“Be safe little one,” Neala whispered.
A dull roar echoed through the valley, almost indistinguishable from the rushing river at first. The sound grew in intensity until Neala realized what it was. Hundreds of hooves pounded the ground, mingling with the clang of armor. Neala readjusted her grip on her shield and waited for Liam and Irial’s signal.
The riders came into view, their vast numbers filling up the small valley in only moments. Sunlight bounced off metal helms and shields. Even their massive horses wore plates of armor across their chests and over their arched necks. The sound of so many hoof beats, snorts, and whinnies was almost deafening. Neala knew it wasn’t really that loud though. It was only her battle senses kicking in, heightening to increase her chance of survival. Her brother had taught her that.
Or was it her battle senses? Perhaps it was fear. There were so many of them. . .
Each bearded face and braided head brought her a touch of relief. It didn’t look like Tyr was among them. Facing him in battle would be more than she could handle. The problem was she didn’t see his da Fraener either. Fraener seemed like the kind of man who would lead his forces. It was hard to tell, but she was pretty sure his closest men, the ones who had accompanied him to Neala’s house, weren’t there either. Now that she got a closer look at them there weren’t nearly as many as she thought there would be. In fact, the force looked to be about half of what Tyr had said it would be.
Their absence ignited a flame of concern that started to eat at Neala. Glancing over, she tried to catch Irial’s eyes but she wouldn’t look away from the advancing force. There was no way she could say it out loud so she shoved the suspicion aside. If they survived she’d worry about it then.
Out of the corner of her eye, Neala saw a blue bird shoot from the trees and fly over the river. Such birds didn’t live in these parts. It was the signal from the other fiann. Power pulsed over her—Irial and Liam’s power—bringing a sense of urgency with it. It was time.
Dozens of bowstrings twanged. Danes started falling from their horses. Excitement carried Neala down the hill after Donal and her Order. Fear fed strength to her muscles and fueled the determination in her heart. They reached flat ground and charged toward the Danes, a wave of druids, fairies, and brownies. In the looming shadow of the mountainous Danes, Neala was certain they didn’t look very menacing. But then that was part of the beauty of it. The invaders had no idea what was coming at them.
Arrows continued to fly; some coming from Kyla and Cian who ran at Neala’s heels. Though the two wouldn’t be engaging directly in the battle they had their part to play. And they were good shots. Their arrows met their mark and took down Dane after Dane. When they reached the point where the two were supposed to hang back, Kyla gave Neala a brave look and confident nod. Neala returned the nod and ran on with the rest of her fiann, praying Kyla and Cian would be all right.
The Danes looked bigger and more menacing the closer they got. But Neala didn’t slow down. Her friends ran at her side and she wasn’t about to leave them no matter how scared she became. Besides, this was what she was meant to do, what she’d been born to do. There was no way she was going to turn away from that.
One of the Danes on the front line beat his sword against his shield then raised it high. The warriors around him did the same, creating a thunder that echoed through the valley and shook Neala’s resolve. Bows were raised and the Danes started to return fire. Neala projected her power out into a sphere that surrounded her. It acted like the ultimate shield, deflecting arrows from all directions.
Horses without riders rushed past as they met the first line of Danes left standing. Steel rang upon steel and chaos erupted around Neala. She pushed out with her power, using it to spook the horses of the warriors who were mounted. Hooves flashed in the air as horses around her reared, bucked, and scrambled to get away. Over half a dozen Danes were thrown to the ground. She didn’t have to look to know her Order was using the same tactic, Irial had taught it to her after all.
The warriors she had unhorsed surrounded her and started to move in. They were so broad and tall they made her feel like a child, one who was playing a dangerous game. But at almost seventeen, she was hardly a child and this was one game she planned on winning. Her power waited just beneath the surface of her skin. Its pressure reminded her what she was capable of. That gave her almost as much confidence as Donal’s shouted words in the old language from somewhere off to her left.
“Nil trócaire!” No mercy.
The Danes attacked as if that was their cue. They came at Neala from all sides. She channeled energy into her legs and sword-arm to lend her strength and speed. The years of training with her brother—and more recently the days with Bren—served her well as her instincts kicked in. She was much faster, and with her druid power she was even stronger than these brutes. What she lacked though was their ruthlessness. As they rained blows down around her, fury started to build in her chest.
The real thing was nothing like practice. These men were trying to kill her. They weren’t going to slow down if she grew tired or stop if she didn’t get it right. Fear she had expected, but the anger that was gaining momentum took her by surprise. She used it just like she did her power, channeling it to make her moves faster and stronger. Still, she passed up opportunity after opportunity to seriously wound or kill.
A sharp, burning sliced into the back of her arm. Spinning in that direction, she saw a red-bearded Dane drawing his sword back for another blow. The silver blade was marred with bright red blood, her blood. Something inside her let loose. With a scream, she thrust her sword up into his chest. It slid right between his plates of armor. Before the man’s eyes could even finish widening in surprise, she drew her sword from him and turned to face his companions.
It didn’t exactly become easier after the first kill but she was able to do what she had to. She blocked, dodged, and thrust; doing her best to focus on nothing more than openings she could stick her sword into, not the results. As fast as she was it seemed unfair. But they died and she fought on. At the moment nothing beyond that mattered.
From her left screeched a cry of pain in an all-too-familiar voice; Ciara’s. Neala spun in her friend’s direction and found her down on one knee, holding her head. Blood stained her lovely blond hair and dripped in a steady stream, pooling on the ground. A Dane stood over Ciara. The man’s battle-ax raised high for a finishing blow. Darting in her direction, Neala ended up right in the midst of three huge Danes. They blocked her path to Ciara.
Halfway between her and Ciara, stood Bren. His eyes flicked from Neala to Ciara, the torment of his decision warring across his features. At the last possible moment, Bren thrust his sword in the direction of the Dane about to decapitate Ciara. His power shot out from the tip of his sword and blew the Dane back.
The pressure of energy that came before an attack pressed at Neala’s back. There was no time to turn and block the blow coming at her, but she tried anyway. At least she would die knowing Ciara was safe, even if it meant Bren had chosen to save her instead of Neala.
Steel clashed so close to her head that it left Neala’s ears ringing. Cringing away from the sound, she raised her sword to block. But death didn’t await her, Donal did. In two easy strikes, Donal took out the Dane who had been about to kill Neala.
Gentle energy brushed her power, carrying with it the feel of urgency and a pulling sensation. It was Irial’s energy, and it was her cue to draw back. Neala started walking backward as she fought alongside Donal. It surprised her how much ground they had gained. Things had been such a blur that she didn’t remember pushing the Danes back so far. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Bren carrying Ciara on her right and Liam to her left, both fighting as they backed up. Seeing them alive nearly drew a sob from her.
Liam, Bren, and Irial all worked their way to her and Donal until they all stood with their backs together, an island amidst the Danes. But the Danes were a receding ocean that was pulling back right
into their trap.
“Anoisdíreach!” A voice yelled in the old language. Now.
Liam and Irial echoed the call.
Neala felt the pull of her Rector’s power as it connected to hers. It felt like their Order was one being. Even Donal’s power united with theirs, becoming a part of it. Being connected to all of them—especially Donal—in such a way was amazing. They were of one mind, one desire.
Then Neala felt something else, a tingling in the air all around her. It was a culmination of all the druids’ power as it came together and focused. The Danes who were still mounted became occupied with attempting to control their horses as the animals reacted to the feel of all that power. On the ground brownies did their best to frighten the horses more. They stabbed at their legs with tiny spears. Fairies darted about, working with the brownies and druids to group the Danes together.
The poor horses seemed just as frightened of the fairies and brownies as they were the druids’ power. It was as though they had never seen such creatures. That was terribly sad to Neala to think the horses came from a land where there weren’t beings like that.
“This is our land!” Someone shouted. Others took up the call.
The very air around Neala started to vibrate, causing her blood to pump faster and her power to hum within her. This wasn’t druid power, it was something else. Water started to sprinkle down on her. At first she thought it was raining. Then she felt the warmth of the sun upon her and caught a glimpse of the clear blue sky. Behind her, Irial and Liam’s power pulsed and grew until it became something much more than even druids possessed. Strength and power flowed from Neala into her Rectors. She felt them calling on it, using it to help focus this massive new power.
Neala’s eyes traveled the flow of that new power to its source; the river. She could see the power as a mist that flowed from the river into the air around them.
“Bloody brilliant,” she murmured.
It wasn’t just her Rectors either; all of the Rectors were channeling the power of the river. The air was so thick with power that it made it hard to breathe. Bumps rose along her flesh. The hair on her arms stood up. The amount of power was beyond anything Neala had ever felt. Liam and Irial were strong but Neala hadn’t realized just how strong until now. It both humbled her and filled her with pride.
A sense of urgency filled Neala and she knew it was the signal from the Rectors to strike. Fairies flocked back behind the druids that encircled the Danes. Brownies swarmed around Neala’s feet and shot behind her like mice running from flood waters.
The sapping pull on her strength increased and then suddenly it was gone and she staggered from its absence. The white mist of power flowed through all the Rectors and shot out through their outstretched hands at the Danes. It hit them like a tidal wave, knocking every last one of them to the ground, leaving their horses untouched. Not one of them moved again except in the throes of death.
The tip of Neala’s sword sank to the ground, its weight too much for her to bear any longer. Dark, thick blood clung to the blade along with chunks of other things Neala didn’t dare guess at. All that she had done for her land hit her with a terrible force that drove her to her knees. She had taken lives, lives. The little bit she had managed to eat that day came back up. She vomited onto the blood-stained Earth until there was nothing left in her.
“Easy there,” Donal said.
Though she knew it was him, she couldn’t fight the instinct to flinch when he laid his arm across her shoulders. Her mind was still in the battle. She wiped a hand across her mouth and sat back on her heels so she could look at him. The sympathy in his eyes hurt more than it helped. Looking away was a mistake though. Hundreds of bodies lay in the field before them. True, they were the enemy, but they were still people, Tyr’s people.
“What have we done?” she whispered.
Donal brushed hair from her eyes, his gentle touch feeling foreign after the battle.
“We’ve survived. We did what they made us do,” he said in a quiet tone.
“Why does it feel so wrong?”
The soft look in his eyes clashed with the tightness of his lips. She hated that her words were hard for him to hear but she couldn’t hold them back.
“Killin’ should always feel wrong,” he said.
It felt as though she should cry but she couldn’t, the tears wouldn’t come. Donal handed her a waterskin and she took several long drinks, glad for the distraction.
“Let me clean that for ye,” Donal said as he reached for her sword.
She let him take it, glad to have the morbid-looking blade out of her sight. Donal moved away for only a moment then handed it back to her, its clean blade shining in the sun. Her brother’s sword would never look the same to her now that she had bloodied it. None of this was how she had imagined it would be.
“I need yer help with Liam and Irial,” Donal said.
Alarm pushed back the exhaustion that threatened to weigh her down. Her power reached out instinctively for theirs, and found them just behind her. The pulse of their power was so dull it was almost like that of a non-druid. Neala turned to find them lying unconscious behind her. There was so much blood splattered all over their clothes it was hard to tell if any of it was theirs.
“Are they all right?” Neala asked.
“Tá, just tired. We need to get them out of here in case there are more Danes on the way,” Donal said.
From the sight of their still forms Neala was guessing they wouldn’t be able to use their power again for a while. One glance across the battlefield revealed the rest of the Rectors lying unconscious upon the ground as well. If they were attacked now they’d all be slaughtered.
“What can I do?” Neala asked.
“Pour a little of yer power into them,” Donal said.
He leaned over Liam, putting his hands upon his shoulders. Though she couldn’t see it, Neala felt Donal’s power flow through his arms and into Liam. A moment later Liam’s eyes shot open and he sat up, giving Donal a pat on the arm. He still looked tired but at least he was awake.
“Me thanks, and welcome to our Order,” he said with the ghost of a smile.
His words reverberated off Neala’s power, causing bumps to rise along her arms. But they were good bumps. Neala had thought she felt Donal bond with their Order during the battle. Liam’s words confirmed her suspicions. Despite not being a druid, somehow, Donal had bonded with their Order.
Her delight was short lived though as she turned to look at Irial. Seeing one of the only friends she’d ever had lying motionless, red hair spread about her like blood, launched Neala into action. She had no idea how to do what Donal had done but it didn’t matter, she had to try.
Placing a hand on each of Irial’s shoulders, she called up her power and thought about dumping it into Irial. A tingling sensation preceded her power as it poured down her arms and sank into Irial. It felt like such a small amount that she feared it wouldn’t be enough. But Irial sucked in a deeper breath and her eyes fluttered open. She gave Neala a weak smile.
“Ye can let me up. I’m all right,” she said.
Hearing her voice closed Neala’s throat and brought tears to her eyes. Before today it had felt like nothing could touch them, like they were invincible. Surrounded by so much blood and death, it no longer felt that way. Any one of them could have died. Concern pushed back the curtain of her exhaustion as she sat back to let Irial up. Dust kicked up next to them as Bren approached, Ciara held in his arms.
Leaping up, Neala brushed Ciara’s hair away from her bloody forehead. There was a long , wicked gash down the side of her face and her eyes were closed, but she was breathing. The pinched expression on Bren’s face made Neala wonder if he was regretful or in pain.
A grunt of effort drew her attention back to Irial. Reaching down, she helped Irial to her feet, clinging to her out of more than a need for physical support. When Irial stepped away to embrace Liam, Neala found herself swaying on her feet. A powerful dizziness sw
ept over her. Something warm trickled down the back of her arm. The acrid, oddly sweet scent of death suddenly became too much and Neala feared she may retch again. She tried breathing through her mouth but it only left an awful coating on her tongue that made it worse. The world swayed.
“Ye’re hurt,” Donal said.
He grabbed her hands and steadied her as he leaned around to get a better look at her arm. The memory of getting cut during the fight came flooding back. It stung when he turned her arm over but it was a dull pain. Something about that worried her. It should have hurt more.
“That’s bad,” Liam said as he and Irial approached.
“Come on, we should get ye to a healer,” Irial said.
“Níl, Ciara first,” Neala said with a shake of her head.
Lips pursing, Irial gave her a stern look. “Don’t ye worry, she’s being seen to.”
The concern in her friend’s eyes made her worry. The wound must be a lot worse than it felt. With the battle still screaming through her veins it was hard to feel much of anything. Irial took her hand and she and Donal led her away from the field of dead bodies. Neala had never been so happy to leave a place behind her. The sight waiting for her wasn’t much better though.
The healer druids were at the base of the cliff near the mouth of the valley working on the wounded. There were so many bleeding and dying, many more than there were healers. As they grew closer, Neala thought she saw one of the members of her fiann lying very still among some of the others. She had known there would be casualties but it still knocked the air out of her to see them. Members of her Order could be among them. That thought was more than she could bear. Her knees gave out.
Before she could hit the ground Donal scooped her up into his arms. He smelled like blood and sweat but she didn’t care because beneath it he still smelled like pine and horse, like Donal.
To Ride A Púca Page 28
