The Dark Mirror (74 page)

“Not difficult. Uist’s known to be somewhat eccentric; some would go further and call him addled in his wits. His thoughts inhabit a different
plane from those of ordinary men; the simplest interpretation of that is to call him crazy. Who but a madman would decide to walk back from Circinn alone, so close to Midwinter?”

“That doesn’t matter. Folk will recognize the truth. Besides, Faolan will make his prisoner talk: how he was paid to track Bridei, to eliminate him before the candidates were presented; who was handing out purses of
silver for such a deed.”

“Where is this would-be assassin? He should be questioned also about the earlier attempt, when a man was poisoned at my own table.”

“He’s not here at Caer Pridne. Faolan has him safe.”

“That Gael’s a busy fellow. The others, I understand, lie buried somewhere in the dunes.”

“What others?” Aniel raised his brows in mock surprise.

“Mm,” Talorgen mused. “And we’re certain
Bargoit knows nothing of what we plan?”

“Oh, he’ll be suspicious. After all, his assassins failed to report back. And he knows Bridei’s still alive; that’s unless he thinks our story of a bad case of the flux is designed to cover a desperate search for a new candidate. Unlikely; we’d simply put Carnach up instead. At least he’d be better than a southerner.”

“I’ll be happier when Bridei opens
his eyes and begins to talk sense to us,” Talorgen said. “In that I’m fully in agreement with you, my friend. Midwinter
is almost upon us; he’s lain there in apparent sleep for a long time, and that must take a toll on body and mind. We don’t want him weak and incapable. We don’t want to have to use a proxy; Bridei is his own best spokesman. He has a gift with words; his speeches, plain as they
are, stir men’s spirits. All the same, one of us must be ready to speak for him.”

“Broichan will want that privilege,” Aniel said.

“Broichan? That would be unwise. He has many enemies and is much feared. A more straightforward man would do better.”

“Yourself?” asked Aniel wryly.

“Hardly. I’d do it only if there were no other suitable choice. Ged, perhaps?”

There was a tap at the door and
Carnach came in, ducking under the lintel. He was the tallest man at Caer Pridne, dwarfing even Breth. “How is he?” the red-haired man inquired.

“Much the same. Getting better, we’re told. This makes for an anxious time of waiting. We were discussing the matter of proxies.”

“I’ll do it,” Carnach offered immediately, sitting down beside Talorgen and reaching for the ale. “That would have some
impact, I think. I step up, and instead of doing what they all expect, that is, announcing my own claim and setting out my own qualities, I tell the assembled voters I’m there to present Bridei as the future king of Fortriu; Bridei who, a whisper told me, is absent only because his main rival in the race tried to have him murdered before he could so much as state his intention to claim. That would
make an impression. Mind you, I’d prefer that Bridei himself be well enough to stand up and speak. We all want that. That wretched Bargoit! I long to set my hands around that fellow’s neck and give a good, hard squeeze.”

“You’re not alone in that, believe me,” said Aniel. “But we’ll snuff him out with words, not deeds. In setting up this attempt at assassination, Drust the Boar has sealed his
own fate. Thank the gods for Faolan.”

“Somehow,” Talorgen said, “that seems most inappropriate. Whatever it is we must thank for the presence of that Gael, gods are most certainly not a part of it.”

UIST SAT BY
Bridei’s pallet, wiping his patient’s brow with a damp cloth and studying the planes and shadows of the unconscious
features, where
nothing at all seemed to hint at life. Nonetheless, Bridei breathed; there seemed an eternity between each outward sigh, each inward gasp, as if to move from that point of balance took, each time, a tremendous strength of will. It was the gods, perhaps, that drove his choice to live. He had lain thus, deep in unconsciousness, for many days. Those brief times when he seemed to struggle
toward awareness were disturbed by dark visions; what words he had uttered had been garbled even beyond a druid’s understanding. They had been something less than honest, Uist and Broichan, in their reports to the others, trusted friends as they were. Even Aniel, even Talorgen did not know how this had drained them; how close despair had crept. Broichan’s features were gaunt with exhaustion.
Garth slept now on a bench by the wall, covered with a cloak, while Breth busied himself heating water in preparation to bathe the unconscious man. Bridei’s guards would not let the Caer Pridne servants in; none but the inner circle might tend to this fallen leader. Beyond the door, Aniel’s bodyguard stood on watch; Talorgen’s personal attendants were stationed on the wall-walk beyond. Of Faolan
there was no sign today. He had much to occupy him. All the same, each night the Gael returned to keep vigil by Bridei’s bedside, a silent presence among them, taking his turn with the changing of linen, the brewing of draughts, the lifting of the patient and the washing of his ever thinner body; remaining wakeful through the night while the others slept, all but the two druids, dark-clad, shadow-eyed
Broichan and wild Uist of the flowing white garments and aureole of snowy hair. These two did not seem to sleep. They rested standing in meditation, or kneeling with open, unseeing eyes, listening for the whispering voices of the gods. In the morning Faolan would slip away without a word.

“He will wake soon,” Broichan said now, moving to look down on his foster son. “What possessed them, I wonder?
When I trusted his security to Faolan, I did not expect the Gael to take such a risk. Setting out to draw an attack is all very well, but you don’t place the man you’re paid to keep safe in such a perilous position. If you hadn’t happened along with staff in hand, my friend, who knows if Faolan could have felled two and captured the third so neatly?”

“A fortunate coincidence,” said Uist with
a cryptic smile. “Who’d have thought my mare would have carried me by that spot at precisely the right time? I did rather enjoy my small lightning bolt; my staff still quivers in memory when I set my hand on it. Even Faolan was alarmed. But not for
long; the fellow is every bit as capable as Drust always told us. Bridei should keep him.”

“He put Bridei at great risk, sending him out alone thus,
at night, and only lightly armed. We could have lost him.”

There was something in Broichan’s voice that gave the old druid pause. Uist looked in the other’s eyes and smiled again. “I imagine sometimes,” he said quietly, “how it must be for a father of many sons, of many daughters. So many moments of terror; so many small griefs, so many anxieties. I find myself doubly glad I embraced the way
of the gods and never took a wife. Not that I wasn’t tempted, a long time ago. Fola was a delightful girl, so tiny and so determined. A little like that fosterling of yours, what was her name?”

“Tuala.” A tight mask descended over Broichan’s features, forbidding further questions. But Uist, too, was a druid.

“Didn’t Fola send a messenger here some time ago, just after the attack on Bridei? What
did she want? Have you passed on this news?”

“She knows my foster son is sick. Her message to me was personal.”

“I see.” Uist did not ask what kind of personal news had required the despatch of a rider in such inclement weather. “Of course,” he went on, “you do understand that any information that might relate in any way whatever to our plan cannot be classified as personal, however private
it may seem to you. If it’s to do with the girl, Tuala, it may well relate to Bridei. And he is the center of our plan. Do not forget what we agreed, the five of us; do not forget our undertaking of total honesty”

“It was personal.”

A tap at the door; Aniel looked in. “We’ve had visitors,” he said. “Tharan and Eogan. Expressed their sorrow that Bridei was still laid low and told me somewhat
indirectly that we had their support, since Carnach won’t be in the contest. Tharan wouldn’t put it in so many words, of course; Carnach has wounded his mentor’s pride with this decision. Still, I read this as genuine enough.”

Broichan nodded. “Good,” he said. “I may detest your fellow councillor, but I do know we can rely on him to put the best interests of Fortriu before any other considerations.
This wretched attempt on Bridei’s life has served only to unite us against the south. We still don’t have the numbers, for all that. And time grows ever shorter.”

“Bridei’s got that under control.” To their surprise it was the bodyguard, Breth, who spoke from his place by the hearth. “He’ll get his numbers.”

“I hope you’re correct,” said Aniel drily. “Bridei’s hardly in a position of control
right now I pray the gods restore him in time, and that we can trust his forward planning.”

“He’s to be king,” said Breth simply “Of course you can trust him.”

“
SO,” DR ESE IDA SAID
, pacing the rush-strewn floor of the women’s quarters, “the girl has fled Banmerren. Gone wild. I suppose it was inevitable that she’d do so
eventually. She could never have become one of Fola’s sisterhood; that was a misguided notion from the first. She’ll have gone back. Couldn’t help herself.”

“Gone back?” echoed Ferada. “Gone where?”

“Back beyond the margin; back where she came from. Back where her kind belong. It’s not helpful news for us. If the girl’s gone, we can’t make use of her. I’d hoped her devotion to her foster brother,
and his to her, might offer an opportunity . . . How is Bridei? What’s being said?”

Ferada stared at her mother in surprise. “Why would I know any more than you do, Mother? I’ve only just come back from Banmerren. As far as I know, Bridei’s improving, but still too sick to have visitors. That’s what Ana said; she tried to go and see him and they wouldn’t let her in. If you want news, why don’t
you ask Father?”

“Your father’s as tight as a limpet on this particular topic,” Dreseida said. “But I’ve heard enough to unsettle me. It seems you were right for once, daughter. Against all logic, it appears the chosen candidate is not to be the obvious one after all. They really are intending to put Bridei up, that’s if he recovers in time. Bridei, that mealymouthed scholar with his head in
the clouds. Broichan’s pawn. I can scarcely believe it! The blood runs but weakly in that boy. His father is a man of Gwynedd, a foreigner; his mother’s only a distant cousin of Drust the Bull. How can such a half-breed have the strength to serve as king of Fortriu? It’s all Broichan’s doing. Druids carry too much power. That man should have been stopped before his influence began to corrupt others.
Others who should have known better. It is regrettable. It is a great deal more than regrettable.” Dreseida was twisting her hands together, pacing up and down like a caged creature.

Ferada cleared her throat nervously “But, Mother . . . I agree that it is somewhat surprising if Carnach has agreed to support Bridei’s claim rather
than stand against him. But it does make sense, when you think
about it. We need just one strong candidate from the north, not two or three, if we are to have the numbers to defeat Drust the Boar. Certainly, as you said, Carnach is the obvious choice. Or was. They’re saying Bridei has widespread support now, and that it’s growing daily. His honesty, his courage, his gift for plain speaking are much admired. And King Drust the Bull thought highly of him. That
is widely known, and must count strongly in his favor.”

The look her mother turned on her then made Ferada suck in her breath. She stood very still, wondering what sin she had committed this time; what punishment would be meted out.

“Very well, Ferada,” said Dreseida briskly, clasping her hands before her. Ferada saw her mother’s attempt to restore calm to her tight features; to will the fury
from her eyes. To a stranger, it would have been entirely convincing. “A slight change of plan. We’ve only a matter of days before Drust the Boar arrives and all of this begins in earnest. The moment Bridei recovers sufficiently, you must create an opportunity to talk with him in private. Today, tomorrow, no later.”

“But, Mother—you know how tight the guard is around him. Even more so now, with
the election close and Bridei so sick.”