The Dark Mirror (63 page)

He could not think of that now. Bargoit had ceased his narrative and was eyeing Bridei, arms
folded, expression challenging. Beside him, his fellow councillor Fergus had taken up a similar stance. If they wanted some kind of debate, he would give them one. Every meeting must be used, and used well, if he was to have the numbers when it counted.

“Play knives if you want,” he murmured to Garth.

“Best if I just keep an eye on them; too easy for someone’s hand to wobble, in here, and something
sharp travel beyond the target at an unfortunate moment. You planning to talk to that long-faced misery from Circinn?”

“That’s the plan. Better be quiet if you’re coming over with me. We must at least make pretense of being civil.”

“To a fellow who throws the wise women out of their houses and installs wretched foreigners like that Suibne instead?”

“To just such a fellow, Garth. He’s one of
our own, whether or not we like his approach.”

“Silent as the grave, that’s me.”

“Good man.”

A conversation ensued that covered a wide range of topics without ever quite mentioning the sad fact that Drust the Bull was dying, or the undeniable truth that Fortriu would soon be needing a new king. They began on neutral territory, speaking of fishing and hunting and what opportunities existed in
the Great Glen as opposed to the gentler lands near the southern court of Drust the Boar. Circinn was not without hills, although nothing there could rival the high, bare peaks of the Five Sisters or the snow-capped mountains of the west. Drust the Boar’s own fortress was set atop an ancient mount, close by the sacred hill that had been a place of pilgrimage since time before time: the Mother, it
was called. Wise women no longer made their climb up the Mother’s bony flanks, nor kept their vigil on her peak at Gateway or at Measure. Christian missionaries had put a stop to that. The houses of the goddess in Circinn had been closed down one by one, the wise women displaced. Bridei wondered if folk still made the journey secretly, alone or in little furtive groups. He turned his thoughts back
to the topic under discussion: what game might be found on the wooded slopes of that region.

“You hunt deer yourself?” Bargoit inquired. “A good pastime for a young man.”

“I was raised by a druid,” Bridei said quietly. “I have participated in the hunt at Raven’s Well. But my knowledge of wild creatures is based on the understanding of the world we share, not on a need to pursue and kill. At
Pitnochie our table was furnished chiefly from the farm. And with fish, of course. The hidden glens north of Serpent Lake are home to some of the finest trout that ever graced a man’s table.”

“Mm,” said Bargoit. “They tell me Morleo’s lands at Longwater are rich
with lakes and streams. You fought with him at Galany’s Reach, did you not? What opinion did you form of the man?”

“I think Morleo
an admirable leader,” Bridei said cautiously; this topic was more complicated. “Forthright, flexible, respected by his men.”

“And Ged?”

“Well loved. Valiant.”

“You describe Morleo as flexible. No man who adheres unswervingly to the old ways can be called that. You’re living in the past, all of you. No wonder . . .” Bargoit appeared to think better of what was to follow. His sudden reticence
was more than a little artful.

“No wonder what?” Bridei could not let it go. Others were listening, Bargoit’s fellow councillor Fergus and, from farther away, the Christian priest, Drust the Bull’s adviser Tharan, and the red-headed Carnach, a contender for kingship.

“No wonder your victory at Galany’s Reach was a short-lived thing,” Bargoit said bluntly. “Who but a man who looks ever backward
would seek to make such an expensive gesture? A whole season wasted, grievous losses sustained, homes and farms neglected, and for what? The momentary seizing of a trifling objective? The symbolic removal of a lump of stone with a few cryptic signs carved on it, an animal or two, a depiction of headless corpses arrayed in rows? No territory gained and precious few useful prisoners taken. One petty
chieftain, that was about all, from what they tell me. That’s no way to conduct a war. With that approach, Fortriu will never drive out the invaders. Before you know it the Great Glen will be overrun by Gaels. They’ll be burning your homes, laying waste your farms, slaughtering your children, and helping themselves to your wives.”

It was necessary to remain calm. Not far off stood Talorgen, suddenly
very white, with a grim set to the jaw. Bridei used one of Broichan’s patterns for breathing, unclenched his hands, willed the headache into the background. “Such comments intrigue me,” he said smoothly, moving to seat himself in what he hoped was a relaxed pose on a bench near Bargoit. “May I? Do sit down; let us continue our discussion. Breth, will you ask someone to bring ale? Now,” leaning
forward to address the other, “the way I’ve heard it told, Circinn has its own border problems. A different enemy, Angles and others from the south, a multitude of fierce tribes whose incursions inside your lands require great numbers of armed men to be stationed more or less
permanently in those parts. A heavy toll on the court, or on whichever chieftains must maintain those outposts. I would
not provoke a childish contest here by asking if you, in your turn, have ventured forth into the south and attempted to reclaim the territories lost to your people. I will not ask if your own victories are symbolic or real. I will say that a wise man does not look at his realm piece by piece, as if he believed he could comprehend a whole shore by examining a single grain of sand, or an entire forest
in a solitary leaf. I adhere to the ancient gods; I am loyal to them in every way, for they are the very foundation, the beating heart of Fortriu. That does not mean I look backward, Bargoit. My view is backward and forward and on every side. My eyes are open to every opportunity, to every challenge and every threat. That does not render me blind to manifestations of spirit. The two go hand in
hand; a man cannot live his life well and fully without the breath of the gods at his back, their whisper in his ear. You accuse us of living in the past. That is incorrect. We carry the past within us; it hums in our veins, it beats in our hearts. It strengthens us on our journey forward; it carries us bravely into the future.”

There was a little silence. The priest, Brother Suibne, cleared
his throat apologetically. “You speak well,” the Christian said. “It is no wonder men follow you. All the same, these gods you talk of are no more than shadows. If they call you to such dark acts as that which must take place tonight, then those voices you hear are manifestations of the Devil; whispers of pure evil. You must turn from them and walk toward the light. There is but one true way, and
it is not this, with its harvest of cruelty and death. How can you—”

“Shh,” hissed a circle of horrified voices, and Suibne fell silent, but not for long.

“Your gods rule you through fear,” he said. “The way of the one true God is a path of love, of forgiveness, of joy. Trust in him, and you need no longer appease your dark deities with acts of violence that fill you with unease.”

“You are
a guest here.” It was the king’s councillor, Tharan, who spoke now He and a number of the others had moved closer during Bridei’s speech and now the sharp-eyed elder addressed Brother Suibne in a tone calculated to silence the boldest of men. “The king has offered you the hospitality of his hall, as he is obliged to do, since you travel with emissaries from Drust the Boar. We accept your presence
among us. But none of us will permit your flagrant violations of ancient custom. They place us all in peril. When you speak aloud of this ritual and of the one it honors you offend the god,
and you offend every one of his loyal adherents. This is law. We imbibe it with our mothers’ milk. I will not speak of this again, save to say that in breaking silence on the matter you risk bringing down the
god’s punishment not just upon yourself, but on every man here present, be he of Circinn or of Fortriu. I hope I need say no more.”

Suibne had not even the grace to blush or to mutter an apology. He gave a little shake of the head and touched his hand to the cross he wore on a cord around his neck.

“Fortriu is full of men, and they are full of words,” Bargoit observed with a lift of the brows.
“Young men, older men, men in their dotage. They all sing the same song. This is a time of change, my friends. We of the south have embraced it; our folk turn increasingly to the new faith.”

“That is not the whole truth,” said the king’s cousin, Carnach. “My own lands border northern Circinn. The tales I hear are of people displaced, wise women harried from the settlements, men of faith dispossessed
and turned from their homes, ancient places of worship laid waste to make way for Christian temples. These accounts have not suggested to me a peaceful transition to the new faith under the leadership of Drust the Boar. I would not seek such a man for my own king.”

This was dangerously close to a clear statement of what it was they were really discussing; too close for comfort. Drust the Bull
still lived. Tonight he would perform the ritual of Gateway, a ceremony in which the shades of those departed hung close, and Bone Mother’s outstretched hand was but a hair’s-breadth away.

“It is an error,” Bridei said quietly, “to assume that because something is old, it is no longer of use. We learn from our elders. We learn from the past; how else can we gain wisdom? I owe a great debt to
the tutors who were present for the years of my childhood, venerable ancients, the two of them, and living exemplars of all that is good in a man: wisdom, courage, humor, faith. The old ways are the heart and spirit of Fortriu. Toss them aside and you are left with an empty shell. Discard them and you make of a living, breathing land a dead husk, devoid of meaning.”

“As the young man said,” the
councillor Fergus remarked to Bargoit, “he was raised by a druid, none other than Broichan. We should not be surprised that Bridei expresses himself thus. Such a man thinks in riddles and answers with questions. His mind follows paths far removed from those of ordinary folk such as ourselves.”

“Bridei expresses only the truths that reside in all of us.” This from an unexpected quarter: it was
the gaunt-featured Tharan, the man Aniel had once called dangerous, who spoke. “Whatever our differences, true men of Fortriu share the same loyalties and the same aspirations. We love the gods and we love this land entrusted to our people since time before time. We do not always love one another; it’s in man’s nature to dispute, to jostle for power. For all that, here in the north, at least, our
goal is a common one: to adhere to the will of the gods and to clear the invader from our shores.”

“There was little sign of that in your recent venture, so I hear,” said Fergus. “A few Gaels slain, a momentary presence in the settlement at Galany’s Reach, a circumspect retreat; that can hardly be construed as sweeping the invader away. As for the old gods, they must have wept in shame, surely,
to see the great stone wrenched from the earth and manhandled across half the countryside. Was not that an insult to your ancient lore? Besides, your own actions hardly match your claims, Tharan. Where were you when all this was unfolding? Warming your hands at Caer Pridne’s house fires, I imagine.”

The group of men by the hearth was much larger now; this dialogue had attracted the attention
of many. Bridei saw a look of deep offense and mounting anger on Talorgen’s honest features; he observed the twitch in Tharan’s cheek, sign that the most dangerous councillor in Fortriu was not impervious to insults. The king’s cousin, Carnach, was glaring openly; Bargoit maintained his supercilious expression. The Christian priest had wandered off to listen to the music.

“That is unjust, and
you know it,” Bridei said bluntly. He had not expected to be springing to the defense of Tharan, of all men. But he felt compelled to speak. Fergus’s words had been outrageous and could not be allowed to go unchallenged. “Do you and your fellow councillor here ride out to do battle against the Angles, leaving your king without advisers by his side? I doubt it very much. Tharan remains at Drust’s
right hand; the Bull’s councillors have served him long and wisely. A good monarch understands the value of such support, indeed, friendship. It is true that Tharan, Aniel, and Eogan are not always of one mind, but that serves only to strengthen the role they play, allowing the king to sift possibilities and be open to ideas. Our councillors do not go to war; we have chieftains such as Talorgen here
to control those endeavors, men expert in sorties and defenses and in the daily leadership of warriors. A king does not throw his entire strength out to the farthest reaches of his realm with no thought to the
maintenance of what is closer to home. As for our own venture, it was worthy. Talorgen led us with honor and purpose. It was never our intention to reclaim that territory, for the time is
not ripe for such an undertaking. We sought to test the water for the future; to put fear into the enemy’s heart. We killed twice fifty and more of the men of Dalriada. We took a hostage of significance, held now in confinement at Fokel’s stronghold. As for the Mage Stone, no man questions the gods. It remains to be seen whether their wrath will descend on us for an act of sacrilege, as you suggest.
All I can tell you is that when we performed that feat, it seemed to all of us that the Flamekeeper smiled on us. We felt his love even as we feel the warmth of the sun; his goodwill sustained us and saw us safely home. The power of the gods is beyond measure; it raises us above the cheap taunts of those who would mock our endeavors and scorn our comrades who shed their blood on that field of
war.”

“That’s all very well,” Bargoit said, spreading his hands in a placatory gesture. He was now encircled by angry men. “But your arguments lack something in logic, young man. You spoke in poetic mode before: grains of sand, single leaves and so on. If it is so important for a man to view our land as a single entity, whole and undivided, then surely we need one rule, one court, one king? One
faith? If this is truly your belief, young Bridei, then I find myself in perfect agreement. We of Circinn and Fortriu are one people, even if we forget that from time to time.”