Part 48 (2/2)

”Someone hiding out from Feich?”

”I don't know, but here. In Airdnasheen.” She made a gesture upslope to where the southern reaches of the village huddled beneath the crags. ”Up there.”

”Do we dare travel through the village, then?”

”Do we have a choice?”

”We can move along the face of the scarp, but we'd be exposed, hampered by the snow and the slope, and too d.a.m.n close to Feich's camps.”

”Well, then,” Aine said and glanced back over her shoulder, though she could surely see nothing.

Saefren a.s.sumed she had just summoned the others. ”My feet and hands are like ice,” he told her. ”Have you no Weaves for warmth?”

She chuckled. ”Oh, aye,” she said and took his gloved hands between her own gloveless ones.

In a moment, he felt warmth flood his fingertips, flow up his arms, invade his body, rush down his legs to his feet. It was an eerie sensation, for it felt like no fire he had ever sat before, no hot bath he had ever taken. This warmth moved from the inside out, from the red-haired girl to him. It was as if his bones had suddenly learned to conduct heat.

He wished, for a moment, that he was not wearing gloves and could know if her hands were as hot as it seemed they must be.

That thought led to one of a slightly more intimate nature. One Saefren dashed away with a charge of purely personal heat, only barely avoiding the guilty gesture of pulling his hands away. It was little more than a flash of feeling, not even a full-fledged thought, but it shamed him and he feared she may have caught it. Only when she didn't pull her own hands away, did he relax.

He was thoroughly warmed by the time the others reached them. They paused only long enough for Leal and Iseabal to taste of Airdnasheen's strange quiet, then they slipped silently down from the rocks and into the empty village. Within moments, Aine and Iseabal had oriented themselves and led the others toward the eastern perimeter and the trail to Hrofceaster.

In the river of mist, shops and houses loomed like shrouded islands. They kept to the shadows, eyes open for any other presence than their own. They were skirting the town circle when sudden light exploded across the snow-carpeted way, resolving into a billow of flame that exposed them utterly. In seconds, the roofs of three houses opposite them were afire. The flames leapt up in sheets, illuminating the rocky mountainside, was.h.i.+ng across the circle along with a blast of heat. In a matter of seconds, they were spreading, racing to cut off the narrow lane that ran up to Hrofceaster.

Aine froze, staring at the inferno. She did not need to see the dark figures scurrying before the flames to know that they were being herded like sheep. The question was, where were they expected to go? She glanced over her shoulder, past the fire-washed startled faces of her companions. Back the way they'd come? She made a decision, praying it was the right one.

”Come on! This way!” She slipped into a dark cut between two buildings, the others moving swiftly behind her.

Saefren moved to her shoulder. ”Where are we going?”

”Out of the village.”

”Are you sure-?”

”No, I'm not.”

He followed without comment down the rough alley to the back of the row of buildings. They crossed a narrow strip of bare, rocky ground, stumbling over obstacles they couldn't see beneath the snow, Aine concentrating on the path, Saefren on Aine, Leal and Iseabal on a Cloakweave that would allow them to see themselves while s.h.i.+elding them from the eyes of others. Through the hemming rocks, they clambered, coming at last to the place where the escarpment fell away toward the canyon in a snowy roil of rock and frozen brush.

At the bottom of the track, Aine turned them eastward and upward again, toward the fortress. Their only trail led between the burning village above and the enemy encampments below. She could only pray that the Cloakweave Leal and Isha supported would be enough to conceal them. She almost dared to stretch out her aidan to Taminy, but fear of discovery forestalled her.

The blaze of Airdnasheen lit up the snow and mist, bathing the mountainside in glory. Aine tried to accept its light and ignore its dangers, her attention ahead, her eyes on the narrow, rocky defile. They rounded a large outcropping and she saw them-the ramparts of Hrofceaster, gleaming in the fire-fed mist, tiny figures swarming along the top of its battlements. Her heart surged with relief so strong she nearly cried out. A second later a slim figure swaddled in red blocked their trail.

Aine stopped, weltering in confusion. Surely, this person couldn't see them. As she watched, quivering, others appeared, Caraidin soldiers, Deasach corsairs.

The figure lifted an arm in a sweeping gesture and the soldiers deployed themselves. When they were surrounded, a man in Feich colors came to stand beside the red-robed figure-a man Aine had come to hate. He lifted a red crystal before him, balancing it on the palm of one hand. It glowed evilly in the orange wash of flame from the burning village. More evil still, was the man behind the crystal, a man whose crimson face wore a smile of triumphant delight.

He had the Osmaer crystal, well she knew. He had Airleas Malcuim. And now he had Iseabal, Aine, Leal and Saefren Claeg. She was ready when he called her out, arrogantly demanding that she meet him before the gates of Hrofceaster to negotiate her surrender.

Catahn would not let her go, begged her to let the siege continue, to let the Hillwild at his command attempt to turn the tide. They had watched their homes burn, their village utterly destroyed, they were determined, they would prevail. But they could not prevail. Another day, another night, and Hrofceaster would crumble physically. Feich's forces were superior. With the capture of the Osmaer, there was a decision to be made and it was Taminy's, alone, to make.

She withdrew to her private chamber, leaving even Catahn behind in the Great Hall. On her knees before the fire, she sought the Touch of the Meri. She took herself to a place of light, a place beyond the room her body inhabited.

”What must I do?” she asked, and knew the answer in a breath.

”You wanted to strike him down.”

Taminy raised her head, turning her eyes to the hazy shadows. Skeet stepped from them, seeming a hot, dancing flame in this Eibhilin chamber. Through the radiance that surrounded them, he seemed to wear two aspects, one overlapping the other like a translucent garment; a young boy, an old man with a beard of fire and snow and eyes like a summer sky.

”I thought of it,” she admitted.

”Will you?”

”You know the answer to that. You were my example. Did you struggle against those who came for you at Mertuile? When Feich's men carried you off to die, did you lay them to waste?”

The half-aislinn half-corporeal being shook his head-a twinned movement.

”No more can I. It's part of the Pattern. To represent the Spirit, to lay claim to Its wisdom and wield Its power, I must reflect Its qualities. To do otherwise would destroy what I am consecrated to establish. The Tapestry would unravel. Six hundred years undone in a moment of vengeance and anger.”

”So then, what will you do?” The voice was Skeet's, the soul-piercing gaze was Bevol's.

”I will surrender.”

”I accede to your demand, Daimhin Feich.”

He whirled, all but leaving his skin behind, and peered into the darkness of the hostage tent. She, the Divine Quarry, floated before him in the stygian gloom like a golden rose, watching him with grave, sad eyes. Forgetting the hostages he had been gloating over, he reached out a hand to the image-aislinn, of course-a mirage, but so real, so close. He groped after her.

”You will meet me tomorrow, before the fortress gates?”

”I will.”

”A wise choice. For their sake.” He gestured at the drugged forms of Airleas, Aine, Iseabal and Leal.

The Claeg, Saefren, was Giftless as a post and so had been spared Coinich Mor's sleeping draught. He huddled in a corner of the tent, eyes glaring sullenly at his captor. Feich enjoyed his wakeful hatred.

”You cannot withstand me, Taminy. Do you understand why?”

She grimaced. ”I understand that there is a test in this for me, perhaps I have failed it.”

”You fail because you are weak, dear Lady. Oh, I don't mean your powers or your wisdom. You are powerful enough. But your wisdom is based on a fallacy-that good is inherently more powerful than evil. You are wrong, of course.” He smiled. ”Shall I tell you why you are wrong?”

”I suppose you shall.”

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