The Dark Mirror (52 page)

There was a single hair on the windowsill, caught in place under one of the little white stones.
The breeze lifted it; Bridei took it between his fingers, the long dark strand curling around his hand as if it bore its own life. Hers; Tuala’s. She had stood here before she went away; had kept vigil here, perhaps, saying her good-byes. Had Broichan played a part in it? Had he sent her away again, this time forever? Bridei touched the token he still wore around his wrist, a scrap of faded ribbon
worn so thin it was close to fraying apart.
Why would you let this happen?
he asked the Shining One, although her face was not yet visible beyond his window; it was barely dusk, and on the long summer nights her image was but a pale shadow in the half-dark of the sky.
Why would you take her away from me?
And the image of Donal’s twisted body and distorted features came back, Donal who had died
because of him. Bridei lay down on the pallet and closed his eyes. It was necessary to go on. He had been trained to endure, to cope, to be strong. He must ride to Caer Pridne, and there, at last, Broichan must give him answers: answers about Tuala, and answers about himself.

“
YOU HAVE NOT
told him yet?” Aniel asked, gray
eyes intent on Broichan, elegant hands held palms together on the table before him. They sat in a chamber at Caer Pridne, the hall of one of the lesser dwellings that were clustered within the fortress walls of Drust’s stronghold, overlooking the sea path from Fortriu to the Light Isles and beyond. Their meeting would be brief; this council had evaded notice for many long years by coming together
rarely, unobtrusively, and in a different location each time. Its business was secret and perilous. That business was becoming increasingly urgent, and they had come together as soon as Talorgen arrived back at court; he was still in his riding boots. Drust the Bull was ailing. The whispers said the next observance of Gateway would be this king’s last. They had less than a year, perhaps only a
season, to set their pieces in place and make their last, vital play. And there had been the attempt to kill; not the first, but surely the most audacious.

“I wished Bridei to take part in this endeavor without the weight of such high expectations on his shoulders.” Broichan’s tone was calm as always, but there was a wariness in his eyes. “It is time for the truth now, I agree. But he has only
just arrived here; he’ll be weary after the ride from Pitnochie. I will speak to him tomorrow He’ll still be grieving the loss of his friend; I imagine he thinks himself responsible, illogical as that is. He knows, of course. Bridei is too clever, too astute to have let this obvious truth evade him for so long, careful as I and his other tutors have been not to become specific on the subject of
his own parentage and what that could mean.”

“You should have discussed it with him long ago,” said Talorgen. “Or allowed me to do so. Bridei could then have begun to prepare himself for what now seems alarmingly imminent. We don’t have long. The boy must be presented to Drust within days.”

“Tomorrow night, in fact,” said Aniel. “A celebratory supper; the king wishes to congratulate you, friend,
and those of your warriors who have accompanied you here to court. Already he hears tales of the young man whose bold ingenuity saw the Mage Stone snatched from the enemy’s grasp. He’s eager to meet the lad; the story put life back in his eyes.”

“Then Broichan must indeed speak to Bridei without delay.” Talorgen drummed his fingers on the table, frowning. “The king knows the boy’s origins; he
recognizes this is a potential claimant. We need Bridei to have his wits about him. And his eyes open; if murder can be committed at my own table in Raven’s Well, then it can surely follow us right into the security of Caer Pridne. Breth and Garth must be vigilant.”

“But not too obvious.” Fola had been silent up till now. “I believe we need something more here; not merely the capacity to guard
our candidate from a knife in the back before we get so much as a chance to put him forward, but the ability to nip that threat in the bud. By my count, there are at
least seven men who could be proposed for kingship when the time comes. I’ll wager there’s no more than one among them with so little sense of his own worth that he must stoop to assassination attempts. Talorgen has failed completely
in his efforts to uncover the assailant’s identity, let alone the name of the man who hired him. What’s to stop this fellow trying his hand day and night from now until spring, or however long Drust holds on? Bridei needs the bodyguards, nobody could deny that. He also needs special protection. An investigator with particular talents. A man who is not squeamish; who can seek out the truth, and
who will use his own knife without hesitation, should it come to that.”

Aniel gave a wintry smile. “You’re utterly wasted at Banmerren, Fola,” he said.

“There is such a man, of course,” Broichan said. “Drust would have to agree to his release for this purpose. Were I to ask such a favor of the king, I would need to tell him the truth.”

Aniel raised his brows. “Do not you always tell your king
the truth?” he asked in mock surprise.

From a corner, Uist gave an explosive bark of laughter. The others started; they had almost forgotten the wild druid’s presence among them. “There is a particular kind of truth reserved for kings,” Uist said, peering at them from the shadows with his bright, changeable eyes. “It consists of whatever their advisers think they should know. My belief is, you’ll
have no need to do any telling at all. One look at this boy and Drust will recognize what’s plain in the lad’s bearing, his eye, his speech; what’s manifest in the way men respect him. He’s a king in the making; the only choice for Fortriu. After that, Drust will lend you as many dangerous men with knives as you want.”

“We only need one,” Broichan said. “A particular one.”

“It must be handled
carefully,” said Talorgen. “You know what occurred when they last happened upon one another, Bridei and the man we speak of.”

“They are men. They will deal with it. As for Drust and this feast you mention, we must have a word in the king’s ear, I think. We don’t want every person at court gossiping about Bridei and taking wagers on his chances. Why do you think I’ve kept him out of the public
eye for so long? That’s his advantage; the lack of foolish distractions has allowed him to become strong in the love of the gods and pure of courage and purpose.”

“The world he must live in is this one,” Aniel said. “The world of power
plays, of machinations, of lies and half-truths, of implications and uncertainties. A world of shadows. The moment you tell him formally, he must step into that
realm and still remain strong.”

“He will be strong enough,” Broichan said. “Since first he came to me at Pitnochie, every moment of his life has been bent toward this end. The raw material was good; fourteen years of rigorous preparation have made it perfect. He will not fail us.”

Fola gave a little cough; the four men turned as one to look at her where she sat, tranquil and still in her soft
gray robes.

“You wish to express a reservation?” Broichan’s voice held a slight edge now.

“To make a comment, merely. It is a heavy weight of expectation to lie on such young shoulders. I, too, hold high hopes for Bridei. It seems to me he walks with the breath of the gods at his back. I remind you simply that we should not forget the cost of this in our haste to congratulate ourselves.”

“Cost?”
echoed Broichan. “What do you mean?”

“That perhaps this might not have been his choice, had choice been open to him. That the life of a king is anything but easy. It is a lonely path, as Uist once told us; a path of impossible choices, of constant pressure. Bridei will accept it; there is no doubt in my mind that the gods whisper in his ear. We should not expect that this will fill him with gladness.”

“Give me your honest opinion, Broichan,” Talorgen said. “Yours too, Aniel. You’ve both been close to the king in recent times; you’ve had a good opportunity to assess the situation. To put it bluntly, how long does he have? They’re speaking of Gateway, more than a full season ahead. Gods willing, Drust will be with us to enact that dark ritual once more; it will indeed seem strange when we see
another man kneel by the Well of Shades. Now tell me. Will Drust survive another winter?”

Aniel glanced at Broichan; Broichan gazed steadily back, dark eyes unreadable.

“It would be almost a mercy” Aniel said quietly, “if he did not. To hear him straining for breath in the cold winter air is to hear purest pain made sound. If Bone Mother is merciful she will gather him to her breast by solstice
time.”

“I see,” Talorgen said. “Then we must busy ourselves, my friends. When birds of prey sense a weakening of their quarry, they ready themselves to swoop, talons extended. We must protect both the old king and the new.
We must see the mantle passed on, in spirit at least; the flame kept alight through times of darkness.”

“Very poetic,” Uist observed, “if somewhat muddled. Fola, I will walk
back with you to Banmerren. It’s a long path for a woman on her own. Not that I constitute much of a protector; still, one look at me and folk tend to run off quite quickly lest I take it into my head to transform them into geese or swine. Once I return you safely to your women’s fortress, I’m thinking of wandering off in the direction of Circinn. We need a little intelligence from those parts.
If what you say is true, and the gods do indeed intend to take Drust from us in the space of a season or two, I doubt very much that his namesake in the south will allow the succession to go our way unchallenged. With luck a wandering druid who seems somewhat addled in his wits can pass unsuspected. I’ll report back in due course.”

“Be careful,” Aniel warned. “You may believe the robe of your
calling protects you, but they’ve no love for the old faith in the lands of Drust the Boar. No love and no respect. You’d best visit only the more isolated settlements; stay well away from his court. The king of Circinn may treat you with some civility, but his advisers are weasels, ruthless and cunning.”

“Come, Fola,” Uist said, ignoring the warning. “A walk by the sea will do our old bones
good. Let us leave these devious men to their own devices and enjoy the song of the waves and the gulls awhile. Unless you are too dignified to be seen in the company of a crazy old man like me?”

“I can bear it, I think,” said Fola, rising to her feet. “Broichan, you haven’t asked after your other foster child.”

Broichan stared at her blankly; it was clear she had achieved the unlikely feat
of catching him off guard. “You mean Tuala,” he said after a moment. “How is she?” The tone was devoid of inflection.

“Doing very well. She’s cooperative, demonstrates remarkable skill and applies herself diligently”

“I’m pleased to hear it.” Broichan spoke as if this bored him; it was plain that he responded at all only out of basic courtesy, and because others were present.

“She’s also deeply
unhappy, profoundly lonely, and desperately homesick.”

There was a pause.

“Not uncommon, I suppose, in your new arrivals,” Broichan said. “I’m sure you deal with it as capably as you do with everything else. Tuala had the
opportunity of a good marriage. Very foolishly, she chose to let that go. Considering what she is, she should be on her knees thanking you for your kindness.”

“Marriage,”
Fola mused. “She would have been—what—twelve, thirteen at the time?”

There was an undercurrent in the chamber now; Aniel and Talorgen, gathering cloaks in readiness to depart, were making pretense that this was of no interest to them. Uist listened unabashed, eyes bright and curious as a raven’s.

“Old enough,” Broichan said. “Girls are commonly wed at such an age, are they not? Why are we talking
about this, Fola? We have an agreement. The girl’s happiness, or lack of it, was never a part of that. This is unimportant. Irrelevant. And I must go; if I linger here my absence may be noted.” He swept past her, dark robe flying out behind him, pushed open the oak door and was gone.

“Hmm,” Aniel said. “You have an art possessed by no one else in all of Fortriu, Fola. The only times I ever see
that man let his control slip, it’s in your presence. Who is this girl? Broichan never mentioned a second foster child. Is this of any import, or do you speak merely to vex him?”

“You heard what he said. He is the master of this plan and, in his mind, the girl is of no consequence at all. Are you ready, Uist? Come then, let us slip out the back way; with your abilities and mine, I expect we may
go entirely unnoticed. Farewell, Aniel, Talorgen. I will not return here until Gateway. Send a message if there’s an urgent need for me before that time. Otherwise, I expect I will occupy myself well enough with my unimportant students.”