The Sword and the Song

by C. E. Laureano

“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—”

  “I see.”

  Those simple words chilled her even more than his anger. “Conor, I swear, I didn’t think it mattered. Besides, what was I supposed to do? He asked me to give him time to consult Comdiu! He is supposed to be my king.”

  It was the wrong thing to say. Conor’s manner grew even icier. “So that’s what it takes to earn your loyalty? A throne? What else would you do if he asked you to?”

  In a flash, Aine’s guilt turned to fury. “That is unworthy of you. I’ll wait for you and Morrigan in the hall.”

  “Aine, wait . . .”

  But she kept walking, her boot heels sharp and echoing on the stone floor, nearly as loud as the beat of her pulse in her ears. Of all the things she expected from her husband, cruelty was not one of them. She blinked away tears before they could do more than dampen her lashes. All this because of her gift. Some gift it turned out to be. It might have saved her life, but it also put her husband and his best friend at odds and made Conor distrust her. And none of it was within her control.

  He was in an impossible situation.

  After his actions last night—and the hope it had subsequently raised—Eoghan had to make some sort of declaration. Yet for all the conviction he had felt in taking control the night before, he had the equally strong feeling he couldn’t declare himself High King. Not now. Maybe not ever. Even if he were ready, he was not qualified to take command of the city, didn’t know where to start.

  That in itself should give them pause.

  It certainly did Conor. He was too shrewd to express his concerns before the Conclave now that Eoghan had finally taken command, but they were evident in his manner. Eoghan was beginning to think nothing he did would satisfy him.

  While Conor retrieved Morrigan, Eoghan looked over the map with Riordan and Daigh, considering both the shortest and least-exposed routes through the mountains to Ard Bealach and debating which would be least likely to bring them into contact with actual tribes of the Clanless. These Seareanns—unsworn to clan or country—hated all outsiders, but they seemed to have a particular dislike for the Fíréin. All it would take was a band of hunters to raise the alarm, and they’d have enemies pouring over them like ants from an anthill.

  Aine came back into the hall alone, and it took only a glance to see she was upset. Had she and Conor quarreled in the corridor? He had to resist the urge to comfort her. It wasn’t his place, especially when he was supposed to be hiding his feelings. Besides, if they’d argued, it most likely had something to do with him.

  Eoghan hesitated as conversation continued around them, but it somehow didn’t seem right to ignore her when she looked so forlorn. He sat across the table from her and leaned over his folded hands. “Tell me what you think about Morrigan.”

  “As I said before, I think she’s being truthful about her information, but she’s hiding her true motivations.”

  “Do you think she’s a threat?”

  “You’d be better asking that of Conor.”

  “I’m asking you.”

  “Potentially? Aye. If our actions conflict with her goals.”

  “Which we don’t know.”

  Aine cracked a smile. “Exactly.”

  Not all that helpful in choosing a direction, but at least it confirmed his own uneasy feelings. Morrigan was a manipulator, and he’d feel far better if he knew what she was trying to accomplish.

  The sound of footsteps preceded Conor’s return with the prisoner. Eoghan blinked in surprise when he saw her. Morrigan’s title had seemed laughable last night when Conor introduced her. Now, in a blue wool dress that hugged every womanly curve, with her dark hair secured in a modest braid, she looked every inch the lady.

  From the look on the other men’s faces, he wasn’t the only one who thought so. He could almost feel the softening of their attitudes toward her.

  All except Daigh, who continued to scowl at her as though she were a viper near a baby’s cradle. “She’s an intruder, not a guest. Why is she not in bonds?”

  “Because one woman is hardly a threat against the might of the Fíréin brotherhood in this stronghold.” Morrigan’s voice, pleasant and well modulated, almost demure, seemed calculated to calm the situation. Oh, she was far more dangerous than she appeared.

  Eoghan rose and gestured to a seat beside him. “Lady Morrigan, please join us. We would like to ask you some questions.”

  She gathered her skirts and settled into the chair he indicated. “What would you like to know?”

  Eoghan sat beside her. “Who is in command at Ard Bealach now?”

  “As I told you last night, a man named Somhairle, a Sliebhanaigh warrior loyal to Keondric.”

  “Is he being commanded by magic?”

  “I don’t know. Would that be evident?”

  Eoghan moved on without answering. “How many men under his command?”

  “About a hundred, supplemented by mercenaries. Anywhere between ten and sixty additional men, depending on season.”

  “You seem well-informed, Lady Morrigan.”

  Morrigan met his gaze, unflinching. He could swear he saw a hint of amusement in her expression. “It doesn’t take much intelligence or imagination to know what I would be asked when I arrived. I made it my business to know.”

  “How well trained are the men?” Now Riordan interjected himself into the questioning.

  “Very. These are no farmers and craftsmen. Professional warriors, the lot of them, and the fact that some of them are from the other kingdoms tell me they were selected for their skills, not merely proximity.”

  “You seem very knowledgeable on the subject,” Riordan said.

  “And you’re surprised because I’m a woman? I’m Timhaigh, my lord. There are few things we do better than wage war. So, aye, I know how to size up a man’s skills, just as I know there is something at Ard Bealach worth protecting with experienced men.”

  It felt like both defiance and a warning, and Eoghan couldn’t help but feel the slightest glimmer of admiration for her nerve. From the smile playing at Riordan’s mouth, he seemed to feel the same way. In fact, she reminded him a little of Conor. Perhaps they were truer siblings than their blood would lead them to believe.

  “Very well, Lady Morrigan. Thank you for your cooperation.”

  “That’s it?”

  “What were you expecting? Do you have something else to add?”

  “No, it’s simply that . . . are you going to rescue Master Meallachán?”

  “We haven’t decided.”

  Morrigan blinked, but Eoghan said nothing more on the subject. “Conor, would you call the guard to escort her back to her chamber? You are needed here.”

  Conor left the room and appeared with two men in tow. Aine still hadn’t made eye contact with her husband, but perhaps it was more apparent to Eoghan than anyone else. As soon as Morrigan departed with the guards, he looked to her. “What do you think?”

  “I believe you can be confident about the numbers and her assessment of the men. Beyond that, I’ve already said I can’t read her.”

  Surprise flared from the Conclave members, who apparently hadn’t put the suspicion of magic together with the blocking of Aine’s gift.

  “What does this mean for us, then?” Dal asked finally, more subdued than usual. “A hundred well-trained men in an impenet
rable fortress.”

  “Which we will secretly enter and take before anyone is the wiser,” Conor said. “Or do you forget that we have both our fading abilities and the runes on our side?”

  “A rune,” Daigh corrected. “And if we’re talking two dozen men against more than a hundred, we have to be prepared for casualties. We are not invincible. Mistakes happen.”

  It was a far more humble attitude toward the Fíréin than Daigh had ever exhibited before. Was the man’s reticence to break tradition actually born from fear?

  “What are the chances this could be a trap?” Gradaigh asked.

  “High.” Eoghan didn’t mince words. “We can’t discount the idea that Lady Morrigan set up this situation on Niall’s behalf to draw Conor or me out.”

  “Then why take the risk?” Daigh asked.

  “Because if one of our own is being imprisoned and tortured, it’s the right thing to do.”

  “That’s certainly a reversal of your position since yesterday. What’s changed?” Conor’s tone remained quiet and measured, but the challenge was clear.

  “What’s changed is the urgency and the goal,” Eoghan said. “This is a call I believe we must answer, regardless of whether Meallachán is in any condition to assist us. If we accomplish secondary goals, all the better.”

  “Moral obligations aside,” Conor said, “we are in the middle of a war. Taking an enemy fortress is hardly a secondary goal.”

  “I’m on your side of this argument, Conor.”

  Conor shut his mouth and gave Eoghan a tense nod.

  Eoghan appealed to the Conclave. “I believe we can mitigate the risk. For one, we should bring Lady Morrigan. She’s clearly shown a talent for self-preservation, so I don’t believe she’ll willingly put herself in harm’s way.”

  “Unless she was lying about her escape and she’s leading us into a trap,” Daigh said.

  “Be that as it may, I’d rather have her where I can keep an eye on her. We won’t share our plans, simply bring her along for the trip. Think of her as a hostage.”

  Eoghan felt Conor flinch at the word, but he didn’t acknowledge him. “Shall we put it to a vote?”