She scrambled out of bed and hunched over the chamber pot before she realized she was back in her own body, back in her chamber at Carraigmór. For a moment, she imagined she heard Conor stirring in the bed behind her before she realized she was once again alone.
“A nightmare,” she whispered shakily. But it wasn’t a nightmare. Nor was it the way she usually experienced visions.
Horror surged through her as she made the connection. Up to this point, she’d only picked up on others’ thoughts and memories. Now she was linked with someone else’s mind, experiencing what he experienced, through his eyes.
That meant that what she saw had been no dream. Her fingernails dug into her clenched palm. They had to know. They had to stop this, if it weren’t already too late.
She threw her shawl around her shoulders and unbolted the chamber door, not bothering to put on her slippers before she flew into the passage. Peadar, her night guard, straightened from his lean against the wall. “My lady?”
“I need to speak with Eoghan now.” She didn’t wait for Peadar before rushing down the corridor to Eoghan’s room. She pounded furiously on the door until it swung inward. Her words tumbled over each other. “They’re going to die if we don’t do something. You have to hurry.”
“Slow down.” Eoghan put his hands on her shoulders to still the frantic flow of words. “Stay right there while I get dressed.”
Aine paced little circles in the hallway while she waited, aware of Peadar’s furrowed brow, but the brother didn’t question her.
When Eoghan emerged several minutes later, once again fully dressed and armed, he gave a nod for the guard to follow them and then guided Aine down to the staircase. It wasn’t until he nudged her into a cushioned chair that she fully registered he had brought them to the Ceannaire’s office.
“Now, start at the beginning and tell me what you saw.”
Aine related the entire dream to him. He listened carefully, but as soon as she finished, he went to the window and peered down below. “I don’t see any torches. Peadar, bar the front entrance, then go rouse the Conclave. Meet back here.” He escorted the brother to the door and dropped the bar, then went directly toward the bookshelf, where he located a rolled-up sheet of parchment. He pushed the stacks of books and tablets aside and spread out a map of the city on the table.
“This is very important, Aine. The barracks you saw him enter, was it a cottage or a clochán?”
“Clochán. Very clearly.”
“Good. Now, how many steps went down into the structure?”
Aine closed her eyes and recalled the sensation of entering, even though it made her shudder. “Three.”
“Okay. That means it’s one of the older ones on the east side of the compound. Here’s the trickiest question. When you entered the door, where was the moon? Was it over your left shoulder or your right?”
She hadn’t been paying any attention to the moon, as the man whose mind she was in hadn’t been paying attention. But she distinctly remembered the slant of shadow to the right. “Left. It had to be the left.”
“We’re in luck. It’s one of these two here.” He looked up and gave her an encouraging smile. “That’s good, Aine. You’ve done well.”
“Good? Someone just killed dozens of men, if not more! How could that be good?”
“It’s good because we know where to start looking. Had you not paid so much attention, it could have taken us all night. There are thousands of men here and dozens of clocháns.”
Aine nodded numbly, but the shaking was beginning again. Eoghan looked around the room, and she couldn’t figure out what he was trying to find. Instead, he ended up crouching down in front of her, one of her hands held between his like he was trying to rub some warmth into it. “It will be okay, Aine. You’re safe here. You understand that, don’t you?”
She nodded again, but before she could answer, a knock sounded at the door. Eoghan waited for the newcomers to identify themselves before opening the door. The Conclave members flooded in with Iomhar trailing behind, looking as if he’d been roused from a deep sleep.
“Peadar, Iomhar, take Aine to her chamber. Iomhar, stay inside with her and bar the door. No one enters before daylight, not even me. Understood?”
“Aye, sir.” Iomhar guided Aine from the chair and threaded their way back through the men in the room. As soon as they got into the corridor, he bent his head toward hers. “Are you feeling all right, my lady? You look as if you’re going to faint.”
She felt like she was going to vomit. The scene she’d witnessed played over and over in her head, sticking on the feel of warm blood on her skin. This wasn’t a vision of the future; this was a vision of something that was happening right now. She knew it, just as she’d known it when she’d seen Niall and his men sack a village disguised as Sofarende, even though she was hundreds of miles away. She’d experienced death then, too.
“Whoa, Lady Aine.” Iomhar caught her around the waist as she started to sway.
She pressed a hand against her clammy cheek. Why was there ringing in her ears? “I’m fine,” she said. “I’m not the type to faint.”
It was the last thing she could remember.
Eoghan didn’t question Aine’s instincts. One look at her face was enough to tell him that she believed what she was saying, that it was happening now. One look out the window was enough to tell him that all was not as it should be. In the middle of the night, there should be torches burning at intervals around the village. The patches of darkness suggested people who didn’t want to be noticed.
He quickly detailed the situation to the men gathered in the Ceannaire’s office, his voice calm but certain. “It’s one of the two south-facing clocháns, right here.” He pointed to two round circles on the map. “But that doesn’t mean that was the only céad attacked. Rouse the village; account for the guards. I’ll want the prefects to report anyone missing from their quarters who shouldn’t be.”
“Are you sure this information is reliable?” Dal crossed his arms.
“Would you rather wait until morning and see who doesn’t arrive at their posts? Better we find out now. And if it’s something that hasn’t happened yet, it might discourage the perpetrators from attempting it later.”
“Aye, sir.” A chorus of agreement went up from the men before they filed out.
Eoghan caught Riordan aside before he left. “Post two more men outside Aine’s chamber. I won’t take any chances.”
Riordan gave a crisp nod. “It’s beginning, you think?”
Eoghan hadn’t wanted to give voice to the thought, but he wouldn’t lie. “Aye. It’s beginning.”
By dawn, it was clear that Aine’s experience hadn’t been a dream and that it wasn’t an isolated incident. Two hundred thirty men, slaughtered in their sleep. When they were sure it wasn’t the beginning of a larger siege, Eoghan came down and viewed the scene himself. Part of him wished he hadn’t. The view of blood-soaked bodies, mattresses, earth . . . they would all stay with him even longer than the cleanup from the first battle at Ard Dhaimhin. That had been war. This was butchery.
Even worse, they had absolutely no idea who had done it. The prefects accounted for all the men. None was missing from his bed, none bloodstained, none wounded, though the latter was unlikely anyway considering the victims had been killed in their sleep. The one suspicious detail was the lack of guards on the clocháns that had been attacked. All men on guard duty could account for their whereabouts; it seemed that those posts had simply been forgotten.
Eoghan wearily climbed the stairs back to Carraigmór and went straight to Aine’s room. The two men stationed outside her chamber bowed to him as he rapped on the door. “Aine, Iomhar. It’s me. Open the door.”
The bar and the latch scraped open to reveal Iomhar, his sword drawn. At least Eoghan had made a good selection for Aine’s guard, who didn’t stand down until verifying that the three men in the hall had reason to be there.
“How is she?” Eoghan mur
mured.
“Shockingly strong,” Iomhar said.
“I heard that.” Aine pushed herself up in bed, fully dressed even though her hair had come loose from her braid. She cradled her belly protectively. “What he means is stubborn. I must have asked him for an update a dozen times through the night.”
“And well he didn’t obey you, else I’d be finding you a new guardsman. Are you feeling well, my lady? The baby?”
“Well enough. What did you learn?”
He pulled up a chair beside the bed. “You were right. And unfortunately, it wasn’t just that one clochán.”
She paled to a sickly gray. “How many?”
“Two hundred thirty men.”
“It could have been worse.”
“Aye, it could have been much worse. Sounding the alarm may have interrupted their plans. You likely saved lives by reacting as you did.”
“I’ve been hoping it was all just a vivid nightmare. What do we do now?”
He glanced at Iomhar, who wore the same dread that Eoghan felt. “I don’t think this was an isolated incident. We’re preparing for siege. While I know that Niall likes theatrics, I would also have expected him to strike fast and hard. I think we were fortunate we got a warning. He probably didn’t intend to stop with two clocháns.”
“So you’re sure Niall is behind this?” Aine asked.
“Not entirely. It looks to have been done by someone familiar with our routines, our discipline. But that doesn’t mean Niall isn’t behind it.” He hesitated. “Have you been able to reach Conor?”
“No. Why?”
“The timing feels suspicious.” Eoghan knew he was giving her too much information, but it was concerning her husband. She had a right to know. It had been two weeks since Conor had set off for Dún Eavan, a trip he thought would take only a fortnight. He should be arriving at Loch Eirich now. Eoghan couldn’t ignore the possibility that the attack had been timed to coincide with Conor’s arrival at the fortress.
“Do you think he’s in danger?”
“I think he’s always in danger. But in special danger? I don’t think so.”
She nodded slowly and twisted her skirt in her lap, a sign of distress that her voice didn’t betray. “We couldn’t afford to lose those men, could we?”
“No. We need the numbers. And they were among the most experienced of our men, something else that points to the attack having been done by someone familiar with Ard Dhaimhin.”
A knock sounded at the door right before it opened. One of the guards poked his head in. “Master Eoghan? You’re needed outside.”
Eoghan rose immediately. “I’ll let you know if I find out any more. Stay here. You’re safest with Iomhar. If you’re concerned about appearances—”
“At this point, appearances are the least of my worries. But thank you.”
No one could doubt her bravery; that was certain. “I’ll let you know if we learn anything else of interest. And keep trying to reach Conor.”
“Aye. Go with Comdiu, Eoghan.”
He gave her a little bow, shoving away any thoughts but those that related to the situation in the city below.
Gradaigh was waiting for him outside Aine’s door, and he fell into step beside him in the corridor. “Sir, we’ve received the first reports from our sentries. There are men massing on the outer edges of our territory.”
“Niall’s staging an attack on the city? Openly?”
“That’s the thing, sir. It doesn’t appear that they’re trying to get in. It looks like they’re there to keep people from getting out.”
Eoghan blinked. Getting out? That didn’t make any sense, unless the attack to which Aine had alerted them wasn’t merely an isolated incident involving a few spies. His heart beat faster as he considered the possibilities, and his steps sped automatically.
“Riordan!” he called as soon as he set foot into the hall where the men were gathered. “How many fighting men are there in the city now? Ones who are not Fíréin?”
“I’d have to get the prefects’ last census to be exact, but somewhere between seventeen hundred and two thousand. Clearly, we’ll need them, but their numbers have already been included.”
“But we’ve been thinking of them as our allies.” He looked slowly around the table. “What if we’re not being attacked from the outside because the men are already here?”
Looks of horror circulated around the table. There were almost as many men in Ard Dhaimhin who could be potential enemies as there were Fíréin.
“How is that possible?” Dal asked. “They couldn’t be ensorcelled, as they wouldn’t be able to sleep beneath the wards. And they couldn’t bear the runes because they’d be dead.”
“But they could be spelled.”
Eoghan swiveled toward the doorway to find Aine standing there, Iomhar directly behind her. “What are you doing here?”
“I heard your conclusion.” She gave him a wry smile that indicated it was his thoughts and not his words that had drawn her. “I have a suggestion.”
Iomhar stepped forward with a flat wooden case: the oath-binding sword.
“No, it’s too dangerous.”
“No more dangerous than what we already face in the city. There have to be, what . . . one, two thousand men outside Ard Dhaimhin who are linked to the sword? If even a portion of those men respond, those are valuable reinforcements.”
He sighed. She was right. And if they had been infiltrated from within, their best bet was to call reinforcements from the outside. But to his knowledge, no one had ever attempted it. Who knew what the ramifications could be of having Aine try to connect with so many minds at once?
“What other choice do we have?” she asked softly. “I don’t believe it’s an accident that the sword responded to me. It’s a gift, Eoghan.”
He studied her face, so assured even though he had to believe she harbored doubts of her own. “Very well. But first we need to secure the men we do have. Riordan, Gradaigh, I want you to go below and speak to the céad leaders. Let them know we might be facing opposition from within. Speak also to the kingdom men and tell them to expect battle from outside. They’ll need to be on alert, but I don’t mind a little misdirection, either.”
The two men hastened to obey him, and Eoghan turned to Aine. “You’re sure about this? You know Conor would do everything he could to dissuade you from putting yourself at risk.”
“Aye, and he’d give up in the end when he realized it was my risk to take.”
Eoghan sighed. She was exactly right. “Then let’s do it.” And pray that Comdiu protect her, for all their sakes.
Aine waited until Riordan and Gradaigh returned to the hall before she attempted to recall the men with the sword, even though the weapon pulsed with an unseen energy, calling to her. It was as if the magic somehow knew she was the one who was meant to use it and waited in anticipation. But that was odd, wasn’t it? Magic wasn’t sentient.
“You look deep in thought.” Iomhar settled in the chair beside her, deceptively casual considering she knew he was on alert to any threat, even here. The Fíréin’s dedication was truly remarkable. She was counting on that dedication to ensure their response.
“There is so much we don’t know,” she said finally. “I imagine that linking with the minds of the men still living will be straightforward. But what about the fact that there are generations of Fíréin brothers who have passed?”
“I don’t think that’s a concern, my lady. Our oath to the brotherhood is for our mortal service. It isn’t as if we pledge our souls. Those belong to Comdiu alone, and I don’t believe He would grant the power to reach across the boundaries of eternity. He knows that’s a responsibility humanity couldn’t shoulder.”
“You’re right.” Her respect for Iomhar inched upward. Once more he was proving himself to be mature beyond his years, and once more she was immensely grateful for his presence.
The hall’s main door opened and Iomhar tensed beside her before they recognized G
radaigh and Riordan. “They’ve been notified,” Riordan said to Eoghan as he circled the table to his seat.
Eoghan turned to her. “Let’s discuss this before you make the attempt. What are you going to say?”
“I don’t know yet. Can you trust me to follow Comdiu’s leading and speak what comes to my mind?”
Eoghan paused, his eyes averted as if he were listening to Him. Perhaps he was. “Aye. The sword called to you, for whatever reason. In my mind, that means you are meant to use it. I will trust you.” He glanced around the table. “What say you?”
Slowly, the other men voiced their agreement.
“It’s decided, then,” Aine said, her voice trembling a little. “Eoghan, would you say a prayer before we begin?”
He gave her a little smile and bowed his head. “Merciful Comdiu, we pray Your blessing on this endeavor. Give Lady Aine strength and wisdom. Your will be done. So may it be.”
“So may it be,” the table echoed.
Eoghan pulled the case from the center of the table and turned it to face her, then gave her an encouraging nod.
Aine took a deep breath before she flipped the latches on the case and lifted the lid. Magic hummed through her as her hand hovered over the sword. The runes seemed to glisten in the lamplight.
Please, Comdiu, guide my words and actions.
Before she could change her mind, she gripped the sword like a weapon and lifted it from the case. Power surged through her, whipping her consciousness like a maelstrom. She gasped, her fingers curling involuntarily around the sword’s grip.
Then the whispers began—first just a few, some she recognized as belonging to men who sat in this chamber. The sounds rippled outward like concentric rings from a raindrop in a puddle, ever widening until they were like the wind in the trees, the rush of the ocean. She couldn’t tell who was in control, she or the power of the sword, but as the collective strength of the oaths rushed through her, she knew what had to be said.
The Sword and the Song Page 29
