Chapter 14 #2
“Shut up!” the other whispered fiercely. “We don’t know where they may be about! Our men were taken by surprise. We do the surprising! They should be fearing the banshees!”
His accent gave him away as a Northman.
“They need proper burial,” the Irishman said.
“Curse you and your St. Patrick! The flesh is but a costume to be worn and it matters not. We must slide back in, come out at the other end, see where they have gone.”
“I told you I thought I saw a man across at the second slope.”
“Then we must take him by surprise.”
They have seen Eion or Magnus, Kylin thought.
And without another at his back, he had little choice, lest his companions be taken unaware. He held the spear, closed his eyes and wished that he did not have to throw it.
He did.
He took down the first Northman with the spear and reached quickly to draw his sword.
The second man spun around, stunned, roaring out a battle cry and springing for Kylin. And thus, their fierce battle ensued.
This man knew his fighting, he could duck and dodge with ease, strike with fury. The swords clashed and clashed, and Kylin knew then that fortitude, determination and stamina were the traits that would win the battle for one of them.
And then Kylin got in a lucky blow, one that caught the enemy across the throat. There was no more fight for him. Blood spurted from the gaping wound in his neck, and in seconds, he fell flat on the ground.
Five. They had taken down five men. Just how many of them were hiding within the hills? They had talked about the passage behind the crevice from which they had come. Did he explore the crevice, or slide down into the inky black hole into which Deidre had disappeared.
What would I do if she was any other warrior?
And then he knew. In this kind of battle, no man was an island. No matter whom he was partnered with, he’d go for his partner.
Because they were stronger together.
He went to retrieve his spear from the dead man. He wasn’t sure he touched it before the spear seemed to fly back into his hand.
He accepted the gift and headed to the patch of dirt, sat back and slid.
Down, down, down, into an ebony darkness.
Maybe in this darkness banshees do exist!
But they weren’t monsters with fiery eyes, clawing at men, ripping them to shreds. No legend ever suggested such a thing, though there were those who still feared the banshee, knowing that the mournful cry warned of death to come.
There were no cries. And as he blinked against the darkness, the area before him began to lighten. A glow was emitting from . . .
From him.
From the spear, his gift from the Tuatha Dé Danann.
With that strange and even eerie bit of light, he began to move, hands upon the rock and dirt of the cave walls. Bit by bit by bit, he moved ahead. Then he paused, wondering if the dark passage deep in the hillside led anywhere.
It has to!
Because Deidre had fallen in here, and he hadn’t come upon her yet, nor had he . . . He winced. He had not come upon her body.
“Move. Keep coming.”
He heard the whisper. It wasn’t in his own head, he was certain. But the sound seemed to come from the spear. He wondered who might have once wielded the magical spear, and if the soul or the essence of an ancient remained in it, with him.
Then he thought that he heard whispers around him.
The voice spoke clearly to him again. “The earth is for the living of today—the essence of the time of magic remains in the earth. We are not evil. We seek to help the people of peace. Forge on, and I will be with you,” the voice whispered.
Was it in his head? Had the power of the spear made him a little bit mad? Was the magic in his own desperation to help the people who had welcomed his father, in the fierceness of all that he had learned?
If it was magic, he just had to accept it. No, be grateful for it.
“I am moving ever forward, believing in you. Trusting in you,” he said softly.
He kept moving. And moving. And then he stopped.
There was a crack above him. Tiny, just the smallest little space in the ground covering the cave, the ground that led to or from the crevice.
There was the deep cave in which he walked, he realized. But above him, there was also a passage within the hills that was at ground level. Of course. He had known the crevice led somewhere, that it had space—the men they had battled had come from it.
He stood still. And he heard remnants of voices. He listened hard, trying to determine just how many voices there were.
One thing was clear: the enemy knew that they were there.
But with the men who had seen them now dead, they couldn’t know that he and—hopefully—Deidre walked beneath them.
Three . . . four distinct voices. One more harsh and deep than the others.
If he was right, there had originally been ten men. And if they were lucky, and this was the group, just five remained.
He needed to find Deidre. Quickly. Before this group could head out and sneak around until they cornered Eion and Magnus.
He started moving through the darkness, led only by the strange glimmer of the spear.
He paused again.
There was someone ahead of him. He didn’t dare call out and he had to make sure that it was Deidre. If he gave himself away and it wasn’t Deidre . . .
He was good, but five on one might be pushing it, even if he held a magical spear.
Then he saw it. The same strange glimmer of light that the spear was giving off. And he moved quickly, daring to whisper her name.
“Kylin!” she whispered in return, heading to him. “Kylin, they’re just above us. There was the opening and the dirt and mud that led here, but there’s a passage just above us. And you can hear them talking.”
“I know. There are five of them.”
“Five?”
“I stopped and listened and counted voices. And, Deidre, they are Irish and invaders mixed. Whoever is helping this jarl has probably been told that he’ll be put in as ard-rí when Declan is no more.
Of course, that won’t happen. The jarl wants all the power.
But that doesn’t matter now. We need to reach the end of this cavern, get to ground level, and warn Eion and Magnus. ”
“They are good warriors, and they’ll be watchful and careful,” she reminded him.
“Deidre, they know that Eion and Magnus are out there, across the little plain at the next rise of hills. These men will be going after them,” Kylin said.
“So, we must stop them! Hurry, then. There’s a bit of light. This cave, cavern or hole—whatever it is—ends just ahead.”
“Let’s go!”
He meant to hurry. But then he saw them. Tiny beings of light, hovering around Deidre suddenly, as if they had been ahead, but returned for her.
Fairies? They do exist! They hold peacefully here, beneath the earth, giving a home to the beings who had come before man . . . the great Tuatha Dé Danann.
“These are my friends,” Deidre said quickly. “Come on, they are leading us out.”
She was already moving ahead, and he quickly caught up with her.
They reached an area where rock and dirt rose to tiny cracks in the rocks above, just visible in the moonlight. They were going to need to crawl out.
“You’ve got this?” he asked Deidre.
“I do. Do you?” she asked, looking at him, a half smile on her lips, her tone dry.
“Sorry!” he whispered.
“Nay . . . in fact, give me a push. I’ll get up there first. I’ll see what I can see.”
“Aye.” He didn’t give her a push. He lifted her; she was able to grab hold of a solid wedge of heavy rock and pull herself up farther.
But when she might have pushed ahead to move out in the night, she paused, looking out.
He swiftly—and carefully—made his way up the rugged slant leading to the exit of the underground.
And as she was doing, he stopped and looked out.
He had been right—unless others were hidden somewhere else. There were five men. They were spread out now, staring toward the second set of hills.
The men had seen Eion and Magnus. Kylin’s two allies, were standing stock-still, watching the array of warriors in return, all five of them probably as well trained as they were themselves, big, muscled—and eager to kill them.
Then one of the enemy warriors let out a fierce battle cry; he drew his sword and a knife and started racing across the field. His four companions echoed his cry and took off in his wake.
Kylin wasn’t sure how he was going to manage in the tight space, not even on solid ground, but he knew there was one chance of helping out the others: the spear.
Maybe there was more magic than in just the spear itself; barely balanced on the rocks, he managed to draw it up and out, lift an arm up high and send it hurtling across the field.
An amazing throw—but it was an amazing spear.
It struck the first man, the one who was almost upon Eion.
The man went down.
Still four against two.
“Out, now,” he said, giving Deidre a helpful shove. She found a handhold as he pushed her and then she leaped to the ground, drawing her sword.
He was right behind her. She was already racing across the field.
One of the men, about to assault Magnus, was taken by complete surprise as she came up behind him, striking a blow upon his helmet that was so hard and fierce Kylin could have sworn that he heard the man’s skull crack. Then he became entangled with another one of the men himself.
An even opponent! But now, there were four of them. And just three of the enemy. And he slew the man trying with such fierce determine to kill him in time to see that the other offenders were down as well.
One man, who had met with Magnus’s sword, was still alive, groaning on the earth.
Kylin went to him, hunkering down.
“Who are you, why are you attacking people here?” he demanded.
“Let me die!” the man roared. “Decency! Let me die.”
“You don’t need to die. I don’t believe that your insides have been ripped. We can patch you up and bring you to the home of the Rí Cillian, and he can see to it that the best herbalists and healers tend to you. You don’t need to die!” he said.
Mercy. It was what Eamon O’Connor had taught him.