Challenge of the clans (11 page)

Seeing his danger, Finn began to swim rapidly away from it. The Dovarchu's death throes grew more frenzied, the long neck coiling, the barrellike body rolling, thrashing madly, churning the water to a white froth tinted red with its blood. He swam to a safe distance and turned to watch its struggles. They soon began to grow weaker. The body ceased to roll, the flippers to thrash. The graceful neck drooped downward to the surface of the lake in a gesture of immense weariness, of total defeat. A final spasm rippled through it, throwing the head up as if in a final act of supplication to the setting sun. Then all its final strength left it at once. The neck went Hmp, bringing the head splashing down for the last time into the waves.

For a long moment more Finn watched the still creature. Its massive form floated, stretched out across the surface. The low sun's rays, made crimson by a haze atop the hills, drew a blazing streak across the lake and across the creature, burnishing the smooth, shining skin to gold.

He always felt a pang of regret at destroying a proud, powerful beast, no matter how good the cause, and he felt regret now in the kilUng of this sleek, vital,

and strangely beautiful creature, for all its savagery. Still, he had done what he needed to do. He had fulfilled his bond.

He turned away from the Dovarchu and began the swim back to shore.

The waiting men rushed to greet him as he emerged from the lake. They crowded about, their voices exclaiming a mixture of surprise, delight, and congratulation. Someone threw a cloak over his dripping body. Cnu Deireoil clutched his hand and beamed at Finn in relief

"It's a happy man I am to see you win that fight, ** he said. "I thought you were a dead man, surely, and the fault for it my own."

"You have done it, and there's no arguing that,"* said Cian, clearly overjoyed at the young warrior's victory. He turned to Caoilte and said with a triumphant air: "Well, my champion, you can't refuse to take in this lad now!"

"You're right, my chieftain," Caoilte admitted grudgingly. He stepped up to Finn and put a hand upon his shoulder as he met his eye.

"You've won the challenge fairly, and there's no man who can say that Caoilte MacRonan doesn't see a bargain kept," he said with gravity. "If you mean to try to be a warrior, it looks as if I'll be having to see to your training myself."

"Thank you for that!" Finn told him earnestly, grinning at the man.

For the first time there came a return smile from the dark warrior. "All right, boy. But I still think you're a fool."

Finn's drink sat forgotten before him as he stared about the fortress's hall. Bodhmall and Liath had told him of the halls of Ireland's great chieftains and of their wondrous style of life. These stories had been precious fuel to fire the imagination of the isolated boy. But the grand and glowing images of such places he had created

in his mind gave him no preparation for what he saw here.

The large room was oval, its center open, circled by a series of thick posts that supported a peaked roof frame covered with thatch. From the posts to the outer wall, wickerwork partitions radiated like spokes in a wheel, dividing the area surrounding the central space into wedge-shaped compartments.

The neat, symmetrical nature of the hall, however, was barely discernible beneath the overlying chaos, litter, and filth.

Objects were strewn everywhere, useful and broken, worthless and valuable jumbled together and treated with equal contempt. Carelessly hung tapestries covered the walls, sagging, ragged, their brilliant colors and elaborate designs discolored by wear. Weapons were everywhere, shields, swords, and spears stacked in great heaps or hung from every available protrusion. The floor was httered, too, ornate goblets of beaten gold rolling about with broken pottery and gnawed bones.

In the center of the room, several women labored around a large central fire in a round, stone-lined pit. Some turned whole carcasses of sheep and cow on massive spits of iron. Others stirred the contents of great cauldrons hung from iron chains. The steam and oily smoke wafi:ed up in a thick cloud, some managing to squeeze out through the small roof hole, most filling the high canopy and turning the air hazy. The thatch above had long since been turned black by it, festoons of cobwebs dangling down in strands made thick by their coating of grease.

The space around the fire and the compartments were jammed with a raucous crowd of fortress inhabitants hard at the talking and drinking that preceded an evening meal. All sat on mats or ftirs on the earthen floor behind low tables of rough planks. The partitions allowed them to see into the center and the rooms across the hall, but gave them some privacy from those close on either side. Some rooms held whole families of

clansmen to the chieftain. Others were filled with single warriors grouped with their closest comrades,

Finn would normally have been relegated to a small compartment with the rest of the youngest warriors of Bantry. But his destruction of the Master-Otter, which had plagued them for so long, had given him a champion's status, at least for this one night. He dined with the best warriors of Cian's company.

Across fi-om Finn's compartment was that of the chieftain. It was quite a bit larger than the rest, and with a higher table and benches for its occupants. At the place of honor beside Cian was now seated the Little Nut. He caught the eye of Finn and waved gayly at him.

Caoilte had stayed close to his new charge on Finn's first night here. He had noticed the young man's fascination with his surroundings and was watching the play of emotions in Finn's face with interest.

"It's a strange look you've got," he said at last. "What is it you think of our little rath?"

Finn started to reply, then stopped, not certain what to say. He could not insult those who had taken him in, but he also could not lie. He searched desperately for something to say while Caoilte stared at him, a slight smile revealing his amusement at the lad's obvious discomfort.

"It's ... a most . . . ah . . . interesting place,** Finn said at last.

Caoilte laughed. "Don't worry, lad. This place is a

rubbish heap. We all know that, and it bothers none of

>» us.

"True enough," a second warrior put in, wiping some globs of fat from his mustache with the back of his hand. "I nearly left Bantry the first time I came here. My own mother was a cleanly woman, praise her memory, and taught me to be the same." He burped loudly and tossed a well-cleaned pork rib over his shoulder. "But I've gotten used to it."

"Still, it's a good place," a third said emphatically, leaning toward Finn. "You mark me, lad: you'll find no place more a home to you, and no chieftain more gen-

eroiis, more friendly, or more kindhearted than Cian. And may the Morrigan take me if Tm telHng a Ue to you!

"Of course, there's no denying that hes poor enough at running the tuath,*' the other said. "And he's no warrior at all."

"But I thought that a chieftain had to be a strong leader," Finn said, recalling more of the teachings Bodhmall had drilled into him through his childhood. She had talked often of the strong obedience and the great respect Cumhal had commanded from his clan, and that Finn would have to command if he meant to take his fathers place.

"iVe traveled much of Ireland and iVe ser\'ed in many companies," Caoilte said with the knowing air of one who has truly seen the world. "IVe learned that there are things more important than a strong arm and a kingly manner. Cian treats us with fairness and respect. He doesn't make servants of us as many chieftains do. And in return for that, we see that things are run properly."

"Aye," one of the other warriors agreed. "Without our minding of him, he'd likely give away the whole tuath as a gift to the first who asked for it."

"He is a very openhanded man," said Caoilte, fixing a meaningful look on Finn as he added, "especially when it comes to taking in strays."

Finn understood and felt rightfully chastened. He owed much to Cian's generosity himself. It was not for him to judge.

"Fm sorry," he said. "I didn't mean—"

The dark warrior didn't let him finish. "No more now. The music's going to begin. "

Finn looked around. Cnu Deireoil was now standing before the table of the chieftain. From the leather bag he carried with him he was carefully pulling a beautiful instrument. A criusach it was, he had told Finn. The musician's traditional harp. The graceful bow of yew was carved in a sinuous interlace design richly inlaid with silver and gold and colorful enamels. The fine strings running across it glinted as he lightly tested

them, producing fine, high notes of a clarity Hke a bright, clear winter's day.

The sound of it carried across the talk and laughter in the hall. At once the sounds died as the attention of all turned toward the little harper.

He began to play. The sweet, sad, beautiful strains of the tune filled the room. In moments everyone was rapt, the power of Cnu Deireoil allowing him to enchant them with his music's spell. The warriors even stopped their drinking to listen, a certain sign of the greatness of his skill.

Finn listened with appreciation, too, though he was fi*ee of the control of the spell as the Little Nut had promised. He could understand why his fiiend was so well honored here. A tuath too small or poor to support its owni resident bard was dependent on traveling performers for entertainment. And one with the talent of Cnu must be especially welcome.

He looked around the room at the people, his eager mind absorbing the new impressions. His eyes drifted across the compartments, around the circle to that of Cian. There he abruptly paused.

He realized that he was not the only one whose attention was not fixed on the musician. His gaze was met by another. Large, deep brown eyes were staring into his, and in their depths, even fi*om so far away, he glimpsed an expression that he did not understand but found most intriguing.

Chapter Eleven

TRAINING

The eyes were still watching him.

Their owner was a woman who stood a safe distance from the training yard and the practicing warriors, gaze fixed solely on each movement of Finn's swordplay with Caoilte. There was something distracting in the dark, warm gaze. He could feel it on him even when his back was to it. As he spun about, his eyes again met hers and were held there for an instant. Caoilte used his hesitation to move in and slam his shield against Finn's side with great force, staggering him.

"Keep your mind on the fight, lad!" he scolded. "You have to watch every move I make, no matter how small."

Finn tried again to focus his fiill attention on his teacher, this time with better success. They began a long exchange of cuts, so frequent and so hard that soon Finn's sword blade began to twist and to bend.

"Hold on!" Finn said, stepping back and holding up a sword that more closely resembled a scythe. "I've got to do a bit of straightening."

He dropped the weapon onto the hard ground and began to hop upon it with both feet in an attempt to flatten the metal. Caoilte watched this activity with disapproval.

"You can't be doing that in a real fight, you know,** he pointed out.

"In a real fight I'm not likely ever to meet a fighter so ferocious as yourself," Finn answered, grinning.

"That's a fooHsh thing to suppose," Caoilte replied tersely, appearing to ignore the compliment. But then he added in a grudging sort of way: "Of course, your own skills in defending yourself have improved a little since you came."

Finn knew that this was a great compliment, indeed, fi-om the exacting warrior. Others of the company had told him they had never seen anyone develop the fighting skills so rapidly. Already he could defeat many of his new comrades.

He stopped pounding and lifted up the sword. His effort had been only partially successful. He examined the decidedly wavy blade doubtfully.

Caoilte moved up beside him and eyed the sword critically as well. "It might be you could use a better made weapon," he said. "FU see to getting you one after your trainings done."

"And how soon will that be?" Finn asked eagerly.

"Easy, lad," the warrior cautioned. "If you wish to be the great champion, it could take more than just a few days."

"Then let's be at it again!" the young man said, taking up a defensive stance.

"No, no. Enough!" Caoilte told him, as if curbing a leaping pup. "YouVe worked enough for one day."

"But I want to learn more!" Finn said earnestly. "I can't rest until I've become as fine a warrior as I can."

"Why?" Caoilte asked.

For a moment, Finn was nonplussed. All his need for caution returned. "What do you mean?" he asked.

"It's this need of yours. It seems to hold you too tightly. Other lads dream of the glory of battle, the riches to be had, the chance for fame. But it's something else with you. There's some other purpose."

Finn struggled within himself. He'd come to like Caoilte despite his individualistic and somewhat egotistical manner, but enough to tell the whole truth to him? Yet, to lie . . .

"I—I don't know what to tell you, Caoilte/' he finally answered haltingly.

"Never mind, lad," he said quickly, seeing Finn's distress. "It's nothing to do with me, so I've no right to ask. If there's some strange ambition plaguing you, I don't want to know of it. I've no such terrible thing myself."

Finn eyed Caoilte quizzically at this speech. Having been raised with a single destiny himself, it was hard for him to conceive of someone else without his own.

"You mean, there's nothing that you care about?'* he asked.

"Yes. Good wages, a chance to fight, and no man telling me what I have to do. Any more only sees a fighting man dead."

"Everyone must have something he's willing to fight for, " Finn reasoned, "or there's little meaning to his life."

"I only fight to fight, the same as any other warrior of this company," Caoilte brusquely returned. "Now, why don't we go and wash the sweat of this day's practicing away? There's time yet for some hunting before evening."

Finn nodded and fell in beside Caoilte as he started toward their quarters. As they crossed the yard, he again took note of those brown eyes, still following his moves.

"Caoilte, who is that woman?" he asked.

The warrior glanced toward her and snorted. "Her? That's Cian's daughter. She likes hanging about the training yard, that she does."

"She's been watching me," Finn said, looking back again.

"I'm not surprised. She likes to watch the young ones especially. I've no doubt she's taken a fancy to you."

Finn looked at his companion in a puzzled way. "Why would she do that?"

Caoilte stopped abruptly and faced the young man, his cool, detached expression marred by a rare emotion: astonishment.

"Are you saying to me that you don't know? Come now, lad! You can't be so innocent as that!"

Finn stared blankly at the warrior, not understanding his reaction.

"I'm sorry, Caoilte, but I really don't know what you mean."

Caoilte looked narrowly at Finn, not certain whether to believe him or not.

"Maybe you don't," he said at last. "All I can say is, you'd best take care with that one, or youll learn some things here that you likely weren't expecting."

Finn came out of the warriors' quarters with his two spears, ready for hunting with Caoilte. But outside the door he found someone awaiting him.

"Hello, " said a voice as warm and soft as the brown eyes gazing into his. "My name is Fionnuala. I'm the daughter of Cian."

"I'm Finn," he answered, a little absently as he was absorbed in having his first close look at her.

He realized that she was very young, perhaps a year or two older than himself He had little to compare her with in terms of judging her beauty, but he found her face quite pleasing, with even features and the whitest skin he had ever seen. But her most striking feature was the wealth of copper hair that billowed about her shoulders. This she was clearly aware of, for she tossed her head sUghtly as she smiled at him, making her hair dance with light.