The Dark Mirror (88 page)

“Another—oh, you mean the north?” Tharan’s brows rose. “The Caitt haven’t
voted for years. They’ve never held to our law. There’s no requirement . . . Besides, if they don’t come, they can’t vote.”

“They’ve come this time,” Fokel said.

Another man stepped forward from the shadows, an immensely tall man with black hair to his waist and a face like a granite slab, entirely covered with intricate markings that made the warrior tattoos of Fortriu look like the scribbling
of children. The fellow wore a long, hooded cloak made of many small skins sewn together. Tuala shivered, thinking of Mist, who now drowsed before the fire in Rhian’s quarters. The man’s garment was fringed with what appeared to be cats’ tails. Around his neck was an ornament of small bones threaded on knotted leather. His eyes were dangerous; his fists were huge. The axe on his back, figured
all across the blade with signs of moon and stars, gleamed like polished silver in the lamplight.

“I am Umbrig of the Caitt.” The voice rang out like a war trumpet, the
language an accented, guttural variant of the Priteni tongue. Umbrig folded his arms, and broad silver rings wrought in twists and plaits revealed themselves beneath the cloak, encircling heavily muscled limbs. “I cast my vote
for the man who honors the old powers. Had I known this court would give credence to a claimant whose beliefs mock the wisdom of the ancient gods, I would have come by less peaceable paths to lend my support to this young warrior. I see in his eyes that he is stalwart in his faith and strong in his intentions. The vote of the Caitt goes to Bridei son of Maelchon.”

“Set up by druids,” muttered
Bargoit. “Planned, plotted, and unfair in every respect—”

On the dais, Drust the Boar was beginning to look very uncomfortable. His broad face was almost as red as his tunic. Were the voting to be tied, a certain matter of a botched assassination attempt would likely be aired in public for the first time. He knew they knew. He would be well aware of how things might unfold here, and the probable
consequences for his own reputation. Tuala glanced at Bridei. He appeared calm, although he had grown still paler.

“By my count, the present state of affairs gives thirteen votes to Bridei son of Maelchon and twelve to Drust,” Tharan announced in a commendably steady voice. ‘And there is but one vote yet to be cast; yours, Brother Suibne. Unless there are to be any more surprises?” He glanced
about the hall. “No? Come then, Brother, let us end this.”

“By all means.” The Christian folded his hands before him; his face was serene. “I have considered the speeches, and what I know of this divided realm. I have thought about the nature of the two candidates, so different in faith and belief, in age and demeanor, in convictions and priorities—

“Brother,” said Aniel testily, “there is no
requirement for voters to make a speech. Please give us your decision.”

“I cannot do so,” Suibne said quietly. “As a man of God, I think it inappropriate that mine should be the decisive vote in this secular contest. As a Gael, I think it still less fitting. I have no option but to abstain.” The little man stepped back into the crowd, which had erupted in a chorus of raucous protests and jubilant
cheering.

“Enough! Enough!” Tharan’s voice could scarcely be heard. It was Broichan who stepped to the dais, raising both hands and holding them high until the hubbub died down. His eyes were blazing.

“I declare Bridei son of Maelchon the victor, by thirteen votes to twelve,”
said Tharan solemnly. “And I decree that our new king will be crowned here at Caer Pridne within one turning of the moon.
Under the gaze of the gods, I salute Fortriu’s new ruler. Bridei, do you wish to speak?”

Tuala pressed her lips together; this was no time to shed tears. She wished that Bridei would look at his foster father. One glance at Broichan’s face, and he would never again say the druid did not know what love was. But Bridei was looking out over the crowd, giving a nod, a smile to each of those who had
supported him, pacing his breathing so he could speak calmly and strongly over the thundering beat of his heart, the swarming distraction of a mind too full of thoughts. She knew him all too well.

“I will speak only briefly; this is a time for celebration, for feasting and music, for hope and good fellowship. Our great work together, yours and mine, begins in the morning. You know what is in
my heart; I thank you, and pledge to serve you. I have only two things to say now. Firstly, I wish to express my respect to a worthy opponent, Drust son of Girom, and to wish him well. I hope for a future of cooperation and understanding, so we can work together despite our differences. Only thus can we free our land from the scourge of invaders. Drust has been king a long time in the south. I can
only learn from his experience.”

This was greeted by a deathly silence. Bridei seemed unperturbed; his plans were long, and Tuala knew he did not expect instant acceptance of change. This had needed to be said, for Drust’s expression was thunderous and Bargoit looked like a snake about to strike. It was a difficult situation. Circinn’s own had turned against them. By doing so, Brother Suibne
had saved them the embarrassment of having their attempt on Bridei’s life exposed. Tuala wondered if the priest had known about that. Either way, she would not want to be in his shoes tonight.

“I wish also to present to you my future wife, the dear companion of my childhood: Tuala of Pitnochie.” Bridei looked across at her, eyes shining, cheeks a little flushed. Tuala held her back straight;
put her chin up as Rhian had shown her how to do. Bridei reached out a hand.

“Go, child,” Rhian whispered. “Go with the goddess’s blessing.”

“You look lovely Tuala,” said Ana. “Walk slowly, and smile.”

But she did not smile. It seemed too solemn a moment. She simply fixed her eyes on his and crossed the hall as if floating on air. He took her hand; she stood beside him, feeling the tremor in
his body, knowing his immense courage and his deep vulnerability. She stood straight and strong, gazing out
at the lords and ladies, the warriors and chieftains, the druids and wise women of the king’s court. She inclined her head briefly. Then she caught Wid’s eye and the smile came despite her.

A ripple of sound ran around the hall, whispering, murmuring, with an unmistakable tone of shock.
This was it, Tuala thought; this was the start of it. The gossip, the distrust, the rejection; she would have to be strong. Certain voices could be heard now, and she thought she could detect the words
wild creature
and
Wife? Surely not!
and
one of them
. Bridei did not seem to hear them.

“I wish to extend a welcome to Tuala on behalf of all at Caer Pridne.” This was a deep voice, commanding in
its resonance. Broichan had stepped forward, features under iron control, and raised a hand for quiet. ‘As some of you may know, Tuala grew up in my own household. She is a young woman of exceptional qualities, and in every way fitted to be your future queen. I trust you will make her welcome here at court, where she will stay under the guidance of Queen Rhian until the time of the handfasting.
This is a season of great change for all of us, a time of challenge and of opportunity. We must be open to that; we must learn from it.” If the king’s druid spoke these words with gritted teeth, he concealed his reluctance expertly. The unspoken message was clear. Speak out against the king’s betrothed because of her difference, and you risked a druid’s wrath.

The hall was suddenly quiet. Then
Fokel of Galany stepped forward. “By the Flamekeeper’s manhood, you surely know how to pick ‘em, Bridei,” he declared, a grin creasing his dark features. “Your young lady got any sisters?” Laughter erupted, closely followed by a clatter of dishes as servants began to carry in the goblets and jugs, the platters and knives required for the feast. Men clustered around the dais; all at once, everyone
wanted to talk to Bridei.

“It’s all right,” Tuala murmured. “They want to be heard. Do what you must.”

“Stay by me,” he whispered, holding her hand tightly. “I need you.”

“I’ll be here,” Tuala said. “I’ll always be here.”

“
TALES WITHIN TALES
,” said Woodbine to Gossamer. “Dreams within dreams. Pattern on pattern and path
beyond path. For such short-lived folk, the human kind seem determined to make things as complicated as possible
for themselves. It is fortunate for us and for our endeavor that Bridei walks under the gods’ protection, and can see more clearly than his kind is wont to do.”

“And that we have ensured he has Tuala by his side.”

“Indeed. So, it seems our task is complete. I feel a certain dejection,
for all the triumph of tonight. The small lives of these folk are, in their own way, absorbing.”

“Oh, there’s still plenty here to keep you entertained,” Gossamer said with a ripple of laughter. “Our work may be over with the young king and queen of Fortriu, but there are many paths, many possibilities. I look down on Caer Pridne tonight and I observe a man who can hear no more than a single
note from the bard’s harp before he must take himself from the hall. That sweet music is poison to his ears. I see a young woman whose path has been cruelly cut short before her, and I wonder if she will spend a life teetering there on the brink, or leap into the unknown. I see a craftsman whose hands create magic, a magic that can never match the dreams that course through his mind. I see a druid
standing alone, pondering questions of love and duty; confronting his own humanity. This is not over yet, my friend. Even Bridei and Tuala, strong as they are, will need us again.”

“Ah, Tuala . . . a rare creature. I find myself almost wishing she had come to us . . .”

“What, and cut Bridei adrift? Don’t be foolish. Forget Tuala; fix your eye on another. What of that royal hostage, a delectable
creature with long tresses like spun gold and skin fresh and sweet as a ripe fruit? Young . . . good . . . innocent . . . What havoc could we not wreak through her? These men could be set dancing, dancing until they begged to stop . . .”

“Come,” Woodbine said. “We linger where we have no cause. I will not play yet awhile with the men and women of Bridei’s court. My heart is heavy; there is no
desire in me for such tricks and meddling.”

“Not yet,” said Gossamer. “It matters little. They are human, after all. They will make their own complications; dance to their own tunes; play out the moves of their own games. Come! Follow me!”

And with a whisper of cobweb, the flash of a bright wing and a glitter of silvery hair, they were gone. Standing alone on the wall-walk outside the great
hall, Faolan shivered, glancing skyward. Something had passed; he had not seen it, but he had felt its presence. Had the Gael been a man who gave any credence to gods, he might have uttered a prayer, made a sign of ward or
touched fingers to a hidden talisman. But Faolan relied only on himself. It was much easier that way. Through the open doors, the sound of the harp pursued him out into the
darkness, making his fingers itch. He stared into the night.

“Faolan?”

It was Bridei, alone now, coming along the walk on quiet feet, the little dog at his heels.

“You almost surprised me,” Faolan said. “I must be losing my touch.”

“I wanted to speak with you alone.”

“Best be quick, then. Tonight everyone wants a piece of you.”

“I will take what time is needed; this is important. I wondered
if you had given any consideration to the future.”

Faolan said nothing for a little. When it came, the answer was diffident. “A man with any good sense can hardly fail to do so.”

“And have you reached a conclusion?”

“Not yet.”

Bridei leaned his forearms on the parapet. It was a clear night; the stars made bright points of light in a sky where the Shining One hung sleeping, a silver sickle.
“You know I would like you to stay,” he said quietly. “Not as bodyguard; I had in mind a different role for you, one that would offer you new challenges, new opportunities.”

“You are dissatisfied with the work I have done?” Faolan was persistently looking away.

“You must know that is not the reason,” Bridei said. “You’ve more than earned whatever they were paying you. It seems to me your talents
are somewhat wasted on the simple job of keeping me safe.”

“Simple! You’ve already put me through ten times more than Drust ever did in the years I served him. But it’s true, I am able to perform a variety of other roles and have done so regularly. Translator, assassin, spy. Which did you have in mind?”

“I suppose,” Bridei said, “it is possible you may be called upon to do any or all of them
in due course. But I was thinking more of a position as adviser, councilor, companion. If you would consider it.”

Faolan did not answer for some time. They stood side by side looking at the stars, while the white dog sat at Bridei’s feet, watchful in the night.

“You said something when you were sick. About not being paid to be a friend. It seems to me a friend is what you are looking for. Someone
to take
the place of Gartnait, or of the fellow you had before, the one who was poisoned. They say the two of you were close.”