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rumors from Creiddylad,” he said and waited for affirmation.
It came, reluctantly, via mumbles and head-nods.
    “Rumors,”
repeated Ealad-hach. “Do you honestly believe they are significant?”
    “Yes,
I believe they’re significant. Especially significant because of their source.”
    “I
heard about the murals months ago,” said Ealad-hach dryly, “from Niall
Backstere. What’s significant about that? He’s the biggest gossip in Nairne.”
    Several
of the other Osraed chuckled.
    “What
is significant,” said Bevol, “is that we have heard none of this from our
brothers at Ochanshrine.”
    A
murmur circled the crescent table.
    “I
wonder, myself,” said Calach, with obvious trepidation, “if we need to be
concerned about the lack of official news from the capitol. The communications
from the Brothers of the Jewel have been both sporadic and uninformative.”
    “The
time element involved ...” began one of the two junior Osraed, Kynan.
    “This
latest incident with the Holy Water purportedly took place at Waningfeast last
moon,” said Bevol. “A Speakweave could have been performed or a bird could have
been dispatched or a messenger could have come up with the teamsters. The point
is, we should have been informed by the Osraed at Creiddylad, not the village
magpie.”
    Ealad-hach
cut across the murmur of assent, his voice waspish. “What incident with the
Holy Water?”
    “According
to Niall Backstere’s uncle,” said Osraed Kynan, “Cyne Colfre performed a ...
new rite at Waningfeast that involved his, em, sipping Holy Water from the Star
Chalice.”
    Ealad-hach’s
face paled. He opened his mouth and spluttered. “An outrageous report! By the
Kiss, if it were true, the Abbod Ladhar would surely have let us know. Look,
Osraed, if the Backstere’s uncle is anything like his nephew, he’s not likely
to let the truth get in the way of a good story. He must be exaggerating the
event.”
    “Can
we be certain of that?” asked Osraed Tynedale.
    “Perhaps
the question should be,” suggested Bevol, “ how can we be certain of that?”
    Osraed
Faer-wald snorted. “I wager you have formed some opinion about that.”
    Bevol
nodded. “We have a new Osraed, Lealbhallain, leaving for Creiddylad directly
after Pilgrim’s Tell. I suggest that we authorize him as our official agent to
the capitol.”
    “Lealbhallain
will have his own mission to tend to,” said Ealad-hach. “We should not burden
him with another. Besides, which, I know Osraed Ladhar. If there were anything
worth mentioning going on in his bailiwick, he would mention it. He has not. I
say we must disregard the rumors as the work of a bored imagination. We are
Osraed; if our brothers were disturbed by any goings-on in Creiddylad, we would
know of it.”
    There
was an awkward moment of silence, during which throats were cleared, robes
rearranged and glances exchanged. It was Osraed Calach who destroyed the
silence.
    “I
don’t know how disturbed our brethren in Creiddylad are, Ealad, but I will
admit to some anxiety. The night before last, I dreamed a horrible chasm opened
up in the heart of Caraid-land. I intended to bring it to this meeting—now
seems the appropriate time. It wasn’t clear whether the disaster was a physical
or spiritual one. I begin to believe it is the latter.”
    “Aye,”
agreed Osraed Tynedale and was echoed by at least one other voice. “I too, must
admit to some peculiar unease of late. I have no aislinn to report”—he dipped
his head toward Calach, who was charged with recording such visions—”but I am
not content with these rumors, no not at all. It distresses me to hear them. We
have never had a Cyne like Colfre-”
    “He
is a little eccentric,” objected Faer-wald. “Surely that is preferable to
someone of Earwyn’s ilk who would throw Caraid-land into senseless battles with
her neighbors.”
    “Is
it his eccentricity,” asked Bevol, “that causes him to repeatedly postpone the
General