Part 11 (2/2)
”Still,” opined one stout fellow, ”to be a Regent without a Cyneric is a pretty meaningless station. It'll be of extreme interest to see how all this turns out.”
”Who's to say there's no Cyneric?” asked an older gentleman with a long gray beard. ”I reckon that whole story of Airleas Malcuim's kidnap to be just so much piffle. Good G.o.d, all that about Eibhilin fires and Hillwild hordes. Pah! A bunch of hysterical old women must've come up with it.”
”Do I look like an hysterical old woman?” asked a third man. ”I was there. Granted I was at the back of the public gallery, but I saw what I saw. That young woman whipped fire and lightning all over the place. It was a thing of awe. And there were Hillwild all over as well. But it was Iobert Claeg who helped the girl escape. I saw him myself, leading her out of the Hall.”
”Speaking of the Hall,” said the first man, ”have any of you heard aught of their meeting?”
”I heard the last attempt ended in a riotous roil,” said the graybeard. ”The n.o.ble Houses are not falling in line behind our Regent, the Osraed are fractured and fractious-”
”Give me a tell I've not heard!”
”Aye, well. I heard from the Regent's own scribe that other than a few Chieftains, only the Eiric and Ministers put in their appearance, and even they were fewer than ought to be. Looks as if our government has ground to a halt.”
”Near tax time, too,” mewed the stout one. ”Tsk! Such a shame. Come, let's find us some hot cider-spend before Feich wakes up and duns us double.”
Off the three of them went, chuckling.
Leal sidled up to Haesel and pretended to be looking over her flowers.
”They seem happy enough,” he commented.
”Oh, aye.” The woman patted a lock of brown hair into place and surveyed the crowd. ”Government may have ground down, as that one says, but commerce sure han't. Things've settled a bit here, too. Looting's down since the merchants got together and formed a vigilance group. Funny, though, how long it took 'em to come to the knowing that our Regent Feich is keepin' all his guards to himself. Some of the old Malcuim regulars still patrol here, but not enough to keep these poor merchants from losing their goods. 'Well,' they says, 'we'll just have to defend ourselves.'
”See, there's one of the market guards now.” She dipped her head in the direction of a young man with restless eyes and a heavily knotted club at his side. ”Thieves can't tell the vigilants from any other body here. Makes 'em real careful, I wager.”
She glanced at Leal's face. ”What's the word from Cyne's Cirke?”
”Word is,” said Leal, ”the Abbod is not Feich's man, no more than he's Taminy's.”
”Whose will does he bend to, then?” Haesel asked.
”The Meri's, he thinks. I only pray She will find a way to prove to him that he's wrong.”
Daimhin Feich sipped his wine and reflected that it tasted much better when things were going well. The whole dinner had seemed a feast from the Eibhilin realm and he congratulated himself that he had only his own pretty diplomacy to thank for it.
It was a dance, he thought. Show the right face to the Mediator, make the right requests; the cannon was secure. Dispatch worthy gifts to the Banarigh of El-Deasach and who knew what might be accomplished? Perhaps the ill.u.s.trious Lilias, herself, would see fit to let him keep the cannon, or perhaps she would dispatch a gift to him in return-some fighting men wouldn't come amiss.
He'd lied a bit to Loc Llywd in saying he expected the Skarf and the Madaidh to fall in behind him. He was working on that, certainly, had gone straight to meet with the Chieftains of those Houses from his conference with the Deasach Mediator, had told them about the marvelous cannon and the alliance forming between the Feich and the Teallach and the Dearg. He'd hoped it would decide them, but both men hemmed and hawed and prattled about needing to convene a council of House elders.
Fools. In their desire to stay on the sidelines as long as possible, they let destiny slip from their hands.
Daimhin swirled the wine in his goblet. Through the golden liquid in its cut crystal he could see the dancing flame of one of the myriad candles that graced the dinner table. It reminded him of the Osmaer Crystal sitting aloof on its pedestal, sealed within its shrine.
He recalled that little spark of luminance he'd called from it and felt for a moment as if hot honey flowed through his belly. The spark of desire. Then it was her face he saw in his golden wine-green-eyed, flax-haired Taminy. The Wicke who called herself Osmaer.
He smiled. Woman and Stone were connected. The two were One.
”Alright, cousin.” Ruadh's voice was tinged with irritation. ”You've been sitting there all through dinner with that cat-eat-cream grin on your face. I'm d.a.m.n tired of waiting to find out what it's pertinent to. So's the Abbod, I reckon, eh, Abbod?”
The old Osraed, apparently lost in his own thoughts, looked up from his half-empty plate and nodded. ”Yes, of course, em-it's good to see you looking so happy.”
Daimhin took another sip of the sweet, thick wine. ”I am happy and I'll tell you why. The cannon is ours.”
Ruadh raised his gla.s.s to his cousin in silent applause, but the Abbod could only stare vacantly and murmur, ”Cannon? What cannon?”
”The one that's going to blow the doors of Halig-liath to the skies.”
”What?” Now the old boar was clearly dumfounded.
Daimhin was both amused and irritated. ”I've convinced the Deasach to lend us a marvelous new machine of war. A cannon-three horses in length-that fires explosive ordnance. With it, I intend to go up to Nairne and, by fear or force, bring back Cyneric Airleas.”
”And destroy Halig-liath?” gasped Ladhar. ”No. I won't have it. Attacking an Osraed inst.i.tution-”
”At this juncture, Abbod, Halig-liath is no longer a legitimate Osraed inst.i.tution. It is taken over by the Wicke and her disciples. I intend to give it back into your hands. Consider it a gift expressive of my . . . regard.”
Ladhar's full lips puckered mutinously. ”And Taminy-a-Cuinn?”
”I intend to bring her back to Creiddylad and drown her. She should never have escaped the Sea in the first place; she will not do it again.”
The large Osraed took a deep, noisy breath. ”I'd rather see her burned. It's more certain.”
”Abbod, there is, in the depths of Mertuile, a chamber which admits the Sea. There is always at least one hand's width of water covering the floor and, as the tide rises, so does the depth of the water in the cell. When the tide is high, sea water fills the chamber to a depth of four feet.”
”Four feet of water,” said the Abbod, ”will not drown a woman who is over five feet tall.”
Feich smiled. ”Everyone must sleep, Abbod. Even the wicked.”
Ah, the implications had sunk in; the Abbod's chubby face was gratifyingly pale. Daimhin almost thought he'd beg mercy for the poor girl, but in a moment, he'd squared his ma.s.sive shoulders and fixed his face with stern determination.
”That could take forever.”
”Why do you care how long it takes? The longer it takes, the more time you'll have to visit her and listen to her screams and pitiable cries for help.”
”G.o.d's mercy, Daimhin!” Across the table from the Abbod, Ruadh shook himself. ”I had no idea you were such a blood-thirsty monster. Surely you can think of a quicker, saner way of putting the girl away.”
”Not one I would enjoy so. I would like very much to hear her beg me for mercy. I look forward to it.”
Ruadh threw back some wine and grimaced. ”Well, don't expect me to enjoy it with you. I think it's beyond cruel. I also think it's a dreadful waste. If the late Cyne's portrait of her has any truth in it, your Wicke is an astonis.h.i.+ng beauty.”
Daimhin snorted. ”That portrait only hints at the truth, Ruadh. But you see, that's part of her guile. Her face seduces a man's eyes; her voice, his ears; her craft, his soul. Ah, see how our friend, the Abbod, s.h.i.+vers? He knows it's true, don't you, Abbod?”
”I do. I've seen it happen to many, yourself included. Which is why I maintain, more strongly than ever, that her death should be quick. Terrible, terrifying, but quick. A lingering death gives her too much opportunity to Weave her wiles on you all over again.”
”Oh, very well,” said Daimhin easily. Easily, because he had no intention of placing Taminy anywhere near that wretched sea-pit. That would be, as Ruadh so aptly put it, a dreadful waste. ”There are iron rings set into the floor. I shall simply shackle her to those. The first high tide will set your mind at ease.”
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