Holder of Lightning tc-1

by S L Farrell Неизвестный Автор

  The man's head hung down. He didn't dare to look up at them. "My cloch," he whispered. "Please…"

  "You, First Mate!" Banrion Aithne called out to one of the crewmen, who hurried forward. "You are now Captain. Bring us around and take us back to Inish Thuaidh." The man bowed, and began shouting to the crew. They hurried up the mast and started to unfurl the sail. Aithne turned back to the former captain as the Uaigneas started a slow turn back north and west, putting its stern to the waiting ships. "Your life is forfeit," she told the weeping man. "Kill him and toss the body overboard," she told the garda holding the man. "His friends may want to recover the body before the sharks find it, but I doubt it. That will end his pain." The garda's hand closed around the long knife at his belt and the captain blanched, closing his eyes. The Banrion held out her hand to Moister Cleurach. "And the Cloch Mor 1 claim for the Ri."

  "No!" Jenna shouted. The garda stopped his thrust in mid-motion; Aithne's head swiveled to regard Jenna with eyes of green ice.

  "No?" she asked, her eyebrows raised. "I remind you, First Holder, that you are on a ship I command."

  "And you and your ship would have been in their hands and your husband paying your ransom if I hadn't been here," Jenna answered. "The cloch was stolen from the Order of Inishfeirm and cloudmages of the Order have won it back again."

  Aithne sniffed. Jenna could see her considering her next words. "I sup-pose that's a fair statement," she said finally, though Jenna knew that did not reflect her true feelings. "And what would you do with the traitor, First Holder?"

  Jenna didn't answer the Banrion directly. Instead, she turned to the former captain. "Look at me," she said, and he lifted his head slowly. "I hold Lamh Shabhala, and it can hear truth," she told the ashen-faced man, though it pleased her to see a flicker of uncertainty also cross the Banrion's face. "Tell me a lie and I'll let the Banrion's order stand. Tell me the truth and you might manage to live. How did you come to hold Stormbringer?"

  "I'm sorry, Holder, Banrion," he said. "I didn't want this. ." He stopped, his face stricken. "My son… he was in fosterage to my cousin, a tiarna in

  Infochla. Two weeks ago, a man came to me with the cloch. He offered me. ." The man gulped. "He seemed to know that this would happen. He told me what the cloch could do and said he would show me how to use it. He promised that if I brought you and the Banrion to them, I would be made Riocha myself and could remain as the Holder of Stormbringer. And if I failed… He made no direct threats, but I under-stood that my son was a blood-hostage, and he would pay for my failure.

  Holder, my son is all I have. My wife is dead, there are no other children… "

  He sagged in Ennis’ arms, his face to the deck.

  "I’m sorry. I’m sorry I betrayed you and the Banrion. I’m sorry that my weakness will almost certainly mean my son’s death." His head came up again. "Kill me," he said to Jenna. "I’ve lost my son; I’ve lost the cloch. It hurts too much. Kill me and let me rest. At least my son and I can be together in the womb of the Mother-Creator."

  He closed his eyes, as if awaiting the dagger’s thrust. The garda looked at Jenna, then at the Banrion, who shrugged. "Leave this judgment to the Holder," she said.

  They were all staring at her. Jenna took a long breath, not certain what to do. There were no good decisions here, she realized. She felt sorry for the man; he’d been well-trapped by Infochla. Now, his livelihood was lost and he’d be forever branded a traitor, his son likely dead. Jenna closed her eyes, her fingers still around Lamh Shabhala, her arm beginning to throb with the pain of using it. In the cloch’s vision, she could feel each of the people on the ship, and in the water, nearby. .

  "Throw him over the side," she said to the garda. "Toss him in the water."

  Ennis started to protest, and the Banrion chuckled. "You surprise me, Holder. A slow drowning rather than a quick death…"

  "Do it!" she told the garda, with a look of warning to Ennis. Ennis let go of the man and the garda pushed him toward the railing. He glanced back at Jenna as the captain stared down at the cold water rushing by. "Go on," Jenna told him.

  The garda pushed hard at the captain’s back. He tumbled over the side. The Banrion took a step to

  the rail and glanced down. Already the man was behind the boat, thrashing at the waves, gasping as the frigid water leeched the strength from his body. "Well, that's done," she said. "Holder, Moister… " She moved away, gesturing to the new captain.

  Jenna stood with eyes half-closed, watching and listening through the cloch. A trio of Saimhoir were close by: Thraisha was not with them, but Garrentha was. Go to him, she whispered in the voice of the stone, know-ing the seal would hear her. Keep him alive and take him to the other ships.

  In her head, there was a warble of acknowledgment from Garrentha.

  She released Lamh Shabhala, gasping as the pain came to her fully, forcing herself to take slow, deep breaths. Moister Cleurach looked at her, hefting Stormbringer in his hand. Ennis gave her a concerned frown, and nodded.

  "This will be the last Cloch Mor we take alone," she told them. "They’ll know now that one Cloch Mor isn't enough against Lamh Shabhala, and they won't make that mistake again." For a moment, she felt she could glimpse the future, and it was dark and bloody. She watched the sails behind them and felt the touch of dread. Jenna rubbed at her dead, cold arm as if she could scrub away the marks there. The pain ripped from hand to shoulder and into her chest. Her body trembled with it; she closed her eyes and clenched her jaw to keep from crying out. Ennis rushed over and took her in his arms and she let herself relax into his grasp, allowing him hold her up. When the worst of the spasms passed, she pulled away from his embrace and looked at the ships of the tuatha again, growing smaller in the distance.

  "I don't know that we can survive when they all come," she said.

  Chapter 42: Dun Kiil

  LAR Bhaile and the Rls Keep were more magnificent. Ath Iseal was larger. Ballintubber

  seemed more inviting.

  At first glance, Dun Kiil was a gray town on a gray mountainside be-yond gray water. Jenna knew the impression was unfair-the weather had gone to drizzle by the time they reached the seat of Inish Thuaidh and the clouds were a landscape of unbroken, featureless slate overhead. The bright colors of the doors and the flowery window boxes were muted, and most of the people in the streets were intent on getting to their desti-nations and out of the weather.

  The keep dripped. Jenna could hear the rhythmic, echoing splat of water striking the stone flags, as if the gods were keeping time to the Ri’s welcoming speech.

  Ri Ionhar MacBradaigh of Inish Thuaidh was not an impressive speaker or an impressive man. His complexion was pallid, his voice mild, his physique potbellied and flabby. Jenna could understand why they called him the Shadow Ri behind his back; already it had been made clear to her that the true negotiations would take place with the Banrion and the Comhairle of Tiarna. It was also clear to her that the alliance of the Inishlander Riocha was a fragile thing that might-and often did-break apart at any moment. Already, half a dozen of the tiarna and bantiarna to whom she’d been introduced had leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially to her that they wished to speak with her in private, intimating that they were the true power behind the throne. There was Kyle Mac-Eagan of Be an Mhuilinn, short of stature and wide of girth, but whose eyes blazed with a sharp intelligence and piercing awareness; Bantiarna Kianna Ciomhsog of An Cnocan, a dark-haired woman whose beauty and grace was still untouched in her third decade, and who, Ennis whispered in Jenna’s ear, was the match of any of the men with a sword.

  There was also Aron O Dochartaigh of Rubha na Scarbh, whose cheeks were as flaming red as his hair and who towered a full head above Ennis. He was also Banrion Aithne’s brother, and the da of Banrion Cianna. He glared at Jenna with undisguised animosity, and she knew that she already had at least one open enemy in the court.

  There were other rulers of other townlands among the thirteen chief-tains of the Comhair
le whose names had already slipped Jenna’s memory. They stood before the throne, watching her as the

  Rl spoke and the rain dripped through the roof of Dun Kiil Keep. Behind the Comhairle stood the minor Riocha and the ceil giallnai-a hundred or more people gath-ered under the cold, seeping stone vaults of the keep.

  After the first day, Jenna was already weary of the politics and begin-ning to despair of the chances of the Inishlanders' ability to hold off a concerted attack. Moister Cleurach must have sensed her thoughts, for he inclined his head toward her through the Ri's droning speech. "We Inishlanders come together quick enough against a common foe, First Holder," he said. "And when there's no outside foe, we make do with ourselves."

  "… and so we bid welcome to the First Holder, who has brought Lamh Shabhala back to Inish Thuaidh, where it belongs." The Rl finished with a nodding bow to Jenna, and there was polite applause from the gathered Riocha. Aron O Dochartaigh made no pretense at all: he simply glowered.

  The Rl stepped down from the steps of the throne as servants began to circulate through the room with trays of drinks and appetizers. The sound of conversation obliterated the softer tink of falling droplets. The Rl ap-proached Jenna, Ennis, and Moister Cleurach, and Jenna curtsied. "No, no," Ionhar clucked, lifting her back up. He smiled, and Jenna had a sense that this was a gentle man, someone who would be more comfortable with a book or a goblet of wine in his hand than a sword. His hands were soft and uncallused; the hands of a scholar, nor a warrior. Under the rich cloth of his cloca and leine, the muscles of his arm sagged.

  'I should be bowing to you, Holder, since it's through you that the Banrion was returned to me. Such awful treachery, and from someone I trusted." He shook his oiled and well-coifed head. "This is an ill omen, I'm afraid. I would like to speak with you at length, Holder. Your tale, what I've heard of it, is a strange one, and I thought-"

  "You thought that you would keep the Holder from her well-deserved rest, my dear?" Banrion Aithne came up behind Ionhar in a rustle of silk "This has been a long and difficult day for her. The tale should wait for another time, I think. Besides, I wanted to steal Lady Aoire away for a bit and thank her myself. I have a gift for her."

  Aithne, smiling, detached Jenna from the Ri's attention, leaving Ennis and Moister Cleurach still talking with the man. Ennis' gaze followed her as she moved away, her arm through the Banrion's as the older woman escorted her through the throng in the Hall. It wasn't only Ennis who watched; Jenna could feel the gathered nobility's appraising eyes on them. The Banrion maneuvered them to a small door hidden in an alcove. A garda stood there; silent, he opened the door for them, closing it again behind them. Jenna found herself in a smaller, comfortable chamber, the air warm with a blazing fire in the hearth and bright tapestries covering the walls with golds, reds, and browns.

  In the room, also, were Kyle MacEagan and Kianna Ciomhsog. The two flanked the fireplace. MacEagan nodded his head to Jenna; Bantiarna Kianna simply lifted her glass goblet. "Would you like some wine, Banti-arna Aoire?" the woman asked.

  "That title doesn't fit a common sheepherder from Ballintubber," Jenna said. "I'm not Riocha, Lady. Please call me Jenna, or Holder, if you prefer."

  The woman simply smiled. "That's simple enough to remedy. I don't think we'd allow the First Holder to remain common. Do you, Banrion?"

  Aithne smiled at Jenna. "Hardly." She gestured to one of the chairs before the fire. "Please sit, Holder."

  She brushed her fingers against Lamh Shabhala, hoping none of them would notice the quick grimace of pain as she let the cloch's energy drift quickly out. She immediately felt two holes in the field where Banrion Aithne and Kyle MacEagan stood: attempts at shields. The hole around Banrion Aithne was strong; the one about MacEagan much smaller. Tiarna MacEagan has a clochmion and the Banrion has a Cloch Mor that she didn’t t have on the ship. Where did she get it? Jenna wished now that she'd used Lamh Shabhala in the main hall to see how many more of the clochs na thintri were gathered here. Does Aron O Dochartaigh also possess a clock, like his sister?

  Jenna smiled, letting her hand drop away, and took the offered chair, the Banrion took her seat opposite her, though the other two remained standing where they were. "I said I had a gift for you. I do. Here. ." She reached under her chair and brought up a small packet wrapped in paper and secured with a ribbon. Jenna untied the ribbon

  and unwrapped the paper. A familiar smell wafted out as she did so, and she stared down at the pile of dried, brown leaves there. "On the ship, I saw the cost of using

  Lamh Shabhala, so I asked my healer what the ancient Holders used to ease their pain. He said some of them used this, an herb that the Bunus

  Muintir knew. You grind the leaves and make a tea

  !!

  "I know," Jenna said, perhaps a bit too harshly. "Anduilleaf. Thank you. I’ve. used it in the past."

  It would be pleasant to use it, just once again, to fed all the pain and cold leave your body for a time. . She set the packet on a table next to her chair.

  You’ll leave it there. You won’t pick it up. You won’t use it again… At the thought, pain shot up her arm again, and she grimaced. They watched her, reminding her of crows standing on a tree limb watching a dying rabbit. They’d take Lamh Shabhala from you in an instant, if they thought they could… "I assume there’s another reason I’m here, Banrion."

  Aithne smiled; the other two chuckled as if sharing a secret joke. "Evi-dently Moister Cleurach has already told you that while my husband may have the title, the Comhairle actually reigns. And we three… we hold the Comhairle. Four more tiarna and bantiarna on the Comhairle have pledged their votes to us when needed. The Ri will sign what I place before him. So what we decide here-" her hands spread wide-"becomes law." Aithne glanced at MacEagan, and Jenna saw a look pass between them, an affection that made Jenna wonder whether there was more be-tween the two than simple concern for their land or friendship.

  But Kianna stirred and drew Jenna’s attention away from them. "You realize that the Ri Ard won’t leave you alone here. The Rithe of the Tuatha are afraid of Lamh Shabhala, if not of you. They’ll come here, and they’ll bring an army of thousands, supported by all the Clochs Mor they can muster."

  Jenna thought of Mac Ard and the Ri Mallaghan of Gabair. She thought of Nevan O Liathain and what he would advise his father, the Ri Ard. "I know," she answered.

  "We remember the last time a Tuathian army came here. It’s been en-graved in the tales we tell our children, in the history the sages keep, in the

  very bones of the land. We remember the battles and the destruction," Kianna continued. Her finely-chiseled face frowned, placing lines around her mouth and eyes. "We remember the deaths of our ancestors: men, Women, and children alike. We remember the smell of corruption and smoke when Dun Kiil was sacked and burned. We remember the flare of the clochs na thintri as they tore at the very land and changed it forever." Her eyes held Jenna's. "We remember, and we wonder how we can pre-Vent that from happening now. To us. To our children. To our towns and lands."

  Jenna couldn't speak, held in Kianna's stern, unblinking gaze. She had no answer, didn't know what the woman wanted her to say. She opened her mouth, then closed it again.

  "You frighten the Holder, Kianna," the Banrion said, her voice holding a soft amusement, and the spell was broken. "She's such a young thing. ." Kianna took a step back, though the frown didn't leave her face

  "Young or no," she said, "she has to understand the cost of her being here-the cost to all of us."

  "I'm sure she does," the Banrion purred. "Don't you, Jenna?"

  "I do." Jenna put her spine against the chair's back, rubbing at her arm She could smell the anduilleaf, seductive and enticing. "I know they'll come. I don't want that, but I can't stop them. As long as Lamh Shabhala is here, they'll come."

  '"As long as Lamh Shabhala is here. .'" MacEagan commented. The brogue of Inish Thuaidh sat firmly in his tenor voice. "Aye, that's the crux, is it not?"

 
"Would you have me leave, Tiarna?" Jenna asked him. She sighed. "Then give me a boat and I will sail for Ceile Mhor, perhaps, or-" She stopped as the man laughed.

  "You misunderstand, Holder," he said. "If you leave, then the likelihood is that Lamh Shabhala will fall into the hands of the tuatha. If that hap-pens, then Inish Thuaidh will inevitably fall to the Rl Ard. We'd fight and resist, we'd run to the hills and hide, coming out to kill them when they least expect it. We would die to the last rather than submit but eventually we would be conquered, because we couldn't stand against the massed power of the

  clochs and the army the RI Ard can raise. But while Lamh Shabhala is here, we might yet prevail." He moved across the room to the window, pushing the stained glass panels open. "Holder, I’d like you to see this."

  Jenna rose, going to where the tiarna stood. Looking out, she could see the ramparts of the keep, built into a mountainside overlooking the har-bor. Everything was cloaked in mist from the rain, but Jenna imagined that on a clear day the view would be breathtaking: the blue deep water, the curving strips of white sand, the houses set in the lush green foliage that cloaked the mountainside, the sheer black rock of the cliff on which the keep perched.

  "They call this Croc a Scroilm, the Hill of Screaming. When Mael Armagh of Infochla brought his ships of war to Inish Thuaidh, when his cloudmages brought him safely through the storms our mages called up to stop him, it was here his fleet landed, and here that the first battle was fought. Then, there was no keep, only the flat top of the mountain. The pregnant women, the young mothers and their children, the elderly and infirm of Dun Kiil fled here when the Infochla fleet sailed into the harbor and they watched the battle from above. We had no army waiting for them since it was thought he would come first to attack Inishfeirm, where Severii O’Coulghan, the Holder of Lamh Shabhala, waited. Here there were only a few hundred gardai and maybe a thousand pressmen, and only a single cloudmage with her Cloch Mor. It was a slaughter, and quickly over. Those Inishlanders Ri Armagh captured-men and women both, for many of the women fought alongside their men-he brought bound and hobbled to the base of the mountain below these cliffs where those gathered above could see. With a wave of his hand, he had his archers fire into the helpless captives, while those above wailed in sorrow and terror and helpless disbelief. Then, Armagh ordered his soldiers to climb the mountain; when they reached the mourning crowds, his sol-diers raped the women and their daughters and killed the sons and old men, throwing their violated bodies over the side of the mountain to join the bleeding corpses of their slaughtered loved ones. Some, according to the tale, jumped over the cliff on their own rather than submit. They fell, all of them, screaming… "