“There was a lot of confusion that day, Finn. You must understand. What happened to your father was no simple thing, one blow in the heat of the moment. There was a long history of bad feeling between Clan Morna and Clan Baiscne, and he'd brought it to a head with his own actions. Cuhal was responsible for his own death, really. He brought it on himself.”
Frowning, Finn concentrated on worrying a resistant piece of gristle from the bone.
“If you think we killed Cuhal for his treasure bag, you're wrong,” Goll insisted. “It was politics. Mac Con, the Son of the Wolf, encouraged the feud between Clan Morna and Clan Baiscne for his own purposes.”
Tilting the bone toward the fire, Finn squinted at it.
“If you really did have that bag, you should have left it with your uncle. It would be dangerous to carry around a bag of ⦠jewelry, perhaps?” Goll guessed. “And you with no guards.”
At last Finn spoke. “I have the FÃanna.”
“You have nine men, for now,” Goll corrected. “And the possibility of two more bands of nine if you do well.”
Finn dug into the bone with his forefinger, extracting marrow. “Perhaps I did leave the bag with my uncle.”
“The bag you're wearing right now is crane skin.”
Glancing down, Finn simulated surprise. “So it is!”
“We didn't rob Cuhal, Finn!”
“You took his command. You killed him to get it.”
“It was politics!” Goll protested. “And Cuhal's own greed. He was loyal to Airt, and when the Son of the Wolf killed Airt and seized Tara, he naturally wanted his own man to command the FÃanna. But for years he was afraid to demote Cuhal, who was too popular with ⦠a certain element of the fénnidi. Then Cuhal stupidly made a mistake that was used against him to stir up the feud between his clan and mine. That culminated in the Battle of Cnucha, when Clan Morna did what the Son of the Wolf wanted done and killed Cuhal. Afterward I was named as RÃgfénnid FÃanna by the king simply because I was the best qualified.
“I still am,” Goll added.
As if none of this touched him, Finn recited in a singsong bardic chant, “And in time the Son of the Wolf was killed by Feircus Black-Tooth, himself the next king of Tara.”
“Feircus, that Ulidian! I suppose you take vengeful pleasure knowing he demoted me to put a northerner in command of the army.”
“I take no such pleasure,” Finn replied calmly. Then he raised his voice so that his next words were audible to everyone. “I've disavowed all forms of personal vengeance, Goll. When I killed that giant for the widow, it didn't bring back her son. It just left another corpse to feed the ravens. I learned that day that revenge accomplishes nothing. I don't intend to pursue it.”
Goll fought to keep the relief out of his voice as he said, “You have an old head on young shoulders.”
“Not at all. I'm just mindful of the oath I took when I joined the FÃanna. I'm supposed to pursue the king's interests, not my own.”
In the firelight, Goll studied Finn's face. The younger man looked earnest, sincere. Devoid of guile.
But is he? Goll asked himself. He's Cuhal's son, and Cuhal was unpredictable.
To distract himself from his doubts, Goll took up the telling of war stories. Unfortunately, he lacked the bardic gift. “That day when I took a spear through my body and walked away, it was lashing rain, and ⦠och, I'm wrong, the sun was shining to split the stones. It was summer, and we were in ⦠the spring, it was the spring. A fine, bright season, my third as RÃgfénnid FÃanna. Or was it my fourth? Let me think ⦔
The younger men yawned, stretched. One by one they rose and began constructing beds for themselves of moss and bracken, close to the fire. Occasionally one would say “Mmmm” out of politeness, to make Goll think they were listening to him.
Finn went to urinate down the side of the mountain. Red Ridge followed him. “Is it so wonderful, being in the FÃanna?”
“The best life in the world. Why? Are you interested?”
“I might be. And then again, I might not.” A second stream of urine hissed into the cold air.
“It's not easy to join the FÃanna. You have to pass a number of hard tests.”
“I'm sure I'm able for anything the rest of you can do.”
Unseen, Finn's eyes sparkled mischievously. “Make water for longer than I can, then. And send it farther.”
Red Ridge quickly tightened his muscles to control his flow, without stopping to realize that Finn must have done the same before issuing the challenge.
One stream soon dwindled and died. The other did not.
Embarrassed, Red Ridge tried to change the subject. “Why is that one-eyed man with you? He's much older than the rest of you, a generation at least.”
“This is my first command, actually. It's customary to send an experienced officer like Goll in such a situation.”
“Och, you don't need him. I'd say you'll do well enough without having an old one to carry.”
“That old one,” said Finn, spacing out his words slowly for emphasis, “is more of a man than any of the young ones. There's no one I'd rather have guarding my back.”
Twice embarrassed, Red Ridge returned to the fire and cocooned himself inside his cloak.
Meanwhile, Iruis was remarking to Goll, “Your young rÃgfénnid is most unusual.”
“Because of his youth? Or his claim to magic?”
“Because he disavows revenge. That goes against custom.”
“Finn is the son,” Goll said sourly, “of a man who defied custom. Cuhal desired a woman who was far above his social rank. Her people were appalled. He'd made a reputation for himself and for many of the FÃanna as outlaws. Supported by the king of Tara, Cuhal and those like him took what they wanted without fear of reprisals. Eventually, Cuhal simply stole the woman against her will, ignoring her rights under the law as a free person. He stole not only the woman, but her jewelry. It was a great scandal. Her father, Tadg, a man of prestige and property, was so outraged that he cursed the FÃanna from a height.”
Iruis whistled. “The most serious of curses! Did Cuhal not pay the father the woman's honour price?”
“Cuhal? He laughed at the very idea. He was too greedy, he wanted
everything for himself. But what would you expect from a man of Clan Baiscne?”
“You sound bitter, Goll.”
“As a fénnid, I didn't have much in those days, but I had my honour. Cuhal stole that from me by disgracing the FÃanna.”
“I'm surprised you're willing to serve under his son, then.”
Goll gave Iruis a veiled look from his one eye “He's my rÃgfénnid. I respect the discipline of the army.”
The man they were discussing stood alone in the night. A blanket of cloud had enveloped the mountain. Finn savoured its taste on his lips: damp, chill, almost metallic, The wind had dropped, he noticed. The Bunen seemed to be holding its breath. Skin prickled on the back of his neck.
He turned abruptly and went in search of Blamec. “Have you seen or heard anything?” he demanded of the sentry.
“Not a thing. Finn. The only thing that's moving is my hair glowing. Why do we have to take sentry duty up here anyway?”
“Huamor requested the FÃanna because outlaws are overrunning the Bunen, or so he said. Suppose some of them saw Iruis coming onto Black Head with only one companion?”
“What if they did? They wouldn't follow him all the way up here.”
“Why not? We came up here.”
“We were chasing game.”
“Outlaws might consider Iruis as game. The chieftain's son, alone He'd be a prize worth taking.”
“I still don't think”
“Go back to the fire and send me a sentry who won't argue with me. Blamec.”
“I wasn't arguing. I never argue.”
“Send Lugaid. He's the sort of man I want.”
“And what's wrong with me?” Blamec bristled. “I'm here and I'm well armed and I'm as fresh as a new-laid egg!”
Finn said one word: “Lugaid.” But something in the way he pronounced the two syllables sent Blamec trotting back to the campfire to rouse his replacement.
Waiting for Lugaid to join him, Finn felt intensely alive. His hearing was preternaturally keen. His eyes stabbed through the darkness. As if his body were covered with cat's whiskers, he could feel the tangible weight of danger.
That sound halfway down the mountain was it a stone dislodged by a careless foot?
That shadow a spear's throw away had it shifted ever so slightly?
He drew his shortsword from his belt. A spear was no good at night. If they were attacked, it would be hand-to-hand combat.
Finn's heart began to pound at the base of his throat.
“Come on,” he whispered into the night. His grip tightened on his sword. “
Come on
.”
“YOU WANTED ME FORâ”
Finn rounded on Lugaid. “Not so loud!”
“Sorry. What is it?” Lugaid asked softly as he came to stand beside Finn.
“There's someone below us on the mountain.”
Whisper-footed, Lugaid drifted to the edge of the slope and peered down. Ridges of pale limestone glimmered up at him, but he saw nothing that could be construed as human.
“Where, Finn? I don't see anybody.”
“I don't see them either, but they're there.”
“No one could sneak up on us up here.”
“One of our own men could do it,” Finn reminded Lugaid. “Every fénnid has proved he can run through a forest without snapping a single twig beneath his feet. If we can be that stealthy, so can others.”
Lugaid took another, longer look down the mountain. “I still don't see anybody. But if you think there's an attack coming, shouldn't we alert the men?”
Finn skinned his lips back from his teeth in an expression that might have been a grin. “Have you forgotten the oath you took when joining the FÃanna?”
“What about it?”
“Part of that oath included swearing never to run from less than nine men. That means one of us is expected to be able to outfight nine men. There are two of us here right now, Lugaid, so between us, we should be able to handle two nines without calling on our comrades for help. Do you not agree?”
Lugaid swallowed hard. “I suppose so, I never quite looked at it that way. Butâ”
“No buts. Be ready now. Ease off in that direction so we'll have them
between us when they come up. They'll follow the same path we did, it's the only way in the dark. Careful now, go handy, Lugaid. The stones are treacherous. Farther. Farther still. About there. And wait for my signal.” Finn's voice sounded faint and far away.
Shortsword in hand, Lugaid edged along the shoulder of the mountain, feeling fierce and foolish and frightened. He had been dozing with his belly full of food and his lungs full of mountain air, and wisps of sleep still clung to him like fog.
He shook his head to clear it. The shortswordâa larger version of the dagger, with a leaf-shaped iron bladeâwas a comforting weight in his hand. He gave it a couple of practice brandishes.
This is a waste of effort, he thought. There's no one else up here.
Then he heard what might be a stealthy footfall behind him. He whirled, dropping into a crouch.
Nothing.
“Stupid,” Lugaid said aloud. The sound of his own voice was welcome company.
He tried to make out Finn, but his leader was a shadow among shadows in the distance, no longer discernible.
Lugaid might have been alone on the mountain.
Courage came as easily as breathing when you were boasting with your companions beside a warm campfire. When you were alone in the cold night, with your companions hidden from you by the curve of the mountain, it was different.
I don't much like this, Lugaid told himself.
He was young and untried and he knew it. He belonged to the youngest band of nines in the FÃanna, which was why it had been assigned to Finn Mac Cool, the youngest officer. They were all considered expendable.
Although he claimed the title, Finn still had to earn his official designation as a rÃgfénnid by acquitting himself well on this venture. If Goll took back a favourable report to the king of Tara, Finn would be given command of a second and third nine, currently being held at Slieve Bloom. If he did not earn the right to command a company, however, he would be demoted to common fénnid and his men would go to some other leader.
So, Lugaid realized, the son of the famous Cuhal would undoubtedly be willing to take considerable risks to prove himself. One of those risks could be Lugaid's life.
I don't want to die, Lugaid thought vehemently, to confirm Finn Mac Cool as a rÃgfénnid!
But I don't want to dishonour my oath as a member of the FÃanna, either. Disobeying orders could get me expelled from the FÃanna, a
shame beyond surviving. The poets would disremember my name and lineage. I would become nothing. No woman would look at me. The dogs in the road would lift their legs on me.
Lugaid drew a deep breath and shifted his sword from one hand to the other, taking a small comfort from the solid feel of the hilt slapping into his palm.
I could have been a stonemason, he thought. My uncle's a woodworker, I could have gone into business with him. I'm good with my hands, and I like building things. I didn't have toâ
Then he heard the yell, and all the blood in his body seemed to drain to his feet and congeal there.
Too late, Finn Mac Cool had realized his error. The outlaws knew the Burren as he did not, and were familiar with alternate routes up Black Head in the darkness. They had angled across the mountain and come around behind him.
He heard them a heartbeat before they closed with him; heard them just as Bran streaked past him with a savage growl to hurl a hound's full weight against the leader.
The man yelled as Bran knocked him flat. Two others rushed past while the dog seized him by the throat. They ran to attack Finn, who met them with legs braced and shortsword weaving patterns in the dark air.
“I'm coming!” Lugaid shouted. He ran in the direction of Finn, but one of his feet slipped into a crevice between two cakes of limestone and was trapped. Lugaid fell forward with a crash. It seemed to him that the stars had come out after all; he could see them whirling around his head as he lay dazed.
Meanwhile, Finn was fighting for his life. One man hacked at him with something that was not a sword; the other jabbed at him with a different form of weapon. Neither of the pair was observing the stylized rules of formal combat in which the FÃanna were trained.
They merely wanted to kill. Quickly if possible, brutally if necessary.
Finn did not call for help. Even if he had wanted to, he could not spare the breath. He was ducking, dodging, trying to land blows of his own, feeling backward with one foot for a patch of level ground to make a stand on, feinting with his sword at first one man and then the other, keeping his attackers at arm's length.
One got close enough to slash his hand with something that burned like icy fire. Finn swore and tried to grab the weapon, but the man jerked it back out of reach.
The man Bran had attacked was still on the ground, making horrible noises as the hound tore at his throat.
Finn expected more outlaws. He tried to face in every direction at once. But no more arrived. The two with him were bad enough. If they
had been able to coordinate their efforts, they might have proved deadly, but in the darkness and on the steep slope, they kept getting in each other's way.
The one with the hacking weapon struck the one with the jabbing weapon by mistake and there was a new shriek of pain.
Finn seized the opportunity to jump backward and gather himself. Then in one smooth movement, he shifted weight and came forward again, levelling his sword in front of him with a stiff wrist.
Lunging, he felt the sword enter flesh.
His opponent's diaphragm muscles resisted momentarily, but Finn had momentum. Flesh yielded to iron. A man grunted, then doubled over, clutching at his midsection. With a powerful yank, Finn pulled his sword free as his opponent collapsed.
The other outlaw swung his weapon in a wide arc. Finn crouched. Something
whooshed
through the air above his head with killing force. He sprang up from his crouch with his sword at the ready and caught the man off balance at the end of his swing. The flat of Finn's blade took him solidly between the legs.
The outlaw's howl of agony was hardly human.
Running feet, confused shouts.
“What was that? What's happening?”
“Over here!”
“Not that way, this way!”
“Where's the sentry?”
“Are we attacked?”
“Finn! Finn Mac Cool! Are you dead?”
“I'm not dead,” Finn gasped. “At least I don't think I am. I'm here. over here!”
He was wildly exhilarated. No measurable time had passed, three enemies were down, and he was still alive and on his feet. An exultant thunder rippled through him in waves.
He did not want the fight to end. He wanted to brace his feet wide on the stony soil of Black Head and let enemies come to him in endless procession, with himself cutting them down, cutting them down, letting the cleansing anger pour out of him at last, hewing and hacking and cutting them down â¦
“Finn!” Goll Mac Morna was shaking him. “Don't you know me? Answer me, are you all right? What happened?”
A great shudder passed through Finn. Exhilaration fell away, leaving him giddy with reaction.
“Your dog's tearing someone apart over here,” Blamec reported in a slightly queasy voice.
“Bran!” Finn shouted. The hound ran to him. When he reached down, he felt something wet and sticky on Bran's muzzle.
Suddenly he remembered Lugaid. Where was he? “Lugaid!”
“Over here,” came a faint reply.
By the time Lugaid joined the others, Donn and Iruis were giving the men on the ground as thorough an examination as they could in the dark. The others stood around them, talking in excited bursts.
“Where were you?” Finn asked Lugaid.
“I was coming to help you, but I had trouble.”
“Were you attacked? How many were there? And where are they?”
Lugaid longed to announce that he had killed nine outlaws all by himself. Instead, after a pause, he said, “I caught my foot between two stones and fell flat. Stunned myself.”
Conan sniggered.
Finn did not laugh. “I'm glad you're all right,” he said simply.
His voice sounded hollow in his ears. His head felt hollow, come to that, and there were bells ringing someplace. His breathing was shallow and rapid.
Goll Mac Morna recognized the signs. He remembered his own early combats. Briskly, he ordered the fénnidi, “Drag these men over by the fire so we can get a good look at them.”
“Any that are alive, go easy with,” Finn added. He swayed on his feet. Goll's iron grip clamped his arm, steadying him. “It passes,” said the older man. “Breathe deep.”
Two of the outlaws were still alive, while the man Bran had savaged was unarguably dead. They dragged him by his heels with his head bumping along the ground and Bran prancing proudly alongside. Sceolaun trotted after them, trying to look as if she had helped make the kill.
Firelight revealed one man dying from Finn's sword thrust, but the other was suffering only from crushed testicles. He kept up a continuous moaning until Conan growled, “Stop that noise or we'll hit you in the same place again.”
Finn asked Iruis, “Do you know these mean?”
“I do know them. The one the dog killed has been the head and tail of trouble here for years. The others are his clansmen. They raid our cattle and corn and anything else they fancy. Nothing's safe with them around. But with their leader dead, they won't be so bold, I'd say.”
Coughing up a great gob of blood, the man with the sword wound died as Finn and Goll were interrogating the third outlaw.
He gave his name as Ceth the Cleverâ“Obviously misnamed,” Conan sneeredâand justified his actions by accusing Huamor's people of having taken all the good grassland, leaving his clan with no subsistence but for the fish they caught. The two clans had been warring
sporadically for a long time. “We had a plan,” Ceth said, “an excellent plan that would have worked but for you interfering. We were going to take Huamor's oldest son hostage and demand a great ransom for him.”
“Just the three of you?”
“Three is enough to handle any number of Huamor's kind!” was the scornful rejoinder.
Iruis muttered something and doubled his fists. Fergus Honey-Tongue said, “That's as may be, but apparently one Finn Mac Cool is quite enough to handle three of your kind.”
“Two,” Finn corrected. “Bran did for one.”
They bound their prisoner with strips of leather and raised a cairn of stone over the dead men. “Your people can come up here if they like and carry the bodies home,” Iruis told Ceth, “but it's the last time any of you are to set foot on this mountain. As you see, we have the FÃanna here to punish outlaws.”
Ceth swept his gaze from face to face. “I don't see any fénnidi. All I see are pimpled boys.”
“It takes this one a while to learn, doesn't it?” Conan asked no one in particular. Drawing back his foot, he kicked Ceth between the legs.