For the first time, walking in the cool, moon-dappled night along that road, Meriel began to see her mam anew. She realized just how much holding Lámh Shábhála had cost Jenna, how strong her mam had to have been just to possess that cloch na thintrí, how fierce her will was not to succumb now that it had been taken from her. Meriel understood just how much her mam had sheltered her from the reality of the burden Jenna carried, protecting her not only from the magic but from the politics that swirled around them. Whether that had been fair or good for Meriel was something she couldn’t answer, but Meriel understood the choice Jenna had made; it was the choice she might have made herself for her own child.
“You can lean on me if you need to, Mam,” she said to Jenna. “I know you’re hurting.”
Jenna stared straight ahead without answering, plodding along deliberately. “As soon as we stop, when the sun’s up, I’ll make some more andúilleaf for you,” Meriel offered.
Tiny muscles jumped along Jenna’s jawline as she clenched her teeth. She swept her hair back, and Meriel saw the silver in her dark hair, far more than Meriel remembered even when she found her mam on Knobtop. Jenna had aged much since the cloch had been taken. The lines in her face were cut deeper, with new channels running out from them. “Why are you doing this?” Jenna asked. She nodded at Doyle. “I know why he’s here: he has reasons to hate those we’re after and he needs to recover his Cloch Mór at the least, while he hopes that it will give him another chance to take Lámh Shábhála. Edana’s here because of Doyle, though I don’t understand what she sees in the man. And Owaine; you do him an injustice, Meriel—he’s loyal to those he loves and more intelligent than you think. I was angry at you when I saw you’d given him Blaze, but you did well to give him my Cloch Mór.”
“I didn’t realize you knew that. I thought you’d be furious.”
Jenna gave a laugh that sounded more like a cough. “I have eyes, child, and I use them. And I
was
furious. I gave the cloch to you because it was Ennis’. I gave it to you because I’d loved him and still love him and he was your da. I gave you something of incredible value and you in turn gave it to someone who, half the time, you pretend you don’t like. Oh, aye, I was angry.”
“You didn’t say anything to me.”
“It wouldn’t have changed anything. Do you think I could take the Cloch Mór away from him, knowing how I feel now?”
Meriel didn’t know what to say. “Mam, I’m sorry—” she began but Jenna lifted her hand.
“Stop,” she said. “Don’t say what you don’t mean. You’re not sorry about your choice at all. You never knew Ennis, never even knew he existed or who he was to you until recently, so the cloch meant little in that respect. And it wasn’t a burden you wanted to take. Having you hold Blaze was
my
desire, not yours, and I understand that. I’m still not entirely pleased that Owaine has it, but at least I know and respect the young man, and he’s a cloudmage of Inishfeirm. Ennis would have wanted that, if his own daughter refused to follow his path.” Jenna paused, stopping to gather her breath. She leaned with her back to the stone wall of the road as the others kept walking.
Meriel sniffed. “So you’re still angry.”
“No,” Jenna answered. Her eyes were closed, and her mouth tightened as if she were holding back a moan. “It takes too much energy to be angry with those you love. I don’t have that energy now; it’s all I can do to just keep moving and not give in to the pain.” The eyes opened again, clear for that moment, and she inclined her head toward Owaine. “You don’t have the energy to waste either, especially against someone you like more than you’re willing to admit. Someone whose interests are yours and not divided between the stones and the sea.” Meriel could feel the shock on her face and Jenna laugh-coughed again. “Aye, I know that, too. I’d hoped you hadn’t inherited that part of me, but you did.”
“Mam—”
“Hush, child,” Jenna said. She pushed away from the wall. “Give me your arm,” she said. “I need it, I’m afraid. It’s a long walk to Falcarragh, and I’m too ill to talk at the same time.”
Meriel reached for her, and Jenna put her arm through Meriel’s. She seemed to weigh no more than the pack on Meriel’s back, as if Lámh Shábhála had taken her substance as well as her health.
48
Preparations for War
“Y
OU SEE,Rí Ard,out there is your Might, your Fist, your incredible strength. No one will be able to stand before you. You will bring the Inishlanders to their knees with one single, awful blow.”
Regent Guardian Ó Riain, Holder of Lámh Shábhála, stood with Enean on a balcony of the Rí Infochla’s keep in Falcarragh. He gestured at the panorama spread out below them. The keep had been erected high on the broad shoulder of Sliabh Gabhar, one of two mountains that sheltered Falcarragh to the east. Sliabh Sí, the sister peak, was wrapped in high haze to their far left, the great temple of the Mother-Creator on its summit barely visible. Below, Falcarragh itself spread out in the valley. Almost directly below them was Harbor Quay, with several warships docked there. Out where the mouth of the River Donn emptied into the long stretch of Falcarragh Bay, other ships rode at anchor between West Light and East Light, more ships than Enean had ever seen gathered in one place, even in the great harbor at Dun Laoghaire. The streets below were crowded, and on the slopes of Outlook Park to the west the canopies of the troop tents had sprouted like white mushrooms. Over five thousand troops were already encamped there, swelling the population of the town and straining its resources, and more troops arrived every day.
Enean burned to be in the battle that was to come.
In his mind, he could see himself at the head of the troops as they poured into Dún Kiil, his sword raised and dripping blood, and in his other hand, the snarling, glowing dragon of his Cloch Mór. In his vision, all his enemies fell before him as if he were a scythe cutting through ripe wheat. The roar of victory drowned out the wails of the dead and dying, and the Inishlanders who were left threw down their weapons and bowed to him.
Enean smiled. He lifted his chin, as if he were already standing triumphant on the field of battle. “Which ship is mine, Labhrás?” he asked, and Ó Riain pointed to a large, single-masted galley riding the swells near West Light.
“That one,” he said. “You see the Rí Ard’s crest painted on its bow, and the colors of Dun Laoghaire flying in the rigging. That’s where we’ll be, Enean, just a few days from now, as soon as the remainder of the troops and ships arrive. Then, not long after that, we’ll sail into Dún Kiil Harbor and hear the terror of the Inishlanders at the sight of us. We’ll avenge the defeat of your da, and Inish Thuaidh will be another of your Tuatha.”
Enean grinned at that, the glorious vision returning to him. Then he frowned. “Da sometimes talked to me about the last time, especially before—” He stopped and touched a finger to the long, ugly scar that disfigured his face. “He said that no army from the Tuatha
ever
managed to defeat the Inishlanders, that it was foolish to try because ‘the Mother-damned Inish are too stubborn to know when they’re dead and will strike from the very grave.’ ” Enean shivered. “Can they do that, Labhrás? Can they keep fighting even when you’ve killed them?” The image of skeletons and rotting corpses swinging rusted blades spoiled the grand vision in his head.
“No,” Ó Riain said soothingly, talking to him as his da had. “They’re just people like any others, Enean, and when they die, they die.”
“Then why would Da say that?”
Enean thought he heard Ó Riain give a sigh of exasperation, but when he looked, the man was smiling at him. “Your da was exaggerating a bit, as people do when they tell stories. You know how tales grow, don’t you?”
“MacCamore used to tell me stories,” Enean said, but the mention of the man’s name dissolved the smile on Ó Riain’s face and, with it, the last bit of Enean’s vision. He shivered in the cold wind, looking down at the city without seeing it. “Where’s Nuala?” Enean asked. “I want to see Nuala.”
The frown deepened on Ó Riain’s face. “She’s just in her chambers across the way, Enean, but I wish she hadn’t come to Falcarragh at all. This isn’t the place for a woman in her condition.”
Enean didn’t answer, sweeping past Ó Riain and going back inside. “Nuala!” he called as he pushed past the draperies and into his chamber. One of Nuala’s maidservants came to the door, peered inside, then left. A few moments later, Nuala hurried in, still placing a shawl around her shoulders. Her belly had swelled considerably in the last few weeks, and she cupped her hands under her womb. “Enean?”
As always when he looked at her, Enean felt a rush of affection. He strode quickly over to her and wrapped her in his arms, pulling the mound of her belly into him. He kissed the nape of her neck, then her mouth. She laughed under his lips, her hands coming up to tangle in his hair.
Nuala never seemed to care about his disfigured face. She never treated him as some kind of slow child, as some of the Riocha did. And she would give him a child soon: a son, he was certain, who would grow up to be the man that Enean himself might have been had that robber’s sword not changed his life forever. Nuala was a gift, one that Edana had given to him.
Edana
. . .
He saw his half sister’s face in his memory, heard her laughter, mixed with that of Nuala. He released his wife, frowning suddenly. “What’s the matter?” Nuala asked. He saw her gaze slip past his shoulder to where Ó Riain stood watching.
“I was thinking of Edana,” Enean answered truthfully. He knew people lied, aye, but he rarely did so himself and not very well when he did. “I miss her.”
“You should forget her as if she were dead,” Ó Riain said immediately. Enean, looking at Nuala’s face, saw his wife stiffen and her mouth pull into a tight moue. “Edana’s shown that her loyalty is to that traitor Doyle Mac Ard and the Inishlanders, and she’s almost certainly in Doire Coill with the Banrion and her daughter and the wretched Bunús Muintir. I told you how they attacked the Rí Gabair’s gardai, Enean, remember? We had Mac Ard captured, and the Banrion’s daughter and her filthy band came out of the dark wood and rescued them. Well, they can stay there until we’re finished with Inish Thuaidh, and then we’ll come back and deal with them.”
Enean spun around to face Ó Riain. “Edana is
not
a traitor,” he said, irritation at Ó Riain coloring his voice. Sometimes the man seemed to smother Enean, a burden that weighed him down and made it difficult to even breathe. “She
loves
me.”
“She loves Mac Ard, and she would kill you in a moment if she thought that it would allow her to be Banrion.”
A fury rose inside Enean. He could feel it building, like a dragon’s fire igniting in his belly and rising, rising through him so that his hands trembled with it and the lines of his face burned. He glared at Ó Riain, who looked back at him blandly. “That’s not
true!
”
“It is true, Enean, and the sooner you realize it, the better. Everyone knows it’s true. Ask the Ríthe. Ask any of the Riocha. Ask the cloudmages of the Order of Gabair. Edana might have loved you once, but she loves power more. She and Mac Ard both deserve death—and they’ll have it the next time we meet.”
“That’s
my
decision,” Enean insisted, the fury still rising.
Ó Riain merely smiled, and the heat exploded inside Enean. “Enean, please . . .” he heard Nuala say warningly behind him, but it was too late. With a guttural and wordless roar, he pushed Ó Riain, shoving him backward with both muscular arms. Ó Riain tumbled backward, slamming into the wall and sliding down. Enean had his hand on the hilt of his sword; Ó Riain’s hand went to Lámh Shábhála, installed on a new, wide golden chain around his neck.
“Enean!”
Nuala screamed at him, and her shrill cry broke through the red cloud around him. “By the Mother, no!” She pulled at his sword hand, trying to drag him back from Ó Riain. There was panic and a desperate entreaty in her voice, and a manic strength in her hands. “Enean, please.
Please!
The Regent Guardian has only your best interests in his heart. That’s all.”
Enean could see a glow enveloping Ó Riain’s hand as the man glared at him with slitted eyes. Nuala had moved around so that she was between them, and she hugged him desperately, her hand on his scarred cheek as she stared up at him. “You shouldn’t fight with the Regent Guardian, Enean,” she pleaded. “He’ll keep you safe during the battle. He thinks only of you.” She cast a beseeching glance back at Ó Riain. “Isn’t that true, Regent Guardian?”
Slowly, Ó Riain released Lámh Shábhála and the glow faded around his hand. He wiped at his lips with the back of his hand, then pushed himself to his feet. He brushed at his clothing. “The Rí Ard is always in my thoughts,” he said slowly. “Always.”
The energy of Enean’s rage was leeching away as quickly as it had come, and his face relaxed into a slight, wan smile. “I’m sorry, Labhrás,” he said. Nuala still clung to him. “I shouldn’t have pushed you like that.” Ó Riain nodded, but the answering smile never came to his face even though his words were honeyed and soft.
“The Rí Ard doesn’t need to apologize for anything he does,” he said. He rolled his shoulder as if it ached from the impact with the wall. “The Rí Ard need only lead us into battle and to victory. I consider it my duty to show the Rí Ard exactly the right time to strike against those who stand between him and what he desires. And that time is soon. Very soon.”
He did smile then, a fleeting tug at one corner of his thin lips before he moved to the door, Enean turning to watch him. Ó Riain knocked and one of the hall garda opened the door as Ó Riain bowed to Enean and Nuala. Then, with a swift adjustment of the folds of his clóca, he left. The garda nodded to Enean and shut the door again.
“Why are you trembling?” he asked Nuala. “I can feel you shivering. Are you cold?”
Nuala held him tightly, laying her head on his chest. “Aye,” she said. “That’s it, my love. I’m cold.” He felt her arms press him to her. “I’m just cold.”