'. . but you didn’t have to kill him. Without the cloch, he wasn’t-'
'Jenna!' he said sharply, and Jenna blinked angrily, closing her mouth. 'I don’t expect the person who murdered the Banrion to lecture me about the choices 1 made. We aren’t children playing a game, Holder. What do you think this Gairbith would have done with you, had the positions been reversed? Do you believe the Banrion’s assassin was only going to threaten you? Do you think the Connachtans who came to Ballintubber would have left you alive after they plucked Lamh Shabhala from your neck? Frankly, from what I’ve been taught, a cloudmage would prefer to be killed rather than have his or her cloch taken.'
He snorted derisively, his hand slashing air in front of her. 'You did the right thing with the Banrion, because if you’d left her alive she might have been the one to kill you later, or more likely, to have ordered your death. Now she can’t. And as for Gairbith-he doesn’t have to bear the pain of having his Cloch Mor ripped away from him, and he won’t be able to seek revenge.'
Jenna looked at the gold links pooled in her hand. She closed her fist around them. 'I’m sorry for you, O’Deoradhain. I’m sorry that you live in such a
harsh, self-centered world. There is a time for mercy.'
'I've learned that mercy and forgiveness will usually get you killed, Holder. I notice that you 'murdered' the riders with Mac Ard without worrying overmuch about that action.'
The lightning striking them down… 'I did what I had to do. The differ-ence is that I regret that action, even if it was necessary.'
'I also do what's necessary to keep me-and you-alive, and I don't regret that. I don't intend to die because I was too busy worrying about whether I should defend myself.'
Jenna lifted her head. 'We all die, O'Deoradhain, when the gods say it's our time.' Gairbith's cloch na thintri was heavy in her hand. She looked down at the stone: beautiful and clear all the way down into its emerald depths, captured in a finely-wrought cage of silver and gold.
Unlike Lamh Shabhala, this gem would be precious even if it couldn't draw the power of the mage-lights from the sky. She looked back at O'Deoradhain. 'Why did you give me this?'
'It's yours. I didn't win that battle. You did.'
Her fingers closed around it again. 'Can I… can I use it?'
'No,' he told her. 'A Holder can use only one stone, and you have Lamh Shabhala-why would you take a lesser stone? But while you keep this one, no one else can use it against you. It's one of the Cloch Mor; better you have it than your enemies.'
Her gaze went back to him, and she suddenly felt ashamed of her doubt and suspicion of the man.
He's done nothing but tell you the truth: about Coelin, about Mac Ard, about everything. He helped you even when it put him in danger, and he could have taken Lamh Shabhala from you several times now. He could have taken this cloch na thintri just as easily, and yet he hands it to you. . 'O'Deoradhain, I'm sorry if it seems I don't trust you. I certainly-'
He wouldn't let her finish, shaking his head into her words. 'You should be careful with your trust, Holder. You haven't exactly made good choices in the past.'
'Give me your hand,' she told him. His eyes narrowed and his lips tightened again. He held out his right hand, and she took it in her own. She placed Gairbith's cloch in his palm and closed his fingers around it. 'Tonight when the mage-lights come,' she told him, 'take this and fill it as I fill Lamh Shabhala. Become its Holder.'
Her hand stayed on his, and he didn't move it away. His gaze searched her face, and she felt herself blushing under the scrutiny. You like this man more than you want to admit, and the realization brought more heat to her cheeks. What she felt wasn't what she had once felt for Coelin; the heat inside her was different. With Coelin, the attraction had come from his flattery of her and his handsome face, and she knew now how false and shallow that had been. What she was feeling now came at her from all directions, and she found herself looking at O'Deoradhain with new eyes, and wondering if he were feeling what she was.
'This isn't the cloch I want to possess,' he said gruffly. 'You know that.'
'Aye,' she answered. 'I know. I also know that if you take the one you want, it will be because I can no longer use it. And I also know that will be due to some other person's deed, not yours.' She pressed his fingers more tightly around the stone, and smiled at him. 'I think I'm making a good choice, this time.'
Slowly, he nodded. His hand slid from her grasp and he put the cloch a thintri’s chain around his neck. The jewel gleamed on his chest for a moment before he placed it under his tunic.
'If you can ride,' he said, 'we should be moving. I'd like to make the coast by tomorrow evening. He won't let us rest.' O'Deoradhain didn't need to tell Jenna who 'he' was-she knew. 'He'll follow us, as soon as he's able, and the next time he attacks he'll be more careful.'
'I know he will,' she agreed. 'But we'll be stronger.'
Chapter 35: O'Deoradhain's Tale
THEY stopped to eat and rest near a narrow and long lough cradled between close green hills. The sun was high and peeked out occasion-ally between the clouds sweeping across the sky. Cloud shadows raced over the slopes, and the smell of the sea was in the wind from the west. Well out toward the western end of the lake, two fishing boats bobbed on the waves where the lough curved north and away toward the endless water of the ocean. Dark fingers of smoke smeared across the sky around the hills behind them, and underneath was a cluster of white dots.
'People,' Jenna said. 'I’m not sure I remember how to react around them anymore.'
'If we’re lucky, we won’t meet too many of them,' O’Deoradhain an-swered. 'We’ll make for that village. Maybe there’s an inn where we can stay and clean up, and if we’re lucky, find someone to take us up the coast. But they’ll be asking questions of strangers.' He nodded at Jenna’s right arm and the swirl of scars. 'You’ll need to cover that arm of yours, and we’ll need to devise a story to give them. And we can’t show the clochs. Ever. Not here.'
'I agree. But let’s rest here for a bit. Tis beautiful, this.'
'Aye. If you’d like to look about, go on. I’ll take care of the horses and our food.'
Jenna walked down to the shore of the lough as O’Deoradhain hobbled the horses. The lough’s waters were fairly clear, not peat-stained like the waters of Lough Lar, and the water shifted from green to deep blue as the bottom fell away quickly. She sat on a rock that protruded out a bit into the water, taking off her boots and leggings and letting her feet splash in the cold water. She stroked the smooth surface of Lamh Shabhala: she had renewed its reservoirs with the mage-lights the night before, and O’Deoradhain had done the same with his cloch. She opened Lamh Shabhala slightly, letting its aura spread out over the lough, feeling for the presence of other clochs na thintri. She could sense O’Deoradhain close by and feel the powerful emanations of his cloch even through the wall he had tried to erect around it; she could perceive the fisherfolk in their boats, their thoughts altering the pattern of faint energy she placed around them; and at the very edge of Lamh Shabhala’s range, the
clustering of many people in the village. But there was no one else. No one with inten-tions toward her.
Except…
There was something. Rising toward her, drawn to her, its attention steady on her.
Rising from below. .
Fingers gripped Jenna's ankles, still dangling in the water. They pulled, hard and sudden.
Jenna had no time to cry out. Instinctively, she turned her body, trying to cling to the rock even as she was dragged down into the lough. Frigid water hammered at her lungs; she took a gulping breath as her head went under, her hands still scrabbling for purchase. Invisible, frigid hands pulled at her legs, her waist, her breasts, and finally closed around the chain of Lamh Shabhala. Her desperate fingers found a knob of rock, and she pulled herself up even as the hands tried to hold her down and rip away the cloch from around her neck. Gasping, Jenna's head broke the surface as she flailed for a higher handhold, pulling herself up. She screamed, letting go with her left hand and striking at her assailant.
She saw her attacker now, and shock nearly stole the breath from her. The creature's torso had risen from the water with her, its arms around her-the face nearly featureless, its body the blue-black of the depths as if it were made of the water itself. A finned row of spines ran from its smooth-featured crown down the back of its sinuous body, and the hands that encircled Jenna and snagged the cloch's chain were webbed, long-hungered, and wide. The eyes were dead black and shining-emotionless, cold shark eyes-and thin fanged teeth glistened in a gaping round mouth. Jenna tried to scream once more but the creature folded its arms around her and with a powerful wriggle of its body and a splash, yanked her away from the rock and back under the water. Lamh
