The Sword and the Song

by C. E. Laureano

  “But some of them have been destroyed.”

  “Aye. Only nine of these are intact fortresses, but the stones are too large to be moved. I’d venture to say they’re still there. Our best chance is to beat Niall to these fortresses and destroy the rune stones before he can collect them.”

  “As soon as he finds out about it, you will be a target too,” Eoghan said.

  “That’s why it’s going to have to be a coordinated effort. And we’re going to need Aine to help.”

  Conor outlined the plan as it formed, the pieces falling into place almost as quickly as he could speak them. They would assign several groups of men to go to the locations of the other stones. Because there were locations that no longer had walls, those were the least likely to have people who needed to be persuaded. They would send other brothers to those. Conor would focus on those that were likely to have sidhe activity and erect wards around them at the same time.

  “I will have to strike the fortress that’s nearest the sorcerer’s last known location,” Conor said. “After that, he’ll know what we’re attempting to do, and he’ll either try to crush us with numbers or beat us to the next fortress. I suspect, traveling light and fast, we’ll be able to reach our destination first.”

  “It’s a risk,” Eoghan said. “A big risk.”

  “Aye. It’s a risk. Do you see any alternative?”

  The men looked at each other, resignation in their expressions. Eoghan shook his head. “No. We’ll do it. Pick your men. We’ll need to select only those who can see the runes. Otherwise they’ll have no idea what they’re looking for.”

  “I’ll go,” Riordan said.

  “No,” Conor and Eoghan said simultaneously.

  “You’re needed here,” Eoghan continued. “Should something happen to me, Riordan, you are the next in command.”

  Riordan didn’t look pleased, but he didn’t argue.

  “We need to do this quickly, before he has a chance to move on another fortress.” Conor studied the map. “If I were to guess his next move, I’d say he’s going to hit Glas Na Baile next.”

  “Why not Gorm Lis?” Dal asked. “It’s closer to his last conquest than Glas Na Baile.”

  “It is, but the terrain is rougher and it’s closer to our borders. If you look, he’s moving from north to south in a relatively straight line. I’d guess it’s because he can travel faster in the meadowlands.”

  The room fell silent as they all contemplated the impossible mission ahead of them. It was easy to say they could do something, but Conor knew better than any of them how the easiest missions—such as Ard Bealach—had unforeseen consequences. Had it not been for that bloodless victory, Daigh would be with them today, debating this issue with his usual blend of practicality and bile.

  “There is one last thing to consider,” Eoghan said. “If we succeed in this, Niall will be desperate. He will throw every last resource at Ard Dhaimhin to get the Rune Throne.”

  Conor nodded solemnly. “And it will be your job to be ready for him.”

  They talked over other matters affecting the city, but Conor just let them slide through his mind. Eoghan and Riordan had taken command of the city while he was gone, leaving no place for him in the conversation. He would be leaving again soon, had known it would become necessary ever since Larkin had questioned him at Ard Bealach. Now he just had to figure out how to break the news to Aine.

  When the meeting dissolved, Eoghan drew Conor aside. “I didn’t want to discuss it before the Conclave, but there’s still the matter of the prisoner.”

  Somhairle. Somehow, in his sleepless fog and his reunion with Aine, Conor had forgotten about him. “Is he in one of the lower chambers?”

  “Aye. But so far he’s not been cooperative. Hasn’t said a word to any of the brothers who have tried to talk to him.” Eoghan hesitated. “I think we should have Aine try.”

  “No. Not an option.”

  “Then short of applying methods the brotherhood doesn’t officially condone, I don’t think he’s going to tell us anything of value.”

  Conor sighed. If Somhairle didn’t have the shield rune, it would be easy. Aine could pluck the information they needed out of his head and be done with it. But the idea of letting her stand in the same chamber with the man, letting him toy with her mind as he had with Conor . . .

  “What about Morrigan?” he asked suddenly.

  “Do you think that’s a good idea, considering what she’s been through? If even a fraction of what she said about him is true, it would be unspeakably cruel.”

  “But we would know immediately if she were telling the truth. And I’m sure she is the last one Somhairle would expect to see.”

  Eoghan sighed. “I don’t like it, and I wouldn’t have expected you of all people to suggest it. But Aine is the one who has had the most contact with her. Get her opinion. If she agrees, I’ll agree.”

  “Absolutely not!” Aine stared at Conor as if he were mad. “It’s cruel.”

  Conor blinked. He had thought it was a reasonable way to use their resources. “You said yourself that Morrigan isn’t being honest.”

  “About what she’s doing here. Not about what happened to her. In fact, that’s the one thing I’d venture to say she’s been totally honest about.”

  “Then we’re out of options.”

  “Of course we’re not. I’ll talk to him.”

  “No.” Conor shook his head vehemently. “You have no idea what kind of man he is. I would not subject you to his company for any reason.”

  Aine sighed and plopped down on their bed. “I’m fairly certain I do. I traveled with mercenaries in Aron. One of them tried to kill me.”

  “Exactly.”

  “And what do you think he’s going to do while in bonds? He’s got the shield rune, so even if he possessed magic, he wouldn’t be able to use it.”

  “And because he has the shield rune, you won’t have any more luck than we would.”

  “I don’t need my mind-reading gifts. Once more, you underestimate me.”

  From her smirk, Conor thought that might be true.

  Despite her confident words, Aine’s pulse raced as she descended the stairs to the lower confines of Carraigmór, followed by both Conor and Iomhar. The last time she’d been here, she’d questioned Murchadh, who had tried to kill her. Now she was to speak with a man who had tortured Morrigan and had tried to kill Conor.

  Eoghan already waited for them in front of the same chamber that had once held the healer. He addressed Aine first. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

  “Aye. He’s bound, isn’t he?”

  “Of course.”

  “Then you must promise me you won’t interfere, no matter what he says or does.”

  Eoghan exchanged a look with Conor that said he was no more pleased by the request than her husband had been. “I promise. If you keep your distance. We have no way of knowing exactly what he’s capable of.”

  She nodded her agreement, and Eoghan unbarred the door.

  The prisoner sat tied to a single chair in the center of the room, his arms and legs shackled to the stone. But for his filthy state, he looked to have been treated well. Apparently, the Fíréin were serious about their rules for the treatment of prisoners.

  An unsettling light gleamed in his eyes as soon as he saw her. “Brought me some entertainment, did you?”

  Aine didn’t show her repulsion. This was all just for show, to anger the men behind her, to unsettle her. She clasped her hands and stopped at arm’s distance before him while Iomhar circled behind, his knife at the ready. “I have some questions for you.”

  Somhairle’s mouth curved into a nasty smile. “Why should I answer them?”

  Aine met his eyes squarely, unafraid. “Because I’m going to ask you nicely. And you will answer because my methods are much less painful than my husband’s. You’ve already proven you have a taste for self-preservation. So could we just bypass the part where you refuse, and they threaten, and th
en you tell us anyway?”

  He sized her up, his gaze riveting on her obviously pregnant belly. “Which one is your husband?”

  “The one who wants to kill you for looking at me like that.”

  He grinned at her. “Dove, in this instance, that doesn’t help much.”

  A quick glance over her shoulder showed Eoghan and Conor wearing identical scowls. She almost laughed, but instead she just gestured for a chair to be brought for her. When she sat, she folded her hands in her lap and studied him for a minute.

  “You’re the last survivor of Ard Bealach. Why did Lord Keondric leave you alive when you had the potential to tell us about his plans?”

  He glanced between her and the men. For a moment, she thought he wouldn’t answer. “He had me spelled.”

  “Was that before or after you took the shield rune?”

  His eyebrows lifted. “Before. He left me to care for the prisoner.”

  “Meallachán. The bard. Aye?” He nodded and she moved on. “Why did he give you the rune?”

  “Survival, I’d think. Surely you know about the spirits by now. Had I been caught in one of their glamours, we would both be dead.”

  “But you killed him anyway, even after he helped you.”

  “Aye. It was my job. Should a rescue attempt come, he was to die.” Somhairle delivered the statement as calmly as if he’d been talking about the weather. For the first time, a little curl of unease climbed up her spine. This man wasn’t just cold; he was soulless.

  Had he simply burned away his humanity in his pursuit of gold? Or was this some sort of side effect of the shield rune? The idea was almost as chilling as the emptiness in Somhairle’s eyes.

  “The woman, Morrigan—how did she escape the keep?”

  Genuine surprise shifted into another of those nasty smiles. “She told you she escaped, did she? I’ve never met a woman who could lie as convincingly as that one. Told me she loved me. Almost made me believe it too. Women can be very persuasive. But I suppose you’ve learned that yourself or you wouldn’t be here.”

  Aine didn’t flinch. “So Morrigan didn’t escape. She was allowed to leave.”

  “No, my innocent little dove, she was sent. Does that surprise you?”

  “Not particularly. Sent to do what?”

  “I couldn’t tell you.”

  He was lying now, and from the grin he sent her way, she realized he’d just been toying with her. He wouldn’t give her anything beyond what they already knew. He just wanted her to think he would, while he leered and made veiled innuendos. She pushed herself out of the chair. “We’re done.”

  “No, we’re not.” Conor pulled the dagger from his waist and strode toward Somhairle. The determination on his face sent a chill through her.

  “Conor, what are you doing?”

  He ripped open the man’s shirt to reveal the pink shield rune. In one swift movement, he sliced a line through the marking on the prisoner’s chest, bringing up a bright swell of blood. “Read him. Now, before the druid can get to him.”

  Aine stared in shock for a moment and then obeyed. She knelt beside Somhairle and grabbed his hand. Now that the integrity of the rune had been broken, sensations and thoughts assailed her. Memories of the sick things he had done in service of Niall and others like him. Images of Morrigan—and others—screaming while he tormented them. Unspeakable acts she would never be able to wipe from her mind. And below it all, a familiar thread of sorcery, keeping his actions in check, his loyalty to the druid secure.

  She let go of his hand and managed to stumble to the corner before she vomited. Tears slid down her face. “He can’t be allowed to leave. Kill him,” she whispered.

  “Too late,” Eoghan said.

  She lifted her head and turned from the corner. Somhairle slumped in the chair, his shirt stained red. She looked to Conor, who simply shook his head to her unspoken question.

  Then she understood. Niall never left traitors alive.

  They refrained from questioning her until she was seated in the Ceannaire’s office, her hands wrapped around a cup of tea, a fur draped over her shoulders. Conor pulled up a chair beside her and took her hand. “Tell us what you saw.”

  Aine swallowed and shook her head. What she’d seen would torment her as surely as what she’d experienced through Conor’s mind. Somehow she’d thought she understood depravity, but having seen a glimpse of the experiments with which Somhairle had assisted, the torments he’d devised for his own pleasure, she could no longer deny that Niall was not the only true evil in the world.

  “Tell us the important bits,” Eoghan said gently from his post by the door.

  That she could manage. She shut the memories out and sifted through the information she’d gleaned from the flood of images. “He wasn’t lying about Morrigan. She didn’t escape. She was sent.”

  “Sent to do what?”

  She looked between Conor and Eoghan. “To control the flow of information here. To limit what we could learn. I got the impression Niall is holding something over her.”

  Eoghan frowned. “I don’t understand. If Morrigan didn’t want us to know anything, why did she tell us about Ard Bealach? We wouldn’t have learned about the shield rune had it not been for that.”

  “I don’t think that was part of the plan.”

  “So she’s been playing both sides,” Conor said. “She might not be helping Niall willingly, but we still don’t know which side she would choose if forced.”

  “I can’t answer that, because Somhairle didn’t know.”

  “What else did you learn?” Conor prompted.

  Aine shook her head. Most of what she had seen were just the memories of his own depraved acts. “Did you know that Niall was going to kill him when you removed the protection of the rune?”

  Conor hesitated. “I suspected, aye. Thought it would save us the trouble. And now we know that the druid’s reach extends through Ard Dhaimhin’s wards.”

  “Only when he has some sort of connection, though,” Eoghan said. “Somhairle was spelled. Aine initiated a mind link with him when she heard Keondric call for her. That tells me he has to have a way in first.”

  “So we really can’t break Morrigan’s rune,” Aine said. “He will be able to contact her—maybe even kill her—from afar, and he’ll potentially have access to anything she knows.”

  “I’m not sure she knows anything that can help us,” Conor said. “I imagine Niall told her only what she needed to know to complete her mission.”

  “And we might never know what that is,” Eoghan remarked.

  “Maybe we should just ask her,” Aine said.

  “We already did,” Conor said. “She’s given us lies and half-truths from the start.”

  “Aye, but now we can give her something she truly wants,” Aine said with a grim certainty.

  It was decided that because Aine had the most established relationship with Morrigan, she should be the one to break the news. She instead retrieved the woman and her two guards from the upper chamber and led them two floors down.

  “Where are we going?” Morrigan asked. “Did Master Eoghan finally decide it was safe to let me out?”

  “Rather the opposite,” Aine said. “But I thought you would want to see this.”

  Aine nodded to the brother on guard outside the chamber, and he opened the door for them. She waved for Morrigan to precede her.

  The woman stopped, a hand flying to her mouth. “It’s him.”

  “Aye. It’s him.”

  “Did you kill him?”

  “Your master did, to keep him from talking. But not before I pulled everything out of his mind. I know. I know what he did to you. And it wasn’t just you.”

  Morrigan sank down to a crouch, stunned. “He’s really dead.”

  “Aye. He can’t hurt anyone else now.”

  She sat there, her face buried in her hands for several minutes, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs. Then she jerked her head up, her eyes panicked. “Did you
bring him into the city blindfolded? Unconscious?”

  Aine glanced at Conor, who waited in the doorway. He shook his head.

  “No. Why?”

  “Did you talk about me?”

  Slowly, Aine nodded.

  A hysterical-sounding laugh slipped out of Morrigan’s mouth. “That was your last mistake. Everything Somhairle saw or knew, Lord Keondric now does as well. The city. Your defenses. My presence. You let him in.”

  She straightened from her crouch and visibly pulled the shreds of her emotions together, that hard, calculated expression sliding onto her face again. Then she leaned in close. “You gave me a gift, Lady Aine, so I’ll give you one in return. Take the shield rune and flee, while you still can.”

  For the next several days, Conor shirked his duties around Ard Dhaimhin unapologetically, skipping his morning practices and devotions, refusing to attend even Conclave meetings unless he was specifically summoned. Aine might pretend her experiences with Somhairle and Morrigan hadn’t affected her, but he saw the sick look that crept over her face in unguarded moments. Nothing less than an emergency was going to pull him from her side.

  And he found every reason he could think of not to tell Aine about his plans.

  She sensed it, though, even if she didn’t pull it outright from his brain. When he asked if she needed to go to the village to work, she merely shook her head and said that the healers could handle it without her. She knew. She had to. And she had to know, too, that his leaving again meant he would miss the birth of his child.

  If he came back at all.

  He wouldn’t think about that, though. There was no reason to believe this mission was any more dangerous than any of the others from which he had returned. They had the advantage of speed and surprise. Ard Dhaimhin had gained more resources in the past several months, including a stable of fast horses, which they could use to hopefully stay ahead of Niall and his large parties of slow-moving foot soldiers.