A shout of rage, the tendons standing out like ropes in her neck: Jenna let the power surge from the cloch. A torrent of agony rushed from the cloch, through her arm and into her body, and she threw that torment outward with a scream as light flared from her hand. The searing bolt lifted the garda from his feet and slammed him backward into the wall, lightning crackling madly about his frame. The wood cracked and shat-tered beneath the force of the blow, mingling with the cracking of bones; the body dropped to the floor like a rag doll, neck and spine broken, the wall blackened and smoldering behind him.
The echo of thunder rumbled in Jenna's ears and faded. In the sudden quiet, she could hear O'Deoradhain groan as he pushed himself to his feet, Jenna was breathing heavily, her body shaking. She stared at the garda's mangled body. The eyes were still open; they gazed at her as if in accusation. "I'm sorry…" she whispered to the corpse.
" That is what makes me think you still need to learn how to use your cloch, Holder," O'Deoradhain said. That near-contempt in his voice snapped her head around. His left arm dangled uselessly, the quarrel from the crossbow protruding from his
shoulder and dark blood staining the arm. His right hand still held his dagger, dripping red. He went to the corpse of Labras and wiped the blade on the garda’s clothing. He turned to Jenna, sheathing the dagger. "Your other men are coming," he contin-ued, "and I don’t have time to talk." He was right; she could feel them rushing toward the house from their stations. "I’m not your enemy. They may be."
Jenna shook her head; she could feel nothing in the others but concern and fear for their own well-being if she’d been hurt. She wished she’d taken the same precaution with Labras and his friend. "No," she told him. "They’re loyal."
"To you, perhaps. Me, they’ll kill."
"Stay, O’Deoradhain. You’re right. We need to talk."
They could hear the first of the gardai rush into the house. O’Deoradhain went to the window and glanced down. He put a leg over the sill. "Then come with me."
There were footsteps pounding the stairs. "O’Deoradhain!" Jenna called. "Wait."
His shook his head. "Meet me below Ri’s Market at Deer Creek-third bell, two days from now." She could have stopped him. She could have reached out with Lamh Shabhala and held him with the cloch’s energy-or crushed him like you did the garda. . Jenna lifted her hand but rather than reaching out with the power, she pushed it back, closing Lamh Shabhala. O’Deoradhain slid over the windowsill, grimacing as he tried to maneuver with one hand. He lowered himself slowly down, until all Jenna could see was his right hand, holding the sill. Then he let go, and she heard him land on the soft ground outside, the sound followed by his running footsteps.
"Holder!" someone shouted, and Jenna turned from the window to see the gardai, swords out, staring horrified at the carnage in front of them. She could feel the fear in them as they glanced toward her, untouched in the midst of the butchery. And perhaps because she could sense that dread, perhaps because she needed to convince herself that she had only done what she’d needed to do, she lifted her chin and glared back at them.
"This is what happens to those who betray me," she said.
In her voice, she heard an imperious tone that had never been there before, and she wondered at it.
Chapter 25: Preparations
JENNA had wondered whether Cianna would believe her. She shouldn't have worried. The Banrion uttered a gasp of horror when Jenna started to relate how Labras had attacked her, and she immediately sent away the servants, going to the door of her chamber and closing it firmly. "My child," she said, enfolding Jenna in her arms. Then she released her, a quivering hand going to the torc about her neck, gold braided with bright silver. "I can hardly breathe," she said.
"Let me call the healer," Jenna said, but Cianna shook her head.
"No." Cianna took a long, wheezing breath. "No. It will pass. I put you in terrible danger, however unintentional. I was certain Labras was one of those
I could trust, but…" She bit at her lip.". . he was evidently in someone else's pay. How can you ever forgive me for making such a mis-take? Had you been hurt, or the cloch taken from you. . Jenna, I put you in such danger."
Jenna hurried to reassure the distraught woman. "You couldn't have known, Banrion."
A flush burned high on Cianna's cheeks. "No, Jenna. I absolutely should have known. For my own survival, as well as yours. Now I have to wonder who else around me is in the employ of another, who of those others I trust implicitly…" Cianna turned away, hunching over as a fit of cough-ing took her. "Damn this sickness in my lungs, and damn the healer for his own lies." Slowly, she straightened again, still turned away from Jenna. "What about the man you went to capture? Was he part of this, too?"
"He escaped, Banrion. When I used the cloch."
Cianna turned, touching a handkerchief to her mouth. There were clumps of clotted blood on the cloth. "My guess is that Labras was being paid in this O'Deoradhain's coin. To think that I was an unwitting accomplice — oh, this would have played so well for him-had you not been alert, Lamh Shabhala would have been his."
Jenna didn't bother to correct Cianna' s perception. It would be a good lie for the time being,
until she learned whose hand was actually behind the scenes. And she would find out.
The anger burned in her, alloyed with fear.
"I will have the rest of the gardai who went with you interrogated to see if there are others whose loyalty has been turned, but now I don’t know if I can trust the results I would hear," Cianna continued. "I can’t discount the possibility that my husband arranged for this, or the Tanaise Rig, or even Padraic Mac Ard or one of the other tiarna here-maybe Aheron from Infochla; he seemed awfully fond of you the other night." She stopped, and touched Jenna’s cheek. "You can trust no one, Jenna." A bitter smile creased her face. "Evidently not even me."
Jenna put her own hand, stiff and marked with the curling scars of the cloch, on top of Cianna’s. She took the Banrion’s hand and kissed it once. "It wasn’t your fault, Banrion," she told the woman. "We both need to be more careful, that’s all. And I’ve learned something from this: I can use Lamh Shabhala to look inside a person and see what’s in their heart." Jenna frowned. "I won’t be surprised this way again," she declared.
Cianna, pale and grim, nodded.
The Holder Aoire," the page announced, and closed the door behind Jenna. The three men in the room were huddled together over a table, and they turned to look at her as one: Ri Mallaghan, Tiarna Mac Ard; and a man whom Jenna didn’t recognize. She lowered her head and gave them a brief curtsy.
Ah, Jenna," the Ri said. He was smiling, but there was a grimness in his smile. "Thank you for coming so quickly. Here, you should see this…" He beckoned to her, and she came over to the table. She nodded Mac Ard, then glanced curiously at the other man. "Ah, you’ve yet to be introduced to our Field Commander," the Ri said, noting the direction of her gaze. "Holder, this is Tiarna Damhlaic Gairbith, who has been away to the west watching the Connachtans."
The man inclined his head to her. He wore his cloca uncomfortably, as if he were unused to the long folds of fabric. His face was hardened and fissured from exposure to wind and sun, his cheeks and forehead marred with the white lines of scars, his gray-flecked beard thin over patches of mottled
flesh. His hands were on the table, holding down a large piece of unrolled parchment; Jenna saw that the left hand had but two fingers and a thumb.
Through Lamh Shabhala, Tiarna Gairbith radiated violence. This was a man at whose hands hundreds had died and who would most likely be responsible for the death of hundreds more if he lived. There was no visceral enjoyment of death in him, though Jenna sensed a deep satisfac-tion within him at the results of his campaigns, and he carried no remorse or guilt at all in his soul. She knew that if the Ri ordered it, he would slay her with the same pragmatic lack of passion. But she could sense no direct threat in him at alclass="underline" to him, she was simply a piece in the game and he would use her or not as the strategies of the game dictated.