Challenge of the clans (13 page)

Finn looked toward the source of this enchanting music and saw Cnu Deireoil perched atop the stockade by the gates. He was playing with great fervor at his harp, his fingers flying across the strings as he wove his spell. It had ensnared all the MacMorna warriors, bring-

ing them to a sort of stunned immobility, their heads cocked to one side in Hstening poses, a fooHsh vacancy in their eyes, their weapons hanging forgotten in their hands.

"What happened?" Caoilte asked, getting to his feet. Only he and Finn had been excluded from the spell.

"Get away from there quickly, lads!" Cnu Deireoil shouted down to them. "My tune won't hold the likes of them for very long!"

The pair needed no further urging. They ran from the ring of frozen men to the gates, hauled them open far enough to allow passage, and slipped out of the yard. The harpist, giving over his tune, swung around and dropped lightly from the wall to join them outside.

Let's not delay a moment in being off," he urged. "Soon they'll be coming to life again."

"Should we stay and fight them?" Finn asked, thinking that running might be a bit less noble than a warrior's behavior should be.

"Go against that monster?" Caoilte said. "There's bravery and there's madness, lad. For now, we simply escape.'

They headed away from the fortress at a run. Caoilte was nearly as swift as Finn, and the Little Nut, for all the shortness of his limbs, kept up quite easily. Behind them, in the fortress, Luachra was shaking his head like an angry bull. He looked around him, realizing what had happened.

"After them!" he bellowed to the rest, pounded to the gates, grasped them, and flung them wide.

Already far away, three figures were visible against the glowing crescent of the setting sun, just disappearing behind a low hill.

"Run all you wish, son of Cumhal," the giant growled. "You'll not escape me any more than your father did. If I have to hunt you to the rim of the world and beyond it, you will not escape me."

"He escaped again?" cried Conn of the Hundred Battles angrily. He reined his horse hard around so he might fix his gaze on Goll MacMorna. "And how did that happen?"

The rest of the hunt had moved on, a hundred warriors afoot moving through the woods in line to start the game while a score of noblemen rode behind with ready shngs to bring down the flying birds. Conn had dropped behind to talk privately with his Fianna captain. An interested Tadg was beside him, as usual, to listen to the discomfited Coil's tale.

"The boy has friends now," Coll answered in defense, "They helped him to escape. Magic was used. Several of my men were killed or wounded. But Luachra is continuing the hunt."

"And if he does find our Finn again, why befieve hell have any more success destroying him?" the druid inquired.

"And just what's your meaning in that?" Coll demanded in rising heat.

"Only that we clearly cannot depend upon you to see this properly done," Tadg said. "Your famed Clan na Moma cannot deal with this single child yourself!"

Coll pushed his horse close to the druid's, leaning toward him, face flushed with his anger, his voice low and ominous: "You are risking a great deal to say that to me! This is the son of Cumhal we are facing. He has all his father's courage, skills, and wiles."

Tadg saw that he had gone too far with the touchy chiefl:ain. With the adroitness of a skilled manipulator of men, he swifl:ly revised his approach.

"Calm yourself, my captain," he said soothingly. "I had no idea of suggesting that you were to be blamed in this. I only meant that if this boy is truly as dangerous as you say, you will need help in dealing with him. "

"What do you mean?" Conn demanded quickly. "You know that neither I nor any of my court can seem to be involved. "

"Not in an attack against one of the Fianna," Tadg said in a sly manner, smiHng. "But this MacCumhal is keeping the secret of who he is. He seems only a

common warrior, with no identity. And he has, with no provocation, attacked and killed a number of Fian warriors. By Brehon Law you may ask your chief judge to have him declared outlaw. Then the hand of every honest man of Ireland will be set against him."

This notion seemed to appeal to the high king. He nodded and smiled too. "A fine notion, Tadg. TU see it done at once!"

"I can do even more, my king," he said. "I can also use my own modest powers to seek the boy. I might even be able to bring about his end myself."

"None of your sorcerer s tricks, Tadg," Goll warned darkly. "iVe told you before, there'll be no treachery used in this. It's still the son of a Fian chieftain weVe speaking of, and he'll be treated fairly."

"But you said yourself that he has help now— supernatural help, fi-om your report," the druid pointed out.

"It changes nothing," Goll shot back stubbornly. "MacCumhal will be dealt with honestly, or you'll not have the help of the sons of Moma in dealing with him."

"I think that Goll is right, Tadg," Conn quickly added. He wanted no rebelHons in the Fian leadership created by this. "Nothing should be done that will violate our captain's sense of honor."

"As you wish, my king," Tadg acknowledged with apparent willingness. But neither Goll nor Conn noticed the flame of defiance burning deeply within the gray ice of his eyes.

The black eye sockets swallowed the flickering red glow that ht the rest of the skull to lurid brightness. Many similar death's-head stares, starkly revealed against the dark background of leaves, were directed down fi*om the surrounding tangled branches of the oaks into the tiny clearing. For scores of weathered skulls, the grotesque ornaments of druidic ritual, festooned the limbs of the sacred grove.

Prodding the fire higher with the iron-shod tip of

his sacred staff, Tadg watched the sparks from the flaming yew wood fly upward, vanishing into the darkness above. It was deep in the heart of the night that he had come here. Alone he had prepared his ritual fire and said his charms. Now all was ready. He stood upright, eyes closed, head back. The crimson light beat upward against his face, drawing sharp, arching shadows above his eyes and mouth, replacing his fragile, innocent expression with one that seemed to expose his true sinister nature.

"I summon to me the messengers of the Sidhe,*' he intoned, lifting his staff toward the dark canopy of night. "Gather here, I command you. Gather now."

At first there was nothing in response. He stood, unmoving, arms lifted, for many moments. Then, faintly, came the sound of rustling.

It grew quickly louder, moving in from all directions at once. Soon the treetops began to shake, disturbed by something dropping through them from above. Objects like tattered shadows, like windblown spirits of the night began to flutter down through the branches, settling slowly and furling great wings as they came to rest.

They formed a ring on the lower limbs of the oaks, a flock of enormous blackbirds, sleek blue-black bodies shining in the light, watching Tadg with the glittering star points of their eyes.

As soon as all had found perches, a single, gray-necked bird, much larger than the rest, sailed forward to land neatly atop the skull that sat on a pole beside the fire. It gave a loud caw that held a distinct note of inquiry, then cocked its head to await the druid's reply.

"I cannot trust the mortals of Ireland to carry out my revenge," he said to it. "As the father of Muirne, it is my right to see it done. No threat of Goll MacMoma will stop me. I ask the help of my own race in wiping out this disgrace to afl of us, this foul product of the violation of my daughter."

The bird gave a single, rasping cry, as if it understood.

"Good," he said with satisfaction. "Then I call upon

you, children of the Battle Raven. Fly from here and carry my message to every Sidhe, to every warrior of the Tuatha de Danaan. The son of Cumhal must be found and destroyed!"

Chapter Thirteen

FINN'S REVELATION

The raven skimmed low across the hills, its sharp gaze sweeping constantly over the countryside below.

A movement attracted its attention and it banked into a lazy curve over the spot. Three figures had appeared from a screen of thick woods and were moving onto a wide roadway. The bird spiraled down lower, sweeping in close above the trio. Then it lifted sharply away, voicing a triumphant caw.

Only Finn noted the peculiar action of the bird, but he quickly forgot it as they topped a rise and a large structure came into view ahead.

"Ah, I knew there was one close by," Cnu Deireoil declared with glee.

It was a large building of planks, six-sided and high-roofed. It sat at a junction of six wide roads that radiated away to the horizons in various directions. It was the scene of a great deal of activity, a number of men and horses and carts moving about it, coming and going on the roads.

"What is this place?" Finn asked.

"Why, it's a bruidhean, lad," Cnu answered, at first surprised, then nodding in understanding. "Oh, yes. I had forgotten you know little of our ways here. Well, it's a public house. A place where travelers can

always find food and a place to rest, however poor.** He grinned. "And never were there travelers poorer or more in need than ourselves."

That was true enough. They had been two days in constant flight through wild country to escape the tenacious hunters of the Morna clan. A chance to clean themselves and eat was tempting indeed. Still, though Finn felt certain that they had lost their pursuers, at least for now, he had misgivings.

"Is it safe for us here?"

"It should be," put in Caoilte knowingly. "And even if we were discovered here, we couldn't be attacked. No man may fight and no criminal may be taken within its sanctuary, or so says the Brehon Law."

"All right then," Finn agreed. "I'm willing to be led by you."

As they neared the public house, Finn noted that each of the three sides facing them had a large, open doorway. At the one they approached, as at the others, an unarmed man stood in the plain tunic and trousers of a servant. He greeted them in a friendly way and led them inside.

The interior was a single, large room with small sleeping alcoves along the outer wall. Most of the floor was given over to long tables where some two score men now sat. They were widely scattered, some in large groups, some in twos and threes, a few alone. Most were eating, though one group seemed more interested in drink and boisterous talk.

A dozen other servants bustled about the tables constantly. They served pitchers of drink and carried platters of hot food from the cooking pots and spits of the central fire. They also cleared away the tables after departing men to make way for new arrivals. This was done often, as the crowd was changing constantly. The room, Finn now realized, had a similar doorway in each of its six walls, and men were coming and going through all of them.

Their own servant guided them to an empty table and asked them to sit down.

"You'll be served very soon,** he said politely, and then headed back to his door to await other arrivals.

As he moved away, a man left a group across the room and rushed toward them. He was a thickset, robust-looking man whose bald head was fringed by a bushy hedge of golden hair. His manner was enthusiastic as he greeted the harper.

"Welcome, my friend," he said heartily. "Welcome! Have you come to play for us?"

"Ah, no, sorry to say," Cnu Deireoil rephed. "Well not be staying that long today, Fearghal. But I promise you that Til come back soon to play for you all you wish."

"Fair enough!" the man said. "And for now, you're welcome as you always are. Your friends as well."

He moved away and shouted orders to one of the servants to see to the Little Nut at once. Finn looked after him with curiosity. Though his manner was commanding, he wore no weapons.

"Was that the chieftain of this place?" he asked his companions.

Cnu Deireoil laughed. 'This is no fortress, lad. There are no fighting men here and no nobility. Fearghal is the bruighaid. He sees that the place is run as it should be and that no man goes from here without a full belly, day or night."

"Why?" Finn wondered. "What makes this man and all these others laboring here choose to be so generous?"

"The law of Ireland does it, lad," the little man explained. "It decrees that no one be denied the hospitality of a bruidhean wherever he travels. And so each is required to keep sheep and cattle and hogs—a hundred of each—grazing on its lands and have the flesh of all three always ready to be served. TheyVe to have a hundred servants and beds for a hundred guests. Always they're to offer the three cheers: the cheer of good ale, the cheer of warm food, and the cheer of the gaming board."

"Are there many of these places?" Finn asked, looking about with greater fascination now.

"Hundreds, lad. Through all the provinces. Not all so grand as this, of course. But it's for the province kings to see to*their being properly endowed, and it's a great disgrace upon them not to do it well. So, war or peace, feast or famine time, the bruidheans are always supplied."

"It's a fine thing to be done," Finn said, marveling at such openhandedness.

"It is that, ' the harper agreed. "I've made use of more than a few of them in my own wanderings, and I've always found a blazing fire of welcome and a full kettle on the boil."

Their food was brought to them then. There were platters of all three meats, broiled and steaming. There were fi-esh vegetables and fi*uits and rough round loaves of hot bread. There was a thick white cottage cheese and a great bowl of soup of milk and oatmeal and leeks. The wonderful, fragrant bounty filling the table before him quite awed the young Finn.

"There's enough for a dozen men here!" he said, and turned to the Little Nut. "You surely have some helpful friends."

"It's the harp that makes them for me," Cnu Deireoil replied modestly, giving the leather bag containing the instrument a loving pat. Then he took up a mutton leg that seemed almost too big for him to lift, bit off^ a great mouthful of the juicy meat, chewed, swallowed, and sighed in satisfaction. "Ah, but good cooking—there's the finest bit of magic!"