The Sword of Light

Chapter 1

DEIDRE LAY ON the ground, winded and stunned, almost paralyzed as seconds seemed to tick by with agonizing speed. She desperately willed herself to rise—praying that she could do so, for herself, for her people. The fight couldn’t be over!

The invaders had come from across the sea, enemies who ruled the waterways, wanting what the richness of this island could provide them: fertile ground for crops, rich, green grasses for sheep and cattle to graze upon, not to mention the simple beauty of the land, the hills, the valleys and the sea.

And, naturally, they longed to take over and rule the cairns and earth and stone homes and fortresses, created and maintained since the days when the ancients had ruled; they wanted to take over the native people and turn them and their children into slaves.

And to Deidre’s horror, that day, they might prevail.

She had just faced one of the biggest men she had ever seen, but size never frightened her.

Her father and his men had taught her about balance, weight and leverage, and she could usually make even a monster-sized warrior keel over with his own bulk.

But she’d met an enemy who understood logistics; she had just been lifted and hurled through the air with such force that she was lucky she was only winded, sore from head to foot, but . . .

Unbroken!

The world had been black for a minute, then in a haze.

But once the mist of her mind began to disperse, she tried her best to move.

And she could do so. She hurt, of course she hurt—she had landed hard.

But just below her, beneath the little bank of trees on the rise at the base of the hill, she could see that the fighting continued just down the incline.

She blinked hard, hoping to clear the last of the mist before her eyes.

Instead, the mist seemed to become shimmery, silver, tiny dots of radiance before her.

She thought she had died. And, as the great Father Patrick had taught, there was a heaven and she had come to it.

Out of the mist, a form suddenly began to manifest. It was in the shape of a woman, gorgeous and glorious in a flowing dress, as silvery as the air around her. She was, Deidre thought at first, an angel come to take her . . .

Except that the angel suddenly yelled at her angrily!

“Get up! Get up and get the sword. If you give up, you give in! Rise and take up your sword and defend this land and these poor people!”

It’s obvious that I . . . that I cracked my head so hard that I’m seeing things and I’m dying, that has to be it.

Yet, when she twisted she saw something she could have sworn hadn’t been there before, but then she hadn’t been looking before.

A sword, the hilt near her hand for the taking, a sword shimmering with a silver glow so strong and powerful it was almost blinding.

“Rise and take up the sword of your people!” the vision demanded. “Now!”

And suddenly, Deidre realized that she must.

The sword would be heavy, but she had learned to wield heavy weapons deftly and if she tried and mustered her strength . . .

She leaped to her feet with shocking ease. And she took both hands and grasped the handle of the mighty weapon and to her amazement again, it slid easily from the earth and into her grasp.

Just in time.

Men decked out with their mighty swords, axes and shields were now moving up the incline.

One saw her there and a smile of amusement flickered on his lips as he began to take long strides toward her.

Of course, she was nothing but a slim woman with a shining sword, and he had a great battle-ax and his strength and brawn.

But she knew how to move. As he wielded his axe, she ducked his blow and spun around, lifting the sword and slamming it down on his back.

He went down with a startled grunt. Whether or not he had seen the shimmer in her sword, he was obviously amazed that a woman had defeated him, with his strength, with his skill as a warrior.

But there was another man behind him. And another behind him. And no matter the shocking ease of her sword and its glittering power, she’d never best them all.

They were adapting their strategy, of course, seeing that she was besting their comrades. Even though these invaders seemed obsessed with their individual glory, they would realize soon enough that they’d need to unite in an organized attack against her.

And they are growing more careful. They must have seen the shimmer in the sword! While the new religion is spreading across the known world, these invaders believe in their own gods, in their own form of magic.

Do they realize they’re seeing something greater here than knowledge of battle and warfare? I’m a slight woman, yes, but am I touched by magic?

Still, if they gathered for a coordinated attack, she would be in critical danger.

It was then that she heard a battle cry.

And when she looked through the scores of enemies, she saw that help was coming.

In a manner she had not expected. Not that her people weren’t owed the help she was about to receive, but hills separated the lands, and she hadn’t imagined that these warriors might arrive in time.

Kylin, son of the king of their neighboring realm, had come with a dozen of his warriors.

As well he might!

His place here had come through her father’s generosity; Kylin had been born to the land, but his father, Sigurd Anderson, had come from the sea as well, seeking not to fight, but to help Eamon O’Connor, her father, in exchange for his help.

Sigurd and his warriors had battled valiantly when a party had arrived from the north to overthrow Eamon.

They had held the land. In return, her father had given him a place.

Sigurd had taken a bride from the Tara hillside, and Kylin was their oldest son.

He was a few years older than Deidre, but she knew the stories that had been told.

He was still, in her mind, the product of invasion from the sea.

Time had been strange here over the past few years.

Invaders came from across the seas. Some became part of the people, and in time, those who had come to live in and love the land fought against other invaders—including those who were native to the island but wanted more and more of it for themselves!

Great men, aye, like Sigurd, loved the land and the people, and would fight for it, and for an ard-rí, or high king, like Declan McGinn.

At times, there was no help but to all band together because invaders might come with such strength. And still, far too often, kings fought against kings, and the stability of the isle was ever in question.

Now five of the enemy were suddenly upon her, all with their mighty shields, great swords and axes, and helmets bearing different monstrous horns.

She spun, her sword of light extended, and they fell back in a group, screaming their fury and vengeance as they determined whether to come forward or not.

But they were joined by more!

She spun again, this time stepping forward, the great strange sword she wielded cutting swiftly through a shield and drawing an amazed cry from its bearer as the man was forced away, falling flat on his back.

And, thankfully, that was when help truly arrived, for the enemy had gathered behind her in fury and she didn’t know how long she could spin and she didn’t dare take the seconds to fight one foe for another would cut her down as she did.

But she heard Kylin, heard his roar of fury, and the tide changed.

He had slipped around the enemy and now they had to turn to face him.

He and his men had come around, flanking the invaders, who were suddenly on the defensive.

Deidre joined Kylin’s numbers, pushing back, harder and harder, until the enemy fell or began to flee and in the few minutes that the battle waged so fiercely, it became clear they were the victors.

Then the two stood, breathless, staring at one another. At which point, Deidre remembered that this was just one arm of the invasion.

She studied her sword, which had aided her in battle. Her truly strange sword. She had no intention of questioning it at this time.

She stared at Kylin, who knelt by one of his men.

Luckily, he was being assured that the man’s injury was no more than a scratch.

But others were down. He was obviously a good commander who cared about his men.

They all knew when they fought that death might well be imminent, and men who fought together became like brothers—

Aidan!

Her brother was down the hills, by the sea, fighting those who had remained by their longboats. She couldn’t think about the sword now—it was more important to get to Aidan. She had to believe that he was still alive.

She turned to start down the hill and toward the water, torn between fear and faith, but she spun around almost immediately, hearing the fall of many feet behind her.

Looking grim, Kylin was following her—with his warriors at his side.

From her vantage point high above the shore and the three great longboats that had brought the invaders, she could also see the pitched fighting that was going on.

And, thankfully, she could see that Aidan was still at the forefront of the battle—alive, apparently well and leading the fight as befitted the son of the Rí.

She took a moment for a sweet sigh of relief; she could not imagine her life without her brother, her childhood friend and playmate who had grown into the strong, fair and giving man, and was the father who had raised them.

Sword at the ready, she rushed forward.

What might have been an even battle was quickly turned into one of victory against those who had come to ravage the villages along the water. Men lay dead and dying—invaders and their own people.

Deidre winced, making her way toward her brother, so very grateful that while he had waged war in the most dangerous position, he was all right.