Donal held his chest with his right hand and tried to push himself up with his left, but he collapsed to the floor and rolled to his back. The soldier inverted his grip and stepped toward Donal ready to end the fight.

  An arrow whistled above his head. It hit its target with a hollow thud and jingle of chainmail. The brute staggered backwards a step and held his hand under the exposed half of Maeve’s arrow. Rage filled his eyes and he held the sword with both hands once again, groaning as he raised the handle above his head. “At least you’re coming with me,” he said. “We can say hello to your aul’ man.”

  Donal grabbed his spear and pushed himself up to his knees. He stuck the handle between the brute’s legs and pulled it behind the man’s right heel, toppling his foe backwards. The sword fell out the man’s hand as his arms fell against the floor. Donal rose to his feet and kicked the sword away. The soldier at his feet resigned himself to his fate.

  “Ah well, I can tell Niall MacRannell hello the next time I see him,” Donal said. “He’s recovering nicely. He sends his regards, by the way.”

  Murrough wouldn’t have approved of Donal’s gloating in that situation. Had Finn not been distracted with his own battle he might have heard the exchange and scolded him. It wouldn’t have mattered, though. Donal was comfortable being petty at that moment.

  He gave a wave of thanks to Maeve, who returned to studying the cauldron at her feet. Siobhan and Dother’s fight had moved out the western lawn of the ruins and out of Donal’s line of sight.

  Finn still had Breaslin pinned against the north wall but the sorcerer showed no expression of concern. Finn’s reactions slowed. He had no chance to counterattack and he couldn’t get close enough to use his sword.

  “Baccaid!” Breaslin yelled.

  Finn’s barrier was too slow to stop Breaslin’s spell from landing. He spoke no more words and no spells flew from the arm he furiously waved at Breaslin.

  Breaslin approached Finn and deflected a swing of Fragarach with a shield of his own. He grabbed Finn by his left arm and smiled. “Cré?tnaigid lobaid.” Breaslin’s right hand glowed green. Finn cried out and crumpled into a pile on the ground. The sorcerer grinned and pulled his hand back for what was likely another flame strike within arm’s reach of his target.

  Donal yelled and hurled his spear at Breaslin. He immediately regretted alerting the sorcerer as the man fell backwards to dodge the spear. The impact shook the north wall. Half of the bident’s head was buried in stone.

  Breaslin stood back up and laughed as he patted the handle. “Nice throw,” he said.

  Donal’s right hand remained extended after the throw. He missed and couldn’t close the distance in time. He needed another chance.

  The palm of his hand warmed, spreading heat back up his arm. He stared at the spear—was the sunlight glinting off its red stone? A faint glow appeared on the etching at the bottom of the spearhead. The wall rumbled. The spear vibrated.

  With a loud crackle, the spearhead lurched out of the wall. The handle traveled toward Donal, the trailing spearhead slicing the back of Breaslin’s hand. Donal caught the spear and looked back at the source of the rumbling.

  The spear pulled the wall inward. The left edge of the wall collapsed causing a cascade of rubble traveling to the right. Breaslin yelled as rubble fell about him and buried him three times over but the noise muffled his words. The collapse spread across the left window and pulled the middle section of the wall down.

  “Maeve, grab the cauldron!” Donal yelled.

  “You just told me not to touch it,” Maeve said. “Make up your mind! Am I safe if I avoid using my bare hands?”

  “I don’t know!” Donal said.

  She took off her mantle and covered the cauldron. She tapped the covered treasure and looked at her hand. The wall collapse had reached the second window.

  “Siobhan better fix me if this doesn’t work,” Maeve said. She picked up the cauldron and ran it over to Donal. “See to your brother,” she said. “I’m going to help Siobhan.”

  Finn sat on the floor with his back to Donal. He squeezed his left shoulder and groaned as he spun around to check on the rest of the room. He dropped his arm and his jaw at the sight of his brother hustling toward him. “Your face is a state!” he said.

  “I know,” Donal said. “How bad are the burns on my cheeks and chin?”

  Finn furrowed his brow and narrowed his eyes. “Burns?” he asked. “You have none, unless they’re hiding under all the blood, bruising and swelling on one side of your face.”

  “Well that’s a relief,” Donal said.

  “Is it, now?”

  “How ‘bout we move on and help the ladies?” Donal asked.

  “Do they need it?”

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  Donal looked at the collapsed north wall and heap of rubble covering the spot where Breaslin fell, the oversized soldier lying on the floor behind Donal and the dozen defeated or downed men strewn about the abbey. “Well, they’ll be more inclined to give us a ride home if we’re around when they beat that creepy man.” His injured ribs stopped him after one chuckle.

  Finn stood up and pointed to the pile of stones. “Is he…?”

  “I can’t imagine any man surviving that,” Donal said, “but I’m not thrilled to face any man that could.”

  Finn sheathed his sword and picked up the cauldron. “I’ll take this,” he said. “You go.”

  Donal grabbed his spear and dashed out the western side of the ruins.

  Siobhan swung her sword and staff at Dother without rest. It gave him little chance to counterattack, but her proximity to him forced Maeve to swing wide in order to get a safe angle at him. She nocked an arrow and let it fly.

  Dother jumped backwards to face Maeve. He angled his next shield to force the arrow’s bounce toward Siobhan’s head. Siobhan yelled and grabbed the right side of her face, but quieted once she saw the amount of blood on her hand. Maeve lowered her bow and looked at Siobhan with concern.

  Dother seized the opportunity. “pléasca? dor?ae!” Purple lightning leapt out of his hand at Maeve, catching her in the left hip.

  Afraid of what Dother’s shield might do with a thrown spear, Donal kept his spear low and charged at the man. He noted several wounds through the tears in Dother’s robes as he approached.

  Recognizing his disadvantage, the sorcerer stepped further away from the fight to intercept Donal. “Gaibid.”

  Another unseen fist closed over Donal, halting his charge. Siobhan was rooted where she stood as well. Dother’s eyes shifted between the two as he continued to circle his hands.

  “Finn, where are you?” Maeve yelled.

  Donal could not turn his body to verify Maeve’s condition, but the lack of footsteps and arrows whistling through the air led Donal to assume Dother’s spell reached her as well.

  “What do we do now?” Donal asked.

  “We ready ourselves,” Siobhan said. “There’s just one of him. He can’t attack us while he’s holding us. Look at him. He knows I’m on to him.”

  “I’m here,” Finn called out.

  “If you’re free, attack him,” Siobhan yelled.

  Dother ran out of their reach and put Donal and Siobhan between him and Finn. He stopped moving his arms to prepare his next spell, but the hold took a few seconds to wear off—more than enough time for the sorcerer. “Béoigidir marb.”

  The sound of metal sliding against stone emerged from the abbey. Donal looked back to see the fallen soldiers from the battlefield rise to their feet. The sound of things hitting stone came from the graveyard. Something pushed aside a capstone that was left partially ajar. Other closed capstones shook with each strike from below.

  “Your idea to knock most of them out may save us,” Siobhan said.

  “But we didn’t save them all, did we?” Donal said. He needed something to keep that thought from lingering in his head for too long.

  Siobhan pointed her sword back to the abbey. “Is that the big guy?”

  Donal didn’t need to look. “Of course it is,” he said.

  An arrow flew past, breaking Donal’s conversation and Dother’s concentration.

  “You two dossers realize we’re not restrained anymore, right?” Maeve asked. “Care to help me?”

  Without breaking eye contact with Maeve, Siobhan pushed a blast of thunder at Dother to take him by surprise. She looked back at the abbey. Donal confirmed Dother was reeling and did the same.

  “Actually,” Siobhan said, “We won’t.”

  She added another arrow to a fallen spearman and scoffed.

  “Beg your pardon?” Maeve asked.

  “Finn! Grab the cauldron and head for the horses,” Siobhan yelled. “We can’t hold out for a second fight—much less a third. We have to try to get the cauldron out of here. Donal, you’re with him.”

  Donal ran up the hill after Finn.

  “Maeve, ready for a flying target?” Siobhan asked.

  “Why?” Maeve said.

  Donal looked back to see Siobhan blow Dother five feet into the air. Maeve didn’t catch on until the sorcerer hit his zenith and her rushed shot caught him in the thigh on the way down.

  “Sketch it!” Siobhan yelled. “Back to the horses.”

  Finn set down the cauldron next to Gála and took off his mantle to wrap the cauldron in an extra layer of clothing.

  “We don’t have time for this,” Donal said.

  “We do if we don’t want to curse ourselves or the horse,” Finn said. He mounted the horse and held his arms out and took the cauldron while Donal climbed on behind him. Once Donal was settled Finn passed the cauldron back to his younger brother. “We can’t do two people and the cauldron,” Finn said to Siobhan.

  “You have to,” Siobhan said. “Maeve can’t shoot from horseback with it, nor can I defend us from behind with it.”

  Finn sighed and leaned forward as if he were taking his mark in a horse race. In truth, he was. Donal rested the cauldron on his brother’s back, careful to make sure it touched no exposed skin.

  Maeve led them down the side road to the main road. Dother shrieked at them as he chased them from the field where they left him.

  “You won’t go far. The roads are no longer clear for you!” he yelled.

  “The roads were meant to be clear before?” Donal asked his brother.

  “Sure look, the sluagh were just misunderstood helpers,” Finn said.

  “Still, I don’t like the sound of that,” Siobhan said. “We might need a back-up plan in case we can’t make it back to camp.”

  The horses that Breaslin’s people rode in from Gartan stood idle near the road, as did two guardsmen behind them at the crossing with the main road. By the time the guards heard the group’s horses approach, Maeve already had a shot lined up on the archer. They turned left towards town, and within a quarter mile the homes of Kilmacrennan lined both sides of the road. Donal wondered if the stillness in the street was because of the early hour or a survival instinct by the townsfolk to keep quiet and out of sight from the strange men patrolling their streets.

  Maeve turned north at the town’s primary intersection. Four guards stood watch at the bridge one hundred yards north of the crossing. Unlike the men in front of the abbey, these guards clearly heard the group approaching and were ready.

  Maeve ducked two shots from the archers, but the spearmen stood in the center of the bridge ready to bring their horses down.

  “Siobhan!” Maeve yelled. “Clear ‘em out!”

  Siobhan swung wide to the left and kicked into Airgid. until she was even with Maeve. “Gáe? nert!”

  The spearmen flew backwards. Siobhan gave the scrambling archer on her left a thump with her staff as she rode past.

  “I don’t know,” Donal said, “the road seems fairly open.” Up ahead, he saw Maeve shake her head.

  “Mind this moment,” she said.