Chapter 18 #2
“Onward, sire!” Kylin shouted, for there was a group before them, bearing down on them.
Bodies, blood and body parts were strewn across the valley.
The beautiful green valley, surrounded by the beauty of the hills.
And still, the fighting went on.
Through it all, Kylin worried. He couldn’t see Deidre, but he knew her. She would be in the fight.
She would not hide away behind a rock or a tree.
At one point, he saw Cillian on the field; the rí was holding his own.
He saw that Angus was fiercely battling the enemy and when Kylin found himself in a tight group of the enemy, Angus was among those who came riding into that fray.
Angus, by his ard-rí’s side, ever loyal to him, ever loyal to those fighting for the man.
And still no sign of Deidre.
But she was there. Somewhere.
He would not believe that she was among the dead, being so cruelly trampled upon the ground.
Finally, he came upon Cillian. They were at a lull in the fighting, close to one another, and Cillian shouted to him.
“Thank God for Deidre! We were able to take most of Berach’s men, and I saw that you stopped one vicious attack!” Cillian shouted.
“Where is she now?” Kylin shouted in return.
“With her brother. Aidan fights yonder—Kylin! It’s the last of them!” Cillian told him, his tone grateful and perhaps even bewildered.
There might have been vicious odds against them, but they had known.
They had been warned.
And even the traitor had been unmasked—before the battle had even begun.
They were going to be victorious.
“Where?” Kylin asked, frowning.
Cillian pointed. “There! We’ll join them!”
They rode hard into the fray that was occurring at the side of the hill. At last he saw Deidre, saw that she was engaging again and again with her magical silver sword, and every fool who thought he could easily take a woman was learning the hard way that he could not.
A man came at him. He fought, and fought again.
And then . . . a man who had been about to come at him suddenly threw down his sword, slid from his mount, and begged, “Surrender!”
Kylin thought about the battle that had begun it all when the invaders had attacked their home, when he had met up with Deidre after she had just discovered her sword.
As he looked at the man, he remembered Eamon’s determination that mercy was a great strength.
And that they had learned much about what was going on through a man to whom they had given mercy.
“Mercy!” he shouted in return.
When his word echoed around him, others began to do the same. Those who were already unhorsed went to their knees. All around them, the remainder of the enemy surrendered, bit by bit, man by man.
The great battle was over.
Magic? Heart, soul, determination? Perhaps all had been a part.
Now there was little to do except bury the dead, and in such a melee as this one, great fires would burn through the night. Friend and enemy would meet their afterlife, however a man saw it, as one.
So many men had come.
So many men lay dead. More invaders, but many of their own warriors had lost their lives as well.
Now it was time to find the injured among the bodies.
The cauldron!
The ard-rí dismounted from his horse and called the battle, stopping the fighting and the death.
Kylin saw that Deidre was not far from him. That she was watching Kylin.
And he knew they thought alike.
Quickly dismounting, he turned to Cillian. “We’re going to need water and herbs—as quickly as possible. That little clearing just yonder in the trees, please. Get me water and herbs—”
He was interrupted by Deidre. “I’ll give you a list of the things I need your men to look for.”
He hadn’t realized that she had come up beside him. But of course, she had. The sword and the spear had helped mightily in the battle, but this time around, the cauldron had been given to them so they might heal.
He hefted the cauldron from where it was tied to the saddle on Darragh, and Deidre accompanied him to the little clearing. He looked about with her, finding branches and twigs with which to make a fire and rocks to create a ledge above it.
The wonderous, magical cauldron. Such a gift, indeed. They didn’t, in fact, need the fire, but it would add warmth for the injured who might come around it.
Cillian’s men quickly found all that was required and the victors went through the fields, gradually seeking those who lived, who had injuries that might be tended to and eventually cured.
The fire was built.
Water was brought and poured into the cauldron.
They delivered the herbs that Deidre had requested and she cast them into the water and began to create her brew.
The injured enemy on the field would never know just how lucky they were that magic might well help in their healing.
Some would still die, but many would live because of the mercy practiced by Eamon, Ard-rí Declan and others in their number, along with the magic of the cauldron—a gift from the ancients, from the Tuatha Dé Danann, perhaps an early name for the angels . . .
He’d never know. Not while he lived, and thanks to them, he lived. And Deidre lived.
There was no chance of things being awkward between them then; they were far too busy. With others, he began to comb the field.
By then, many women, girls and young men had come in from Cillian’s and Declan’s castles and villages.
They worked with Deidre, applying poultices and bandages, marveling that the cauldron’s contents seemed to give and give. He learned how that was possible. He was able to get close to Deidre for a few minutes as he helped bring more water to fill the cauldron.
“I can’t believe that this all seems to stretch so far,” he told her.
She smiled at him, and her whisper was close to his ear as she spoke. “Kylin, it’s the stone. Stone, pebble—I put it in the cauldron. It makes the water and the medication I’m creating with the herbs last and last! It’s amazing.”
“It’s magic,” he said softly.
“The best magic!” she told him.
She looked at him. He dared to touch her face, stroke her cheek, as he whispered, “Magic! My beloved, it’s all magic. You’re magic!”
“Kylin! Can you help with this man?”
He turned. Ryan had called him; he was struggling to help a man onto one of the makeshift litters they had created to bring the injured home.
They had started that morning so very early. Before the crack of dawn.
Night fell, and there was no end to all that needed to be done.
Great fires burned about the battlefield.
A priest prayed for their dead who had fallen.
Declan allowed for the Northmen to say services in their own way.
The injured continued to come in seeking healing and were tended to.
He had just carried a man with a broken and bloodied arm into the clearing when Aidan found him. “You’re still standing.”
“So are you,” Kylin noted.
“And my sister,” Aidan said, watching Deidre create a bandage from a man’s ripped tunic. “She can do just about anything,” he added.
“She can.”
Aidan was still looking ahead. “Sisters . . . remarkable beings! Yours are quite admirable as well, and, of course, I see why. I know your mother and your father.” He turned to look at Kylin at last. “This happened, just as we believed. And there is so much of life to pick up, so much to be done. But you and Deidre . . . all that you learned is true. All that you set out to do, you did.”
Kylin nodded. “We’re grateful,” he said.
“And so am I. But now that this is over, well, the deadly part over, we need to look to the future. Also, I’m sure you’re aware that Declan is eternally grateful to you—you saved his life.”
“I saw what the man was doing,” Kylin said.
“You saw in time! Others knew—they didn’t know that he had one man who had gone in as the ard-rí’s flag bearer.”
“I didn’t know myself. I was in the right place at the right time.”
“You still saved his life.”
“And I’m grateful for that opportunity. He’s an incredible man.”
“Well, my father and I had talked about this. They are going to officially bestow the title of rí on your father—to be yours when he is no longer with us.”
“That’s not necessary—”
“But it makes sense. My father gave your father an offshoot of his land. And your father managed it well. And it’s only right. Kylin, every rí manages a county, and we try very hard to do so with fairness and . . . It’s only right!”
“Very kind, and for my father, I thank you.”
Aidan laughed. “Your father has already thanked us, but it isn’t us—it’s the ard-rí, and it is something we’ve spoken about, so . . .”
“My father is here?”
“Fought the whole battle. Only my father stayed behind, watchful, lest some return to attack the walls.”
“I have not seen him yet. I must do so.”
“Of course. But first . . .”
“First?”
“I have spoken with your father, but I’d like your blessing as well.”
“My blessing?” Kylin asked him.
Aidan grinned. “I’d like to marry your sister.”
“I, uh, I think you’re talking about Maureen. I believe that Maeve is in love with Eion—”
Aidan laughed. “Aye! And Maeve will, I believe, marry Eion. But—”
“Aidan, I admire you greatly, my sister couldn’t marry a finer man. I know that Colleen cares deeply for you, too—”
“And I care for her. Oh, we’ve cared deeply about one another. We’ve been the best of friends, but she met one of the ard-rí’s top men and asked permission to marry him and move away. She was worried about enough healers being in the villages, but others have stepped up and she’s truly happy.”
“All this happened since we left?” Kylin said.
Aidan laughed. “Some since you left, some since the battle ended. I’m hoping that you approve of it all.”
“I have fought alongside both you and Eion. I couldn’t think of better men for my sisters. Not that you need it, but you have my happy blessing.”