Part 16 (1/2)
They entered Nairne along the up-river road from Lin-liath, banners snapping. It seemed the whole town had come out to meet them. The redhead's parents appeared and literally dragged her from her mount in their exuberance. Wasted on her, Saefren thought, though she returned tear for tear and smile for smile.
The dark-haired beauty, Iseabal, was already shedding tears of her own and begging to know if her own parents were at home. Finally, she got word from some scrub-faced boy that her da was up at Halig-liath and turned her horse cross-river. Iobert bid his men accompany her, and so they left the Lorimer tribe by the wayside, still making much over their big, fire-breathing daughter.
Once across the river, they caught a cross-road that ran east up the flank of the holy hill and west past the village Cirke. Above the autumnal glory of its surrounding grove of trees, the Cirke spire showed its stellate crown. The Cirkemaster's girl laid her pretty eyes longingly on the place, on the woman who had appeared behind a gate in the low wall.
The girl raised her hand and waved, reining her horse toward the Cirke grove. The woman turned away and disappeared beneath the trees.
His eyes on Iseabal's pale, tragic face, Iobert Claeg turned the column eastward and led up the long ridge to Halig-liath.
The gates were wide open-a thing Saefren thought peculiar and fool-hardy under the circ.u.mstances. In the huge central courtyard, a bevy of Osraed and Prentices met them. Foremost among these was the Cirkemaster, Saxan, and the rotund, bird-eyed Tynedale.
Iobert Claeg had no sooner delivered the Cirkemaster's tearful daughter into his arms than he asked the man where he might find The Gilleas.
Saefren felt his face burn warm with embarra.s.sment. He glanced away, making a point of ordering the horses fed and watered. When he looked after his uncle again, the Claeg Chieftain was already halfway to the main rotunda of the Osraed academy in the company of Tynedale, Saxan and Iseabal. He trailed them to the Academy's small sanctuary where they were met by a handful of men in the purple and white of the House Gilleas.
Saefren didn't know The Gilleas on sight, but his uncle obviously did. He greeted the white-hair in the group and fell to conversing with him in quiet tones.
Bemused, Saefren approached. The d.a.m.n Wicke had been right. Well, of course, she'd gotten The Gilleas here, but that didn't mean the summons had come by supernatural means. There were always pigeons.
Uncle had the satchel out now, and withdrew the Gilleas scroll, placing it in the House Chieftain's hands. ”From Taminy-Osmaer,” he said, and stood back to watch The Gilleas open the scroll.
Saefren folded his arms across his chest, eyes on the old man's face. The twine loosened and fell away, the scroll opened and the shard of crystal rolled out into The Gilleas's palm. The white brows furrowed as he scanned the scroll. Saefren was vaguely aware of hurried footsteps behind him in the aisle, but did not pull his eyes from the Gilleas Chieftain's face.
Dark eyes glittered in the light of scattered globes as the old man raised them to Iobert Claeg. ”What is this?” he asked, holding the talisman in outstretched hands. The surface of the scroll was as blank as it had been when Saefren had seen it last.
There was a soft intake of breath at his shoulder and a moment later, someone slid past him. It was flame-haired Aine. In a twinkling, she stood face to face with the Gilleas Chieftain and lifted the little shard of stone from his hand. The moment she touched it, the shard's entire nature changed. Before it had been stone, now it was fire. Before it had been lifeless, now it blazed with kinetic light.
The village cailin held the living flame in her hand and pa.s.sed it back and forth over the empty scroll-and the scroll was no longer empty. Words appeared there in characters of light. Saefren Claeg could not see what they said, for they seemed to say nothing, but he knew his eyes were as wide as everyone else's.
Now, Morcar Gilleas's face bore an expression of complete amazement. His eyes scanned the scroll again, this time filling themselves with the bright words. And when they had read, those eyes glittered with dew. Clutching the scroll to his breast, the old man fell to one knee and kissed Aine-mac-Lorimer's hand.
The girl withdrew it immediately, the little crystal she held leaking glory through her fingers. ”Oh, no sir!” she cried. ”You mustn't bow to me. I'm only Taminy's student.”
Morcar remained on his knee. ”If you are but a student, then your Mistress must be great, indeed. These are her words? This is her fire?”
”Yes, sir.”
The Chieftain rose, his gaze going to the faces of his Elders. The fire of the little shard had leapt to his eyes, and his teeth shown in a fierce grin. ”It is just as I remember-just as I told you. She is Osmaer-living link to the Meri. Her voice, Her face. We, the Gilleas-Disciples of the Meri-are now her disciples.”
Caime Cadder did not tremble as he made his way to Mertuile the next morning. He did not quake as he followed his Dearg escort to the throne room. Only there, in the presence of Daimhin Feich and his smirking, irreligious minions, did he realize the import of what he intended to do. At the point of quailing, he reminded himself that he had been given the dream. Only he could act on it.
”And what may I do for you today, Minister Cadder?” asked Daimhin Feich, his mouth drawn into that irritating half-grin.
He believes himself superior, Cadder thought. Well, he is superior-a superior idiot.
He lifted his head and said, softly so as not to be overheard by every gaping toady, ”Actually, Regent Feich, I have come to discuss what I might do for you.”
Feich's brows ascended. ”Really? And what might you do for me?”
The emphasis in that sentence was enough to make Cadder bristle, but he hid his hackles and leaned closer to the throne in which the usurper sat. ”You intimated to Abbod Ladhar that you desire a Weaving stone . . .”
Feich's expression altered satisfactorily and Cadder leaned away again to watch.
”Let us move our conversation to a more private place,” Feich said, and rose.
The courtiers were left behind; even the ubiquitous young cousin remained outside the confines of the small but sumptuous salon he led his visitor to. Once there, he turned to the cleirach, his pale eyes alight with curiosity.
”You have brought me a rune crystal?”
Cadder nearly laughed. Was the man so daft as to think a mere cleirach might lay hands on a Weaving crystal?
”That would not be possible, sir. Only the Chosen have Weaving stones and every one is registered. To possess one, I would have to steal it, and I am no thief.”
Feich frowned. ”Then how can you help me?”
Caime Cadder's resolve almost buckled, then, for he knew he was about to cross over a sacred line. ”Perhaps you have wondered where rune crystals are found?”
”I hadn't really thought about it.”
”There is a cave below Ochanshrine,” said Cadder. ”The cave in which Ochan originally saw the Meri. He took the Osmaer Crystal from that cave. Every crystal bestowed upon a Pilgrim since that day was cut from the same chamber.”
Daimhin Feich's eyes lit once again. ”The Cave of Ochan! I had thought it merely a legend. There is some truth to the tale, then.”
Cadder bit back a caustic reply. ”The legend is entirely true. Ochan's Crystal exists; his cave exists. And it is the only source of Weaving stones.”
”Then you will get me one.”
”I? No, Regent, I cannot. To do so would be to . . . to violate my oath of service to the Osraed. However, I can tell you how to get into the cave without being observed.”
”And in doing this, you will not be violating your oath of service?”
Feich's evident amus.e.m.e.nt nearly cost Cadder his poise. He bit down hard on his wretched pride, on his revulsion at giving a Weaving stone into such hands as Daimhin Feich's.
”I have no Gift, sir. No . . . talent for the Divine Art. It is clear that you do. At the very least, you have sensed the danger posed by the Wicke of Halig-liath. You recognize her as the source of an immense and palpable Evil-a dark Power. I, personally, believe such a thing is hinted at in our Scripture, yet the wise among us seem not to recognize those references. Therefore they do not recognize the threat.”
”The wise among us . . . You mean Osraed Ladhar, I suppose.”
Cadder put a hand to his breast. Within, his heart clenched with sorrow. ”My master regards Taminy-a-Cuinn as a heretical trickster. He refuses to grant her more power than that.”