Holder of Lightning

Aithne, Jenna knew, could have blamed her for this. Maybe she was right, all along. Perhaps if I’d listened to her, if we’d made the attack on Falcarragh first before the Ri Ard was ready as she and the Comhairle wanted…She could say that it’s my fault, that the Ri Ard wouldn’t come here at all except for me… But there was no accusation in Aithne’s voice or face, only a solemn acceptance of their task. "Then that’s where I’ll stand as well. I’ll tell Moister Cleurach to meet us there." With that, she swept away toward the keep, leaving Jenna and MacEagan alone.

"We’ll get through this," MacEagan told her. "The tuatha have never been able to conquer Inish Thuaidh. The Ri Ard will suffer the same fate as the rest, and fifty years from now, the bards will be singing the Song of Kiernan o Liathain the way they sing of Mael Armagh now, and laughing at the man’s foolishness."

"I hope you’re right."

"I am. We might lose this battle, but we’ll prevail. Inish Thuaidh is a hard land, and the Tuathians are soft. They will break here, as they always have." He stopped. His hand lifted as if he were about to touch her shoul-der, then dropped back to his side. "You’ll live, Jenna," he said. "And so will your child."

Jenna nodded. On a pole on the keep’s tower, the blue-and-white flag of Inish Thuaidh snapped in the wind. Far out to sea, she could see the banners fluttering above the sails: the colors of the Tuatha: green and brown, blue and gold, green and gold. She could see the oars churning the water as the sun glinted on mail and steel.

"They’ll be here soon," she said. "Then we’ll know."

The battle for Dun Kiil began with a single sound:

the k-thunk as the arm of a catapult was released out on Harbor Head and a flaming ball went hurtling across the late afternoon sky. It splashed into the water in an eruption of water and steam a dozen yards short of the lead boat just entering between the inner bay's arms. Four more fireballs followed; two of them struck the ship and burning oil and grease splattered over the deck. Faint screams could be heard from the crew, and the oars splintered and fell as those on the ship leaped into the water, some of them aflame. Jenna, standing next to MacEagan near the end of the dock, heard a rag-ged cheer go up from the troops assembled close by.

The cheer nearly immediately went silent. The catapult nearest the fleet erupted in a gout of black smoke, pieces of shattered timber flying through the air. There were more screams, but this time it came from the Inishlanders manning the catapult.

The Clochs Mor had entered the battle.

The sky near the entrance to the inner bay darkened and swirled with storm clouds as a gale force wind blew out to sea, howling and shrieking and laden with blinding curtains of rain: Stormbringer awakened. Jenna could see the ships gathered near the harbor entrance and already trying to avoid the flaming hulk of the lead craft, suddenly heel over. Sails went down-cut or torn, she didn't know-and oars lashed the water, pushing the boats forward against the tempest. Two more catapults fired, and an- other ship was bathed in a gushing inferno; a moment later, fireball hissed away from the incoming ship, and both catapults exploded The ships pushed on.

The Inner Harbor had been closed off with chains and nets hung just under the water between Little Head and Harbor Head. The first few ships hit the barriers and were stopped, but only for minutes before they were cleared. The first ships moved into the Inner Harbor

Smoke was beginning to drift over Dun Kiil, laden with the scent of charred wood and the burning oil; curtains of driving rain obscured the bay. A constant roar dinned in her ears, the wordless cry of the massed thousands. Kianna Ciomhsog raised her sword a hundred yards away, her mouth opened as she shouted something to the troops; Ri MacBradaigh was with her, a sword clutched in his hand also, though its point dragged the ground at

"Jenna, it’s time." MacEagan’s hand closed around his Cloch Mor. He nodded to her. "I’ll be with you."

Jenna took Lamh Shabhala in her right hand.

She sent her mind into the cloch.

The world faded about her for a moment, then the doubled vision of the cloch-world came to her, brilliant and saturated. Jenna gasped in won-der and terror-so many clochs, so many points of brilliance set like burning suns about her: at least twenty of the Clochs Mor, and dozen upon dozens of the clochmion as well, faint pinpricks against the glory of their powerful cousins.

Some of them she knew, their colors and shapes familiar: Ennis’ cloch wielded by Mac Ard; Aron O Dochartaigh, the nameless tiarna with the Cloch of the mage-demon. Nevan O Liathain was out there, and other tiarna she had met at Lar Bhaile. They were out there, and they were aware of her as well-she could feel their minds turn as the greater sun of Lamh Shabhala rose.

They saw her. The first attack came before she could draw breath.