The emotional matrix around Mac Ard and the Ri were more compli-cated. There were strange colors and hues in their shapes, nothing that was overtly threatening, but she knew both of them wanted what she held and would take it if the opportunity arose. With Mac Ard especially there were tendrils of black secrets that snaked outward toward Jenna, vestiges of hidden plots that involved her. She wondered-more strongly this time-if Mac Ard were at the heart of the attacks against her, if his involvement with her mam weren't simply a subterfuge to allow him ac-cess to her and Lamh Shabhala.
The Ri's emotions were simpler and yet more deeply hidden. He was wrapped in plottings and deceptions. Under it all was the burning orange-red of ambition: the Ri Gabair would be Ri Ard, if he had the chance. . and it took little imagination on Jenna's part to believe that the Ri might feel Lamh Shabhala would give him that chance.
The Ri moved aside to let Jenna stand next to the table. Lines were drawn on the parchment, and placed atop it were small triangular flags, some green and brown, others blue and gold. "This is Tuath Gabair," the Ri explained to Jenna. "There, see that blue area? That's Lough Lar. Here-" his stubby index finger stabbed at the map. "That is Lar Bhaile, where we are now. Up here-" his finger moved up past Lough Lar to where a line of blue meandered, occasionally met by other, smaller branches. "That's the River Duan and the Mill Creek feeding into it, and Knobtop and Ballintubber." His finger touched the map again and again in concert with his words. Jenna nodded, but
in truth the map meant little to her. How could marks on paper be Ballintubber or Knobtop?
"The flags," the RI continued, "are where our troops and the troops of Tuath Connachta are currently located. Do you see here, southwest of Ballintubber, where the Connachta flags have bunched? That’s where their main army is camped, right on the border. That’s where they’ll make the first push toward us."
As the Ri spoke, images came to Jenna. It was as if she were a bird, hovering far above Tuath Gabair and looking down. There was the lough, and just past it… "Doire Coill is in their way," Jenna said. "They can’t go through that forest with troops."
Tiarna Gairbith snorted through his long nostrils: a laugh. "I thought you said the Holder knew nothing of war, my Ri," he said. The fingers remaining on his mutilated left hand traced one arc on the map, then another. "They will split their forces as soon as they reach the border of Doire Coill," he said. "One arm, the larger and slower, will go north to secure the ford of the Duan at Ath Iseal, then attack Lar Bhaile from the north. The other, smaller and swifter, will cross the Duan at the southern ford and come up to Lar Bhaile from the south. ’The Horns of the Bull,’ they call it; the Connachtans have used the tactic more than once. They hope to split our forces to deal with the twin attacks; if one horn fails, the other might still impale us."
"But your troops won’t let that happen," Jenna said, looking at the men. "If you know where they’ll strike, you will have made plans against that. You have the advantage of knowing the land and deciding where to make your battle where you can use the ground to your benefit."
Again, the laugh. "I like this Holder," Gairbith said to the Ri. "No talk from her of negotiation, of somehow avoiding the conflict. Instead, she sees that the battle will come and prepares to meet it." He bowed to Jenna, approvingly, and she wondered whether the smile was genuine or if the man was simply mocking her. "Aye, we will do just as the Holder sug-gests," Gairbith answered, "but many will die doing that, and after we push them back to their own borders, we will be too weak to do more than watch them leave. Unless…" His voice trailed off. He looked at Mac Ard, who stood with arms crossed, lips in a tight frown, his eyes almost angry.
Unless what?" Jenna asked, and Nevan O Liathain's words echoed in her memory: ". . the Rl no doubt hopes for Lamh Shabhala to be part of that battle. . he would love to see the lightnings of the cloch smash the enemy and send them fleeing for their lives. ."
Rl Mallaghan saw the realization on her face. "Lamh Shabhala has been countless battles over the centuries, Jenna," he said, "many of them here in what is now Tuath Gabair. And while Lamh Shabhala is the only cloch na thintri that is awake. ."He spread his hands wide. "There is only one reason the Connachta are mounting their armies: they know
Lamh Shabhala is here and they think to strike before you learn to wield the cloch as the cloudmages have in the past and my army comes to invade their land-because if they had the cloch, they would use it to strike us. They believe the only reason we haven't yet struck is because the cloch or the Holder is still weak. But you've learned so much already Jenna. I ask you, how many lives will it cost if Lamh Shabhala does not enter the battlefield? All we request of you is that you help us defend you as the Holder."
The Ri's words were spoken in a voice like sweet butter, thick and freighted with an unconscious arrogance that spoke of his expectation that he would be heard and obeyed. His eyes, behind their enclosing folds of pale flesh, stared at her unblinking. When Jenna opened her mouth to begin a protest, she saw those eyes narrow. Through the cloch, she felt a sudden surge of malice directed toward her from the Ri, and she knew that if she refused, he would use that answer to justify other actions against her. As Cianna had told her with O Liathain, "no" was not an answer she could give him.
Is he the one, then? Has the Ri been stepping carefully only because the Tanaise Rig was here also?
"Jenna hasn't fully learned to use Lamh Shabhala, my Ri," Mac Ard interjected before Jenna could decide what to say. "Not in the way of the legends of the Before. Not in the way the cloudmages of song used them. Your majesty knows the pain involved for Jenna when the mage-lights come. You also know that Lamh Shabhala’s task right now is to unlock the other clochs na thintri and that is what
Lamh Shabhala has been teaching the First Holder-not the art of war. You ask too much of her too soon and place her in danger. You must remember, my RI, that the Tanaise Rig has expressed an interest in Jenna. He would not want her injured. Worse, what if the Connachtans should win the battle when Lamh Shabhala is involved? What if Ri Connachta were suddenly to pos-sess the cloch? Do you think the Ri Ard or any of the other Tuatha would come to your aid, or would they sit and watch and wait and let the Con-nachtan vultures feed on the bodies of Lar Bhaile?"
Through Mac Ard’s speech, the Ri’s face had grown progressively more ruddy. "So it’s Tiarna Mac Ard’s counsel that I throw my armies against Connachta and ignore the weapon that could easily turn the battle? You would take the sword from my hand and have me do battle with a butter knife."
"I say better a duel with butter knives than risk giving your enemy your sword, that’s all," Mac Ard answered.
"I have no plans to give the enemy this particular sword," Tiarna Gairhith interjected. "I will cleave the enemy’s head from its shoulders with it and I will keep Lamh Shabhala safe-that’s my pledge."
The Ri laughed at that. "There, you see, Padraic? My Commander has made his promise."
"I think," Jenna said loudly, and all three men turned their heads to her "that everyone is talking as if I were incapable of making a decision for myself." Mac Ard glowered, Gairbith gave a quick, shocked laugh, and the Ri sucked his breath in with an audible hiss. For a moment, Jenna thought she’d gone too far, but then the Ri applauded her, three slow claps of his hands. His eyes were still narrowed and dangerous, but his voice was soft.