Chapter Seventeen
When Haruko returned to the War Room as he had been bidden, clad now in the Fianna brown and feeling intensely proud, O'Reilly was waiting for him. She too was dressed in the brown uniform, and when she saw him, she smiled and ran forward to meet him.
"There is a meeting of the High Command in the Salt Tower," she told him. "Aeron told me to wait for you."
"Have they found Tindal yet?"
She shook her head, not looking at him, and he sighed.
"God, I wish--" he began, with an almost savage remorse. "Ah well, too late now."
"Do you think Hugh's dead?" she asked in a small voice.
"I don't know, Sally, but I think I almost hope so... Where is this meeting?"
They left the room together, going down a flight of stone steps and along long cloistered passages, to a guarded door at the end of a corridor. The Fian sentries each side of the door saluted and stood aside to allow them to pass. They returned the salute, feeling shy and more than a little awkward, and went in.
The large bright room was packed; of those there, the Terrans recognized many of the highest-ranking officers of the Fianna, Starfleet, Dragon Kinship and other military divisions. Aeron, seeing them hesitate just inside the door, waved them to seats in the row behind her.
At the front of the room, Gwydion was standing before a huge projection screen upon which was displayed a hologram section of the Great Glen.
"He will land here," Gwydion was saying, his lightwand stabbing the map where the Strath widened out into the beginnings of Moymore, some fifty leagues east of Caerdroia as the hawk flies. "There is no other place. Closer to the City, the Strath is too narrow for a landing in force, and also too heavily defended. He would never attempt a sea landing, and Armoy and the plains of the south are too distant. Northplain would allow him to assemble his forces within striking distance of Caerdroia, but it is full winter there now and the snow and wind very bad, and soon to grow worse."
"So we meet him at the entrance to the Strath," said Douglass Graham.
Gwydion nodded. "If we cannot defeat him there, we shall still be able to fall back on the line of fortresses along the Avon Dia; and so, in the end, upon Caerdroia itself--if we must. If we beat him beside the Cliffs of Fhola, so much the better."
"But you think we shall not." That was Aeron.
"I do not think we can hold him." He spoke to them all, but his eyes were upon her. "And further, we must prepare ourselves for the very real possibility that Caerdroia may fall."
"Never!" snapped Desmond.
"Peace, Hon," murmured Aeron, who sat beside him, laying a hand over his. "Hear him out."
"In space, and on the other planets," continued Gwydion, "we can be certain of victory, or so near certain as to make no differ to our overall strategy. Here on Tara it is another, graver matter, for here it is that his attack shall come with greatest force."
"Caerdroia has never fallen to an enemy, not even in the time of the Druids' Wars and the Theocracy," objected a tall woman in the uniform of the Fianna.
"We have never before faced such an enemy," countered Gwydion. "Oh aye, I know you are all thinking we have defeated Coranians before now, and that is true enough. But never before have we fought the full might of the united Imperium--and far less both our ancient foes together, for the Fomori come against us also, as Imperial allies."
That last was a piece of news Gwydion had been saving, though Aeron and a few others were privy to the knowledge, and he was grimly amused to see the consternation that swept the room.
"Fomori!" muttered O'Reilly, dismayed, to Morwen. "Did you know about them?"
Morwen nodded. "The word came from Gwennan aboard the Firedrake, a little while ago. A scout sloop far in advance of the fleet intercepted an enemy transmission, and the bards on the flagship managed to decode it. The Fomori are in it without a doubt, though it seems the other Phalanx worlds chose rather to bide the issue. Nay," she added quickly, perceiving O'Reilly's reluctant thought of Bellator, "it goes back many years before that. This revenge has long been sought by Bres--though not, I think, by Bres's heir." That was said so low and so distractedly that O'Reilly was not sure she had even heard it. But Gwydion was speaking once more.
"These are the immediate dispositions for the Throneworld," he said, and his hearers straightened unconsciously in their seats, for what the First Lord of War said now carried the weight of an order for the coming fight.
"The Ard-rian will make her base for the initial defense at Rath na Riogh. That is the royal fortress most distant from Caerdroia, as you know, and closest to the ground upon which we have chosen to make our stand." His hand described a half-arc over the lighted map. "Eight of the Pillars of Tara will be stationed here; the others remain to guard the City, and doubtless they will see action soon enough. Attached foot-soldiery will be under supreme command of Tanwen of Marsco." The room filled with approving murmurs, and Tanwen, the tall, dark-haired woman who had spoken earlier, acknowledged the order with a salute.
"The cavalry forces, both chariot and horse, will be ordered in three wings," Gwydion continued. "Commanding the left, Denzil Cameron; on the right, Fedelma ni Garra; and Maravaun of Cashel will hold the center. The marca-sluagh, the guard of horse and foot around the Ard-rian, will be commanded by Struan Cameron. I myself, with Niall Tir-connell, will accompany the Ard-rian as her captains-general. Mac Avera will direct the Fianna; Illoc mac Nectan and Douglass Graham will order the out-planet defenses; in space, Rohan and Elharn command the fleets. Has anyone any question?"
"Only a suggestion, First Lord," said Morwen. "Too many of the righ-domhna in one place may make that place--and themselves--too much a target. The noncombatant members of the royal family should be dispersed as widely as possible."
"To increase the chances of an Aoibhell surviving to the succession, should the Ard-rian fall," remarked Aeron, but she was laughing. "Very well, Taoiseach; I leave it to you to get my family on the move." She rose, and all stood with her.
"Now, sirs and ladies," she said, and her face was alight with an iron grimness. "To our work. Too long have we been anvil. Now let us be hammer."
She left the room without a backward glance, and Gwydion went with her.
*
"Bravely spoken," said Gwydion, as they quitted the Commandery and headed back to the palace across the huge, deserted Great Square. Aeron shrugged. "Perhaps so. But did they believe it?"
"They believed as much as was good for them to believe," he said after a while. "Most important of all, what does the Ard-rian of Keltia believe?"
She gave a gentle laugh. "Everything, and nothing... Let us not go in just yet." They passed the palace gates, taking the startled salutes of the guards, and she linked her arm through his and turned him toward the gardens.
Little now was left of the summer's glories, but among the fallen drifted red leaves poked the shaggy heads of white asters, and thickets of gold chrysanthemums, and the little hardy autumn rose that grows wild along that coast. Dawn had come while the work of war went on within the Commandery, and now a red-streaked yellow sky hung like a dome over the City; though the night's snow still patched the ground, the wintry air had grown soft as the upper winds shifted.
Aeron spoke no word as they walked slowly through a little birch-grove to the archway that led to her tower, but when they came to the stone fountain in the middle of the wood, she plucked an aster from a nearby cluster and sat on the fountain's rim. When the flower was white shreds in her lap, she looked up at Gwydion, and spoke hesitantly.
"This may well be the end of all, for us."
Gwydion shook his head, smiling, and gently gathered up the ruined aster from her hands, scattering the petals in the bubbling fountain.
"Even if Keltia itself should cease to be," he corrected her, "naught to do with us, Domina, can ever end."
The sudden sound of her Ban-draoi title steadied her, and decided her...
"Then let us place such bon
ds upon ourselves as to confirm that, in trust for the future. We have spoken of it often enough before now, after all." When he made no answer, she added innocently, "And too, 'King' is a title somewhat less frequently encountered than 'Prince'."
He laughed. "That has never been the problem, and fine you know it."
"Fine you taught it me--But what is your answer?"
"I will gladly; you know that too. But is now the time?"
"The only time, I think," she said, and over her face came the look he knew so well, a grave look almost of listening, alert, as if she hearkened to something just beyond the range of sensing that only she could hear. "The only time," she repeated, more confidently, and he smiled.
"As the Queen commands, then."
"The Queen cannot command here. She dare not... Only, Aeron asks now, as you have asked her in time past."
He took her hands in both of his and gently kissed the cold thin fingers. "Aeronwy, whatever oath you please, in whatever time and place you choose, that will I take. I have told you so before, and I tell you so again."
"And now I am ready at last to hear it... I have already spoken to Teilo and Ffaleira, and they as heads of our Orders will solemnize what bonds we take upon us, and serve as witnesses before the law."
"Then let us do so," he said, kissing her hands again. "And there let it rest, cariad. Until the battle is won or lost, as the gods will have it."
*
When Aeron entered Mi-Cuarta that night, all rose to their feet and shouted wild greeting, drumming on the tables with the hilts of sgians and swords. She returned the hails with a radiant smile, and stood in her usual place at table, gesturing futilely for seated silence. When the tumult died away at last, she spoke; her countenance was high and glad and shining, and she seemed not at all like an embattled ruler whose realm had just been invaded.
"This has been a long day of evil tidings. Yet tonight would I share with you here, first of all in Keltia to hear them, tidings of a different nature. At sunset this day, in the circle of Ni-Maen, in the presence of Rohan Prince of Thomond, Morwen Duchess of Lochcarron, Auster, Lord Chief Brehon, Ffaleira, Magistra of the Ban-draoi, and Teilo Archdruid, Gwydion ap Arawn and I have been set handfast each to the other. Although we think it wisest not to wed under the shadow of war, it seemed good to us that we pledge ourselves to each other, and to you, for the future. And so I, Aeron Queen of Kelts, present you your King that is to be."
She turned to Gwydion, who had stood slightly behind her, and reached him her hand. He came forward, kissed first her hand and then her lips, lightly and lovingly, and bowed in acknowledgment of the thunderous cheers. Then he and Aeron sat down together, and the great chair beside her own, which had stood empty since the death of Emer ni Kerrigan, was occupied once more.
"Well, that is some surprise," remarked O'Reilly to Haruko, as they seated themselves farther down the high table. "And a very nice one too. Did you know about it?"
He shook his head. "No, but I thought it not unlikely. Aeron is right, it's not the appropriate time for a royal wedding, but this gesture was very well thought-of, both for those two and for the people. I'm very happy for them," he added.
"That's nice," said O'Reilly demurely, not looking at him. "I sort of had this feeling you were in love with Aeron yourself."
Haruko stared at her. "What? Don't be ridiculous! Nothing has ever passed between the Queen and me of an improper nature, the idea is--"
"I never thought it had." O'Reilly continued to attend steadily to her plate. "I only thought you felt for her--how shall I put it--more than the usual affection that a loyal subject bears his monarch."
Haruko was silent. Well, he had never felt called upon to put it into words, but now that O'Reilly had been so grossly insensitive as to mention it--Yes, he supposed he did love Aeron; but not the sort of love O'Reilly thought. With sudden insight, he realized he had worked past his initial infatuation and had come to love Aeron as a teacher loves a brilliant pupil; or even, yes, as a father loves a daughter. More wonderful still, that feeling was returned; she loved him too--as a mentor, as an uncle, as her first friend from Earth--and that was more than enough for him.
And he was profoundly grateful for it, and more thankful than ever that he had been allowed to remain in Keltia. He had made the right decision after all... I'm happy, he thought, with a thrill of joy that brought sudden tears to his eyes. When was the last time I was really happy?
"Never you mind," he told O'Reilly cheerfully. "Just never you mind at all."
*
On the Imperial flagship Marro, Jaun Akhera and his officers were convened in the common-room. A map was projected on all viewers, and it was this which was at present commanding the Imperial Heir's full attention.
"It's a hundred years out of date!" he snapped to Hanno.
"Still, lord, it is more recent than the maps we had to work with on Alphor," replied his captain-general. "And as you see, it is close scale for the lands around Caedroia. Things change very little, if at all, on Tara; I doubt a hundred years will have altered much that matters, as far as we are concerned."
"Hmm. How if we sent a column over these mountains--the Loom--and came at the City from the rear?"
His generals looked surreptitiously at each other.
"There are no passes that lead into Caerdroia from the south," said Sanchoniathon, as no one else seemed willing to speak. This was his first campaign with his elder brother, and he was not afraid to speak his mind. "Those dales are impassable for armies--there is probably deep snow by now in any case--and we must also assume that the lateral passes, even, will most likely be mined."
"Mined!"
"Oh, psionic trip-mines, if anything; that is sheep-ranching country. Still, we could not hope to get through with fewer than, say, fifty per cent casualties."
Jaun Akhera scowled. "Too many. Yet the Kelts may go and come as they please through the hills... Station a strong force at the southern entrances to this Pass of the Arrows"--his lightpen touched the map at a green expanse also marked "Bwlch-y-Saethau"--"to cut off anything, or anyone, they might think to send that way--especially fugitive royalty. And see to it that part of the force is Fomorian; let Bres have a share in the chores as well. For the rest, we proceed as planned to the landing in Strath Mor."
"Lord--" began Hanno.
He was silenced by a look. "As planned, gentlemen. That is no peasant general or simple brigand who commands the Keltic forces. That is a queen; I suggest you remember it."
There was a small stir at the door, and he looked around, frowning, at the interruption. A young ensign burst in, saluting, breathless with his haste.
"Pardon, lord, but the Princess Arianeira has just come on board. She demands to see you," he added, indignant.
Jaun Akhera's dark face lighted with a smile. "I will be very happy indeed to attend Her Royal Highness. Tell her that I come directly. No, escort her to the bridge. I will meet her there."
*
Arianeira walked down the main corridor of the Marro, skirts frothing with the vehemence of her stride, oblivious to the whispers and sidelong glances which attended upon her passing. The young Coranian officer escorting her, though as dazzled as any by her beauty and her charm, was nevertheless very much mindful of her powers--not to mention her recent deeds. This was not only a Keltic princess, sister of the mightiest warlord her kingdom could at present boast, but she was herself the one person who had made this invasion possible at all. She had succeeded where all others for fifteen hundred years had failed: She had breached the Curtain Wall; and the fear that prompted the stares and whispers was very real indeed.
Striding onto the bridge, pleased at the sudden dramatic hush, she swept her glance around.
"But where is my lord Jaun Akhera? Should he not be here to greet me?"
"He sends word that he will join you presently, Your Highness. He has been much occupied with the planning of the land battles--Look, he comes now."
Arianeira tur
ned as Jaun Akhera came onto the bridge, noting with concealed approval the subtle tensions his presence brought to the Marro's crew, and noting with approval not concealed at all his considerable attractiveness.
"Well met at last, lady," he said, kissing the hand she held out to him. "I have much to thank you for, and, now that I see you, honoring our bargain--and repaying my debt of gratitude--will be no duty, but pleasure."
Arianeira smiled, coolly reclaiming her hand. "You do me grace to say so, lord," she murmured. "At least, so I take your meaning--" She looked around the bridge, observing what the many viewscreens showed: fierce ship-to-ship combat, blue-white laser trails crawling away among the stars, blasted hulks and crippled vessels. "How goes the battle?"
"Why, as we had expected: hard. You gave us an unprecedented opportunity, lady, but we never thought the Queen of Kelts would give us anything but hell's own fight. Still, we do not do too badly, and we shall make our scheduled landfall on the planet of Tara in six days' local time."
"Aeron will be ready for you."
"I don't doubt it... But where are your colleagues? I understood they would be joining you here on the Marro. Or am I mistaken?"
Arianeira's lovely face was bland as cream. "No mistake. But they appear to have encountered some--difficulties in escaping."
"Yes, I can see that they might have." His voice was amused. "Well, for us, lady, difficulties lie behind. I said just now I did not doubt Aeron's readiness. Do not you, Arianeira, doubt mine."
She looked long into the golden eyes, then swept him a deep curtsy, her hand to her breast, and all over the bridge eyes slid furtively in their direction.
"Your Highness's servant," she said, smiling.
*
The Copper Crown Page 25