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.”
Daimhin smiled indulgently. “Would such a thing occur to you?”
“Yes.”
“Then you don’t believe the universe holds both the Spirit and Its Opposite, Its balance, Its undoing?”
“No.”
“Well, I do believe that. Moreover, I believe I am called to serve that Opposite. Coinich Mor tried to convince me that the power of my aidan arose within me. She spoke in ignorance. Oh yes, of course, she instructed me in how to Weave by tapping my own energies and those of others. But I can feel something outside me, beyond me, feeding those energies. It is this that Caime Cadder fears and I exult in. A Being of Darkness. The Spirit’s opposition.”
“So, in wedding Taminy, you expect to bring Light under the control of Darkness?”
Daimhin chuckled. “You misunderstand my intention. Let me share with you what I have come to understand. You see, the universe exists in a balance. If the balance is upset, chaos erupts. I now know that the Meri regenerates every hundred years or so. When this occurs, Light floods the world; the balance is upset. There is what the Osraed call a Cusp; there is a battle, if you will, between what the Osraed perceive as Good and what they perceive as Evil. There is chaos; blood is shed; the balance of power is upset in Creiddylad as elsewhere. But in this Cusp, the chaos will be short-lived because I have come to understand the need for balance. I will wed Taminy-Osmaer and there will be balance between Darkness and Light.”
“You expect to be in control of Light?”
Daimhin smiled. “I told you, Ruadh, Taminy lacks the strong qualities necessary for control. Therefore, I shall harness her powers as well as mine for the best interests of Caraid-land.” His eyes brightened. “I shall bring about a confluence of good and evil. Think of it, Ruadh. For the first time in history, a balance shall be struck between the two.”
“Ah, and there shall be peace and prosperity for all,” said Ruadh facetiously.
“Exactly.”
There was no talking to him, he was so full of himself—so full of his grandiose ideas. Ruadh had no recourse but to go to his cousin’s allies, such as they were. They gathered in Lilias Saba’s tent—the Banarigh, Coinich Mor, The Dearg, Caime Cadder and himself—and he told them of his cousin’s intention to drag Taminy-a-Cuinn from Hrofceaster and wed her. He didn’t mention Daimhin’s prattle about Darkness and Light. He spoke in terms of a balance of power—of the logic of control.
“If he kills her, she becomes a martyr—someone for whom people will be willing to fight. Likewise, if he leaves her here and free, she continues to be a rallying point for every dissident and malcontent in Caraid-land. So, Daimhin has . . . come to believe that the only way he can control Taminy’s allies is to control her. And to enlist her tacit support.”
Caime Cadder’s face was as white as the snow covering the ground outside. “He can’t control her. Doesn’t he see that?”
“He thinks he’s done a mighty good job of it so far. He believes his talent for subterfuge makes him inherently stronger. And, of course, his aidan and his fey allies.” Ruadh bowed toward the Dearg and Deasach women, who glanced at each other in a way that made his skin crawl.
“He was to marry me,” Lilias said. “He spoke to me of power and love.” She smiled wryly. “Also, our common love of power. I will not share him with Taminy the Pure.”
Eadrig Dearg made a rude noise. “I care little for that, mistress. But I do care that the man behind our Cyneric’s throne not take this Wicke into his confidence. She’ll taint him as surely as she draws air.”
Ruadh declined to comment upon who would taint whom, but merely said, “Then are we agreed that he must be discouraged from this course? That he must be made to return to Creiddylad with Airleas, now?”
“At all costs,” said Cadder. “He can have no idea how dangerous that woman is. He is swept up in a heady sense of his own power. He is naive. He cannot hope to control her. She Weaves to make him believe that he can.” He glanced around at the others. “You see how insidious she is?”
“What do you put fo
rth as a plan?” asked The Dearg.
“Withdraw your men. Threaten to leave him here with only the Deasach as allies.”
Lilias Saba laughed. “He has no Deasach allies. He will not let me avenge my brother’s death on this Osmaer woman and now he insults me by proposing to marry her. I’ve had enough of this gaming.”
“Now, Raven,” murmured Coinich Mor, “will you let your jealousy blind you? What better way to avenge your brother than to allow our Daimhin to get his hands on the Wicke so you can get your hands on her?”
Lilias pursed her generous lips. “You make a winning point.”
Cadder scowled and glanced at Ruadh. “Where is he?”
“Visiting the Cyneric.”
“I must speak to him.”
“Speak to him,” said the Raven, “of my decision to leave him alone on this mountain. Then perhaps your threats of Divine retribution may mean something to him.”
She left the tent, swaggering, and Ruadh could not help but think how well-suited she and Daimhin were, albeit, she was not as mad.
oOo
“Your cousin says you would marry the Caraidin Wicke.”
Daimhin Feich glanced from Airleas Malcuim’s pale face, flaccid with drugged sleep, to where Caime Cadder stood framed in the entrance of the tent that housed his prisoner. He had not wanted a confrontation with the cleirach just yet; he hadn’t had a chance to formulate his plans fully. No matter, though. He found he thought quite well under pressure.
“Coinich Mor?” he asked, deliberately dissembling. “My dear Minister, I wouldn’t think of marrying such a coarse creature.”
“Taminy-Osmaer. You mean to make her your captive wife.”
Nettled by the sourly pious expression on the other man’s face, Feich abandoned his previous caution. “Yes. And I mean to make the Banarigh Lilias Saba of El-Deasach my free wife. What have you to say to that?”
Cadder reddened. “What? You would marry both of them? Our laws will not permit such-such an immoral act.”
“They will.”
“They—? W-what you suggest is-is blasphemy!” He lifted his head, drew his shoulders back, showing that he did, after all, have a spine of sorts. “I won’t countenance it. The Osraed—”
“The Osraed will be powerless before me once I have the Osmaer Crystal, once I have the Osmaer woman. They will be powerless before us.”
Cadder’s face blanched, then went deep crimson but for the braces of white that pinched his hawkish nose. “You’ll not lay hands on her without your allies—and those you have lost. The Dearg and your foreign Cwen have both pledged to leave and strand you here.”
Quaking, Cadder folded his arms across his chest—a combative posture which Feich found both amusing and irritating.
“I had come here to reason with you,” the cleirach continued, managing to sound at once arch and timorous. “I had come to warn you of your allies’ defection and to suggest that we should return to your capitol at once to seal your victory. Now, I think I am too late. When the Dearg go, so shall I.”
“They won’t leave.”
“You think they bluff? I assure you, Regent, they do not.”
“I won’t allow them to leave, Cadder. It’s that simple. I need them, therefore they shall stay.” He smiled at the stricken expression on the cleirach’s thin face. “You don’t understand yet, do you, Minister? You don’t realize what I am or what I am capable of accomplishing.”
“Well, Regent Feich, whatever it is you hope to accomplish, you will have to do it without the Dearg or the Deasach. Nor is the blessing of the Osraed any more with you. When Tarsuin hears of this—”
“Tarsuin be damned.”
Shaking like a wind-blown sapling, Cadder swept out of the tent, vibrating the very air around him.
Feich laughed aloud. He turned back to the tethered boy.
“So the little insect has a temper,” he observed, though Airleas could not hear him. “I’d never have suspected.”
From Airleas’s tent, he returned to his own, there to carefully word his next dispatch to the fortress—a dispatch that would begin negotiations for Taminy’s surrender. He drafted the message, his mind half-consumed with the desire for another aislinn visit to Taminy’s rooms. He would see Coinich Mor when he had finished here, he decided. He would tender a more personal demand for Taminy’s capitulation.
He did neither of those things—a heavy, sodden sleep caught him unawares and relegated thoughts of Taminy to his dreams.
oOo
Caime Cadder’s universe had become a dark and terrifying place. He had always doubted Feich’s quality of spirit, but he had at least been certain of one thing—that Taminy was the Enemy, was Evil incarnate. Therefore, allying himself with anyone less evil was justifiable. Now, he was certain of nothing. It was as if he’d wakened from a dream to find himself submerged in black water. There was no up, no down, neither left nor right, but only a vast and impenetrable darkness.
He recalled a nightmare from saner days at Ochanshrine—a place this dark shared with Ochan’s Crystal and Taminy-Osmaer. The threat to the Crystal was explicit in that dream; he’d assumed that threat was solely from the Cwen Wicke. Now . . .
No, that he must still be sure of. Taminy-a-Cuinn was Evil incarnate, of that he must have no doubt. She had seduced an army of converts, seduced even the Abbod Ladhar at the end, but she would not have Caime Cadder. In this one thing, he would not fail.
Powerless before us, Feich had said—as if he and Taminy were not adversaries, after all, but allies. Very well. Cadder had been grossly deceived about Daimhin Feich. But he had recovered from that deception, and now, surrounded by deceivers, he could be sure of no one but himself. His dream had foretold it; he was in a position to be the savior of the Stone.
If Feich laid hands on it, took it to Creiddylad, then he would wrest it away and put it in the hands of the Osraed Tarsuin. The thought gleamed before him as if it were, itself, crystalline. Yes, he would bide awhile, and by so doing he could manipulate the manipulator. Such a thing might wipe out every failure he had ever suffered.
oOo
It was like the popping of a bubble or the breaking of a wave; over the most Gifted citizen of Hrofceaster poured the sudden awareness that something was wrong, that Airleas Malcuim was now in the hands of his enemy. Awakened from a rare, sound sleep, Taminy felt of the peculiar energies in the after wash of that wave.
Aine. Aine-mac-Lorimer was on her way up the mountain with the Crystal. She would need to be shielded.
Airleas was alive, but bound in a sleep so deep it could only be drug-induced. Safer that way, perhaps, Taminy thought, and summoned her waljan to waking.
She couldn’t reach Airleas to help him, but she could certainly reach the forces of Daimhin Feich.
oOo
Chaos. Daimhin Feich was awash in it. He heard the shouts of men and the shrill whinnies of frightened horses.
A dream?
But no. The sound and confusion rose with maelstrom fury to batter at his sleep until he must open his eyes or scream. Light gleamed redly through the slitted panels of his tent flap, flickering like an unsteady lamp.
Dawn? Fire?
He threw off blankets, dragged on boots and coat and stumbled to sweep aside the tent flap.
What he saw was a scene from a nightmare. Liquid lightning the color of flame flowed from the high crags of Baenn-eigh and down over the blocky columns of Baenn-an-ratha, bloodying the bellies of the eternally hovering clouds. Beneath the crawling crimson shroud, Hrofceaster’s light-blocking bulk threw a long, creeping shadow over Airdnasheen. The smoke from her fires fanned out below the clouds, all but obscuring the banners flying atop her gates. From that smoke, wraiths unfurled, shredding away like wisps of carded wool to take forms that boggled both eye and mind.
Huge wolves one moment, distorted riders upon deformed mounts, the next—silkies of the mountain mist, demons from frozen hell. They swarmed down the boulder-strewn trail from the Hillwild�
��s stronghold into Feich’s camp, demon eyes like flames dancing, uttering obscene noises through lips meant for sucking the life from souls.
They met living men—Feich and Deasach and Dearg alike—and swooped around them, swaddled them. Bodies fell right and left— molten lumps of flesh and cloth under the red, red gleam of demon lightning.
His heart froze and his hair stood up on his head. Could he reach his horse? Could he escape? No. There could be no escape from this horror. Could this be Taminy? His mind refused to accept that. She was a minion of the Meri; this wholesale slaughter could not possibly be of her Weaving.
Who then?
Coinich Mor? Lilias? The two of them together? He had been a fool to laugh at Cadder, to underestimate Lilias and the Dearg Wicke, and these were the wages of his foolishness.
He saw himself cowering beneath the canopy of his tent, wringing his hands and was disgusted with the image. It was against every instinct he possessed to step out into the swell of red light, but he did it, and darted from shadow to shadow to the tent that held Airleas Malcuim. There, he would be safe.
It was an island of sanity, that tent, and others were there before him. His two women sat cross-legged on the ground-cover, the crystal Aiffe between them, their intent faces—the coarse and the refined—bathed in its golden glow. Behind them, Airleas Malcuim still slept the sleep of the drunken, oblivious.
The sight froze him for a second as his mind flooded with the certain conviction that it was they who wove the destruction of every man about them.
“What are you doing?” he shrieked. “What are you doing?”
The women only smiled at him. He drew his sword and came toward them, arm raised to strike. A quick move of Coinich Mor’s hand stopped him in his tracks as if he’d hit an invisible barrier.
“Calm yourself, Regent Feich,” she told him. “We are not the Weavers of this inyx. Our Weaving is one you will celebrate.”
“You . . . ?” He slanted a swift glance back at the tent flap.
Bloody light crept along its inner edge, the din of death lapped through it in sickening waves. “Who, then? Who could—?”
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