Crystal Rose (6 page)

The Crystal was close enough at hand, physically, but
removed from the new Regent across the estuary and within the stronghold of the
Shrine at Ladhar’s broad back. More than that, the Stone was removed from him
by subjects who would as soon see him dead as set before it. His threat to Cwen
Toireasa that he would take the Throne in her son’s stead amounted to bluster.
Such a move was the surest way of forcing the Houses to open rebellion, which
the House Feich, populous and powerful though it was, could not withstand
alone. Among the twelve other Houses of Caraid-land, allies must be had and,
just now, the Chieftains and elders of those Houses were being singularly
tight-lipped about their loyalties.

The Stone, sitting on its pedestal within Ochanshrine, could
not be drawn upon for aid without the intervention of someone capable of
wielding its power. Daimhin Feich needed the Osraed.

Or what was left of them, Ladhar mused grimly. The irony was
that he needed them to an end that could ultimately prove their undoing—if he
shared Colfre’s dislike of the Osraed, of the Hall, of anything that diluted
the power of the Throne. He claimed he did not, for all he was brutally honest
in his disparaging of things spiritual.

Another irony. Daimhin Feich was a puzzle, and the last
thing in the world Abbod Ladhar wanted was another puzzle.

Feich reached him, breathing hard, as were the two armed
guards behind him. Ladhar’s eyes fell on the guards’ colors with bemusement. They
were not Feich.

Catching the Abbod’s look, Daimhin Feich grinned. “We have
allies, Abbod. The House Dearg has fallen into our column.”

The two men strolled toward the Abbis; the guards remained
to keep an eye on the boat and the bank of the estuary.

“And will this suffice to take Halig-liath?” asked Ladhar.

Feich shook his head. “Not and hold Creiddylad. Ruadh
assessed Halig-liath’s fortifications and defensibility while we were there
last. We had over a hundred men with us, but my cousin informs me twice that
number would scarcely be enough. Between the forces of Ren Catahn and the Claeg
they could easily defend the ridge. And the ridge is our only point of assault . . . unless, of course, we teach our horses to fly.” He shot Ladhar a sideways
look. “What do you say, Abbod? Does the power of the Crystal run to flying
horses?”

“It has never been tried,” said Ladhar dryly. He was weary
of Feich’s constant teasing.

“Hmm. Then too, we’d have to be able to guard our flank from
rearward attack. That ridge would make a dandy trap. No, we need to field a
large enough force to secure the town. And we need enough men skilled with
heavy weaponry to be able to take out Halig-liath’s front gate.”

He paused for a few strides, tilted his head and said, “Or
we need a miracle. Is the Stone up to a miracle?”

Ladhar had once had a raven drop onto his window sill and
fix him with a gaze like that one. He’d thrown a walnut at the raven. Today his
pockets were empty.

“The Stone was much abused by that Nairnian bitch. I don’t
think it has quite recovered.”

Feich seemed amused. “Abbod, your language shocks me! ‘That
Nairnian bitch,’ indeed.”

They stepped into the Abbis and made their way along the
curving outer corridor toward Ladhar’s chambers.

“By
the way, Abbod, that was a fine address you delivered last Cirke-dag. Taminy-Osmaer as
Evil incarnate—very
clever. I don’t
think even I could have dreamed that up. A few more speeches like that and
every able-bodied man in Creiddylad will volunteer to take Halig-liath.”

Ladhar snorted. “Perhaps you’ve not noticed the make-up of
our congregation these days. Able-bodied men are a conspicuous minority. My
addresses are delivered, for the most part, to old men and women and their
minor children and grandchildren. Every last one of them terrified. Every last
one of them seeking familiarity as insulation against change. Now, if it’s
able-bodied young
women
you want,
we’ve no shortage of those. Parents drag them in by the score to hear my dire
warnings, while they cower on their benches, afraid Colfre’s Wicke will get
them. No, Regent Feich, the only army you’ll raise among that lot will carry
canes and distaffs, not swords.”

Feich heaved an exaggerated sigh and came to a halt before
the entrance to the Abbis’s inner sanctum: The Shrine of the Osmaer Crystal.
“Abbod, for a religious man, you are surprisingly negative. Where’s your
faith?”

Heat rose in Ladhar’s bowels. “What do you know of faith?”

Feich glanced aside through the carved and filigreed
doorway. “That I have it in abundance. Faith in myself, first of all. Faith in
my fellow Caraidin.”

The Abbod chuckled. “And which Caraidin might your faith
reside in?”

“The fence-sitters, Abbod. Those who wait. For the past
weeks, rumors have been circulating that the Taminists forcibly abducted Riagan
Airleas from Mertuile.”

“Rumors you started.”

Feich inclined his head. “I think it timely to acknowledge
those rumors. Yes, the whole story must come out; Cwen Toireasa, seduced by
your walking Evil, Taminy, handed her own child and Colfre’s heir over to her.
Our poor Cyne, the Wicke’s unwitting champion, was so smitten by guilt at his
own culpability that he took his life.”

Feich wandered to the Shrine’s doorway and peered down the
long aisle into its sacred heart. “Now I, Cyne Colfre’s last friend and his heir’s
Regent, propose that every man with any loyalty to the Throne arise to aid me
in retrieving our future.”

A frisson of inexplicable anxiety shivered its way up
Ladhar’s spine. “A noble speech. Just how do you propose to ‘acknowledge’ these
rumors?”

“I propose to post bans; I propose
you
shout them from the altar.”

“I never shout, Regent Feich.”

Feich grinned at him. “You will now. There is a sea of
passion awash in Caraid-land. We must harness it.”

“To what end? Do you really intend to put Airleas Malcuim
before the Stone? He’s a Taminist.”

“He’s a child. And do I really have any choice? Imagine, for
a moment, that Airleas were to perish while in my hands. What do you think
would become of me?”

Ladhar had considered that, of course, but wasn’t sure Daimhin
Feich, in his strange and sometimes passion, had. When they’d returned from
Halig-liath he’d been fired with the notion that he could simply declare
Airleas delinquent or heretic and set himself before the Stone of Ochan to
accept the Circlet and Throne. Confronted with harsh reality, his fire had been
forced to cool, but that feverish light had not quite left his eyes; it made
Ladhar queasy.

“I doubt your life would be worth much under the
circumstances,” he said.

“My life and that of every other male Feich. Even after all
that’s happened, the Claeg are leaning toward Halig-liath and I’ve no idea how
many other Houses have similar attitudes. They’re tight as a pail of clams. But
if they thought for one moment that I was responsible for harm coming to that
boy, they’d wipe out the House Feich to a man.”

“So you’re content to rule from behind the Throne?”

“Or from beside it as Durweard. But no, not content. Not
forever.”

“Ah. And how do you propose to make the transition from
being Regent to being Cyne without leaving yourself open to deadly outrage?”

“There are any number of ways. They all take time. Once I
have Airleas in hand, I’ll have enough of that.”

He turned back into the Shrine, then, stepping through the
arched doorway onto the uppermost level of the circular room. Below him, the
broad, shallow tiers fell away to its lowest point, where the Osmaer Crystal
sat on its ornate wooden pedestal. The perfect facets of the Stone winked at
him through the semi-gloom of the dimly lit chamber.

“Tell me, Abbod, do you intend to bring the Stone to Cirke
again this week?” His steps continued to carry him closer to the heart of the
Shrine.

Ladhar hurried to catch him up, his spine a-quiver again
with uncomfortable static. “It’s an important symbol in these chaotic times. I
believe it comforts the people.”

Feich’s pale eyes flicked sideways to the Abbod’s flushed
face. “And reminds them where the real power lies, eh?”

I only wish I knew,
Ladhar thought,
where
the real power lies
. He was immediately
contrite. But, God, the Stone seemed so dim. Aloud, he said, “We’ll be more
comfortable in my offices, Daimhin.”

Feich stopped halfway down the aisle, his eyes still on the
Crystal. “The fire seems to have gone out of it.”

Ladhar’s face flushed even hotter. “I told you, Daimhin, it
was sorely abused by the Wicke.”

“Drained? Is that what you’re telling me—that she
drained
the power from the mighty Stone
of Ochan?”

“The Stone of Ochan,” Ladhar said, as if instructing a first
year Prentice, “has no power of its own. It is merely the purest of channels.”

“Which she defiled.”

“Yes.”

Feich fixed him with wintry eyes and asked, “How do you
propose to cleanse it?”

“That is a matter for the Osraed to consider, Regent. It can
be of no concern to you.”

“Oh, but it can.”

“You, sir, are an unbeliever. You’ve taken great pains to
make that apparent. The Osmaer can surely be no more to you than a chunk of
ancient rock.”

Feich smiled. It was a saintly smile—insidious, charming. “I
meant only what you said before: The Osmaer is a symbol of the Covenant. If the
Caraidin believe in it, adhere to it; if it helps hold this kingdom together,
then it damn well
must
concern me.”
He gave the Stone a last glance. “Shall we retire to your chambers?”

Ladhar moved quickly to usher him from the room, sparing the
Crystal a backward glance. A trick of light made him think he saw a ruddy light
pulse deep within it. A trick that made his heart leap in his breast.

He heard Feich draw a hissing breath and realized that he
had seen it too.

Good
, he thought,
perhaps now he’ll cease his scoffing.

oOo

“Now,” said Taminy softly, “here is the next aislinn.”

A picture filled her mind, moved, sounded, breathed aromas.
For the next several moments, the only sound in the small, candlelit room high
on Hrofceaster’s massive flank, was the faint rustle of fabric, the flutter of
flame. Taminy watched the row of faces rapt in concentration. She knew they
were seeking to clarify the multi-sensory image, calling up whatever duans they
thought might aid them, clutching their crystals tightly.

Too tightly.

“Relax,” she murmured. “Sing the thought through the stone,
don’t try to push it through with your bare hands. The crystal responds to the
aidan, not brute strength.”

Along the row of meditative waljan, fingers loosened
self-consciously.

“Good. Now, breathe. Send the aislinn out with the air . . .
and focus.”

In relaxed hands, the crystals glowed softly or intensely as
the nature of the owner dictated. Then, in the center of the row, a stone took
quick fire. Above the flare of light, Aine-mac-Lorimer’s face displayed a
triumphant smile. Then she caught up the slate that lay on the braid rug before
her crossed legs and scribbled hasty words. One by one, the others in the row
echoed her as their crystals flared and pulsed—Gwynet, Iseabal, Eyslk, Phelan
Backstere.

When the last scratch had been made on the last slate,
Taminy called the light-globes in the room to full flood. Then she turned her
thoughts to the next room where five more waljan, in Desary Hillwild’s charge,
sat in similar contemplation.

In a moment, the chamber door opened and Desary appeared,
trailing Wyvis and Rennie Lusach, Cluanie Backstere and Airleas. They hurried
to find themselves places on the large braid rug, clutching their slates. All
eyes turned to Taminy.

“Aine,” she said, “you were the first to finish. Give tell.”

Aine’s face flushed with pleasure. She whipped a lock of
bright hair behind her ear and glanced at her slate. “Well, the aislinn I got
was about the Osmaer Crystal. I saw the Crystal on its pedestal in a dark,
circular room—a room like a shallow bowl. And I heard rainfall and a Wardweave
being sung and I smelled incense and roses. The aislinn
seemed to say that the Stone needed protection.” She glanced aside
at Taminy. “I don’t understand that part. But then I touched Rennie Lusach and
sent the aislinn to him. And he sent back . . .” Here, she glanced at the slate,
now reposing in her lap. “A small host of mounted men coming through . . . a
bowl? And marching under a banner of red with a black . . . glob of some sort on
it.”

“It’s a rock!” wailed Rennie and his sister, Wyvis, whinnied
laughter.

Taminy hushed them. “And the meat of the message?”

“That one of the Houses marches on Hrofceaster.” Aine
blinked, hazel eyes fearful. “Is that so, Taminy?”

Taminy smiled and spread her hands. “Can someone else shed
light on this dire aislinn?”

Iseabal-a-Nairnecirke spoke up. “The message to send was
right . . . or at least, it was the same one
I
got. Of course, the Stone needs protection, Aine. Cusps always seem to put it
in dire jeopardy of being taken off by folks—like Buchan Claeg during the reign
of Kieran the Superstitious.”

“Well, you’d more chance to study history than I, Isha,
being an Osraed’s daughter. A Lorimer’s girl doesn’t get those opportunities.”

Taminy halted the argument with a thought. Both girls jumped
and looked up, guiltily. Taminy nodded at Iseabal who cleared her throat and
went on.

“Airleas sent to me. His message was that Iobert Claeg was
leading his men through the Cauldron pass bringing news and more pilgrims to
Hrofceaster. It was clear as day, Taminy.” She gave Airleas an appreciative
glance. “I saw the Claeg banner snapping on its standard and the color of the
Claeg’s eyes and I swear I could count the whiskers in his beard. I smelled wet
wind and stone . . . and pine.”