Holder of Lightning

"You should be most careful of all." His dark gaze held her, moving from her face to her arm. "I think you understand my meaning."

She closed her fingers around the hidden cloch. "I do, Tiarna."

A nod. "O'Deoradhain, you and I should ride ahead, I think."

They rode on, Mac Ard and O'Deoradhain several feet ahead of them.; Jenna noticed that the tiarna swept his cloca back away from the hilt of his sword and that she could also see the leather-wrapped hilt of. O'Deoradhain's knife. Alert now, they approached the crossing. The aroma of smoke hung in the air, and the odd scent underlying it grew stronger. The walls on either side of the road spread out suddenly, and in the clear space ahead of them, she could see a cluster of buildings. In the twilight, they seemed wrapped in a strange, dark fog, then she realized that the structures were roofless, the windows and doors gaping open like dead mouths, and that the fog was tendrils of smoke from still-smoldering timbers.

The scene was eerily deserted. No people moved in the midst of the rubble, no birds, no dogs.

Nothing.

She also knew, then, what the other odor must be, and she swallowed hard. "The fires were set a day ago or more, by the look," Mac Ard said, almost whispering. His face was grim. None of them wanted to speak; loudly here; it seemed disrespectful.

"That worries me-I didn't think the Connachtans would stay this long, or be so bold as to strike this close to Ath Iseal with its garrison. Those who lived here no doubt fled, the ones who weren't killed, but why they haven't returned by now is what worries me more."

"Tuath Connachta, was it?" O'Deoradhain asked. "You speak as if you've met them, Tiarna. Are the Tuatha at war?"

Mac Ard glanced back at O'Deoradhain but didn't

answer. "Let's see what we can learn here. Carefully!!

They moved closer to the ruins. Jenna could see now that all that was left of the houses were the

tumbled down stone walls, blacked with smoke. A few fire-blistered timbers leaned forlornly, with wisps of gray smoke lifting from them. The ground was littered with broken crockery and scraps of cloth, as if the village had been torn apart before the fires were set. As if, Jenna realized, the attackers had been looking for someone or something. There were no signs of the residents of this place, though Jenna saw dark shapes within walls of the houses that made her look away.

Mac Ard reined up his horse before the ruins of the largest building- the inn, Jenna decided. He walked carefully over the stones and timbers, his boots crunching through the wreckage and sending plumes of ash up with each step. Once, he stopped and bent down, then came back out.

"There are two dead in there," he said. "Maybe a few more that I can’t see. Some, perhaps most, I hope, ran before the fire and are still alive." He looked around. "There’s nothing we can do here. I’ll feel safer once we reach Ath Iseal."

"If it hasn’t been attacked as well," O’Deoradhain replied but Mac Ard shook his head.

"There weren’t that many here, by the signs. A dozen, perhaps a few more. This is the work of marauders, not an army."

As Mac Ard spoke, Jenna closed her eyes for a moment. The cloch burned in the darkness behind her eyes, and she could see the webs of connection to the other clochs na thintri. One of those connections, she suddenly realized, snaked over to Mac Ard, and another. .

She opened her eyes. Against the ruddy western sky, on a bare knife — edged ridge half a mile away, she could see a rider. "Tiarna," she said, pointing, and as Mac Ard turned to look, the rider turned his horse and vanished. A faint voice called in the distance, and others answered. Mac Ard muttered a curse and mounted.

"Ride!" he cried. "And let’s hope that the crossing is still open."

They urged their horses into a gallop in the growing dark, moving quickly while they could still somewhat see the road ahead of them. At the juncture of the roads, they turned east toward the river, a few miles ahead. Jenna kept looking back over her shoulder at the road behind, expecting to see riders coming hard after them, but for the moment the lane remained empty. As they left the village, the walls closed in again to border the road, and they moved into a wooded area. There, night already lurked under the trees, and they had to slow the horses to a trot or risk being thrown by an unseen root or hole. By the time they'd emerged from the trees, the sun had failed entirely, the first stars emerging in the east. The waxing moon-now nearly at a quarter-lifted high above the west and painted the road as it swept down in a great curve over low, flat lands. Far ahead, a row of trees ran nearly north to south across their way, marking the line of the river, which sparkled just beyond. Across the Duan, the road lifted again; on the banks of the hills beyond, yellow light gleamed in the windows at Ath Iseal.