Challenge of the clans (20 page)

'There's much of your father about you," she said, a mother's pride ringing in her voice. "It's a fine, strong, handsome man that you've become." She turned suddenly away then, dropping down on the edge of the stone wall. "But there is a great sadness in me to see you in a warrior's trappings. I had hoped—I had prayed to Danu herself—^that Bodhmall's plan would fail."

He moved to her, put a hand upon the slender shoulder. 'There was no other way, ' he said. "I am the son of Cumhal. It must be that I take his place and see his vengeance done."

"You might be destroyed!" she said in anguish, looking up at him. 'The ones against you are too strong! The clan of Moma does not dare to let you return, not when they control all the Fians of Ireland now. Think of that, my only son. Stay here. Stay safe with me!"

"No, Mother," he said earnestly. "I've the training of a warrior now. Soon I'll be ready to seek out my father's clansmen, to learn the ways of the Fianna."

"I see," she said with resignation, realizing she could not sway him. "You have your father's stubbornness as well, my son. If you have decided on that fate, it's clear that I must help you if I'll see you survive. Bodhmall has won.'

"Help me?" asked Finn. "What do you mean?"

"Over the years I have used what means I could to find the remnants of the Clan na Baiscne," she told him. "I know where they and your uncle Crimall are. He is the one who must teach you of the Fianna and help you challenge the sons of Morna for your father's

place. When you are ready, I will tell you where to seek him out."

Finn understood the sacrifice his mother was making to give this aid to him. He took up both her hands and held them tightly in his.

From the window of his apartment in the keep, Mogh Nuadat watched the pair with a baleful glare. Then, unable to watch any longer, he jerked about, slamming a heavy fist onto the table.

His blow made the gold playing pieces on the fidchell board jump. Doncha Kavanagh, his gray-haired advisor, had been contemplating a move. At the angry gesture he jumped himself, looking up at his chieftain.

"Mogh, what is plaguing you?"

"Help me, Doncha," Nuadat said in an imploring way. "Tell me what I can do about my wife and this young warrior."

This sudden appeal for help was no real surprise to the canny old advisor. He was well aware of the attention Muime was paying to the handsome lad, and of his chiefl:ain's increasingly gloomy mood. His answer to the request was direct and ruthless.

"Have him killed."

Nuadat shook his broad head emphatically. "I can't do that."

"Why not? YouVe dealt vdth others that way."

"None of them ever reached her or roused any signs of desire in her. This one has reached her— somehow—and it's clear enough she does desire him. She's placed him in her personal guard. He's with her everywhere. They walk together on the battlements and he visits her room late in the night. She smiles at me and acts the same as ever she did, but I know what's going on. Oh, Doncha, well I know!"

He began to pace the room with impatient strides. The advisor watched him, puzzled by his attitude.

"I still don't understand you, Mogh, " he said. "She is your wife! She is sworn to you! It is your right to deal with this . . . threat!"

Nuadat stopped and turned to fix a look of disappointment on his advisor. "You really don't see, do you,

my old friend? I love my wife. All these years I've sheltered her, cared for her because of that. And she has always returned my love with gentleness and warmth and even affection for me. Do you think I could do anything to hurt her or to cause her to hate me? If anything should happen to this whelp, she would have to know who was the cause of it!"

"The confront her with the truth," Doncha suggested. "Tell her that you know. Ask her to give him up!"

"And risk forcing her into making a choice? What chance would I have then? Just look at me, Doncha." He lifted his short arms away from his squat body. "Compare me with that bold young man. Which of us would you say might attract a woman more?"

"You are a strong and a ... a striking man, my chief," the advisor answered diplomatically.

"I am a toad," Nuadat responded bluntly. "iVe no illusions about that. It's only by the blessing of the gods that Tve been given this woman, this sunlight, this spring! And Til do anything that's needed to keep her with me."

"Even to tolerating this young man?" the advisor asked.

"Yes!" Nuadat retorted. "If it's the only way." He looked back out through his window. Muime was very close to the young man now, a hand upon his arm, smiling up at him.

"But just how long can I stand to watch this before I go mad, Doncha?" he asked the advisor in a dismal tone. "How long?"

"... and she's with the lad more often than she's with Nuadat himself!" the drunken warrior said loudly. "We've all made bets on what day the fight will come."

The gathering in the public house in the harbor town was listening attentively. No man before had dared the wrath of the harsh chieftain by approaching his jealously guarded wife. At least, no man living had.

Nuadat's failure to react violently had drawn the attention of an avid audience.

"That Finn," he went on. "He is a clever one. I've never—"

A heavy hand fell on his shoulder, dragging him around. He found himself looking up into a glowering face high above him.

"You say youVe seen a boy named Finn?" came the growl of the MacMoma champion Luachra.

"Take your hand from me!" the warrior said, too drunk to be prudent. He pushed the giants paw from him.

Luachra s other hand drove up, the palm slamming against the man's chest, forcing him back against the wall.

"I'll ask you only once again," he promised savagely. "What do you know of this Finn? Is he silver-haired? Has he two friends?"

The man was gasping for breath with the pressure of the hand against him, crushing his lungs. He managed to give an emphatic nod.

"Much better," Luachra said with a malicious grin. He lessened the force of his palm slightly to let the man breathe. "Now tell me where this feir one can be found."

"Hes ... at the fortress!" the warrior managed to get out. "In the . . . household companies!"

Satisfied, the giant released the hapless man, who dropped like a sack of grain onto the floor and lay panting for air. He signaled to the seven warriors with him.

"Come with me. We'll be going up to this fortress at once!"

He turned about to see a number of other warriors of the dun, as far gone in drink as their fellow and eager for a fight, close in around him.

"YouVe no right to be dealing so roughly with our comrade, you bloody great cow!" one said. "YouVe wanting manners, so you are, and it's just the likes of us who can teach a few to you!"

"Out of my way, drunken fools," Luachra said impatiently. He was in no mood to be delayed with his

^

long-sought quarry finally so close by. He lifted a massive hand and shoved against the chest of the one who had spoken.

The force of it sent the man reeling backward until he crashed into a table filled with Fomor. The reaction of the deformed beings was spontaneous, instant, and violent. Snarling with rage, they leapt up from their table, drew weapons, and charged upon the MacMorna warriors.

Luachra seized the first attacker, effortlessly swung him high, and slammed him down into his fellows, driving several to the floor in a tangle. This gave the Fian warriors a chance to draw their swords to defend themselves. Then the Fomor were upon them, quickly joined by the rest of the pugnacious mob.

The room became the scene of a wild melee. A maelstrom whirled about Luachra's band, intent on destroying it. The score of Fomor warriors were the most savage. The fiiry of their attack and their numbers alone were almost too much for the Fian men. Though they fought back with skill and courage, inflicting great damage, their numbers dwindled fast. With two men dead and two more sorely hurt they would have soon been overwhelmed but for Luachra.

The giant stood in their midst like a great boulder in angry sea, unmoved by the crashing waves of attackers. With his bare hands he fought back. The thick tree hmbs of his arms swung out, his huge fists smashing adversaries away. When warriors dove upon him he shook them off^, tossing them away to crash down into the tables. Soon even the vicious Fomor lost their blood lust and began to retreat before him.

In a short time it was over. Luachra stood triumphant, out of challengers, glaring around him at the carnage.

A strange calm had fallen upon the room, the quiet broken only by some moans of pain. Of the giant's foes, only the fallen remained, their bodies covering the floor or draped across the splintered furniture, their blood mingling with spilled ale. The battered remnant of the mob had hastily departed.

Luachra snorted in contempt. "It's poor excuses for fighting men they are. They'll know better than to challenge Fianna warriors again." He looked at his men. "Come along then," he snapped irritably. "We must get to the fortress."

"But, the wounded—" one began, bending over a fallen comrade.

"Leave them," the giant commanded. "It's their own lack of skills that brought their harm. I'll not have them slowing us. Now, come along!"

He lumbered from the room without a backward glance. The three remaining men exchanged a look of resignation, sheathed their swords, and followed him. They were unhindered as they left the town and headed out the point toward Nuadat's dun.

The chieftain was still playing fidhcell with his advisor when the MacMorna warriors arrived. A timid servant came to the door of his quarters, inquiring nervously, "My chieftain? Can you be disturbed?"

"What are you talking about?" he shot back impatiently.

"There are visitors," the servant answered. "One of them was very . . . ah . . . insistent. We couldn't ... we didn't think it advisable to keep him out. He—"

The man suddenly disappeared as the vast form of Luachra pushed past him into the room, followed by his last three warriors.

"By all the Powers!" the chieftain said angrily, leaping to his feet. "Who are you? What do you mean disturbing me here without my leave?"

"I am of the Fianna," Luachra told him. "I've come hunting an outlaw of Ireland. "

"We've many outlaws—or those called that—in this place," Nuadat told him, eyeing the giant warrior suspiciously. "But none of your Fians has ever come here seeking one of them before."

**This one is . . . special," Lauchra said tightly. "I've been told he is here, in your household companies. You would know of him if he is. He is a young man with white-blond hair. The name he goes by is Finn."

"Finn, you say?" the chieftain said with surprise. He cast a meaningful look at his advisor, then moved toward the MacMorna champion. "And just who is this boy? What has he done to make him an outlaw?'*

"He killed several warriors of the Fianna," the giant rephed. "My owai comrades among them."

"Did he, now?" Nuadat said with great interest. "And what would the punishment be, were you to find him?"

"Death," Luachra said bluntly. "In accord with Brehon Law, the chief justice of Conn has decreed Finn's life forfeit in exchange for those he has taken."

The chieftain turned to his advisor, his face alight with eagerness. "Do you hear that, Doncha? This lad they're seeking must be put to death. And it has nothing to do with me at all. I can't be blamed!"

Doncha understood what his chieftain was thinking, but he wanted to be cautious.

"Just a moment, Nuadat," he said, getting to his feet and moving closer. "Let me speak to you."

Nuadat stepped back to meet his advisor, his expression one of puzzlement.

"What is it, Doncha?" he asked impatiently.

The other man leaned close to speak in confidence: "Don't be so quick in condemning this Finn, Mogh."

"And why not?" the chieftain gruffly whispered back. "This is the perfect way to be rid of the whelp!"

"Not so rash!' Doncha suggested. "You don't want to be making any mistakes. I think that you should learn all that you can about him. There's something very strange here. "

Nuadat shrugged resignedly. "Maybe you're right." He turned back to Luachra and said, "I'd Uke to know more. Why is this Finn so important to you? Who is he?"^

"That's nothing to do with you," Luachra told him gruffly, glaring down at the smaller man. "It's enough that he's wanted by the high king of all Ireland and by Goll MacMoma, captain of the Fianna."

The combative little chieftain was not intimidated by his visitor's bulk. He walked up close to Luachra,

strutting slowly, fearlessly, head high, body tensed, eyes meeting those far above him boldly.

"It's not enough for me!" he retorted with heat. "If you want my help, you'll have to answer my questions first!" ^

"It'll go hard with you if you defy the Fianna!" Luachra said darkly.

Nuadat lifted up on his toes, thrusting a finger into the giant's face to punctuate his words. "Don't be threatening me, man! We're not afraid of your bloody Fianna here, and they know it well enough. They'll not come here to war against us over this single boy. Now, you tell me what I want to know or by Great Danu, I'll throw you out of this dun right now myself!"

He stepped back, setting himself in a fighting stance, like a bulldog challenging a raging bull. It might have seemed ludicrous, the little man against the mountainous Luachra, had not both been so deadly serious in their intent.

The giant considered his situation here. He realized that he was beyond the reach of Fian power. He could not hope to take on Nuadat's entire garrison. Reluctantly, he decided to cooperate.

"All right then," he said, lifting his empty hands, palms out in a gesture of peace. "I want no fight with you. The boy we're seeking is the son of Cumhal MacTredhorn, he that was chieftain of the Clan na Baiscne."

"And the captain of all the Fians before your Goll," Nuadat added with a dawning understanding. "Now I see why this Finn's end is so ardently sought by you. But I had never heard of Cumhal's having a son."