The Sword and the Song (10 page)

Only Eoghan remained by the time she turned back to Carraigmór’s steps. Except he wasn’t watching the departing party; he was watching her. And the equal measures of determination and darkness on his face started her anxiety all over again.

Conor had never ventured south of the city
into the farthest fields, so over the next week, he found himself surprised by the expanse of the Fíréin domain. Farmland and pastureland stretched as far as he could see to the near peaks of the Sliebhanaigh mountains. It would have been beautiful if not for the char that scarred the patchwork of arable land, almost as if the damage had been random, indiscriminate. But nothing the druid did was random. He’d targeted the crops they depended on to get them through the winter
 
—the grains, the alfalfa fields where the beehives were located, the hay used to feed the animals. Somehow the destruction only brought home the urgency of their mission.

Daigh found his way up to his side, which surprised Conor. The man had never sought him out unless he absolutely had to. He simply walked alongside him without speaking, until Conor finally said, “It’s bad, but not as bad as I expected.”

“It gets worse,” Daigh said grimly. “Some areas aren’t touched. Others are wiped out for acres.”

“Have you seen it yourself?”

“Aye. Went out after the attack to evaluate the situation for myself. Someone from the Conclave needed to have firsthand knowledge of the damage.”

As bad as the destruction was, Conor thought they were lucky it hadn’t been worse. He changed his mind when they entered into the pasturelands, which had once been wide green swaths of grazing land, and found only charred and blackened earth.

“There were animals here,” Conor said to Daigh, hoping he was wrong.

Daigh just gave him a tense nod. “We lost over half of our herds, which you already know. Looks like the druid reserved a group of men to circle around south and do as much damage as they could before they retreated. Even if we were able to rebuild the herds, there’s no grazing left. Regrowth should have begun months ago.”

“Unnatural fire.” Cold dismay started in Conor’s chest and crept through his body. “This could affect Ard Dhaimhin for generations.”

“Unless we find a way to reverse it, aye.”

Over that first week, Conor’s estimation of his fellow leader rose. Regardless of his attitude or his feelings about Conor, Daigh was committed to Ard Dhaimhin. And it seemed as though Conor’s willingness to undertake leadership of what was a potentially dangerous mission had endeared him to Daigh in return. As Conor began to learn exactly how badly his stamina had suffered from both imprisonment and inactivity at Carraigmór, he appreciated when Daigh took on the job of camp marshal. It allowed him to rest, study maps, and pretend that he had better things to do than reveal the truth: he was just too tired to do anything besides sit by the fire.

His nightly check-in with Aine was the single bright spot of
his day, particularly as their time within the protective circle of Ard Dhaimhin’s wards drew to a close.

Things are as they always are
, Aine reassured him, an oddly disembodied voice in his mind.
Eoghan is in command of the men and presides over the Conclave as if he were born to it. Riordan has stepped into your place as Ceannaire without a hitch. You needn’t worry how things are going in your absence.

I’m not sure if that makes me feel better or worse. Couldn’t you at least pretend that things have fallen apart in my absence?

Then you would be fretting about how the brotherhood should have been better trained than that and how you’re not living up to your role as Liam’s successor. I know you, Conor. Concentrate on your mission.

She did know him, and she was right, at least about his expectations for the brotherhood. His smile quickly faded.
We’ve reached the furthest edge of the Fíréin’s domain now. We should clear our border and the shield by mid-morning tomorrow.

We will be petitioning Comdiu on your behalf. Be careful. I love you.

And I love you.

When he looked up, he saw that Daigh had come near enough to speak to him.

“News?”

“The same. Letting her know we’ll be entering the pass tomorrow.”

Daigh looked past him to the shadow of the mountains. Conor knew what he was thinking. Considering the dizzying drop to the plains of Sliebhan below, one would expect the road to rise steeply. But Ard Dhaimhin was located on a high plain, and the pass was actually a dark corridor, little more than a crevasse that sloped downward. Somehow that was even more disconcerting than a climb.

“We’ll separate at the first fork in Little Neck?” Daigh verified, referring to the point where the road bottlenecked and then split into two passes, one that moved around the north side of the fortress and the other to the south.

“Aye. Our cover will work better that way.”

“Assuming they haven’t seen us and made us for Fíréin already.”

“Which is why we stick to the story.” Conor patted the pouch of coins at his belt. If they were questioned about why they were returning from Ard Dhaimhin, he planned on saying they’d traded meat for coin to the brotherhood, who were in desperate need of supplies. In the event they were questioned why they would trade away such precious commodity for something that couldn’t warm them or fill their bellies, Conor had ordered the men to say they were planning on hopping a ship to Gwydden as soon as they could secure passage. The Clanless should have little enough experience with travel outside Seare that they wouldn’t question the feasibility of the plan.

Daigh fell silent again, and Conor could almost see the orderly march of thought through the other man’s head. “You realize that once we set foot outside of Ard Dhaimhin’s domain, we also step outside the protection of our wards.”

Conor nodded. He’d thought of little else for the past day or two, trying to devise some way to safeguard his men against the influence of the sidhe. “If I play a ward through the pass, we will lose the element of surprise. Plus, our fiction about being Clanless will be less than convincing. If you can think of a way to do it with subtlety, I am all ears.”

“The sidhe tend to be subtle and target just a few men at a time,” Daigh said slowly. “Before we leave the city’s wardings, we should arrange the men into groups of twos and threes. Make them responsible for monitoring each other’s behavior. The
likelihood of all three men in a group being corrupted or misled at once is small.”

“That’s a good idea,” Conor said. “Do it.”

Inwardly, though, he wondered if it would be enough. When discussing the matter back at Ard Dhaimhin, they had determined that the Sliebhanaigh mountains were unpopulated enough that the sidhe’s influence would be light. Unlike the cities and villages, there were not enough souls to lead astray, not enough misery from which to feed. But Conor knew all too well the havoc that one spirit alone could wreak when it had a mission and a plan.

The uneasiness dogged him through the night and lingered when he woke in the cool gray morning. As if in defiance of their hope for good weather, a fine mist settled over them, dampening their clothes and supplies. Still, it was a natural kind of mist, not an unearthly cold that indicated the presence of the sidhe.

“Fifteen minutes to break camp,” Conor called, and the men sprang into action. Fires were doused, bedrolls tied and stowed on the packhorses, weapons checked and double-checked. The men possessed an extra measure of gravity today, and once more, Conor was grateful for Ard Dhaimhin’s unceasing training and discipline. Not a word was uttered that hinted an unwillingness to face what might lie ahead of them. Not a movement of a hand toward a weapon betrayed the nervousness that they must feel.

“Delay your party an hour,” Conor told Daigh. “It will look less conspicuous when we divide at the Neck.”

“Aye, I will.” He held out a hand to Conor, who clasped his arm without hesitation. “Go with Comdiu. And use caution. Ard Dhaimhin needs you.”

Surprised, Conor nodded for a second. “Aye. And you. We enter on the first night of the full moon. I’ll see you inside.”

Daigh clapped Conor on the shoulder. “See you inside.”

“All right,” Conor called. “My group, forward. Daigh’s group, stay put.”

A dozen men fell into the rough jumble that ran contrary to their training but would help them sell the impression that they were Clanless traders. Conor signaled to the man directly behind him to move forward. “Tomey.”

“Aye, sir?”

Conor leveled a reproving look at him. No one but warriors responded so respectfully or with such alacrity. The man grinned at him. “Whatcher want?”

Conor repressed a laugh. “Better.”

“My people were lowborn Faolanaigh. Early memories don’t easily leave.” But neither did the precise, educated way of speaking that he had acquired from a life mostly lived in Ard Dhaimhin.

“Good. I’m counting on that. Do you know any of the old folk prayers?”

“Aye, of course I do. Why?”

“I want you to see which the men know and teach those who have never heard them. I remember my wife saying they had banished the sidhe through their prayers.”

“Wouldn’t any prayer do? Does it have to be by rote?”

“No, but it will make it easier when the men are scared shiftless. If you’ve never been in the sidhe’s presence, you don’t know the kind of fear they can incite.”

“Aye, sir. Er, yeah, I’ll do that, Conor.”

“Good lad.” Conor clapped Tomey on the shoulder much as Daigh had done to him. It was all they could do.

Aine sped down the corridor
after the young boy who had been sent to retrieve her from her chamber, twisting her messy hair into a knot as she went. Considering that it was barely past dawn, only something dire could cause Riordan to call her to the Ceannaire’s office before she was even dressed.

When she burst into the office, both Riordan and Eoghan waited for her, a steaming pot of tea and a plate of oatcakes on the table between them. She blinked at the scene, taking in their calm demeanors and the three place settings.

“Lady Aine. Tea?” Riordan lifted the pot questioningly and hovered over an empty cup.

“Aye, please, but . . . I don’t understand. You called me here for tea?”

“No, of course not.” Eoghan’s voice was calm, but his dark eyes held something sorrowful that unnerved her more than the early-morning summons. “Given the early hour and your . . . condition . . . I ordered it be brought so you could eat while we talked.”

“Oh. Thank you. I think.” She took the chair Eoghan
indicated and accepted the cup of tea from Riordan, still confused. “What’s happened that requires my attendance so urgently?”

Riordan and Eoghan exchanged another look, and Riordan nodded, a show of deference toward his leader. Eoghan drummed his fingertips on the table. “We’ve word from Faolán. Niall has taken a small fortress not far from Lisdara.”

Aine’s heart rose into her throat. It was bad news that the druid was on the move, especially if he were stirring from his stronghold and turning his eye to other conquests. “But there’s more, isn’t there? You wouldn’t have called me here if there weren’t.”

“Aine,” Eoghan said gently, “the lord of the fortress was already dead. The crofters had holed up there for more protection. They stood no chance against Niall’s men. The ones who did survive the initial battle, if you can even call it that, were given the choice to renounce their Balian beliefs or die.”

“And did they renounce?” She feared the answer even as she asked the question.

“No. They were slaughtered. Every last man, woman, and child.”

Aine pressed her hands to her mouth and wrestled down her emotions. She could not afford to think of those individuals as people
 
—as fathers, sons, mothers, daughters. Could not think of what kind of evil could justify killing innocent children. This was war, and the event had significance beyond the human cost. “Do we know his objective? Is this a strategic holding?”

“We don’t know,” Riordan said. “The location is puzzling, near the coast without any nearby cities, towns, or targets. It’s an old stronghold from Daimhin’s time that has been seized and abandoned numerous times over the centuries as newer and more comfortable structures were built along trade routes. It makes no sense that he would have targeted such an unstrategic location.”

“Trying a new weapon, perhaps?” The idea that the druid might have other unknown resources chilled her.

“We don’t think so,” Eoghan said. “Used a simple battering ram to take down the doors.”

“Then why am I here? I have no particular strategic insight.”

“I beg to differ,” Eoghan said quietly. “You asked the exact same questions as Riordan and I did. But we called you here for another reason. Since word has circulated that the fortress fell and Niall killed the villagers, Ard Dhaimhin has seen an influx of refugees. Some of them came from Bánduran itself.”

“And you need me to heal them?”

Riordan shook his head. “By all means, heal those who cannot be healed by mere medicine, but that’s not why we called you. We need you to read them. We need to know exactly what was said, what the druid might have revealed of his plans.”

“You want me to mine their memories.” What they were asking was far more difficult than merely picking thoughts from someone’s mind. It required her to dig around, search for trauma they might have already purposely buried to protect themselves. She’d never used her gift in such a deliberate way before. She wasn’t even sure it was possible. She did know from experience that it would take far more focus than she typically had available in the midst of the crowd.

Eoghan reached out and took her hand, looking into her eyes, before he realized what he was doing. He released her as if he had been scalded. “My lady, I know this will be both taxing and unpleasant. But if we are to be able to do anything about it, we need to know as much of what they observed as we can. We need to see through their eyes. And you are the only one who has that ability.”

Will you do anything?
she wanted to ask, but she kept the challenge to herself. The teacup in her hand was a useful
diversion while she considered her answer, even if she didn’t notice the hot liquid scalding her lips and tongue until it was too late. “Very well. I’ll do it. But not in the village, and not more than one or two a day. If you find the most reliable witnesses and bring them to Carraigmór, I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thank you, Aine,” Eoghan murmured. “We know what we ask of you.”

“I don’t think you do.” She set her cup firmly on the table and left the study without further comment. Once she reached the corridor, however, she paused on the steps and let silent tears slide down her cheeks. Maybe it was just the new life growing inside her that made her so much more sensitive to the slaughter of innocents. Maybe it was just how out of control her emotions were, between the child’s effect on her body and the fact that her husband was away on a dangerous mission.

Or maybe you just feel Comdiu’s pain at seeing His people persecuted and killed for their beliefs.

She pressed a hand against her abdomen and tried to get control of her shaky breathing. She would do what they asked. But she knew one thing: once she saw what the refugees had endured and what awaited the rest of her land, she would not be able to stay silent and do nothing.

“I’m concerned,” Riordan said when they were once again alone.

Eoghan poured his own cup of tea and drank half of it in one gulp. It seared his tongue and most of his throat on the way down. “About Aine? She’s the only chance we have to discover the druid’s plan early enough to do something about it.”

“I’m not talking about Aine. I’m talking about you.”

Eoghan jerked his gaze to the older man’s face. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t lie to me, Eoghan. I know you have feelings for her. It’s written all over your face anytime you’re within five steps of her. You’re in love with her.”

“Doesn’t matter if I am or not. She’s another man’s wife.”

“It matters because you’re the king and you have the potential to hurt many people with your decisions.”

“You think I would do something immoral? That I would pressure her?” He’d known Riordan his whole life, and the man dared to question his integrity?

Riordan cut him off with a laugh. “Son, you know very little about women if you think you can make them do anything they don’t want to do, especially where matters of the heart are concerned. Aine loves Conor. But your feelings toward her, and your guilt over it, will lead you to make bad decisions. Have you even stopped to think about what it will be like for her to bear the memories of those refugees, many times over? Do you have any idea how hard she has to work to control her gift in a city of four thousand people?”

Guilt washed over him immediately, but he steeled himself against it. “What other choice do we have? No, I do not want to cause her any pain. But if I’m to be the leader this city
 
—this country
 
—deserves, shouldn’t I be able to put aside my own feelings? Shouldn’t I be able to weigh what’s best for Seare against what’s best for one person?”

“I don’t know the full answer to that, Eoghan. But I do know that you have to weigh the cost of using your resources for small things when you might need them for larger acts later.”

“You’re saying I shouldn’t push Aine now because she will be needed later.”

Riordan rose, but his expression didn’t waver. “I’m saying that if you ask her to do this for us, you’d better be ready to make hard choices.”

Eoghan nodded, but inside he felt sick. He understood the subtext of what Riordan was saying, no matter how much he cringed at the idea of calling Aine an asset. If he were going to put her through enough trauma that it put her sanity and health at risk, he needed to be ready to act on that information.

He needed to be ready to take Ard Dhaimhin to war.

The first refugee was brought up from the village the following day and situated in the hall with a pot of tea and oatcakes, a luxury considering their dwindling resources. But Aine’s initial surprise at the spread was quickly replaced by shock when she saw the witness they had brought her.

“He’s little more than a child!” she whispered to Eoghan near the edge of the hall. “This was your most reliable witness?”

Eoghan merely shook his head. “Listen to his story and then make your decision.”

Aine circled the room and approached the young man slowly, aware that she was treating him much like a skittish foal
 
—which, she supposed, was an apt comparison. He had the gangly look of a boy who had just started growing upward but had not yet filled out, perhaps a dozen years old. She instantly recognized that beneath his look of defiance lay fear.

“May I join you?” Aine asked.

He dragged his eyes away from the untouched plate of oatcakes and then shrugged. Aine pulled up the chair next to him. “My name is Aine. What is yours?”

For a second, she thought he wouldn’t answer. Then he said sullenly, “Roark.”

Unexpected tears blinded her, but she managed to keep her voice calm. “I like that name. Someone very special to me had a similar name.”

“What happened to him?” the boy asked. “Did he die?”

Aine swallowed. “Aye. Only a few months ago, killed by Lord Keondric. I’m not sure I’ve spoken his name aloud since.”

“I was named after my grandfather,” Roark said. “He was killed by Lord Keondric too.”

Aine breathed a prayer heavenward for guidance. It wasn’t hard to read the layers of grief and shock beneath his words, the conflicting desire to keep the pain close and to share it with her. She might know his thoughts, but she also knew she had to tread carefully lest he withdraw back behind his sullen shell. “I’m sorry, Roark. I’ve lost too much of my family so far in this war. I’d like to see it end as quickly as possible.”

“They said you wanted to ask me questions. I guess you can ask.”

She wasn’t going to waste Roark’s approval, but she didn’t rush him. Instead she poured a cup of tea and pushed the plate of oatcakes toward him. “Eat first. Questions will wait, but that growling in your stomach will not. I could scarce hear your answers over that noise anyhow.”

He flashed her a surprised smile that made him look at once younger and more vulnerable. The expression tugged at her heart. She could already read from his unguarded thoughts that he had lost not only his grandfather but also both his parents and his younger siblings. He had escaped with an uncle only by the slightest thread of fortune, the breath of Comdiu’s providence. Aine poured herself a cup of tea and waited while the boy wolfed down the plateful of oatcakes with scarcely a breath in between each bite.