Aine’s eyes rose to Ruarc’s face in alarm. “Surely, he wouldn’t—”
“No. Now is not the time. But the war will eventually end, and you can’t avoid the question forever.”
“Conor’s coming back, Ruarc.” Aine poured every ounce of conviction she could muster into her voice, even though inside she wasn’t nearly so sure. “Besides, we have far greater things to worry about.”
Aine tossed beneath the wool blanket in her tent that night, listening to the brisk summer wind rustle and snap the canvas sides. Her confidence fell away with the tears that rolled down her cheeks. It was futile, she knew in her heart. All her work, the wards, the maps . . . they would only slow down the spread of evil that threatened to swallow Seare. Balus had told her clearly things would worsen before they improved, and now she feared her intervention would only delay the inevitable.
Or was it the unpleasant feelings dredged up by Keondric’s admiration that colored her perspective? Ruarc seemed to believe she’d give up and someday marry another man, but she refused to believe the sentry’s words. Conor wasn’t dead. She’d know somehow. But that didn’t mean he hadn’t changed his mind and decided to make a home at Ard Dhaimhin.
“Foolish girl,” she whispered. “Pining for someone who might never return.”
She threw the blanket aside and wrapped her cloak around herself. Through the gap in the tent flaps, morning light glimmered in the gray sky. Creaks and rustles paired with the muted voices of men, signs the camp was beginning to stir. She pushed aside the canvas and stepped into the steady breeze.
Where did I lose my way, Lord? Her eyes drifted beyond the camp to the copses of ash in the distance. I was so certain I knew what You wanted from me, and now I have no idea.
A gust of wind whipped her unbound hair across her face, stinging her skin.
I have allowed you to succeed in this endeavor, came the answer with chill certainty, but this was not what I asked of you.
Aine shivered. Before she could ask the question, the answer came: Have faith in Me. Seek My wisdom, accept My guidance.
They were the same words Balus had given her when she was beneath the water, but somehow they only confused her more. Wasn’t that what she was doing? If mapping the wards and healing were not her true purpose, then what was?
There are so yet so many who do not know Me, who have never heard My name. It is for the love of these multitudes this storm of darkness must be stopped.
The answer had been there all along. Seare might be the first battleground, but the war was far wider. Knowledge of Balus was the end goal, not peace.
A ward vibrated at the edge of her awareness like a plucked harp string. She saw the map’s red lines in her mind’s eye, and instantly, she knew where the disturbance had originated. She spun on her heel, intending to fetch Ruarc, but he already stood behind her.
“Something breached one of the wards,” Aine said. “We need to go investigate.”
“Warriors?”
“I don’t think so. It doesn’t feel like sorcery, but I’ve never been able to distinguish ordinary people crossing them before. It has to be something else.”
“Have Abban send a scouting party.”
“They won’t know what to look for. It has to be me.”
To her surprise, Ruarc didn’t argue. Abban, on the other hand, resisted vehemently. He relented only when Aine agreed to add another ten warriors to her usual twenty. Once the sun rose high enough to cast shadows, Aine set out with her guard and three packhorses carrying food and shelter for their two-day excursion.
“What do you expect to find?” Lorcan asked once they cleared the camp.
“Not a pile of dead Sliebhanaigh warriors if that’s what you mean.”
Lorcan still looked uneasy, but the other men seemed unaware of the danger. They had traveled without incident along these wards for so long, they no longer expected battle or ambush. That alone disturbed Aine.
She identified the ward early in the day, but they rode for hours without any indication of trouble. Aine began to doubt her own certainty about the breach’s location. Then, as the sun dipped behind the tree-lined horizon, she pulled up short. A kernel of cold formed in her middle, and a chill crept across her skin, as if she had passed into a pocket of winter amidst the summer warmth.
“Here.” She had felt this sensation only once in her life, and it was one she couldn’t mistake.
Ruarc and Lorcan closed around her protectively.
“What is it?” Ruarc asked.
“Sidhe.”
“Here?” Lorcan asked. “Are you sure?”
“The last time I felt this, a bean-sidhe tried to drown me in Loch Eirich. I’m certain.”
“What about them?” Ruarc jerked his head toward the guardsmen who watched her expectantly.
“Don’t say anything yet.” She turned to the waiting warriors and called, “There’s nothing here. Whatever disturbed the ward is gone.”
Relief—and perhaps disappointment—rippled through the group. She turned back to Lorcan and Ruarc and said, “I don’t want to camp here tonight. I’ve had enough contact with the sidhe for one lifetime.”
Fortunately, the men didn’t ask the question that nagged at her: why would the sidhe appear in the middle of a sparsely populated region of Siomar, when before they seemed to hover around the border forests? Had their assumption that the wards repelled the sidhe been wrong? Were they somehow attracted to sources of power, whether dark or light?
That, of course, assumed this had been happenstance. There might be a far more calculated reason behind the disturbance.
Ruarc apparently had come to the same conclusion. When they made camp, he said, “We’ll double the watches tonight. We’ll take no chances this might be a trap of some sort.”
Evening passed into deep night without any sign of danger. Still, Aine led the men in the old prayer she had said at Dún Eavan. “Comdiu protect us, Comdiu watch over us, Comdiu be at the left and the right and smooth the way before us. Comdiu stand between us and the harm of this world, and banish the darkness with the light of Your son, Balus.”
She repeated it once more through, comforted by the number of voices that joined hers. The mood lightened as the men claimed Comdiu’s protection. Only a few remained silent, uncomfortable with the prayer, and they were fewer than she had expected.
Weary from her sleepless nights and a string of days on horseback, Aine retreated to the simple tent. Ruarc bedded down just outside the opening. The flickering of the flames against the canvas and the snap of the fire lulled her to sleep.
Aine jolted awake in the middle of the night, her heart pounding. She poked her head through the tent opening. The fire had died, and the only light came from a crescent moon overhead. She could just make out the shapes of the sleeping men.
“What’s wrong?” Ruarc whispered.
“I don’t know. Something woke me.” She scanned the camp with a tickle of disquiet. “Ruarc, who was on watch?”
Ruarc made his own quick assessment, and alarm broke over his face. He nudged the man nearest him with his toe. “Wake up!”
Instantly, the men sprang awake, weapons in hand. Ruarc kicked the fire’s embers to life again. “We’re missing men.”
A quick count revealed only three of the seven men assigned to the watch. Those missing were the four who had not voiced the prayer with the rest of them.
“The sidhe,” Aine whispered to Ruarc. “They must have lured them away.”
“Take Aine,” Ruarc said, gesturing to Lorcan.
The blond warrior hastened to her side, his sword drawn. “My lady.”
Unsettled, Aine followed Lorcan into the center of the group, which quickly closed around her. Ruarc and several others lit torches and searched for the missing sentries, but she knew they would find nothing. They had gone willingly, just as Aine had when the apparition lured her to the lakeshore.
The back of her neck prickled. She started to turn, but Lorcan sh
oved her roughly to the ground. She hit the turf hard and pulled her dagger free from her belt just as Lorcan’s blade deflected a thrust meant for her. A quick clash of metal, and the attacker lay at her guard’s feet, a red stain spreading across his chest.
Ruarc appeared beside her in the chaos, his own weapon drawn, and helped her up with his free hand. “Who is it?”
“Sualtam,” Lorcan said grimly. “I would have bet my life he was a loyal man.”
“He probably was a loyal man.”
All eyes turned to Aine. She still gripped her dagger in a shaking hand, and it took several tries to sheath it at her belt. “It was the sidhe.”
“The sidhe lured the sentries away?” Lorcan asked. “Made Sualtam try to kill you?”
“The sidhe can make you see whatever they wish, if you don’t guard yourself carefully. They exploit our weaknesses, play on our emotions, cloud our judgment. I should have expected it.”
“Which means we need to return to camp,” Ruarc said. “I don’t think this attack was any accident.”
Aine looked back to the dead man, her heart still racing. “I don’t think so, either.”
Hours dragged by as they waited for the sky to lighten enough to start the trip back to camp. It gave Aine far too much time to mull a new, troubling question: did the sidhe have their own agenda, or were they now doing Diarmuid’s bidding?
She wasn’t sure which was worse: the idea Fergus and his druid might control the sidhe, or that she had two separate enemies who wanted her dead.
Aine knew something was wrong when they reached the camp. Too many sentries watched the perimeter, and they scrutinized her party suspiciously as they entered.
Abban met them outside the main tent before they could dismount. His haggard appearance told of his own sleepless night.
“What happened?” Aine asked.
“Come inside, and we’ll talk there.”
Aine glanced back to be sure Ruarc followed and caught Lorcan’s eye. “You, too.”
Lorcan followed them wordlessly into the command tent. Abban noted the second man’s presence with a raised eyebrow, but he waited for Aine to speak.
“The sidhe breached the ward,” she said. “We lost five men. Four disappeared, and one came back tied to his horse.”
“He tried to kill Lady Aine,” Lorcan said calmly, but she knew the betrayal of one of their own weighed on him.
“And you saved my life. If it were not for your attention, I would not be standing here. Both the king and I will want to see you rewarded.”
Lorcan looked embarrassed. “I want no reward, my lady.”
“All the same, you rendered all of us a great service,” Abban said with a bow. He deflated when he turned back to Aine. “I had hoped our own problems were isolated. We too lost a number of sentries. Some of the others aren’t quite in their heads.”
“What do you mean?”
Abban hesitated. “They claimed to have seen things. They’re saying this place is cursed. We had to restrain them to keep them from fleeing or hurting themselves.”
Aine remembered the horrific visage of the bean-sidhe before it frightened her into the lake. Men who never before believed in the sidhe might certainly receive a shock to their sanity. “I’d like to talk to them. Perhaps I can help.”
“Too dangerous,” Abban said.
Lorcan spoke up from behind her. “I think Lady Aine has proven she doesn’t frighten easily. Keep them restrained. Perhaps she can do them some good.”
Aine nodded her thanks to Lorcan, buoyed by his support. “I don’t know whether the sidhe are acting on their own behalf or Fergus’s. Either way, they are doing the Adversary’s bidding. They mean to corrupt the weaker minds and doubtful hearts. These are spiritual tactics, my lord. We have to respond in kind.”
“How exactly do you intend to do that?” Abban asked.
“By fighting the darkness with light.” It was exactly what she had been mulling when the disturbance on the ward distracted her. “I’ll ask Calhoun to send one of the priests. The men could use some spiritual leadership.”
Abban looked unconvinced, but he didn’t contradict her. “If you believe it will help.”
“I do. In any case, they can offer reassurance and comfort.” Aine looked back to Lorcan. “I’d also like to ask the king’s permission to take you into my service, if you are willing.”
Lorcan gave her a deep bow. “It would be a great honor, my lady.”
“It would put my mind at ease,” Aine said. “And Ruarc deserves some sleep.”
Ruarc and Lorcan grinned at each other. At least they were both taking to the change easily. Lorcan had time and again proven his loyalty and his skills, and it seemed only right to relieve Ruarc from the constant responsibility of looking after her.
She was beginning to think he would need every bit of help he could get.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
When Conor returned to Ard Dhaimhin, he didn’t mention the incident involving Aine to Eoghan. He thought Odran might comment on it, but when days passed without the subject arising, he concluded the tracker had either forgotten or dismissed it as yet another unimportant detail about the outside world.
Conor’s fading ability, on the other hand, elicited more interest. He had barely been back a day when Eoghan said, “Odran tells me you’ve discovered a new gift.”
They were back on the crannog where his training had begun, working through the drills he had neglected for the past three weeks. Conor paused, sword in hand, and grinned. “I’d hoped I could keep it quiet. I was looking forward to practicing on you.”
“Too late, I’m afraid.”
“You knew?”
“I suspected. You must take after Riordan. He’s maddeningly difficult to track.”
“I take it you’ve tried?”
“I trained with him as you’re training with Odran. He’s not so easy to follow either, if you’re wondering.”
Conor remembered how Odran had faded beside him and then reappeared before Aine’s guards. Maybe he hadn’t struggled to keep up as much as he thought.
“What do you know about the wards?”
Eoghan frowned at the change of topic. “Not much. Why?”
“There have been disturbances outside the forest. I think it has something to do with the war in Siomar.”
“He’s been holding out on me.”
So Odran was Eoghan’s source of information after all. “I gathered Liam forbade it.”
“That’s what I was afraid of. It’s been too quiet for too long.”
“Do you suppose Brother Gillian would know something?”
“Gillian knows something about everything. Why so much interest in the wards?”
Conor hesitated. His thoughts about Aine were private, but perhaps Eoghan could help him. “We intercepted a small party of riders on the Seanrós borders. They said they were tracking a ward from outside.”
“And Odran let them go?”
“They weren’t a threat,” Conor said. “Just a couple of Faolanaigh scholars and their guards. I figured it had to do with the war, and I wondered what use the wards might be to them.”
“I know there were far more wards in Daimhin’s time, but they weren’t maintained after the kingdom split. And before you ask, I don’t know how maintenance is done. I’m not sure anyone does. Even the wards around Ard Dhaimhin are growing thin, or so I’ve heard. I can’t feel them myself. I don’t have the gift.”
But Conor did. He had felt them each time he crossed them in the forest, just as he felt the power of Meallachán’s harp, the oath-binding sword, the wheel charm. He drew on the same power each time he played.
You can do it at will, Odran had said about his fading ability.
Those with the gift of music have the instinctive ability to transform the language of music into the language of magic.
The storyteller makes his story real during the telling.
Even the wards around Ard Dhaimhin are growing
thin.
His knees weakened at his sudden flash of insight. It couldn’t be that simple, could it?
“Eoghan, I need to go to Carraigmór. Are we done here?”
Eoghan frowned, but he nodded. They packed their supplies and crossed back to the shore, where Conor strode off toward the keep.
A brother escorted him to Liam’s study. The Ceannaire rose from his desk when he entered. “Conor. I didn’t expect you for a few hours yet. Is there a problem?”
“No sir. I’ve just been away so long I was anxious to play. Besides, I understand Eoghan has plans for my evening.”
Liam gestured to the harp in the corner. “As you wish.”
Conor’s hands shook as he took the harp onto his lap. He turned his mind to the wards that protected the fortress and waited, but not a single note surfaced in his mind.
“Is there a problem?” Master Liam asked.
“No, no problem.” He had to play something. It was his only way back to Aine.
The music came to him, but it wasn’t what he expected. His elation and confusion over seeing Aine spilled from the harp, and he turned the direction of the song with effort. He couldn’t afford to reveal too much, despite Liam’s claim he couldn’t interpret the music. Conor tried to shape the song’s direction, take it back to the wards, but instead, he managed only a discordant collection of notes. He dropped his hands from the strings, disappointment welling inside him.
“I’m sorry, Master Liam. I must still be tired from my last assignment.”
“Return tomorrow then, Brother Conor.”
Conor left the study, crushed by the weight of his failure. He had been so certain that if he could just focus on his objective, he could effect the transformation from music to magic and have some sort of impact on Carraigmór’s wards. Yet it felt like trying to speak a foreign language of which he had no knowledge.
He was halfway across the hall when a thready voice called his name.
Brother Gillian stood in the doorway behind him, one hand braced on the wall. Conor rushed to his side and took his arm.
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