Challenge of the clans (3 page)

"I think that this is madness, Cumhal," Crimall loudly complained. "To travel through the night without any rest, and so close to Samhain eve on top of it!"

The Fian chieftain laughed good-naturedly at his brother's concern. "Are you still going on about that? There's nothing to fear."

"Don't be laughing at me," the other retorted. "There is no sense in rousing the anger of the Others so near the time when their own full power is loosed upon the world. It's at the festival we should have stayed, giving our proper respects to them and to all the gods."

"Even those of the Sidhe wouldn't keep me from being at Muirne's side when my child is born, " Cumhal told him stubbornly. "Not the Dagda nor the Morrigan herself would be taking such a thing from a man."

"I'm not so certain of that as you. Maybe you can defy the high king and get away with it, but the Others are something else. You've gotten entirely too full of yourself, my brother. It will make trouble for you one day. Don't you believe it's the truth I'm saying, Fiacha?"

The other warrior only shrugged and smiled at Crimall's dark foreboding.

"Ah, man, we're well enough on our way now, and there's Httle use in turning back," he said. "We may as well go ahead."

Crimall snorted. "I might have known you'd side with him. So I'll say no more to either of you!"

He fell into a hostile silence and they rode along

peacefuUy for some time. The day had dawned fainriy, the sun heavily cloaked by thick, gray overcast like rippling folds of coarse wool. But the rain the dark clouds threatened held oflP, and the earth was dry and firm beneath the thick-furred hooves of their horses, so the powerfully muscled animals were easily able to keep up a rapid pace.

Then, so suddenly it seemed as if the overcast had plunged upon them, the party found themselves engulfed in fog. The large-bodied warriors wrapp)ed in their bright cloaks became like phantoms in the eerie gra\Tiess. And the fog heightened this eflFect by swallowing all noise, muffling even the horses' clopping so that the company seemed to float along.

The warriors now peered about them constantly as tliey rode. They felt oppressed, uneasy with the gray shroud upon them. They disliked the look of the bare trees that loomed up ever thicker around them like a host of black skeletons interlacing the bony fingers of their branches in an uneven web that caught and held drifting patches of the fog.

And there was another sensation, too, that crept upon them with the increasing dampness. It was a peculiar feeling of weariness, of weakness, as if the effort to press ahead through the clinging stuff was somehow draining their strength.

Cumhal seemed the only one unconcerned with the strange conditions, so intent was he on reaching his wife's side. But Crimall was far from unconcerned. And when the twisted stump of a rotting tree trunk appeared suddenly, like something leaping toward him fi*om the fog, he yelped in surprise and then spoke out angrily.

'That is enough! I say that it's time for us to stop and let this pass. Some harm will surely come to us if we continue traveling blindly this way."

"It's only a bit of fog," his brother replied. "It's not likely to cause us much harm unless you ride into a tree while you're so busy peering about. "

"There's more in this than you think," Crimall insisted. "It's not natural, I tell you. I can smell it. And I can feel it too!"

"It's only the wear of riding through the night that's made you feel this way," Cumhal said. "Better to ride on through this. The sooner we reach home, the sooner we can rest."

Again, Crimall fell silent, but he continued to stare about him, trying to guess at the dim shapes that came and went and almost seemed to flitter around them in the fog.

Soon the impression came to him that he had seen before some of the trees they were passing. This was a foolish notion, he told himself Still, the fancy came into his head that the trees were really shifting about, waiting for them to pass and then lifting their roots to scamper on and join their fellows ahead.

There was surely no question that the number of trees was increasing, the woods growing denser, the trunks closer together, as if the trees were gathering to hem them in.

And then there was a line of them ahead so thick that they nearly formed a stockade wall, the trunks so close that the horses would barely be able to squeeze between them. The party reined in, peering at them with curiosity.

"What's happened?" said Cumhal. "There's no forest like this on our way." He gazed about him in growing bewilderment. "They're as thick on both sides as well! Where are we?"

"We should be in the woods of Cnucha, near to Ath Cliath," said his brother.

"It can't be so!" Cumhal said. "I don't know this place at all. Can we have strayed?"

"Look there!" cried a warrior in a warning tone, pointing back the way they had come.

Behind them figures were visible, like shadows moving in the fog, growing as they came steadily nearer.

Several of the warriors pulled back their cloaks and put hand to sword or spears. They watched intently as the forms became darker, clearer, finally resolving into a band of horsemen.

The warriors of Cumhal knew them. They were the Clan of Moma. At their head rode Aed himself,

flanked by his brother Conan and a giant champion of the Connacht Fian known as Luachra. This fierce, glowering bull of a man towered more than a head above the brothers Morna. The planes of his broad face had the hardness and sharpness of a cliff^ of stone, with thrusting chin and jutting brows.

The company of warriors drew up a spear s throw from Cumhars clan. Aed moved on, crossing half the remaining distance before reining in. Cumhal turned his horse and rode back through his men to meet the other chieftain.

He meant to give a friendly greeting, but as he neared Aed he became aware of his grim expression. His warrior instincts told him that it was not comradeship that had brought the son of Morna to this strange place.

"What is it, Aed?" he demanded.

"iVe come to challenge you for the leadership, Cumhal," the other answered tersely.

"Challenge me?" Cumhal echoed in surprise. "But why now? YouVe accepted my leadership before."

"You no longer serve the Fianna or Ireland," Aed told him in a flat, mechanical way.

"That's the high king speaking in you!" Cumhal accused. "Is obedience to him more important to you than your own warriors?"

"I am loyal to the bond we have made, as I must be," Aed told him gravely. "They are bonds of loyalty that we have all sworn to keep. I will do so."

"Those bonds were not meant to make us slaves to the selfish rulers of Ireland," Cumhal responded earnestly. "Listen to me, Aed: it is ourselves who are the real power now. We can use that power to bring ourselves and all the people of Ireland more freedom, more respect—"

"Enough talking!" the other said impatiently, sweeping Cumhal's logic savagely away. "Yield the leadership to me, or we must fight."

Cumhal sighed wearily. "Then we must fight," he said with great sorrow.

Both chieftains slid from their horses' backs. Their

warriors followed. There was a sharp clattering of arms as shields were adjusted, spears readied to the hand, gleaming swords drawn. Then the two forces faced one another, waiting, bodies tensed, eyes already searching among their opponents for a suitable adversary to challenge in single combat. But as they set themselves for battle, the men of the Baiscne clan became more acutely aware than ever of the peculiar weakness of their limbs and of the weight of fatigue upon them like a cloak of lead.

Aed began the fight, striking at Cumhal. As the two leaders engaged, their clansmen surged forward, the sides clashing together with the savagery of two sea waves colliding. The chill air was filled with the sharp clanging of iron on iron, the thud of weapons against thick leather shields, the battle cries of the Baiscne and Moma clans.

The battle grew quickly confused in the swirling fog. With the two sides tangled closely together, moving constantly, their clan colors almost indistinguishable in the grayness, it was hard to judge comrade from enemy until nearly within sword's length. At one point, Crimall—having hacked the sword arm from one opponent—sensed movement behind him and wheeled in time to fend off a savage cut. He found himself looking into the startled gaze of Fiacha!

Though the two groups were closely matched in numbers and in fighting skills, the strange weariness upon the Baiscne clan threw a great advantage to their foes. Inspired by the effort of their chieftain, the warriors fought on doggedly, managing to hold their own for some time. But as the battle dragged on, exhaustion came upon them more rapidly. Soon the Baiscne men were falhng in far greater numbers than their opponents.

Luachra was causing the greatest devastation in the Baiscne ranks. The giant bashed his way through the melee with his broad shield, jabbing out at any vulnerable man with a heavy spear. His own clansmen scrambled to be safely out of the path of the lumbering champion.

After cutting a wide swath of destruction through

the embroiled warriors, he paused to tug his weapon from the body of his latest victim and scan the fight to pick the best direction for a new assault. It was then that he saw his chieftain in great peril.

The battle between Aed and Cumhal had been a hard-fought one. From the first the two men had been locked together like two bucks contending for mastery of the herd. The fight had been an equal one at first, but soon Cumhal had become aware of the effects of the growing fatigue. A glance around him had shown his clansmen in similar straits, with many warriors already down. He reahzed that unless he could defeat Aed, and quickly, they would be finished soon.

Mustering all his remaining energy, he dove upon MacMoma in a desperate move. He feinted with Hght-ning speed, then managed to thrust Aed's shield aside with his own. Over its rim he swung a swordstroke at his opponent's unprotected head. Aed jerked back, managing to save his skull, but the tip of Cumhal's well-honed blade just touched him, slicing down through the skin of his forehead, piercing his eye, laying open his cheek.

Aed staggered back, dropping his shield. Cumhal, his energy nearly drained by this last, all-out effort, forced himself to move forward, determined to finish the Morna chieftain. But as he started toward the wounded man, a figure came in his way, looming over him.

He looked up into the stony face of Luachra.

Before Cumhal could lift a weary sword arm in defense, the giant struck, flinging one of his spears. It was a massive weapon, its pole the thickness of a mans forearm, its iron point as broad as a man's hand. The force behind the spear drove it through the leather of Cumhal's shield and on, slamming its point into the hollow just below the young chieftain's ribs.

Luachra yanked back on the leather strap of the weapon. His move tore the spearhead from Cumhal and the shield from his hands. Cumhal dropped to his knees, his sword arm falling to his side.

Now the giant stood above him, lifting his spear to

strike the final blow. But Aed appeared beside him, one hand clasped to his own streaming wound.

"No!" he commanded his champion, using the tremendous will of a trained Fian warrior to fight back the pain. "It is for me to finish this!"

Luachra stepped back. Aed moved forward to stand before Cumhal. The captain of the Fian, too weak to move his body, managed with an effort to raise his head. Knowing what was now to come, he still met his opponent's single, glittering eye unafraid.

"It was a good fight, Cumhal," Aed told him. "YouVe taken my eye, but in return V\\ take your life."

With that he thrust out in a swift, skillfully aimed blow that struck through MacTredhom's breastbone and impaled his heart. Soundlessly the stricken warrior toppled backward onto the bloody ground.

With the death of their chieftain, the spirit went fi*om the men of his clan, while the Clan na Morna, intoxicated by this triumph, attacked with greater vigor. The battle went against the Baiscne warriors, and there began a great slaughter.

Crimall saw that there was no purpose in continuing this now hopeless fight. He shouted to his comrades to leave the battle. The warriors tried to break away and escape into the woods. But many were trapped against the dense wall of trees that hemmed them in and were cut down. Only Crimall and a handful of the clansmen managed to force their way through narrow openings into the woods beyond the trap and fade away into the fog.

"Get the men after them!" Aed ordered Conan. "Hunt them down. Kill all that can be found!"

While the warriors began their pursuit, he and Luachra went back to stand over Cumhal.

"Luachra, it was you who saved my life," Aed told the champion, looking down at the fallen warriors body, "and your blow that defeated Cumhal. You have given me the leadership of the Fianna. What reward can I give to you?"

"Only one," the giant said. He stooped and yanked a bag of white skin covered with elaborate stitching

from the shoulder of the dead man. He held it up with a triumphant air.

Aed knew what it was: the sacred treasure bag of the Baiscne clan. The collection of items within it were said to be the most prized possessions of Cumhal's people.

"Our taking this is our proof to all of the complete destruction of Cumhal's clan," Luachra told him. "I would become the carrier of the treasure bag for the Clan na Morna. '

'Then that honor I will give you, and gladly," Aed told him.

Luachra slipped the pouch onto his own harness. "Then we have our prize," he said. "Now for a prize to show your high druid Tadg."

He leaned down again, grasped the plaited hair of the dead chieftain, and pulled his head up from the ground. His other hand pulled his sword from its sheath and swung it high.

As it swept down, a great raven lifted from the gray-shrouded branches overhead and flapped away, giving voice to a rasping cry that echoed mournfully in the foggy woods.

Chapter Three

ESCAPE

The battle raven soared above the house of Cumhal, voicing its rasping death cry. But within the dwelling, the sound was lost in the birth wail of an infant.