Leal found a name for him-Minister Cadder. A horrid black heat arose in his breast and his face felt scorched. He would have to do a year's contrite praying to shed the guilt of the thoughts he was having. If there was ever a person Lealbhallain-mac-Mercer wanted to do violence to, it was Minister Caime Cadder.

Those poisonous lips were moving again and the young Osraed in his quiet rage could barely force himself to listen.

"You say he manipulated the Cyne's writ of Regency? Have you proof of this?"

"Proof? Caime, I was there. Feich brought me over from Ochanshrine himself, saying the Cyne was dying. When we arrived at Mertuile, he told me I was needed to witness a writ of Regency. En route to the Cyne's salon, Daimhin Feich voiced his fear that Airleas was lost-that even if he could be returned, he might still be under the sway of the Wicke, might never be free of her."

Cadder's already gaunt face somehow managed to look even more sunken. "I pray the child is not yet completely lost, Abbod. He's only a boy. Surely if we get to him in time-"

"Oh, yes-if."

"Daimhin Feich was Cyne Colfre's Durweard; more than that, he was a lifetime companion. Given the power of the Wicke, his fears are surely understandable. By G.o.d, I know I share them. How do you imagine you were manipulated?"

Abbod Ladhar's porcine face reddened. "I did not imagine, Minister Cadder. I was manipulated. Daimhin Feich planted in my mind the idea that another Cyneric should be appointed in case of Airleas's default. One moment I was discussing the Regency with Feich and the next, I was pressing Colfre to make that G.o.dless wretch his son's surrogate."

"Dear G.o.d! Do you-? You're not suggesting he Wove?"

"h.e.l.l's ice, Caime! Of all the appalling . . . I would never suggest . . ."

Ladhar's face quivered like jelly and fear stood out in his pale eyes. He turned away from the cleirach and moved his bulk to the Altar.

"Absurd," Leal thought he said, but knew beyond doubt that his fear was real.

At the Altar, the Abbod turned back to his companion, smiling. "Your imagination is amazing, Caime. How in the name of all holy can you even think an unbeliever might possess the Gift?"

The cleirach admitted, blushing, that it was a ludicrous thought and the two men set to discussing the Cirke-dag worship.

Leal found himself beyond belief as they calmly planned a series of small counterfeit miracles to awe the worshippers: Smoke b.a.l.l.s and little Fireweaves to amaze; the chiming of the wind bells at an auspicious moment; and, if those things were not bad enough, an Osraed would fall to his knees and fabricate an aislinn vision which, Ladhar implied, would be no more than some whirling lights appearing around the Crystal.

When Leal was woozy from what he'd overheard and despairing that he would ever have a chance at Ladhar, the cleirach left to fulfill some errand, leaving the old Abbod on his own. Leal didn't wait, but came to his feet, stepped from behind the rows of benches and approached the other, shedding his timidity as one sloughs sleep.

"Abbod."

The Osraed Ladhar turned, his expression going from blandly benign to utter disbelief. "You! How do you dare speak to me? How do you dare show yourself-here, of all places!"

He glanced up the broad aisle, made an indecisive move in that direction and halted as Osraed Fhada appeared, wraith-like, from of a row of benches between Ladhar and the open doorway. Face purpling horribly in the ruddy-gold glow from the stained windows, the Abbod wavered.

"What is it you want? Have you come to kill me? Be quick about it then, but know that you will not go unpunished. The Meri will scourge you through all eternity for such an act."

Fhada, advancing slowly down the aisle, shook his head. "We've neither the desire nor the means to harm you, Abbod. We came only to talk. To speak to you about the things that have befallen Caraid-land and to express our concern about what is yet to come."

"I'll tell you what is to come," barked the old Osraed, and his jowls shook like the wattles of a hen. "Airleas Malcuim shall be liberated from your Taminist comrades and placed upon the Throne. Then, I swear, you will all be hunted down and destroyed like the disease-carrying vermin you are."

"At whose command shall this be done?" asked Fhada. "Surely you don't expect young Airleas to order it."

"His Regent will order it."

"Ah, yes. Daimhin Feich, the man you just accused of manipulating you into voting him surrogate Cyneric."

The Abbod's face paled. "You heard-?"

"Everything," said Lealbhallain.

Ladhar's head swiveled, tracking him. "I don't know what you imagine you overheard-"

"That you suspected yourself to have been the victim of Feich's manipulations, just as Cyne Colfre was. Abbod, if you believe that, surely you must see that Feich didn't perform those manipulations without reason. He seeks to take the Throne."

"And what is that to me?" asked Ladhar. "Do you imagine I have some great loyalty to the House Malcuim? I have not. My loyalty is to the Meri. I care very little whose b.u.t.tocks grace the Throne of Caraid-land as long as their owner does not seek to undermine everything I hold dear. Only the Meri's grace saved us from having that Wicke holding court at Mertuile. If Airleas Malcuim cannot be brought out of her influence permanently, then I will support Daimhin Feich. Whether it's him or some distant Malcuim cousin at Mertuile, it makes no difference to me. Either is far better than having a little Taminist parked there."

"Are you sure?" asked Fhada. He moved to stand below the Altar just far enough from Lealbhallain that Ladhar still had to twitch back and forth to watch them both.

"What do you mean, am I sure? Taminy-a-Cuinn would have Airleas destroy the Osraed."

Fhada shook his head. "Taminy wanted only to renew the Osraed, to make us pure and whole and strong again. Yes, I know you'd argue that. Let me ask you this: What would Daimhin Feich do to the Osraed? What does he intend for the religion of the Meri?"

"He intends that it be left alone, in our hands. He's an unbeliever. He doesn't care about our doings for any spiritual reason, I know. But he does care that the Osraed inst.i.tution is his best chance of controlling the hearts of the people-"

"When Taminy has won so many of those hearts to herself?" asked Leal.

"Taminy is no longer here. People will soon forget the supposed miracles she performed. We will win those hearts back through miracles of our own."

"Ah, yes." Fhada nodded his mop of curls. "With Fireweaves and little smoke b.a.l.l.s and colorful lights. Do you imagine that can compare with making a broken body sound or bringing real Eibhilin light into a soul?"

The Abbod reddened. "We will win those hearts back."

"And what will Daimhin Feich do with them once you have done that?" asked Fhada. "Do you think he will let you keep them?"

"Where are your loyalties, Abbod Ladhar?" asked Leal, taking a step forward. "You say they are with the Meri. If that is so, they cannot be also with Daimhin Feich, for his loyalty is to himself alone."

"I am Osraed," Ladhar answered. "My loyalty is always to the Meri-alone. I also believe in Her power. If Daimhin Feich threatens to undermine Her religion, She will thwart him, just as She thwarted your Wicke Cwen. She will raise up Her forces-"

"She already has," Leal observed, "and you fight us."

"I will never believe that. I am at Apex of the Osraed Council now. I will appoint my Triumvirate and, as the tools of the Meri's will, we will destroy the forces of the Wicke. We will restore Her religion and renew it, purge the unworthy from our ranks, recover the prestige of our inst.i.tutions. If Daimhin Feich stands in the way of that, we will see him destroyed as well."

Leal and Fhada's eyes met in a silent exchange. Then, with one accord, they began to withdraw toward a side entrance.

The Abbod Ladhar watched them depart, mute.

Safely away from Cyne's Cirke, Leal reflected on what he had learned. Of one thing he was absolutely certain; Abbod Ladhar was no toady to Daimhin Feich. Not knowing Taminy, he might despise her, but he was not an enemy of the Meri's, merely a misguided defender. Perhaps, if he could be convinced that Feich was not to be trusted . . .

Leal pulled himself out of his reverie enough to note his surroundings. He had separated from Fhada lest Ladhar send someone after them, and now stood on the edge of the marketplace.

He tugged at his forelock, making sure it covered his forehead and aimed a small obscuring Weave at the heavily camouflaged Kiss on his forehead. When he'd left Carehouse that morning it had been a muddy green-gold stellate smudge. He prayed it still appeared so, then dove into the crowds.

It seemed to him that people were a little less on edge today than they had seemed the last time he'd been out. A week ago, now. He lingered by knots of gossip, to glean any news from Mertuile. Regent Feich had been seen about in the dead Cyne's carriage. Some thought that an outrage, some thought it was his due-all had seen the bans proclaiming his Regency.

Leal wended his way through flocks of market-goers, side-stepped strolling merchants and performers, pa.s.sed by bright tents and stalls, eyes peering, looking for a certain little flower cart. At last he spied it and made his way over to where another of Taminy's followers, Haesel Sweep, now pursued a new and flourishing business. Around the cart was a knot of well-dressed gentlemen engaged in animated discussion of the muddy affairs of state.

"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 astonishing 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, shivers? 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."