The Sword and the Song

by C. E. Laureano

  “I think we’ve passed the point of voting,” Conor said. “You’re in command. You have spoken.”

  A quick look around the table proved the truth of Conor’s words. Slowly, nods circled through the men. “A week to prepare, then,” Eoghan said. “I’ll select the party. You and I will need to discuss provisions.”

  “You’re suggesting we both go?” Conor asked. “That leaves the city without a leader in the event we fail.”

  “I’m not sure we have a choice. It’s only right I lead the campaign, and you’re needed to erect a shield around the fortress after we’ve taken it.”

  “As you command.” Conor’s voice was hard, but he delivered the words without a trace of irony.

  In that moment, Eoghan realized that the brotherhood—and the way of life to which he had devoted himself—was well and truly broken.

  Conor avoided Carraigmór—or rather Eoghan and Aine—while his temper cooled. He’d been unfair to his wife. He didn’t need time or distance to know she’d been put in an impossible situation, torn between her loyalty to Conor and the man that he himself insisted was their High King.

  His feelings about Eoghan, on the other hand, didn’t soften a bit. He should not be seeking private audiences with Aine, shouldn’t be asking her to keep his secrets. The fact that Eoghan had always been so circumspect in the past made Conor wonder if he’d deliberately tried to drive a wedge between them because he wanted Aine for himself.

  Conor wandered the practice yards, watching matches with a jaw clenched so hard it ached. Men bowed to him deferentially, though he knew that would change. He was no longer a leader of warriors but a bureaucrat. His worth had been reduced to tallying tablets and counting bushels. Wasn’t that what Eoghan had meant when he’d said Conor’s expertise was too valuable to lose?

  “Master Conor, care to step in?” One of the younger men, an apprentice whose face he recognized but whose name he couldn’t remember, stepped back from his opponent.

  “I’ll just watch.” Conor couldn’t guarantee his irritation with the situation wouldn’t spill over into his fighting. The last thing he wanted to do was injure an apprentice because he couldn’t take out his feelings on his real target.

  By the time he felt reasonably in control of his emotions, the sun had set and most of the villagers had already made their way to the cookhouses for supper. Conor bypassed the line and slunk upward into Carraigmór, determined to avoid contact until he could manage some semblance of civility.

  Instead, the first person he spotted in the hall was Eoghan.

  “Conor. I’ve been looking for you. I’ve asked Riordan, Daigh, and Aine to meet us in your study. Will you come?”

  Conor nodded stiffly and followed Eoghan to the Ceannaire’s office, where the other men and Aine already waited. His wife raised pained, regretful eyes to him, but she said nothing, for which he was grateful. Now was not the time to air their private issues.

  Eoghan hesitated just inside, and Conor swept a hand toward the heavy chair behind the table. He had claimed the honors of leadership, so it was only logical that he take Conor’s place in the office as well. As Eoghan sat behind the desk, looking far more comfortable behind it than Conor had ever felt, the truth hit him full force.

  “Eoghan cannot lead this mission.”

  All heads swiveled toward him. He found a seat, his conviction growing. “He’s too important to the city, too important to Seare, to be risked. I have to go anyway to erect the shield. I can see the rune, so I imagine I can reproduce it.”

  The room remained silent for a moment, and Conor focused on Eoghan’s face so he didn’t have to see the betrayed look in Aine’s eyes. Finally, Eoghan gave a small nod. “Whom do you propose to leave in command after the fortress is taken?”

  “Surely we have a Conclave member of Sliebhanaigh descent who will do nicely. Daigh, perhaps?”

  Daigh’s eyebrows rose, but before the man could object, Aine interrupted.

  “Then I’m going with you.”

  “No.”

  “Why not? You need a way to communicate with Ard Dhaimhin—”

  “Which you can do from here.”

  “—and having a healer on hand is an undeniable advantage—”

  “Which I can’t take away from the city.”

  She stared at him, eyes glimmering with hurt and anger. She thought he didn’t want her around, which was not remotely the truth.

  “Aine,” he said evenly. “You must think of our child.”

  Heads whipped toward them, shock on Daigh’s and Eoghan’s faces.

  “You’re expecting?” Eoghan asked, his voice rough. Aine nodded.

  “Congratulations,” Daigh said. “Conor’s right. We’ll be traveling on foot for weeks. You would put yourself and us at risk.”

  “What say you, Eoghan?” Conor asked. “The final decision is yours.”

  “I don’t like it. I feel like I’m shirking my duty.”

  “What says Comdiu on the matter?”

  Eoghan sighed. “Nothing specific. But I have been asking Him whether this endeavor is the right one. Not if I must go.”

  “This is what must happen,” Conor said. “You know it as well as I do.”

  Eoghan at last nodded his agreement, and Aine stood. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go rest now.”

  The men rose with her and she escaped the room, leaving an echo of silence in her absence. Or maybe it just felt that way to Conor, knowing she was hurt and angry.

  When they were all seated again, Eoghan looked to Conor. “What of Lady Morrigan? Does she stay as well?”

  “Aye, she stays. I don’t trust her yet, and I don’t want to be responsible for her safety. If we’re to be successful, I need experienced, disciplined men. I need to be assured of their reliability.”

  It took several hours to choose the members of the parties, a dozen each to be led by Conor and Daigh. It took nearly as long to make the list of supplies and weapons they would bring with them, balancing the need for self-sufficiency with the desire to travel light and fast. All the while, Conor wondered how furious Aine would be when he returned to their chamber.

  But when he at last entered the room, she seemed merely sad. Perched on her chair with a shawl wrapped around her shoulders and a book open on her lap, she watched him undress in silence.

  Conor waited until he could no longer stand the quiet. “This is the way it must be, Aine.”

  “Must it? Or is this just your way of proving you’re capable of more than the administrative tasks to which you’ve been reduced?”

  Her quiet words pierced to his heart, even knowing she’d likely picked the unacknowledged thought from his mind. He knelt by the chair and buried his head in her side, breathing deeply her familiar scent of sage and lavender and mint. After a moment, she softened and combed her fingers through his hair in acceptance of his unspoken apology.

  “I love only you, Conor,” she murmured. “I’m loyal to you. What must I do to prove it?”

  “Nothing, love. I’m sorry. Forgive me for being cruel.”

  “Of course I forgive you. I’m sorry for not telling you about the rune. I didn’t know what to do.”

  “I know. I blame Eoghan, not you.”

  She pulled away from him, her face creased into a frown. “Conor, whatever is between you and Eoghan has to end. The two of you are responsible for the well-being of this city, of this kingdom. Our enemy would like nothing more than to have you divided and ineffectual.”

  He straightened and took a seat on the bed, embarrassed to be scolded by his wife like a child. “He does not make it easy.”

  “Nor do you make it easy for him. You once had a family. Now you have a wife and child. Do you think you’re the only one who feels envy? This cannot be about the three of us. If it were, you would not be leaving me again on a mission from which you might not return.”

  “Aine—”

  “I know why you must go. Just don’t act as if you and Eoghan are
the only ones who make sacrifices.”

  Conor set aside the book and drew her to her feet, then pulled her into his arms. “There are times when I think Seare might benefit from a High Queen instead.”

  Her expression softened and a smile quivered on her lips. “Since that’s not going to happen, Seare will have to muddle through with you two.”

  “Comdiu help us,” he murmured.

  “He always does.” She stretched up and planted a light kiss on his lips, her way of telling him that for the moment at least, all was forgiven.

  Eoghan didn’t wait for morning to knock on Morrigan’s door. With more time came more of a chance she would hear the news on her own, and he wanted to see her reaction. Still, the men on guard looked at his arrival with curiosity. He ignored them.

  Morrigan, however, seemed completely unsurprised. “I wondered how long it would take for you to come see me. Would you like to come inside?”

  Eoghan stepped through the door, but he left it cracked open. He would not be the one responsible for discarding the last tatters of her respectability. He didn’t wait for her question. “You’re not going to Ard Bealach.”

  “I don’t understand. I’m the only one who has been there. I’d think you’d want my memory of the layout.”

  “We don’t need your memory of the layout. Conor is more than capable of leading this mission on his own.”

  Dismay surfaced in her expression. “Conor is going to lead the assault?”

  “Is there some reason why you’re concerned for him?”

  “Of course there is. Whatever you might think of me, I’m not completely heartless. Nor am I foolish enough to think this mission is without its risks. I don’t want to see him get hurt. Especially not with a pregnant wife.”

  Now he was taken off guard. “How on earth did you know that?”

  “Women know these things.” She pulled out a chair from the table and sat. “Where men look for the obvious, women look for the nuance.”

  “Nuance is certainly not a problem for you, my lady. But considering you like so well to style yourself as a man, perhaps you could state the obvious.”

  “Fine. I will. Conor was not raised as a warrior, and you most certainly were. He’s going to get himself killed.”

  “And what makes you so certain of that? If you’re truly worried about his safety, you should come clean now.”

  “I have told you everything I know.” She spread her hands wide. “But it would be foolish to think that after I leave, they wouldn’t be looking for some sort of attack and laying traps. Isn’t that what you would do if someone who was privy to sensitive information disappeared mysteriously?”

  She was right; it was exactly what they would do. “What information do you have that could be so damaging?”

  “I’ve told you already. Their numbers. Their training. The fact they hold Master Meallachán.”

  “All of which could be common knowledge.”

  “I think you overestimate the interest of the people in the region. They’re busy trying not to starve. They don’t care who’s taken over the fortress.”

  Eoghan cast a quizzical look at her.

  “Where do you think Keondric’s forces have gotten their supplies? They’ve stolen—excuse me, commandeered—them from the surrounding villages. The livestock, the autumn harvests, everything.”

  “Be that as it may, I can assure you that Conor is most certainly capable of taking care of himself.”

  “I shall take your word on it. Just take mine. Don’t underestimate what you might face at Ard Bealach.”

  Eoghan gave her a terse nod and then moved toward the door. Perhaps her concern for Conor was real, but he didn’t believe for a moment that she had told them everything she knew.

  The week that preceded Conor’s departure from Ard Bealach sped by in a blur, during which Aine was lucky to capture a handful of minutes with her husband. Conor rose long before she did and crawled into bed hours after she went to sleep. There was work to be done in the village below, of course: endless rounds of patients to be seen and the regular decoctions and salves to be made. She also spent hours at the workbench, putting together a kit of every possible remedy Conor and his party might need. Just because she wasn’t permitted to come along didn’t mean she would send them into the dark reaches of the Sliebhanaigh mountains unprepared.

  When she wasn’t in the healer’s cottage, she was reading through Shanna’s journals—a slow process, considering the queen’s tiny, old-fashioned handwriting.

  “You’re working too hard,” Conor murmured, slipping his arms around her from behind as she read. It was late on the night before his departure, and she had almost given up on his appearing to spend their last few hours together.

  She twisted around and kissed him in greeting. “Not as hard as you. Have you left the Ceannaire’s study in the past two days?”

  “Two? Three? I’ve lost count.” He moved around her to perch on the bed and nodded toward her book. “Anything yet?”

  “The same. I feel we’re missing a volume somewhere. She refers to a pervasive darkness on the land and the troubles that came out of it, but she doesn’t give any details.”

  “That’s interesting. We know that Daimhin took power because he solved a problem, and we know it had something to do with the wards.”

  “Perhaps I haven’t gotten there yet. I thought this was from the early years of his reign, but Carraigmór hasn’t even been built yet.” Aine sat back in her chair. “Does it strike you as peculiar that the last time the runes were discovered, it was when the High King was needed to face down a massive threat?”

  Conor’s brow furrowed. “You think Comdiu purposely brings the runes back to attention when they’re needed by the High King?”

  “It makes sense, doesn’t it? Where did they go for the last five hundred years? Aye, they’ve been on the throne all this time, but no one alive knows what they mean. Meallachán has carried them on his harp, but we’re not sure if he was actually aware of what they could do individually.”

  “That’s why we need to ask Meallachán. For all we know, that’s why he’s being held in the first place.” Their eyes met, and Aine could see him putting together the pieces without even touching his mind. “We need to know as much as we can about the events of Daimhin’s kingship.”

  “I’ll keep reading, and I’ll keep you apprised of what I find.” Aine paused. “Conor, what if Meallachán really doesn’t know anything? What if he, like you, just happened to be born with a gift and access to an object of power?”

  “Then we’ve simply done what I’ve been trying to accomplish. Once we secure Ard Bealach and the passes, we have a direct conduit to bring men into Sliebhan, as well as a base of operations for expansion.”

  Aine stared at her husband, understanding dawning along with a glimmer of admiration. “This was never about Meallachán for you. You just knew they needed a legitimate reason to break them out of their apathy.”

  Conor said nothing, but if she weren’t mistaken, he looked a little smug. Could he be that calculated, to hide his intentions even from her? His gentle spirit and kind nature sometimes made it difficult to remember that he had been educated as a prince, with all the understandings of political machinations and strategy that entailed.

  Just like Morrigan.

  “What do you think your sister’s game is?” Aine asked suddenly.

  “I don’t know. That’s what I need you to find out. We have to know why you can’t read her and why she’s really here. You may be able to gain her confidence more easily than I could.”

  “Not likely. She already knows I suspect her.”

  “And if I know Morrigan at all, she’ll still think she can get the best of you. I used to play King and Conqueror with her. For all her feminine trappings, she was the most audacious strategist I’ve ever seen.”

  “You were matched, then?”

  “Evenly, if differently. I always tried to win while preserving every piec
e I could. You never know what you might need until the end.”

  “And Morrigan?”

  “She would risk anything. Down to her last piece.”

  It shouldn’t have surprised Aine that her sleep was disturbed in the days before the departure. However confident Conor was in the selection of his companions and the soundness of his plan, she couldn’t forget that he could very well be walking into a trap. Perhaps that explained the sensation of watching eyes and grasping hands that clawed at her in her sleep. Clearly, her helpless feelings in her waking hours carried over to her resting ones as well.

  Worse yet was when Aine learned that what she assumed to be a short trek on horseback was actually weeks on foot, with only ponies to carry their belongings.

  “The Clanless don’t have access to riding horses,” Conor explained. “For our disguise to be convincing, we must travel exactly as they would.”

  “Then perhaps you should have picked a closer fortress to besiege.”

  “Sadly, we’re fresh out of nearby fortresses. But we’ll be in enemy territory for only a short time.”

  “That’s a comfort.” Aine took Conor’s hand and held it to her abdomen, the swell of which was beginning to grow more pronounced. “You do realize you may miss the birth of your child.”

  From the startled look on Conor’s face, he’d not considered that possibility. “I will do everything in my power to keep that from happening.”

  “If only everything were within your power.” Five months seemed like a long time, but it wasn’t. Not really. The thought of Conor’s being gone when she gave birth made her shiver with fear—not because of the actual birth, as there were midwives in the village and she had attended dozens of births herself, but the idea of becoming a mother alone, without his quiet, reassuring presence. She would be responsible for a new life, one she was bringing into a nation at war, where their very survival was horribly uncertain. A tear slid down her cheek.

  Conor slipped an arm around her shoulder and buried his face in her hair. “I love you, Aine. And I love our child. Being here or there will not affect that.”