'They're very hungry," she said finally. "I'm fortunate that there weren't more than two of them."
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
It was a strange force that Declan led, too small to be considered an army that would worry the tuaths and small kingdoms through which it passed, and a little too large and well-disciplined for them to be mistaken for a band of marauding robbers. Even stranger, but more reassuring, was the fact that while his men were more than capable of living off the land by going out and taking what they needed in the way of food or reluctant female company, they did neither of these things. Instead they remained close to their tents, spent the daylight hours engaged in fighting drills and kept no company but their own while Declan replenished the supplies for men and animals by paying the local farmers and town merchants a fair price for them.
After one look at his size, weapons, and scarred face, they thought better of trying to ask an unfair price.
The traders were happy as were the local clan chiefs and minor kings who exacted their tithes for these transactions. When anyone asked about his intentions he would reply that he was on the way to settle a land dispute involving a small kingdom, which he would prefer not to name, in the far west of Connaught. And now he was here.
The territory stretched from the lower slopes of the Nephan Beg mountain to the eastern shore of Loch Conn and enclosed three large towns, many farms, a lake fishery, fields well populated with cattle, and all dominated by a sprawling, uneven castle of stone and wood that covered the top of a low hill. It was a land that was fertile but with too many rocky outcroppings to make its cultivation easy, and it was doubly beautiful in that he had not expected ever to see it again and because it was his home.
He halted his men within clear sight of watchers in the castle but far enough from the line of defenders placed across his path to make it clear to them that, even though his force was better equipped and outnumbered theirs by two to one, he did not intend to attack at once. Instead he led his horsemen forward until they faced the other line at a little more than speaking distance, then he dismounted and walked forward in the prescribed manner to show that he wanted talk before fighting.
The defending line ranged from the old to the very young. A little over half of them carried swords and shields; the rest looked as if they had been called from the fields in haste and bore only their farming implements, and only ten of them were mounted. One of these, a huge, white-haired man of enormous girth who carried a long-axe that was the twin of his own, dismounted and came forward to stop within two paces of him. Declan put out his hand and spoke first.
"Your hair is white, Liam Mor," he said, "and your horse must dearly love you when you are not on its back, but I see that you still favor the long-axe."
Big Liam moved closer to stare intently at Declan's face, the old eyes under the thick, white brows lighting up with recognition. "The face is badly marked," he said, laughing, "and I hope you seriously chastised your barber for it, but… young Declan, is it you?"
The question was unnecessary because their handshakes changed suddenly to bear hugs that lasted for several moments before they broke apart with reluctance and Big Liam spoke very seriously.
"Good it is to see you well, young Declan," he said, "but now we know that we must do battle."
"But not this day," said Declan, smiling, "perhaps not ever. I have something to show you." He nodded toward the castle. "Does he still live, and is he watching?"
"He lives but not, I think, for long," said the other, glancing at Declan's weapon, "whether it is your long-axe or his slow, wasting illness that takes him. He is in a pitiable state, if there is any pity in your heart after what he did to you. His wife and her two sons-she gave him no other children-have been running the kingdom as best as they are able. They will be watching."
Declan nodded and pointed to the watch tower on top of a nearby hill. "As I remember," he said, "the stone and woodwork of that structure was unsafe and it was abandoned to the weather. Have you a use for it now?"
"No," said Big Liam, looking puzzled, "we await a large enough storm to tumble it."
"Good," said Declan, and turned briefly to give a prearranged signal to one of his wagon drivers who, moments later, began walking carefully toward the tower carrying a heavy urn. Smiling, he went on, "I'm going to meet my man there, place the device, and return at once, so there's no need for that overlarge body of yours to follow me up and down the hill."
Big Liam gave a huge sigh of relief and said, "Bless you, Declan."
When he returned he spoke to his men, but loudly enough for the mounted defenders to hear him as well. "Listen well to me. A device has been placed inside the tower which will make a very loud noise. Everyone, move well clear, then the horsemen will dismount and be ready to pacify their animals when it happens." To Liam, he added, "I filled that jar with fireworks powder from Cathay. I hope there was enough to…"
A tremendous thunderclap rent the heavens and shook the ground under their feet. The roof and wood interior of the tower rose high in the sky like pieces of a burning fountain and its stonework burst open into bright red cracks and tumbled onto the hillside. Smaller pieces of rock and dust fell around them like a stony rainstorm.
"… There was enough," Declan said to Liam when the dust and smoke had cleared and they could hear each other again, then he added, "You have seen what I can do. Know that my force will take no hostile action against your people here unless they first offer violence to me, or if I do not return unharmed to them before sunset. I apologize for making these unnecessary threats to you, for I know you to be neither witless nor suicidal." He nodded toward the castle. "Now I would like to speak with himself."
"Alone?" said Liam in surprise. "Without your personal guards?"
Declan clapped the other on one massive shoulder. "When serious talking has to be done," he said, "I prefer the company of a sensible and honorable enemy rather than a too-loyal and perhaps excitable friend."
They remounted their horses and walked them slowly through the line of defenders towards the castle and into its courtyard where a groom, too aged and infirm by far to join the other servants in the defense of their king, took their mounts. Except for the empty echoing of their feet on the stone-flagged corridors they walked in silence to the audience chamber and almost to the throne itself before Declan stopped and gave a small bow. Liam Mor opened his mouth, but the king held up one skeletal hand for silence.
"I know who it is," he said in a voice that was even more fragile. "What does he want, or do I know that, too?"
Declan cleared his throat, silencing Liam once again.
Firmly, he said, "I can speak for myself, Father, and I will begin by telling you what I do not want."
He paused to look at the woman in the chair beside the old king and her two sons standing on each side of them. The queen, who had hated Declan as a child and worked constantly to drive him away so that one of her then very young sons would inherit, was still a handsome woman, but her features were almost disfigured by the fear she was trying vainly to hide. Her two sons, who were scarcely into their twenties now, were armed and plainly not afraid. The dark-haired one was staring at him, his lips pressed into a thin, bloodless line and arms folded tightly across his chest. The redhead was gripping the hilt of his still-sheathed weapon with knuckles white and looking as if he was about to do something brave and stupid. Declan did not want that.
If the redhead attacked him then so would his brother and, out of loyalty to his king, so would Big Liam. He did not want to be forced into killing anyone here, especially not the aging weapons master, Liam. It was time to use the subtler weapons of words.