lost this battle,' she said to Jenna, 'but it cost them far more than they anticipated. They thought they would crush us completely with one, swift blow and never have to wage a cam-paign. They thought they had enough Clochs Mor to guarantee the fall of Lamh Shabhala, and enough troops to smash all resistance. They were wrong and they know that now. I suspect the RI Ard isn’t altogether pleased with his son’s generalship.'
'Nevan O Liathain planned this?' She could well believe it-the glory of leading the combined forces of the Tuatha would have attracted the man as a guttering candle calls to a moth.
'Aye,' Aithne replied, 'that’s what we’ve been told, but his victory’s cold. None of our cloch Holders are dead and we’ve recovered another of the Clochs Mor. Eight of their Mages died-before you fell unconscious, you told us that-so seven of their clochs either have new, inexperienced Mages or were lost entirely in the harbor. They lost nine ships to the catapults and Stormbringer, and during the hand-to-hand fighting we de-stroyed at least a third of their forces. Winning the battle cost them so much that they couldn’t follow us, but were forced to wait for reinforce-ments.'
Jenna heard little of the end of it. Talking of the battle brought back snatches of memory: Aron’s face, screaming in agony and frustration and anger as she killed him. . 'Banrion, your brother… He was with them.'
Her lips tightened and lines folded around her eyes. 'I know,' she said. 'You told me that also.'
'I’m sorry.'
'No, you’re not,' she answered. 'You had no reason to feel anything but hatred for my brother.'
'I’m still sorry for your loss. He was your brother;
I know you cared for him. And if I’d not come here-'Jenna stopped. 'If I’d not come here, none of this would have happened. None of it.'
The lines deepened in Aithne’s face. Her gaze flicked once toward Mac-Eagan, and she stepped forward, cupping Jenna's face in a hand and lifting her chin. 'You came,' she answered. 'That can't be changed. And my brother made his own choices-you didn't force them on him, nor did you tell the Rl Ard and Tanaise Rig to bring their armies here. You're not responsible for their actions, Jenna, only your own. Do I mourn Aron? Aye, I do. I will miss him, and I'll always remember his strength and his love for our family. But I didn't agree with his last decisions. He knew when he chose to stand with the Rl Ard that his choice might mean my death as Banrion, and still he did so.'
She released Jenna's face, going back to the chair by the bed and sitting 'Let me tell you one other thing, Jenna, a choice I made. I saw you during the battle. I could feel the clochs set against you, and there was a moment when I could have come to your aid. But I didn't-because Aron was among those fighting you. Instead, I set my eyes elsewhere.' Her hands were folded on her lap, her head tilted to one side as she stared at Jenna her gaze unblinking. 'I did that knowing that my presence might be the difference between your living or dying, but I told myself that I would let the Mother-Creator decide. So you see, loyalty is a shifting and elusive thing, Holder. But I'm sure you realize that by now. Aron? — aye, I'll mourn him, and I'll remember what was good and try to forget the rest.'
The Rl MacBradaigh moaned once more, and everyone's attention went to him, almost with relief. Aithne leaned over and took a washcloth from a basin of water, wringing it out and placing it over his forehead. 'There's nothing we can do for him?' Jenna asked.
The Banrion shook her head. 'Too many wounds, and some of them very deep. I'm afraid he's beyond the skills of any of the healers here. Moister Cleurach says that there was once a healing stone among the Clochs Mor, but he doesn't know who holds it. There were reputedly clochmion with the same skill though with less potency; Moister Cleurach is asking if anyone among us holds one, but he doesn't know that even a clochmions would have the ability to help. The Rl sank into deep sleep early yesterday and hasn't woken. In just the last stripe of the candle, his breathing's gone shallow and fast, as you hear it now. The healer thinks he'll be with the Mother-Creator by morning.' Aithne took the cloth, moistened it again, and patted his cheeks with
it. 'Perhaps it’s better this way. He’ll be remembered for his last acts, not the incompetence that came before.'
'I talked with the rest of the Comhairle,' MacEagan said to the Banrion. 'They agree with us. We’ll meet tonight for the appearance, but we already have the votes.'
'Agree with what?' Jenna asked, looking from Aithne to MacEagan.
MacEagan answered. 'We sent runners to all the townlands when we learned that the fleet was coming. Many of the Riocha, especially those from the north and west, didn’t have enough time to muster and arm their people and come to Dun Kiil. But they’re coming in now-we al-ready have as many troops here now as we did for the first attack. The Banrion and I think that we shouldn’t wait for the Ri Ard to get his reinforcements from Falcarragh. We think we should counterattack now, as soon as we can. The Tuathians may well be expecting it, but they won’t ever be weaker than they are now.' He paused. 'Especially if Lamh Shabhala is with us.'
'Attack again? So soon?'
'Tomorrow, so long as the mage-lights come tonight so you can restore your cloch, and we’d better pray that they do-by now word will have reached Falcarragh and ships could already be on their way. We can’t wait.'
'Waiting was what allowed them to come here in the first place,' Aithne commented, her thin lips pressing together after she spoke. Jenna felt the point of that rebuke and grunted in response.
Going into battle again. . Her whole body cried out in protest at the thought. Her wounds had just begun to heal, the arm that linked her to Lamh Shabhala throbbed and complained, her soul was heavy with the loss of Thraisha, and the pleasure that she thought she’d feel at avenging Ennis’ death with Aron’s life was diluted by guilt and remorse. The faces of the widows haunted her, and that of the boy Mahon, and the fierce loyalty of the soldiers who had crafted something from her that she was not.
Ennis, what should I do? Thraisha? Seancoim? But they were all gone, those whose advice she might have trusted. She had only herself. She could not even ask Riata or the dead Holders, silenced because of Lamh Shabhala’s emptiness. Aithne and MacEagan stared at her, and she could feel their eagerness and certainty.
An image came to her, as sharp as reality, and she had a sense that she was glimpsing the future: herself lying dead on the cold ground, the remnants of battle smoking around her. Jenna touched her stomach: the child lay unmoving inside her.
If you die, your baby dies with you. But you have no choice. No choice. You can't flee, and if they take Lamh Shabhala from you the pain of the loss will be more than you can bear…
Jenna cupped the fist of her right hand in her left, her gaze traveling along the swirled lines of white, dead skin until they reached the sleeve of her leine and disappeared under the white cloth. Her right hand felt like a frozen stone in her palm. She half-closed her eyes, willing the fin-gers to open. They obeyed only reluctantly, lifting until she could see folded lines crossing her palm then refusing to move farther. She moved the hand to her breast, leaning forward slightly so that Lamh Shabhala slipped between the fingers into the hand. She looked at it: the plain, ordinary stone trapped in its web of fine silver.
'Aye,' she told them. 'I agree with you. We can't wait.'
Chapter 59: Death on the Field
THE mage-lights rippled and flowed, and Lamh Shabhala suckled at them like a ravenous infant, drawing down the power. Jenna sagged, her knees buckling with the sense of relief, the energy of the lights easing the aching of her muscles and the bitter chill along her right side. The world around her seemed saturated with color again, no longer so gray and dim. Her awareness seemed to swell out, encompassing the entire valley where the Clochs Mor of MacEagan, Aithne, Moister Cleurach, Galen, and the others were also renewing themselves; and at the outer edges of her senses she could feel the pinprick presence of the Tuathians’ clochs also feeding on the same energy-all of them linked to the sky, all of them tied together.
She could pluck them if she wanted, like the strings of Coelin’s giotar. She reached out with the cloch, found the blood-red strand of an ail-too familiar cloch, and followed it back. Faintly, she could feel the mind be-hind the energy-and that person sensed her at the same time.
'Jenna…' The voice was a dark husk, the tones familiar. 'So you are still alive. 1 told them you were, but they still hoped…' 'Aye, Tiarna, I’m alive. How is my mam? My brother?' She could feel the surprise in Mac Ard’s mind. 'You know?'
'Lamh Shabhala told me.' He didn’t respond. She felt him try to close his mind to her, and she pushed aside the curtains he drew over himself, enjoying the frustration and fear she felt in response. 'You can’t hide from me, Mac Ard. I am your bane. You hold the Cloch Mor I gave to my lover, and I intend to take it back.'
'It was mine first, as you know since it was you who stole it from me.'
