Mage of Clouds (The Cloudmages #2) (46 page)

“Who are you angry with, Jenna?” Mundy asked gently, as if he could read her thoughts. “Doyle Mac Ard or yourself?”

She glared at him. Sniffed. “Shut up, Mundy.”

The Máister shook his head slowly and deliberately. “Jenna, I’m going to speak to you as a friend. If you take offense at that, so be it, but here it is: we don’t have time for this self-flagellation. If there’s a chance for us to save Meriel, we have to act and we have to act
now
.”

“And do
what
exactly?” she railed at him. She pushed herself from the floor, standing again. “Do you know where Meriel is, oh, great Máister? If so, please tell me so I can go to her. Do you know where Doyle’s gone?—then I’ll go there next and kill the bastard this time. Have you talked to Dhegli?—we don’t know whether the Saimhóir’s alive or dead or what might have happened with him afterward, and without him, I
would
be dead and Lámh Shábhála gone. . . .” She waved a derisive, mocking hand, not caring that Mundy’s face had gone stiff and white. “So do
you
have a plan, Máister Kirwan?—then tell us about it. I’d much rather be doing something—
anything
—rather than sitting here.”

Mundy stared at her, all the muscles of his face tight as if he were trying to control his anger before he replied. Kyle sighed loudly, and Jenna looked to her husband. “I know where Doyle will be,” Kyle said. He’d risen with Jenna, standing on the other side of the hearth from her. “Dún Laoghaire. Or at least he’ll be there as soon as he can reach there.”

“Why?”

“You said Edana O Liathain was the one wielding Demon-Caller,” Kyle answered. “Rí Ard O Liathain is no more capable of just giving up his Cloch Mór than you or any of us are. We know that the Rí Ard was ill; if his daughter has Demon-Caller, then we can assume that the Rí Ard died in the last several days; the news just hasn’t reached us yet. The Tuatha will be stirred up—I didn’t like Nevan O Liathain any more than you did, but none of us can deny that as Rí Ard he managed the Ríthe even better than his da. He brought the Tuatha together and made them act as one, and that was his best accomplishment. Now all the old, half-buried conflicts between the Tuatha will surface again when the Ríthe meet to name a new Rí Ard. Your brother’s a political animal and ambitious, and Edana is the Rí Ard’s daughter; Doyle will return to Dún Laoghaire to protect his interests, which almost certainly have been damaged at this point, since he undoubtedly expected to be holding Lámh Shábhála.”

Jenna nodded. “I suspect you’re right, Kyle, but I may have killed Edana during the battle. I don’t know for certain.”

“If you have, then I don’t know where Doyle will go—I would think his ascent among the Riocha is linked to her. But you don’t know that she’s dead. That he’ll go to Dún Laoghaire is still the best bet.”

“Then Meriel’s there, too?”

“I suppose that’s possible, Jenna. But we don’t know—Doyle may have put her somewhere else for safe-keeping against the other Riocha. You say that Doyle, Edana, and two other cloudmages of the Order of Gabair were at Inishfeirm, and Doyle was involved in the kidnapping of Meriel . . .” Kyle shrugged heavily. “I don’t think all this is something the Ríthe agreed to. I think this was concocted by the Order of Gabair. Even the Rí Ard might not have known what his daughter and future son-in-law were doing. If that’s the case, then Doyle would put Meriel where only he and those he trusted knew where she was.”

“But it’s
possible
she’s in Dún Laoghaire?” Jenna asked, and Kyle shrugged again. “Then that’s where we go.”

Mundy’s incredulous laugh brought her head around. “How, Jenna?” he asked. “With an army? It would take weeks to get troops and ships together. If we go through Falcarragh, the Rí Infochla isn’t going to let us march unchallenged from Falcarragh across the Tuatha. As for the sea route, it would take weeks to sail around Talamh an Ghlas to Dún Laoghaire, not to mention that doing so would leave Inish Thuaidh completely unprotected. You know all this as well as I do, or you would if you took a moment to think without letting anger and revenge get in your way. Even if you wanted to, you can’t go alone using Lámh Shábhála—you’ve never been to Dún Laoghaire, so you can’t visualize it and have Lámh Shábhála take you there. Even if it
were
possible, the cloch would be half-empty from the effort. You don’t know exactly where Doyle is in the city or when he’ll arrive, and there will be several Clochs Mór there with him. The tiarnas and bantiarnas may be squabbling with each other now, but they’ll happily set aside their own quarrels for a few minutes to unite against the Mad Holder.”

Jenna could feel her face flushing red from irritation, even though she knew that Mundy was only speaking the truth as he saw it. “You’re good at telling me what I can’t do, Mundy,” she told him, unable to keep the edge from her voice. “Are you equally good at telling me what I
can
do?”

Mundy pressed his lips together. He remained silent.

Jenna glanced from one to the other of the two men. “Are both of you saying that I have to accept that Meriel’s dead if Doyle carries out his threat?” Neither of them answered immediately. Finally Kyle stirred. His hands lifted, palms up.

“I don’t have a good answer for you, Jenna. I only know this: if the Rí Ard’s dead—and I think we’ll hear that news confirmed very soon—then the oath that Nevan gave you so many years ago is also dead. With what’s happened between you and Doyle, I would say that there’s a good chance the Tuatha will soon declare open war against us, and we need to prepare for that.” He paused, biting for a moment at his lower lip as if not wanting to say the next words. “You know I love Meriel, too, as much as if she were my own daughter. I was as upset as you were with her capture; if she’s been harmed, I’ll grieve as her da and you have my vow that I will be at your side to avenge her blood, no matter the cost to me and no matter what you decide to do. But . . . I think Mundy’s right and you need to listen to him. If we knew exactly where Meriel was or who was holding her for Doyle, maybe then—” He stopped, exhaling loudly. “But we don’t. We have to trust to the Mother-Creator to help Meriel because I just don’t see a way for us to protect her right now. I think we will help her best by strengthening ourselves here for the struggle that’s coming, and if revenge is all we have left, then we’ll make our revenge awful and strong. We need Lámh Shábhála here in Inish Thuaidh to do that. Meriel’s beyond our help, wherever she is.”

Jenna looked from one man to the other. Mundy was nodding at Kyle’s words.

“I won’t accept that as the answer,” she told them. “I’m sorry. I can’t.”

When he first went to Edana, Doyle had been terrified that he was going to find her dead.

He still shivered every time he remembered seeing Edana lying on the beach of Inishduán, her face bloodied and bone-white, her fingers clenched tight around the emptied and defeated Demon-Caller. If Jenna
had
killed Edana, Doyle would have followed the Mad Holder even to Dún Kiil. He would have stalked into the Weeping Hall there and confronted his sister without caring what it meant to him. He would have emptied his cloch at her and when it was empty, he would have clawed at her with his bare hands until one or the other of them was dead. He would have speared her with the lance of his rage.

He still might do that. Inishduán had been an unmitigated disaster. The Saimhóir Jenna had used to deceive him had killed the other two mages—both Sharpcut and Weaver needed new Holders now. Doyle swore that he would kill every blue seal he saw from that day forward as payment for the treachery, but the thought of revenge was cold. Even now, a day and more later, Edana remained unconscious in the Rí Infochla’s Keep in Falcarragh, her breathing shallow and her skin pale. Doyle remained at her side, watching the procession of healers come and go. They anointed Edana with unguents, poured potions down her unresisting throat, muttered spells, and burned aromatics. They gave opinions that were just empty words. “She’s mage-snared, Tiarna Mac Ard,” they said. “Perhaps if she were taken to the Order of Inishfeirm, where they have long knowledge of such things . . .” And when Doyle glared at that, they would protest that the Order of Gabair was simply too new to have experience with something like this. They would shake their heads and suggest that perhaps the prayers of the Draíodóiri in the Mother-Creator’s temple couldn’t hurt.

Edana remained caught in the world of the mage-lights, her eyes sometimes moving under closed eyelids or her lips parting with unheard words. Doyle remained at her side and he prayed to the Mother-Creator to bring her back. He stroked Edana’s cheeks, made her sip water. When he was alone with her, with no servants about, he allowed the tears to come because it hurt too much to hold them back anymore.

As for the rest . . . he’d sent Shay O Blaca to handle that as soon as he’d reached the ship off Inishduán ....

Doyle heard the low clap of collapsing air behind him as he sat alongside Edana’s bed. He turned to see Shay standing in the middle of the room. O Blaca stared at Edana. “No change?” he asked.

Doyle shook his head. Looking at O Blaca, he knew the answer to his question before he asked it. “Where’s my niece, Shay? Did you and O’Murchadha do as I asked?”

O Blaca released the Cloch Mór around his neck, Doyle saw the fading glimmer of the stone’s energy. There were long scratches on the man’s neck and arms as if something had clawed at him, the blood clotted and scabbed, the skin angry and red around the wounds.

“I rode with Tiarna O’Murchadha out of Lár Bhaile to get her,” O Blaca said. His gaze drifted past Doyle to Edana’s pale face before returning. “The news isn’t good, I’m afraid. If Quickship had been full it would have been different—I could have just snatched the girl away with the cloch, but I’d used up everything moving you and the others to Inishduán, and the mage-lights didn’t come that night to let me replenish it . . .” He shook his head, grimacing. “We found the Taisteal near Doire Coill, but we were attacked before we could get Meriel.”

Doyle’s eyebrows lifted. “Attacked?”

O Blaca related the tale as Doyle listened with increasing anger and a sickening sense of doom. “By the Mother, I’m cursed. Crows, dire wolves, and Bunús Muintir . . .” Doyle grimaced. “What of O’Murchadha?”

“Wounded also. Worse than me; he’ll walk with a limp for the rest of his life; that witch of a Taisteal woman nearly severed his hamstring when she came at him. We had six gardai with us; two are dead.”

“The Taisteal?”

“The woman who attacked O’Murchadha and allowed your niece to escape died there. As for the Clannhri, O’Murchadha took him and the older men to the Order’s keep at Lár Bhaile for . . .” O Blaca sniffed. “. . . further questioning,” he finished. “The Clannhri Nico insists that he’s innocent, but we’ll see how long his protests last in the donjons. I think O’Murchadha will be rather persuasive after what happened to him.”

“The Rí?”

“Rí Mallaghan is aware of what happened. The death of the gardai and O’Murchadha’s injuries . . .” O Blaca spread his hands. “I’m sorry, Doyle. He wasn’t pleased, I have to say. He asked me to tell you that the next time, you should consult with him before engaging Tuath Gabair and the Order in a diplomatic incident.”

“Damn!” Doyle let his head drop, then lifted his chin again. “I’m sorry, Shay. I’m sorry you had to take some of the consequences for my failure.”

“It could be far worse,” O Blaca said. “I think Rí Mallaghan suspected what you were planning to do since our visit with the Toscaire Concordai, but what he didn’t know he didn’t have to acknowledge. He supports the Order, and by association, both of us. He didn’t denounce you publicly but only in private with me. But he knows everything is public now. He may have to respond.”

“He doesn’t know everything. There was one thing I didn’t tell you in the message I sent—worse news yet. Sharpcut and Weaver are Holderless.”

O Blaca sucked in a breath. “No . . .”

“Aye,” Doyle answered. He went to the hearth and took down a large wooden box banded with iron. “Both of them died on Inishduán; here are their Clochs Mór. As head of the Order, they’re yours to give to their next mage-holders.” As O Blaca took the box, Doyle sat heavily in the chair beside Edana’s bed. “The attack on you was somehow Jenna’s doing, damn her,” he told O Blaca. “I’d wager my life on it. My da took Jenna and my mam through Doire Coill after that bitch found Lámh Shábhála originally, and she lived there again for a time after she murdered Banrion O’Mallaghan. Jenna wasn’t actually there or neither you or O’Murchadha would have lived, but I’m certain she was responsible. I seriously underestimated her; I won’t do that again.”

Doyle sighed. O Blaca looked at Edana again, and something in the man’s face made Doyle cock his head. “What else, Shay? I’ve had my fill of bad news.”

The man raised his eyebrows. “You’ll have to absorb more, I’m afraid. I’ve news from Dún Laoghaire. Labhmore, I’m afraid. I’ve news from Dún Laoghaire. Labhrás Ó Riain and his crowd have been busy in Éoganacht your absence. From what I hear, Rí Connachta and Rí Éoganacht sence. From what I hear, Rí Connachta Ó and Rí Éoganacht have put together a proposal for the Óenach. They want Enean to be named Rí Ard, with Ó Riain acting as ‘Regent Guardian’ for him. I think we both know what that really means.”