Holder of Lightning

They moved through the field toward the lough, the land sloping gently downhill to the water. There were beeches and sycamores lining the banks, and without speaking both of them urged their horses into a gallop to head for their cover. The storm deer glanced up; the dominant tag of the herd lifted an antlered head and gave a ululating cry, and the herd moved off at a canter to the east, their hooves trembling the ground with a low rumble. Jenna and O’Deoradhain reached the line of trees and moved just inside, then pulled up their mounts and turned. "Can you still feel them?" O’Deoradhain asked.

Jenna closed her eyes, touching the cloch with stiff and cold fingers. "Aye," she said. She looked at him, worried. "Closer now. There." She pointed up the slope they’d just traveled to the low ridge lined with trees.

A few breaths later, a half dozen riders appeared, emerging slowly from under the trees, perhaps half a mile away. All were dressed in green and brown, mail glinting under their colors. One of the group, even from that distance, seemed familiar to Jenna.

Jenna’s heart jumped. "The man in front-with no helm. That’s Mac Ard, I think."

O’Deoradhain cursed again. "Aye. You could be right." As they watched, a rider dismounted and walked carefully along the ridge. He stopped and pointed-it seemed to Jenna that his finger was aimed di-rectly at her. "Damn, they’ve seen our trail," O’Deoradhain spat. "There’s nothing for it, Jenna. They’ll track us now, and once we leave the cover of the trees, they’ll see us." Jenna only stared at him, as if by her gaze she could change his words. "There are six of them, Jenna. I can’t deal with that many, even without the clochs na thintri they have."

She knew what he was saying, though her head was shaking in denial. "I can’t… "

It was eventually going to come to this, Jenna, no

matter what. We both knew it. You can either use the cloch now, while they're not certain now close they are to us, or later when they know who we are and where. Strike first, and you have the advantage."

"I don't know how to fight cloch against cloch."

And probably neither do they, yet," O'Deoradhain persisted. "I suspect Lamh Shabhala will show you the way."

He was right; she knew it, could feel it in the very marrow of her bones and yet she resisted. The riders gathered again as the scout remounted, and they started down the slope toward where they were hidden, following the unmistakable path their horses had made through the tall grass.

She watched the tall rider with the dark hair, certain that it was Mac Ard even though she couldn't see his face clearly. He will have one of the clochs, It will be him you strike against, your mam's lover. .

She brought her right hand up, looking at the mottled skin. She opened her fingers with an effort, then closed them again around Lamh Shabhala

She opened her mind fully to the cloch.

Lamh Shabhala was full with the power of the mage-lights, its crystal-line interstices crackling and surging with the energy. The vision of it seemed to expand and spread out before her, rushing like a tidal wave over the land; when it struck the riders, the force broke and shattered on twin rocks, shimmering white. Jenna saw the world in doubled vision now: through her eyes and through Lamh Shabhala. With her eyes, she saw Mac Ard and one of the other riders suddenly pull up and stop while the other four continued on; through the cloch, two presences suddenly appeared, one as ruddy as heated coals, the other more the color of a cold sea, both throbbing and pulsing inside the horizon of Lamh Shabhala.

She knew what she had to do and yet she hesitated-in that hesitation, she could feel the other two clochs searching for her in the landscape of Lamh Shabhala. There was no doubt as to their intentions; she could feel the hostility, especially from the sea-colored stone. For the moment, though, she ignored them. She looked instead for the four riders and she released more of the stored energy within her cloch, gathering it in her mind and shaping it, then releasing it with a savage mental thrust.

With her eyes, she saw lightnings arc from her scarred right arm, flash-ing outward in jagged white-hot streaks toward the riders. Two of the riders were torn from their saddles and their mounts killed as bolts shot through them: shredding flesh, shattering bones, and boiling their blood. Thunder boomed and crackled. Jenna heard the screams of both men and horses, short and cut off as the force of the cloch ripped the life from them. She felt them die.