The Sword and the Song (7 page)

Eoghan’s mind flew through the possibilities. If Meallachán were unconscious, that didn’t give them many options. Ard Bealach was weeks away. “We’ll need to bring her before the Conclave immediately to choose a course of action.”

Conor seemed surprised there was any question. “If Meallachán’s alive, we have to rescue him. He has the information we need about the runes.”

“And if he’s bait?” They had far too much to lose to trust Morrigan so easily. Niall knew the Fíréin well enough to realize that nothing short of a solution to their problems would tempt
them from Ard Dhaimhin’s security. Who better to deliver the message than someone Conor had once trusted?

“Of course he’s bait,” Aine said. “Knowing that gives us the advantage, doesn’t it?”

Eoghan’s attention shifted to Aine at the same time Conor’s did. Once again, they had underestimated her. “We’ll get the Conclave’s opinion,” Eoghan said finally, rising. “You’ll call the meeting, Conor?”

“Wait.” Aine shifted, looking suddenly uncomfortable. Truth be told, she looked downright ill. His heart sank. From the way her eyes refused to meet his, he knew he wouldn’t like this.

“Eoghan, while I was in Aron, I discovered a gift that I had been unaware of.”

“What kind of gift? Something that could help us?”

Aine chewed her bottom lip. “I can influence people around me.”

“So, this is helpful to us. Right?”

“Eoghan,” she said gently, finally looking at him directly. “What you feel toward me? That’s simply a result of my gift. I’m so sorry. I know how you’ve wrestled with this.”

Eoghan felt as if someone had struck him in the chest with a sling stone, hard enough to pierce him through. It felt suspiciously like betrayal. He looked to Conor. “You knew about this?”

“Only since last night,” Aine said. “I’m sorry. I should have told you sooner, but I feared if Conor knew the truth
 
—”

“You might learn he was being influenced by you too,” Eoghan said. All this time he’d spent berating himself for his weakness, all the guilt he’d suffered because he felt that he was betraying his best friend, all unnecessary, yet he found it hard to hold on to his anger when he saw how miserable she looked.
Could he really blame her for fearing what might happen should they find out?

Eoghan sighed. “I take it that once the person learns of your ability, they’re no longer susceptible to it?”

“That seems to be the case with other gifts of the mind,” Conor said.

“Well, that’s some consolation. I can’t say I’m not relieved.”

“You forgive me, then?” The hope in her expression was heartbreaking.

“Of course. I have no reason not to.”

Aine let out a relieved breath, and she and Conor rose simultaneously.

“I’ll call the Conclave this afternoon,” Conor said.

Eoghan acknowledged the words with a decisive nod. “I’ll be along in a moment.” But when the door closed, he stayed in his chair, fingers clamped on the wooden arms. Conor and Aine assumed the matter was over. He had forgiven her, and now that he knew the truth, his feelings would vanish.

They were right about the first part at least. He would forgive her anything, especially when he suspected there was nothing to forgive. The uncomfortable pang of truth seeped into the place hope had just occupied.

He really was in love with his best friend’s wife.

Conor called the Conclave together,
and as usual, Eoghan was the last to arrive, a fact that was not lost on the group. The anticipation crackled in the air as they waited, no doubt due in part to the dramatic arrival of their “guest,” but more likely because of the rumors that had been rippling through Carraigmór all morning. Still, when Eoghan finally showed, he took a seat at the center of the table and wordlessly turned his attention to Conor at the head.

“Brothers, we have matters of importance to discuss,” Conor began. “By now, you all know there was a breach of the fortress last night.”

“Why is Brother Eoghan not speaking to the matter?” Dal’s eyes glittered with something that could have been anticipation or malice.

That was quick. Conor had thought he would at least get through his introduction without having his authority questioned. He raised his eyebrows at Eoghan.

“Conor is most qualified to speak on this particular matter, given the identity of the intruder.”

Heads swiveled back toward Conor, and he wasn’t sure whether to be grateful or irritated. “Indeed. The intruder in question is my foster sister, Lady Morrigan. I was raised alongside her by her father, Lord Labhrás, who was executed by King Fergus at the beginning of the war.”

“What is she doing here? Why arrive in such a fashion?”

Conor acknowledged Gradaigh with a nod. “She claims her dramatic entrance was a way to guarantee an audience with me. She has potentially crucial information.”

“A traitor’s daughter,” Fechin said flatly. “What do you suggest we do with her?”

“Lord Labhrás was no traitor. He was a victim of political assassination. And regardless, her father’s actions have no bearing on her honesty.”

“Yet you yourself doubted her story,” Daigh shot back.

Conor let that comment pass. Sometimes the Conclave acted more like squabbling children than grown men. “Morrigan has brought us news that Brother Meallachán lives and is being held prisoner at Ard Bealach. Lady Aine has confirmed this.”

This got their attention, and all eyes moved to Aine. “This is true?” Daigh asked. “You spoke with him?”

“No. But he is alive and where Lady Morrigan claims he is.” She hesitated. “He is not in the best of health. I suspect ill-treatment, most likely torture.”

“The question I put to the Conclave today is whether we launch a rescue attempt,” Conor said. “Meallachán is one of the few men living who understand the harp’s full capability and how the runes work with it. We need him on our side and, if possible, before he gives up that information to our enemy.”

“And why are
you
putting this question to us when Eoghan has stepped forward to take leadership?” Dal asked, a little smile on his face. The man truly did not like Conor.

The entire table fell silent, looking between Conor and Eoghan in anticipation. Conor’s stomach tightened. This was the moment of truth.

Eoghan met his eyes and gave him a solemn nod before rising. Conor sank to his seat, feeling as if the air had gone out of him. At last Eoghan had given in to his badgering. So why didn’t he feel relieved?

“Conor is correct in his assessment. Meallachán is too great an asset to be left in the hands of our enemies. I propose that we launch a rescue mission to retrieve him from Ard Bealach.”

The room erupted into a babble of voices: questions about his leadership, the mission, what this meant to Ard Dhaimhin. Eoghan held up his hands for silence and nodded to Riordan, who was waiting to speak.

“Does this mean you are claiming the kingship?”

“It means I am taking the leadership of Ard Dhaimhin’s fighting men and our military actions,” Eoghan said. Unease once more rippled through the gathering. “As of yet, there is no throne to claim. Our land remains divided and on the brink of extinction. Only when the threat of war is gone and this evil is put to rest is it proper for any man to don a crown.”

Conor didn’t think he misread the undercurrent of disappointment. So Eoghan would seize leadership but not the crown?

“Conor needs to remain at the head of the city, overseeing our supplies and the integration of the kingdom’s citizens. He is best suited to lead Ard Dhaimhin. But I know our men. With proper planning and strategy, we can succeed at Ard Bealach.”

“Yet you will not take the title of High King,” Gradaigh said, clearly disappointed.

“As is right.”

All men swept their attention toward Aine, shocked by her statement. “Daimhin did not declare himself king and demand
fealty,” she said. “He earned the respect of the clans and delivered Seare from the threat they too faced. Only when his job was complete did he accept the High Kingship. Would you ask Eoghan to seize an honor for himself that even our first High King dared not?”

That halted everyone mid-grumble. Eoghan nodded to Aine and then looked around the table. “What say you? Will you accept my leadership in military matters and continue to recognize Conor as Ceannaire of Ard Dhaimhin?”

Slowly, heads dipped around the table, followed by “ayes” in varying degrees of enthusiasm. Eoghan seemed to relax, even though the tension built in Conor with every voice that added itself to the fray. Eoghan seemed to think he had come up with a solution, a compromise, when all he had done was complicate matters. As if the chain of command weren’t muddied enough, he’d just divided their authority without recognizing that military plans directly affected the operation of the city.

“Good,” Eoghan said. “Now, Ard Bealach. Conor?”

Conor quashed his feelings and unrolled two large sheets of parchment across the table. “This is a map of the Sliebhanaigh mountains and passes. Below it, the most recent map of Ard Bealach.”

“How did you get these?” Aine burst out.

Eoghan answered before Conor could. “We have maps and plans of every fortress in Seare. Most of them were built during Daimhin’s time. The ones that weren’t
 
—let’s just say that hostages weren’t the only reason Queen Shanna demanded the firstborn son from each clan be sent to Ard Dhaimhin.”

Conor bent over the map. Its precision was astounding, detailing everything from the height of the mountain peaks to the exact dimensions of each chamber and corridor in the fortress. “The very things that make it so defensible are the things
that will make it easy to hold. We wouldn’t need but a few dozen men to secure it, once we’d taken it.”

“Ard Bealach was constructed to withstand a full frontal assault,” Riordan said. “A handful of archers could hold off an army.”

“That’s why we won’t launch a full frontal assault.” Eoghan circled to the other side of the table, and Conor stepped back to make room. “If Lady Morrigan’s entry to Ard Dhaimhin showed us anything, it’s that a few men may succeed where an army would fail. So we won’t attack from the outside; we’ll attack from within.” He tapped a set of broken lines on the map. “We enter through the tunnels.”

“These have been sealed for years.” At the surprise directed his way, Conor said, “Surely you know this story. Mad King Ragallach was convinced the Fíréin were conspiring with Tigh against him and holed up in Ard Bealach with his personal guard, two hundred strong. He had the tunnels sealed and the iron gates melted shut.”

“What happened?” Aine asked.

Conor shot her a rueful smile. “He was killed at the hands of a Timhaigh assassin among his personal guard. He may have had reason for concern, even if the Fíréin weren’t actually involved.”

“Even so,” Gradaigh said, “walls can be broken.”

“Rumor was that they were sealed not with stone and mortar but with magic. Solid, seamless rock.”

“So perhaps Fíréin were involved,” Aine said. “Just on the other side.”

They mulled that thought for a moment, until Dal finally spoke up. “We’ll never bore through without attracting attention. The Sliebhanaigh range is mostly granite, just like Ard Dhaimhin.”

“We don’t need to bore; we just need to dig.” Eoghan left the room without explanation, leaving more confusion in his wake.
When he returned, he plunked a chunk of stone in front of Daigh. “Please confirm this is just an ordinary piece of stone.”

Daigh tapped it on the table with a solid thud. “It appears to be.”

Eoghan took it back and used a lump of charcoal to draw an unfamiliar symbol on its surface. A rune? He handed the stone back to Daigh. “Break it.”

Daigh’s brow furrowed, but he took it in both hands as one might attempt to snap a twig. The rock crumbled between his fingers. He jumped from his seat, knocking the chair backward onto the stone floor. “Magic!”

“Aye,” Eoghan said calmly. “A rune.”

Expressions ranging from amazement to shock played over the council members’ faces. Aine just watched Eoghan with a little smile. Had she known about this and failed to tell him?

“Did you decipher it from the Rune Throne?” Conor asked. Was that why Eoghan had suddenly taken leadership? Had the runes that always just looked like squiggles to him suddenly become meaningful?

“No.” Eoghan’s smile faded, as if the reminder had tempered his enthusiasm. “Comdiu revealed it to me in the corridor, right before Morrigan arrived. To me, that can be no coincidence. The rune means ‘soft.’ I believe this is how Daimhin carved the fortress out of this cliff, and it’s how we will reopen Ard Bealach’s tunnels. They won’t be expecting attack through an entrance that’s supposed to be permanently sealed.”

“If we rely on stealth, it could work,” Riordan said. “There’s still the matter of moving the men unnoticed. Even if they think it’s impregnable, they’ll be watching the passes.”

“We can move them in groups, disguised as Clanless,” Conor said. “They have hunted those passes for generations.”

“Aye, that could work.” Eoghan nodded thoughtfully. “We’ll
want to hear from Lady Morrigan about the numbers and their discipline.”

“I’ll retrieve her.” Conor jumped at the chance to leave the room before he said or did something stupid.

“Wait.” Daigh’s terse word stopped him. “There is one thing left to resolve. You and Eoghan are both involved in this plan to some degree. Who has the final say in the event of a dispute?”

Conor froze and looked back at Eoghan. This was his decision
 
—the turning point. Eoghan’s pained expression said he knew it too. He straightened and cleared his throat. “I do.”

Conor swallowed, aware of the men waiting for his reaction while blood thrummed in his ears. Then at last, he dipped his head and left the room without a word.

Aine excused herself and followed her husband from the hall. “Wait, Conor, please.”

He threw a glance over his shoulder, expression composed, but kept walking. “Are you coming back to the hall? They’ll want you to testify to her truthfulness. What you can determine, at least.”

“I will. But, Conor, why are you upset? I thought Eoghan handled that as diplomatically as possible. Isn’t this what you wanted? Your hard work to keep the city running won’t go to waste, and Eoghan finally took command of the men. It seems like the best possible solution.”

“It does seem that way, doesn’t it?” Conor started up the stairs that led to Morrigan’s chamber.

Aine frowned. This wasn’t like Conor. She knew he wasn’t pleased by the shift of authority, even though he knew it had to happen, but this was something else. The attitude pouring from him could freeze a kettle on the boil. She hurried after him, resisting the temptation to pull it from his mind.

“Then what’s wrong?” she asked softly. “Tell me, please.”

He stopped short and at last turned to face her. Anger flashed in his eyes, even while his voice remained quiet. “Why didn’t you tell me about the rune?”

The look in his eyes gave her a jolt. She’d never seen that emotion directed toward her. “I don’t understand.”

“Of all the people in the room, you were the only one unsurprised by the revelation. At first I thought you read it in his mind, but he looked at you as if you’d already discussed it. So why didn’t you tell me?”

Her heart slammed into her rib cage, bringing with it the sick feeling of guilt. “I was there when he discovered it. He asked me not to say anything. It was only yesterday
 
—”