CHAPTER 21.

Know that each soul is molded in the nature of the Spirit; that each being is pure and holy at its birth. The souls will vary only as they acquire virtue or vice in the World of Shadow and Light. Yet, at birth are all souls pure.

- Prayers and Meditations of Osraed Ochan Cyne Colfre Malcuim closed the window of his salon and drew his jacket more tightly around him. Watching him, Daimhin Feich mirrored the movement. Normally, he would have savored the landward breeze, for at this hour, it carried the scents of the marketplace-baked goods and ciders and spices. This morning, it bore only the ragged sounds of protest, the sounds of the mob that snarled at their gates. Through the night they had been there-hounds at a hare's hole-while their Cyne cowered within.

"How did it happen, Daimhin? Explain to me how this happened."

Feich, his eyes sunken hollows in his snow-field face, did not look at his Cyne. "If you'd be more specific, sire-"

"How did she betray us? You said you were certain of her."

He made himself smile. "I thought I had convinced her of my love. I thought I had convinced her of her own desire. I had convinced her. She rejected both. Obviously, she felt this creature she worships to be more important than those things."

"The Meri is not a 'creature,'" Colfre said quickly and glanced about him as if expecting demons to erupt from the floor. "She is divine. How much more proof of that do you need?"

"No more, I think, if by divine you mean supernaturally powerful."

"Yet you tried to kill her." Colfre muttered. "You set that pack of-of fanatics on her."

"They set themselves upon her. And after she denounced you, after that demonstration of her power ... I was afraid. Afraid for your life-afraid for all our lives. I believe she may live closer to chill hell than the Eibhilin realm."

Colfre gaped at him. "Don't say that! Dear God, she might still be able to hear you. Why do you say that?"

"What I saw." He shook himself, remembering.

"What?" asked Colfre. "What did you see?"

"A door into hell. A bright, horrible portal into-" He shook his head, lacking words.

A noise interrupted, and a lackey entered the chamber, bowing. "Pardon, sire, but Cwen Toireasa wishes to confer with you privately. She's in the lower hall."

"The lower hall?" Colfre repeated. "Why there? That's hardly private."

The lackey bowed again, nervously. "I don't know, sire. That's what she said-the lower hall."

The Cyne nodded. "I'll come directly."

The lackey bowed a third time and left the room.

"What do we do now?" Colfre asked. "You're my Durweard, advise me. What do we do?"

"Let me think. Speak to the Cwen. When you're finished with that, perhaps I'll have some advice to give you."

Face bleak, Colfre went to his Cwen.

In the lower hall, Colfre found, not only the Cwen, but Airleas. Both were dressed for travel, and through the open front doors of the hall he could see a waiting carriage.

"Airleas and I are leaving Mertuile," Toireasa announced. Her voice trembled slightly, but Colfre didn't wonder at it. With the castle surrounded by a rabble, she might well be nervous.

He nodded, feeling just a little bleaker. "Yes, I agree it would be a good idea for you and Airleas to be elsewhere until this situation is ... in hand. Where do you propose to go? Ochanshrine would no doubt welcome you."

The Cwen's smile was ironic. "I doubt that. I propose to go to go Nairne or, if not there, wherever it is Taminy has gone. I don't intend to come back."

Colfre felt as if every drop of blood had been squeezed from his body. "What? What are you saying?"

In answer, she raised her left hand and showed him her palm. The mark was there, star-shaped and slightly aglow-the same mark those others had shown with such disastrous results.

There was not enough air in his lungs for a gasp; instead, he swayed and wished he could sit down. "You're ... you're one of them. A-a Taminist."

"If that's what you would call us, yes."

"And Airleas?" He looked to his son with fear clogging his throat. The boy displayed his palm and Colfre's legs began to quake. "No. Dear God, no. Not Airleas, too."

Toireasa took a step toward him, putting herself between him and the boy. "You could join us, if you would."

"I can't. I am still Cyne of Caraid-land-"

"How much longer? So many of your people hate you. So many distrust you. Whose side were you really on? You befriended Taminy, all the while ingratiating yourself with Ladhar and his pack of trained wolves. What in the name of the Spirit where you thinking?"

He swallowed painfully. "That I could be Osric."

"You care so much for that?"

"The system tied my hands. I couldn't rule the way I wanted to. The way my Ancestor ruled-"

"That was six hundred years ago! Malcuim was a barbarian. It took the Meri and Osraed Ochan to tame him, tutor him, make him the Cyne he became. Before that, he was no more than the most powerful of a clutch of petty Chieftains. That, I think, because he built his castle in a more strategic location."

He gaped at her. "What do you know about any of this? You're a woman. A Cwen. What possesses you to fill your head with such things?"

"The desire to know-to understand." She smiled, viciously, he thought. "I know Taminy-a-Cuinn. I've seen what a woman can do."

"So you'll become one of them. An outlaw. A heretic."

"I'm already one of them. And heresy is a matter of viewpoint. You believed in her."

He still did. The realization made him quake. "Yes, but-"

"Come with us, Colfre. Reconcile yourself with her. Beg her forgiveness for what you allowed Feich and Cadder to do. She'll accept you. And Caraid-land will still accept you as its Cyne."

A part of him wanted to do that. But it was a small part, trapped within a cage of habitual desire. Colfre set his jaw. "Under her regime, the station of Cyne would have little meaning. I would not rule. I'd be a mere figurehead ... like my grandfather. Everyone would know I was a mere puppet-a toy." He would do anything to avoid the humiliation of that-to be Cyne in name only, nursemaided by a committee, directed by another's will-no, that was not acceptable. "I must be Cyne of Caraid-land. I want no other existence."

"Then there's nothing more to be said. Good-bye, Colfre. You'll no doubt wish to divorce me; I've left my written agreement to that in my chambers." She turned to their son, who had watched the encounter with un-childlike solemnity. "Come, Airleas, it's time for us to go."

"They won't let you out," said Colfre.

"Your soldiers?"

"No, the mob. They'll kill you. They'll kill Airleas."

She shook her head. "No, Colfre. They won't harm us. We bear the mark. We're of the New Covenant. They'll let us pass. But you are trapped here. By your own will." She turned away then, gathered Airleas to her side and left him.

The boy turned his head for the briefest moment as he stepped through the door, fixing Colfre with his dark Hillwild eyes. "Good-bye, father," he said, and was gone.

I won't let you! I won't let you take my son! He wanted to scream it aloud, but there was no strength left in him. The quivering of his legs increased, forcing him to sit. He sank to the floor in the center of the Malcuim crest, head to his knees. Servants came and went. None stopped to ask him if he was all right or why he hunched there, rocking like a drowsing infant. It was there that his Durweard found him hours later.

"The course is clear, sire," Daimhin Feich said, "you must show strength, now, or all is lost." He couldn't be sure he was getting through, for Colfre would not look at him, would not take his eyes from the cup of wine that had been set before him.

"I hated Toireasa when she gave birth to Airleas," the Cyne said at last. "At times, I convinced myself I hated the boy as well. Did you know that? Did you suspect that your old friend was such a monster that he could hate his own wife and son?"

Taken aback, Daimhin could only murmur, "No, lord. I had no idea."

"I looked at him and saw my mother-saw the taint of Hillwild blood that infects the Malcuim line. Ciaran was a fool to sell his unborn sons' birthrights for peace. The Hillwild should have been eradicated or driven so far into the Gyldan-baenn that they'd never come out again. Let them pollute Deasach blood." He paused, ruminating. "But it wasn't her fault, you see. It wasn't Airleas's. It was me." He poked a thumb at his chest. "I was the one with the taint. Not Toireasa."

"The Hillwild are a rebellious people," Daimhin agreed. "A hard people, and wild. But they are fierce in battle, and have their own honor. You could ask for no better soldiers in the field."

Colfre gave his Durweard a wry glance. "So your great experience in battle tells you, eh, Daimhin? It's been two generations since Caraid-land has had blood spilled on her soil. What would you know of Hillwild valor?"

"What my father and grandfather have told me."

"Hm. And now you'd have us raise an army to go off and fight those wily warriors in their own territory? Where are you going to raise this army, Durweard Feich? Out of the Sea? Out of the graves of our ancestors? The people outside those gates will not suffer an army to be gathered."

"We have the royal guard-"

"Many of which have defected."

Daimhin was losing his patience. "I'm aware. There are yet enough to mount a fighting force."

"To what purpose?"

"To go to Halig-liath and bring back the Riagan and the Cwen."

Colfre shook his head. "No. It's futile. Halig-liath is a fortress nearly as impregnable as Mertuile."

"Not if we attack from the ridge. We can raise an army from the House Feich, alone. Not everyone is in thrall to Taminy-Osmaer. We must bring back your heir."

Colfre's head drooped toward his wine cup. "I have no heir. I have no Cwen. I have no life."

"Sire!" Daimhin threw back his chair and stood, pounding his fists on the table. "I can't abide this talk! You are Cyne Colfre Malcuim-Malcuim, damn you! You are still the sovereign ruler of Caraid-land, still in power in Creiddylad, still in residence in Mertuile. Supporters will flock to you-already, they are doing so. You saw the vote-there are Eiric loyal to you, Ministers and even Osraed. The Ministers, alone, should be able to raise up an army." He didn't mention that he'd already commissioned them to do so.

Colfre shook his head. "No army. I will shed no blood."

"You were ready to shed Deasach blood. What of your bold campaign to press her borders?"

"A madman's daydream. That was a different Cyne Colfre."

"No. I'll not hear you speak that way of yourself."

When Colfre made no reply, Daimhin went around the table to his side and bodily pushed back his chair. Dropping to one knee before his Cyne, he boldly grasped the royal's arms and shook him. "Colfre Malcuim, you have been my Cyne, my lord, my mentor and, above all, my friend. It bleeds me dry to see you like this. That woman has sucked the light from your soul. Do you need any further proof of her evil?"

"That woman? Do you speak of Toireasa or Taminy?"

"Taminy, of course. Toireasa is merely bewicked by her. If we could eliminate the evil-"

"You can't eliminate her, Daimhin. They won't let you."

Daimhin stared at his Cyne's ravished face. Damn, but he had sunk so far ..."Perhaps They have nothing to do with it. If she is evil-"

Colfre tried to cover his ears. "Stop! Cease chattering to me about her evil. She isn't evil. She's light upon light. Only I-I am too much a creature of darkness to be able to look on her. She blinds me, burns me, withers me."

"You cannot let yourself fall into despair."

"Too late. I have fallen. Leave me."

"No."

Colfre surprised him, breaking his hold and pushing him forcefully away. "Leave me alone, Daimhin. Go away. I need time to think."

Shaking with rage and frustration, Daimhin did as bidden. He, too, needed time to think.

Silver-tailed clouds galloped the skies, driven by a brisk whip of wind. The tallest peaks of the Gyldan-baenn tried to snare them as they passed, but only a few paused to graze the high slopes. From her window on the southern side of Halig-liath, Taminy watched them. They carried autumn on their backs, late summer thunder in their hooves. She smiled. She liked autumn.

"Good to see you smile, Lady."

She turned. The Ren Catahn stood just within the door. He was one of the few people who could catch her unawares, and only if he put his mind to it.

"How long have you been standing there?" she asked him.

"Not long. I didn't want to interrupt your thoughts."

She beckoned him to sit with her in the broad window seat. He did with some timorousness which, in a man of his stature, was amusing. She smiled again, watching him. When he had made himself comfortable at as respectful a distance as the seat would allow, she asked, "What news?"

"There's been no movement of troops from Creiddylad. The Cyne's been in seclusion since the Flight. Rumors tell of his failing health-the Cwen and Airleas have left him."

"Yes, I know. They're coming here."

Catahn grinned. "Of course, you know. Ah, but did you know I sent an escort to meet them?"