Chapter 25: Preparations
JENNA had wondered whether Cianna would believe her. She shouldn't have worried. The Banrion uttered a gasp of horror when Jenna started to relate how Labras had attacked her, and she immediately sent away the servants, going to the door of her chamber and closing it firmly. 'My child,' she said, enfolding Jenna in her arms. Then she released her, a quivering hand going to the torc about her neck, gold braided with bright silver. 'I can hardly breathe,' she said.
'Let me call the healer,' Jenna said, but Cianna shook her head.
'No.' Cianna took a long, wheezing breath. 'No. It will pass. I put you in terrible danger, however unintentional. I was certain Labras was one of those
I could trust, but…' She bit at her lip.'. . he was evidently in someone else's pay. How can you ever forgive me for making such a mis-take? Had you been hurt, or the cloch taken from you. . Jenna, I put you in such danger.'
Jenna hurried to reassure the distraught woman. 'You couldn't have known, Banrion.'
A flush burned high on Cianna's cheeks. 'No, Jenna. I absolutely should have known. For my own survival, as well as yours. Now I have to wonder who else around me is in the employ of another, who of those others I trust implicitly…' Cianna turned away, hunching over as a fit of cough-ing took her. 'Damn this sickness in my lungs, and damn the healer for his own lies.' Slowly, she straightened again, still turned away from Jenna. 'What about the man you went to capture? Was he part of this, too?'
'He escaped, Banrion. When I used the cloch.'
Cianna turned, touching a handkerchief to her mouth. There were clumps of clotted blood on the cloth. 'My guess is that Labras was being paid in this O'Deoradhain's coin. To think that I was an unwitting accomplice — oh, this would have played so well for him-had you not been alert, Lamh Shabhala would have been his.'
Jenna didn't bother to correct Cianna' s perception. It would be a good lie for the time being,
until she learned whose hand was actually behind the scenes. And she would find out.
The anger burned in her, alloyed with fear.
'I will have the rest of the gardai who went with you interrogated to see if there are others whose loyalty has been turned, but now I don’t know if I can trust the results I would hear,' Cianna continued. 'I can’t discount the possibility that my husband arranged for this, or the Tanaise Rig, or even Padraic Mac Ard or one of the other tiarna here-maybe Aheron from Infochla; he seemed awfully fond of you the other night.' She stopped, and touched Jenna’s cheek. 'You can trust no one, Jenna.' A bitter smile creased her face. 'Evidently not even me.'
Jenna put her own hand, stiff and marked with the curling scars of the cloch, on top of Cianna’s. She took the Banrion’s hand and kissed it once. 'It wasn’t your fault, Banrion,' she told the woman. 'We both need to be more careful, that’s all. And I’ve learned something from this: I can use Lamh Shabhala to look inside a person and see what’s in their heart.' Jenna frowned. 'I won’t be surprised this way again,' she declared.
Cianna, pale and grim, nodded.
The Holder Aoire,' the page announced, and closed the door behind Jenna. The three men in the room were huddled together over a table, and they turned to look at her as one: Ri Mallaghan, Tiarna Mac Ard; and a man whom Jenna didn’t recognize. She lowered her head and gave them a brief curtsy.
Ah, Jenna,' the Ri said. He was smiling, but there was a grimness in his smile. 'Thank you for coming so quickly. Here, you should see this…' He beckoned to her, and she came over to the table. She nodded Mac Ard, then glanced curiously at the other man. 'Ah, you’ve yet to be introduced to our Field Commander,' the Ri said, noting the direction of her gaze. 'Holder, this is Tiarna Damhlaic Gairbith, who has been away to the west watching the Connachtans.'
The man inclined his head to her. He wore his cloca uncomfortably, as if he were unused to the long folds of fabric. His face was hardened and fissured from exposure to wind and sun, his cheeks and forehead marred with the white lines of scars, his gray-flecked beard thin over patches of mottled
flesh. His hands were on the table, holding down a large piece of unrolled parchment; Jenna saw that the left hand had but two fingers and a thumb.
Through Lamh Shabhala, Tiarna Gairbith radiated violence. This was a man at whose hands hundreds had died and who would most likely be responsible for the death of hundreds more if he lived. There was no visceral enjoyment of death in him, though Jenna sensed a deep satisfac-tion within him at the results of his campaigns, and he carried no remorse or guilt at all in his soul. She knew that if the Ri ordered it, he would slay her with the same pragmatic lack of passion. But she could sense no direct threat in him at all: to him, she was simply a piece in the game and he would use her or not as the strategies of the game dictated.
The emotional matrix around Mac Ard and the Ri were more compli-cated. There were strange colors and hues in their shapes, nothing that was overtly threatening, but she knew both of them wanted what she held and would take it if the opportunity arose. With Mac Ard especially there were tendrils of black secrets that snaked outward toward Jenna, vestiges of hidden plots that involved her. She wondered-more strongly this time-if Mac Ard were at the heart of the attacks against her, if his involvement with her mam weren't simply a subterfuge to allow him ac-cess to her and Lamh Shabhala.
The Ri's emotions were simpler and yet more deeply hidden. He was wrapped in plottings and deceptions. Under it all was the burning orange-red of ambition: the Ri Gabair would be Ri Ard, if he had the chance. . and it took little imagination on Jenna's part to believe that the Ri might feel Lamh Shabhala would give him that chance.
The Ri moved aside to let Jenna stand next to the table. Lines were drawn on the parchment, and placed atop it were small triangular flags, some green and brown, others blue and gold. 'This is Tuath Gabair,' the Ri explained to Jenna. 'There, see that blue area? That's Lough Lar. Here-' his stubby index finger stabbed at the map. 'That is Lar Bhaile, where we are now. Up here-' his finger moved up past Lough Lar to where a line of blue meandered, occasionally met by other, smaller branches. 'That's the River Duan and the Mill Creek feeding into it, and Knobtop and Ballintubber.' His finger touched the map again and again in concert with his words. Jenna nodded, but
in truth the map meant little to her. How could marks on paper be Ballintubber or Knobtop?
'The flags,' the RI continued, 'are where our troops and the troops of Tuath Connachta are currently located. Do you see here, southwest of Ballintubber, where the Connachta flags have bunched? That’s where their main army is camped, right on the border. That’s where they’ll make the first push toward us.'
As the Ri spoke, images came to Jenna. It was as if she were a bird, hovering far above Tuath Gabair and looking down. There was the lough, and just past it… 'Doire Coill is in their way,' Jenna said. 'They can’t go through that forest with troops.'
Tiarna Gairbith snorted through his long nostrils: a laugh. 'I thought you said the Holder knew nothing of war, my Ri,' he said. The fingers remaining on his mutilated left hand traced one arc on the map, then another. 'They will split their forces as soon as they reach the border of Doire Coill,' he said. 'One arm, the larger and slower, will go north to secure the ford of the Duan at Ath Iseal, then attack Lar Bhaile from the north. The other, smaller and swifter, will cross the Duan at the southern ford and come up to Lar Bhaile from the south. ’The Horns of the Bull,’ they call it; the Connachtans have used the tactic more than once. They hope to split our forces to deal with the twin attacks; if one horn fails, the other might still impale us.'
'But your troops won’t let that happen,' Jenna said, looking at the men. 'If you know where they’ll strike, you will have made plans against that. You have the advantage of knowing the land and deciding where to make your battle where you can use the ground to your benefit.'
Again, the laugh. 'I like this Holder,' Gairbith said to the Ri. 'No talk from her of negotiation, of somehow avoiding the conflict. Instead, she sees that the battle will come and prepares to meet it.' He bowed to Jenna, approvingly, and she wondered whether the smile was genuine or if the man was simply mocking her. 'Aye, we will do just as the Holder sug-gests,' Gairbith answered, 'but many will die doing that, and after we push them back to their own borders, we will be too weak to do more than watch them leave. Unless…' His voice trailed off. He looked at Mac Ard, who stood with arms crossed, lips in a tight frown, his eyes almost angry.
Unless what?' Jenna asked, and Nevan O Liathain's words echoed in her memory: '. . the Rl no doubt hopes for Lamh Shabhala to be part of that battle. . he would love to see the lightnings of the cloch smash the enemy and send them fleeing for their lives. .'
Rl Mallaghan saw the realization on her face. 'Lamh Shabhala has been countless battles over the centuries, Jenna,' he said, 'many of them here in what is now Tuath Gabair. And while Lamh Shabhala is the only cloch na
