Chapter 18
AT THE FIRST attack—a man foolishly rushing against him while he stood with another of Eamon’s warriors, pointing out the crack in the rock overhead—he knew that the traitor had discerned their movements, and was waiting to clear them out.
It was easy to take out the first fool, and the next five, because his men had heard the commotion and come to help.
He didn’t know the warriors they were fighting; he thought perhaps he had seen one or two of them working with the ard-rí’s best men a few times, but not often enough to know.
They obviously hadn’t trained often enough to hone their craft, not to the extent their own forces had obtained.
They were too easily taken down, making him wonder if the traitor was using his weakest men here so that his stronger forces could enter the main battle.
But as he told the others to search deeper as he studied the dead enemy, he recognized a symbol upon one man’s tunic.
There were more men in the passageways.
They hadn’t gotten to the core of the treachery.
He hurried to find Deidre, telling himself that she was better than most men, that she had will and strength and belief . . .
And her shimmering sword.
He heard the clash of her fight as he neared her but even as he came close to her position and her fight, he spun around.
Two of the enemy were behind him.
To his benefit, they hadn’t expected him to turn around. He had the spear, of course, the gift of the gods. But it wasn’t good for close combat.
He ducked low and spun with tremendous strength, having swiftly drawn his sword, catching one man first, the other second, all with the same whirlwind motion.
They fell.
Then he heard Deidre call out, even though she was engaged in close combat herself.
With the traitor.
Again, he turned, already swinging his sword. His attacker went down. He looked desperately to Deidre.
But she hadn’t needed him to save her.
She was spinning as taught and as she ended, she didn’t sweep her sword out, but rather slammed it down with all her strength.
And Berach fell at her feet.
She looked up. And she rushed to Kylin, sheathing her sword as she reached him, touching him, touching his face, searching his eyes first and then his body for any sign of an injury.
He caught her by the shoulders and held her back, doing the same, looking into her eyes, and then down the length of her.
“You’re all right?” he asked her anxiously.
“Fine. And you?”
“Fine.”
“There are others—”
“I know.”
“They were supposed to kill you.”
“They failed.”
She smiled and nodded.
“But,” Kylin told her, “the game has changed. Berach was the traitor, he knew we were here.”
“It’s all right, the plan stays the same. He never had a chance to tell Jarl Swen Jorgensen that we were here.”
“But the rest of his men know. And the rest of his men are out there,” Kylin said.
“Maybe, but I still believe they’ll look into the Derue hills where we found his people who had been killing villagers and who attacked Eion’s men. That means that they’ll still come over the hill before they come across any of Berach’s men.”
“And with any luck, they’ll assume that Berach himself and a group took care of us. But we’ve got to get someone out there somehow. Because some of Berach’s men will be with the ard-rí’s men and we don’t know when they’ll strike within the ranks,” he said thoughtfully.
“All right, one of us—”
“I’m going out first,” he told her.
She looked at him and let out a sigh. “Haven’t I proven to you that I can take care of myself? That Shimmer isn’t just my sword, but an entity who accompanies me? Don’t you think that I worry about you as much as you worry about me?”
“Aye, Deidre, it’s just—”
“Aye, Kylin! I know. We supposedly have roles in life and in this, truthfully, I think that I can manage to make it out now—before the jarl’s forces get here—quicker than you.
I’m smaller, I can slip around more easily.
And when it’s time to rush out and perhaps attack from a distance, well, you’re the one with the spear and the cauldron—”
“The cauldron is attached to my saddle.”
“And the stone—pebble, whatever you want to call it—is in my pocket,” Deidre argued.
She’s right, she has what is needed. And as of yet, the danger isn’t amassing, though it will be soon.
“Come on!” he urged.
“Nay, beloved,” she mocked. “You’re not hiding me—”
“I don’t intend to hide you. I’m bringing you to the crevice so that you can slip out. Get to Cillian and let him know what has happened. He will know how best to get the message to the ard-rí. Declan needs to be protected at all costs,” he told her.
“Right! Let’s get going!”
He felt as if there was a strange light around him as he hurried her along, a light that guided that way and also seemed to hover around Deidre.
She did have her Shimmer.
And he believed in all that had been happening.
Still, letting her go was one of the hardest things he had ever done. And, of course, there would then be no way for him to know if she had made it to Cillian or not.
“Faith,” she said softly.
“Pardon?”
“I’m reading your mind. We can’t be afraid for one another. We must have faith.”
He smiled. “I have no choice.”
She shook her head. She touched his chest and rose on her toes to press her lips briefly to his.
“Faith,” she whispered against his mouth.
And then she was gone, and he was left in the darkness. Her Shimmer was gone, along with Deidre.
But then he heard a male voice, and it was near him, and it seemed to echo Deidre’s word to him.
“Faith.”
He nodded to himself. Aloud, he said, “Thank you!”
“She will reach Cillian. We are with you. She will reach him, and most importantly, he will have a messenger reach Ard-rí Declan. Then they will come. They are amassing on the trail. But they will not have what they expect here—you and your men will be ready.”
Kylin still couldn’t see the speaker. He stood where light filtered in at the crevice through which Deidre had made her escape from the great hill.
“Thank you,” he said again.
“There were twenty of the enemy here, waiting. You were to die. But you are alive. And you will lead much of the fight.”
Kylin inclined his head.
“This is my land,” he said softly. “This is my home. And Declan is the best of humanity. I will gladly fight and die for him.”
“Perhaps you need not die.”
“Well, I’d prefer not to!”
The invisible speaker had a sense of humor. He laughed softly. “I am with you.”
For a while then, there was silence, and he watched, knowing that Ryan and the other warriors in the caverns in the great hills watched and waited as well. They were ready.
“Now!” the speaker suddenly thundered.
And they were coming.
From his position, Kylin could only see so much. But in his mind’s eye, he knew it was happening just as the vision in his head had once been.
The enemy had circled to the second hill, expecting to add to the forces who had slipped in there.
Then they thundered forward to attack, knowing that by then, the great forces gathered by the ard-rí would be in the valley below.
Now is the time to use the great spear!
He slipped through the crevice, heading upward. And then, from where he stood, he could angle his position and take aim.
And with his first throw, he caught three men, two back to back and taken down by the spear, a third thrown cruelly to be trampled by the hooves of the horses now racing to the battle.
He whistled for his horse.
Naturally, he was heard by the enemy, but most were already heavily engaged in hand-to-hand combat.
One man jumped from his horse, rushing to meet up with Kylin. He was one of the Northmen, one hoping to prove himself to his jarl. He was in too much of a hurry; he thought Kylin’s position would give him an advantage.
It did not.
Kylin waited for the man to rush him, stepped aside and felled him with a hard whack on the back of his head with the handle of his sword.
When the man went down, he turned, startled by a show of silver in the air, a streak of shimmering silver flying through the sky . . . then hovering by his side, within easy grasp.
And he saw the true power and magic of the spear.
It had returned to him.
By then, his great horse had heard his whistle.
And none had thought to hamper a riderless horse on a battlefield, one that seemed to be running blindly, as if the loss of his master had sent him flying in any direction.
Once mounted, he saw that the others were streaming from the hills, catching the unwary, taking them down.
Soon enough, they were all mounted, and entered into the fray.
And it was a melee.
Men, horses, shouts, screams, cries of agony . . .
He saw that Declan himself, his battle flag flown before him, was at the head of the fray.
Of course. Part of the reason the ard-rí is so loved has to do with the fact that he asks nothing of any man that he isn’t willing to do himself.
But were Berach’s men among his immediate number? Men who might believe that Berach still lived, that they’d be in high graces in his court if the unlikely outcome of Jarl Swen taking éire and giving it to Berach should occur.
“Darragh! The ard-rí,” he muttered, tightening his knees against the horse and racing forward.
He was in time. Just in time.
Because, as he rode up, the flag bearer suddenly threw it to the ground and spun around on his horse, the animal rearing up on its hind legs to make the maneuver.
But Darragh was fast. Before the sword the flag bearer wielded could strike the unwary Declan, Kylin had intervened, his sword catching that of the attacker with such strength that the man fell from his mount.
“Kylin!” the ard-rí shouted, stunned.
And also in warning.
The man on the ground was rising, his sword in hand. Kylin never had to battle the man. His horse, startled and terrified by the action, began to rise and stomp down—once and then twice—before racing off into the fray, riderless.
Kylin looked down at the man and knew that he’d never rise again.