It must.” Liam’s gaze took on a faraway look, as if he were seeing something beyond this room. “Someone must rebuild the wards. That is what you are to be spared for.”
“But I can’t rebuild the wards. I haven’t the gift.”
“But Conor does. And Meallachán. And likely others about whom we don’t know.”
“So, I’m supposed to find this harp—somewhere in Seare, which is in enemy hands—and then find someone who can use it?”
Liam gave him a spare smile. “Aye.”
Eoghan wiped his hands across his face. That easy. Comdiu, I need Your wisdom. I haven’t a clue where to begin.
Liam stood abruptly and jerked his head toward the window. “It’s time now.”
Eoghan rushed to the window. The flames were gone, replaced by billowing white smoke as if the entire forest had been doused by an ocean of water. From between the spindly, charred-black remains of massive trees, lines of men emerged.
Ard Dhaimhin was under attack.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
“Hold steady, men.”
Riordan crouched in cover on the rocky hillside, the same rock into which the fortress had been carved. The fire raged more fiercely than any natural fire, consuming acres of trees as if driven by some unseen wind. And then, as abruptly as it began, it stopped.
The sorcery prickled his skin.
Now, as the first group emerged from the tree line, he could feel the magic rolling from them like steam from the surface of hot springs. One mind, a thousand evil tentacles to do its bidding. Cut one off and a hundred more sprang up in its place.
“Ready,” Riordan called, and hundreds of bowstrings drew taut, their arrows nocked. A few more steps and their attackers would be in range.
“Loose!”
The archers let the arrows fly, a dark cloud that moved across the sky and then fell upon attackers in eerie silence. The men kept coming, trampling the dead and injured.
“Next volley. Loose!”
The second volley had the same effect as the first: no shields raised, no return fire.
They kept coming.
A sick sense of inevitability crept into Riordan’s gut as the archers prepared for the third volley. As they released their arrows once more, the hush suddenly broke with a shout and the clash of metal.
Riordan cast his glance to the east side of the village, where the enemy swarmed from the trees, swords drawn. The Fíréin céads moved methodically to meet them, and across the lake, the first of their men fell.
“Quickly now.” Liam ushered Eoghan down the corridor to the Hall of Prophecies, their footsteps sharp in the stillness. He spoke the words of entry, which lodged no better in Eoghan’s mind than before, and the door swung open.
Eoghan stepped into the passageway and turned to face the Ceannaire. “Master Liam, there must be another way. I can’t sit idly by—”
“This is how it must be, for the good of Ard Dhaimhin, for the good of Seare.” Liam reached out and clasped Eoghan’s forearm, then pulled him close into a tight embrace. “Go with Comdiu, my son. You have made me proud.”
Then he shut the door.
Eoghan stared at the back of the door for several moments, his heart beating in his ears.
Protect him, Comdiu. I beg You. Watch over our brothers. Bring them through safely.
Comdiu did not reply.
Eoghan sighed and began the slow descent to the chamber beneath the fortress.
The soft light intensified for a moment when he entered the Hall of Prophecies. He paced the edges of the chamber, looking over the scrolls, folios, and parchments without seeing them. He had no idea how long he walked the perimeter of the room, praying a wordless litany and pushing down the fear that threatened to choke him.
Then, as if directed by a hand outside him, he paused before one particular cubbyhole. Hand shaking, he removed the scroll from its spot and unrolled it.
The Kinslayer shall rise, the Adversary looming treacherous over the bleeding land. Day shall be night, and the mist, unbound, shall wreak evil upon the sons of men.
In that hour alone, the son of Daimhin shall come; wielding the sword and the song, he shall stand against the Kinslayer, binding the power of the sidhe and, for a time, bringing peace.
Eoghan sank back against the wall of shelving, stunned.
The sword and the song.
Did that mean their battle against the druid would be won by both steel and magic? Led by one who possessed skills with both? Would the one who defeated this foe in such a way again rule over Seare?
Eoghan lowered the parchment to his lap, suddenly weak. He should have