Oath of the Brotherhood (26 page)

The small party of riders remained silent
long after they cleared the edge of Seanrós and emerged into the meadowlands beneath a glaring sunlit sky. Perhaps the men held their peace because they knew how close they had come to engaging in a futile fight. Aine stayed quiet because she did not yet trust her voice to be any steadier than the hand holding the rein.

After a few minutes in the open, Ruarc guided his horse alongside hers. “You handled that situation very well.”

“Thank you.” It had been too close. The Fíréin rarely spared those who strayed across their borders without invitation, as was their sovereign right. Had Aine not identified herself as sister to both a king and a Fíréin brother, she doubted they would have been allowed to live.

Somehow, the realization did not shake her as much as her own willingness to put her men in danger. She had known the risk they faced by entering the forest, and she had trusted her connection with Calhoun and Liam would save them. The fact she’d been right did not make it any less irresponsible.

Ruarc studied her. “Did you find what you were looking for?”

A double-edged question. She nodded. “The wards we have been tracking are definitely connected to the wards around Ard Dhaimhin. Whoever is strengthening them must be Fíréin.”

“Shouldn’t that please you?” Ruarc asked. “At least it means it’s someone on our side.”

“It also means there are far more people with the ability to sense the wards than just Lady Aine,” Aran said, bringing his horse alongside hers.

She gave him a nod of agreement. Cúan might still be the better scribe, but Aran had a fine mind for strategy. He grasped situations quickly and analyzed them without error. He would have made a formidable battle commander had he the remotest inclination toward warfare.

“It’s only a matter of time before Fergus has one of them mapping the wards for him, and then we’ve lost our advantage,” Aine said. “In any case, I have the evidence Gainor and Calhoun wanted. We’ve scoured nearly every corner of Faolán and Siomar except for the border forests, and we’re unlikely to survive any more expeditions of this type.”

After an hour at their brisk pace, Abban’s camp came to view. Months ago, they had relocated north and west to a spot that held less strategic advantage but boasted other benefits. First, it was located at the intersection of two strong wards, which protected the camp from incursion and ensured no one infected by the druid’s sorcery could enter. Second, the only way to reach it was through a gauntlet of ward-laced open land or heavily defended Fíréin territory. Aine still felt proud of her contribution to their safety, even if Aran had been the one to note the site’s strategic significance.

Since then, their numbers had tripled, gathering nearly twelve hundred warriors under half a dozen banners both Faolanaigh and Siomaigh, and Aine saw at a single glance the
numbers had expanded again while they were gone. The banner flying prominently above Abban’s confirmed Gainor had arrived with his six hundred warriors from the north.

Shouts went up as they entered camp, passing word of their arrival back to the command pavilion at its center. Men called out greetings, as often directed toward Aine as the well-respected warriors who accompanied her.

“My lady, when you have a moment . . .” a man called out as she passed.

“Come see me tomorrow morning,” she said. “I’ll have some time then.”

Aine spent as much time as she could attending to the medical needs of the camp’s hundreds of warriors, but her mapping project kept her away for days or weeks at a time, leaving long lines of patients to attend when she returned. Between the men who would gather outside the infirmary in the morning and meetings with the commanders well into the night, she was guaranteed a series of exhausting days.

Several young pages met them at the pavilion to take their horses. Aine dismounted and handed over her reins, intending to go straight to her tent, but Lord Abban swept aside the curtains of the pavilion.

“Lady Aine, come, tell us what you found,” he called.

Inside, Abban and Seaghan bent over the maps in close discussion with the two newcomers, Gainor and a man Aine recognized immediately
 
—Keondric Mac Eirhinin.

Gainor glanced up and favored Aine with a warm smile. He moved to her side and kissed both her cheeks in welcome. “Dear sister. You have news?”

Aine stripped off her gloves and approached the table. “Lord Abban showed you our completed map?”

“He insisted on waiting for you,” Abban said.

“Very well. Aran needs to make the addition anyway. We followed the Corelain Wells ward into Fíréin territory today.”

“Fíréin territory?” Seaghan repeated. “And you came back?”

“The lady can be very persuasive,” Ruarc said.

Aine retrieved a wide sheet of parchment from the wooden map chest and spread it atop the map they had been studying. Gainor’s eyebrows lifted, and Aine smiled. Cúan had truly outdone himself with the detailed drawing, rendering Seare’s eastern topography as lovingly and skillfully as any of the ancient illuminated maps. This one bore a spiderweb of crimson lines that covered all of Faolán and Siomar.

“You can see the significance,” Aine said.

Gainor studied the map intently. “They all lead to Ard Dhaimhin.”

“Exactly. It took perhaps a quarter of an hour before we were stopped at sword point by a half-dozen Fíréin sentries.”

Keondric looked at her with a warmth that heated her cheeks. “Bravely done, Lady Aine.”

Aine rushed on without acknowledging the comment. “We suspected the wards were originally created and maintained from the High City, but we had to confirm they were still active within Fíréin territory. Whoever is rebuilding the wards, though, is doing it locally.” She tapped the map where the wards showed a second, dotted line.

“Do you have any ideas yet?” Gainor asked.

“Considering this is magic no one but the Fíréin remember,” Seaghan said, “we should assume it’s a brother. Or at least someone trained in Ard Dhaimhin.”

“If it’s a brother,” Gainor said, “he’s either afraid he will be punished for interfering with the kingdoms, or he knows it would make him a target.”

“Someone with the ability to make the wards could unmake them as well,” Aine said.

“That’s exactly what troubles me.” Gainor sank into a chair and crossed his arms over his chest. “What if this person works for Fergus? He might be trying to get us to rely on the wards’ strength. If he were to break them, we would be taken by surprise.”

“That’s why we have rangers patrolling the wards,” Abban said. “I’ve never been that comfortable with magic. I don’t doubt Lady Aine’s word, but I feel better with a few extra pairs of human eyes on our enemies’ movements.”

Gainor studied the map silently for a minute and then pointed to a spot several miles south of Threewaters. “I intended to encamp here. Now, it seems to me we’d be better here, at the intersection of what you call Callindor and Southbrook. We could muster warriors anywhere in Siomaigh within hours should the outriders send word Fergus is mounting an attack.”

Aine glanced at Gainor. “Who’s watching Faolán’s borders with Tigh if you’re here?”

“Lord Fliann. His men know the countryside so well a rabbit couldn’t cross the border without their notice. Why?”

Aine indicated a spot along the Faolanaigh border that abutted Róscomain. “We haven’t been able to map this area. There doesn’t seem to be a ward here, even on the edge of the forest. Conor once hinted they encountered trouble there on their way to Lisdara. It’s the only weak spot we’ve found.”

“I’ll send word to Fliann right away,” Gainor said. “If there’s a weakness, you can expect the druid to exploit it.”

Aine nodded. “Thank you. Now if you gentlemen don’t need me, I’m going to rest. I’m sure there will be a line forming at the infirmary in the morning.”

Gainor and Seaghan bowed, and Abban said, “Thank you, Lady Aine. Your assistance has been invaluable.”

Aine inclined her head in acknowledgement and stepped from the tent into the fading sunlight. She let out a weary sigh. Her nerves were stretched taut, and her mind whirred constantly with what-ifs. What if she was wrong about the wards? What if one of her assurances about their strength led to the deaths of these warriors she had come to know and respect? She had done her best to use her abilities for Seare, but deep down she was just a girl who had been thrown into deep water.

She’d gone no more than a few steps when a voice called out, “Lady Aine!”

She turned as Lord Keondric strode toward her. She’d always thought him handsome, with coal-black hair and brilliant, almost unnaturally blue eyes. But something about his smile made her heart beat too fast . . . and not in a pleasing way. She took a step back, and Ruarc put a steadying hand on her back.

“What you’ve done here is impressive,” Keondric said. “I wanted to congratulate you on the accomplishment.”

“Thank you, my lord.” She dipped her head while searching for a way to extricate herself.

Ruarc saved her. “The lady is tired, my lord; she’s just far too polite to say so. Perhaps you could speak later.”

Keondric gave her a graceful bow. “Forgive me. I just wanted to convey my admiration. We will, after all, be family someday soon. Rest well, my lady.”

Aine licked her lips and nodded. Why did the man unnerve her so? He’d been polite and solicitous when she had encountered him at Lisdara, but she’d never been struck with this uneasiness in his presence. Was it because there was something more than brotherly admiration in his gaze? He was betrothed to her sister, but she knew full well it was not a love match. He
and Niamh had never said more than a handful of words to each other.

“You might as well get used to the admiration,” Ruarc murmured behind her. “I understand Calhoun has already received a number of discreet inquiries about you.”

Aine’s eyes rose to Ruarc’s face in alarm. “Surely, he wouldn’t
 
—”

“No. Now is not the time. But the war will eventually end, and you can’t avoid the question forever.”

“Conor’s coming back, Ruarc.” Aine poured every ounce of conviction she could muster into her voice, even though inside she wasn’t nearly so sure. “Besides, we have far greater things to worry about.”

Aine tossed beneath the wool blanket in her tent that night, listening to the brisk summer wind rustle and snap the canvas sides. Her confidence fell away with the tears that rolled down her cheeks. It was futile, she knew in her heart. All her work, the wards, the maps . . . they would only slow down the spread of evil that threatened to swallow Seare. Balus had told her clearly things would worsen before they improved, and now she feared her intervention would only delay the inevitable.

Or was it the unpleasant feelings dredged up by Keondric’s admiration that colored her perspective? Ruarc seemed to believe she’d give up and someday marry another man, but she refused to believe the sentry’s words. Conor wasn’t dead. She’d know somehow. But that didn’t mean he hadn’t changed his mind and decided to make a home at Ard Dhaimhin.

“Foolish girl,” she whispered. “Pining for someone who might never return.”

She threw the blanket aside and wrapped her cloak around herself. Through the gap in the tent flaps, morning light glimmered in the gray sky. Creaks and rustles paired with the muted
voices of men, signs the camp was beginning to stir. She pushed aside the canvas and stepped into the steady breeze.

Where did I lose my way, Lord?
Her eyes drifted beyond the camp to the copses of ash in the distance.
I was so certain I knew what You wanted from me, and now I have no idea.

A gust of wind whipped her unbound hair across her face, stinging her skin.

I have allowed you to succeed in this endeavor
, came the answer with chill certainty,
but this was not what I asked of you.

Aine shivered. Before she could ask the question, the answer came:
Have faith in Me. Seek My wisdom, accept My guidance.

They were the same words Balus had given her when she was beneath the water, but somehow they only confused her more. Wasn’t that what she was doing? If mapping the wards and healing were not her true purpose, then what was?

There are so yet so many who do not know Me, who have never heard My name. It is for the love of these multitudes this storm of darkness must be stopped.

The answer had been there all along. Seare might be the first battleground, but the war was far wider. Knowledge of Balus was the end goal, not peace.

A ward vibrated at the edge of her awareness like a plucked harp string. She saw the map’s red lines in her mind’s eye, and instantly, she knew where the disturbance had originated. She spun on her heel, intending to fetch Ruarc, but he already stood behind her.

“Something breached one of the wards,” Aine said. “We need to go investigate.”

“Warriors?”

“I don’t think so. It doesn’t feel like sorcery, but I’ve never been able to distinguish ordinary people crossing them before. It has to be something else.”