Holder of Lightning

"It's too late," Jenna said. Her voice sounded nonchalant, almost amused. Strangely, she wanted to laugh. She couldn't lift her hand to point, but nodded toward the bridge. The riders from the keep were gal-loping around the final bend in the mountain road. Sighting Jenna on the other side of the bridge, they shouted and urged their horses forward. Jenna reached for the cloch again, wondering if she could open it in time, wondering if she had the strength to stay conscious if she did.

Something moved in front of her: O'Deoradhain, stepping to the end of the bridge as if he were about to hold back the on-rushing gardai him-self, one-handed. As Jenna watched, the man bent down and took a stone from the ground in his free hand. He held it in front of him, as if he were offering it to

the riders. She heard his voice call aloud: "Obair don dean-nach!" He threw the stone to the ground, and it seemed to shatter and dissolve. The gardai’s horses pounded onto the bridge, and at the same time, the bridge groaned like a live thing, a wail of wood and stone. The bridge decking writhed as if a giant had struck it from below as the tall stone arches to either side collapsed and fell away. Blocks of carved stone rained; support timbers bent and cracked like saplings in a storm.

The bridge fell, with the first of the riders on it. Horses and men screamed as they pinwheeled in air to the bottom of the ravine and crashed against the stones of Deer Creek.

There was a stunning silence. A gout of dust rose from the deep cleft-a gaped. The gardai trapped on the far side stared down at the broken bodies of their companions.

O’Deoradhain alone was free of the stasis. Jenna saw him move, heard groan with effort and pain as he pulled himself with his one good m onto her horse, even as Jenna swayed and nearly fell. His arms went round her, taking the reins. He slapped them against the stallion’s neck, kicked at its massive chest. "Go!" he shouted, wheeling the horse around.

Even as the first arrows arced toward them from across the ravine, they were galloping away toward the town, the onlookers staring in terror and fright. They fled.

Chapter 28: A Return

JENNA remembered little of the flight from Lar Bhaile, where O’Deoradhain took her or how they came to leave. There were flashes of images:

. . du Val, his face peering down at her concernedly. His mouth moved, but she heard nothing of what he said. There was another face behind the ugly dwarfs-O’Deoradhain? — and Jenna tried to struggle up, but hands held her firmly. .

. . the pain as she was lifted. She could see nothing, but she could feel herself moving. There

were voices: "We can't stay here. They'll be scouring the town in an hour. Not only the keep's gardai, but the Rl Ard's garrison as well" Another voice spoke. "A carriage, then? She can't ride, certainly." The first voice answered. "No, they'll be watching the High Road. If we could get across the lough… "

… a gentle rocking motion, the creaking of wood, the splashing of water and the smell of damp and fish. She looked up and saw stars above her, swaying softly…

There were still stars, and the smell of the lough and the sound of canvas rippling in a wind. Jenna sat up. She was in a small boat, a single small sail billowing in the cold night breeze. She was wrapped in blankets and she hugged them around her against the frigid air. O'Deoradhain was seated in the stern of the boat, the tiller in his hand, his left arm still bandaged tightly against his chest. Ahead, the shore was no more than a quarter mile distant. "Where?" was all she could manage to say. Her throat was raw and burning; the headache still pounded with every beat of her heart, and she wasn't certain she could move her right arm; it seemed dead- She touched her neck with her other hand: Lamh Shabhala was still there on its chain-that, at least, gave momentary relief. O'Deoradhain hadn't taken it from her.

"Nearly on the western shore of Lough Lar," O'Deoradhain answered. "And a bit north of Lar Bhaile as well. I've been looking for a good, low shingle where we can land."

"Anduilleaf… I need it…"

O'Deoradhain shook his head. "Don't have it. Du Val took it."

Jenna shivered at that. Anger burned, and she started to lift her hand to the cloch, but weariness overcame her. She sank back. "I'll die," she whispered. "I hurt so much."

"You might wish you died, but you won't. Not from the pain of Lamh Shabhala or withdrawal from the leaf. Perhaps from the Ri's soldiers, if they find us."

She remembered, suddenly, O'Deoradhain standing before the bridge, and it falling. . "The bridge," she said. "You said you knew other magics, but you also said they were slow and weaker. That was neither slow nor weak."

If Jenna’s praise pleased him, he didn’t show it.