Crystal Rose (8 page)

“She’s got a mission for them. Something special she wants
them to do.”

“How d’you know that?”

He gave her a half-sly, half-abashed look from under his
thatch of black hair and shrugged.

Gwynet narrowed her eyes and peered at him with all her
senses. What she read made her gasp. “Airleas! You were listening in! To
her!
That’s
why you’d no ears for Desary’s questions. You were trying to-to pick their
thoughts! How
could
you?”

He had the good graces to look guilty. “I wanted to know
what was going on. I knew it was something important.”

Gwynet shook her head fiercely. “But it’s
wrong
, Airleas. To listen on
anybody
, leastwise
her
.”

“Well, I wasn’t listening on
her
; I can’t. She’s different. She doesn’t . . . leak. I was
listening to Aine and then Wyth when he came into it. Aine leaks a lot,” he
added, as if that excused him.

“It’s still wrong,” Gwynet said and eyed him warily. “Was it
something important?”

“She’s sending them away.”

Gwynet’s heart turned over uneasily and she gasped.

“Aye, it’s true. She’s sending them to teach the waljan in
Creiddylad and Nairne. They’ll be leaving with the Claeg.” His eyes moved back
to the glass diamonds. “I wish she’d send me to Creiddylad. Why didn’t she send
me, Gwyn?”

“What nonsense, Airleas! You’re Cyneric, now. And Daimhin
Feich is likely lying for you like a hungry cat. You’d be in such danger.”

Airleas sat straight up and leaned toward her. “Why? In
these clothes—” He tugged at his leather jacket. “I look just like any other
Hillwild boy. And my grandfather used to disguise himself and travel among the
people to see how well or poorly he was thought of. I could do as much. It’s
not as if I’ve a brand on my forehead that says, ‘Look! Here’s a Malcuim!’ No
one would even know me, Gwyn. I’d be just another Gyldan youth out to see the
real world.”

“But why? Where would you go? What would you do?”

Airleas’s eyes caught fire. “I’d go to Creiddylad, like I
said. I’d free the Stone of Ochan from Daimhin Feich’s foul hands. And then,
I’d avenge my father.”

Gwynet was stunned to sudden tears. Grasping Airleas’s
forearms, she looked right into his amber eyes and said, “Airleas Malcuim, how
can you think of venging
here
?
There’s more importful things than your Malcuim pride. She’s brought you here
to
teach
you how to be the Meri’s own
Cyne. Learning,
tha’s
your task, not
risking all to be your own hero. Listen to Taminy, Airleas. Don’t listen to
your proudful voices.”

“But it’s not
fair
,
Gwynet! It’s not fair that my father is dead and my mother is forced to run
away and live in this poor, cold, hateful place. Meanwhile, the man that put
her here roosts his behind on my father’s throne—on
my
throne.”

“Airleas, your father betrayed Taminy.” Gwynet was surprised
to hear those harsh words leave her lips.

Her companion seemed equally amazed. “No, it was Feich. He
betrayed them both. He
used
my
father.”

“It comes to the same end, so there’s no use you rewriting
the tell. We’re here and Feich is there and right now, tha’s as should be.”

Airleas glanced away again to the window. “You don’t
understand. You
can’t
understand.”

Gwynet gazed at him for a moment more, then pulled her hands
away and levered herself out of the window embrasure.

“I’m hungry. I’m going down to refectory and get my dinner.”

She turned on her heel and walked away down the right hand
corridor without once looking back.

oOo

The atmosphere in Taminy’s audience chamber was somber.
Somber, too, the hardened face of The Claeg as he gave his report to Taminy and
the Ren Catahn.

“Feich has not yet set himself before the Stone and knows he
dares not while Airleas lives. He talks of his duty to the Malcuim and seeks allies
now among the Houses. Still, I’ve no doubt the Throne is all he thinks about.”

Seated beside his uncle, Saefren Claeg watched Taminy digest
his uncle’s tell, his eyes never leaving her face. She always surprised him;
seeming so young, looking so serene, speaking as if she knew the inside of
everyone’s head. He was always struck with the delicacy of her.

A woman like that
should waste away and die up here
,
he
thought,
yet she thrives
.

There she sat on her couch wearing, of all things, a youth’s
breeches, twyla shirt, and long leather vest, her nearly white hair bound into
a fat plait that hung over one shoulder.

“Most of the Houses are indecisive, my Lady,” Iobert Claeg
continued. “They wait for signs, for portents, for intelligence about you and
The Malcuim. I’ve spoken, myself, to the Gilleas and the Jura. Both Houses
pledged themselves to the Meri’s service, but they sought surety, Lady, that
your service and Hers were one and the same.”

“Aye,” added Saefren, “they grilled Uncle long and
thoroughly—and their own Chieftains and elders as well.”

“And?” asked Catahn, glowering. The Hillwild Ren seemed
edgy—like a cat too near water. But then, he always seemed on the verge of
leaping or roaring.

Uncle Iobert smiled. It was rumored he never smiled, but the
truth was his smiles were simply lost beneath the steely coils of his facial
hair.

He turned his eyes to Taminy. “They are yours, Osmaer. And I
think, too, we may count on the Cuillean and the Graegam. I’ll make certain of
them on our trek westward. But the others . . .” He shrugged eloquently. “They
must be courted before they can be counted.”

“Damn the fickleness of the animal!” swore Catahn. He pushed
out of his chair and paced around the room beyond the hearthside circle. “Did I
not hear the Chieftains of these so-called
noble
Houses swear fealty to Taminy-Osmaer in the Great Hall at Mertuile? They heard
her claims and proofs, saw her miracles—”

“Miracles,” said Taminy quietly from her couch, “are
transient things. Like dreams, they seem vivid at first flush, then fade to
translucence.”

“Aye,” agreed The Claeg, “there is that. And, too, what a
Chief may pledge, his elder kinsman have a right to challenge. Many of those
elders were absent that day, and they’re a stubborn lot.” He leaned forward in
his chair, gray eyes on Taminy. “They wait, Lady. They wait for a Sign. From
you. You’ve disappeared from sight, their Cyne is dead and his heir has vacated
the capitol. As you say, they were willing to pledge to you at first flush, but
now they waver. I speak to them of you, but I can only offer them words.”

Taminy nodded. “You wish to carry away some direct message
from me. Some . . . token.”

“Aye. Exactly that.”

“When you leave, I’ll have something to send to each House.
Will you deliver these tokens, sir?”

Iobert bowed his head, submissively, making his nephew
twitch.

“Chill hell take me if I don’t, Lady. I’ll see that the
tokens are delivered.”

“Will that be dangerous to you and yours, sir?” Taminy
asked, and seemed genuinely concerned. “I think of Daimhin Feich. He must
surely suspect where your loyalties lie.”

Saefren’s ears pricked up at this. It was the first time
he’d heard the Golden Wicke indicate there might be minds she couldn’t fathom.
He caught his uncle’s eye, but the older Claeg gave no indication that he was
thinking similar thoughts.

“He may suspect all he wants,” Iobert said, “but he won’t
press me, because he doesn’t want to make an enemy of the Claeg. Feich would
like to believe Colfre’s death and your flight has changed everything up—that
it’s his game we play.”

“He may be more right than we’re ready to admit,” observed
Saefren, trying to rein in his uncle’s unbridled enthusiasm.

“I prefer to think,” said Iobert, slanting a fierce scowl at
him, “that things are at least even. Our greatest enemy is, as the Ren Catahn
so aptly puts it, the fickleness of the animal. That may also be our greatest
asset.”

“We’ve had reports from friends in Creiddylad,” Taminy said,
“that things there are . . . tense.”

Saefren Claeg grimaced. “An understatement. The place is a
powder barrel, needing only a spark to set it off. I’ve no guess as to how many
Taminists there are to Covenanters in the city—it’s not something you can get a
man to discuss with you on the street—but your burn-brows are under cover.”

Iobert Claeg glowered. “Saefren Claeg, your brattish tongue
is going to damn you. Speak with respect of the Lady’s Osraed.”

“Sorry, Uncle,” said Saefren, and was not the least bit
contrite.

Taminy smiled at him, surprising him to the core. Could she
not sense his doubt, his skepticism?

She said, “If you’ve no objection, sirs, I’ve a special
favor to ask of you.”

“Ask, Lady,” said Iobert before his nephew could pass
comment, “and consider it done.”

“I’ve special ‘tokens’ to send to Nairne and Creiddylad.
With winter coming our only way of communicating with the believers in those
places will be the aidan—the Gift. I need to send two of my waljan to be with
them. Iseabal-a-Nairnecirke must go to Nairne and Aine-mac-Lorimer to
Creiddylad. Are you willing to take them?”

Iobert Claeg bowed to her in acquiescence for the second
time that day, but his nephew wasn’t willing to be so accommodating.

“Women? You want us to take on a couple of
women
in such harsh weather?”

“Cailin, actually,” said Catahn, returning to his seat
beside Taminy. “But older girls; seventeen or eighteen. Healthy, hardy . . . and
exceptional.”

“And not afraid of inclement weather,” added Taminy.

Saefren fancied his glower was almost as intimidating as his
uncle’s. He gave Taminy the full force of it. “The trip down the mountain is
vicious. Cold, biting winds, chilling mists, rain. They’ll be expected to sleep
on freezing ground—”

“They know,” said the Golden Wicke. “They had to come
up
the mountain to get here.”

Of course they had. Saefren could have kicked himself for
his over-reaction. Now his uncle was scowling at him and the Osmaer woman was
grinning at him and Catahn’s great hands were flexing.

“If you object to my request, Saefren—”

“He does not object!” roared Iobert. He came to his feet,
quivering with suppressed rage. “That a kinsman of mine should utter such mealy
words—should dare to speak in sly opposition . . . !”

Taminy threw back her head and laughed. It was a girl’s
laugh—light, carefree, delighted. “Please, Chieftain Claeg, don’t flog your
poor nephew for his doubts. He’s entitled to them. After all, he wasn’t in
Creiddylad with you this summer. He didn’t see what you saw. He only heard
about it after the fact.”

“He should trust what he hears from his elder kinsman!”

I was wrong
,
Saefren realized,
my glower is nowhere
near as intimidating as Uncle’s
.

Taminy shook her head. “Trust is hard given in matters of
faith. Saefren is loyal to you and to his House. For now, that’s enough.”

“Aye, well . . .” Iobert Claeg settled another disgruntled
glance on his nephew, then turned his attention to Catahn. “We’d best see to
the arms I brought up and ride herd on that young Osraed you put in charge of
the pilgrims. I’ve family among ’em. Wanted to come up and study under the
Lady.” He dipped his head to Taminy. “I dare say there’re some of us could use
instruction in humility.”

Saefren hid a grin as he watched his uncle bow himself over
Taminy’s hand before taking his leave. Catahn made the same obeisance, then
trailed the Claeg Chieftain from the room, turning at the door to fix the still
stationary Saefren with a wolfish stare.

That was a disappointment. He had hoped for a moment alone
with her, though he was uncertain why. Perhaps he thought she might perform
some pretty petty miracle to ensnare him. But under the Hillwild’s regard, his
body moved involuntarily toward the door.

The Ren grunted and passed from view.

“Saefren Claeg.”

He turned back to look at her. She was an unlikely
visitation of the Divine in her breeches and leathers. She took several steps
toward him, stirring dust motes into the pattern of light from the northern
windows. They shimmered around her head, seeming to radiate from the pale gold
of her hair.

She stopped just before him, hands clasped demurely. “The
‘Golden Wicke’ will perform no Weaves to snare your soul, nor miracles to
capture your approval. I meant what I said about your doubts; you may keep them
as long as you need them.”

He marveled at that, covering himself with a chuckle. “Am I
such an open book to you, Mistress?”

She smiled. “Deliver my girls safely, please, Saefren
Claeg,” she said, and moved past him out the door.

Don’t look at beginnings.
Raise your eyes to the ends. This time is like the Spring sowing; it seems the
earth is barren and the weeds mighty and the stones hard, but the end-time
holds harvests and gatherings-in. Then, you’ll see the issue; then you’ll reap
the bounty.

— Utterances of Taminy-Osmaer,
Book of the Covenant, #14

He stood on the banks of the Halig-tyne and looked east
toward Nairne. Behind him, the Sun set into the Western Sea and color drained
from the sky in runnels of red and purple.

He waited for the Rose. It would appear in the sky over
Halig-liath and his invisible wings would take him almost there to watch it
shed its radiance over sleeping Nairne. But the night sky grew dark and stars
glinted, and above distant Halig-liath was nothing but a swathe of dewy black
velvet.

Anxiety tugged at him. Where was she? Had something happened
to her? He fidgeted. He heard himself moan.

You look for me in the
wrong place, Leal.