S Farrell - Holder of Lightning

"Throw him over the side," she said to the garda. "Toss him in the water."

Ennis started to protest, and the Banrion chuckled. "You surprise me, Holder. A slow drowning rather than a quick death…"

"Do it!" she told the garda, with a look of warning to Ennis. Ennis let go of the man and the garda pushed him toward the railing. He glanced back at Jenna as the captain stared down at the cold water rushing by. "Go on," Jenna told him.

The garda pushed hard at the captain’s back. He tumbled over the side. The Banrion took a step to

the rail and glanced down. Already the man was behind the boat, thrashing at the waves, gasping as the frigid water leeched the strength from his body. "Well, that's done," she said. "Holder, Moister… " She moved away, gesturing to the new captain.

Jenna stood with eyes half-closed, watching and listening through the cloch. A trio of Saimhoir were close by: Thraisha was not with them, but Garrentha was. Go to him, she whispered in the voice of the stone, know-ing the seal would hear her. Keep him alive and take him to the other ships.

In her head, there was a warble of acknowledgment from Garrentha.

She released Lamh Shabhala, gasping as the pain came to her fully, forcing herself to take slow, deep breaths. Moister Cleurach looked at her, hefting Stormbringer in his hand. Ennis gave her a concerned frown, and nodded.

"This will be the last Cloch Mor we take alone," she told them. "They’ll know now that one Cloch Mor isn't enough against Lamh Shabhala, and they won't make that mistake again." For a moment, she felt she could glimpse the future, and it was dark and bloody. She watched the sails behind them and felt the touch of dread. Jenna rubbed at her dead, cold arm as if she could scrub away the marks there. The pain ripped from hand to shoulder and into her chest. Her body trembled with it; she closed her eyes and clenched her jaw to keep from crying out. Ennis rushed over and took her in his arms and she let herself relax into his grasp, allowing him hold her up. When the worst of the spasms passed, she pulled away from his embrace and looked at the ships of the tuatha again, growing smaller in the distance.

"I don't know that we can survive when they all come," she said.

Chapter 42: Dun Kiil

LAR Bhaile and the Rls Keep were more magnificent. Ath Iseal was larger. Ballintubber

seemed more inviting.

At first glance, Dun Kiil was a gray town on a gray mountainside be-yond gray water. Jenna knew the impression was unfair-the weather had gone to drizzle by the time they reached the seat of Inish Thuaidh and the clouds were a landscape of unbroken, featureless slate overhead. The bright colors of the doors and the flowery window boxes were muted, and most of the people in the streets were intent on getting to their desti-nations and out of the weather.

The keep dripped. Jenna could hear the rhythmic, echoing splat of water striking the stone flags, as if the gods were keeping time to the Ri’s welcoming speech.

Ri Ionhar MacBradaigh of Inish Thuaidh was not an impressive speaker or an impressive man. His complexion was pallid, his voice mild, his physique potbellied and flabby. Jenna could understand why they called him the Shadow Ri behind his back; already it had been made clear to her that the true negotiations would take place with the Banrion and the Comhairle of Tiarna. It was also clear to her that the alliance of the Inishlander Riocha was a fragile thing that might-and often did-break apart at any moment. Already, half a dozen of the tiarna and bantiarna to whom she’d been introduced had leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially to her that they wished to speak with her in private, intimating that they were the true power behind the throne. There was Kyle Mac-Eagan of Be an Mhuilinn, short of stature and wide of girth, but whose eyes blazed with a sharp intelligence and piercing awareness; Bantiarna Kianna Ciomhsog of An Cnocan, a dark-haired woman whose beauty and grace was still untouched in her third decade, and who, Ennis whispered in Jenna’s ear, was the match of any of the men with a sword.

There was also Aron O Dochartaigh of Rubha na Scarbh, whose cheeks were as flaming red as his hair and who towered a full head above Ennis. He was also Banrion Aithne’s brother, and the da of Banrion Cianna. He glared at Jenna with undisguised animosity, and she knew that she already had at least one open enemy in the court.

There were other rulers of other townlands among the thirteen chief-tains of the Comhairle whose names had already slipped Jenna’s memory. They stood before the throne, watching her as the

Rl spoke and the rain dripped through the roof of Dun Kiil Keep. Behind the Comhairle stood the minor Riocha and the ceil giallnai-a hundred or more people gath-ered under the cold, seeping stone vaults of the keep.

After the first day, Jenna was already weary of the politics and begin-ning to despair of the chances of the Inishlanders' ability to hold off a concerted attack. Moister Cleurach must have sensed her thoughts, for he inclined his head toward her through the Ri's droning speech. "We Inishlanders come together quick enough against a common foe, First Holder," he said. "And when there's no outside foe, we make do with ourselves."

"… and so we bid welcome to the First Holder, who has brought Lamh Shabhala back to Inish Thuaidh, where it belongs." The Rl finished with a nodding bow to Jenna, and there was polite applause from the gathered Riocha. Aron O Dochartaigh made no pretense at all: he simply glowered.

The Rl stepped down from the steps of the throne as servants began to circulate through the room with trays of drinks and appetizers. The sound of conversation obliterated the softer tink of falling droplets. The Rl ap-proached Jenna, Ennis, and Moister Cleurach, and Jenna curtsied. "No, no," Ionhar clucked, lifting her back up. He smiled, and Jenna had a sense that this was a gentle man, someone who would be more comfortable with a book or a goblet of wine in his hand than a sword. His hands were soft and uncallused; the hands of a scholar, nor a warrior. Under the rich cloth of his cloca and leine, the muscles of his arm sagged.

'I should be bowing to you, Holder, since it's through you that the Banrion was returned to me. Such awful treachery, and from someone I trusted." He shook his oiled and well-coifed head. "This is an ill omen, I'm afraid. I would like to speak with you at length, Holder. Your tale, what I've heard of it, is a strange one, and I thought-"

"You thought that you would keep the Holder from her well-deserved rest, my dear?" Banrion Aithne came up behind Ionhar in a rustle of silk "This has been a long and difficult day for her. The tale should wait for another time, I think. Besides, I wanted to steal Lady Aoire away for a bit and thank her myself. I have a gift for her."

Aithne, smiling, detached Jenna from the Ri's attention, leaving Ennis and Moister Cleurach still talking with the man. Ennis' gaze followed her as she moved away, her arm through the Banrion's as the older woman escorted her through the throng in the Hall. It wasn't only Ennis who watched; Jenna could feel the gathered nobility's appraising eyes on them. The Banrion maneuvered them to a small door hidden in an alcove. A garda stood there; silent, he opened the door for them, closing it again behind them. Jenna found herself in a smaller, comfortable chamber, the air warm with a blazing fire in the hearth and bright tapestries covering the walls with golds, reds, and browns.

In the room, also, were Kyle MacEagan and Kianna Ciomhsog. The two flanked the fireplace. MacEagan nodded his head to Jenna; Bantiarna Kianna simply lifted her glass goblet. "Would you like some wine, Banti-arna Aoire?" the woman asked.

"That title doesn't fit a common sheepherder from Ballintubber," Jenna said. "I'm not Riocha, Lady. Please call me Jenna, or Holder, if you prefer."