The Prize Read Free

sharp pain in his head, of cold and dampness and a
vague sense of dread.
    "Dev?" Sean
whispered. "Dev, are you waking?" He became aware now of his
brother's thin arms wrapped tightly around him. An odd smell pervaded the air,
acrid and bitter. He wondered where he was, what was happening— then he saw his
father standing shackled between the redcoats; he saw Captain Hughes raise his
sword, and sever his head.
    Devlin gasped, eyes
flying open.
    Sean hugged him
harder, once.
    Full recollection
made him struggle to his knees. They were in the woods and it had rained some
time ago, leaving everything cold and wet. Devlin lurched aside and wretched
dryly, clinging to the dark Irish earth.
    Finally it was over.
He sat back on his haunches, meeting Sean's gaze. His brother had made a small
fire, just enough to see by, not enough for warmth. "Mother? Meg?" he
asked hoarsely.
    "I don't know
where Mother is," Sean said, his tiny face pinched. "The soldiers
took her away before she even woke up. I wanted to go get Meg, but after you
went berserk and that soldier whacked you, I dragged you here, to be safe. Then
they started the fires, Devlin." His eyes filled with tears. He began to
pant harshly. "It's all gone, everything."
    Devlin stared, for
one moment as frightened as his brother, but then he came to his senses.
Everything was up to him now. He could not cry—he had to lead. "Stop
blubbering like a baby," he said sharply. "We need to rescue Mother
and find Meg."
    Instantly, Sean
stopped sobbing. His eyes wide and riveted on his brother, he slowly nodded.
    Devlin stood, not
bothering to brush off his britches, which were filthy. They hurried through
the glade. At its edge, Devlin stumbled.
    Even in the
moonlight, the land had always been soft with meadows and tall with stalks. Now
a vast flatness stretched before him, and where the manor once was, he saw a
shell of stone walls and two desolate chimneys. The acrid odor was immediately
identifiable—it was smoke and ash.
    "We'll starve
this winter," Sean whispered, gripping his hand.
    "Did they go
back to the garrison at Kilmallock?" Devlin
    asked sharply,
grimly. Determination had replaced the icy fear, the nauseating dread.
    Sean nodded.
"Dev? How will we rescue her? I mean, they've got thousands.... We're just
two—and boys, at that."
    That exact question
was haunting him. "We'll find a way," he said. "I promise you,
Sean. We will find a way."
    It was high noon when
they arrived atop a ridge that overlooked the British fort at Kilmallock.
Devlin's spirits faltered as he looked past the wood stockades and over a sea
of white tents and redcoats. Flags marked the commanding officer's quarters,
well in the midst of the fort. Immediately, Devlin thought about how he and
Sean, two young boys, could enter the fort. Had he been taller, he would have
killed a soldier for his uniform. However, now he considered the possibility
that they could simply walk through those open front gates with a wagon, a
convoy or a group of soldiers, as they were both so small and unthreatening.
    "Do you think
she's all right?" Sean whispered. His color had not returned, not even
once, since they saw their father so gruesomely murdered. He remained
frighteningly pale, his lips chewed raw, his eyes filled with fear. Devlin
worried that he would become sick.
    Devlin put his arm
around him. "We're going to save her and make everything right again,"
he said firmly. But somehow, deep in his sickened heart, he knew his words
were a terrible lie—nothing would ever be right again.
    And what had become
of little Meg? He was afraid to even think of the possibility that she had
burned in the fire.
    Devlin screwed his
eyes shut. A terrible stillness slid over him. His breathing, for the first
time, calmed. The churning in his insides steadied. Something dark began to
form in his mind. Something dark, grim and hard—something terrible and
unyielding.
    Sean started to cry.
"What if he hurt her? What if...what if he...he