Holder of Lightning tc-1

by S L Farrell Неизвестный Автор

  A shout of rage, the tendons standing out like ropes in her neck: Jenna let the power surge from the cloch. A torrent of agony rushed from the cloch, through her arm and into her body, and she threw that torment outward with a scream as light flared from her hand. The searing bolt lifted the garda from his feet and slammed him backward into the wall, lightning crackling madly about his frame. The wood cracked and shat-tered beneath the force of the blow, mingling with the cracking of bones; the body dropped to the floor like a rag doll, neck and spine broken, the wall blackened and smoldering behind him.

  The echo of thunder rumbled in Jenna's ears and faded. In the sudden quiet, she could hear O'Deoradhain groan as he pushed himself to his feet, Jenna was breathing heavily, her body shaking. She stared at the garda's mangled body. The eyes were still open; they gazed at her as if in accusation. "I'm sorry…" she whispered to the corpse.

  " That is what makes me think you still need to learn how to use your cloch, Holder," O'Deoradhain said. That near-contempt in his voice snapped her head around. His left arm dangled uselessly, the quarrel from the crossbow protruding from his

  shoulder and dark blood staining the arm. His right hand still held his dagger, dripping red. He went to the corpse of Labras and wiped the blade on the garda’s clothing. He turned to Jenna, sheathing the dagger. "Your other men are coming," he contin-ued, "and I don’t have time to talk." He was right; she could feel them rushing toward the house from their stations. "I’m not your enemy. They may be."

  Jenna shook her head; she could feel nothing in the others but concern and fear for their own well-being if she’d been hurt. She wished she’d taken the same precaution with Labras and his friend. "No," she told him. "They’re loyal."

  "To you, perhaps. Me, they’ll kill."

  "Stay, O’Deoradhain. You’re right. We need to talk."

  They could hear the first of the gardai rush into the house. O’Deoradhain went to the window and glanced down. He put a leg over the sill. "Then come with me."

  There were footsteps pounding the stairs. "O’Deoradhain!" Jenna called. "Wait."

  His shook his head. "Meet me below Ri’s Market at Deer Creek-third bell, two days from now." She could have stopped him. She could have reached out with Lamh Shabhala and held him with the cloch’s energy-or crushed him like you did the garda. . Jenna lifted her hand but rather than reaching out with the power, she pushed it back, closing Lamh Shabhala. O’Deoradhain slid over the windowsill, grimacing as he tried to maneuver with one hand. He lowered himself slowly down, until all Jenna could see was his right hand, holding the sill. Then he let go, and she heard him land on the soft ground outside, the sound followed by his running footsteps.

  "Holder!" someone shouted, and Jenna turned from the window to see the gardai, swords out, staring horrified at the carnage in front of them. She could feel the fear in them as they glanced toward her, untouched in the midst of the butchery. And perhaps because she could sense that dread, perhaps because she needed to convince herself that she had only done what she’d needed to do, she lifted her chin and glared back at them.

  "This is what happens to those who betray me," she said.

  In her voice, she heard an imperious tone that had never been there before, and she wondered at it.

  Chapter 25: Preparations

  JENNA had wondered whether Cianna would believe her. She shouldn't have worried. The Banrion uttered a gasp of horror when Jenna started to relate how Labras had attacked her, and she immediately sent away the servants, going to the door of her chamber and closing it firmly. "My child," she said, enfolding Jenna in her arms. Then she released her, a quivering hand going to the torc about her neck, gold braided with bright silver. "I can hardly breathe," she said.

  "Let me call the healer," Jenna said, but Cianna shook her head.

  "No." Cianna took a long, wheezing breath. "No. It will pass. I put you in terrible danger, however unintentional. I was certain Labras was one of those

  I could trust, but…" She bit at her lip.". . he was evidently in someone else's pay. How can you ever forgive me for making such a mis-take? Had you been hurt, or the cloch taken from you. . Jenna, I put you in such danger."

  Jenna hurried to reassure the distraught woman. "You couldn't have known, Banrion."

  A flush burned high on Cianna's cheeks. "No, Jenna. I absolutely should have known. For my own survival, as well as yours. Now I have to wonder who else around me is in the employ of another, who of those others I trust implicitly…" Cianna turned away, hunching over as a fit of cough-ing took her. "Damn this sickness in my lungs, and damn the healer for his own lies." Slowly, she straightened again, still turned away from Jenna. "What about the man you went to capture? Was he part of this, too?"

  "He escaped, Banrion. When I used the cloch."

  Cianna turned, touching a handkerchief to her mouth. There were clumps of clotted blood on the cloth. "My guess is that Labras was being paid in this O'Deoradhain's coin. To think that I was an unwitting accomplice — oh, this would have played so well for him-had you not been alert, Lamh Shabhala would have been his."

  Jenna didn't bother to correct Cianna' s perception. It would be a good lie for the time being,

  until she learned whose hand was actually behind the scenes. And she would find out.

  The anger burned in her, alloyed with fear.

  "I will have the rest of the gardai who went with you interrogated to see if there are others whose loyalty has been turned, but now I don’t know if I can trust the results I would hear," Cianna continued. "I can’t discount the possibility that my husband arranged for this, or the Tanaise Rig, or even Padraic Mac Ard or one of the other tiarna here-maybe Aheron from Infochla; he seemed awfully fond of you the other night." She stopped, and touched Jenna’s cheek. "You can trust no one, Jenna." A bitter smile creased her face. "Evidently not even me."

  Jenna put her own hand, stiff and marked with the curling scars of the cloch, on top of Cianna’s. She took the Banrion’s hand and kissed it once. "It wasn’t your fault, Banrion," she told the woman. "We both need to be more careful, that’s all. And I’ve learned something from this: I can use Lamh Shabhala to look inside a person and see what’s in their heart." Jenna frowned. "I won’t be surprised this way again," she declared.

  Cianna, pale and grim, nodded.

  The Holder Aoire," the page announced, and closed the door behind Jenna. The three men in the room were huddled together over a table, and they turned to look at her as one: Ri Mallaghan, Tiarna Mac Ard; and a man whom Jenna didn’t recognize. She lowered her head and gave them a brief curtsy.

  Ah, Jenna," the Ri said. He was smiling, but there was a grimness in his smile. "Thank you for coming so quickly. Here, you should see this…" He beckoned to her, and she came over to the table. She nodded Mac Ard, then glanced curiously at the other man. "Ah, you’ve yet to be introduced to our Field Commander," the Ri said, noting the direction of her gaze. "Holder, this is Tiarna Damhlaic Gairbith, who has been away to the west watching the Connachtans."

  The man inclined his head to her. He wore his cloca uncomfortably, as if he were unused to the long folds of fabric. His face was hardened and fissured from exposure to wind and sun, his cheeks and forehead marred with the white lines of scars, his gray-flecked beard thin over patches of mottled

  flesh. His hands were on the table, holding down a large piece of unrolled parchment; Jenna saw that the left hand had but two fingers and a thumb.

  Through Lamh Shabhala, Tiarna Gairbith radiated violence. This was a man at whose hands hundreds had died and who would most likely be responsible for the death of hundreds more if he lived. There was no visceral enjoyment of death in him, though Jenna sensed a deep satisfac-tion within him at the results of his campaigns, and he carried no remorse or guilt at all in his soul. She knew that if the Ri ordered it, he would slay her with the same pragmatic lack of passion. But she could sense no direct threat in him at all: to him, she was simply a piece in the game and he wo
uld use her or not as the strategies of the game dictated.

  The emotional matrix around Mac Ard and the Ri were more compli-cated. There were strange colors and hues in their shapes, nothing that was overtly threatening, but she knew both of them wanted what she held and would take it if the opportunity arose. With Mac Ard especially there were tendrils of black secrets that snaked outward toward Jenna, vestiges of hidden plots that involved her. She wondered-more strongly this time-if Mac Ard were at the heart of the attacks against her, if his involvement with her mam weren't simply a subterfuge to allow him ac-cess to her and Lamh Shabhala.

  The Ri's emotions were simpler and yet more deeply hidden. He was wrapped in plottings and deceptions. Under it all was the burning orange-red of ambition: the Ri Gabair would be Ri Ard, if he had the chance. . and it took little imagination on Jenna's part to believe that the Ri might feel Lamh Shabhala would give him that chance.

  The Ri moved aside to let Jenna stand next to the table. Lines were drawn on the parchment, and placed atop it were small triangular flags, some green and brown, others blue and gold. "This is Tuath Gabair," the Ri explained to Jenna. "There, see that blue area? That's Lough Lar. Here-" his stubby index finger stabbed at the map. "That is Lar Bhaile, where we are now. Up here-" his finger moved up past Lough Lar to where a line of blue meandered, occasionally met by other, smaller branches. "That's the River Duan and the Mill Creek feeding into it, and Knobtop and Ballintubber." His finger touched the map again and again in concert with his words. Jenna nodded, but

  in truth the map meant little to her. How could marks on paper be Ballintubber or Knobtop?

  "The flags," the RI continued, "are where our troops and the troops of Tuath Connachta are currently located. Do you see here, southwest of Ballintubber, where the Connachta flags have bunched? That’s where their main army is camped, right on the border. That’s where they’ll make the first push toward us."

  As the Ri spoke, images came to Jenna. It was as if she were a bird, hovering far above Tuath Gabair and looking down. There was the lough, and just past it… "Doire Coill is in their way," Jenna said. "They can’t go through that forest with troops."

  Tiarna Gairbith snorted through his long nostrils: a laugh. "I thought you said the Holder knew nothing of war, my Ri," he said. The fingers remaining on his mutilated left hand traced one arc on the map, then another. "They will split their forces as soon as they reach the border of Doire Coill," he said. "One arm, the larger and slower, will go north to secure the ford of the Duan at Ath Iseal, then attack Lar Bhaile from the north. The other, smaller and swifter, will cross the Duan at the southern ford and come up to Lar Bhaile from the south. ’The Horns of the Bull,’ they call it; the Connachtans have used the tactic more than once. They hope to split our forces to deal with the twin attacks; if one horn fails, the other might still impale us."

  "But your troops won’t let that happen," Jenna said, looking at the men. "If you know where they’ll strike, you will have made plans against that. You have the advantage of knowing the land and deciding where to make your battle where you can use the ground to your benefit."

  Again, the laugh. "I like this Holder," Gairbith said to the Ri. "No talk from her of negotiation, of somehow avoiding the conflict. Instead, she sees that the battle will come and prepares to meet it." He bowed to Jenna, approvingly, and she wondered whether the smile was genuine or if the man was simply mocking her. "Aye, we will do just as the Holder sug-gests," Gairbith answered, "but many will die doing that, and after we push them back to their own borders, we will be too weak to do more than watch them leave. Unless…" His voice trailed off. He looked at Mac Ard, who stood with arms crossed, lips in a tight frown, his eyes almost angry.

  Unless what?" Jenna asked, and Nevan O Liathain's words echoed in her memory: ". . the Rl no doubt hopes for Lamh Shabhala to be part of that battle. . he would love to see the lightnings of the cloch smash the enemy and send them fleeing for their lives. ."

  Rl Mallaghan saw the realization on her face. "Lamh Shabhala has been countless battles over the centuries, Jenna," he said, "many of them here in what is now Tuath Gabair. And while Lamh Shabhala is the only cloch na thintri that is awake. ."He spread his hands wide. "There is only one reason the Connachta are mounting their armies: they know

  Lamh Shabhala is here and they think to strike before you learn to wield the cloch as the cloudmages have in the past and my army comes to invade their land-because if they had the cloch, they would use it to strike us. They believe the only reason we haven't yet struck is because the cloch or the Holder is still weak. But you've learned so much already Jenna. I ask you, how many lives will it cost if Lamh Shabhala does not enter the battlefield? All we request of you is that you help us defend you as the Holder."

  The Ri's words were spoken in a voice like sweet butter, thick and freighted with an unconscious arrogance that spoke of his expectation that he would be heard and obeyed. His eyes, behind their enclosing folds of pale flesh, stared at her unblinking. When Jenna opened her mouth to begin a protest, she saw those eyes narrow. Through the cloch, she felt a sudden surge of malice directed toward her from the Ri, and she knew that if she refused, he would use that answer to justify other actions against her. As Cianna had told her with O Liathain, "no" was not an answer she could give him.

  Is he the one, then? Has the Ri been stepping carefully only because the Tanaise Rig was here also?

  "Jenna hasn't fully learned to use Lamh Shabhala, my Ri," Mac Ard interjected before Jenna could decide what to say. "Not in the way of the legends of the Before. Not in the way the cloudmages of song used them. Your majesty knows the pain involved for Jenna when the mage-lights come. You also know that Lamh Shabhala’s task right now is to unlock the other clochs na thintri and that is what

  Lamh Shabhala has been teaching the First Holder-not the art of war. You ask too much of her too soon and place her in danger. You must remember, my RI, that the Tanaise Rig has expressed an interest in Jenna. He would not want her injured. Worse, what if the Connachtans should win the battle when Lamh Shabhala is involved? What if Ri Connachta were suddenly to pos-sess the cloch? Do you think the Ri Ard or any of the other Tuatha would come to your aid, or would they sit and watch and wait and let the Con-nachtan vultures feed on the bodies of Lar Bhaile?"

  Through Mac Ard’s speech, the Ri’s face had grown progressively more ruddy. "So it’s Tiarna Mac Ard’s counsel that I throw my armies against Connachta and ignore the weapon that could easily turn the battle? You would take the sword from my hand and have me do battle with a butter knife."

  "I say better a duel with butter knives than risk giving your enemy your sword, that’s all," Mac Ard answered.

  "I have no plans to give the enemy this particular sword," Tiarna Gairhith interjected. "I will cleave the enemy’s head from its shoulders with it and I will keep Lamh Shabhala safe-that’s my pledge."

  The Ri laughed at that. "There, you see, Padraic? My Commander has made his promise."

  "I think," Jenna said loudly, and all three men turned their heads to her "that everyone is talking as if I were incapable of making a decision for myself." Mac Ard glowered, Gairbith gave a quick, shocked laugh, and the Ri sucked his breath in with an audible hiss. For a moment, Jenna thought she’d gone too far, but then the Ri applauded her, three slow claps of his hands. His eyes were still narrowed and dangerous, but his voice was soft.

  "The Holder seems to have no lack of courage in speaking her mind," he said. "That is good-a ruler should know the true feelings of those under him. I assume the Holder realizes that when the Ri asks for an opinion, she may give it. And when he issues a command, she will obey it. Without any question at all."

  The malice she felt in him increased, a dark arm swirling around her in cloch-vision. She knew he wanted submission now. He wanted her to drop her head, perhaps even to fall to her knees to beg forgiveness for her audacity in questioning him. Instead, she touched Lamh Shabhala, letting a trace of its cold ene
rgy seep into her to fill her voice. "Is the Ri giving me a command, then?" she asked, and the words were edged like a blade, filled with a warning and menace. "Does he believe the Holder to be like a ficheall piece that he can move about the board? If so, I would remind him that the Holder is the most powerful of all his pieces and that it might even strike the hand that tries to move it to the wrong square."

  Jenna could see the Ri scowl at the words, saw him blink and take a step backward while the fury brought color to his cheeks. Tiarna Gairbith put a hand to the hilt of his sword; she knew that if the Ri ordered it, that blade would flash out toward her. Mac Ard's hand was also on his weapon and in the cloch-vision his own emotions were chaotic and ambivalent: Jenna couldn't tell what he might do. Jenna clutched Lamh Shabhala, and all three men watched her fingers close around the brightening stone.

  Mac Ard stepped out between Jenna and the Ri. "Jenna, the Ri is an excellent ficheall master, both in the game and in war. You need to trust his hand, for he wouldn't put a piece as important as you in needless jeopardy. Believe me in this. I have been with him all my life and my Parents served him also. He won't ask more of you than you can give. All We are doing here is looking at the alternatives available to us for this threat. Nothing more. Ri Connachta has yet to make an irrevocable move. There is still some hope they will not."

  Behind the Ri, Gairbith laughed again at that assessment.

  In the cloch-vision, the Ri was a thunderhead ready to spew lightning and wind and hail. Jenna knew that she had just pushed the man as far as he could be pushed-the Ri was accustomed to obedience and defer-ence, at least on the surface.

  He had known nothing else; he would toler-ate nothing else. Whether she would do his bidding or not when the time came, she couldn't defy him now without using the cloch. And afterward. . even if she walked out of this room still the Holder, what then? She would be a fugitive, a dangerous animal to be hunted down and killed.