The Dark Mirror (87 page)

There was Fola with a group of wise women, Kethra among them. They nodded and smiled at Tuala, and she returned the greeting
with a certain wonder. This still felt unreal, especially when Bridei was not nearby.

There was Uist in his floating white robes, and beside him another old man . . . Tuala suppressed a cry of joy; it was all she could manage to stand still, to stop herself from running across the hall to throw her arms around the white-bearded, hawk-nosed ancient who stood next to the wild druid. “Wid,” she
breathed, and felt herself grinning in a most unladylike manner. Her old friend bowed his head courteously in her direction, then winked.

“This pleases you?” Rhian murmured.

“Oh, yes! Wid taught me everything I know. Well, at least half of it. I’m so happy to see him.”

“He’ll be at court indefinitely, so I’m told. Bridei requested his presence. Your betrothed is solicitous for your well-being;
he wishes you to be surrounded by friends. He’s very good to you, Tuala.”

“I know.”

“Look,” Ana whispered, “there’s Drust the Boar, all got up in the red of Circinn. And here come the others. Bridei looks nervous.”

“Yes. That’s the way it always is with him; he’ll be terrified of doing something wrong, even though he knows he can speak and act perfectly. It’s just the way he is.”

“That man’s
staring at you. Over there, look. Garvan the stone carver.”

Tuala looked; caught Garvan’s eye. He smiled and turned away. There was a sadness in his plain features that was disconcerting. Surely he had not actually imagined she would come around to marrying him? Surely he had not really intended to wait indefinitely until she made up her mind one way or the other? Men were indeed strange creatures.
Even Bridei, whom she knew better than he knew himself, had surprised her with his vow to the Flamekeeper. Two whole years. It was indeed a long time. Of course, if another man became king, there would be no need for such a delay. Tuala thought that unlikely. How could the gods not let Bridei be chosen?

The candidates walked to the center of the hall, Drust the Boar resplendent in scarlet-dyed
wool, Bridei in the same shade of blue that Tuala wore, his cloak pinned with the silver eagle. Drust of Circinn was a big man, burly and dark. With his corpulent figure and small eyes, he seemed well suited to his title. Beside him Bridei seemed slight and young, although he was the taller. Each man was flanked by his supporters, Bridei with Broichan and Aniel, Drust accompanied by the councillors
Bargoit and Fergus and the unprepossessing figure of Brother Suibne.

At a sign from Tharan, who was standing on the dais at the end of the
hall, the crowd fell silent. “Let the voting chieftains stand forward,” the councillor said.

From the ranks of those present a number of men stepped out. There were not many whom Tuala recognized; Talorgen was one, and Ged of Abertornie in his rainbow garb,
and Morleo of Longwater. Bridei had introduced her to these two; Ged had made much of her beauty and her diminutive size, and expressed an intention to slip her in his pocket and take her home with him on the sly. She had liked him. Morleo had been courteous and formal, as if she were already a queen.

“Very well,” Tharan said. “Is this all? Can we proceed?”

“It is not quite all,” Aniel said
levelly. “As we all know, parties from the west are on their way here, and expected this very night. Were it not for the formal decree of a seven-day span from presentations to assembly, we would request a further delay so they can be present. In addition, it is still possible a representative from the Light Isles may come. The weather—”

“Get on with it.” Bargoit seemed to have dispensed with
diplomacy “How are we doing this? Do the priest and the wise woman get a vote?”

“They will be allowed to participate,” Tharan said. “It can make no difference to the final result.” Fola stood up and moved forward to the group of chieftains. She was dwarfed by them, their bright raiment, their silver clasps and gold torcs making her as small and unobtrusive as a rock dove; nonetheless, there was
a power in her upright stance, her beak of a nose and her penetrating eyes that ensured a circle of untenanted space was left around her.

“We have heard the claims of the two candidates when they were presented at Midwinter,” Tharan went on gravely, “those of Drust son of Girom in person, and those of Bridei son of Maelchon by a proxy, Carnach of the house of Fortrenn. We give each now an opportunity
to speak again. Briefly. If these latecomers arrive before the final vote is taken, they may participate. If not, I’m afraid they have missed their opportunity. Let us hear first from the more senior candidate, Drust.”

The Boar of Circinn spoke well; he had been king of that southern realm for many years and was accustomed to addressing his people. He spoke of his maturity and experience; of
how, if the last election had been conducted fairly, he would already be king in both Circinn and Fortriu, since the accession of Drust the Bull had been based on a faulty voting system. Tuala felt Rhian tense alongside her and saw the tight set of the older woman’s lips.
She touched Rhian on the arm. “A lie,” she said under her breath. “It will set folk against him. A cheap trick. Ignore it,
my lady.”

Rhian glanced at her, lips curving in a rueful smile. “So young, and already so wise,” she said.

Tuala watched Bridei as he waited his turn. He was very pale, and his jaw was clenched tight. His hands were relaxed by his sides. That was something he had trained himself to do, that and the breathing. Beside him, Broichan looked every bit as nervous. Others seemed more confident. Bridei
was surrounded by his supporters now: red-haired Carnach, somber Aniel, Talorgen, Ged, and Morleo. Faolan, too, was close by, adopting the not-quite-present look of the experienced bodyguard, his eyes not on Bridei himself but on corners, shadows, subtle glances and sudden movements. The others, Breth and Garth, were stationed strategically behind and to either side of Tuala and her companions.
Bridei was leaving nothing to chance.

Drust’s speech came to an end, Tharan making it clear by gestures that
brief
must be taken to mean precisely that. There had been something in it about the Christian faith and how embracing it would unite all Fortriu and change it for the better. An alarming number of the voting chieftains had applauded this with enthusiasm. Tuala bit her lip. Was it possible
that Bridei had got it wrong, after so much care in the planning? By her own count, if the representatives from the west did not arrive soon, he would not have his twelve. It had been expected that Ana’s cousin in the Light Isles would send a kinsman to vote on behalf of his people. He had failed to do so. Tuala wondered what would happen to Ana if this lost Bridei the crown.

“Bridei, speak now,”
said Tharan.

Bridei glanced across; his eyes met Tuala’s, blue as a summer sky, bright with courage, and he smiled. She gave a little nod; she knew the message of her heart was written on her face.
I love you. You can do this
.

“I am Bridei, son of Maelchon.” The young voice was clear and strong. “My father is king of Gwynedd. My mother is Lady Anfreda, kinswoman to our late great king, Drust
son of Wdrost, known as the Bull. I am young. I offer a full life of service to our beloved land of Fortriu. I am a man grown; I fought by the side of our chieftains in the battle of Galany’s Reach, and proved myself on that field, and in the restoration of Fortriu’s wounded pride by the claiming of the Mage Stone. I was raised by the king’s druid, Broichan, and I am scholar as well as warrior. I
love the ancient gods of Fortriu, whose bones are the land we walk on; whose sweet breath is the air that gives us life.
I will lead my people in their paths for all the years of my kingship. I will serve you with the best I can give, and with the inspiration of the Flamekeeper, the wisdom of the Shining One, and the deep certainty of Bone Mother to guide me. I offer you my youth, my blood, my
courage, and my energy. I will lead you forward into a new future, one in which Fortriu’s borders will be made safe once more and its people united. This I swear to you by all that is good.”

It seemed to Tuala a light shone from his face as he spoke; she did not know if others could see it, but the utter silence that followed his speech suggested it was so. She reached up to wipe her eyes.

“Very well,” Tharan said after a little. “Let the voting commence. Drust son of Girom, take your place to the left. Bridei son of Maelchon, to the right. All men save the voting chieftains, leave the area before the dais.”

The right to vote was restricted to a certain number of chieftains from the seven houses of the Priteni, which were named for the seven sons of the original ancestor, Pridne.
The voters represented the oldest families and the greatest landholdings within each house or tribe. Some houses had one vote, some two or three. On Bridei’s side of the hall stood Talorgen, Ged, and Morleo; Carnach and Wredech also, for each was eligible to cast a vote provided he did not stand for election himself. Fola stood by Talorgen’s side. Other men had stepped up. Uist and Wid had retreated.
It was generally considered that druids had enough influence already, without needing a vote as well.

There were twelve men on Drust’s side, as all had predicted; twelve chieftains and Brother Suibne, who stood quietly, his cross in his hands. In fact, now that Tuala looked properly, she could see the priest had not moved to the left, but had his sandaled feet one on either side of what might
be considered the midline of the hall. More men had moved to the right; on Bridei’s side the count now numbered eleven.

“Ahem.” Above the suppressed buzz of excited voices, Tharan cleared his throat loudly. “Do you understand the conduct of this proceeding, Brother Suibne? You must move to right or left to indicate your intention.” The councillor’s voice had acquired an edge; he might once have
opposed Bridei, but there was not a single man of northern Fortriu who would have wished the Christian Drust on the throne, with the poisonous Bargoit whispering in his ear.

“I need time for reflection.” Suibne’s voice was quiet; nonetheless, Tuala noted the firm tone, the direct look. ‘A man must consider these speeches at least briefly before being expected to make up his mind. A moment or
two, I pray you.”

Tuala saw Fola’s lips quirk with amusement and a kind of recognition. Others were less patient; an angry muttering arose from the Circinn camp. Their minds had been made up long ago. To leave a decision until the final speeches were delivered was ridiculous. They had known before they traveled to Caer Pridne which way their votes would go; they had expected the priest to be
of the same mind.

At the back of the hall, the doors swung open; newcomers had arrived. There was a hubbub of voices.

“We will allow you a little time,” Tharan said. He did a commendable job of keeping his tone calm and his expression impartial as he glanced across the crowd to the doorway ‘A few moments for reflection. As a Gael you are, I suppose, unfamiliar with such formalities.”

“As a
thinking man,” Suibne said, “I prefer to make my decisions only after weighing up all the arguments. I thank you for your consideration.”

Bargoit moved forward, seized the priest by the arm, and began to hiss furiously in his ear.

“Step back, Bargoit.” Tharan’s voice was coldly authoritative now. “Only voting men and women are to be in this area. I imagine the fellow can think for himself. One
would hope so.”

“Voting men, is it?” A powerful voice came from the back of the hall; the crowd parted as a figure came striding through, clad in the dark riding clothes, the boots and fur cloak of a winter journey. His face and body wore a network of tattoos, the complex record of many battles; his eyes were dark and fierce, his jaw grim. Tuala saw Bridei’s expression change, lighten. “That
includes myself: Fokel son of Duchil, chieftain of Galany’s Reach.”

“Galany’s Reach is lost!” Bargoit spat out, eyes furious. “How can you be chieftain of a territory that lies once more in the hands of the Gaels?” He whirled to face Tharan, pointing an accusatory finger. “He should not be allowed to vote! It’s a gross breach of the rules! This election is a sham!”

“Incorrect,” It was Broichan’s
voice, deep and steady. “The law allows his vote; Fokel is chieftain in exile. It was proven last summer that those lands are within our grasp. This young man you see before you, our new king in the making, has seen to it that the symbol of Galany’s freedom was restored to Fortriu intact. That was an act great in spirit and vision; an act surely blessed by the Flamekeeper himself. Fokel will
be chieftain there once more ere long. To deny him a vote is tantamount to saying our people have no future in the west. It is the statement of a traitor.”

“Enough,” Tharan said firmly. “Fokel, you may vote, of course. I have to say that your timing leaves something to be desired.”

Fokel was already standing beside Talorgen on the right side of the hall. Tuala counted again. Without the Christian
priest, who remained alone in the center, there were now twelve on Drust’s side and twelve on Bridei’s, including Fola. The hall had become very crowded; it seemed Fokel’s entire band of fighters had accompanied him on this trip to Caer Pridne, and now every corner was occupied by some wild-looking fellow all spiraled and cross-hatched skin, twists of long hair and ferocious eyes. They were
well armed; iron hung all about them. The eyes of the court ladies reflected a mixture of admiration and apprehension.

“Well, Brother Suibne?”

“I need a little longer.”

“We can’t wait all night. It’s a simple enough decision but, most unfortunately, it seems to rest with yourself. Make your choice, please.”

“There might be a wee something I forgot to mention,” Fokel said casually “Do I have
it right that at least one chieftain from each of the seven houses ought to vote? Yes?”

“That is correct,” Tharan said. “Since no representative from the Light Isles has made the effort to be present, they forfeit their right this time.”

“But there’s another house not represented here,” said Fokel, scratching his chin.