defenders near the base of the Croc a Scroilm; fighting their way through another wave of Tuathians; Kianna falling near the harbor and the Ri MacBradaigh severely wounded, but fighting his way to them; finally reaching the winding road to the keep, then making their way into the deep clefts beyond.
It was like a tale to Jenna, unreal. There was no memory of it in her at all. He might as well have been speaking of a battle fought a century ago with other people.
'Where are we now?' she asked after he’d finished.
'In the mountains north of the city.' His lips twisted. 'In the same caverns that Severii O’Coulghan used when he retreated after Mael Armagh’s attack. We can only hope that this will turn out the same. The Tuathians hold Dun Kiil for now. Scouts have told us that more ships are coming from Falcarragh, and that the banner of the Ri Ard flies above the keep.'
Jenna sat up, grimacing as her body protested the movement. For a moment, the cavern whirled around her and she thought she might lose consciousness, but she closed her eyes until the spinning passed. She started to raise her left hand to MacEagan, then realized it was bound to her side. Instead, she reached out with the stiff lump of her right. She could see the scars of the mage-lights beyond the stained sleeve of her leine. 'Help me up again,' she told him.
'You should rest,' he told her.
'There’s not time for that, and I’m not the only one hurt. I need to talk to the Banrion and I want to see those who fought with us.' She reached out again. 'Help me.' She paused. 'My husband.'
He responded with a quiet smile. Then he stood, crouched down again, and took her hand and arm. 'Let’s walk together, then, wife.'
Jenna found that they were encamped in a narrow valley nestled between tall, steep slopes covered with purple heather and thickets. Bright rills capered down the sides to a small river curling through the valley bottom before vanishing into the misty distance, where the indistinct backs of more mountains loomed. The hillsides were studded with
hollows and shallow caves eroded from the soft limestone that protruded from under the thin skin of earth, and crude tents and lean-tos littered the ground. Campfires lifted columns of white smoke into the fog. The remnants of the Inishlander army had rejoined their families, but Jenna saw many tents where solemn-faced women hugged silent children to them. They would nod silently toward her as she passed. Jenna expected to see anger and blame in their faces, but there was none; there was only the aching loss. She wished she had words of comfort for the widows, for the father-less children. She could only gaze back at them, echoing their pain. One of them clutched at Jenna's cloca as they passed, and Jenna stopped. The woman could have been no more than a year or two older than Jenna, with a child nuzzling at her breast under the red-dyed leine of mourning, and a boy that might have been three years old at her side. 'Holder, she said, 'My son… he wanted to see you. .'
Jenna knelt down in front of the woman. The boy peered out at her from under his mam's arms; she pushed him forward. He held back for a moment and seemed to gather his courage, lifting his face and frowning sternly. He took a step toward Jenna.
'What is your name?' she asked.
'Mahon.' The boy's voice was serious and quiet. 'My da died.'
'I know,' Jenna answered softly, with a glance at his mam. 'He was a brave man.'
'Did you know him? His name was Deelan. Deelan MacBreen.'
'No,' Jenna told him. 'I'm afraid I didn't. But I wish I had.'
'When I'm older, I'm going to be a soldier like my da. Mam said she would give me his sword, and I'll come fight with you.'
'I hope, Mahon, that won't be necessary.' Jenna looked again at Mahon's mam. She was smiling, sadly, all her attention on the boy. She felt the pressure of Jenna's gaze and looked at her with eyes the color of the sea at night. 'I'm so sorry for your loss,' Jenna told her. 'There aren't any words I can say that can give you comfort, I know.'
The woman settled her baby at her breast, stroking the infant's head. 'It was the choice he
made, Holder, the choice of any Inishlander.' The woman’s face went grim and almost angry. 'Drive them back out, Holder,' she said. 'Make sure his death wasn’t wasted. That would give me com-fort.'
Jenna didn’t know what to say. She nodded without knowing why, she brushed the boy’s disheveled hair, and stood up again, grimacing with the effort that movement required. 'We should go,' MacEagan said. Numb and hurting, she let him lead her away.
And where they passed the soldiers who had been there at Dun Kiil- with arms bound or heads bandaged, limping or curled on their pallets, huddled with their families-she heard them whisper her name; saw them nudge one another as she approached. They looked at Jenna and they straightened, bowing. They lifted their sheathed weapons in quick salute. They smiled. They held out their hands to her as she passed. 'Holder. .' they said. 'So good to see you. , A good morn, ’tis it not?. . Pleased to see that you’re up and about. . We were praying to the Mother- Creator for you. .'
She nodded back, and tried to smile in return. She touched their outstretched hands and watched the tentative smiles widen.
'They saw the Holder of Lamh Shabhala fighting for them,' MacEagan whispered to her, sensing her bewilderment. 'They saw the power of the cloch, and they know that some of their own lives were spared because the Clochs Mor of the Tuathians had to contend with you and couldn’t be used against them. They saw you wounded and yet continuing to battle and that gave them strength to do the same. They watched you cover their retreat with Lamh Shabhala until both it and you were exhausted.' He lifted his chin toward the valley littered with tents. 'You’re quite the hero Jenna, whether you believe it or not. Some of the rumors. . well, you’d be amused.'
'I’m not a hero,' Jenna said. 'I’m not. . anything.'
'But you are. You’re the First Holder, and you brought Lamh Shabhala back to Inish Thuaidh, defying the Ri Ard and defeating the mages he sent to stop you. You restored the Order of Inishfeirm to its glory. You routed the traitor of Glenn Aill, who conspired against the Comhairle and the Ri MacBradaigh. You went to Thall Coill to undergo the Scrudu and returned again triumphant. You’re the
Changeling who can be seal or eagle or dragon at will. You woke the Ri MacBradaigh from the slumber of his rule and gave his sword the strength of twenty men. You stood against the massed Clochs Mor of the Ri Ard and very nearly defeated them all.'
Jenna had begun shaking her head long before MacEagan finished the litany. 'But that's all wrong.
I didn't do those things. They're exaggera-tions, half-truths, or outright lies.'
'It doesn't matter whether it's the truth or not. Not anymore. The point is that they believe it, and more. You give them hope and strength and courage.' MacEagan frowned then, his face grim. 'And right now, that's what we need most.'
'I don't want this,' Jenna insisted. 'I never did.'
'Want it or not, it's been given to you. Come, the Banrion's anxious to see you.'
The Ri's tent was set near the river, its bright panoply of banners seem-ing to mock the weariness, loss, and pain around it. The gardai stood back as Jenna and MacEagan approached, and she heard a moan emerge from the flap held aside for them.
Inside, in the warm light of candles, was a bed holding the Ri, the Banrion sitting in a chair alongside. Jenna could smell the strong aroma of anduilleaf. She cradled her cold right arm to her waist.
'Any change with him?' MacEagan asked as they entered, and Aithne shook her head in answer.
'None. The healer says that it's a matter of time, that's all.' Aithne chuckled, mirthless and short.
'It's strange. I had no respect for the man until now. From what I was told, he fought like a man possessed, scream-ing the caointeoireacht na cogadh and rallying everyone after Kianna fell-'There was a pile of bodies at his feet,' one of his gardai told me, 'so high that the Ri could not even step over them. He wouldn't leave until we had Bantiarna Ciomhsog's body, and even then he stayed at the rear protecting the wounded as we fled.' He was a poor husband and a weak ruler. But he found his strength in the end. I wish I'd seen it.' She sighed, reaching over to brush away a strand of white hair curling over the Ri's forehead. Her eyes
found Jenna’s. 'I’m glad to see you walking and somewhat recov-ered, Holder. We’ll need you now, more than ever.'
Jenna must have shown confusion at that, as Aithne stood and came over to her in a rustle of her cloca. 'We
