nearby, dismounting from his horse as two stable hands held the beast.
"Holder " he started to say in greeting. Jenna gave him no chance to go further she let a pulse of energy flow from the cloch, smashing him in the chest. The horse reared and Jenna snatched the reins from the boy who was holding them, his face a frozen mask of terror.
She leaped onto the horse, not caring that her cloca rode up leaving her legs bare to the cold. "Holder, stop!" the boy shouted, but she kicked the horse into motion. Gardai were pouring out from the keep and an arrow hissed past her ear. Jenna crouched low on her steed’s back, urging him into a gallop toward the gates.
There were men there, she saw, and the gates were closed. She reined up the horse, lifting Lamh Shabhala as the squad of men hesitated. She cried aloud, her hand alight with the power, the scars on her arm glowing. The squad scattered; brighter than the sun, a fist like that of a god arced out from the cloch and smashed into the gate. Metal screeched and wailed; stone cracked and fell.
"Now!" Jenna shouted to the horse, kicking him again with her heels. She moved him carefully through the rubble and dust as more arrows shattered on the stones around her, then she was through onto the winding path leading down the steep slope of Goat Fell toward the town. Over the pounding of her mount’s hooves, she could hear the commotion behind her. As she traversed the first of the switch-back turns, she glanced back at the keep. Black smoke was pouring from the windows of the main tower, and a cloud of dust hung over the main gates, but a dozen mailed gardai on warhorses were already in pursuit.
Jenna kicked the horse again, and the stallion’s nostrils snorted twin white clouds into the cold air as his hooves tossed clods of half-frozen mud in the air. She would make the bridge, she knew, but already her head threatened to explode and her arm felt as if it was made of frozen granite. Her vision had contracted so that she could see only what was directly in front of her, and that poorly. She clutched the horse’s reins with her left hand, the right hanging limp, her knees trying desperately to keep a grip on the saddle. She heard more than saw the horse reach the bridge and begin to gallop across, the hooves loud on the wooden planking. She halted the stallion on the other side, pulling him
around so that she faced the bridge. Wearily, she reached for Lamh Shabhala with a hand that felt as heavy as the stones that formed the bridge's arches. She could barely see. She squinted into her dimming sight, trying to see her pursuers, ready to open Lamh Shabhala again and take them and the bridge down. She swayed in the saddle, and forced herself erect again.
"Holder!"
Jenna grimaced, her fingers fumbling around the cloch. She could hear the riders approaching, but couldn't see them in the dusk of her sight.
"Holder! Jenna!" the voice shouted again, behind her and to the left, it sounded familiar, and she turned her head slowly, her eyes narrowing.
"O'Deoradhain. . You bastard…" She lifted Lamh Shabhala, ready to strike the man down. He ran toward her awkwardly, hampered by his sling-bound arm, as she wobbled in the saddle, nearly falling.
"Can you ride?" He seemed to be shouting in her ear. "Holder, listen to me! Can you ride?"
She nodded. It took all the effort she had.
"Then ride. Go to du Val's. The Apothecary. Go, and I'll meet you there."
"The men. ."Jenna muttered. "From the keep.
!!
"I will deal with them. Go!"
"It's too late," Jenna said. Her voice sounded nonchalant, almost amused. Strangely, she wanted to laugh. She couldn't lift her hand to point, but nodded toward the bridge. The riders from the keep were gal-loping around the final bend in the mountain road. Sighting Jenna on the other side of the bridge, they shouted and urged their horses forward. Jenna reached for the cloch again, wondering if she could open it in time, wondering if she had the strength to stay conscious if she did.
Something moved in front of her: O'Deoradhain, stepping to the end of the bridge as if he were about to hold back the on-rushing gardai him-self, one-handed. As Jenna watched, the man bent down and took a stone from the ground in his free hand. He held it in front of him, as if he were offering it to
the riders. She heard his voice call aloud: "Obair don dean-nach!" He threw the stone to the ground, and it seemed to shatter and dissolve. The gardai’s horses pounded onto the bridge, and at the same time, the bridge groaned like a live thing, a wail of wood and stone. The bridge decking writhed as if a giant had struck it from below as the tall stone arches to either side collapsed and fell away. Blocks of carved stone rained; support timbers bent and cracked like saplings in a storm.
The bridge fell, with the first of the riders on it. Horses and men screamed as they pinwheeled in air to the bottom of the ravine and crashed against the stones of Deer Creek.
There was a stunning silence. A gout of dust rose from the deep cleft-a gaped. The gardai trapped on the far side stared down at the broken bodies of their companions.
O’Deoradhain alone was free of the stasis. Jenna saw him move, heard groan with effort and pain as he pulled himself with his one good m onto her horse, even as Jenna swayed and nearly fell. His arms went round her, taking the reins. He slapped them against the stallion’s neck, kicked at its massive chest. "Go!" he shouted, wheeling the horse around.
Even as the first arrows arced toward them from across the ravine, they were galloping away toward the town, the onlookers staring in terror and fright. They fled.
Chapter 28: A Return
JENNA remembered little of the flight from Lar Bhaile, where O’Deoradhain took her or how they came to leave. There were flashes of images:
. . du Val, his face peering down at her concernedly. His mouth moved, but she heard nothing of what he said. There was another face behind the ugly dwarfs-O’Deoradhain? — and Jenna tried to struggle up, but hands held her firmly. .
. . the pain as she was lifted. She could see nothing, but she could feel herself moving. There
were voices: "We can't stay here. They'll be scouring the town in an hour. Not only the keep's gardai, but the Rl Ard's garrison as well" Another voice spoke. "A carriage, then? She can't ride, certainly." The first voice answered. "No, they'll be watching the High Road. If we could get across the lough… "
… a gentle rocking motion, the creaking of wood, the splashing of water and the smell of damp and fish. She looked up and saw stars above her, swaying softly…
There were still stars, and the smell of the lough and the sound of canvas rippling in a wind. Jenna sat up. She was in a small boat, a single small sail billowing in the cold night breeze. She was wrapped in blankets and she hugged them around her against the frigid air. O'Deoradhain was seated in the stern of the boat, the tiller in his hand, his left arm still bandaged tightly against his chest. Ahead, the shore was no more than a quarter mile distant. "Where?" was all she could manage to say. Her throat was raw and burning; the headache still pounded with every beat of her heart, and she wasn't certain she could move her right arm; it seemed dead- She touched her neck with her other hand: Lamh Shabhala was still there on its chain-that, at least, gave momentary relief. O'Deoradhain hadn't taken it from her.
"Nearly on the western shore of Lough Lar," O'Deoradhain answered. "And a bit north of Lar Bhaile as well. I've been looking for a good, low shingle where we can land."
"Anduilleaf… I need it…"
O'Deoradhain shook his head. "Don't have it. Du Val took it."
Jenna shivered at that. Anger burned, and she started to lift her hand to the cloch, but weariness overcame her. She sank back. "I'll die," she whispered. "I hurt so much."