CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

The sound of horns jolted Eoghan from a deep sleep. For a moment, he lay still, trying to reconcile the sound of the city’s wake-up call with the darkness still visible through the hole in the clochan’s roof. Then he realized it was not the sounding horn at all but rather the carnyx, which was used to signal only one thing.

War.

Eoghan swung his legs from the shelf bed and lit the torch. The fire whooshed to life, scattering its orange light over the boys, most of whom were blinking sleepily, confused by the early rousing.

“Up and in your clothes, lads.” Eoghan kept his voice steady, though his heart was knocking against his ribs. “Quickly now.”

“It’s time, then?” Breann asked. He’d come to be the unofficial spokesman for the céad.

“It’s time.” Eoghan went to the chest that held his personal belongings. His sword went on his back, dagger and hand stones at his belt, another knife in the sheath strapped to his calf. The boys would receive their swords and knives at the armory. The older céads had been assigned weapons long ago, but his group had been deemed too young.

The irony grated on him. Too young to be trusted with unsecured weapons, but old enough to die with them in hand.

He shook off the black thought as the boys finished dressing and formed a line in the large open area of the clochan. “Bhris, take the lead.”

One of the older boys stepped to the front and led the line up the steps that emptied out of the beehive-shaped dwelling. Eoghan brought up the rear, the unaccustomed tang of fear on his tongue. Not for himself —after all, he would be safe at Carraigmór behind a magically sealed door —but for these boys he’d come to care about.

As they joined the other céads moving in a steady flow toward the armory, Iomhar fell in beside Eoghan. He was one of Ard Dhaimhin’s younger brothers and one of its best swordsmen. “I’ve been ordered to take command of your céad. Master Liam summons you to the fortress.”

Eoghan nodded as if it were a surprise. Liam had insisted that no one but they know his location during the battle, but the idea still chafed. What had he trained for if he ran and hid at the first sign of danger? He had enough confidence to believe he would come out of battle alive.

He does not fear your death but your corruption.

That thought, clearly from Comdiu, made him stumble. When the céad halted in formation near the armory, he moved to their front.

“The Ceannaire has called me to the fortress. I will return when I can. Iomhar is to command you in my absence. Show him how you have made me proud. Look to one another’s safety. And do not give up.”

Most of the boys looked confused, but they immediately focused on the young swordsman. All except Breann, who just looked at Eoghan with those wise, knowing eyes. Eoghan still felt the boy’s gaze as he strode away. Orders or not, he was letting them down, betraying their trust.

Eoghan found his way to the steps of Carraigmór, passing groups of boys heading to the armory, falling behind other groups already armed and making their way to their posts. He frowned. Where were the men? Shouldn’t he be seeing someone over the age of fifteen?

And why was the air already heavy with the scent of wood smoke? Had the cookhouse fires been lit early in honor of their abrupt awakening?

He shook his head. It was surreal seeing the peaceful city mobilize under the starlit sky, illuminated only by the orange flare of torches. At least he could see the glow of the rising sun on the far horizon, a sign that dawn was only a few minutes away.

He took the steps up to Carraigmór as rapidly as he dared, slowing in places where the water seeped from the mountain. At the top, the brother on duty waved him in. “Master Liam is on his balcony.”

Eoghan nodded. Watching the dispersion of his men, no doubt. He wove through Carraigmór’s stone corridors, upward to Liam’s study, then out onto one of the narrow granite terraces. The Ceannaire stood at the railing, motionless.

“You called for me?”

Liam didn’t turn. “I did. Come.”

Eoghan moved to his master’s side, smoke assailing his nostrils. He followed Liam’s gaze to the east. That was not the glow of sunrise he had seen. It was fire.

“They’re burning our cover!” Eoghan’s heart lodged in his throat. “The sentries —”

“Recalled last night.”

“You knew?”

“I suspected. It’s what I would do. Much of our strength is our ability to strike unexpectedly. If the druid burns the forest, we lose our advantage.”

Eoghan stared at the far edge of Seanrós, the billowing smoke lending a hazy orange glow to the horizon. The destruction of those ancient trees made him ill. Even if Ard Dhaimhin remained standing, the barrier that had allowed them to remain separate would be gone.

“What now?” Despair tinged Eoghan’s voice. “Wait until they burn the forest to ashes and face them in the city?”

“They think they’ve hemmed us in, but they have given themselves nowhere to go.”

So that was why the city had seemed so empty. Liam must have sent them behind enemy lines to take Niall’s forces by surprise.

“You’ve seen it?”

“I’ve seen what I need to know to save as many lives as I can. There will be fighting, men lost, no matter what. But we can make the price so dear that Niall will never be able to hold the city.”

Kill so many of them that there’s not enough left to hold it, he means.

Eoghan had seen blood shed, had let it himself. But by the end of this battle, the city would drown in it.

Eoghan paced a triangle from the balcony to the corridor to Liam’s study as the sky lightened to a smoky orange dawn. The Ceannaire sat at his desk fully armed, sifting through a stack of tablets.

The city was under siege, and he was worried about reports?

Liam glanced at him. “Calm yourself, Eoghan. What is to be will be. Worrying will not change the outcome.”

“That’s easy for you to say. You’ve seen what’s to come.”

“You think that’s easier, do you?” Liam leaned back in his chair. “Believe me, I’d rather not know what I do now.”

Eoghan stopped his pacing, struck again by the uneasy feeling that the Ceannaire had seen his own demise. “Might Comdiu be showing you what’s to come so you can change it?”

“It doesn’t work that way. Not for me.” Liam nodded his head toward the chair. “Sit. We still have matters to discuss.”

Eoghan lowered himself to the chair.

“Regardless of what happens here in the coming days, Niall will not be defeated, not completely. That I have seen. Conor told you of the harp?”

Slowly, Eoghan nodded. “Aye.”

“It still exists. 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.