Challenge of the clans (38 page)

The feast was ended, and it was a gloomy lot of Finn's companions who had gathered in the pavilion of Mogh Nuadat to discuss his recent decision with him.

"Don't be too angry with me, Caoilte," Finn told his friend. "I've done this to save lives. Don't you see? I can earn the leadership without risking the clan!"

"Noble reasons, but you're still a fool," the dark warrior shot back. "You don't even know what it is you'll be going against."

"That's never slowed our lad down before, " Cnu Deireoil pointed out.

"But those times were not like this," said Caoilte. "I've talked to many about this monster. It seems he is of the Sidhe folk."

"I've heard of him," said Muime. "His home is a hill not far from here. He's said to possess strong magic. But he's not allowed to use it beyond his Sidhe."

"He can on Samhain night, when all the supernat-

ural forces are unleashed/' Caoilte added. "And it's then that the mortals become the targets of his nasty tricks.

"Nine years ago, he decided that Tara itself would make a grand object of his Samhain foray. He came here during the evening feast and demanded a staggering tribute. The high king refused and some of his warriors made the mistake of challenging the man. They died, and all of Tara was burned to the ground."

"Burned?" Finn said, surprised. "By one man? But how?"

"Aillen has more than a single talent, it seems," Caoilte darkly explained. "First, he has a skill with the harp much like that of our little friend. All who hsten fall into a deep trance. But, most importantly, he can breathe a stream of fire as thick as a trees trunk and as far as even you can hurl a spear."

"Breathe it?" Finn said, not believing that he had heard rightly.

"From his mouth," said Caoilte. "It sets ablaze everything in its path."

Finn turned to Muime. "Mother, you say you know of him. Can all of this be true?"

She nodded. "I'm afraid so, my dear. Though his powers can be used only once a year, it is at Samhain when they are strongest."

"Strong enough that no one has dared challenge him again," said Caoilte. "Conn has paid tribute every year since."

"This has an evil stench to it," said Cnu Deireoil. "And it comes from our druid friend, I'd say. Finn, youVe been drawn into another of Tadg's snares."

"Maybe," admitted Finn. "But I've made my bond to fight, and—"

"And you will fight," the harper finished with a faint smile. "I know."

"Besides," Finn added, "even if this is some plot by my grandfather and the high king, it is still a real threat that someone must deal with."

"The question is how," Caoilte said bluntly. "You

can't go against such a being without something to protect yourself."

"You may have some protection from the flames already," said Finn's mother. She lifted the gold hem of the handsome four-folded cloak that he wore. "Is this the cloak that you said was given you in the Sidhe at Cnoc-na-Righ?"

It IS.

"Then it may be made of a fabric that is nearly impossible to destroy. It was created by de Danaan magic to last as long as its wearers. Try it."

Finn unfastened the garment and hung one comer in the flames of the central fire. For long moments he held it there, but the material showed no signs of singeing or even discoloring from the heat. Finn pulled it back and looked at it with awe.

But Caoilte was unimpressed. "That might block the flames for a time, but it'll not protect any uncovered flesh."

"It might shield me long enough to let me strike at this Aillen," Finn said.

"You won't be doing anything if you're not awake," Caoilte pointed out. "The fire is your second problem. The first is this enchanting music. He'll be putting you to sleep with his tune long before you can come within a spear's throw."

Finn turned to the Little Nut. "Can you help me?"

The harper shook his head sadly. "My own magic is very weak compared to his. The effect of my tunes can be overcome by a strong will, but no one within hearing can escape Aillen's. Every listener will be overcome with sleep, and only the coming of the mom after Samhain will release them from the spell. "

"And there's no protection?" asked Crimall.

"Not from me. Even I'm not safe from the magic. And my own music will have no effect on him."

Finn looked around the fire at the circle of faces. Some shifted uncomfortably. Some even looked away. All shared the same sense of despair, of finstration. They could think of nothing else that might help the young warrior.

Finn's gaze moved around, and then stopped abruptly on the face of Bodhmall. The gaunt woman was staring into the fire with an intensit>' that Finn had seen before.

"Bodhmall," he said softly but urgently, "what is it? What is it you're seeing?"

"A man," she answered at once. "A strange, worn, crippled man. He creeps about in the darkness of the camp alone, fearing every move, every sound. He peers fi-om the shadows at our pavilion. He wishes to see . . . to see Finn MacCumhal! But he is afraid."

She broke off suddenly, shaking her head. Then her gaze jerked around to Finn.

"He has a way to help you!" she told him with an intensity unusual for her. "I could feel it in him. Finn, you must see him! You must see him now! Tonight!"

The others, save for Liath and Muime, were staring at Bodhmall in puzzlement, not knowing of her seer's power. Finn ignored them. There was no time for explanations.

"How can I see him, Bodhmall?" he asked.

"Go out now, into the encampment. Go away fi*om the tents of the people, away fi-om the dun, down into the empty stalls of the fair. He will come to you. He is afraid. He'll only come to you if you are alone."

"I'll do it," he said.

"Wait!" said Caoilte. "I don't know where this woman's getting her notions, but if there is something lurking out there, it could be another snare. You'll go nowhere alone."

"I agree," said Crimall.

**I trust Bodhmall's judgment," Finn said stubbornly. "It's saved me before. I'll do as she asks. '

Caoilte and Crimall exchanged a look. Both knew well enough that Finn would not be swayed. They nodded.

"I'll be back soon," he told the group reassuringly, then slipped from the pavilion into the night.

It was very still, the almost constant moaning of the fall wind about the hill having died away. Most of the hundreds in the many encampments below the

I

fortress had retired. There were a few faint sounds of talk, a distant laugh, some stray notes of drifting song, and little else.

He moved down through the camp toward the market, looking about him warily. A few people were still stirring, moving in the avenues, shifting about before the fires. None seemed to be watching or following him.

In the market area, even the few signs of human presence were gone. No lights burned in the avenues. No people remained. The only sounds were the snorts and restless stamping of penned hvestock disturbed at his passing.

He moved more slowly, more cautiously now. Much as he trusted Bodhmall, he still needed the warning of Caoilte. He kept a hand upon his sword hilt.

He moved deeper into the large market area, feeling his way along the maze of avenues, through stalls and huts and pens. With the fall moon hiding behind a screen of light clouds, the shadows about him were very dense. There were uncountable places to hide.

The keen hunter*s senses were fully alerted here. Eyes probed every suspicious spot of black, ears barkened for any sound of movement. It was the ears that warned him first. He heard the faint rattle of a stall's plankings, jarred by a passing body. Carefully, carefully, he turned to glance toward the sound. He saw it: a shadow indistinguishable from the others save in one fact. It was following him.

He kept on moving, watching, letting this strange figure trail after. The man was afraid, Bodhmall had said. He was shy of contact like a fawn in the woods. Finn sensed he must be treated as a fawn. Any aggressive move would make him bolt. Only patience and the assurance of safety would bring him in.

The tactic worked. By the time Finn had wandered, with apparently peaceful aimlessness, into the heart of the market area, he had become aware that the figure was closing in. He stopped, leaning against the post of a produce stall as if to rest. He watched out of the tail of his eye as the shadow crept closer, closer,

closer through the patches of darkness. Finally it was nearby.

Then came a voice, creaking and quavering as if long unused.

"You know that Tm here, don't you?"

Without making any other movement, Finn replied.

;;i do."

"I knew it. I knew it! Any good man of the Fianna would. And, is it the son of Cumhal that you are?"

It IS.

"iVe been hoping for a chance to see you, that I have."

"Why?" Finn asked.

"First come closer," came the reply. "Over here, into this shelter. It's safer here. Come on. You ve my word there's no danger. You've the word of another Fian warrior."

The man's speech was rather wild and broken, but Bodhmall had said he meant to help. Finn had no other choices. He moved into the deep shadows behind a staU where the man crouched.

The faint light revealed a figure as wild in looks as in his manner of talk. He was wretchedly thin, clothed in a ragged tunic and cloak. Unkempt hair hung about a lean, worn face and tangled with a straggled mustache and beard. He stood hunched forward, left shoulder down, left arm hanging in an odd, crooked way. The man's head was thrust out of his skinny neck like a crane, and he peered up at Finn with a bird's sharp, glittering gaze.

"You say you're of the Fian?" Finn asked, not able to keep the whole of his surprise out of his voice.

There was a harsh, crow-rasping of a laugh fi-om the man. "Ah, I know it's a hard thing to believe, looking at me. But I was once, that I was. I was a warrior of the Baiscne clan same as yourself. And I was a comrade to your father. It's Fiacha I'm called."

"I've heard of you!" Finn exclaimed. "My uncle told me you were one of the clan's best fighting men. But he thought you were killed in the battle with the sons of Moma."

"They thought it as well," Fiacha answered with another cackle of laughter. "Cut right to the bone I was. Nearly took oflF my shoulder, as you can see." He lifted the maimed and nearly useless arm with an effort. "I was left in the woods for dead. But I wasn't dead. No, no! I wasn't dead. It was the last of the clan I thought I was, and me crippled. Still, I knew that there was a reason Td been saved. It was meant that I be the one to repay the sons of Moma for what they'd done. So I came back here, and here I've stayed. I've been nothing but a poor, nameless cripple to them here. I've cleaned the yard and stables for my keep. I've polished weapons that I'd once have used myself. But all the time I was waiting, watching, knowing that one day my chance would come."

Finn listened in fascination to this tale. What this man had suffered, what he had endured through the years, sustained only by his sense of a purpose, was incredible.

"But why didn't you come to us when we first made ourselves known at Tara?" he asked. "Why didn't you rejoin the clan?"

The man looked away. "Well, I was ashamed, you see," he said in a subdued way. "I couldn't have my old comrades finding out what a wretched thing I'd become. I wanted none of their pity. And I knew that I was useless to you. It seemed that even my waiting here all these years had been for nothing."

Then his head came up again. The smile had returned, the eyes were bright with a renewed energy, and an excitement was back in the strange, rusty voice.

"But tonight I heard of the challenge, so I did. And I knew that I was meant for something after all. You need help and I can give it! They think Fiacha is a broken, harmless man, so they do. But he'll show them!"

"How?" Finn asked. "What can you do?"

Fiacha cast a suspicious look about them, as if to assure himself that no one was nearby. Then he sidled in close to Finn, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.

"It's magic I can give you, so I can! Magic that can

keep away all spells. It*ll save you from the enchantment." His mouth stretched in a rather gap-toothed smile.

Finn leaned down to whisper back, "And just how does this magic work?"

The smile vanished. "Ah, no, no!" Fiacha said sharply. He cast another searching glance around, his head whipping, gooselike, on his scrawny neck. "No talk of it here! They're all around, you know! They'll hear! They'll know! And that'll be the finish for all of us! There can't be anyone else who knows, not even you, until it's time."

"But can't you tell me anything?" Finn asked. "How will I get it from you?"

Fiacha shook his head. "No more now," he said with finality. "I've been with you too long already. They'll find I'm gone. They'll see us together. I've got to be getting away!"

The man's eccentric behavior was doing Httle to inspire Finn's confidence in him. Still, the young chieftain couldn't overlook any possible avenue to salvation.

"If you can help me regain the leadership of the Baiscne clan, you will be an honored warrior among us forever, that I promise," he told Fiacha.

"It's enough to know I've not waited here for nothing," the man replied. Then he grinned and winked broadly. "We'll show them, eh? We'll show that Morna clan!"

He turned and started away into the darkness.

"Wait!" Finn called afl:er him. "When will I see you again?"

"You'll see me when it's time," Fiacha called back over his shoulder. "It won't be safe before. Just when it's time! Don't fear, son of Cumhal. I will be there!"

Finn watched him until he had faded from view among the shadows of the stalls. Then he turned to call softily into the darkness.

"He's gone. You can come out now."

Two figures moved from the shelter of a stall and came toward him. The faint light revealed them as Caoilte and Crimall, both rather shamefaced.

"How did you know we'd followed?" Crimall asked.

"I didn't until now. I just guessed that you might."

"We weren't going to let you come here alone,** Caoilte said defensively. "We only meant to keep you safe."