Crystal Rose (59 page)

Ladhar shook his head, shedding shreds of light from
whitening hair. “I was never that. I was never your superior in anything but
social rank.”

“You were a traitor.”

“I was . . . until the very end. Until someone offered me a
choice. Then I realized what a traitor I had been to work against Taminy—to
work for Daimhin Feich. That was a lesson hard-learned.”

Cadder could take no more. The horse was becoming
increasingly maddened, as was he. What this being said simply could not be
true. He would not believe that he’d sold himself over to the wrong side of
this. He could not believe it. So, with one great effort, Caime Cadder shouted
his prancing mount forward, intending to ride right through Ladhar’s shade. But
the horse whirled and bolted off the trail, flailing through drifting snow into
a close-knit group of trees. Off balance, Cadder could do nothing more than
cling to the saddle in desperation as the twining branches rushed to meet him.

He only barely saw the contorted limb that caught him about
the throat. There was no time to dodge or cry out. Hands gripping the pommel,
feet sunk in the stirrups, spirit buried in its own sick pride, Caime Cadder
contributed as much to his death as did the ill-placed branch.

Rise up! Rise up with such
spirit that it will fill the human world with life. Light the lamp of love
where you gather and shed joy in every heart. Love the stranger as you love
your own faithful friends. If someone strikes you, seek his friendship; if he
wounds you, be a balm to his wounds; if he taunts you, love him; if he blames
you, praise him; if he poisons you, offer him honey; if he would take your
life, save his. Even if he is the essence of suffering, be his healing. Even if
he is a thorn, be his rose.

This is the way to light
the world, to turn a prison into a palace, to turn earth into heaven. These are
the heart of the Meri’s Law, the teachings for this new time.

— Taminy-Osmaer
Book of the New Covenant

She could see herself through their eyes and knew she was
a strange sight—sitting in Catahn’s high-backed chair before the largest hearth
in the Great Hall like a Cwen in boy’s clothes, with Skeet crouched at her feet
like a loyal pup. The Stone of Ochan sat, glowing, in her lap; she glowed with
it—as much from within as from its reflection or the fire’s light.

Each penitent arrived before her to bow, beg forgiveness and
promise fealty with greater or lesser displays of trepidation.

The Dearg was first, with his several House Elders. He
groveled from real fear, laying his opposition to her at Coinich Mor’s door,
because he would never—no, never—have thought to make himself her enemy if he
had not been befuddled by his brother’s wicked wife and her Feich lover. Now the
scales had been ripped from his eyes and he saw the truth. Had she a midge of
mercy in her heart for an old chieftain?

Taminy smiled and forgave him and his. It was a mightily
relieved Eadrig Dearg who walked out of Hrofceaster to tell his men they would
begin rebuilding the burned-out Hillwild village that very day—that very hour.

Lilias Saba was next, not nearly so terrified as The Dearg,
but clearly awed. She had Iseabal brought out of her camp and returned her to
Taminy’s arms.

“You forego your revenge?” Taminy asked.

The Raven answered with a wry smile. “Well, I fancy myself a
creature of honor, but my father didn’t raise a fool. I imagine my little army
is no match for the forces you command, Lady. And I’ve no desire to join my
poor brother in death.”

“You wouldn’t die by my hand.”

Lilias’s black brows arched upward. “No?”

“No.”

“Did my brother . . . die by your hand or by your thought? Or
by hers?” She nodded toward Iseabal, now warming near the huge central hearth
in Aine’s protective embrace.

“No. Be assured, Lilias Saba, your brother’s true murderer
is dead. It was Rodri Madaidh’s sword that ended his life, surely, and Iseabal
was the reason for him falling under that sword. But the man who put Iseabal
into his hands—that man is dead.”

“Daimhin Feich.” Lilias’s brow furrowed as she considered
that. “He was a fool. He might have had the Throne of Caraid-land, had he been
willing to settle for that.”

Had he been willing to settle. Watching Ruadh Feich approach
her, sober and defensive, Taminy turned the thought in her head. It was
fruitless to wish for what might have been—a virtuous Cyne Colfre; pure-hearted
Osraed; a Daimhin Feich who was, if unscrupulous, at least not obsessive. How
many lives had been blighted because of Colfre’s avarice, Ladhar’s blindness
and Feich’s madness?

“The Banarigh was right,” Ruadh told her when it was his
turn. “My cousin was a fool. He didn’t believe you could destroy him—or rather,
that you
would
destroy him.”

“Ruadh Feich,” Taminy told him, equally solemn, “I did not
destroy your cousin.”

“The Crystal, then?”

“No, not even Ochan’s Crystal is responsible for his
destruction. The Crystal is . . . a passive tool. Certainly, it’s attuned to
Light as opposed to darkness. Perhaps, in that way, you could say that the
Crystal destroyed Daimhin Feich.”

Ruadh shook his head, uncomprehending. “If not you, if not
the Crystal, then what?”

“He demanded that it destroy the Enemy. Not
his
enemy—at that moment, Coinich
Mor—but
the Enemy
. The Crystal’s
Enemy, the Enemy of Light.”

Ruadh sucked in a sharp breath. “He destroyed himself,
that’s what you’re telling me. That for want of the right pronoun, he destroyed
himself and his Dearg Wicke.” The corner of his mouth twitched. “You’ll think
me a barbarian, Lady, but somehow, in my cousin’s case, that seems . . . fitting.
He was more than a fool. He was mad.

“Every morning, I would wake and wonder what new delusion he
would seize on today. Would he be an aingeal of darkness, or darkness itself?
Would he sit on the Throne of Caraid-land, or of the entire world? Would he
marry one powerful woman, or three? I began to consider whether The Feich would
think me a traitor or a hero to our House if I abandoned him.” He managed a wry
smile. “You have saved me, Mistress, from a most difficult decision.”

He made no protestations of lifelong loyalty after that, but
merely pledged himself to help rebuild Airdnasheen and then to put his men at
her disposal.

“There will be chaos in Creiddylad,” he added. “Perhaps the
best thing I can do is to escort Cyneric Airleas back to Mertuile where he can
be set before the Stone. A country shouldn’t be so long without its Cyne.”

“No, it shouldn’t,” Taminy agreed. “But it won’t be Mertuile
that sees the coronation of this Cyne. It would please me if you would escort
Airleas to Halig-liath. There he will receive the Circlet.”

She heard the murmur that went up among those who heard her.
In a word, she had changed a Rite of Succession that had been practiced for six
centuries.

Ruadh Feich did not react to that, but only to the course
the destination required they take. “You don’t mean to leave here until spring,
then? Surely, you must move sooner than that. Creiddylad—”

“Creiddylad is in the hands of Iobert Claeg and the Allied
Houses. But yes, we shall move sooner than that. Within the week, I think.”

“Lady, the weather! Surely, you can’t mean to take mounted
men along the Northern trail.”

Taminy smiled, feeling suddenly giddy with the absence of
Daimhin Feich’s dark threat and Coinich Mor’s secret presence.

“Weather, Ruadh Feich? What is weather?”

She rose and moved to the bank of windows that looked out
into Hrofceaster’s bustling forecourt. The mountain fog leaned close to the
window, as if eavesdropping. Taminy dismissed it with a wave of her hand. It
receded, lifting like a curtain, parting as if pulled by an invisible hand. The
stones of Hrofceaster turned from lead to gold, touches of snow-silver
ornamenting the battlements.

“You order the weather,” murmured Ruadh, and Taminy could
feel in him, for the first time, unadulterated fear. She felt something else,
too. She felt Skeet’s eyes on her and blushed under their wry regard.

“Don’t fear me, Ruadh Feich,” she told him. “The weather has
no mind of its own, unlike you. I may order a breeze now and again, but I can’t
order a man’s destiny.”

oOo

As Taminy had said, they prepared to leave for Nairne
within the week. The Banarigh Lilias had departed already to her own home, the
Dearg and Ruadh Feich both agreed to leave behind kinsmen who would continue to
help rebuild tattered Airdnasheen.

With a mixed contingent of Claeg, Dearg and Feich men under
Catahn’s command, they readied themselves for a long, careful descent to the
river vale at the foot of Baenn-an-loc.

Taminy was alone in her parlor when the door slipped quietly
open, admitting Deardru-an-Caerluel. Head high, the woman studied her in
silence, arms folded across her breasts, eyes dark with smug malice.

“So. You I lose to you, after all.”

“Lose to me?”

“Ah, I forget. You can’t read my thoughts as you do other’s.
I speak of Catahn. He tells me you are to wed at Halig-liath.”

Taminy nodded.

“Smug cat. Save your smiles for your lover and remind
yourself, often, that he was my lover first.”

“He was never that, Deardru.”

“You think not? What can you know? That much-vaunted Gift of
yours can’t even penetrate the simple Weaves of a villager. You think Daimhin
Feich acted alone? That he was some powerful Wicke you might be proud to have
defeated? He was—”

“A man with a strong, but unruly Gift that he never
mastered. He played other people in a way he could never manipulate his own
aidan. Coinich Mor stood behind him, hidden in his shadow. The Weaves were
hers, not his—I know that.”

Deardru’s eyes revealed her disappointment. “So, you guessed
a small part of the puzzle. Well, there’s more you don’t know.”

Taminy sighed and pulled something from the pocket of her
breeches, holding it out to the other woman on the palm of her hand.

Deardru frowned. “What—?”

“The amulet you gave Airleas. You used it to forge a Weaving
bond with him, to create a link you might ride your aidan upon straight to his
spirit. Yes, I knew it was you who betrayed him into Feich’s hands. He knew it
too . . . before he surrendered his sword.”

Deardru fought to keep her face from betraying her sudden
agitation. “Then why did he not flee? Why did he not Weave protection for
himself?”

“He thought he might save me disgrace if he played himself
into Feich’s control. You weren’t the only one working at him. Like me, he
armed himself against Daimhin Feich, not seeing that Coinich Mor wielded him
like a shield.”

“If you knew—if you
really
knew—why did you do nothing to me? Why did you say nothing to Catahn?”

“I did say something to Catahn. I asked him to show you
mercy. He wanted to throw you out into Feich’s camp, since you had allied
yourself with him.”

Deardru’s face was washed of all color. “Why did you not let
him do that?”

“Because of what Feich would have done with you. He fed on
people, Deardru. He devoured them, licking up every drop of their energies
while, in turn, Coinich Mor fed on him, leaving him just enough power to
sustain himself. Together, they would have drained you, the way they drained
Iseabal. The way they drained others.”

“I don’t understand you. I betrayed Airleas Malcuim into his
enemy’s hands, but it was you I sought to wound. I wanted you out of Catahn
Hageswode’s life. Airleas was only a playing piece I might move to that end.”

“Yes, I know that. But I’d condemn no one to Daimhin Feich’s
hands. No one. Not even someone who hates me as much as you do. Nor does
Airleas desire revenge. I think he pities you. I know I do.”

“I don’t care for your pity. I only want you gone.”

“You’ll get that wish. I will be gone from Hrofceaster, but
so will Catahn and Eyslk. Your husband and sons may also be gone, in their own
fashion.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean your husband knows what you did. He was here not
five minutes ago, pleading mercy for you. He’s a loyal man, Deardru. Which is,
perhaps, more than you deserve.”

“So, you told him, did you?”

“I told him nothing. Your youngest son saw you give the
Hageswode amulet to Airleas and heard you speak to him. He told your husband,
thinking it was a rather grand thing you did to give the Cyneric such a
powerful totem. When Airleas was in Feich’s hands, Garradh-an-Caerluel heard the
tale again from Broran and saw it in another light altogether. You think your
husband slow. He isn’t. He sees much; he simply prefers not to speak of it.”

“So, I shall lose everything I hold dear. Is that what you
tell me?”

“Do you hold them dear, your husband and sons? I had
wondered.”

Deardru-an-Caerluel drew herself up to her full height. “If
you think you can wound me, you’re to be disappointed. You’ve no power to hurt
me, Taminy-a-Cuinn.”

“No, but you’ve all power to hurt yourself.”

Flushed and furious, the Hillwild woman left the room in a
swirl of skirts, charging the atmosphere with her frustration and anger. Taminy
watched her go with sorrow, knowing that in the months and years ahead,
Deardru-an-Caerluel would realize her losses and inevitably find someone else
to blame for them—“Taminy did this to me,” she would say, or “this is because
Catahn Hageswode would not love me”, or even “it was my doltish husband who
kept me from what I could have had.” She might even one day blame the long dead
Raenulf for her woes.

“Don’t let it pain you so, Mistress, please.”

Taminy glanced up to see Airleas standing in the doorway.

Was he taller, suddenly? Was his voice more the voice of a
young man and less that of a child?