Part 6 (1/2)

”Airleas!” Gwynet caught him up halfway down the corridor from their cla.s.sroom. Desary had let them go for the mid-day break. In the afternoon, Osraed Eadmund would give them their lessons in the more mundane arts of reading, writing and history.

Now, Airleas fled as if pursued by demons instead of a bright-eyed little girl.

Gwynet fell into step beside him. ”Airleas, whatever was wrong, just now? You looked as if you'd gone to sleep with your eyes wide. Didn't you hear Desary? You knew the answer, why didn't you give tell?”

”G.o.d-the-Spirit, Gwynet! Do you stop to breathe? I was just . . . daydreaming.”

”Daydreaming? You? Oh, Airleas, you don't. You never.”

The hallway ended in a cross-corridor with deep window embrasures set along its outer wall. One lay just before them, streaming pale light over the chill stone floor. Airleas moved to the window and leaned out toward the iron-framed panes, peering into the courtyard below. Through the faceted gla.s.s, he could see only a portion of the hectic activity around the Airdnasheen gate. Claeg warriors were everywhere and their banner was even now being run up the fortress standards to flutter and snap beside the Hageswode pennant of white stars on a dark blue field.

Airleas pulled himself up into the embrasure and curled there, chin on knees. Gwynet stood and watched him for a moment, then crawled up into the cas.e.m.e.nt across from him.

After a moment of brooding silence he said, ”Why Aine and Iseabal?”

Gwynet puzzled. ”Why Aine and Iseabal what?”

”Why did she keep them by her and send the rest of us away?”

Gwynet shrugged. ”I reckon she wanted to talk to them privy.”

”I did as well as either of them.”

Now he'd lost her. ”What does the one have to do with th'other?”

”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 gla.s.s 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.

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 s.h.i.+rt, 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.”