MacEagan poured the wine and handed one of the goblets to Jenna. She took it, but stared down into the well of purple liquid without drink-ing. She felt as if she wanted to cry, but her eyes were almost painfully dry. "I don't feel much like celebrating," she said.
"I'm sorry you feel that way, Jenna. Truthfully."
She glanced up; there was genuine empathy in his face, a distress that carved deeper the lines around his eyes. "I realize I can’t ever fill the void Ennis left in you, perhaps one day someone will. But I do promise that in the meantime won’t make the emptiness larger."
"What does that mean?"
He sat on the bed near her, leaving a hand’s width between them-When she moved away, he remained where he was. "It means that stand with you even if others won’t. The truth is, when the time comes finally choose sides-and it’s coming sooner than anyone except perhaps Aithne, Kianna, and I believe-neither you nor I know where the final lines will be drawn and who will stand where. People do strange things when they think it’s to their advantage, or when it seems to be the only course they can take."
"Like marrying someone they barely know."
The corner of his lips twitched; it might have been a smile. "That’s one example, aye. You began a new age when you woke the clochs na thintri, Jenna. We still don’t know the rules of it yet, or how it will change us. We only know that it will change us." He lifted his goblet. "So would you drink with me? To the future beyond the Filleadh."
Jenna felt the infant stir within her, a fluttering deep in her stomach. She wondered what kind of world the child would be coming into. Not one I thought a child of mine would have a year ago, nor one I would have chosen. .
"To the future," she said.
The clink of the goblets touching gilded rims seemed as loud as the crash of a closing door.
"I'M so scared," she'd admitted to MacEagan that morning. "1 don't know if we can stop them." She didn't mention Thraisha's dream, which had haunted her more and more in the last few weeks: the images of death and loss. She hadn't mentioned that to anyone, but she felt the certainty of it, more firmly each day. She felt as if she were walking a path that was already set for her, unable to turn aside or change it. Part of her, at least, was already reconciled to the inevitability of failure.
The first signs of the coming battle were the white sails on the horizon beyond the arms of the Inner Harbor, well out in Dun Kiil Bay.
They knew the armada was coming from Falcarragh-their own fast scout ships had come scurrying back as soon as the fleet had been sighted. The first battle of the war had already been fought and lost: the much smaller fleet of Inish Thuaidh had engaged the enemy as soon as it rounded Falcarragh Head and turned west toward the island. The tattered remnants of the Inish fleet-five ships of twelve oars, one of twenty: their rams broken, their single sails torn, the hulls dark with smoke and blood-had landed at the end of An Ceann Caol a week ago; an exhausted courier had staggered into the keep with the news two nights afterward.
And now the sails could be seen in the morning light.
Jenna stood in the golden dawn with MacEagan, Aithne, Kianna Ciomhsog, and Ri MacBradaigh.
They gathered on the south tower, gazing out over the town, the bay, and the sea. The wind was laden with the scent o salt and fish. Soon, Jenna suspected, the primary smell would be the cop-pery odor of death.
The sails. . Jenna could count at least twenty of them; more seemed to appear every few minutes. "Forty oars, at least two hundred troops on each," MacEagan said, answering the unasked question. "Perhaps a few less than they started out with, if our ships were at all successful in ram-ming and sinking theirs. But I imagine that we’re looking at a force of up to ten thousand men."
Ten thousand… It seemed an inconceivable number. It seemed even more inconceivable to imagine such a horde in battle.
Everyone glanced down from the ramparts to Dun Kiil itself. The town bristled with troops and weapons. Officers shouted orders to trained gardai as well as conscripts from the surrounding lands. The town steamed with the smokes of the forges, the smithies hammering out weapons even as the invaders approached. Catapults sat on the harbor front and out on the headlands, ready to hurl fiery boulders at the RI Ard’s ships as they approached.
But there were not ten thousand here. There was less than half that.
"How many Clochs Mor do they have?" Kianna Ciomhsog asked. The bantiarna’s sword was already unsheathed, clenched in a muscular hand. Her bright red hair hung braided and long, shimmering against the dull leather armor around her torso. Aithne shrugged.
"The runner said that the captains claimed there were at least three single hands of them used during the sea battle. But that could be an exaggeration."
Or an undercount. . None of them would say it. Jenna remembered the night of the Filleadh and the power she had unleashed. Three double hands of Cloch Mors were opened then. . MacEagan had one, as did Aithne, Moister Cleurach, Ennis’ friend Mundy and one other Brathair of the Order. One single hand. The Ri Ard could have two double hands and more.
One of them, she was certain, would be Aron O Dochartaigh. He would be out there, as would Mac Ard and the Tanaise Rig, Nevan O Liathain..
Ironic, isn’t it, how firmly you turned the little bastard down when he offered you marriage. Won’t he be amused to find you married here, when you
could have been the Tanaise Banrion, to one day be Banrion Ard. .
So much would have been different, if she'd accepted. She might never have met Ennis again, but he would be alive. She would never have gone to Thall Coill, and Seancoim would still be walking in Doire Coill with Denmark on his shoulder. Maybe that would be better.
You can't go back and change any of it. That's not within even Lamh Shabhala's power.
"We should retreat now," Rl MacBradaigh muttered, staring down at his troops. The Ri's eyes were wide as he turned to look back at the others gathered with him, and his dry white hair was wild in the wind "w could leave a small force here to hold them back and give us time to rejoin the families we've already sent back to the mountains." He looked from one to another of them, as if searching their faces for some agreement Jenna turned away so she didn't have to see him. "Doesn't that make sense?" he asked. "We could carry them from the mountains, cut them down bit by bit when it was safe, maybe find a better place to make a stand, maybe even Sliabh Mlchinniuint again…"
"Which we'll do if it becomes necessary," Aithne told him, speaking to him like a stern parent to a misbehaving child. "Not all of them will land here. And none of their Holders are trained cloudmages, nor do they have Lamh Shabhala." Jenna felt everyone look to her with that pronounce-ment.