stone about his neck; immediately the storm howled a thousand fold with Stormbringer's energy. A hurricane wind tossed men from their saddles and pounded against the walls of Glenn Aill. She saw Aron’s fist close around the false Lamh Shabhala, then his face convulsed with a curse as he tossed it aside. Aithne had turned her horse, galloping back toward them as Aron lifted his own cloch.
Jenna, though, kept her attention on the person using Ennis' cloch. You bastard. . I'm almost there… I can feel you. .
A stream of energy-sapphire and white streams hissed and snarled, reminding Jenna all too well of the ambush in Dun Kiil-flared from the Keep and struck Aithne, hurling the woman backward from her horse.
. . there! I can almost see your face. . The winged demon appeared in the air above them, shouting rage; the lava-creature spewed orange flame as the other two Clochs Mor that had attacked Jenna and Ennis in Dun Kiil now opened.
•. by the Mother-Creator!
Jenna saw the figure holding Ennis’ cloch, standing at one of the win-dows of the towers on the wall.
She saw his face and she nearly released Lamh Shabhala with the shock.
She knew now why the cloch was handled so well and easily. She knew now who had helped O Dochartaigh plan the ambush. She knew now that there was another reason Ennis had been taken.
The new Holder was also its old one: Padraic Mac Ard.
In the cloch-vision, it was as if they faced one another in the same room though a quarter mile or more separated them. His mouth moved, his eyes almost sad. 'Jenna. .' The word was loud in her hearing, even through the clamor. She recoiled backward, the vision of Mac Ard receding as if she were falling away from him impossibly fast. She found herself back in her body, the roar of the battle around her.
'Jenna!' Moister Cleurach shouted. His face was grim and strained, his Nesh pale as he lashed out with Stormbringer against the other clochs. He pointed at Aithne, but even the gesture allowed an opening, and the lava beast threw globules of fire that the winds of Stormbringer hurled aside only barely in time. The field workers were running away in panic; the rows of wheat nearest Jenna and the others were now ablaze. The Dun Kiil gardai had gone to Aithne, swords drawn uselessly. One went down
with a crossbow quarrel in his breast.
The mage-demon flapped its dragon wings above Aithne, claws out as it stooped like a hawk and plummeted. At the same moment, blue light-ning erupted again from Aron’s hand. Jenna imagined a wall above the Banrion and she felt Lamh Shabhala shudder in her hand as the demon struck it, as the searing energy from Aron’s cloch battered at-the shielding force. The demon, growling in frustration, tore at the shield; Jenna could feel it as if the claws were gouging at her own flesh. Aithne rose groggily, and she touched her own cloch.
A new demon appeared, the twin of the first. It hurled itself at the other and they came together with a roar.
Mac Ard sent lightning that tore at the earth directly in front of Jenna. Her horse reared, sending
her falling to the ground. Her right elbow struck a rock in the mud, and her arm went numb. She was no longer holding Lamh Shabhala. The world snapped back into drab confusion, the power of the Clochs Mor now just half-glimpsed whirlings in the air, the shrill howling of wind, and the flickering of pale light. One of the stone fences exploded, shards of rock flying everywhere. A fragment sliced across Jenna's left arm, leaving a long cut that gaped white for an instant before blood welled up. Jenna cried in pain and frustration. Her right arm throbbed with the pain of wielding the cloch as she scrabbled in the mud. There-she saw the cloch, an arm's length away, and flung herself at it. Her hand closed about it…
. . and the fury rose again: around her. Inside her.
'Mac Ard!' She screamed his name. She reached deep into the well of energy within her cloch, grasping it all, holding the power with her mind and shaping it. She could see him, could feel the lightning that writhed like snakes in his hands. She hurled the whole force of Lamh Shabhala s energy at him. He sensed the attack and pushed back at it. Aron, too, felt it, and his Cloch Mor turned to aid Mac Ard. For a moment they both held, then, with a cry, she broke through. Aron swayed in his saddle' senseless. Mac Ard, in his tower room, crumpled.
Jenna herself sagged, suddenly weary. She took a breath, ready now to finish it, to kill them. .
There were cries and shouts around her-she saw one of O Dochartaigh's riders pluck the tiarna's unconscious body from his horse and turn to gallop back up the hill. The others followed, retreating as the other two Clochs Mor pushed back Moister Cleurach and the Banrion's renewed attacks. Jenna flung the cloch's rage at them, and one of the Mages gave a cry and fell as the lava-beast wailed and vanished. The door to Glenn Aill opened to let the remaining riders in, then shut.
She could feel the remaining Clochs Mor close also, their Holders re-leasing the stones, though Moister Cleurach continued to hurl Storm-bringer's energy toward the walls and towers.
'Moister, it's over,' Jenna heard Aithne say wearily. 'They've gone. They'll be in the caverns and gone before we can get to them.'
The old man lifted his hand. With a curse, he released the cloch. The storm was simply a cold, soaking rain once more. All but one of their gardai were dead; the Banrion’s attendants seemed to have fled. Three of the O Dochartaigh retinue lay on the ground, and. .
'Ennis!' Jenna ran to him, ignoring the pain and fatigue of her body. 'By the Mother…' She sank into the mud beside him, pulling him into her lap. His eyes were open, and the long gaping wound across the side of his neck no longer pulsed, but seeped thick and red. The ground below him and his leine were soaked with it, and the blood covered Jenna’s rain-slick hands as she cradled him.
'Ennis. . Oh, Mother-Creator, no. .' His name was a wail, a keening of grief. The rain splattered on his still face, on his unseeing eyes, and she rocked back and forth in the muck and grass, willing him to stir, to take a gasping breath, to speak, to live. She cried, praying to the Mother-Creator, to the Seed-Daughter from whom the Miondia, the lesser gods, had sprung, to Darkness in His own realm, to any god that might bring him back. She touched Ennis’ face, still warm in the cold rain, and stroked his hair.
'He’s gone, Jenna.' Moister Cleurach’s voice, at her shoulder. 'Jenna, I’m so sorry…'
He’s not gone! she wanted to rail at him. I won’t let him be gone. There has to be something, some way to change this. . But no words came out. She looked up at Moister Cleurach, stricken dumb, her mouth open as she shook her head.
She took Lamh Shabhala in her hand. She held the cloch, opening the small store of energy still left within it. She held the energy, not knowing how to shape it or change it so that she could bring his soul back from where it had fled. The brilliance of the mage-lights shimmered around her, and it meant nothing. She let go of the cloch and fell over Ennis’ body, weeping.
She lay there for long minutes until gentle hands pulled her away.
Chapter 49: Leave-taking
THE attendants, returning now that the battle was over, argued that with the rain it was impossible to cremate the body, but Jenna insisted that a pyre be built in the nearest field. Jenna watched as they sullenly constructed the pyre in the downpour, sitting by Ennis' body and refusing to move whenever Moister Cleurach or Aithne came to join her, though she didn't resist when they tended to her injuries. The tears came and went on some internal tidal rhythm; the grief filled her like a cold moon-less sea, heavy and deep. The sun sank below the mountains beyond Glenn Aill; the rain subsided to drizzle as mist and a few stars emerged between ragged clouds.
'The pyre's ready,' Aithne said. Jenna felt the Banrion's hand on her shoulder. The woman had said little since the battle. She crouched down alongside Jenna and took her hands, still clutching Ennis' stiffening body. 'They need to take him now,' she whispered, nodding to her attendants. They came forward silently and took the body as Aithne helped Jenna to her feet. She stood unsteadily, her legs weak with exhaustion and hours of sitting.
They placed the body atop the framework of logs and branches, and placed the bodies of the gardai who had died to either side of him. One of the retainers came forward with a burning torch and touched it to the base of the pyre. A pale blue flame flickered then went out. 'The wood is soaked, Banrion,' he called. 'We used what little oil we had, but.. There was a hint of pleasure in his words, the ghost of an unspoken reprimand.
'I'll do it,' Jenna said. She shrugged away the Banrion's hands, drawing a breath as she found Lamh Shabhala’s chain, recovered from where it had fallen and around her neck once more. She lifted the cloch, closing her eyes and coaxing the remaining essence from deep within the well of the stone.
She imagined fire: a flame of elemental force, burning purer and hotter than a smelter's furnace. She placed
