were headed straight east through the foothills now,
funneling up from the Vale of Orian. From the verdant lowlands patterned by
crops and orchards, through forested grasslands, they had emerged at last onto
a rocky heath—a place of twisted trees and patchy wetlands. The ground beneath
them sloped increasingly upward and now their horses’ hooves met the first
dusting of snow. The setting Sun gleamed rose-gold on the mountains before
them, showing the pass as a dusky violet slash. Sunlight was withdrawing
rapidly from the floor of the narrow valley, leaving the travelers in a bowl of
unrelieved gray.

Gazing up at the distant crags of Baenn-an-ratha, Aine thought
she had never seen a more desolate setting. She had once thought Hrofceaster to
be desolate, but now, it pulled at her, like home. As she pictured the place,
sitting high up on its craggy scarp, she saw tents scattered on the slopes
below its walls. In their midst, a standard bore aloft an object that flashed
fire into the violet bowl overhead and, near that standard, in a small, guarded
tent . . .

“Aine, what is it?” asked Iseabal. “What’s wrong?”

Aine shook the vision away, realizing she’d stopped her horse
in the middle of the rock-strewn track and had frozen there, mouth and eyes
agape.

“Airleas,” she whispered. “We must hurry, Isha. Airleas will
be betrayed.”

oOo

Airleas stood on the parapet looking out over the
forecourt of the fortress. Under a layer of moon-washed mist, the angles and
planes of Airdnasheen glittered with a fine layer of frost. Odd, he felt no
chill, nor did his breath cloud the frigid air.

Before he could contemplate that, his eyes were drawn to the
courtyard below. Furtive movement roiled the mist—may have even been part of
the mist. In moments, the movement took on form, coalescing to become colorless
cloaked and hooded figures—a trio of satellites orbiting a central point.

Airleas frowned. No, not satellites, shepherds, and the single
charge was obviously captive. Cold panic flushed through him. He tensed to run,
but found himself unable to move. He tried to cry out, but his throat failed
him. His fingers gripped the parapet; they were numb to the freezing stone.

It could only be a Weave. But, dear God, so powerful?

The fleeing figures were almost to the gates when he
remembered his own aidan and marshaled it. Though his body seemed incapable of
movement, surely his spirit could fly. He barely had the thought when he found
himself soaring over the parapet, swooping into the dark recesses of the
forecourt.

Before the scurrying figures, he lit, bird-like, and braced
himself for their attack. The wraith-forms did not even pause in their advance.
It was as if he were invisible to them.

“Stop!” he shouted, but no sound came from his lips. The
dark shepherds pressed on, and now the one they herded raised her head as if
she alone had heard him. It was Taminy’s face he stared into, Taminy’s eyes
that gazed blankly into his own.

Panicked and befuddled, he could only gape while sheep and
shepherds bore through him as if he were composed of mist.

Behind him the gates of Hrofceaster rattled and the invaders
passed out into the night. Sluggish now, Airleas struggled to turn, to follow
the men who had taken Taminy. Why had no one been aware of them? Why had no one
raised the alarm or stopped them? Were all as bewicked as he was?

He floundered over the questions; his mind obeyed no better
than his body had done. Clarity would not come. The gray world around him
became black and close. He gasped, afraid he must suffocate.

He shocked to complete awareness in his bed, up to his ears
in blankets and fleeces. Quaking, he struggled to orient himself. Had he been
dreaming? Was he now awake?

Then came fear. Had the dream been prophetic? Or had he been
bewicked and seeing an aislinn vision from the midst of someone else’s Weave?

Rattling. He could still hear the rattling of the fortress
gates or . . .

He sat up. No, it was his chamber door that rattled now. He
rose unsteadily, pulled on a woolen cloak and stumbled to his door, yet unable
to shake the vision. In the hallway, Deardru-an-Caerluel stood, trembling,
muffled in an azure cloak.

“Lord!” she cried, seeing him. “Lord, Feich has taken your
Mistress away by stealth and by inyx. He’s befuddled Catahn and Desary—even
Osraed Wyth. They all sleep as if dead. You must come!”

Airleas shook his head. Befuddled? He had certainly been
that himself. How was he now awake? “Bewicked,” he murmured. “But how have I—?”

“The amulet! I was awake when the Weave fell on the
fortress. I could wake you only because we are linked by the amulet. Airleas—”
She grasped his arm, bent to look into his eyes. “Airleas, you’re the only one
who can save her!”

Airleas’s heart seemed to stop, trembling, in his breast.
Taminy. Feich had taken Taminy. He had not dreamed.

As he dressed, as he strapped on his sword, he flogged his
mind, trying to clear it. Surely, there were questions he should ask. Things he
must know before he went anywhere. What should he do when he got outside the
gates of Hrofceaster? Would he have to kill Feich? Could he kill Feich? How
could he do what Taminy could not? How was it she was disarmed and not Eyslk’s
mother?

Head spinning, he followed the Hillwild woman from the room
and through the chill corridors of Hrofceaster. Perhaps it was the cold of the
hemming stone, perhaps it was the dregs of his aislinn vision, but Airleas’s
mind at last grasped at one of the circling questions.

“What must I do? I must know what to do,” he murmured and
realized his teeth were chattering. He began to pray, silently.

“You must kill Daimhin Feich,” Deardru said. “You must
rescue your Mistress.”

“I . . . I can’t! I can’t kill Feich, I—”

“Don’t be ridiculous, child. You can walk on water.”

“No, I mean . . .” How could she know? Had she spied on his
lesson by the Gwyr’s pool? Why should she do that? He shook his head, wishing
the effects of the enemy Weave would wear off.

He grasped at a passing thought. “Taminy would despise me if
I killed Daimhin Feich.”

Deardru glanced back at him. “To save her life? Her honor?
You are mistaken.”

Not even for that, he
thought, and fell silent, trying to decide what he could do now that he had
decided what he couldn’t do.

Stopping, going back into the fortress, running to Taminy’s
room to see if she was there, none of these things occurred to him. His body
followed Deardru as if on a tether, but his mind, pacing its narrow confines,
came to a decision; he knew what he would do when he faced Daimhin Feich.

Outside the gates of Hrofceaster, Airleas took the
initiative, moving ahead of Deardru down the rocky defile toward the trailhead
from Airdnasheen. He had not quite drawn level with the village gate when he
sensed the enemy presence and felt of the boundaries of their camp—physical
boundaries and aislinn. The first he could circumvent, the second, he did not
want to.

He announced himself to the watching, listening aidan and
experienced a backwash of surprise. In the middle of the dark trail, he stopped
and pulled his sword from its scabbard. Behind him, Deardru-an-Caerluel gasped,
pulling up short.

“Run,” he told her. “Hide.” He tossed the sword away from
him onto the ground.

After a moment of hush, several figures arose before him as
if out of the ground. One of them picked up his sword and moved to stand before
him. In the dusky figure’s hands the sword blade flashed with sudden light,
glowing a bright and silvery blue. By its light, Airleas could see that the man
he faced was Daimhin Feich.

“Is this surrender, Cyneric?” Feich asked him. “I rather
expected an attack.”

“I’ve come to offer myself to stand as prisoner in Taminy’s
place. Take me back to Creiddylad, but free my Lady.”

Feich smiled. “Oh, I’ll take you back to Creiddylad, rest
assured. But I can’t possibly free ‘your Lady.’ I don’t have her.” He glanced
up over Airleas’s head. “Thank you, Mistress, your help has been invaluable.”

Airleas turned his spinning head. It came as no surprise to
see Deardru-an-Caerluel still standing on the trail behind him.

She did not return the Regent’s smile. “If you can force
Taminy-Osmaer out of Hrofceaster,” she said, “I will consider myself well
paid.”

oOo

“I have the boy,” he told his cousin, and Ruadh felt an
unaccountable surge of relief.

He settled himself before the brazier in Daimhin’s gaudy
tent. “The Hillwild woman delivered him to you?”

“He practically delivered himself. I expected him to come
wielding his sword. Instead, he surrendered it.”

“Because of your Weaving, you think.”

“Mine, Coinich Mor’s, and the Hillwild’s. She gave him an
amulet that, according to her, amplified any inyx she directed at him. Homey
magic, that, don’t you think?”

“I couldn’t say. But we have what we came for, now. We can
return to Creiddylad.”

“Not yet. There is one more thing I need to accomplish
here.”

Suddenly uneasy, Ruadh asked, “Surely, you don’t intend to
try to take Hrofceaster?”

“Not Hrofceaster, itself. Only what it holds—Taminy-Osmaer.”

“Are you mad? The longer you stay here, the more time you
give her to retaliate. I know you think you and your Wickish consorts are very
clever and powerful, but—”

“We are both clever and powerful. Taminy imagines that she
is dealing with one power, but she is dealing with two—three if you count that
traitorous Hillwild woman. And she is afraid of me.”

“This awesome woman is afraid of you?”

“So Lilias tells me.”

The uneasiness of Ruadh’s soul increased. “Cousin, you have
the Cyneric. You can return to Creiddylad and set yourself up as his Regent and
Durweard. You can marry your Deasach Cwen, if you would. You can pacify the
Houses and harness the Assembly. With Airleas in hand, you will have power in
Caraid-land. If Taminy-Osmaer is, as you say, afraid of you, you can keep her
at bay, as well. Why must we continue to put ourselves through this hardship? So
you can avenge yourself on this woman for some former humiliation?”

Daimhin shook his head. “I don’t want revenge, Ruadh. You
scoff at my ‘Wickish consorts,’ as you call them. You may be right in thinking
them an inferior sort. Coinich Mor is certainly rough-cut and Lilias is a
foreigner. But what of a Divine consort? Would you scoff at that?”

“A Divine consort? What do you mean?” Ruadh knew what he
meant, but somehow hoped the words that came from Daimhin’s mouth would prove
his suspicions false. They did not.

“Taminy-Osmaer, cousin. That’s who I would wed. Imagine
it—Light and Darkness, the Divine and the Profane, the Blameless and the
Wicked. The power, you see, is in the contrast.”

Insanity. It wore his cousin’s face. If he could, he would
gather his men and leave this moment. Only honor prevented him.

“How can you hope to harness that power? She is a minion of
the Meri. Ultimately, the Meri will prevail.”

“The beauty of her strength, is that it is constrained, even
confined, by a peculiar weakness. She could destroy me—I believe she would have
destroyed me, once—but, you see, her nature prevents her. She is incapable of
deviousness; I am deviousness itself. She abhors violence; I find it
exhilarating. She is above lust; I am lust incarnate. She serves a Mistress of
Light; I serve a Master of Darkness.”

Ruadh could only sit and shiver with the cold that sat in
the pit of his stomach. “You’ve spoken like this before—about your Dark Master.
What Master do you mean? Surely, you don’t believe in Cadder’s Grand Demon?”

“What do you know of that?”

“Only what he’s sniveled in his frequent moments of whining.
Every evil thing in the world is the fault of this mighty Demon. Most
especially, is Taminy-Osmaer the fault of this Demon. It would not occur to
Minister Cadder that evil is a product of the human mind, born out of human
weaknesses.”