Part 7 (2/2)
Leal sat up straight. ”That's it, then. Eadmund can let us know when he leaves.”
”We won't see Eadmund for three days.”
”Then we must call to him in some way.”
Fhada raised his brows. ”Infiltrate his dreams?”
”Why not?”
Fhada came back to the table and sat down next to Leal, eyes intent on the boy's face. ”Do you think you could?”
”Together I know we could. We were able to weave a connection to Osraed Bevol.”
Fhada shook his head. ”Bevol was a giant among Osraed. His Gift was as bright and strong as the day it was given. He had knowledge neither we nor Eadmund possess.”
”Have you looked at yourself in the mirror lately, Osraed? Your Kiss is as bright as a moon. And Eadmund is also a believer.”
Fhada made a wry face, causing Leal to wriggle forward on his stool. ”Look, Fhada, if we didn't have the capacity to Speakweave, Taminy wouldn't be sending us someone to help us discipline ourselves to do it. No amount of discipline can make up for a nonexistent Gift. We may be weak, but we're not impotent.”
”Alright, alright. Supposing we could reach Eadmund and either summon him here, or indicate what we want him to do. How does he tell us what we need to know: when Ladhar leaves, where he plans to go?”
Leal was fairly hopping up and down on his stool. ”He can come here, he can Weave a reply, he can . . . run up a flag or send pigeons. It doesn't matter how he gets us the information; that's up to him. He's a believer, Fhada, in the Meri-in Taminy. I think-no, I know-that bestows real power.”
Fhada's brow furrowed.
”Have you forgotten how it was in the Great Hall that day? Have you forgotten the-the blazing light, the sheer power of these?” Leal opened his left hand, and the gytha in his palm gleamed.
”But that was all her doing, Leal. We had no part in that.”
Leal clutched his friend's sleeve, leaf-green eyes gleaming no less brightly than his gytha. ”No, you're wrong, Fhada. We did have a part in it. We were channels. Imperfect, but usable. That's what she's trying to teach us, don't you see? That we really do have the Gift, and that there's more to it than we dared dream. We may need training to use it fully but, Fhada, it's there to use.”
Fhada looked down at the hand on his sleeve. After a moment, he met Leal's eyes. ”Well,” he said, ”I don't suppose it would hurt to try.”
It was dark yet, and a chill, damp wind twisted the Claeg banner around and around its standard, making the standard-bearer curse and his horse dance nervously over the flagstones of Hrofceaster's main courtyard.
It was going to be a gray day-colorless-and that suited Aine-mac-Lorimer just fine. A bright flower or a ray of sunlight would have thrown her into a fury; she wanted the weather to agree with her mood. Only that agreement kept the fury under control.
d.a.m.n Wyth Arundel, anyway! Not even offering a word of regret or argument at her leaving. Not that he should be expected to argue with Taminy, but he might have uttered a gasp of protest, a moan of disappointment. But no.
”You'll want them to leave with the Claeg, then,” he'd said. Like she was a piece of mail, a bit of baggage, a-a nothing! And she'd been stupid enough to think he looked wistful when Taminy first made the announcement-no, the request. A request she had no choice but to honor. Taminy's requests were like that.
Catching the rebellious tenor of her thoughts, Aine blanched.
Not that she begrudged Taminy anything. She'd go to the ends of the earth for her. Die for her, if necessary. It was just so humiliating to think that Wyth thought so little of her . . .
She was going to go to futile tears in a moment and prayed for something to save her from that. Something turned out to be the strong sensation that someone was watching her.
She raised her eyes. Standing not ten feet away was a young man in Claeg colors holding a large, fractious horse by its bridle. He was regarding her with the most brazen, bald, humiliating directness. Though he was obviously some years her senior, she returned the look with equal bra.s.s, her face flaming.
He smiled. It was a harsh smile, not at all friendly or welcoming. ”That's quite a shade of red, cailin,” he said. ”You'll be hard put to hide in Creiddylad.”
He meant her hair, of course, although her face was by now a near match for it. Furious, Aine strode right up to him and peered into his eyes. They were peculiar eyes-as colorless as the morning, if not quite as chill. Camouflage. He thought he could hide behind them.
Odd thought. She tossed it aside and said, ”I'll thank you to keep your opinions to yourself, sir. And I'll have you know I'll do no hiding in Creiddylad.”
”Oh, brave words, little one. I'll remind you of them when you're quaking beneath your bed some night.”
”I don't quake,” Aine said, which was a lie, because she was quaking now, albeit with indignation. ”And I don't hide. And I wouldn't have you within twenty miles of my bed!”
It took Aine only a second to realize how that must have sounded to her adversary. Though the realization came only because she could suddenly read the trickle of wry humor that oozed from him. Her face felt absolutely scalded.
The young man made an odd clicking sound with his tongue. It put her in mind of a fox smacking its chops over a fat young hen.
”My, my!” he murmured. ”An outraged virgin. My first. No need to worry, Firepot, I value experience above sport.”
”Sport!” Aine clenched her fists hard enough to drive her nails into her palms. ”You're beyond luck that I don't know an inyx for making a man's tongue drop out of his head. But I do know who to give tell of your cheek. I'll tell The Claeg.”
”Oh? And what will you tell him?”
”That one of his men was rude, insulting, mocking-”
”Cavalier? Insolent?” He was chuckling openly now.
”You won't laugh when he bastes you for it.”
”Ouch! That sounds rough. I've never been basted.”
”Well, then, it'll be a new experience for you. I hear you value experience.” She turned on her heel (gracefully too, she thought) and marched to where Iobert Claeg was preparing to mount his horse.
She hadn't a chance to reach him before the whole column mounted and began to swing into line. She was ushered to her own horse, where Taminy and Iseabal and a knot of well-wishers waited to exchange good-byes. Then she was whisked into tearful embraces, loaded with small gifts to put in her pack, patted on the back, kissed on the cheek.
Eventually, she fetched up before Taminy, who took her hands and met her eyes and made the rest of the universe disappear entirely.
”This is not good-bye, Aine,” she said. ”Don't ever believe it is. And when you're in Creiddylad, don't ever believe there's a thing you can't do. Promise me, Aine. Promise me never to say, 'I can't.'”
Of all the things she could have asked. ”I . . . of course, I promise.”
Taminy smiled and all of Aine's anguish and anger at leaving evaporated like dew in the sun. ”I love you,” Taminy said, and Aine poured herself into her Mistress's arms.
”I love you,” she murmured close to her ear and, ”Take care of Wyth.”
Taminy laughed softly. ”Wyth thinks he's supposed to take care of me.”
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