S Farrell - Holder of Lightning

Smoke was beginning to drift over Dun Kiil, laden with the scent of charred wood and the burning oil; curtains of driving rain obscured the bay. A constant roar dinned in her ears, the wordless cry of the massed thousands. Kianna Ciomhsog raised her sword a hundred yards away, her mouth opened as she shouted something to the troops; Ri MacBradaigh was with her, a sword clutched in his hand also, though its point dragged the ground at

"Jenna, it’s time." MacEagan’s hand closed around his Cloch Mor. He nodded to her. "I’ll be with you."

Jenna took Lamh Shabhala in her right hand.

She sent her mind into the cloch.

The world faded about her for a moment, then the doubled vision of the cloch-world came to her, brilliant and saturated. Jenna gasped in won-der and terror-so many clochs, so many points of brilliance set like burning suns about her: at least twenty of the Clochs Mor, and dozen upon dozens of the clochmion as well, faint pinpricks against the glory of their powerful cousins.

Some of them she knew, their colors and shapes familiar: Ennis’ cloch wielded by Mac Ard; Aron O Dochartaigh, the nameless tiarna with the Cloch of the mage-demon. Nevan O Liathain was out there, and other tiarna she had met at Lar Bhaile. They were out there, and they were aware of her as well-she could feel their minds turn as the greater sun of Lamh Shabhala rose.

They saw her. The first attack came before she could draw breath.

A wave seemed to tower in front of her, a surging surf of green whose crest glowed white. It loomed high, ready to fall like an immense tower down on her. She could feel the inexperience of the Holder behind the cloch’s attack-there were holes in the wall of energy before her. With near contempt, Jenna shaped Lamh Shabhala’s power, gathered up the wave, and threw it back to its source. The emerald wave crashed over one of the ships just entering the Inner Harbor; a thin, single scream cut through the noise of the rising battle. The Mage had squandered all the energy in the cloch in one flurry, and Lamh Shabhala greedily sucked it out, emptying the cloch utterly and spitting it back over the ship. More screams came, this time from the people around the Holder; the lumines-cence that had marked the cloch’s position vanished like a snuffed candle.

One. .

The Clochs Mor of Inish Thuaidh were alive now, attacking on their own, and Jenna realized that no matter how much she might have disliked Moister Cleurach’s tutelage, the quality of the Order’s

teaching showed. The Inishlander cloudmages were superior to any of the Tuathian Mages-she saw Mundy Kirwan's cloch open and tendrils of blue-green death streak outward across the water, thrusting aside the defenses of two Clochs Mor and smashing into one of the ships, its touch setting the hull afire as the boat capsized. Most of the Tuathian Mages were inexperienced, their handling of the mage-light's power awkward and tentative. For the first time, Jenna began to have some hope.

Sudden flights of arrows arced from the bay, a thousand barbs streaking down through the smoke, surprising Jenna with their suddenness, and Jenna barely managed to throw a shadow of Lamh Shabhala’s power toward them. The arrows closest to her burst into flame and went to drifting ash, but those to either side did not and soldiers fell, screaming in pain or silent in death. The assault brought back to Jenna the realization that it would not be the clochs only that won this battle. Even Lamh Shabhala couldn't stand alone against an army.

And not all the clochs had entered the fray.

A shout went up from the western end of the harbor-the first of the Tuathian ships had landed, the soldiers on it swarming out to be met by Kianna Ciomhsog and her vanguard. The caointeoireacht na cogadh-the war-keening-burst from their throats as they charged. Jenna heard the first clash of steel on steel as men rushed past her, moving toward the battle. Another ship landed; a second mass of arrows was launched hiss-ing through the air; again, Jenna spent a tithe of Lamh Shabhala’s energy to destroy those raining down toward her.

"Jenna!" she heard MacEagan call. "Fall back!

Keep yourself behind our troops." She felt MacEagan's arm on hers, and she allowed him to pull her back through the press of soldiers until they stood in the shadow of the tavern. His face was drawn, his hand white around the cloch. His eyes closed and he groaned, staggering, and in her cloch-vision, Jenna saw the fire-creature recoil as a thicket of glowing spears thrust into its torso.

Through the smoke at the edge of the harbor front, Jenna saw a banner °f green and brown appear, waving above a troop of mailed knights not thirty yards away. Then the smoke obscured them as a squadron of Inishlander troops rushed past Jenna toward them.

The mage-demon appeared in the air over the harbor front, tendrils of smoke writhing about it like a mad cloak. It shrieked, its head seeming search the city, then it folded its wings and fell toward Jenna.

From there, what little vestige of order remained disintegrated into chaos, and Jenna was too busy to see what happened anywhere but in front of her.

The demon fell upon them, claws and horrible mouth open in fury Jenna sent a pulse of energy toward it, nearly too late: a taloned hand slashed air so close to her face that she felt the wind of its passage. The creature slammed into the wall of the tavern, timbers cracking and stone walls tumbling in. Splintered wood and sharp fragments of shattered stone splattered over Jenna; she ducked instinctively, raising her left hand to protect her face.

The mage-creature howled in rage and pain, leather wings lashing as part of the roof collapsed and dust rose in a gray pall. It stalked out of the ruin, thrusting aside shattered roof beams, as Jenna stood again. She sent her mind into the well of the cloch, sending arcing bolts of energy toward the beast. It howled and screamed as they struck and went down to its knees. Jenna prepared a second strike, knowing that alone the creature couldn’t survive against Lamh Shabhala. But it was not alone, suddenly.

Behind you. .! She could hear the scream of a chorus of ancient Holders in her head.

Light flared in her cloch-vision, slashing toward her from two direc-tions within the Inner Harbor: firebolts accompanied by streaks of azure lighting, both of them all too familiar to Jenna: Mac Ard and Aron O Dochartaigh. Cursing, Jenna brought the energy she’d gathered to bear on the new attack: mage-power exploded so near her that she was thrown back, landing on the paving stones with a grunt, her cloca torn and skin scraped away on her left arm and side. Almost, she lost her grip on Lamh Shabhala; the cloch-vision shuddered, blinked, then returned. The demon pulled itself erect again. .

… but a form of molten rock hurtled past in front of Jenna, colliding with the demon with a screech of rage; MacEagan, somewhere close by, shouted in unison with the creature. A fury surged through her, overlaid with the memory of Aron’s murder of

Ennis. She reached out with Lamh Shabhala, rushing back along the lines radiating from Aron’s cloch with the full force of her own cloch. But two additional clochs had joined in the attack; Jenna felt an unseen force drape around her; where it touched, it clung like a stinging spider's web. The net constricted, pulling tighter, and she had to divert some of the force of Lamh Shabhala to push it back and allow herself to breathe. At the same moment, she felt the touch of cloch on her mind. There was disconcerting sense of invasion, then it went away.

. and Ennis was standing before her, smiling, his hands out. "Ennis. ." Jenna breathed. Ennis, still smiling, raised a sword that ap-peared impossibly in his hands and slashed at her. She fell back, raising her left hand, and the blade cut deep in her forearm, opening a long wound through which bone shone white for a moment before blood poured from the gaping cut. The blade finished its diagonal slice at her hip, opening a shallower wound along her right side. The strike intended for Aron O Dochartaigh went wild, vanishing as she lost control of the power. Ennis was still smiling as he raised the sword-dripping red along its keen edge-once more.