Read Online Challenge of the clans by Kenneth C Flint - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Kenneth C Flint
Tags: Finn Mac Cumhaill
Ads: Link
involved in these petty feuds. This is a task that the sons of Morna must undertake. After all, the peace of the Fianna is at stake, not to mention their own leadership. "
Conn glanced back at him, drawn against his better judgment by curiosity to ask: "What will they do?"
"My fellow druid," he said, nodding at the old man, "will tell us where the lad was seen. The Clan na Morna will simply search him out. He will die unknown in the lonely wood. "
"Just be certain that he does die this time," Conn told him pointedly.
The main door of the ring fort's hall burst open and a group of warriors pushed through out of the darkness and the rain beyond. A stroke of hghtning illuminated the yard behind them, throwing them for an instant into stark relief They were an eerie sight, their drenched clothing clinging to their massive bodies, their long and dripping hair plastered about their grim faces.
At their head was Aed MacMoma himself But he was called Goll—the One-Eyed—now. A leather patch was tied across the damaged eye. But the other gleamed with no lessening of energy, and the warriors body still moved with a young man's vitality.
He glanced around him sharply, taking in the interior of the hall. All activity there had stopped. The ruddy-faced chieftain and his warriors, at their evening meal, sat with food and cups and knives suspended in their hands as they stared at this band who had appeared like storm demons from the treacherous night.
Goll started toward the chieftain's table. Beside him moved his brother Conan, made a bit balder, stouter, and more irascible by the years. They strode forward with the assurance of those who knew that they controlled.
"Who are you to be breakin' in?" angrily demanded the chieftain, who was as usual somewhat worse for the drink by this time of the evening. "Comin' in here as if you were the masters of this place! A sorry-looking lot of warriors as I ever saw. And dripping on my new rushes!"
"It is the captain of the Fianna of Ireland that I am," Goll shot back.
The chieftain blanched, sagging back in his seat. "Goll MacMoma!"
"Yes. And iVe business here. Business that you will gladly help me with. Isn't that so?"
"Of course. Captain! Of course!" the other readily agreed. He knew well of the Fianna's power, and of the ruthless nature of the sons of Morna.
"Good, " Goll went on brusquely. "We've come to find the lad—the one called Finn. Where would he be?"
"He disappeared into Slieve Bladhma, just to the southwest."
"You'll show us where," Goll ordered, then looked at his brother. "Conan, gather every man in this rath. See that they're ready to join us at once. We'll begin the search now!"
"Now?" repeated Conan incredulously. He looked past the band of warriors into the stormy night beyond the door, then around at the cozy hall. "But I was thinking of a bit of warmth, maybe some food and—"
"Tonight!" boomed Goll angrily. "We'll take no chances on this boy escaping. If this must be done, then it'll be done quickfy, Brother, quickly! Gather the men!"
Chapter Seven
FUGHT
The storm crashed about the tiny hut in the glen. Rain worked its way into the worn spots of the thatch and dripped through. The three inside huddled closer to their tiny fire and avoided the largest drops as best they could.
Young Finn honed a knife carefully. It was their only one, and it had grown thin from the years of use. Liath knitted a comforter meant to ward off the night's chill. Bodhmall was mending a cooking pot, worn through by its long service. But as her long, bony fingers worked the metal dam into the hole, she stiffened suddenly. A peculiar sensation, like the chill from a draft, was creeping over her. It was a sensation she had not felt in many years.
Her gaze lifted to the peat fire. There, in its glow-
ing red heart, an image began to form. Soon she could recognize a dark image of woods swept by curtains of rain. Through the trees, dim but recognizable, moved a party of armed men.
Conn glanced back at him, drawn against his better judgment by curiosity to ask: "What will they do?"
"My fellow druid," he said, nodding at the old man, "will tell us where the lad was seen. The Clan na Morna will simply search him out. He will die unknown in the lonely wood. "
"Just be certain that he does die this time," Conn told him pointedly.
The main door of the ring fort's hall burst open and a group of warriors pushed through out of the darkness and the rain beyond. A stroke of hghtning illuminated the yard behind them, throwing them for an instant into stark relief They were an eerie sight, their drenched clothing clinging to their massive bodies, their long and dripping hair plastered about their grim faces.
At their head was Aed MacMoma himself But he was called Goll—the One-Eyed—now. A leather patch was tied across the damaged eye. But the other gleamed with no lessening of energy, and the warriors body still moved with a young man's vitality.
He glanced around him sharply, taking in the interior of the hall. All activity there had stopped. The ruddy-faced chieftain and his warriors, at their evening meal, sat with food and cups and knives suspended in their hands as they stared at this band who had appeared like storm demons from the treacherous night.
Goll started toward the chieftain's table. Beside him moved his brother Conan, made a bit balder, stouter, and more irascible by the years. They strode forward with the assurance of those who knew that they controlled.
"Who are you to be breakin' in?" angrily demanded the chieftain, who was as usual somewhat worse for the drink by this time of the evening. "Comin' in here as if you were the masters of this place! A sorry-looking lot of warriors as I ever saw. And dripping on my new rushes!"
"It is the captain of the Fianna of Ireland that I am," Goll shot back.
The chieftain blanched, sagging back in his seat. "Goll MacMoma!"
"Yes. And iVe business here. Business that you will gladly help me with. Isn't that so?"
"Of course. Captain! Of course!" the other readily agreed. He knew well of the Fianna's power, and of the ruthless nature of the sons of Morna.
"Good, " Goll went on brusquely. "We've come to find the lad—the one called Finn. Where would he be?"
"He disappeared into Slieve Bladhma, just to the southwest."
"You'll show us where," Goll ordered, then looked at his brother. "Conan, gather every man in this rath. See that they're ready to join us at once. We'll begin the search now!"
"Now?" repeated Conan incredulously. He looked past the band of warriors into the stormy night beyond the door, then around at the cozy hall. "But I was thinking of a bit of warmth, maybe some food and—"
"Tonight!" boomed Goll angrily. "We'll take no chances on this boy escaping. If this must be done, then it'll be done quickfy, Brother, quickly! Gather the men!"
Chapter Seven
FUGHT
The storm crashed about the tiny hut in the glen. Rain worked its way into the worn spots of the thatch and dripped through. The three inside huddled closer to their tiny fire and avoided the largest drops as best they could.
Young Finn honed a knife carefully. It was their only one, and it had grown thin from the years of use. Liath knitted a comforter meant to ward off the night's chill. Bodhmall was mending a cooking pot, worn through by its long service. But as her long, bony fingers worked the metal dam into the hole, she stiffened suddenly. A peculiar sensation, like the chill from a draft, was creeping over her. It was a sensation she had not felt in many years.
Her gaze lifted to the peat fire. There, in its glow-
ing red heart, an image began to form. Soon she could recognize a dark image of woods swept by curtains of rain. Through the trees, dim but recognizable, moved a party of armed men.
Similar Books
