Beneath the Forsaken City (19 page)

They reined in their horses
near the edge of the forest, and Aine dismounted quickly, desperate for a distraction. She took her entire satchel this time, unsure how many herbs she would gather, but before she could make it more than a few steps, Uallas took the pack from her hand. “Allow me.”

Aine nodded and kept walking, aware that he kept pace a half step behind. The guards dismounted with their bows and spread out, keeping a close eye on their surroundings. Their vigilance scraped her nerves raw. Did the men think they might come under attack? Had Aron become so dangerous they feared ambush a mere two or three leagues from Forrais, within sight of the keep’s towers?

As soon as they reached the edge of the forest, Aine spun to face Uallas. “Explain.”

Uallas lowered himself onto a fallen log, but she remained standing, her arms crossed over her chest. A slight smile twitched at his lips. “Men are drawn to you, my lady.”

This
was what he wanted to talk about? She waved a hand. “Aye, I know. Alsandair’s heir, extensive wealth. No doubt if
it were not for the little problem of me being married, Lady Macha would already be flooded with suits for my hand.”

“Don’t think she isn’t already.” That hint of humor surfaced again. “You would certainly be an attractive wife for what you brought to the marriage. But that’s not what I mean. Men seem to lose themselves around you”
 
—he held up a hand before she could protest
 
—“and not in the way you imagine.

“Look at them out there.” He nodded back toward the guards. “They met you this morning, yet they’re behaving as though they’ve devoted their entire lives to your service.”

“That’s their job,” Aine said slowly, but she couldn’t deny that their behavior was odd.

“How did you make your way alone to Forrais?”

“I had help. Three mercenaries rescued me and brought me home.”

“For what gain?”

“No gain.” Hadn’t she herself thought that was strange, that the mercenaries had taken her all the way to Forrais? Aye, Taran had said Comdiu had sent him, but he’d been willing to kill a landed lord to protect her secret. Even more telling, he’d given up his plans of revenge for her.

“You’re beginning to see now,” Uallas said. “Whenever you were in need, someone stepped forward to assist you. To protect you.”

Her heart rose into her throat. When she’d mapped the wards on the Siomaigh front, the men had looked upon her as a sister to be protected, despite their commander’s fears. Then there had been Lorcan’s unflagging devotion from the day she’d taken him into her service. Keondric’s sacrifice. Hadn’t even Lia noticed how Diocail reacted to her that first day in the practice yard? She sank
to the log beside Uallas, her hand grasping at her chest as if it could release the band around it.

“Aine, breathe.” Uallas gripped her shoulder and shook her. It snapped her out of her panic and made her suck in a deep breath.

“It’s true. I never saw.” She raised her eyes to his. “Then you know that what you’re feeling is just a product of whatever
this
is.”

“There are worse things.” He reached out and brushed a strand of hair from her shoulder, then leaned forward the barest degree, as if testing.

Aine jumped up before he could do any more. “No. You mustn’t. I don’t understand what I’m doing, but I do not mean to give you the impression I would welcome your attentions.”

Uallas glanced up at her, repressed laughter playing at the corners of his eyes and mouth. “You don’t have that effect on me, my lady. Not since I became aware of it.”

That was even worse. He’d almost kissed her because he wanted to, because he wanted to see if she would allow it. “What do I do?”

His amusement faded. “You must be careful. You must learn to control it. Barring that, you must learn to use it wisely. Your aunt already fears you. If she learned you can command men with your very presence
 
—”

“But they only feel compelled to protect me!”

“It would simply take a few words to convince the men that Lady Macha was endangering your life.”

He was right. And should Macha think Aine was swaying men to her cause, her life
would
be in danger. The clan chief would not hesitate to strike quickly and directly. Aine pressed her hands to her face. Why was this happening to her? Why had Comdiu given her this gift? Despite the problems it could cause, it was undoubtedly a gift.

Uallas’s eyes widened. She twisted and followed his gaze just
as something whizzed by her and embedded in the tree trunk behind them. An arrow.

“Get down!” Uallas leapt to his feet and pushed her to the ground, drawing his sword in the same swift movement. Aine hit the dirt hard, knocking the wind from her lungs. Before she could comprehend what was happening, an arrow sprouted from Uallas’s chest. He sank slowly to his knees.

“Ambush!” Aine screamed. “Help us!” She pulled Uallas to the ground and threw herself over him, making them as small a target as she could while another arrow sailed over her head. Shouts and footfalls neared, joined by the rapid thrum of bowstrings. Uallas shuddered and gasped beneath her.

“Hold on,” she whispered. “Don’t you dare die on me now. Not when it’s my fault.”

Uallas gave a gurgling laugh. “I told you your power doesn’t work on me.” He coughed, and blood splattered from his lips.

Outside the narrow tunnel of her vision, she heard approaching footfalls. She grabbed for Uallas’s fallen sword.

“My lady, it’s us. You’re safe.”

Oisean. Relief flooded her as Lachaidh and Roidh stepped up behind him. “Did you get them?”

“No, my lady.” Oisean’s expression darkened. “But they’re gone now.”

Uallas coughed, drawing her attention back to the man on the ground beside her. Unlike the others, he wasn’t wearing a breastplate. The arrow protruded from his ribs several inches below his heart, likely puncturing his lungs. A blessing, that, or she wouldn’t have time to do anything.

“Help me,” she said. “We need to get the arrow out.”

Lachaidh knelt beside her and surveyed the location. “He’ll bleed to death, my lady. If he doesn’t suffocate first.”

“Trust me, Lachaidh. I can save him. But you must do what I say. Break the fletching and push it out through the back.”

Lachaidh didn’t look convinced, but he nodded and gestured to Roidh. “Roll him onto his side.” He looked at Uallas. “This is going to hurt.”

“Compared to the pleasant sensation right now?” Uallas forced a smile, but by the glassy look in his eyes, Aine could tell he was fading fast. When Roidh rolled him to his side, a pool of blood stained the earth.

“Are you sure about this?” Lachaidh asked.

“He’s going to die anyway. Do it, and quickly.”

Lachaidh grimaced, but he snapped off the arrow, eliciting a deep groan from Uallas. When he gripped the shaft and forced it out through the back, Uallas screamed.

“Almost over,” she whispered, gripping the lord’s hand. “You must endure a bit longer.”

“It’s out.” Lachaidh held up the bloody arrow. “If you’re going to do something, do it now. He’s got a minute, maybe two.”

And in a minute or two, my fate at Forrais will be sealed.

Aine gestured for Roidh to lay Uallas back down. Then she stripped off her gloves and laid her hands on his chest, focusing on the wounds.
Close. Heal. Please, Comdiu, don’t let him die. Let this work.

But as seconds ticked by, Uallas’s body slackened and his eyes drifted closed. Tears pricked her eyes. She had been too late. “It didn’t work. I was so sure . . .”

Then a shuddering breath racked Uallas. His eyes snapped open. “What happened?”

Relief took the strength from her legs, and she thunked to the ground beside him. “You almost died, you foolish man.” With trembling fingers, she unbuttoned his jacket and pushed up his shirt. The flesh beneath showed only a faint pink scar.

“Blessed Comdiu,” Oisean murmured. “What did you do?”

She didn’t look away from Uallas’s stunned gaze. “I have more than one gift, my lord.”

Uallas’s hand gripped hers. “Thank you.”

She disentangled her hand and looked at each of the men in turn. She hadn’t wanted to use either of her gifts, and now she had been forced to exercise both. So be it. “I don’t need to tell you what this means for me. If anyone finds out what happened here, my life will be in danger. You cannot tell anyone.”

The men slowly nodded their agreement, though they didn’t seem pleased about it.

“Your life is already in danger.” Uallas pushed himself to a sitting position and held up the broken end of the arrow, fletched with a familiar feather pattern. Her heart sank in recognition even before he said the words.

“Our ambushers were from Forrais.”

Eoghan trudged toward the meeting place,
preparing himself. He hadn’t spoken with Liam since the revelation in the Hall of Prophecies, and the Ceannaire had been content to leave him to wrestle with his thoughts in peace.

As had Comdiu. Perhaps the Almighty didn’t appreciate that his lowly servant was angry with Him.

Eoghan wasn’t angry, though. Not really. It wouldn’t do any good if he were. He’d chosen a life at Ard Dhaimhin when he committed himself to the leadership of the brotherhood. He’d taken one possible avenue Comdiu had offered him
 
—to train Conor as his apprentice
 
—knowing full well it meant that his friend would leave the High City in his place.

Apparently Liam had decided Eoghan had sulked long enough, because he’d summoned him to the practice yard where the elder brothers and the Conclave sometimes trained in private. But when Eoghan reached the clearing, he found only Liam, working through his sword drills alone, one impressive form after another.

Conor had been extraordinarily talented, truly. How else could he have gone from a weakling to one of the brotherhood’s
most skilled warriors in only three years? Even so, watching Liam now, Eoghan knew Conor shouldn’t have been able to beat the Ceannaire. Comdiu had surely orchestrated Conor’s release from the brotherhood, just as it seemed Comdiu had determined Eoghan would never leave.

Liam turned and broke off his form.

“You summoned me?” Eoghan asked.

Sweating but still breathing easily, Liam nodded and crossed to where several weapons lay on a flat rock. He selected a blunt sword and tossed it to his apprentice.

Eoghan automatically caught it by the grip, the movement pulling at his healing flesh.

“Still in pain?”

“Not much. Well enough to train. Well enough to fight.”

“Good. I’m giving you a céad.”

Eoghan paused in the middle of an experimental stroke with the sword. “Sir?”

“Only to train. Not to lead. When the battle comes to Carraigmór, I’ll expect you to be safely behind walls.”

Eoghan lowered the weapon. “I’m no coward, Master Liam. I can fight.”

Liam put up his own sword and moved closer. “I know. It is not for your sake that I ask this; it’s for the safety of the brotherhood. You remember what I said when I showed you the chamber?”

“Keondric must not be allowed to access it. You think he will try to force you to let him in.”

“He will try. He will fail. And then he will not hesitate to torture the name of my successor from the other men. Your identity will not remain secret for long.”

“What happens if I’m killed? I haven’t chosen a successor yet.”

“I don’t know,” Liam said. “It’s never been a question. Perhaps
anyone could gain access. Or no one. Either scenario would be just as disastrous as allowing Keondric in. When the fighting starts, I will lock you inside the chamber. It is the only way to be sure you and the Hall remain safe.”

Eoghan exhaled a long, heavy breath. “It feels wrong. You taught me never to run from a fight.”

“I also taught you to be strategic and think of the larger purpose behind your actions. By protecting yourself, protecting our secrets, you ensure the safety of Seare. Will you do what I ask?”

Obey.

Eoghan closed his eyes for a brief moment. Of course now Comdiu chose to speak to him. He opened his eyes and raised his sword. “I will obey.”’

“Good. Now let’s see how much your loafing has slowed you down.”

Eoghan fought a laugh. “You should not test me.”

“And you should have less confidence in your youth.”

Eoghan’s smile broke out at the first ring of metal and then faded again when he thought of the one question he should have asked: “How long do we have until they arrive?”

“I don’t know,” Liam said, sobering. “I just know they’re coming.”

Eoghan moved toward the practice yard where he was to meet his new céad, adjusting the buckle of the sword baldric he had checked out from the armory. Before, the céads had been arranged by age and ability for younger boys, by skill set and function for full brothers. Since Riordan had returned with news of Keondric’s mounting army, however, the Conclave had begun reassigning men into fighting units under battle captains. What that meant for Eoghan’s céad, considering he had been forbidden to fight,
he didn’t know. He had just been instructed to evaluate his céad’s readiness and bring up weak skills as quickly as possible.

As he entered the training yard where his hundred men gathered, Eoghan faltered. They were boys, not men. The oldest couldn’t have seen more than fourteen years, the youngest perhaps ten or eleven. Faces turned toward him, expectant, waiting for orders. These boys, too young to be sent out on patrol or trusted with guard duty at the fortress, would now be called upon to fight, perhaps die. Even worse, they might be required to kill boys even younger than themselves. Was this what the brotherhood had been reduced to? Sending boys to do a man’s job?

No, this was not Liam’s choice. It was Niall’s or Keondric’s or whatever he chose to call himself at the moment. The druid would not hesitate to kill the young ones.

Hence Eoghan’s charge to ensure their readiness for battle.

Pushing down his creeping sense of sickness, he faced them and made his expression stern. “I am Brother Eoghan, your new céad leader. You will show me what you’ve learned. Positions.”

Instantly the boys spaced themselves with military precision, practice swords in hand.

“First form,” he barked, and they simultaneously took the first position.

His eyebrows arched upward in surprise. They were young, not particularly strong, but they were well-trained, even by Fíréin standards. He was obviously not taking over an existing céad as he thought but rather one that had been newly formed of the most talented novices and young apprentices.

Eoghan took them through their sword drills at a fast clip, pushing them, looking for weaknesses. By the time he broke them into pairs, his pessimism had faded some. Young they might be, but they possessed a gravity, a maturity, that made him think they had spent most of their lives at Ard Dhaimhin.

He wove through the group as they sparred with their wooden swords, making minor corrections. He stopped beside a pair to watch the smaller of the two. At first glance, Eoghan had dismissed the redheaded boy as the youngest and weakest of the group. Now he saw he handled the sword with the ease of a much older student.

They disengaged and stepped back when Eoghan approached.

Eoghan directed his attention to the younger one. “What is your name, boy?”

“Breann, my lord . . . I mean, sir.”

“My lord? You were raised in the kingdoms.”

“Aye, my l
 
—sir. Faolán.”

“How long have you been here?”

“Two months and a bit, sir.”

“What’s your clan name?”

“I have renounced my clan ties, sir. I am sworn to the brotherhood now.”

Eoghan studied Breann for a moment. Educated, certainly, and with a good grasp of the politics of such a place, even if Ard Dhaimhin differed from the kingdoms. He was clearly a bright boy.

“Very well, Breann. It’s clear you have been trained. Care to have a go with me?”

A cautious smile spread over his face. “Aye, sir.”

“Your guard.”

Breann moved into a respectable guard position while Eoghan drew his sword. The boy’s eyes darted to the weapon’s sharpened edge and then returned to his eyes. Good. He wouldn’t freeze when faced with the real thing. Of course he also trusted that Eoghan, his instructor, wouldn’t harm him.

Eoghan started slowly, and the boy met each strike confidently, countering with ease. Eoghan continued to trade strikes
and parries, gradually increasing the pressure until the boy was working harder and harder to keep up. Then, in one swift movement, he disarmed the boy and set the flat of his sword against his neck.

“Well done, Breann.”

“I lost, sir. I would be dead now.”

Eoghan withdrew his blade and looked at the students who had gathered around them to watch. “This is no longer play, boys. There will come a time when you will be facing a man with a real sword who wants nothing more than to kill you.”

Their expressions sobered and a few shifted uncomfortably. “You are young. You do not yet have a man’s strength. That means you must use what you have: energy, speed, intelligence. You must be smarter than your opponent.”

“How do we do that?” one of the younger boys asked.

Eoghan smiled and looked from face to face. He had them now. “I will teach you.”