The Sword and the Song (31 page)

“So you’re sure Niall is behind this?” Aine asked.

“Not entirely. It looks to have been done by someone familiar with our routines, our discipline. But that doesn’t mean Niall isn’t behind it.” He hesitated. “Have you been able to reach Conor?”

“No. Why?”

“The timing feels suspicious.” Eoghan knew he was giving her too much information, but it was concerning her husband. She had a right to know. It had been two weeks since Conor had set off for Dún Eavan, a trip he thought would take only a fortnight. He should be arriving at Loch Eirich now. Eoghan couldn’t ignore the possibility that the attack had been timed to coincide with Conor’s arrival at the fortress.

“Do you think he’s in danger?”

“I think he’s always in danger. But in special danger? I don’t think so.”

She nodded slowly and twisted her skirt in her lap, a sign of distress that her voice didn’t betray. “We couldn’t afford to lose those men, could we?”

“No. We need the numbers. And they were among the most experienced of our men, something else that points to the attack having been done by someone familiar with Ard Dhaimhin.”

A knock sounded at the door right before it opened. One of the guards poked his head in. “Master Eoghan? You’re needed outside.”

Eoghan rose immediately. “I’ll let you know if I find out any more. Stay here. You’re safest with Iomhar. If you’re concerned about appearances
 
—”

“At this point, appearances are the least of my worries. But thank you.”

No one could doubt her bravery; that was certain. “I’ll let you know if we learn anything else of interest. And keep trying to reach Conor.”

“Aye. Go with Comdiu, Eoghan.”

He gave her a little bow, shoving away any thoughts but those that related to the situation in the city below.

Gradaigh was waiting for him outside Aine’s door, and he fell into step beside him in the corridor. “Sir, we’ve received the first reports from our sentries. There are men massing on the outer edges of our territory.”

“Niall’s staging an attack on the city? Openly?”

“That’s the thing, sir. It doesn’t appear that they’re trying to get in. It looks like they’re there to keep people from getting
out
.”

Eoghan blinked. Getting out? That didn’t make any sense, unless the attack to which Aine had alerted them wasn’t merely an isolated incident involving a few spies. His heart beat faster as he considered the possibilities, and his steps sped automatically.

“Riordan!” he called as soon as he set foot into the hall where the men were gathered. “How many fighting men are there in the city now? Ones who are not Fíréin?”

“I’d have to get the prefects’ last census to be exact, but somewhere between seventeen hundred and two thousand. Clearly, we’ll need them, but their numbers have already been included.”

“But we’ve been thinking of them as our allies.” He looked slowly around the table. “What if we’re not being attacked from the outside because the men are already here?”

Looks of horror circulated around the table. There were almost as many men in Ard Dhaimhin who could be potential enemies as there were Fíréin.

“How is that possible?” Dal asked. “They couldn’t be ensorcelled, as they wouldn’t be able to sleep beneath the wards. And they couldn’t bear the runes because they’d be dead.”

“But they could be spelled.”

Eoghan swiveled toward the doorway to find Aine standing there, Iomhar directly behind her. “What are you doing here?”

“I heard your conclusion.” She gave him a wry smile that indicated it was his thoughts and not his words that had drawn her. “I have a suggestion.”

Iomhar stepped forward with a flat wooden case: the oath-binding sword.

“No, it’s too dangerous.”

“No more dangerous than what we already face in the city. There have to be, what . . . one, two thousand men outside Ard Dhaimhin who are linked to the sword? If even a portion of those men respond, those are valuable reinforcements.”

He sighed. She was right. And if they had been infiltrated from within, their best bet was to call reinforcements from the outside. But to his knowledge, no one had ever attempted it. Who knew what the ramifications could be of having Aine try to connect with so many minds at once?

“What other choice do we have?” she asked softly. “I don’t believe it’s an accident that the sword responded to me. It’s a gift, Eoghan.”

He studied her face, so assured even though he had to believe she harbored doubts of her own. “Very well. But first we need to secure the men we do have. Riordan, Gradaigh, I want you to go below and speak to the céad leaders. Let them know we might be facing opposition from within. Speak also to the kingdom men and tell them to expect battle from outside. They’ll need to be on alert, but I don’t mind a little misdirection, either.”

The two men hastened to obey him, and Eoghan turned to Aine. “You’re sure about this? You know Conor would do everything he could to dissuade you from putting yourself at risk.”

“Aye, and he’d give up in the end when he realized it was my risk to take.”

Eoghan sighed. She was exactly right. “Then let’s do it.” And pray that Comdiu protect her, for all their sakes.

Aine waited until Riordan and Gradaigh returned
to the hall before she attempted to recall the men with the sword, even though the weapon pulsed with an unseen energy, calling to her. It was as if the magic somehow knew she was the one who was meant to use it and waited in anticipation. But that was odd, wasn’t it? Magic wasn’t sentient.

“You look deep in thought.” Iomhar settled in the chair beside her, deceptively casual considering she knew he was on alert to any threat, even here. The Fíréin’s dedication was truly remarkable. She was counting on that dedication to ensure their response.

“There is so much we don’t know,” she said finally. “I imagine that linking with the minds of the men still living will be straightforward. But what about the fact that there are generations of Fíréin brothers who have passed?”

“I don’t think that’s a concern, my lady. Our oath to the brotherhood is for our mortal service. It isn’t as if we pledge our souls. Those belong to Comdiu alone, and I don’t believe He would grant the power to reach across the boundaries of eternity. He knows that’s a responsibility humanity couldn’t shoulder.”

“You’re right.” Her respect for Iomhar inched upward. Once more he was proving himself to be mature beyond his years, and once more she was immensely grateful for his presence.

The hall’s main door opened and Iomhar tensed beside her before they recognized Gradaigh and Riordan. “They’ve been notified,” Riordan said to Eoghan as he circled the table to his seat.

Eoghan turned to her. “Let’s discuss this before you make the attempt. What are you going to say?”

“I don’t know yet. Can you trust me to follow Comdiu’s leading and speak what comes to my mind?”

Eoghan paused, his eyes averted as if he were listening to Him. Perhaps he was. “Aye. The sword called to you, for whatever reason. In my mind, that means you are meant to use it. I will trust you.” He glanced around the table. “What say you?”

Slowly, the other men voiced their agreement.

“It’s decided, then,” Aine said, her voice trembling a little. “Eoghan, would you say a prayer before we begin?”

He gave her a little smile and bowed his head. “Merciful Comdiu, we pray Your blessing on this endeavor. Give Lady Aine strength and wisdom. Your will be done. So may it be.”

“So may it be,” the table echoed.

Eoghan pulled the case from the center of the table and turned it to face her, then gave her an encouraging nod.

Aine took a deep breath before she flipped the latches on the case and lifted the lid. Magic hummed through her as her hand hovered over the sword. The runes seemed to glisten in the lamplight.

Please, Comdiu, guide my words and actions.

Before she could change her mind, she gripped the sword like a weapon and lifted it from the case. Power surged through her, whipping her consciousness like a maelstrom. She gasped, her fingers curling involuntarily around the sword’s grip.

Then the whispers began
 
—first just a few, some she recognized as belonging to men who sat in this chamber. The sounds rippled outward like concentric rings from a raindrop in a puddle, ever widening until they were like the wind in the trees, the rush of the ocean. She couldn’t tell who was in control, she or the power of the sword, but as the collective strength of the oaths rushed through her, she knew what had to be said.

She spoke only in her mind, but the words echoed through her as strongly as if she’d shouted them aloud.

Brothers, I call on you today on behalf of Seare. I am Aine, healer of Ard Dhaimhin and wife to Conor, Ceannaire of the Fíréin brotherhood.

Since the fall of the Great Kingdom, the Fíréin have stood fast, ever faithful in their oath to protect the High City. The city has now been breached and the brotherhood disbanded. Seare has fallen, and the evil spirits from the first days have been loosed on the island.

It is now time for you to fulfill your oaths. It is time to relinquish the old ways and embrace the new. Those who have defended the city from the kingdoms must now defend the kingdoms themselves from a greater evil. The age of the brotherhood is over, but a new one shall begin.

Seare has seen the flames of disaster and trial. But like Ard Dhaimhin, she will rise again, not burned away but refined by her trials into a purity of purpose.

All of you who call yourselves faithful, I beg of you, fulfill your oaths. Return to Ard Dhaimhin. Join with us, and we will throw off the tyranny of sorcery in favor of peace
 
—not beneath a regime of fear but in unity beneath the One God who unites all.

Then slowly the hum of power ebbed from the sword. Coherent thought crept back. She realized she was breathing heavily, her whole body trembling, but she still gripped the sword. She waited for the whispers to fade, but they only continued to
grow stronger, tumbling over each other, jumbling together into a nonsensical, deafening rush. And beneath it all, she felt it. Their conviction to return. Their obedience to their oath.

Their devotion to her.

“They’re coming,” she whispered, just before she swayed sideways in the chair.

A pair of strong arms caught her, but she didn’t know whom they belonged to. Someone called for a healer. She tried to tell them that she was all right, just tired, but the words wouldn’t come from her suddenly thick tongue. And then the room slipped away.

She awoke to silence.

Had she been struck deaf? No. Even through the fogginess in her mind, she knew that wasn’t right. This was a different kind of silence, a deep and penetrating quiet that felt suspiciously like loneliness.

She tried to push herself up, but her limbs wouldn’t obey. Even her head felt too heavy to lift from where it lay on something soft. A pallet? No, her bed in her chamber at Carraigmór. She opened her eyes enough to let in a thin stream of light and then squeezed them tightly shut again as the pounding started between her ears.

Murmurs at the edge of her consciousness. Then the squeak of hinges, the soft thud of a door closing, heavy footsteps.

“Aine.”

That voice was familiar. Conor? No, not Conor. He wasn’t here. She pried her eyes open again, this time enough to resolve the speaker’s face. Eoghan. Their friend. The king. His expression was enough to shoot a jolt of wakefulness through her:
tense, concerned, even fearful. When she tried to speak, her mouth felt dry and her voice raspy. “What happened?”

“You collapsed after you recalled the brothers.” He seated himself in the chair beside the bed, his hands clasped tightly together. “We brought you back to your chamber.”

“How long have I been unconscious?”

“A day and a night. Do you want to try to sit up?” He slid a hand behind her shoulders, but the slightest upward motion sent the room spinning around her. She managed a weak shake of her head, and he laid her back down again.

“Aine, there’s something else you should know.”

Another voice, seemingly loud in the stark quiet. She focused with difficulty on the man across the room. His identity came back more quickly to her. Riordan, her father-in-law.

“We called one of the healers to help when you collapsed,” Eoghan said. “He thought you might be overcome by the connection to so many minds at once.”

Aye, that sounded right. So many of them. But they were gone now. Why were they gone?

“We had to draw the shield rune on you, my lady.”

Aine yanked her shift forward, shocked by the black ink drawn over her heart. That explained why she couldn’t hear anything, not even the thoughts of Eoghan and Riordan. “You have to take it off. I can’t communicate with Conor or his men if this is here.”

“Aine, you must rest for a bit.” Eoghan again. She focused on him, blinking so that this time his face fully resolved in her vision. “We don’t know how the connection to so many will affect you. It’s possible that if you remove the rune, you might be overwhelmed and slip away from us. Next time you might not wake up.”

It was too much to think about. Instead, she focused on her most pressing need. “I’m thirsty.”

Riordan poured water from a pitcher into an earthenware cup and handed to it to Eoghan. He helped her sit up enough to press the cup to her lips. She was suddenly glad she couldn’t hear his thoughts. Given their history, this felt far too intimate, but she was too weak to protest. She sipped cautiously and managed to push the cup away when she was finished. A sudden tightening in her middle reminded her of what she had forgotten: the baby.

She had been asleep for almost two days with no food and very little water, though she suspected the healer would have forced as much down her throat as he could manage. Had the deprivation harmed the child? She hadn’t felt any movement since she had awoken.

She rolled to her side and stayed as still as possible, barely even breathing, while she prayed for a sign her child was still alive. And then it came, a roll and a heavy kick, as if the baby were irritated to have been awoken. She nearly wept with relief.

The door opened then, and Caemgen, one of the elder healers, entered. “Ah, you’re awake. We were concerned.”

Eoghan rose wordlessly and moved out of the healer’s way.

“Have you felt the child yet?”

“Just now.”

“Good.” Caemgen made a show of examining her, studying her eyes, checking her pulse, but she had a feeling it was simply a way to make himself useful.

“What went wrong?”

The healer paused. “Perhaps nothing. The human mind is not made to channel so many thoughts and voices, my lady. Not even yours.”

He had called her “my lady.” The healers never called her
anything but Lady Aine or occasionally “girl” when they forgot themselves. What had changed?

And then she remembered what she had felt after she’d summoned the men. Devotion, obedience to her. Her face flushed. How had she not thought of that? How had it not occurred to her that if she were speaking directly to the minds of thousands of men, she might inadvertently use her powers to compel them to return? Was that why she had been given this gift? So that she could get their attention and ensure their return? And if that were true, why did she feel so guilty about it?

“My best advice now, my lady, is to rest. Drink as much as you can. Begin eating slowly again. We’ll have food brought to you. You need to think of both the child and yourself.”

She surveyed the concerned faces of the three men in the room and realized there was one question they hadn’t yet answered.

“Did it work?”

They exchanged glances that held far more than she could unravel in her weakened
 
—and blocked
 
—state.

“Aye,” Eoghan said. “It worked. The men of Ard Dhaimhin heard you, and the ones outside the city have been amassing beyond the druid’s forces for the past two days.”

She heaved a sigh of relief. “Thank Comdiu. Their oaths still hold.”

“Aye, their oaths still hold.” Eoghan hesitated. “But not just to Ard Dhaimhin. To you as well.”

Eoghan left Aine’s chamber, troubled. It wasn’t the fact that the men she’d recalled were loyal to her. That actually might work in their favor if she were able to command them. The real problem was that, according to the healer, the attempt might kill her.