The Dearg woman's cat-eyes widened and he half expected her to hiss at the thing. "Red," she said. "The color of pa.s.sion . . . and of blood." She held out her hand and Feich let the crystal fall into it. Her eyes followed the fall. "You know, don't you, that 'red' in the Old Tongue is 'dearg?'"

In the moment he opened his mouth to answer, the red stone came to sullen life in the Hillwild Wicke's hands. It was a reluctant light-not so much a spark as an ember. But it was enough. Feich's heart leapt up in his chest and bolted. It took effort to hold his excitement in check.

"Impressive, Coinich Mor, but can you teach me to light the stone? To Weave with it?"

She looked up at him, golden eyes almost saucy in their regard. "Oh, more than that, Regent Feich. More than that."

Chapter 10.

The faithful lover hunts only the object of his Pilgrimage, and has no pa.s.sion but union with the Beloved. He shall not attain this object until he sacrifices all. That is, what he sees and hears and knows-all must be given up, so that he might enter the abode of the Spirit, which is the City of Light.

This Pilgrimage demands labor and ardor; and if we taste of this glorious reunion, we shall gladly cast away the world.

- Book of Pilgrimages

Osraed Gartain

They rode beneath the great arch when the light of morning was still slanting across the low hills. Shadows lay deep among the buildings of Creiddylad, yet already there were people on the street who looked up in amazement as the a.s.sembled ranks of the Four Allies rode through.

Saefren could not help but feel a swell of pride and exhilaration. He rode between his uncle and the Jura Chieftain at the fore of the long column. The other Chieftains rode one rank back, their standard-bearers just behind them, carrying aloft the pride of the Houses.

They drew people to them as they moved through the city. By the time they made the final climb up the long slope to Mertuile, they had a long train of citizens spread out in their wake, and when they halted in the great square that held the Cyne's Market, those citizens eddied and pooled behind them, murmuring among themselves.

Iobert sent Saefren to ask admittance for the Chieftains. He could see the unease and perplexity in the gatekeeper's eyes as he spoke with him-the way they darted again and again to the mounted mult.i.tude. But Saefren's words were mild; the chieftains wanted only an audience with the Cyneric's Regent. The man hurried away to deliver his message, leaving Saefren to study the sun-warmed stone of the castle's outer curtain and become mesmerized by the snap of banners in the sea breeze and the rhythmic drumming of surf against the base of Mertuile's rocky scarp.

The gatekeeper's return was swift. The gates of Mertuile swung open and the four Chieftains entered with their respective aides-de-camp. As was custom, their standards were carried to the top of the southeast wall above the city gate and flown beside the three already there-the Malcuim, the Feich and the Dearg.

Saefren thought it ironic to see the Malcuim banner still flying over Mertuile when there was no Malcuim in residence.

Feich did not keep his guests waiting long, but that he kept them waiting at all was significant to Saefren. Feich was still playing the politics of the game, still a.s.suming that his was a position of power or at least of control. While Saefren chafed at the delaying tactic, his uncle and the others seemed almost too relaxed.

Feich appeared at last, placing himself brazenly in the Malcuim throne. Saefren gritted his teeth, glad he would not be called upon to speak; he doubted he could be civil. It was The Jura who presented the pet.i.tion, and The Jura was ever the diplomat.

"We bring you greetings," he said, his elegant voice filling the large room, "from the Houses Claeg, Gilleas, Graegam and Jura."

Feich gave his head a token nod. "Your greetings are accepted, Mortain Jura. To what do I owe the honor of your overwhelming presence?"

The Jura smiled, teeth white and even in his fair face. "As you can see, many of our people wished to travel with us to Creiddylad to show their support of our pet.i.tion."

Feich's brows rose. "Pet.i.tion?"

"Regent, we have come to enjoin you to return Airleas Malcuim to the Throne of Caraid-land."

Feich spread his hands. "What would you have me do, gentlemen? What powers have I in the matter?"

"You can guarantee the Cyneric's safety and his independence of coercion."

"How can I do that?"

"We propose," said The Jura, his voice taking on a subtle edge, "that Airleas be brought to Mertuile under an escort made up from among these Houses." His hand swept the group arrayed about him. "Once here, he will be set before the Stone at Ochanshrine and given his rightful place on the Throne."

Feich smiled. "Airleas is a boy. I would yet have to serve as Regent."

"We have no argument with that, save to propose that his Regents shall be three-yourself, as you were appointed by Colfre and approved by the Abbod Ladhar, Iobert Claeg and myself."

Feich was clearly amused. "You realize, of course, that the last time a Claeg and a Feich shared Regency the results were disastrous."

"Surely, Regent, we are capable of learning from history." The Jura's smile did not reach his eyes.

Daimhin Feich's gaze moved to the Claeg Chieftain. "Are we, Iobert Claeg, capable of learning from history? Or shall we only repeat it?"

"I can only speak for myself, Regent," replied Iobert, laying a slight and condescending stress on the t.i.tle. "I want what is best for my people-by that, I mean all Caraidin. It is not best that the Throne of Caraid-land remain empty."

Saefren swore Daimhin Feich actually flinched, but he did not rise from the throne he occupied. Instead, he leaned back in it with studied calm and folded his hands upon his stomach.

"For this you bring your a.s.sembled forces to Creiddylad-to make this benign proposal?"

The Jura shrugged, smiling. "Forces? Regent, the people outside your gates are merely well-wishers of Cyneric Airleas. They are here voluntarily to show support for the young Malcuim's return and call for his continued success. I a.s.sure you, Daimhin Feich, that any fighting force we sought to a.s.semble would be much more formidable."

Feich's jaw tightened. He rose from the throne at last, straightening his tunic with sharp, jerky motions. "A triune Regency? Why should I accept this proposal? I am Airleas Malcuim's Regent by royal decree."

"To show good will. To satisfy the people of Caraid-land."

"You are not a popular man," added Iobert Claeg. "By demonstrating a willingness to work with other Houses . . ."

"I work with the Dearg and the Teallach-"

"Such as the Jura and the Claeg," Iobert persisted.

"Surely, you can see the advantage of that," added Mortain Jura. "As you say, you are Regent. It behoves you to choose your allies carefully."

Feich's pale eyes flickered between the two Chieftains' faces. "You are undoubtedly right. It behoves all of us to choose our allies carefully."

Fencing. That's what they were doing-fencing. The subject of Taminy was broached without her name ever being mentioned. Saefren's hand worked the leather-wrapped hilt of his sword.

You know each other's thoughts. Why won't you speak them?

"What of Cwen Toireasa?" Feich asked. "You've not mentioned her."

"The boy needs his mother," The Jura observed.

"The woman is a Taminist."

"She is also a Malcuim. Mother of the House Chieftain. Respect is due her, regardless of how little real influence she has at court."

"She'll have neither respect nor influence if she comes here," Feich promised. "She is a traitor to her husband's House and his memory. A heretic. Perhaps even a Wicke. Yet you wish me to install her at Mertuile?"

"Airleas needs his family about him."

"Airleas needs discipline. If he needs family, we will import cousins from Creiddylad or Storm."

Mortain's eyes flicked to Iobert and back. "Will you agree to the triune Regency?"

"Perhaps. But Toireasa Malcuim shall not reside in Mertuile, unless it be in her dungeons."

"That one concession we are willing to make," said Mortain mildly, casting another glance at The Claeg. "Toireasa may return to the Selbyr estates to live with her family. That is as flexible as I am prepared to be." He waited for some response from Feich, and when there was none said, "Shall we send to Ochanshrine for a cleirach and have an agreement drawn up?"

Feich raised his hand, remounting the dais to the throne. "Too hasty, brother. There is another name that's gone unmentioned here." He seated himself and gazed out at them, eyes cold. "What of Taminy, who dares call herself Osmaer?"

Saefren's blood iced over in his veins and he felt, suddenly and to the bone, the rashness of this undertaking. The Madaidh was right; all they would get for espousing Taminy's Cause was Daimhin Feich's enmity and with it the enmity of his allies.

Before Saefren's inner eye was the specter of war-horrible, mad war between Houses that had been at peace for a century or more. He could hear the clashing of swords and the cries of a torn land. The sudden vision rattled him, making his knees quiver. He was not a coward, but he had no illusions that there was glory in battle. Perhaps he was less a Claeg for that.

He shook himself.

The Jura was speaking, his face still composed and smiling. "What of her?"

Feich's eyes narrowed to icy slivers. "Do you not serve her?"

Mortain Jura looked down at his hands. Gloved, they rested on the eagle's head cap of his staff. An affectation, Saefren had once thought, until he discovered that the ornately carved thing housed a thin sword.

"We serve none but the Golden Meri, Regent. We worship none but the Spirit of All. We venerate Its Chosen Ones and we obey Its precepts."

"Then Taminy-Osmaer is nothing to you?"

"She is as the air, Regent Feich. One looks, and sees nothing."

Saefren expelled the draft of air he'd been holding and hastily sucked up another lungful, this time vowing he'd remember to exhale it. There was a warning in his uncle's eyes and a spark of something sterner. He said nothing.

"Then you are not one of her followers?"

"How does one follow the wind?"

"Your words are elusive, Mortain. Speak plainly: Are you or are you not a Taminist?"

"I am not a 'Taminist.'"

This seemed to mollify Feich. He looked to the other Chieftains. "What of the rest of you?"

"I worship the Spirit of All," said The Gilleas. "I serve the Golden Meri; I venerate Her Chosen Ones and obey Her commandments."

"The Gilleas speaks for me, as well," said Karr Graegam.

"I am no Taminist," said Iobert Claeg and his nephew remembered to breathe.

Daimhin Feich smiled. "I'm not certain I believe you. I seem to recall you arising to proclaim the truth of her mission not so long ago."

"The Dearg also proclaimed it," Mortain reminded him. "And the Teallach. Yet . . ." He shrugged. "Taminy has great powers, Daimhin. Can you doubt them capable of bewicking the Hall? We are not Osraed to be able to withstand such Weaving."

"Then, the inyx has worn off?"

"So it would seem. We are not now bewicked."

Saefren wished he could read minds as the waljan were said to do. He could only read the Regent's sharp features and try to wring meaning from his words.

Feich's eyes were wary, if hopeful. "Are you then saying you are my allies?"

This time it was Iobert Claeg who spoke, and his voice carried steel. "We are the subjects of the Cyne of Caraid-land and the allies of his House. Our cause is his cause. His success and safety is our mission."

"You would have a Malcuim Cyne?"

"We have a Malcuim Cyne. We would have him set upon his throne."

Iobert Claeg's eyes would have flayed a lesser man than Daimhin Feich-or perhaps a man more aware of his moods-but Feich continued to sit in his pirated throne and smile as if the Universe had arisen to call him "beloved."

"Then you are neutral?"

"We are committed to Airleas Malcuim."

Feich inclined his head. "As I am. Very well, gentlemen. Let us have an agreement. Airleas Malcuim will be returned to Mertuile and be set before the Stone. He will have three Regents: myself, and the Chieftains Jura and Claeg. Do you gentlemen intend to reside at Mertuile?"

The Jura glanced at his Claeg peer. "We do."

This seemed to surprise Feich. "But your holdings-"

"Will be in the hands of my brother," said Mortain.

"And you, Iobert? Will you, too, hand your powers of estate into the hands of a kinsman?"

"I intend that my powers be vested in my eldest daughter."

Saefren was all but felled by amazement. Apparently, Feich was similarly afflicted. Fortunately, he was seated-Saefren merely wanted to sit. d.a.m.n, Uncle Iobert and his Claeg gall!